The man who had introduced them smiled slowly. To Cameron, it was like a dangerous animal showing its teeth. He frowned, looking over the man’s windblown, curly hair, piercing eyes, and a crooked nose that had probably been broken at least twice. The smile was probably meant to put him at ease.
Special Agent Grady flipped over the badge he’d been holding and pulled aside his leather jacket to slide it into an inner pocket. The move revealed a fairly large weapon in a holster under his arm. Whether he did it on purpose didn’t really matter; his point was made.
“Would you mind opening the door so we can have a word, Mr. Jacobs?” Special Agent Garrett asked in a businesslike tone. “Or you can just point us toward Cross and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“I do mind,” Cameron objected, his back straightening as he pulled his hand back to slam the door shut.
Grady’s hand shot out in a flash, stopping the door from closing. He stepped closer and lowered his head, as if he might be about to share a secret. Everything about him screamed military to Cameron, from his gruff tone to his quick reflexes to his impressive athletic build.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble it is to fix a chain that’s been ripped off a doorjamb?” Special Agent Grady asked calmly. “Or how much it hurts my shoulder to put it through a solid oak door? This is oak, right? It’s very nice.”
Cameron pushed hard against the door, and it made no difference at all. He glanced at Special Agent Garrett, who was taller, darker, and not offering any sympathy. This was not looking good. Not at all. So Cameron nodded jerkily and reached to unhook the chain, aware that Julian would read him the riot act for this.
Of course, Julian would yell at him for opening the door in the first place. But only a little bit.
Chain undone, Cameron took several steps back and gathered himself to reach for his phone and Julian’s speed dial emergency number as he watched his four calf-high white Westies charge the strangers entering the apartment.
Special Agent Grady moved in slowly, his body turned almost sideways as his eyes scanned the room. His hand was on his weapon.
Cameron had seen Julian enter rooms in a similar fashion, and it set off even more warning bells. The man looked down at the four dogs and balked, side-stepping and gesturing for his partner to come in.
It was Cameron’s chance. Cameron reached into his pocket for his cell phone and fumbled with it, trying to be inconspicuous about it. He hoped that he managed to hit the key combination for the prewritten text he needed to send.
Special Agent Garrett shut the door gently, and the strangers moved steadily into Cameron’s condo. The more he watched the agents, the more they reminded him of Julian. They were on guard but confident. “I don’t know who you’re looking for. There’s no one else here.”
“We know,” Grady told him. He smiled and nodded to the pocket Cameron still had his hand stuffed into. “He’ll be here soon, though. Take a load off, kid. It won’t be so bad.” He stretched out broad muscles and rolled his neck, the movement shifting his coat, revealing a specialty T-shirt. Grady turned to look down at the yipping dogs in distaste, and then he looked up at his partner.
Special Agent Garrett tipped his head to one side before focusing on Cameron. From twelve feet away, his eyes appeared to be flat black, and Cameron felt like he was pinned in place.
“How do you know Mr. Cross, Mr. Jacobs?” he asked. His voice was calmer than Special Agent Grady’s, more polite, if still a bit cool.
Cameron pressed his lips together in a bid for silence. At least this was one of the possible scenarios Julian had outlined for him when they had set up the alert system. Despite Cameron’s protests, his dangerous lover had insisted he’d rather come here to protect him and eliminate the problem than stay away in dubious safety.
Movement caught his eye, and Cameron glanced up to see one of Julian’s large orange cats sinuously padding around the screen that sectioned off the bedroom. It was Smith, followed closely by Wesson.
The two very big cats stopped midstride upon seeing the strangers, and Cameron could have sworn he heard one of them growl.
“Now see, that’s what I’m talking about,” the churlish agent said as he pointed at the cats. “Those are guard dogs, Zane. Pound for pound the most effective killing machine in the world.”
“So you say, Meow Mix,” Garrett answered. He sounded like he was humoring his partner. Zane Garrett, Cameron remembered from the door. And Ty Grady, he reminded himself. Garrett and Grady. It sounded like some obnoxious men’s clothing store. Zane pointed at Ty. “You keep your hands off the wildlife.”
“Shove it, Garrett,” Ty said with a huff. He moved around the couch and knelt several feet away from Smith and Wesson. He reached out his hand. “What are they, Maine Coons?” he asked Cameron with what seemed like genuine interest.
Cameron watched as the man put himself well within range of a serious tangle with pain. He swallowed and glanced at the digital clock next to the television. It had been three minutes. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
“Ty, I said keep your damn hands to yourself,” Zane snapped. “We don’t have time for a field trip to the hospital if that cat decides it wants a taste of you.”
Ty blithely ignored his partner’s admonition, still holding out one hand and talking to Smith and Wesson in a low voice, a smile on his face. He turned and glanced over his shoulder at Zane. “If the big one didn’t eat me, I think I can deal with two little ones.”
Smith and Wesson sat side by side, watching him in the way only a cat could watch an inferior being. Cameron figured he looked like he was watching Ty like the man was an idiot. He also wondered what cat the man could possibly have tangled with that was bigger than Smith or Wesson.
Zane gave an aggrieved sigh and walked a little further into the room, though Cameron noticed he kept both the front door and him in sight. “We’re not going to bite, Mr. Jacobs,” Zane said, trying to placate him, Cameron could tell. Zane’s lips twitched. “No more than the cats, anyway.”
“The last stranger who messed with them ended up with stitches from temple to lip,” Cameron mentioned to Ty.
Ty merely made a clicking sound with his tongue, not moving as he continued to hold his hand out to the cats. Wesson began to move slowly, slinking toward him. “Come on, handsome,” Ty crooned to the cat. Smith lowered his head, his tail twitching as he watched, but Wesson continued to move toward him. He sat and graciously allowed the man to rub one finger under his chin.