Page 4 of End Game

By the end of the drug-smuggling case, Zeke had found the love of his life in Liv and Cameron had wedged his foot in the door before his brother could shut it again. Cameron wanted to be able to see his family without feeling like an outsider. Soon, he and Zeke would have to have a long, difficult discussion.

But that day wasn’t today.

“Ezekiel?” he prompted, tempering the frustration and fear roiling in his chest.

Zeke cleared his throat before crossing his corded arms over his chest. Then he scowled at Cameron, as if his dilly-dallying around were Cam’s fault.

“I need a favor,” Zeke growled out the words.

Cameron stared at him for a stunned moment, barely aware of the relief drowning out his thundering heart. Then he mentally shook himself, instinct telling him that whatever had dragged Zeke to his doorstep would alter his world.

“You have my attention.” He nodded toward an empty, adjacent cubicle. “Grab a chair and sit down.”

Zeke shifted on his feet, then glanced around again before hooking his thumb toward the exit. “Can you get out of here for half an hour?”

Checking the clock on one of his new 24-inch dual monitors, Cameron realized he’d missed lunch. Maybe some fresh air and food would stop the hammering that had set up shop in his head since his discussion with Lawson.

He snatched his suit coat from the back of his chair and shouldered past his brother. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”

They left the federal building and, as if by mutual consent, zigzagged their way to Carmel’s on Page Avenue and snagged an outside table. It was a beautiful spring day, not a cloud in the sky. A fact Cameron would regret within minutes.

His navy-blue coat absorbed the intense Carolina sun, making it feel like eighty-five instead of seventy. Removing his garment meant exposing his service weapon. Something he tried to avoid in public.

When the server arrived with their drinks, Cameron’s request to move inside dried up on his tongue when he keyed in on his brother’s already caged expression.

After loosening his tie and unfastening his shirt’s top button, Cameron prayed for a bank of clouds to roll in. When the sky remained a pure, unobstructed blue, he asked the server to bring out a pitcher of ice water.

Once they placed their orders, silence cratered around them. Cameron let it stretch out for a good two minutes before he prompted his brother. “What’s this about a favor?”

Zeke took a long pull of beer. “I need you to talk some sense into Kayla.”

What the hell? Was this Kayla Krowne Day?

“Me? I barely know her.” And what he did know of the lobbyist, he didn’t much care for.

“Which makes you the best person for the job.”

“I don’t follow.” Sweat gathered between his shoulder blades.

Zeke took another hefty drink, his irritation—or was it nervousness—palpable. “Aunt Joan visited Mom the other day.”

An image of the petite matriarch of the Steele clan came to mind. Like many his age, Cameron carried fond memories of the former elementary school teacher. He regretted that their families hadn’t been closer while growing up. It would’ve been nice having cousins to beat up.

“Something to do with Uncle Eddie?”

His mom, Lynette Blackwell, and her brother Eddie Steele had grown closer since his surprising return from isolation a few years ago.

Zeke shook his head. “What I’m about to tell you, I’m sharing with my brother, Ash, not that G-man prick Cameron.”

“That G-man prick has been pretty damn helpful to the Blackwells on some recent recoveries.”

“Promise me that you’ll listen as a family member, not the FBI.”

Family member. Right. It seemed Zeke only remembered that fact when he needed the Bureau’s resources, these days.

“I’m the same person, Zeke. You can’t get one without the other.”

“Promise me.” His brother’s knee jackhammered beneath the metal table.

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