Page 99 of Warrior's Cross

It bore a remarkable resemblance to the warrior’s cross Cameron still wore around his neck, and it reminded Cameron of the tombs of knights laid to rest in churches in Europe.

Cameron could still see Julian lying there, though, and the bloody smear down the glass door. After he got past it and got inside the restaurant, things were a little better, but it still shook him so badly that he avoided the place unless Blake insisted.

Finally, after nearly half a year, Cameron felt almost like his ordinary self. He still lived alone in the remodeled condo with his four dogs, who each stood about nine inches high, fully grown. He still read a lot and listened to jazz on an Internet radio station. He still cooked for himself and watched DVDs and liked to dress sloppily and sit around the apartment.

It was only sometimes that he couldn’t handle being alone and had to call a friend for company to get his mind off what he’d lost. That friend was usually Blake, because he knew what Cameron was going through. Julian Cross had been a hard man to find and an even harder man to lose.

There was a soft knock on the door, almost drowned out by the noise inside the apartment. The only reason Cameron heard it was because the dogs suddenly careened out of the kitchen toward the door.

With a soft, inquisitive grunt, Cameron set the pork chops he’d pulled out of the fridge in the sink and headed to the door. Out of long habit he looked through the peep-hole first. There was no one in the view, but another soft knock followed as he peered out.

Cameron frowned as he pulled back from the door. He wasn’t sure he liked this. Why wouldn’t someone stand in front of the door?

Sometimes he could be too paranoid, he told himself. The building had security, after all. Shaking his head, he flipped the deadlock and opened the door a bit, standing half behind it.

“Hello, Cameron,” a soft, accented voice greeted from beside the door, its source still out of sight.

A breath caught in Cameron’s throat, and his fingers clenched on the edge of the door. That voice. It was so close to...

How could someone be so cruel? Anger flaring, Cameron threw the door open so hard it slammed against the wall as he stepped out into the hall to see who was deliberately yanking his chain. “Who the hell do you think...?”

Arlo Lancaster leaned against the wall next to the door, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pea-coat as he watched Cameron with dark eyes. He had an ugly scar along his left eye; it had to be the shot Julian had taken that he’d hoped killed him. He smiled wickedly when he met Cameron’s eyes.

Fear made Cameron go cold all over. This was a nightmare he’d tried very hard not to think about. He couldn’t even manage to protest when Arlo ushered him back inside his apartment.

“You’ve changed things since the last time I was here,” Lancaster murmured from behind him as he closed the door.

That statement chilled Cameron to the bone all over again, and he was sure it showed, because he could feel the blood drain from his face.

He shifted uncomfortably and took a few wooden steps away from the other man. “New paint,” he said as his mind started scrambling. What was he supposed to do? There was no one to help him, and no one to miss him for at least two days, when he was supposed to show up at Tuesdays for dinner with Blake.

Lancaster nodded and grinned. “Where is he?” he asked politely.

Cameron’s mouth went dry and pain shot through him like lightning. “He’s dead,” he answered in a choked voice.

Lancaster’s lips curved into a slight, almost fond smile as he nodded his head thoughtfully. “Hasn’t contacted you after all, has he?” he murmured almost to himself. “Good thing I havea Plan B,” he told Cameron with a wry grin. “I’ll take you with me, anyway. My bet is he was just done with you, but you know. Can’t be too careful. Would you care to put food out for the animals before we go?” he offered in amusement. “You may be gone quite a while,” he added dryly.

Cameron’s stomach twisted. “What for?” he asked. As he started thinking about it, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Could Julian really be alive?

Lancaster’s smile melted away, leaving him looking hard and dangerous, even more so when a gun appeared in his hand. “I don’t care if your animals starve,” he snarled. “Move.”

Cameron nodded slowly, clenching his hands when they started to shake. “The food’s in the kitchen,” he said, gesturing slightly before he started moving, watching Lancaster. “Should I pack a bag?” he asked as he poured out extra food and water.

Lancaster gave a derogatory laugh. “We’ll buy you a toothbrush,” he drawled as he kept the silenced gun trained on Cameron. “Now assume the position, my friend,” he ordered with a wave of his free hand at the nearest wall.

Cameron’s shoulders snapped back. “Excuse me?”

“Hands flat on the wall, feet apart,” Lancaster barked impatiently. “Get moving, Jacobs.”

Keeping his eyes on the gun, Cameron moved as instructed, though his chin stayed turned to watch Lancaster as his palms settled against the wall, and he widened his stance carefully.

Lancaster placed his gun in the back of his waistband and moved behind Cameron. “Move and I’ll snap your neck,” he assured Cameron as he put his hand on the back of Cameron’s head and pushed it to lower it. He began to slide his hands down the sides of Cameron’s body, then one palm moved to his chest and the other to his spine as he patted him down.

Letting his head fall forward, Cameron kept his back rigid, eyes closing as he realized what Lancaster was doing.

“Hiding anything?” Lancaster asked him in a sarcastic, teasing tone.

Cameron grimaced. He almost wished he was. “No,” he answered truthfully.

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