Page 89 of Warrior's Cross

Julian looked up at him, his entire body flooding with dread. He knew Preston was right, and he knew what he was about to say. He didn’t try to stop him, though.

“Letting the memory of what Mr. Jacobs was keep you from being what you are will get you killed eventually, sir,” Preston told him in a flat, no-nonsense tone. “He’s not here. He no longer wants to be here. He’s not a part of this unless you make him one. We should meet Lancaster head on and make a dirty mess of it. For old time’s sake, if nothing else,” he said with an arched eyebrow as he continued to swirl his whiskey thoughtfully. “I owe him at least two bullets in the ass,” he muttered under his breath.

“And Cameron?” Julian asked softly.

“Protecting him was a mistake,” Preston ventured regretfully. “I fear we merely drew more of Lancaster’s attention to him.”

Julian tore his eyes away from his glass to look up and meet Preston’s. He wished he could argue, but Preston was rarely wrong when it came to tactical matters.

Preston opened his mouth to continue, but the cell phone at Julian’s elbow began chiming before he could speak. Both men looked down at the phone and then at each other in surprise. Julian could count on one hand the number of people who had that number, and he had made certain it wasn’t easy to track down.

Julian turned his head to watch it ring. The caller ID displayed the number as private, but Julian knew instinctively who it was.

“You may as well answer him, sir,” Preston whispered, his voice low as if the phone would overhear him. “If he knows enough to call when we’re drunk, then we’re in bigger trouble than we thought,” he said before making a sarcastic toast in the air with his glass and taking another sip.

Julian gave a snort and reached for the phone. “Arlo,” he answered in a low voice.

“Hullo, Julian,” Arlo greeted cheerfully. “Nice accent.”

“It gets the job done,” Julian muttered.

“I liked your other one better. I have a proposal,” he said, knowing Julian wasn’t likely to speak again and merely delving right into it. “You see, I’m on a limited budget for this one. The people who hired me want you dead, but they don’t want you dead badly enough to shell out what it actually costs to kill you. Follow?”

“I follow,” Julian assured him. Arlo was supplementing this job with his own money. This was personal for him, and he would get it done no matter the cost. That was both good and bad.

“All this surveilling and whatnot, it’s beginning to bore me. Cameron Jacobs has got to be the most plain, unremarkable man I’ve ever come across,” Arlo said in annoyance. “He’d better be good in bed, Jules, that’s all I’ve got to say. You did an impressive job of hiding Blake Nichols, though, I have to admit. Tell me, Julian, why hide your handler but not your lover?”

Julian gritted his teeth, remaining silent.

“Problems in paradise, hmm? I can solve that for you,” Arlo continued in an amused voice.

“You said you had a proposal,” Julian reminded him, slipping into the accent that came most naturally to him, a lilting gaelscoil Irish.

There was no point in hiding it from Arlo or from anyone else anymore. It was almost a relief to speak it. “Or did you plan to kill me by boring me to death?” he asked in annoyance.

Arlo tutted at him. “Always were the wit, weren’t you? All right, then, my proposal is this: Meet me at Blake’s restaurant at your regular time. Just you. Tell Preston to bugger off somewhere. We’ll settle this like gentlemen.”

Julian was silent, wondering why the idea did actually appeal to him a little. Was he confident he could kill Arlo or was he just ready to die?

“Either you show up Tuesday night, Julian, or Cameron Jacobs doesn’t make it home alive,” Arlo promised softly before ending the call.

Julian closed the cell phone slowly and looked up to meet Preston’s eyes. The man raised one eyebrow and tilted his head knowingly. “The only way to save the one you love is to die for him?” he ventured calmly, his own Irish accent flowing as if he’d never hidden it.

Julian nodded wordlessly, staring at the tabletop.

“It’s very chivalrous, anyway,” Preston commented offhandedly. “Shall I set up a sniper’s nest somewhere devious?” he asked with a hint of anticipation.

“No,” Julian answered softly. He looked up at Preston seriously and leaned forward. “Make me a promise, Preston,” he requested.

“Of course, sir,” Preston responded without hesitation.

“If I’m killed,” Julian murmured, “you have to take care of Smith and Wesson.”

Preston blinked rapidly, pressing his lips together to try to repress any emotion he might have wanted to display at thethought of taking on the care of Julian’s two cats. Finally, he looked down at the table and frowned. “Could I just throw myself into the coffin with you instead?” he asked hopefully.

Julian smiled and shook his head.

“Damn,” Preston muttered as he got up from the table and walked away.

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