Page 92 of Warrior's Cross

Behind him, a small clank and a grunt of pain signified that one of the men he’d left behind had just kicked the other under the table.

If he hadn’t been so terrified, Cameron might have laughed.

“Why are you here?” Julian asked through gritted teeth.

“Because your time has run out,” Arlo answered bluntly. “You’ve been doing the wrong work for the wrong people, mate. Informing for the police? Sound familiar?” he asked cheekily.

“We all do what we have to,” Julian responded in a low voice.

Arlo knew more than even Julian had suspected he would.

“But you didn’t have to, Jules,” Arlo argued, the smile still on his face. “You don’t need the money. You don’t even need the work anymore. The only reason you still do it is because you enjoy it,” he accused knowingly.

Julian gritted his teeth harder and lowered his head slightly, refusing to look away.

“You enjoy the stalking. The fear. You enjoy the killing, and you always will. You’re not one of the fucking good guys, so why try to tell yourself you are?”

Julian sat back slightly, taking in a deep breath. The hell of it was that Arlo was right. He enjoyed what he did. He was good at it and always had been. He had, in the end, been given a choice. Remain one of the bad guys or be loved. And he had walked away from love. He’d chosen to be a killer rather than to be with Cameron.

“Were you behind the big fucking dog?” he finally asked Arlo.

Arlo actually laughed. “No,” he answered with a gleeful shake of his head. “But I heard about it.” He practically giggled. “Juvenile, but still slightly brilliant.”

Julian sighed and took a long sip of wine.

“If I don’t take you, someone else will,” Arlo told him, suddenly serious again. “It’s just a matter of time.”

Julian met his eyes and nodded. “Someone else,” he repeated grimly. “The man who hired you. Tell me who he is,” he demanded. “You know I can get to him. You won’t have to do this.”

Arlo responded with a slow, wicked grin. “What makes you think I don’t want to?” he asked.

Twenty minutes after taking their orders, Cameron arrived at the table with the two entrées. The mood at the table had gonesteadily downhill, but somehow it helped Cameron maintain his distance. It was like a husband and wife squabbling. He wouldn’t get involved then, and he wouldn’t get involved now. But he still had to listen.

He lifted the two covered plates and approached the table. When he set the dinners in front of them, Lancaster gave it a sniff and quirked an eyebrow. “What is this, exactly?” he asked Julian.

“Shut up and enjoy it,” Julian snarled.

Lancaster looked from him to Cameron. “What is this?”

Cameron blinked at him for a moment before answering. “Snapping turtle soufflé and Southern red-eye gravy with pommes frites.”

“Jesus Christ, Jules,” Lancaster groaned as he sat back and glared.

“You want to go into tonight with nothing but a few hundred dollars of wine in you, be my fucking guest,” Julian muttered.

“I can get you another entrée,” Cameron felt compelled to offer.

Lancaster was watching as Julian started to eat, and he wrinkled his nose distastefully. “This is fine,” he muttered. “Thank you,” he gritted out.

“This was always your problem, you know that?” Julian said to him heatedly as he dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter.

Cameron had rarely seen this level of emotion from him, especially in public. “You were all show and no real substance. You never fucking did your research.”

“I found you, didn’t I?” Lancaster shot back.

Cameron withdrew without his usual reminder to flag him down if they needed anything. No way was he interfering in that conversation.

“Eat your fucking dinner,” he heard Julian snarl again as he left.

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