They reached the top of the stairs and paused in front of a weathered wooden door that swung open before they could knock. Deacon had discreetly pointed out one of the cameras at the bottom of the stairwell, so O’Neal knew they were here. Apparently Deacon’s “friend” took security very seriously.
Not his appearance, though, Lana noticed, as she laid eyes on the man Deacon claimed to trust. Shane O’Neal had scruffy reddish-brown hair that came down to his shoulders and an unkempt beard that devoured his entire face. He wore camo pants with a red stain on the knee—she hoped it wasn’t blood—and a black T-shirt that boasted at least six holes in various places.
His pale blue eyes were sharp, however, out of sync with his couch-potato looks.
“Were you followed?” was the first thing O’Neal asked in a faint Irish brogue.
Deacon shook his head.
“Good.” The door opened wider. “Come in.”
Lana’s eyed widened as she got a good look at the interior of O’Neal’s flat. There was a surprisingly spacious living area, made all the more spacious by the complete lack of furniture in it. No chairs, couches, coffee table. Evidently O’Neal didn’t spend much time here, unless he came in to admire the vast amount of rifles hanging on one entire wall. The adjacent wall featured a collection of swords. Pleasant guy.
O’Neal led them down a corridor lit only by a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling. They passed two doors, both closed, and finally entered a large room filled with computer monitors, metal shelving and enormous steel crates.
“So is this your girl?” O’Neal asked in an indifferent voice as he moved toward a metal file cabinet jammed between two computer desks.
“A friend,” Deacon answered vaguely. “Lana, meet Shane. Shane, Lana.”
She managed a faint hello, all the while irritated by Deacon’s introduction. A friend? Try the mother of his unborn child! Obviously her numerous attempts at conversational connections had failed miserably. He seemed just as determined to keep her at arm’s length. To deposit her on her family’s doorstep and disappear from her life.
O’Neal pulled a fat manila envelope from the cabinet. “I assume this will do?”
Deacon took the envelope and peered inside. Lana craned her neck, raising a brow when she caught a quick glimpse of the thick stack of bills. She forced herself not to ask why O’Neal had huge envelopes of money lying around the house. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know anyway.
The men didn’t say much as O’Neal proceeded to open a crate and rummage through a scary amount of ammunition clips. “Still using the .35 mm?” O’Neal asked.
Deacon nodded. “And the .45.”
O’Neal tossed a dozen clips into a small black shoulder bag, then handed it to Deacon. “Where you headed?” he asked, not sounding too interested.
“Montana,” Lana said before she could stop herself.
She immediately got a dark scolding look from Deacon. Shoot. She shouldn’t have revealed their destination. Deacon might trust this man, but he’d specifically told her in the car not to offer any details.
“And then Oregon,” she added belatedly. “My family has a house on the coast.”
“Uh-huh,” O’Neal said, unconcerned.
At least he didn’t seem to care one way or the other where they were heading. This entire friendship was kind of baffling. These two men had worked together on several assignments, yet they acted like complete strangers. And O’Neal was just handing Deacon money and ammo like they were Tic-Tacs. Without even questioning it.
“I got the car, too,” O’Neal told Deacon. He reached into his pocket and extracted a set of keys. “It’s parked out back. Blue pickup.”
“Thanks.” Deacon put his hand on Lana’s arm and took a sideways step to the door. “I owe you, man.”
“And I’ll collect,” O’Neal said, grinning for the first time since they arrived.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
And then, just like that, they were ushered to the front door, saying goodbye and descending the mildew-scented stairwell again.
“That’s it?” Lana hissed.
“Like I said, in and out,” Deacon replied with a shrug.
She remained dumbfounded. “Yeah, but…he gave us all that money, the bullets, the car, without even asking what we needed it for.”
“That’s how it works. The mercenary community is fairly tight-knit. You’re in a jam, a fellow soldier will bail you out, no questions asked. And then you return the favor.”
They rounded the building toward the gravel lot in the back, and sure enough, a dark blue pickup waited for them.
“So you don’t help each other out of the goodness of your hearts?” she asked, slightly confused.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re assuming we have hearts, sweetheart.” He clicked on the car remote to unlock the doors.
Lana bit the inside of her cheek as she slid into the passenger seat. She didn’t understand this world. These people. When she helped someone, she didn’t expect anything in return. She did it because she genuinely wanted to make things better for the other person. In Deacon’s world, however, nothing came free. Or cheap.