Not Z. Ryan.
He’d allowed himself to get sidetracked and they’d failed. Jericho still had the painting, Amit was still lurking, but at least the kid hadn’t been able to steal it yet. So they hadn’t failed Jericho completely, but in the end, they hadn’t really helped him, either. They’d been working against him the entire time, and still Jericho had managed to outsmart them, keeping the painting in his possession with a few extra eyes on the prize in the interim.
Regardless, Ryan had let Sniper 1 Security down. He’d been distracted, and in the end, he’d let the mission become second, rather than first as it should’ve been all along. The only positive was that this hadn’t been a life-or-death situation or he very well could’ve been responsible for a grizzly outcome.
Damn it.
Whipping around a slow-moving car, Ryan focused on the road. Although it was closing in on two in the morning, he wasn’t the least bit tired. Adrenaline still pumped furiously through his veins, anger radiating from his pores.
How had he let himself be manipulated by so many people? Going into this assignment with Z had been a mistake, and he’d allowed his father to pull the strings. He should’ve known better than to think there was a happily ever after in his future, but there for a few hours, it had seemed within his grasp. What had happened between him and Z… Ryan hadn’t wanted it to be temporary.
It was clear that when he allowed himself to be distracted, he lost his edge and he came up empty-handed. On all fronts. Now, not only did Ryan have to deal with the guilt of failing, he also had to deal with the guilt of hurting Z. That was the last thing he’d intended, but clearly Ryan couldn’t handle Z and running a multimillion-dollar company at the same time. At this rate, if he continued down this path, he would let everyone down, and Ryan couldn’t allow that to happen.
Unfortunately, letting one person down—Z—was a hell of a lot easier than disappointing everyone.
Or so he wanted to believe.
THIRTY
Two months later – October
“HEY, DAD,” Z CALLED OUT to his father as he walked into the bright, cheery room. The blinds were open, the setting sun peering in and highlighting the tan walls. The television was on, set to the travel channel as Z had instructed it to be at this time of day.
For all intents and purposes, it looked like a room someone would want to spend their days in. There were knickknacks on the dresser, a couple of pictures on the wall, small framed photos on the table beside the bed, even a comfortable recliner Z had brought to furnish the room. The only thing that was off was the unconscious man who’d spent far too many days and nights inhabiting the room without ever saying a single word.
There on the hospital bed—some fancy, specialized model that was filled with air, to aid with circulation—was Z’s father, lying on his back, eyes closed, surrounded by machines that kept track of his vital signs and brain activity. Thomas Tavoularis was in a perpetual state of sleep. Aside from the fact that he didn’t open his eyes, had to be fed through a gastrostomy tube—or G-tube—in his stomach, and had lost a significant amount of weight over time, he still looked like the resilient man Z had admired for his entire life.
“The nurses tell me you’re doin’ well, Dad. Sorry I haven’t been here in a couple of days. Had another assignment. This one took me to Oregon. Easy peasy, though. Got back as soon as I could.” Z took a seat beside his father’s bed as he had done every night when he was in town for the past four years.
The doctors continued to tell them that his father could still wake up, though the prolonged coma would likely leave him mentally altered. Since he was breathing on his own and didn’t require any type of life support aside from the feeding tube and IVs, they had put him in a nursing home that catered to long-term care, where he could be monitored around the clock. While Z’s mother visited once or twice a week, Cindy had had no choice but to get back to a normal life. As normal as it could be, anyway.
Which was the reason Z had started visiting, staying with his father overnight.
“Z! You’re here. So glad to see you.”
Z shifted in his chair, glancing over at the door to see Buddy Stallone standing there, eyes wide with excitement.
“Hey, Buddy. Come in. Have a seat.”
Buddy ambled in, slow-moving now that he was closing in on his eighty-fifth birthday in just a couple of months.
“I was telling Dad about my trip.”
Buddy’s grin widened as he gingerly lowered himself into the extra chair.
“Have you had dinner yet?” Z asked the elderly man.
“Not yet. I was hoping you’d be here.”
“Well, I’m here. Maybe we could go down and eat together.”
“I’d like that. I’ve been talkin’ to Tom.” Buddy glanced over at Z’s father. “Tellin’ him about your last assignment. The one with the painting.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sure he’s so proud of you.”
Z’s chest tightened as he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his father’s chest.
While his friends assumed he was out with different men, Z had spent the last four years right there in the nursing home. He’d become an honorary member of the staff due to the many hours he spent there, not only with his father but talking to Buddy and several other patients who resided there. They would share meals, watch television, sit outside under the stars. Z looked forward to spending time there. All in the hopes his father would wake up one day. Z wanted to be there when he did, not wanting Thomas to wake up confused. And yes, even after all this time, Z still held on to that hope.
“Hey, Dad,” Z said, smiling over at Buddy. “I’m gonna take Buddy down to dinner now. We’ll be back and I’ll tell you all about Oregon. Okay?”
Z got to his feet, helping Buddy up as he did.
“Oregon, huh?” Buddy inquired as they slowly made their way down the hall toward the cafeteria.
“Yeah. Nothing exciting, really.”
“Everything you do is exciting, boy,” Buddy told him. “Everything.”
During the years Z had been coming to the nursing home, he’d become close to Buddy. The man had no children, and his wife had passed away nearly a decade earlier. He lived there, in another wing of the building, due to his deteriorating health brought on by age, and he was one of the many who actually enjoyed being there. They’d talked at length about how Buddy had been living alone with no one to talk to, so having so many people around eased Buddy’s mind, gave him something to look forward to.
They’d become friends, and Buddy was always eager to hear about Z’s latest assignment. The man was quite intrigued by it, always asking questions, encouraging Z to talk, sometimes even when he didn’t want to.
“What’s for dinner tonight?” Z asked as he helped Buddy into a chair at one of the many tables.
“Lasagna,” Buddy told him, looking up at him with so much happiness on his face.
“Your favorite. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Don’t forget the lemon cookie.”
Z leaned in close. “If you don’t tell anyone, I’ll get you two.”
Buddy’s smile made Z’s chest swell, some of the anger and hurt he’d been experiencing for the past couple of months easing. It’d been difficult since he’d parted ways with RT in Port Aransas. They hadn’t spoken much, and even then, their conversations were restricted to work only.
RT had stopped including Z in assignments that would allow them to work alongside one another, but Z hadn’t bothered to express his resentment of that. It was easier to smile and accept his fate.
“Hey, Barb,” Z greeted one of the ladies who worked in the cafeteria.
“Zachariah!” The smaller woman came over and hugged him, her graying hair stuffed into a hair net. “Have you seen Buddy yet?”
“I have. I’m here to grab his dinner.”
“Will you be eating?” Barb inquired.
Z nodded. “Of course.”
“Perfect. Let me grab you a few things while you get Buddy’s.”