J.C. eyed the pitiful remainder of his beer reproachfully, but there wasn’t a hint of disapproval in his tone when he addressed Andrej.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on now?” he rumbled, and it was ridiculous how good it was to hear that deep voice for real again, not only on the phone.

“I would if I could.” Andrej had been chewing at the problem for hours and it didn’t make any more sense now than it had before. “This was totally out of control, man. There was military all over the fucking place.

First they tried to shoot Riley and then they fired three grenades into that diner like it was Baghdad or something. Boom.” He mimicked an explosion, shrugged a little and slumped back against the rock wall. “Misha

went berserk and marched us straight in there to get him out. Well, get his body out. We assumed Riley had to be dead for sure.”

He remembered the way Misha had looked when he’d seen the diner go up and felt again that helpless twist in his heart that had come with realizing he was about to watch the most important person in his life die by military-assisted suicide.

“I thought I was gonna lose Misha,” he muttered, because he couldn’t say it to Kolya, wouldn’t ever let Misha know how much it bothered him, but he could tell J.C. “He never was rational about Riley. If Riley had died….”

He didn’t finish, preferred not to think too closely about what Misha might’ve done to himself and others. Misha had always been a bit unstable, his basically amiable nature at odds with the demands of his training and the things they’d both had to do—to become—in order to survive. He’d walked a tightrope even before Riley had entered the picture. Riley had upset this precarious balance and Andrej wasn’t sure Misha could ever get it back. Things were changing. Had been changing for a while, really, but they’d reached the point of no return when the diner had gone up in fire and smoke. Misha had glimpsed a future without Riley and he plainly hadn’t been able to handle it.

Andrej rubbed his hand over his face, tired enough to admit to himself that he was scared of what was coming. He could almost taste the blood waiting to be spilled. “I need another beer,” he muttered.

J.C. let out a gravelly chuckle, reached into the cooler, and handed over a cold bottle. “Any idea about why the government would be this interested in Cooper?”

Grateful for the change of topic, Andrej opened the beer and took a long drink. He wasn’t a fan of Mexican brews, but between J.C. and Riley he’d gotten used to them. Riley had introduced him to grits, too, and real Mexican food. Texas Hold ’Em. Cock rock. Joe Lansdale. Outdoor barbecues with not a hors d’oeuvre in sight. All in all, Riley was an easygoing guy with a wry sense of humor and a refreshing lack of homicidal tendencies. He might’ve ruined Misha for the job, but he’d also resurrected parts of the man Andrej had seen wither and nearly die over the past few years. Andrej liked Riley, thought of him as a friend… or as close to a friend as someone could be who lacked some critical information about