back with a gate opening onto a private parking lot for some high-end condos. The alley driveway into the lot emptied out onto Wynkoop Street.
Once inside the coffee shop, they started down the east wall, both of them checking the street through the shop’s windows. They were almost to the door to the courtyard, when Jack came to a sudden stop. A smile instantly curved his mouth, and he reached for Scout, stopping her, too—yes! Con had jacked a Porsche, about an ’88, flat black and good-looking. He was idling in the turn lane at the light … except …
Jack’s smile faded, and an odd, disconcerting confusion took its place. He kept his hand on Scout’s shoulder and his eyes on the man driving the Porsche.
It wasn’t Con.
And the implications of who the younger man was crashed into Jack’s brain in one crystal-clear moment of understanding.
Geezus. For another moment, and then two, it was hard to breathe. The man Jack was looking at changed everything.
Everything.
“His name is Peter Chronopolous,” Scout said at his side. “They call him Kid Chaos.”
Kid Chaos, geezus. Jack couldn’t take his eyes off him. He looked so much like Con, except younger, not so abused, not wounded, but just as tough, if that was even possible.
“I’ve been staking out the building for four days and haven’t seen this guy.” And they both knew he was better than that. He and Con had fucking observed the building, and they’d taken note of everyone’s comings and goings.
“He’s been with me 24/7.”
Not exactly what Jack had wanted to hear.
“He’s the biggest selling point they’ve got for their plan,” she continued.
“Which is?” He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this next bit of conversation either.
“They want him back, Jack, and they want me to deliver him.”
He’d been right. He didn’t like that idea, no way in hell.
“Chronopolous,” he said. It was a Greek name, and, yeah, he guessed he could see some Greek in Con, Greek like Achilles, a warrior for the ages.
“John Thomas,” she said. “That’s what the J.T. stands for in Con’s real name. He was born here, raised here, and, according to them, stole a helluva lot of cars here.”
He brought his hand to his chest, and for another long moment, it was hard to breathe. John Thomas Chronopolous. This was it then, the end, one way or another.
“So you’ve been looking at this guy for two months.”
“Yeah.”
“And his story hangs together?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice so soft, he could barely hear her.
He understood. Eight weeks of being with Con’s younger brother and having to accept that everything you knew about the man was different now would take the stuffing out of anybody.
It sure as hell was taking the stuffing out of him.
The light changed. The Porsche made a U-turn, heading back the way it had come, and Jack returned his gaze to the woman at his side.
She was so beautiful, her skin the creamiest, softest color, like café au lait, her eyes so green, a dark, rich color to match the lushness of her wild mane of chestnut brown hair.
Pure tomboy and all girl, that was his Scout.
What was going to happen to her?
She didn’t want him. She’d made that much clear. Most of the time, she didn’t even want him around, and she’d made that pretty damn clear, too.
So how was he going to be able to help her after Con was gone?
He didn’t have a clue.
Finding this Kid Chaos guy wasn’t going to change what was happening to the boss. Jack knew more about what had gone on in Dr. Souk’s lab than he liked to remember or admit, and no one who’d been in the cages was going to see their birthright of days—no way, no-how. Souk’s drugs were insidious, abominations, and they dealt an early death.
Shit. Knowing it all these years and having to face it were two different things, and having to face it hurt. Con had saved him, and there wasn’t a way on God’s green earth for him to return the favor.
A man shoving his way through the people on the sidewalk caught Jack’s attention. It was Karola. Without a word, he gave Scout’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, and they both slipped out the coffee shop’s back door and into the falling darkness of the Denver night.
CHAPTER TEN
“So much for the Halox,” Dylan said, then spoke into his radio mike. “Kid, are you back in the building yet? Zach, give me your status.”