Yep. The guilt was back.

“She’s calling herself Laura Niles. Why does Niles sound familiar?” Rafe asked, his finger tracing over the picture. He wanted to touch her, to assure himself that she was real and alive and whole.

“Her grandfather’s name was Niles. Niles Rosen. She loved that old man.” Cam stood at his side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Rafe looked at the man he’d once been closer to than his own brother. Cam looked tired. There was a set to his shoulders that Rafe recognized as defensiveness. Cam stood there in the tiny piece-of-crap kitchen, a big, unmoving block of wood.

Cam had come to the office to tell Rafe he’d found Laura. He’d run through the building with this printout in his hand, and when he’d found Rafe, he’d walked in on what Cam had to assume was a betrayal of the worst kind. No wonder Cam hadn’t met him at the pub.

He had to play this carefully if he didn’t want to get his ass kicked.

“Stefan Talbot.” Rafe whistled as he glanced over the article.

“Who the fuck is Stefan Talbot?”

Rafe felt a grin come and go. That was Cam. Despite the fact that he was built like a linebacker, Cam was a nerd. He was far more into his computers and watching bad sci-fi movies than art. And Cam couldn’t care less about society and powerful people. “He’s an artist.

My mother has one of his works. He’s very reclusive. Supposedly he lives in a weird little town in Colorado. And, according to this, Laura is in his wedding party.”

“What the hell is she doing in some backwater small town?” Cam asked. His shoulders had relaxed slightly as he stared at the photo.

“Hiding. From the Marquis de Sade. From the Bureau. From us.” Laura had a lot to run from. “But if he’s back, then he could have seen this, too.”

“Yeah, nice to fill me in on that.” Cam’s eyes had sunken back into his face as though retreating. “I must have missed the message you left. You know how it is when your social life is as active as mine is. Oh, wait. That’s you. So, you too busy kissing the brass’s ass to give an old friend a call?”

Cam was firmly pushing a whole bunch of Rafe’s buttons. “Cam, please hear me out.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you can say that would make me care.”

How did he put this? Rafe had been thinking about this every minute since last Tuesday when he’d gotten word of the new victim.

“I’m going to be flat honest with you. We found the body a couple of days ago. We’ve kept it very quiet. I was worried about you. I remember what happened the last time you were on this case. I remember the drinking and the fights. I remember you nearly died on that damn bike. When we found that girl, do you know what I saw when I looked down at her? I saw you. I saw you falling into bad habits and getting your ass killed.”

“And that would matter to you?”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? The asshole wouldn’t give him an inch. “I give a shit if you die, Cam. You couldn’t handle it the first time. I wasn’t about to send you down that path again.”

“I couldn’t handle it?” The words came out clipped, each bitten off through clenched teeth.

Rafe had tried to give him an easy way out. Cam was too damn stupid to take it. “You know you couldn’t. You punched another special agent in the middle of a briefing. You wrecked your bike twice. You got arrested for public intoxication. I’m not bailing your ass out again.”

“I wasn’t asking you to.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” Rafe gestured around the room that seemed to serve as Cam’s kitchen, office, and bedroom. The whole place was covered in computer equipment. Wires and cords ran along the floor like thick vines. There was no rhyme or reason or organization to the place. Rafe wouldn’t be surprised if Cam just opened a window to pee. “You don’t want to have to ask me for money?”

“No, I don’t. I’m sick of living off you.” Cam’s booted feet widened to a predatory stance.

Rafe was so sick of Cam’s insecurities. He’d put up with them for years. Rafe had never been able to convince Cam that he didn’t give a shit that he’d grown up in a trailer park. It was Cam’s problem. Not Rafe’s. “You weren’t living off me, you stupid, overly proud prick. It wasn’t charity. You were working to find her. We agreed to this deal.”

Cam’s lips curled up in a smirking approximation of a smile.

“Yeah, we agreed that you would share information with me, but you don’t have to uphold your end of the bargain, do you? You don’t have to share with a guy you consider your goddamn employee. That’s why I didn’t want your money. I didn’t want to be your butt monkey anymore. Tell me something, Rafe, you been fucking any admins with Brad there? Brad working out as your wingman? I’ll be sure to tell Laura when I see her that you’re fine, because you finally found a partner you could truly love.”

Without another thought, Rafe pulled back his fist and plowed into Cam with everything he had. Cam’s head snapped back with a crack, but his body stayed in place. Too late, Rafe remembered why Cam had gotten into that fight with another agent.

Cam liked it.

A feral smile crossed Cam’s face just before he reared back and let his fist fly.

A lance of shock speared through Rafe’s gut. His breath shot out of his body, and Rafe staggered back, hitting the wall with a thud.

Cam pressed his advantage. He landed another blow, this one an uppercut to Rafe’s jaw. The pain exploded in Rafe’s skull, and he fought back.

He shoved against Cam’s bulk. Did the country boy expect the city boy to play fair? Rafe was done playing fair. It bought him nothing with Cam. He shoved out with both hands, and Cam fell back, stumbling over his sadly worn duffel bag.

“What were thinking, Cam? Did you already have your bags packed when you came to see me? Do you honestly believe you can waltz back into her life? What do you have to offer her? You going to bring her back here?”

Cam’s leg came out, sweeping across Rafe’s ankles and knocking him down. Cam kicked himself up, years and years of martial arts practice turning the move into a graceful dance. Cam moved well for a man of any size, much less for a man who weighed in at two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle.

“And what are you going to give her? Are you going to bring her back to your condo and turn her into some trophy for your goddamn wall? She never meant anything to you. She was just a prize. You only wanted her to fuck with me.” Cam stopped, his face going dumb for a minute. “Damn it, Rafe. What the fuck are we doing? I’m…” Whatever Cam was going to say was utterly lost on Rafe. All he knew was they had had this fight before. He was so fucking sick of having his money shoved back at him like it was something to be ashamed of. Cam wielded his impoverished childhood like a sword, and Rafe was so done with it. City boy was done taking country boy’s shit. With ruthless precision, he brought his foot up and kicked out.

His heel met with Cam’s cock, and Cam went down with a long, animal-like moan of pure agony.

Rafe rolled over and shoved himself to a standing position. He wiped the blood off his face. It was time to have a long talk with his ex-partner. They used to be best friends, and damn, but Rafe missed the dumbass country boy.

“You got any beer in this hellhole?”

Cam’s face was mottled up in a mask of pain. He cupped his crotch, but he nodded toward the fridge. “It tastes like piss, but it’s cold.”

Rafe grabbed two beers and helped Cam to the couch.

“You’re a fucking bastard.” Cam groaned as he gingerly lowered himself to the cushions.

“Yeah, because you’re so damn upstanding.” Rafe’s jaw was still throbbing as he propped his feet on Cam’s wobbly coffee table. He took a long drink of the beer. Cam was right. It tasted like piss.

“I don’t try to come off as Captain America.” Rafe rolled his eyes. “Well, at least I don’t try to be the tough guy every minute of the day. Look, I really was concerned about you. I don’t want you going off the deep end again.” Cam was too obsessive. Now that Rafe was looking around the tiny apartment, he was even more concerned. There were printouts stacked to precarious heights. The only books in the place seemed to be about coding, and all over were handwritten lines of code. They seemed to be written in a weird foreign language. Cam had always been the guy who sank into a case. He needed someone to pull him out, and Rafe hadn’t been there.

“That was the best year of my life,” Cam said quietly.

Rafe knew exactly what he meant. That year before Laura had left had meant the world to him, too. It had started as a joke. They had dared the gorgeous blonde profiler to date both of them. She had told them she didn’t have the time. They would have to date her together.

They had gone to a movie and then a bar. The three of them had sat and talked until they were kicked out. It had only gotten awkward when they dropped her off. No one had gotten a kiss that night. And then they had settled into a friendship.

Months had passed, and she had somehow become the center of their worlds. Rafe had been unwilling to push her to choose because she seemed to care about Cam so much. Cam had come alive. His thick, protective shell had cracked. Rafe had felt like a better person for knowing her.

And they had fucked up everything in a twenty-four-hour period.

“I have to see her again.” Rafe had to stand in front of her, if only to beg her forgiveness.

“Do you still want her?”

“More than I want my next breath.”

A long sigh came from Cam. “I want her, too. I’ve tried dating.