“Let me guess, Roaring Twenties night?” Jack interrupted Camila, on his feet next to Griffin.
Griffin remained quiet as usual. Preferring hands-on field work, he let the rest of the team figure out the details leading up to a mission.
“No dress code from what I read, but yes, the music is from the nineteen-twenties,” Camila answered Jack.
“The cartel will want proof the drug works before they make a deal.” Carter added more scotch to his glass. “Maybe he’ll use it on his own guests at his party Friday night.”
“And what exactly can this drug do, especially if your guy may have modified it in a lab with Jorge’s money?” Sydney asked.
“I don’t know what it can do now,” Camila began, “but the scientist’s wife shared with me that before her husband was killed in a supposed random shooting, he was working on a pill that would alleviate social anxiety.”
“Anxiety,” Sydney said under her breath, not quite understanding why the cartel would want such a drug.
“Not the typical kind of prescription drug. Sort of like MDMA, or I believe it’s commonly known as Ecstasy . . . but imagine that drug times five.” Not the best picture to paint, but now Sydney understood the appeal. “His wife told me the pill was meant to help people lose their inhibitions. To stop people’s fears from holding them back from getting what they truly desire in life. Make them more comfortable in social situations. Less anxious.”
“But?” Mya broke her silence.
“His wife said there were problems with the drug initially. It made people a bit too lax. Too free. She said her husband had recently tweaked it to make it safe.” Camila’s long, dark lashes fluttered a few times. “If the murderer had the funding, he could reverse engineer the formula to its original design.”
“MDMA on steroids,” Jack hissed.
“I can’t imagine the cartel having access to a drug like that. Men who’ve been trafficking women for . . .” Mya’s voice trailed off, and Sydney had the same horrified stomach-turning reaction as her friend at the idea of what the cartel planned to do.
“We can’t let this formula fall into the Sinaloas’ hands,” Beckett hissed, probably speaking as both a sheriff and a terrified father.
Camila opened her palms. “I guess it’s lucky we’re all here, then.”
“Not lucky.” Beckett stepped forward. “I’m certain this is why we’re here. Not because of my . . .”
“We’ll still help Cora,” Carter interjected. “If we can.”
Which Sydney knew meant, If she’s alive.
“Emily and Elaina’s flight will be landing soon,” Beckett said in a somber tone. “I should head to the airport.”
“I’ll pick them up.” Gray snatched a set of keys from the table. “They’re like family to me.”
Beckett pivoted to face him, a hand in the air. “What do you think they are to me?”
“They’re here because of you,” Gray snapped. What happened to the man who’d said he wouldn’t break down a door for Sydney? Why was he trying to face off with Beckett now?
“Yeah, I’m well aware of that fact.” Beckett didn’t back down from what felt like an inevitable fight, one she highly doubted was really about who’d be escorting Emily and Elaina from the airport. “I’m going.”
“You riding with me, then?” Gray swallowed the space between himself and Beckett, the keys dangling from his hand.
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Sydney intervened.
“Am I missing something?” Carter came between them with outstretched arms as if to stop them from throwing fists, and Griffin quietly joined him. “What’s with you two? You’ve barely looked at each other since Mexico.”
“Nothing,” both Gray and Beckett said at the same time, maintaining eye contact with one another.
Well, this is just great. “How about Griffin and I go instead?” Sydney did her best to keep her tone level, to not yell at them like they were her son.
“No,” Gray and Beckett said at the same time.
“Gray,” was all she managed, hoping to remind him of their conversation outside.
“Gray. Griffin. You two are going.” Carter’s deep voice was borderline authoritative, command or not. “Beckett, you hang back so we can talk about Cora and Ivy. I need more information.”
That wasn’t true, and Sydney knew it. But Carter was trying to defuse the tension the only way he knew how. Barking out orders.
“Fine. But if anything happens to them . . .” Beckett’s warning trailed off as he took two steps back.
“Save the warning for yourself,” Gray countered, motioning for Griffin to head out.
Beckett shook his head and took off for the back hallway leading to the stairs, but Sydney didn’t follow, opting to give him some space to cool off.
“You seem to be at the center of whatever the hell just happened,” Carter cut straight to the point. “Is this thing with them going to be a problem?”
Sydney let go of a heavy breath and shook her head. Camila provided a short reprieve by pulling Carter to the side of the room to talk in private, saving her from an undoubted ass-chewing.
“A word,” Jack requested, tipping his head toward the foyer.
“What’s up?” she asked once they were alone by the front door, the engine noise from the SUV already retreating.
Jack set a palm to the door and studied her. “I’ve known Gray nearly my whole life, and I was by his side when he was at his worst.” He set his free hand to his chest, his tone more serious than she was used to hearing from him. “He’s been through too much. You need to be careful.”
“The last thing I want to do is hurt him. I promise.” And that was the truth. “But he told me outside before Camila showed up that—”
“I don’t care if he told you he still believes in the Easter Bunny.” Jack pushed away from the door. “Gray knows how to trick people into believing he’s okay. He’s a fucking expert at it.” He pounded once on his chest. “He let everyone believe he was okay after the accident. Told people what they wanted to hear. But on the inside, he was dying. Actually wished he was dead, Sydney. Thought he could never operate again, so in his mind, what was the point of going on.”
“I . . .” She set a hand over her heart, wishing so much that she’d had the nerve all those years ago to walk into Gray’s hospital room when he’d been awake instead of only checking on him when unconscious.
“Considering you were wearing a man’s shirt when I saw you at the bungalow this morning, I think it’s safe to say you slept with Beckett, and Gray’s messed up about it.” He added in a softer tone, “We all thought you and Gray would end up together. That it was just a matter of time. That fate brought you two back together last October. Brought you to the team.”
Fate. That word . . .
“I was the one there for Gray, helping pull him free from the hell he’d created for himself after that accident. But I can’t have my best friend getting killed on an op because his head is elsewhere. I can’t bring back the dead.” His gaze fell to the scuffed hardwoods, the only indication someone had once lived there.