by W. J. May
Simon’s chest tightened, but he forced his face clear.
“Come on,” he lifted Tristan gently to his feet. “Let’s just get back to England. Nothing left we can do here.”
THE TWO OF THEM DIDN’T talk much on the flight over. Simon knew better than to press for more information, and Tristan looked like he was about to pass out from the stress of it all. It wasn’t until they saw the familiar London skyline through the break in the clouds that Simon decided to try to break the ice once more.
“So...what’s it like being a dad?”
Tristan looked over in surprise, smiling humorlessly and shaking his head.
“I’m terrible at it. Mary’s somehow impossibly good, but I’m just rubbish.” He stared out the window, gazing unblinkingly at the tops of the buildings. “I never know what to do, or what to say. Half the time I think the kid hates me already.”
Simon couldn’t help but laugh. Despite his overly-vivid imagination, he couldn’t picture it. “I’m sure it’s not that bad...”
There was a pause.
“Last week, I was so tired that I put my keys in the microwave and carried a bottle out to the car. What’s worse is I didn’t even realize it right away, I just kept trying to jam the freaking thing into the ignition.”
Simon bit his lip and made a valiant effort not to laugh as the plane began to descend through the clouds. “I’m sure it’s a common mistake.”
But the walls had come down and Tristan was just getting started. As the stories began to flow and his body began to relax for the first time in months, it was suddenly very easy to see how much the guy had needed a friend.
“Remember how I made the case report after the Sumner investigation? I grabbed our pediatrician’s two-month check-up instead, and turned it into Masters. Had to break back into his office in the middle of the night just to swap in the real thing. Thank bloody goodness he didn’t read it right there on the spot.”
Simon couldn’t help but laugh. It happened before he could stop himself. His eyes shot apologetically to Tristan right after, but Tristan just shook his head with a defeated smile.
“Mary went on a rampage, throwing away everything she decided wasn’t baby-proof enough for the baby. Got rid of the toaster, the coffee-maker, all our utensils...”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Sharpened pencils and the pens...”
This time both men started laughing. Once they started they found they were unable to stop. As the plane dropped down through the overcast sky and skidded across the runway, they found themselves having an open conversation for the first time in months. Relaxed, unguarded.
The way it was supposed to be.
On the way back out through the terminal, Simon stopped suddenly in front of a souvenir shop—pulling Tristan along with him. “Hang on a sec, I want to see if they have something.”
Tristan idled casually by the cash register as Simon rooted around on the shelves, focused on his search. A moment later, he strode triumphantly back to the front.
Holding a baby’s onesie.
Tristan’s eyes widened slightly as they locked onto the bright blue fabric. “What the hell is that?”
“It says ‘Heathrow International’ on the back.” He swung it around. “And ‘World’s Best Uncle’ on the front.”
“Seriously?” Tristan’s eyebrows crushed together.
“What?” Simon smirked, rather proud of his purchase. “You don’t have any brothers. I’m clearly going to have to step up to be a positive force in the little guy’s life.” His attention drifted off as he considered the possibilities. “Maybe I’ll name myself godfather...”
The faintest shadow flickered across Tristan’s face—so fast Simon thought he must had imagined it. A second later he forced a hasty smile. Then Simon started dancing the onesie across the counter, and he chuckled in spite of himself.
“Don’t you dare buy that,” Tristan warned.
“Too late,” Simon placed a bill on the counter and tucked it into the front of his bag. “It’s already done. Can’t wait to meet the little blessing.”
Tristan shook his head in exasperation, and the two of them headed out onto the wet sidewalks of London.
There were people waiting. It was time to go home.
Chapter 9
JASON STOOD WAITING for them in the driveway of their house.
The cab driver slowed to a cautious stop, and both boys hopped out and retrieved their bags from the trunk as Jason paced anxiously back and forth, tapping his fingers impatiently on his arms.
When he’d apparently decided they were taking too long he handed a bill to the cabbie himself and hit the back of the car, sending it on its way. “What happened?” he demanded.
There was no preamble. No ‘how was your flight.’ Just a hard-hitting question, fired out at lightning speed. One that was surely going to be followed by a dozen more.
Tristan merely shook his head, while Simon set down his bags with a sigh. He was tired, so was Tristan, and both of them were suddenly tense. They’d decided on the flight over not to tell anyone the things they’d discovered about Jacob’s personal life in Budapest. If Jake had wanted to keep Lili and baby Julian hidden safely away from the eyes of the tatù world, then that was his call to make. They weren’t about to interfere. Especially as Tristan was essentially doing the same thing himself.
The problem was, that meant they’d have to keep it a secret from Jason as well.
Over the years their mentor had stretched the rules for them more times that they could count, but Simon remembered the night they’d brought Beth to him for the first time. His decision had been simple. “There are things we don’t hide,” he’d told Simon. A rather puzzling choice of words, one that had come back to perplex Simon on more than one occasion, but his decision held.
He would be duty-bound to report any such finding. Even if he didn’t want to. Even if he also felt like it wasn’t really his call. That meant that Tristan and Simon would have to get a little creative in their impromptu debriefing.
“We couldn’t find him,” Simon answered evasively. “Couldn’t find anyone who knew where he was, either. We waited at the apartment and trolled the streets for a while, but...nothing.”
Jason’s face gave nothing away. His posture was still rigid and tense as his eyes flashed between them, but he said not a word.
To be honest, Simon was slightly confused. He’d expected Jason to curse and rant. For him to chastise them for not looking harder. For not pulling some kind of miracle out of a hat.
But Jason did none of those things. He merely asked again, quieter but pressing, “You found nothing? There was nothing left behind?”
Simon would have liked to have left it there. Nope—we didn’t find a thing. Put the Privy Council side of the investigation to rest as he worked out a plan to secretly recover Jacob himself. If he was lucky, he could even give him a dose of that memory solution first so that Simon’s involvement with Cromfield would never be revealed.
But this time it was Tristan who inadvertently stood in his way.
There was no reason in the world that Tristan wouldn’t share with Jason the letter they’d found left behind. The one with the big glaring ‘C’ emblazed across the top. He had no idea the significance of such a note, and he wanted to find Jacob more than anything.
Sure enough, he pulled it from his bag and handed it to Jason with a second’s thought.
“There was just this. We found it in his apartment,” he lied easily. “Wedged behind the headboard. It looked like he wrote it in a bit of a hurry.”
There was a flutter of paper as the letter was quickly opened and read.
Simon shifted uneasily as his mentor went through it four or five times. The ‘C’ seemed to burn through the paper near his fingers. A giant arrow pointing directly to the traitor in their midst.
Please, just put it down, he silently prayed. Please, just let it go.
It was as if he had spoken out
loud. A muscle flexed in the back of Jason’s jaw, and his eyes flickered up for the briefest moment to Simon.
Simon froze as they held him there, not sure what they were looking for. Not sure if they’d found it.
The next moment, he slipped the letter into his jacket. “You did the best you could,” he said quietly. “I’ll take it from here.”
Simon stayed rooted to the spot, but Tristan dropped his bags in protest. “What?! No! We didn’t find anything, Jason! Jake’s still out there, and we have no idea what that letter means! You need to give us more time to—”
“There is no more time,” Jason interrupted smoothly. “At least not for the two of you. You have a new mission now, just came down from Masters himself. I’ll be taking over Jake’s investigation myself.”
Simon nodded submissively, silently panicking as to what Jason might find, but Tristan was in a full-fledged tantrum, his chronic lack of sleep breaking through the normal inhibitions that would have kept him quiet.
“This is bullshit!” he exclaimed. “We accomplished nothing, he’s still out there! Why the hell would the Privy Council take us off the—”
“I’m taking you off the case!”
Even Tristan had to take a step back, silenced by the anger radiating from Jason’s voice. It wasn’t often that he lost his temper with them. Not unless there was a very good reason for it. Even now, he was only keeping himself together under a very thin layer of control.
“Tris, you and Simon are good. No one’s denying that.” He spoke in a fast monotone, calm and deadly. “But I’m better. This is Jacob. I’ll handle it.”
It was true. Looking at Jason now, it was impossible to doubt him. Tense and tall. Bright eyes at the ready. Braced against the wind in his signature leather jacket. He would find Jacob, alright. He would do whatever the hell he set his mind to. There was no one in the world Simon would trust to do it more.
Unfortunately, he alone knew what Jason was going to find.
“Let us at least help you,” he said quietly.
Tristan looked over in surprise; he’d obviously considered the conversation closed. And Jason was staring at Simon with a rather peculiar expression on his face. If Simon didn’t know better, he would have sworn he looked...touched.
Jason stared appraisingly for another moment before briskly moving on. “You have another assignment. Keene is coming to debrief you in the morning.”
“We pass,” he blurted. Simon didn’t know what exactly made him do it. He certainly didn’t plan the words before they came tumbling out of his mouth. He simply knew that he needed to stay in London. Needed to get to Jacob before Cromfield could hurt him some more. Needed to get to him before Jason got to him first.
If Tristan had looked surprised before, he was flat-out bowled over now. Simon lived for these missions. Up until recently, they both did. They had never passed on one before. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if they could pass.
But Simon suddenly had a built-in excuse. He glanced at his friend significantly before turning back to Jason. “We haven’t spent more than a few days in London at a time for the last five months. We need a break. Need to spend some time at home.”
The meaning suddenly clicked, and Tristan shot him a look of gratitude. Mixed with a great deal of surprise. Jason, on the other hand, was nonplussed.
“You signed a contract to work for the Privy Council, Simon. Do you not understand what that means?” Before Simon could answer, he spoke again. “This isn’t your ninth grade history class; you can’t just pass the buck along when it suits you. You’ll have tonight in the city, but Keene will be here tomorrow at seven a.m. I expect you both to be ready for him.”
Tristan bowed his head with a submissive, “Yes, sir.”
Simon was frustrated, but eventually had to comply. He was the low man on the totem pole here. A cog in the machine. When the machine told you to get working, you didn’t have a choice. “Yes, sir.”
Jason measured his response for another moment, nodding abruptly and turning on his heel to go. A second later his car was flying down the darkened street, sending up a mist of water behind it.
Tristan stared after him for a second before picking up his bags to head inside. On the way, he shot Simon a little smile. “Thanks for trying.”
“Sorry it didn’t work.” Simon tossed him the onesie.
Tristan caught it and stuffed it quickly into his bag, glancing around as if the PC police might come darting forth at any moment. When he realized Simon was just messing with him, he flipped him off with a grin and headed inside.
Simon was quick to follow. He may only have one night in London, but at least it was a night. And he knew exactly how he was going to spend it...
AN HOUR LATER, SIMON was wandering briskly through the park, the collar of his coat turned up against the rain. He’d had to wait until Tristan went to sleep, but the second the guy was snoring Simon darted up to the attic and lit a small candle in the window.
It was a dance that he and Cromfield had been doing for months. Their signal to meet.
The second it was lit, he headed outside to the park. He didn’t know how Cromfield always had eyes on him, but somehow he did. If the man was anywhere in London, he would meet him.
Simon walked slow, eyes scanning the darkness. Half-formed thoughts raced clumsily through his head. Half-prepared lectures and rants. He tried to come up with something rational to steady himself. Some legitimate argument to use. But when all was said and done, he had no idea what he was going to say to the man.
Give me my friend back.
Brainwash him first.
Hands off my people.
Each one sounded more ridiculous than the next. How could Simon be working tirelessly to promote a new world order, but demand to withhold certain key people? How could he champion the cause without making certain sacrifices? On that note...what sacrifice was too great? Where would he draw the line? If forced to choose between the thing he believed in and the people he loved—what would he decide?
He was still mulling it over, when there was a sudden rustling in the trees. He spun around, ready with a wave of vitriol, but stopped immediately when he saw who it was.
“Beth?”
She looked up, caught by surprise, and peered through the trees.
“Simon?”
After living with Tristan’s tatù for so long, Simon sometimes forgot how the rest of the world got by. She hadn’t seen him yet, and clearly hadn’t been heading out there deliberately to find him. Meaning that if he’d just kept his mouth shut, she would have walked right on by.
Great job, idiot! Why don’t you just call Jason and Tristan, too? Then they can all meet Cromfield and it will be one big party!
His heart simultaneously leapt in his chest, and sank down to his stomach as he crossed the icy ground to meet her. Everything depended on him meeting with Cromfield tonight. Everything depended on him getting Jacob released before Jason came looking.
A task that had just gotten infinitely more difficult.
“Hey! What are you doing out here? I didn’t know you were planning on...” He trailed off suddenly as he realized she’d been crying. Her eyes were pink and puffy, and her normally alabaster skin was flushed with random stains of color. It was a devastating enough sight to make him momentarily forget his own plight and focus on her own.
“Honey,” he opened up his arms, “what’s the matter?”
She stepped immediately inside, but couldn’t gather enough breath to say anything. Instead she simply buried her face in his chest, sobbing silently as she trembled in his arms.
A wave of instant emotion crashed over him, intensifying as he lowered his head slightly and sniffed at her fragrant locks of hair. His hands tightened around her back, and he found himself soothing without even thinking about it. Murmuring mindless words of comfort as he rocked her gently back and forth.
This continued on for several minutes, both of them oblivious to the late hour, both of them ob
livious to the cold. Then Simon’s eyes spotted another shadow moving towards them in the dark. A figure he would recognize anywhere.
A silhouette that haunted his dreams.
His entire body stiffened as Cromfield stepped out from around a curve in the path. It was like Simon’s very blood had frozen, rooting him to the spot like a terrified statue. For one of the first times in his life, he truly had no idea what to do. No emergency escape plan to get him out of this.
Cromfield stopped short when he saw the two of them holding each other, freezing mid-step as Simon had done. A bit of a smile curled up his lips, and his eyes twinkled at Simon’s manic expression. The smile only widened when Simon started frantically waving him off.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, full of a thousand silent secrets though neither one of them said a word. Then, with an ironic tip of his hat, Cromfield backed away into the trees.
A second later, he was gone.
Simon pulled in a quiet sigh of relief as Beth finally leaned back to look at him.
“I—I’m sorry,” she sniffed, still trying to catch her breath. “I’m not trying to be all dramatic and everything. I came over tonight to see you, but...I didn’t know you’d be out here.”
Simon gazed down at her with a slight frown. She’d come to the house to see him, but had chickened out halfway and gone to the park instead? To cry by herself? What the hell was going on?
“Sweetie...what’s the matter?”
She tried to look away, but he caught her gently by the chin and tilted her face up to his. The sight of it was enough to take his breath away. Even streaming with silent tears, Beth was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. The kind of girl who seemed to almost glow in the world around her, whether or not she was using her fantastical flames.
“You can tell me,” he pressed softly, finding himself using the same words he’d said to Tristan just a day before. “Whatever it is—”
Her eyes widened as they focused onto his, sparkling almost silver under the light of the moon. Her lips parted slowly, trembling with each breath. But the next second she shook her head. “It’s Jacob.”