by Josh Lanyon
Will snorted. He reached over and turned off the lamp.
The darkness was instant and all encompassing. For a few moments they lay quietly, simply absorbing the depth and silence of night in the forest.
“That is one beautiful moon,” Taylor remarked as the window slowly filled with bright silver light.
“Yeah. Nice.” Will turned his head on the pillow, trying to make out Taylor’s features in the uncertain light. “So what do you mean you’re not going fishing tomorrow? I thought that was the plan. You love fishing.”
“I do, yeah. But I don’t want to break Grant’s heart.”
Will said tersely, “Grant is going to have to adjust.”
“Sure. And tomorrow you can break that news to him.” Taylor yawned, wiggled his jaw. “Anyway, there’s plenty of time for you and me to go fishing, right?”
“Yep. What are you going to do then?”
“I’ll find something to keep me busy.”
“Don’t wander off into the woods.”
Taylor spluttered. “Right, because going for a long hike by myself in the woods is the first thing I’d think of to amuse myself.”
“I know, but you can’t do the other thing all day. You’ll go blind.”
Taylor started to laugh.
Will’s feet brushed Taylor’s and he jumped. “Christ, MacAllister. Your feet are like popsicles!”
“You’ll take care of that.”
Will did his best, folding Taylor’s feet between his own and rubbing them.
Taylor, who was extremely ticklish, gave a little gasp. Actually, it was kind of a squeak. Almost a squeal.
“That was manly,” Will muttered, trying not to laugh.
Taylor started to respond, but there was a heavy thump against the wall, as though someone had kicked it or thrown a boot at it.
“Are you kidding me?” Taylor lunged up and whumped the wall back, hard. Will winced, but Taylor was in the right. Grant was pushing his luck.
Taylor flopped back and gave that little irritated huff he made when he was nervous or worried.
“Hey.” Will wrapped his arm around Taylor’s bony shoulders and tugged him still closer. “I’m going to have another talk with him, don’t worry.”
“I know.”
“He’s my only brother. Please don’t kill him.”
“I won’t touch him. I won’t touch a hair of his backwoods head.”
Will grinned fiercely into the darkness and pressed a kiss on top of Taylor’s city boy head.
They lay in companionable, warm silence.
“What’s funny?” Taylor mumbled.
“Hm?”
“I can feel you smiling.”
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“You.”
“What about me?”
“I don’t know. Something about you being here now. All those years I used to lie here and think about…I don’t know.”
Taylor tilted his face up, as though listening for what Will wasn’t putting into words. “What?”
“The usual stuff, I guess.”
“Homework? Football? Girls?”
“Yeah.” Will added softly, “And boys.”
Taylor gave a little shiver, and Will squeezed him tighter. “See. I knew you’d be cold.”
“Cold? The opposite. Do you think —?” He rocked his hips insinuatingly against Will’s.
“No! I sure as hell don’t. With Grant’s ear pressed to the wall?”
After a pause, Taylor said, “I hope you’re kidding.”
“I’m kidding. But we can’t. You know that. We’ve got to —”
He floundered, and it was Taylor who drawled, “Slow their ascent so they don’t get the bends?”
Will laughed, but he couldn’t deny — and probably hadn’t been able to hide — that instinctive surge of panic. Panic at the very idea. He was ashamed of it, but there was no denying the idea of having sex within earshot of any member of his family was more alarming than exciting.
Taylor snorted. “Relax. Your virtue is safe with me.”
Will groaned softly. “It’s only a couple of days. If it helps, I’d feel the same if you were a woman.”
“Uh, no, Brandt. Actually, that doesn’t help. At all.” But Taylor was laughing, and Will began to laugh too.
After a bit Taylor said, “It wasn’t easy for you, was it? Growing up here. Small towns, small minds. You had it tougher than I did.”
“It was okay,” Will said, uncomfortable with Taylor’s sudden sympathy. “It was tougher being the son of the local sheriff.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Every so often some asshole, usually one of the Dooleys, would accuse me of being a narc. You know how kids are.”
“A narc,” Taylor’s tone was derisive. “I bet. But you were the big varsity guy, right? Quarterback of your high school football team, then the big college star, then the marines.”
“I did okay,” Will admitted. “It was probably tougher for Grant.”
Taylor said unexpectedly, “Probably, yeah.”
Will thought that over, frowning into the darkness. After a time Taylor turned his face into Will’s shoulder and began to snore softly.
Chapter Four
“You sure you don’t want to come?” Will’s voice murmured warmly against his ear.
Taylor’s eyes popped open.
Will corrected hastily, huskily, “Fishing, I mean.”
Taylor expelled a heavy sigh. He shook his head, burying his face in his pillow once more. It was still dark. The flannel sheets were soft and warm and smelled pleasantly of soap and Will. It felt good, very good, to stretch out after a night of sharing a too small bed.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled.
“I’ll leave you the keys to my Land Cruiser in case you want to drive into town.”
“’Kay.”
“We should be back by lunch.”
Taylor nodded, smothered a yawn in the pillow, and promptly fell back asleep.
The next time he woke, really woke, the sun was shining brightly and his cell phone, when he focused blearily on its screen, informed him it was nine thirty. That was sleeping in very late for him. He must have needed the rest. He smothered another huge yawn and spent a few moments listening to the birds outside and Riley barking somewhere in the distance.
Someone had made coffee. He could smell the encouraging aroma drifting from down the hall, and the thought of a hot cup and something to eat that wouldn’t give him heartburn got him out of bed. He paused by Will’s desk to check out Will’s high school yearbooks, smiling faintly at photos of Will with uncharacteristically long hair and a very square jaw the rest of his face hadn’t quite grown into. The same old grin though.
Yeah, Will would have been quite a heartbreaker in high school.
Taylor hoped this fishing trip was mending some of the frayed feelings between Will and the kid. That had gone about as well as Taylor had expected. But he felt a little sorry for Grant. Finding out his idolized big brother was a faggot had clearly rocked his world on its axis.
Taylor sighed, closed the yearbook, and headed for the bathroom.
A shower and a shave later, he wandered into the kitchen to find Cousin Dennis eating eggs and bacon.
“There’s plenty of food in the fridge,” Cousin Dennis told him.
Taylor nodded, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Bahrain was eleven hours ahead, which meant it was after eight at night there. He needed to call Richard before it got any later. He took his coffee and his phone out onto the long log deck behind the house.
The air was cool and smelled damp and pine-scented, with just a hint of the ocean on the breeze. Several yards from the house, he spotted a doe grazing in the meadow. That peaceful scene wouldn’t last long once the dogs spotted her.
He dialed 973 for Bahrain and negotiated his way through the usual obstacle course of telecommunications, then household and support staff, until he reached his mother — the very per
son he did not want to speak to right then.
“Taylor, sweetie. Is that you?” He could hear the instant alarm, the fear that he was the subject of the call and not the one making it. He mentally resolved to be better about phoning.
“Yep, it’s me. Hi, Mom.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom. I just needed to speak to Richard.”
“Has something happened? You’re not injured again?”
“No. I’m fine. I’m great. Really.”
“I was afraid it was Will again.” Will being the usual bearer of bad news.
“Nope, it’s me. I was just hoping to talk to Richard, if he’s home this evening.”
“He’s at his club, sweetie. Is it something I can help you with?”
“Not really. What time does he usually get back? Do you think he could give me a call?”
“Of course, sweetie. He’d be happy to.”
He gave her the number and, like a fool, mentioned they were staying with Will’s dad.
“Then it’s official?” Her voice shot up with excitement. “You boys have set a date?” She hadn’t always been this thrilled with his sexuality. In fact, she had been very uncomfortable and unhappy when he’d tried to come out in college. But as society and her social circle had adjusted their attitudes, her feelings had changed. Now she seemed to believe having a gay son was a kind of cultural coup.
“Uh…not exactly. I mean, it’s official, yes. But we’re not…we haven’t really made any plans.”
She launched into a spate of unneeded advice and unwanted opinions, and he remembered why he didn’t call very often.
He finally managed to disconnect, her admonishing to please not get shot again ringing in his ears.
Damn. So nothing was solved and he’d have to wait for Richard’s call, assuming Richard didn’t arrive home too drunk and tired to phone.
He drank his coffee and ruminated. So okay. Next on the agenda, he wanted information on Mr. Black, the driver of the Porsche they had spotted in Stockton.
In the DSS this kind of information had been right at his fingertips, but now days…not so easy. California had strict laws about allowing civilians access to DMV records. Once upon a time anyone could run a license plate, but now release of personal information was restricted by the Information Practices Act of 1977 and the federal Driver’s Privacy Protection Act of 1994. Any request for information meant the subject was notified of the request. These laws provided excellent protection for citizens but they were a PIA if you were a global security consultant who needed info fast and didn’t want to spook his subject.
Granted, there were private firms who could provide that info given time and money, but if someone was gunning for them, Taylor didn’t want to waste time on figuring that out. They still had contacts at the California DMV. He and Will tried not to tap their old associates because — unlike on TV — getting someone to circumvent the system too many times resulted in reprimands and loss of employment. Not the way to treat a friend.
He was probably paranoid, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that running into Mr. Black hadn’t been coincidence. Mr. Black hadn’t been surprised to run into him, no, he’d been uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because he hadn’t wanted to be spotted by Taylor. Because he was following them? That’s how it looked from Taylor’s perspective.
He dialed the California Department of Motor Vehicles in Ventura and asked for Ms. Euphonia Jones. He was still on hold when Cousin Dennis ran out onto the deck.
“Someone’s coming!” Cousin Dennis looked pale and wild-eyed.
Taylor disconnected. “Okay. Well —”
“A white pickup is coming down the road!”
The dogs barking from the front of the house seemed to confirm this intelligence.
Taylor swore inwardly, and led the way back inside. How the hell was Cousin Dennis suddenly his problem? “Is this the first vehicle that’s shown up since you arrived?”
“No. You showed up.”
Taylor drew a long breath and mentally counted to…three. “Who is it you think is coming after you?”
Cousin Dennis stared at him, silent and stricken.
“Hell.” Taylor went to the window and gazed out. A white pickup was indeed traveling at a fair clip down the dirt road, bouncing over potholes and rivulets.
No way would Bill Brandt have left Cousin Dennis here on his own if he’d thought there was a chance in hell of anyone coming after him.
On the other hand, Cousin Dennis was in WITSEC for a reason.
“Is there a cellar or a basement in this house?”
“A cellar. Yeah. They use it as a safe room.”
“Get down there and lock yourself in.” Taylor brushed past Cousin Dennis on his way to Will’s bedroom. He dug his SIG Sauer out of his bag and returned to the front room where Cousin Dennis was still standing paralyzed.
Taylor jostled his arm. “Hey. Snap out of it.”
Cousin Dennis blinked at him.
“I don’t know what your story is, but I can tell you that nobody is sending a hit squad after you in the form of a couple of yahoos in a beat-up pickup truck. All the same, get your ass in that cellar and don’t come out until I give you the all clear.”
Cousin Dennis seemed to have to work to unstick first one foot then the other, but at last he pulled free of his inertia and disappeared down the hall. Taylor jammed his pistol in the back band of his jeans and strolled out onto the front deck watching as the white pickup jounced to a stop on the hillside below. Riley and Roxie trotted up the steps to stand beside him. They had stopped barking and were watching the pickup truck with evident anticipation.
Three guys, who looked like extras from Duck Dynasty, were crammed in the cab of the rumbling truck, apparently getting the lay of the land. Blake Shelton’s “Mine Would Be You” blasted off the surrounding mountains, and several empty beer bottles, rolling around in the bed of the truck, clinked cheerfully.
“Wow,” muttered Taylor, and Riley wagged his tail as though in agreement.
Taylor lifted a hand in greeting.
One of the yahoos, dressed in woodland camo — complete with matching bandana — crawled out of the truck window and jumped to the ground.
“Is Brandt here?” he yelled. He was a big man. Some of it was muscle, some of it was flab, a lot of it was hair. Long black hair and long black beard. Altogether, it amounted to a sizeable and sturdy form.
Taylor relaxed. Not that he had really thought this was some country cousin branch of the mob come hunting Cousin Dennis, but life could be weird.
He called back, “Nope. Anything I can do for you?”
“Who are you?”
“Who wants to know?”
The guy said impatiently, “I want to know.”
I’m Larry; this is my brother Darryl, and this is my other brother Darryl. Taylor bit back an inappropriate smile. First rule of visiting the in-laws: No laughing at the local wild life.
“And you are —?”
“Going to kick your ass if you don’t tell me what I want to know!” The big man drew himself up as though readying for battle.
Really? Taylor sighed. The weary sound carried in the sharp, crystalline air and Larry looked a little discomfited.
He recovered though, cheered on by the other two in the cab who were calling instructions to him, though unintelligible over the music and the truck engine. He bristled. “You a cop?”
“Something like that.” Actually, that was no longer true, and Taylor was startled to realize it.
But it was certainly true in spirit, and Larry bought it. He deflated a little, glancing back at the truck and his snarling kinfolk. Whatever messages of hope and comfort they were delivering seemed to inspire him. He yelled, “You tell Brandt that the Dooleys are looking for him.”
Taylor put a hand to his ear. “Sorry. I missed that. Who?”
“The Dooleys.”
“The…?”
“DOOLEYS,” roared
Larry.
“Right. Got it.” Taylor leaned comfortably on the railing, smiling down at Larry who looked more and more baffled. “I’ll let ‘em know.”
Larry stared at him a moment longer and then climbed awkwardly, heavily back through the truck window. He was not built for climbing in and out of truck windows, and the endeavor revealed more glimpses of fish-white anatomy than Taylor wanted to see before breakfast.
When Larry was once more packed inside the sardine can, the truck pulled away in a wide arc, sending stones and beer bottles flying.
Blake Shelton’s voice faded mournfully into the distance.
“I need a lot more coffee if this is the way the day is going,” Taylor told the dogs. He went back into the house.
It took him about half a minute to find the cellar and less than a second to ascertain that Cousin Dennis was not in it.
“Dennis?” Taylor called.
No reply.
“Yo, Dennis. The coast is clear.”
Nothing. The dogs looked at him with interest. Riley cocking his head, Roxie flicking her ears and looking around helpfully.
“What the hell?” His voice sounded loud in the silence.
Dogs on his heels, Taylor conducted a swift but thorough search, striding from room to room, checking showers, bathtubs, closets, looking under beds. Cousin Dennis was nowhere in the house.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
But yes. Way. Cousin Dennis was gone.
Movement outside the small square window to his left had Taylor crossing the loft and staring out at the green meadow and a tiny figure in jeans and a plaid shirt making for the treeline of the forest of pines carpeting the mountains.
“Why? Why would you do that, you dumbass?”
It was a rhetorical question seeing that Cousin Dennis was too far away to hear — and getting farther by the minute.
Taylor pushed away from the window and tore downstairs, managing to avoid falling over the dogs who thought this was the start of a terrific new game.
Near the bottom of the stairs, he grabbed the railing and vaulted, landing lightly and running for the back of the house. He banged out through the door and jumped down from the deck to the soft, damp earth below.