Survivor Trilogy Box Set

by T. M. Smith

“Well, the new bed, for instance. When I found out that the Fed was Frank’s part-time boy toy, that they’d been together at the apartment, the fucking bed had to go.” Taylor sighed, still unwavering in his decision to get a new bed.

  Val laughed softly. “Well, I don’t see how that is crazy at all. I completely understand the need to remove anything from the home that reminds you that your partner was intimate with another person. Just remember, the same goes for you, Son. If Frank has a problem with something you want to bring into the home you two now share, you have to let it go; that’s only fair.” She waved her spoon at him. “And you know I don’t like that language.” He had to laugh then. It was true. In fact, there was a swear jar in the kitchen of their house that Taylor swore funded several of their trips to the Vineyard.

  “I love you, Mom; I miss this, us talking and laughing. Let’s make it a date to do this at least once a month.”

  Swallowing the food in her mouth first, she agreed. “I’d like that very much, Taylor. Now, tell me, how’s the job search going?”

  “I’m meeting with the hiring manager at Resource Center next Tuesday.” Resource Center Dallas was an LGBTQ organization for at-risk youth that specialized in HIV counseling. Taylor didn’t have to work at a job that paid him, he could easily put his degree to work for the people that truly needed help but couldn’t pay for it. After his parents died and the estate was finally settled, there was a trust fund opened for Taylor that he gained access to on his twenty-first birthday. Between selling the house and most of the contents, life insurance payouts for Emily and Sean Langford, closing bank accounts, and cashing in stocks, bonds, and retirement plans, Taylor had over five hundred thousand dollars in the trust. With the Stones adopting and raising him and a scholarship to college, Taylor hadn’t even touched one penny of the money until about a year ago. There had been no need.

  “That’s wonderful news, Taylor; I hope you get it. Those kids would be lucky to have you in their corner.”

  On the drive back to the apartment, they stopped at the local Target so Taylor could pick up groceries and new bedding, arriving back home just a few minutes before the new bed was delivered. While he put away groceries and decided what to cook for dinner, his mom started the washer, cycling through the new bedding. Setting his iPod in the dock, he flipped through his album of songs, deciding on some classic rock. Time flew by then, the clock showing it was six far sooner than Taylor thought it should, and his mom gathered her things to leave. “Hang on, take some chili with you.” He grabbed a large plastic container from the cabinet, filling it and making sure the lid was secure before handing it to her.

  He said goodbye on the stoop, waiting for Val to get into her car and drive away, then went back inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Wondering where Frank was, Taylor found his phone on the bar, seeing a missed call and a text from Frank, smiling as he read the message.

  Frankie: Hey babe, running a little late, Davis talked to the cousin this afternoon and wants to brief Caleb and me. Miss you, love you, can’t wait to break in our new bed.

  Taylor fired off a quick response telling Frank that the bed had fresh, new, clean sheets and was ready to be christened. He’d just opened a bottle of wine when there was a knock at the door. “Who the hell?” he muttered, unlocking and opening the door.

  He didn’t recognize the man on his welcome mat. Tall, late forties with graying dark-brown hair, wearing jeans, a button-up shirt with a blazer, and Taylor saw what looked like a press badge in the shirt pocket. “Mr. Taylor?” the man asked.

  “Just Taylor. How can I help you?”

  “Oh, sorry, my name is Landry and I’m a reporter with the Dallas Morning News. I wanted to see if I might talk to you about the Cold Case Squad reopening the case from 2005 when your parents were killed.” The man looked harmless, but his eyes were dark, vacant. Taylor hesitated for a moment, considering. If the man followed murder cases, talked to witnesses and family members, he probably had to disconnect himself from the atrocities as a way of self-preservation.

  “Lord, but I have lost my manners tonight.” Landry held out his hand and Taylor took it, shaking before stepping to the side and waving the man into the apartment. “Wow, something smells good.”

  “Yeah, I was just getting dinner ready for my boyfriend. I guess I can answer your questions while I finish this.” Taylor pulled out one of the tall chairs from the table for the man to sit. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, no, I’m good. I won’t take up too much of your time.” Landry leaned on the edge of the chair, both feet on the ground.

  Taylor had been chopping green onions to garnish the chili with when Landry knocked on the door. His phone still sat on the counter beside the cutting board, so he ran his finger over the screen and shot a quick text to Frank.

  Hey, there’s a reporter here asking questions about the case being reopened. He’s a bit…odd. How long before you’re home?

  “What’s it like growing up without your parents, your mother and your father, Taylor?” Landry asked. His eyes were taking in everything in the apartment, his posture rigid like a cat getting ready to pounce.

  Something about the way he said your father didn’t sit right with Taylor; there was emphasis on those two words when the rest of the question was spoken almost monotone. His phone was set to silent so it didn’t ding or buzz with the incoming message, but he saw the screen light up.

  Frankie: Why in the hell are you letting strange men in the house? What reporter, what’s his name, who is he with?

  “I, I don’t feel comfortable with that question. If you could just keep it to the basics without talking about my parents, please.” Taylor responded to Frank’s text with one hand, sloppy and uncoordinated.

  He said hes with the dallas morning news. Names Landry.

  “Of course, my apologies,” The man stood and walked into the living room, looking at the framed pictures on the wall. There were images of him and Frank on the beach, some with their parents and Caleb and Justine in them. “This is a nice place, Taylor, you’ve done good for yourself. Mel would be so pleased.”

  The fuck? “Mel, who…” Oh God, oh no. His mother’s real name was Melissa, Mel. His phone lit up again, and Taylor knew what it would say before he glanced down.

  Frankie: Taylor, there is no one at DMN named Landry. Your birth father’s middle name is Landry.

  His phone lit up again, this time with an incoming call from Frank but before Taylor could answer it, the man was there, slamming the heavy onyx candle holder that Frank kept on the mantle above the fireplace down on it. Taylor stepped back, the knife still in his hand. “Wh…who are you?”

  “I told you, my name is Landry. But you can call me Dad.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Frank

  “Come on, come on, Taylor, pick up.” The phone rang several times before connecting Frank to voicemail. He immediately hung up then hit redial and his heart skipped a beat when it didn’t even ring; the call went straight to voicemail.

  “Caleb, we need to get to my place, now!” he hollered, and everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, the sudden silence disturbing. “What are you looking at? Get every goddamn patrol car available to my apartment, now!” Frank told the officers staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

  Caleb and Davis were coming his way when Frank stepped out into the hall, Rory Landers right behind them. “What the fuck, Frank, what’s going on?”

  “Come on,” He pushed past them, explaining while he hurried down the hall to the stairs. He was already on edge, no way he could wait patiently for the elevator. “I was texting Taylor and he said a reporter showed up, told Taylor he was with the Dallas Morning News and wanted to talk about the case, said his name is Landry. I texted him back after pulling up the employee records for the paper and not finding a Landry, reminding Taylor his birth father’s middle name is Landry, but I got no response.”

  At the bottom of the stairs,
Frank shoved the door to the parking garage open and sprinted to their squad car. Climbing in and starting it, revving the engine, he impatiently waited for Davis and Landers to climb into the back. Caleb had barely put one foot in the car and Frank was backing out, speeding through the garage while his partner cussed at him. “Goddammit, Frank, we are no good to Taylor if you wrap us around a pole on the way there.”

  “Blair, it’s Rory, who’s in the apartment with Taylor?” There was a pause while Blair answered the question and Frank growled at Landers, telling him to put it on speaker phone.

  “…very inconspicuous.” Blair’s voice came through the phone. Frank and Caleb had learned earlier in the day that Blair was Taylor’s long-time friend Kian’s real name. He was still shadowing Taylor and it finally dawned on Frank that Kian, Blair, Frosty the fucking snowman, had let that man into his apartment with Taylor.

  “Kian, what the fuck man, why’d you let anyone in there with Taylor?” Caleb barked, still using the name they’d grown accustomed to.

  “As I was just telling Rory, a man arrived in a DMN press car with a press badge and approached the apartment. I didn’t think…”

  Frank shouted, cutting the younger agent off. “That’s right, you didn’t think, now get your ass in there and make sure Taylor is okay or I swear to God I will kill you, have you stuffed, and hang your dead fucking carcass over my fireplace!”

  “Did you just…” Frank met Rory’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he zipped past a car and flew down the Dallas North Tollway in the HOV lane. Fuck if he cared, there were four of them in the car.

  “Did I just what? Sit back and shut up, or I’ll pull over and toss you out on your ass, Trevor,” Frank promised and the annoying little shit had the audacity to bite back.

  “It’s Rory, Frank.”

  “You’re a conniving liar is what you are—who cares what name you go by?” Caleb turned and glared at the agent in their back seat.

  “Yeah, I’m still here, assholes,” Blair reminded them. “I’m hanging up now and going to try to find a way into the apartment without alerting the perp.” The click when he disconnected the call sounded like a gunshot to Frank, his senses heightened. He couldn’t drive fast enough and it was seriously pissing him off. From what Davis had uncovered in the last twenty-four hours, Kevin Landry Taylor was a real piece of work. His wife, Melissa, had indeed disappeared with their baby boy, George, in 1992 after suffering years of abuse at the hands of her domineering and sadistic husband.

  Frank and Caleb had listened in on the video chat between Rand Davis and Melissa’s cousin, Peggy. The picture she painted was disturbing, to say the least. As long as Kevin Taylor’s anger was directed at her, Melissa was determined to stay with him. The young mother likely feared her husband would follow through with his threats to harm her and their child were she to ever leave him. Apparently, hubs made a terrible judgment call one night while inebriated and pointed a loaded gun at their infant son, telling Melissa that if she ever left him, he’d shoot their son and make her watch. That was the final straw. If what Frank and the other three men in the car now suspected was true, Kevin Taylor had followed through on at least one of his threats, hunting his wife down and killing her. Frank knew for a fact that if the man had found his son that night, Taylor would be buried in a grave beside his parents.

  “Hey, it’s Davis. Are you still with the Stones? Stay with them; we think the father has Taylor. Don’t let them out of your sight and if possible, don’t let them turn on the TV or the radio or answer the phone.” Davis disconnected the call. Keeping the Stones on a leash was going to be difficult to do, but necessary. Not knowing what was happening with Taylor was enough for him to worry about at the moment.

  “Shit!” Caleb swore, reaching for the radio. “Dispatch, can you tell any cars answering the call to Officer Frank Moore’s apartment to go in without sirens?” Fucking hell, that was all they needed, for the cavalry to arrive sounding the trumpets. God only knew what Kevin Landry, evil incarnate, would do to Taylor if he were backed into a corner.

  Arriving at the apartments, Frank saw there were four squad cars and one unmarked already there. Slamming the car into park, he jumped out and started walking toward his apartment. “Whoa, Frank, let’s talk about a plan.” Caleb grabbed him by the arm.

  Jerking out of his hold, Frank snarled. “Fuck off!” and stepped around his partner. In a flash, he felt the car door digging into his back. Caleb had grabbed him and spun them around, slamming Frank against the door of their squad car. Frank struggled to get free, squirming and cussing, trying to push Caleb off him, but it was no use. He was bigger and stronger, and obviously smarter.

  “Dammit, Frank, if you storm into that apartment, guns blazing, you could get Taylor and yourself shot. Is that what you want?” Caleb tried to get him to see reason. Frank stopped fighting, leaned against the car, and prayed that Taylor was okay. Looking over to his apartment, he saw that the windows were dark. That didn’t bode well; were they even still there? Had Landry taken Taylor? Where was that little shit Kian? His mind was racing, heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t lose Taylor. Hell, they’d only just started their life together.

  Davis was barking orders when a gunshot rang out, piercing the air, and then another. Frank took off toward his apartment right behind Caleb who was eating up the distance quite a bit faster with his much longer legs. They drew their weapons outside the door, pausing briefly to listen, but the night had gone silent. “POLICE!” Caleb shouted, kicking in the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Taylor

  “You killed my parents, didn’t you?” Taylor asked the man that said he was his dad. He could see a resemblance between them and it was irritating. He didn’t want to be anything like this man. Whoever the hell he was, he might be Taylor’s biological father, but Sean Langford was his dad, as was Charles Stone. Not the psycho in his kitchen.

  Leaning against the dishwasher, Landry looked relaxed, which was frightening. “I did. But in my defense, I did warn your mother that if she ever left me, I’d find her and I’d kill you both. She didn’t listen to me, George, she thought she could take what was mine and disappear, that she could stay one step ahead of me, just out of reach. It took me thirteen years, but I found her.”

  Frank’s on the way.…Just keep him talking until Frank gets here, Taylor thought, edging farther away from Landry. In a panic, Taylor had swung the knife he was using to cut the onions, but Captain Crazy caught the blade with his hand, slicing his palm open as he wrenched the weapon away from Taylor. Landry cursed, tossing the scarlet-tinged knife onto the counter, twisting around and slapping Taylor, hard, with the back of the hand that wasn’t bleeding on the kitchen floor. His face ached and his lip was busted, the bitter coppery taste of blood on his tongue when Taylor licked his lips.

  Searching the counter behind him, Taylor’s fingers brushed the bottle of wine. Perfect. “I’m going to tell you a story, George, before I finish what I started ten years ago.” Their eyes met, but Landry’s were cold and dead, no heart breathing life into them. Clearly, the man was a sociopath.

  “The first time I saw your mother, I was smitten. She was seventeen at the time, dating a teacher’s aide that worked at the college in Bangor. I can’t for the life of me remember his name. Doesn’t really matter; you knew him as Sean Langford, so I’ll just refer to him as Sean in the story. Anyway, Melissa was so vibrant and beautiful, full of life, very independent. As soon as I saw her, I knew I had to have her. Not because I loved her…because I wanted to break her, snuff out that fire inside her that gave her strength.” Landry paused, staring at him blankly for a moment, a wry smile on his face.

  “It took time and patience; she was very strong-willed. But as soon as we found out she was pregnant, well, that was just another pawn I could use against her. You see, there was nothing your mother wouldn’t do to protect you, even before you were born. But then I realized that once she stopped fighting and submitted to my eve
ry whim, I was quite bored. So I had to come up with new ways to entertain myself. At first, she wouldn’t even scream. But when I held my knife against her belly she begged me so perfectly not to hurt you. Things were good after that for a while. She submitted so beautifully; her howls of agony were exquisite, and I let her have you.” Landry was leaning back on one elbow, watching Taylor with those cold, dead eyes as he swirled the wine left in Taylor’s glass, then downed it and dropped the empty glass into the sink.

  “You’re insane,” Taylor hissed, edging a little bit farther away, the door leading to the garage in arms’ reach now. His plan was to smash the wine bottle over dear old dad’s head and make a run for it if Frank and Caleb didn’t arrive soon.

  Blood continued to drip onto the kitchen floor, a small puddle forming at Landry’s feet. “Oh my, it would seem I’m making a terrible mess.” He clucked his tongue, reaching for the roll of paper towels and winding several over the torn flesh of his right hand. Hopefully, the wound would hinder his movement enough for Taylor to get away.

  “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes! The night we brought you home from the hospital, I had to make sure she knew that I was still in charge, that I came first, not the screaming, puking, shitting bundle of blue in her arms. So I loaded my Glock and aimed it at your head and reminded her of our bargain. She got to keep you, but you both belonged to me. I made a promise that night, George. I told your mother that if she ever left that I would find her and I would end you both. My promise was to kill you first, while she watched, then her. But the bitch was a little smarter than I gave her credit for, hiding you in that crawl space in the attic. And then I got pulled over under an alias that was tied to a gun charge. Essentially, you lucked out, boy. You got to live your life on borrowed time while I sat in jail and followed your every move.”

  Taylor wanted to tell the man to shut the fuck up, but his rambling was likely the only reason he was still alive. Just as he started to wonder where Caleb and Frank were, movement behind Captain Crazy caught his eye. Taylor kept his focus on Landry, not wanting to call attention to the figure in the door to his and Frank’s bedroom in his periphery. He remembered getting up in the middle of the night and cracking the window in the bedroom because it was stuffy in the apartment. That must be how whoever it was had gotten in.