by T. M. Smith
“Earth to Rand.” He blinked when Rory snapped his fingers inches away from his face.
Growling, partly because his fucking hormones had gone haywire, and partly because, well, Rory was goddamned aggravating, he shoved Rory’s hand away. “What?”
“I asked what time we needed to meet Gonzales in the lobby. Did she say last night, or do I need to call her?” Oh, holy hell. Somewhere between floating out of the bathroom like a dementor and snapping at him, Rory had gotten partially dressed. He stood mere inches from Rand, wearing his slacks and a white dress shirt, the top two buttons open, a slight dusting of chest hair visible around the neckline.
Taking a few steps back and clearing his throat, Rand finally remembered how to speak. “Yeah, um…nine.”
Rory stood and glared at him for a moment, his emerald gaze full of emotions Rand couldn’t quite place. Shaking his head, he turned and walked back over to the tiny closet opposite the bathroom, mumbling something Rand couldn’t make out. Wanting—no, needing to get the fuck out of the small, confined space of their motel room before he did or said something he might regret, he grabbed his coat and shrugged it on before jerking the door open. “Need coffee. See you in the lobby.” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he left the room.
The elevator took far too long to arrive. Stepping inside, he closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to push any thoughts of the happy couple out of his head. Lord, give me strength. It’s Taylor’s fault, really it is, putting his goddamn romance-novel ideas in my head. Rory loves Shannon and Shannon loves Rory. They are in a committed relationship, and you are an idiot. Why the fuck do they have to be so sexy and alluring?
“God…damn, I need a cigarette,” he growled. He hadn’t smoked since he was in Iraq, quitting cold turkey when he came back stateside, but the terrible twosome currently trampling around in his head would drive a person to drink. When the elevator dinged, doors sliding open in the boisterous lobby, he damn near ran right over Gonzales.
“Whoa, where’s the fire, Davis?” Connie joked.
Fast on his feet, he thought up a lie and thought it up quick. “Gotta return a call to work. It’s important—I’ll meet you guys out front.” She moved aside and agreed to wait for Rory, grab coffee, and pull the rental car around while he took care of business.
There was a chill in the air and a slight breeze that was welcome. A few minutes in the sun and fresh air and he was able to clear his mind. Yes, he was attracted to Shannon and Rory, but then he was also attracted to the beefy guy at the gym and the adorable geek that worked in IT at the station back in Dallas. The difference was, he hadn’t seen either of those men vulnerable and broken as he’d seen Shannon. Or nearly naked and pissed off, lines blurring like with Rory that morning. He didn’t know them, had not established rapport and, oddly enough, a friendship with those strangers as he had with Rory and Shannon. And as their friend, he had to respect their relationship and establish boundaries, even if the barriers were metaphorical.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, seeing a missed call from Claire. Listening to her message, Rand couldn’t help but feel lighter, his sister ranting about the state she found his apartment in when she went to check his mail and water the plants. “For fuck’s sake big brother, you’re a grown-ass man. Don’t you know what this contraption in your kitchen that shoots hot water all over the sink full of dirty dishes is used for? You need a man—no, you need a fucking maid. If it didn’t reek in here, I’d leave it—but then the CDC might consider this a hazardous waste site. And cockroaches, Rand. You don’t want those nasty little fuckers in here. They’ll be the only thing that survives the apocalypse: cockroaches and Spam!” He was laughing so hard he teared up. God, he loved his sister. She could always lighten the mood and make him laugh. Little Miss OCD with her canned goods arranged in the pantry alphabetically had gotten all the sanitary genes in their pool. Rand, he was a slob and he owned it. And why pay for a maid when his little sister showed up on his doorstep weekly, bitching while she worked, but cleaning nonetheless?
Disconnecting and wiping his eyes, he grinned and waved at Rory and Connie as they pulled up beside him. Opening the door, he slid into the back seat, taking the steaming cup of coffee Rory passed back to him with a thank-you. Mind cleared, head in the game, he was ready to roll right over one heartless attorney. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter Sixteen
Shannon
Soft laughter broke through the fog, pulling Shannon from a fitful sleep. He could hear Taylor and Frank talking in the other room, Taylor’s laugh a welcome sound in the deafening quiet. Although he knew that Rory, Rand, and Connie were all very good at their jobs, he couldn’t help but remember all the pain he suffered at Bruce’s hands. Not to mention Tuan, the bodyguard from hell that was wicked fast and meaner than a nest of hornets. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t dismiss his fear and worry. He tossed and turned half the night before dozing off and on out of sheer exhaustion. It didn’t help that he wasn’t in his home, sleeping in his bed. Taylor’s house was familiar to him, but it wasn’t the same. So, between the very real danger three people he truly cared about were putting themselves in and the inability to shut his mind off for more than five minutes, he was dog-tired and weary.
“Knock, knock.” Taylor pushed the door open, leaning against the frame with a mug in each hand. “Thought you might need this.”
“God, yes.” He sighed, waving Taylor into the room and accepting the steaming mug of yummy goodness he handed him. Sitting at the foot of the bed and crossing his legs, Taylor asked how he’d slept. “Ugh, don’t ask.”
“Have you talked to Rory since they left?” Taylor asked.
Sighing, he shook his head. “No, I was in the shower when he called. Said he loved me and he’d call me when it’s done.” Pulling his legs up, Shannon rested his chin on his knees and looked out the window. Rain peppered the glass, the sky gray and dreary, much like his mood.
“Talk to me, Shan.” Taylor spoke softly, voice steady and unwavering.
Tears stung his eyes and he ducked his head, words caught in his throat, rendering him mute. The mug he held was gone. Whether he’d dropped it or Taylor had taken it, he didn’t know. For the past six years, Shannon had worked diligently to put that part of his life behind him, to move past it. First, he’d thrown himself at any guy that so much as looked at him with appreciation. Then, he took Taylor’s advice and concentrated on school and his emotional well-being—as well as talking to a counselor weekly for over a year. Taking one day at a time, Shannon grew more comfortable in his own skin, more confident and proud to be the man he became. Striving for more, he dove headfirst into setting up his own studio and with the assistance of Taylor and Frank, Shaylor Yoga and Dance was a huge success. He had a family now and a group of close-knit friends that he could rely on, but most importantly, he could trust them all. What had truly surprised Shannon was Rory—more so that he’d been able to open up every part of himself to the man and despite the ugliness he’d buried in the vast crevices of his soul, Rory Landers loved him.
And lord, did he love his best friend. Taylor just sat there and held him, rubbing his hand up and down Shannon’s arm, humming softly. He didn’t offer up words of cheer or empty promises, didn’t give him the “Everything will be fine” speech most people probably would.
“Jesus Tay, why can’t I just have a normal life? Is that too much to ask? I want to go home, and I want Rory to be there, not hundreds of miles away about to confront my demons. I don’t want to think about the past, about Bruce, and I don’t want that monster anywhere near Rory or Rand. What if he hurts them, Tay?” He was babbling, fresh tears stinging his eyes. One thing Shannon couldn’t do was hide anything from Taylor. Just his presence was soothing, a truth serum for Shannon’s chaotic emotions.
Sniffling, he sat up and used the hem of his shirt to wipe his eyes. “I seem to be making a habit out of breaking down around you lately, Tay. Sorry.”
&
nbsp; “It’s ’cause I’m so easy to talk to—no worries.” Taylor fixed him with a pointed stare. “Do you even realize what you just said, Shan? You don’t want Bruce anywhere near Rory or Rand. Explain that to me.”
Heat rushing to his cheeks, Shannon lowered his head, but Taylor wasn’t having it. Fingers on his chin, Taylor lifted his head and locked eyes with him. “I’m the last person in the world that’s going to judge you, Shan. You can talk to me. Tell me what’s going on, please.”
Groaning, he fell back onto the pillow leaning against the headboard. “I can’t answer that question, not really, because I don’t even know myself. I love Rory, I do, but there is something about Rand Davis. The way he looks at me and how those looks make me feel all warm and gooey on the inside. I know it’s insane but…fuck, why does being an adult have to be so goddamn hard?” He grabbed another pillow, covering his face.
“Have you talked to Rory about your feelings for the detective?”
“No.” The word was muffled by the bundle of cotton inside the tan, linen pillowcase.
“Maybe you should.” Taylor snatched the pillow away from him. Shannon’s only response was a self-deprecating snort. His friend laughed and though he tried very hard not to smile, he couldn’t help it. “Seriously, Shan. You obviously care about Rand, or this wouldn’t even be on your mind. And I know for a fact that Rand Davis likes you and Rory.”
“Say what?” He sat up straight. “What do you mean ‘you know’? You know what? Spill.”
Stunned, he sat and listened to Taylor relay the conversation he’d had with Rand over the summer at Martha’s Vineyard. “So, Rand likes us both?” Taylor nodded. “But…no…is that a thing, really, three people? Wait, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. My infatuation with the surly detective has no bearing on my relationship with Rory. I’m in love with Rory and committed to him, and that’s all that matters.” He said the words with conviction, ignoring the small part of him that disagreed with the statement.
Taylor watched him for a moment before responding. “I still remember the Shannon I met in that restaurant back in Austin years ago. How you wore your sexuality and personality like a badge of honor when deep down you were just a scared rabbit. I’ve been there through it all, Shan. We’ve been there for each other. Good days where we laughed and vegetated on the couch while binge-watching Netflix. Bad days when our dreams were haunted by your sociopath ex and my psychotic father. The fifteen-year-old that ran away from home, the eighteen-year-old that ran away from Bruce, the twentysomething that graduated from college with honors and now owns his own business—they will always be a part of you, Shannon. Events in your life that shaped you, made you the person you are. What I’m trying to say is, don’t let fear or indecision determine your future. When Rory and Rand get back and after that pariah is locked up, you really need to consider your feelings and have a conversation with Rory. I’d hate to see you walk away from something that could make you happy, Shan.”
Giving his bestie a playful shove and a watery smile, Shannon agreed to consider it. Taylor stood. “I’m gonna go get us some fresh coffee. Why don’t you go take a quick shower? ’Cause you stink.”
Shannon told his friend where he could shove his comment but grabbed his backpack and pulled out a change of clothes, toothbrush, and comb, and headed down the hall to the bathroom. The hot water felt amazing, relieving some of the tension in his shoulders and neck. It didn’t take him long—probably fifteen minutes—and Shannon was out of the shower, dressed in clean sweats, one of Rory’s FBI T-shirts, and walking down the hall in search of Taylor. He found him in the kitchen, cooking omelets and talking about work on speakerphone.
“Yes, you can go ahead and file the stack of folders on my desk. I’ve already followed up on those. There are a couple sitting by themselves—leave them. I’m still working those cases,” Taylor told his assistant.
Just a few months after graduating, Taylor had landed his dream job at Resource Center Dallas. With his bachelors and masters in social work, he was a valuable addition to the center that focused on counseling and HIV awareness for the LGBTQ community. “All right, if you need anything, call. I’ll be working from home today, bye.” Taylor disconnected the call, looking over his shoulder and smiling at Shannon. “Feel better?”
“Yeah, and suddenly starving. That smells amazing.” Shannon went to the fridge for juice, setting it on the counter before grabbing glasses and silverware. Taylor already had two plates out for the food. They settled at the bar and ate in silence, the food coupled with the shower calming Shannon’s stomach and nerves. He had to shove Taylor out of the kitchen when they were done so he could wash up the few dishes, joining him on the patio with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee once he was done. The rain had slowed to a fine mist, the air clean and crisp when he stepped outside.
“You know everything will be okay…right, Tink?” Taylor nudged him with his elbow.
He chuckled, nodding before taking a sip of the delicious Texas pecan coffee from Central Market; it was his favorite. “It’s hard for me to even think about my life back then, with Bruce. Knowing what he put me through and that he may be responsible for so much more misery than I ever thought possible, it terrifies me to think about them being in the same state as that monster, much less in the same room.”
Taylor nodded his agreement. “Yeah, but those three are like the militant musketeers. I’m pretty sure your ex-commander has no clue the fury that’s about to be unleashed on him. And when she’s done, Pearson will still have Rory and Rand to answer to.”
Shannon laughed so hard his ribs hurt. “Holy shit, Tay, that’s fucking funny—but so true!” Gonzales was one tough broad. Bruce truly had no clue what was coming for him.
Chapter Seventeen
Rory
Bruce Pearson was not at all what Rory had been expecting. Thinking back on the night Shannon had opened up to him, Connie, and Rand about the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of the much older man, Rory realized that his boyfriend had never described Pearson physically. Hearing of the atrocities Shannon had survived, knowing the extent of the physical, mental, and emotional cruelty, Rory had imagined a monster. A crazy person with wild, unruly hair, a Grizzly Adams beard, and one lazy eye like Charles Manson. Sitting at the table on the other side of the glass at the Seattle PD, Bruce Pearson looked every bit the distinguished businessman in his Armani suit and silk tie, wearing a Rolex and a pair of leather wing-tip shoes that likely cost more than Rory’s first car. The man in question picked at something invisible on the shoulder of the crisp, black suit jacket, flicking the nothing away and crossing his legs. Pearson looked bored and put out, and Rory wanted to walk into the room and put the man’s head through the table.
The door opened, and Rand waved him out into the hall, grinning like a maniac. “Let’s go. You and I are going to the condo to see what we can find while Gonzales warms him up for us.”
His steps faltered. “But…damn, I love watching her knock self-righteous pricks down a peg or ten.” The laugh that bubbled up out of him was welcome, and with the release of anger, Rory could feel some of the tension in his shoulders give way.
Following Davis out to the parking lot, neither spoke until they were in the car. “I can see now why all these guys followed him blindly…how he lured them in. He’s gorgeous, and it just pisses me off.”
Rand huffed. “Yeah, he’s the whole package, Landers. Smart, successful, handsome, and rich—but that’s just the wrapping.”
“It’s just, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a suspect so…” He searched his mind for a word to describe what he was thinking.
“Calm.” Rand finished the sentence for him. He nodded, looking out the window as they drove past the Seattle Aquarium. Mothers were holding their children’s hands, walking from the parking lot to the entrance of the building, not a care in the world. It was a completely different kind of calm. They were enjoying life while Pearson sought to control it.
***
A portly gentleman greeted them at the door to Pearson’s condo, wearing a Seattle PD uniform. They showed their badges, and he waved them in. It was huge, spacious, and wide open once you went through the door and down a short hallway. The main room in the apartment held the living room, dining room, kitchen, and a completely open patio. You could slide the floor-to-ceiling windows open and sideways, and the patio became part of the living room. There were two crime-scene techs, one on either side of the room, dusting every flat surface for fingerprints. While Rory was quite certain their efforts were futile, he understood the why. If they could find a print that matched any of the victims or missing persons, it would be another nail in Bruce Jackhole Pearson’s coffin.
“Good lord. Were Pearson not a piece of shit with serious control issues and he had a vagina, he and my sister would be perfect for each other. I mean, look at this place. I bet he has a maid in here daily, and if he found so much as one speck of dust, he’d have her guts for garters.” Rand rattled on.
“I’m telling Claire that you’re trying to marry her off to a psycho of the male persuasion,” Rory replied dryly, finding the hallway that led to the bedrooms. His heart hammered in his chest as he came to the first door on the right, seeing things through Shannon’s eyes. Pushing the door open, he stepped into the room and looked around. It was just a room, nothing special, furnished simply with a bed, a long dresser, and two nightstands. But knowing what his lover had lived through in this fucking room made his skin crawl. Closing his eyes, he could envision his beautiful Shannon on the floor beside the bed, beaten and broken down, sobbing. He could see Shannon standing at the window, looking out over Puget Sound, wondering if he’d ever find a way out.