Survivor Trilogy Box Set

by T. M. Smith

  Whirling around, he shouted for everyone to shut the fuck up. “Now, can any one of you tell me what would bring Tuan Nguyen to Dallas? It’s not like he knows that Shannon and Junior are even alive, much less that they’re both in Texas. So, help me understand this.”

  “No, there’s no way.” Blair leaned against his desk, arms crossed. “I mean, did any of you list Shannon on anything while you were there? There really wouldn’t have been any need.”

  “Oh God, Rand. He was in the waiting area when I tried to call Shannon. You said Shannon is safe back in Texas. You said his name.” Rory grabbed his gun and shield from his desk drawer and moved quickly toward the door.

  “Gonzales, let’s go. Cummings, you stay with Junior and keep him safe,” Rand ordered, sprinting down the hall after Rory with Connie right behind him.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Shannon

  His worst nightmare came to life before his eyes when the door swung open, and Tuan Nguyen was standing there. Frozen and mute, Shannon stared at the devil in his doorway. “Look at you, all grown-up and fancy with your dance studio, loft apartment, and FBI boyfriend.” Tuan stepped into the apartment, and Shannon finally found his feet, walking backward until the kitchen cabinets stopped him.

  “I always wondered about you Shannon—the one that got away, wondered if I’d ever see you again. He liked you more than any of the others. I daresay he loved you, but I’ve found you now, and I’m going to get rid of you like all the others.” It had been so many years since he’d cowered beneath Tuan’s menacing gaze. He snatched a picture off the top of the bookshelf against the wall by the door and only then did Shannon comprehend, only then did he see the long, jagged knife in Tuan’s black, gloved hand.

  “Awwwww, so cute.” Tuan mocked him, dropping the frame on the floor, the sound of glass breaking snapping Shannon out of the haze of fear gripping him.

  “Wait,” he gasped, Tuan’s words sinking in. “Get rid of me like the others? It was you. It wasn’t Bruce that killed all those guys, it was you.” It all clicked into place. Even after everything he’d been through, the pain and anguish he’d suffered at Bruce Pearson’s hands, Shannon had been hesitant to believe Bruce was a murderer. Seemed his gut instincts were right. It wasn’t Bruce; it was Tuan that had murdered the attorney’s former lovers.

  Tuan laughed long and loud, throwing his head back and howling with glee. “You always were a smart little piece of shit, Shannon Dupree.”

  He stepped sideways as Tuan came farther into the apartment, moving around to the other side of the counter and trying to slide the drawer open and keep both eyes on the menacing man in his home. Hands shaking, he managed to get it open far enough to grab a knife, holding it out in front of him, pointing the blade at the intruder. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Oddly enough, Tuan stopped moving. The look he gave Shannon though, he couldn’t tell if the bodyguard wanted to kill him or kiss him, and it made his skin crawl. “Why did you do it? Why kill them, kill us? All they wanted to do was get away, to leave. Why kill them?” He was trying to make sense of the mind of a serial killer.

  Lips snarling, Tuan’s smile was replaced with disgust and disdain. “Filthy whores, all of them, giving their innocence to Bruce without a second thought. And for what? Money, status? They sold themselves to him for what he could give them, just like you did dear, sweet Shannon. God, how I missed the opportunity to kiss your flesh with one of my blades. The noises you used to make while he broke you were exquisite, and I longed to cut you open and make you bleed.”

  Oh, my, God! He’s insane…like, literally insane. Shannon spared a glance out the kitchen window, seeing the moon and stars in the night sky. Rory will be here any minute. He has to—it’s so late. But what if Tuan surprises him? What if he hurts Rory? Oh, God. No, no, no, no, no…this can’t be happening. Why is this fucking happening? Shannon fought to control his emotions, to ease his racing heart before he had a panic attack. Noise, he had to make noise. That would alert Rory that something was wrong and, hopefully, distract Tuan so he wouldn’t see Rory coming.

  Darting over to the sink, he grabbed a pan from the dish drain and hurled it at Tuan, the big man lifting his arm and blocking the blow. He laughed, his feet bringing him closer to the kitchen, closer to Shannon; the sound was maniacal and eerie. “Well, look at you. Got some spunk in you now, little Shannon. Bet you could give Bruce a run for his money in the bedroom too.” The mention of Bruce and a bedroom in the same sentence with his name infuriated Shannon. He grabbed the glass coffee carafe and lobbed it across the room, snarling when Tuan sidestepped it, the glass crashing against the wall.

  Needing both hands to cause maximum destruction, Shannon tossed the knife onto the counter and began an all-out assault with plates, glasses, anything he could get his hands on. Tuan was getting closer to him and madder by the second if the fire in his eyes was any indication. “No, never again. I will not allow you to hurt me ever again!” he hollered, rearing back and throwing a three-wick candle, clipping Tuan’s head.

  “You’re going to pay for that in blood, you piece of shit.” Tuan growled.

  A glint of metal caught his eye, the barrel of a gun, and the shadow of a man lingering in the darkness of the hallway beyond his front door. Standing there in the moment, watching the chaos that ensued, it felt like hours, standing in concrete, unable to move or stop something you could see happening before the fact. In reality, it took less than a minute for his book of life to be destroyed, the pages angrily torn from the spine.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Rory

  Floating just beneath the surface with the promise of air, his chest felt tight, breathing seeming more like a chore than the natural act it should have been. Voices echoed in his mind. Shannon screaming, Rand telling him to hold on, begging him to stay, Gonzales circling the pond, peppering everyone with a litany of Spanish that would likely make Satan himself blush. And what the fuck was with the Morse code? The incessant beeping was making his head hurt. Blinking back the sudden bright light, he managed to coax his eyes open and saw the face of an angel, his halo blinding. “Shhhh…hey, it’s okay, just rest and I’ll be here when you wake up, promise.”

  Rory battled to stay awake, afraid to close his eyes, afraid he might never see Shannon or Rand again, the fear crippling him, rendering him mute. “Just push the damn button.”

  Is that Rand? Why is he in my dream? Rory fought against the sudden wave of euphoria, his body weightless and floating once again.

  The next time he fought past the cresting waves, there was a woman shining an annoyingly bright light in his eyes. He attempted to swat her away, but his limbs were too heavy to move. “What…happened? Where am…I?” Taking a few deep breaths, the room finally came into focus.

  “Honey, you’re at Baylor Dallas. You were shot.” The woman, Karyn RN, he read the name on the badge dangling from her scrubs as she leaned over him to adjust the oxygen tube. So that was why his nose was itching. “Your two gentlemen are across the hall in a vacant room, hopefully trying to get some sleep. They left the cranky one that keeps yapping like she’s part of the Spanish Inquisition to watch over you.”

  “Wha…Connie?” He managed to whisper.

  “Yeah, I can get her if you like. She stepped out into the hall to make a call while I checked your vitals.” Karyn smiled down at him. She was a lovely woman with curly auburn hair, hazel eyes, and a genuine smile.

  “How long?” God, he hoped he was voicing the words in his head, not sounding like Charlie Brown’s frickin’ teacher.

  The Nurse laughed; it was a very pretty sound. “If you’re asking how long you’ve been here, the answer is six days. The first couple of days were touch and go, and those two fellas of yours never left your side. If it wasn’t for your doctor and Consuela, those two would be dead on their feet. They have to be threatened with promises to lock them out of your room before they’ll eat, sleep, or shower.”

  “Shannon, okay? Not
…” He strained to clear his throat, feeling a ton of sympathy for Junior in that moment. “Knife, Tuan?” He needed to move, roll over, or sit up, but when he tried, the pain was excruciating, and he cried out. The door to the room flew open, and Connie Gonzales blew in like a Texas Tornado.

  “What’s wrong? What happened? Is he okay?” She fired off one question after another and when the Nurse didn’t immediately respond, Con growled.

  “Con…where…Shan, Rand, where is Shan? Is he okay?” Karyn lifted his left arm, and he winced, gritting his teeth and biting back the bile in his throat. “Fuuuck!” His shout was answered with loud footsteps in the hall, Rand and…oh thank fuck, Shannon running into the room. “Shan,” Rory reached for him, his right arm heavy with fatigue.

  It all came rushing back, the pain reminding Rory that he’d been shot and exactly who it was that had shot him.

  Tuan was in Shannon’s apartment with a knife. But his man was not about to take it lying down. No sir, he was volleying every dish in the kitchen and a handful of small appliances at the menacing motherfucker. The three of them rushed Shannon’s apartment; Rand and Connie went through the front door while Rory climbed the fire escape and came in through the bedroom window. They’d all seen the knife the bastard held against Shannon’s throat; the trickle of blood running down his lover’s neck would haunt him for the rest of his life. Closing his eyes tight, he fought to regain his memory, the thread starting to fray. One second he could see Tuan holding Shannon and the next, Rand was manhandling the murderer none too gently. But before Rand could get the cuffs on, Tuan pulled a gun from the pocket of the coat he was wearing and turned, firing all six rounds in Rory’s direction.

  “Babe, please, lie still.” Shannon was there, his hands flittering over Rory but not quite touching him. Rand hovered as well, one arm on Shannon’s shoulder, his eyes roaming the length of Rory’s body, and he could feel it as much as he would have felt the man’s hands. It was intimate with a glint of fear and longing. There was so much he wanted to say, to both men, but his fucking bitch-ass partner held up a contraption and pushed the button, the effects of the drug almost immediate. He’d kill her just as soon as he was able to lift both arms above his head.

  ***

  Stuck somewhere between sleep and consciousness, he was suspended in air, able to hear and listen, comprehend the conversation between Shannon and Rand, but unable to respond. “So, you care about Rory, about me?” Shannon sounded confused. There was also a hint of sadness in his tone that pained Rory.

  “Yes, I do. I’m sorry Rory didn’t tell you about me kissing him while we were in Washington, that you had to overhear my conversation with him to find out.” Huh? Was he so out of it that he couldn’t remember a conversation with Rand?

  “Well, not a conversation exactly, but he’s such an ass that I had to wait until he was out cold and injured to get a word in edgewise.” Rand joked, and Shannon laughed softly. “Listen Shannon, I know I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell, but if the events of this past week have taught me anything, it’s that life is way too fucking short. I kissed him while we were on assignment because in all honesty, I’d been wanting to for a while. I don’t know when, where, or how the hell it happened. But somewhere along the way I’ve developed feelings for him, for both of you.”

  Rory struggled to speak, but the haze of morphine covered him like a force field, no sounds or thoughts able to escape. “I…shit, Rand, this is so not fair. I love him, I really do, and then you say all that.…Fuck. I’m torn up, Rory’s been shot, and now you’re laying this shit on me while my nerves are raw, and it’s not fair, Rand.”

  Shannon was crying, Rand shushing him, promising that everything would be okay, that Rory would be okay. Would he? How could they know? In an instant, all the pain and uncertainty was replaced with real, actual fear, and Rory found it hard to breathe. What if he was stuck in this dark place, in limbo…forever? The machines he was attached to beeped relentlessly, and Rand was shouting expletives at someone. Still, Rory couldn’t move past the feeling of drowning, of dying in the damn bed he was confined to while Shannon and Rand stood by, unable to do anything about it.

  “Hey, calm down. Shan and I are here, and we aren’t going anywhere, but we need you to calm down, Rory.”

  Rand! He cried out, but his voice was stuck on mute.

  Just as quickly as he’d gone off the deep end, Rory calmed when he felt his fingers tingling, a warm hand wrapping around his. He’d have to be dead not to recognize Shannon’s long, nimble fingers. The beeping slowed to a less unnerving pace, though stone silence would have been better. His other hand was lifted, large, callused fingers gripping his smaller ones, grip tight and assured. “There you go, babe, that’s it.” Shannon sounded positively gleeful and lightened Rory’s soul. Being the cause of pain for someone you loved was a damn hard thing to deal with. Even if he didn’t have any control over the circumstances.

  “Sleep, okay? We’ll be here when you wake,” Rand’s calm, controlled voice was the last thing he heard, sans the incessant noise from the goddamn terminal they had him hooked up to. And then, ah yes, bliss. There were a few brief seconds to wonder which one pushed the button. But the complete feeling of ease that had settled over Rory’s limbs lulled him into the darkness as the people and the room faded away again.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Shannon

  Combing fingers through his disheveled hair, Shannon stared at his reflection in the mirror. The harsh overhead lighting did nothing for his complexion, the orange glare making him look like an Oompa Loompa. Connie had shown up not long after Rory’s episode and sent Rand home to shower. “You smell like my abuela’s pig when he’s been rolling in shit for a week. Seriously, go wash your ass.” The outspoken agent then shoved Shannon into the bathroom with a small bag of toiletries, telling him he was only slightly less pungent, promising to stand guard over Rory while he got cleaned up as well.

  Since the shooting, Shannon had hardly stopped moving and worrying long enough to sleep, much less think. Now that he was alone with nothing but his thoughts and a disgustingly bright lightbulb, the weight of it all hit him. He could have lost Rory. Blaming himself would be a moot point, but it couldn’t be helped. The fact of the matter was, Tuan wouldn’t have been there were it not for him. The murdering bastard had followed Rory and Rand back to Texas intent on silencing Shannon and Rory had been caught in the middle. Standing under the pitiful excuse for a shower head, he took advantage of his solidarity and allowed the tears to flow freely. Dammit, he couldn’t even find the strength to rejoice in the fact that Bruce Pearson, the man that made his life a living hell for so long, was now in jail. And Satan’s lapdog, Tuan, was dead.

  “Enough, get your shit together. You have to be strong for Rory.” Inhaling a deep breath and exhaling just as slowly, Shannon stuffed his worry and frustration into a box in his mind and closed the lid. Once Rory was home and healing, he could take the time to dissect his emotions, maybe even take Taylor up on his offer to help him find a counselor to talk to.

  The water was starting to lose heat, so he rushed through a quick hair wash, body scrub and rinse, shutting off the water and grabbing the towel the hospital provided. It was rough and itchy and reeked of antiseptic—nothing like the big, soft towels back at the loft that smelled like lavender. Rooting around in the duffle Taylor had gone to the apartment to fill and then delivered to him along with dinner the day after the shooting, Shannon pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie. He felt more like himself dressed in his own clothing instead of scrubs, inhaling the familiar floral scent wrapped in the fabric.

  Pulling the door open, he padded out into the room, his bare feet chilled by the linoleum. Connie sat in the chair by the bed scrolling through her phone, looking up and smiling. “Feel better?”

  “A bit,” he shrugged, leaning over and kissing Rory on the forehead. “Thanks for sitting with him, and for getting Rand to go home. Lord, I hope he decides to get
some sleep while he’s there.”

  They talked for a few minutes, Connie standing to leave when Claire showed up asking where her brother was. Once the two of them left he settled into the chair by the bed, just sitting and watching Rory’s chest rise and fall. Between the dimly lit room and the steady, repetitive noises from the machines, Shannon started to nod off. “Hey.” Hearing Rory’s voice, he was instantly awake, scooting to the edge of the chair and reaching for Rory’s hand.

  “Feeling better, Sleeping Beauty?” Leaning over, he kissed the top of Rory’s hand. Skin soft but firm, no longer cold and clammy, his lover grinned at him lazily.

  Nodding, Rory turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. “So, tell me what’s been going on while I was taking a power nap.” Unable to stifle a laugh, he squinted, loving the sparkle he saw in the emerald green eyes that held his gaze. A nurse brought their dinner trays in, tomato soup and grilled cheese, and they talked while they ate. It was the first bit of normalcy and Shannon devoured it, happily.

  “Here, come, sit.” Rory tapped the side of the bed. An orderly had collected the trays and closed the door behind him, giving them privacy.

  Careful not to jostle Rory too much, Shannon curled one leg under his body and sat on the edge of the bed. “You still doing okay, need pain meds or something to drink, anything?”

  “I’m good for now, but I want to talk to you about earlier, about the conversation you and Rand had.” Reaching for him, Rory grabbed his leg, so Shannon scooted closer.

  Skin prickling, he could feel the rush of heat in his cheeks. “I…I thought you were asleep. How much did you hear?”

  Chuckling, Rory lifted a shaking hand to his face, cupping his cheek. “Jesus, I love it when you blush.” Closing his eyes, he savored the skin to skin contact, covering Rory’s hand with his. “He told you he cares about you, about us. And he told you about the kiss in Washington that I too must apologize about. My nerves were raw and bleeding that night—it was the day we’d arrested Pearson. But that’s no excuse, I should have…”