by T. M. Smith
“Are you sitting down?” Something in the tone of his friend’s voice set off alarm bells in his mind.
“No, why?”
“Maybe you should be.”
Mannie sighed and rolled his eyes, fully aware Pete couldn’t see the gesture. “Just spit it out, Petey.”
“Fiiiiiiiiine.” Pete sounded like a moody teenager. Pursing his lips to stop from laughing out loud, Mannie grabbed a cup from the cabinet and filled it with water from the tap. “Apparently Bruce has been arrested—on charges of sexual assault on a minor, along with a bunch of other shit. I guess the FBI is involved too, Mannie. I mean, Jesus Christ. I knew one day that bastard’s actions would come back to haunt him.”
The tumbler fell from his shaking hand and hit the floor, water spilling as the plastic cup bounced a few times. “What? How?”
“Breathe, buddy. Listen to me.” Pete spoke softly, obviously aware of the effect just mentioning the attorney from hell had on Mannie. “The story was on CNN, Mannie. It’s national news. There’s a number to call to talk to an agent with the FBI for anyone that has any information that could assist them in their investigation.”
“I…what…how…” Mannie turned, pulled a chair out from the table, and collapsed into it before his shaking legs left him sitting on the floor. “Arrested?”
“Yes, Mannie. Arrested. Finally,” Pete shouted. “Listen, I’m going to text you the number to call.”
“What? No, I can’t, Petey.”
“Yes, you can, Mannie. He is in jail and he can’t do anything to you. He has no power over you anymore, Mannie. And if you can help just one person, you have to try, right?” Dammit, he hated to admit it, but Pete was right.
God only knew how many other young men had fallen prey to Bruce Pearson. And what if he snaked his way out of whatever charges the FBI had on him? The man was evil, but he was also brilliant, a damn good attorney, and had the money to buy his way out of trouble. Mannie fought the urge to scream, to duck and run and hide in a corner like a terrified rat. “Okay, Petey. Send me the number.” Mannie stood and went back to his office, grabbing a pen and paper to write down the digits from the text. Carefully, he pressed each number, his finger hovering over the Call button.
When Pete first came to him the summer before, telling Mannie that a couple of FBI agents had been poking around his still-open missing persons case, he quite literally freaked the fuck out. Why couldn’t he be presumed dead and the case closed already? A week later when he came out of his mocha-vodka-valium-latte haze and really thought about it, he wanted to know more. Why in the hell would the FBI be looking for him, especially a decade after he went missing? Five minutes online searching news sites in Seattle answered that question. Mannie had deliberately not looked anything up about himself, his family, or Bruce. It had been a long, hard road traveled for him to move forward and deal with the demons of his past. The last thing he needed was to take a trip down memory lane. Being away from the poison and venom of that life helped him heal and deal with the issues. So, he’d washed his hands of the entire situation.
But that was then. Mannie forced himself to consciously move forward and live in the now, not in the past. Pressing Call, he held the phone to his ear, praying he was making the right choice. One that wouldn’t leave him huddled in a ball in the corner, afraid of his own shadow.
***
Staring absentmindedly out the car window, Mannie considered asking the driver to turn around and take him back. After his call to the tip line the previous night, he’d walked over to Sharon and Tony’s and filled them in on everything. Tony urged him to wait a few days so that he could get time off to go with him, but Mannie felt strongly that this was something he needed to do alone. Sharon wanted to drive him to the airport, but he declined that offer as well. Mannie knew deep down that if she took him and questioned if he was certain he wanted to do this, he’d change his mind and return home to his safe, happy little bubble. Knowing Bruce was behind bars had given him the courage to book the flight, pack a bag, and pull up the Uber app.
He thanked the driver as he stepped out of the car at the curb, clutching his ratty backpack in one hand, his wrinkled plane ticket in the other. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” The overhead lights were damn near blinding, the noise level already penetrating the bubble of tranquility he’d wrapped himself in before leaving his apartment. Deep breaths, in, out, in, out. There were only two options: He could go through the sliding glass door in front of him. Or hail another cab and duck and run. No. He had to put his fear aside and get on that damn plane. If there was a chance Mannie could spare just one person the pain, fear, and anguish he’d lived through with Bruce, he had to at least try.
It really didn’t help his nerves when the pilot announced over the loudspeaker that they were delayed due to weather and wouldn’t be taking off for another hour, but complimentary cocktails eased the blow a bit. Mannie smiled and thanked the perky flight attendant when she handed him a glass of Merlot and a bag of pretzels. He was way in the back, the last row of seats by the restroom, but he welcomed it. He had all three seats to himself and planned on stretching out for a nap as soon as he drained the cup.
The very real threat of hyperventilating had him second-guessing that decision. Mannie pulled out his phone and fired off a text to the agent he’d spoken with on the phone that morning, Blair Cummings, to let him know his flight was delayed and that he’d text as soon as he arrived at DFW.
“Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered, draining the small plastic cup before tossing it into the bag the lovely flight attendant held open for him. Stretching his long legs out across the seats, Mannie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prayed he wasn’t making a mistake.
Chapter 7
Blair
Blinking, Blair rubbed his eyes, reached for the large cup of coffee on his desk, and took a few gulps. He’d been staring at the screen for so long, the words had blurred into a garbled jumble of letters that were out of focus. Connie’s fingers sped over the keys of her laptop as she mumbled and squinted while Rory and Rand tried not to eye-fuck each other as Rory kicked Rand’s feet off his desk. The tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall sounded like an army of ants stomping through the room. His ears homed in on every noise, senses sharp and determined. The resounding slap of shoes on the linoleum in the hall that led to their office grew louder with each step, two distinctly different people coming closer, the sound fading into the background as Blair quickly typed the last few words before saving, then closing the report.
“Holy shit,” Rory and Rand said in unison.
Blair looked up and locked gazes with cerulean-blue eyes clouded with fear and regret. Standing, he walked around his desk, hand outstretched to shake the one of the man that had unknowingly brought the Columbia River killer case to life, Howard Manning Tullor Junior. “Please, come in, sit.” He grabbed a chair and dragged it over to the empty space between his own and Rory’s desks. “Can I get you anything before we start? Water, coffee?”
“Water would be nice,” Junior responded, his smile forced but genuine nonetheless.
His voice was…odd, off in a way Blair couldn’t place. And yet, the deep, raspy tone sent goose bumps up Blair’s arms. What the actual fuck? He kept the thought to himself, returning Junior’s smile with one he hoped was inviting and not maniacal. Connie tossed him a bottle of water and he caught it midair, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she leaned back against her desk, a small voice recorder in her hand. Junior took the bottle with a dip of his chin, his eyes lingering a few seconds longer than normal, his brow dotted with sweat.
No one else in the room seemed inclined to do much more than stare at Junior like the ghost they thought he was, so Blair prompted the skittish young man with a question. “So, when you called me this morning, you said you heard we were looking for you and that you had information on Bruce Pearson. Why don’t you start by telling us how you heard we were looking for you when w
e all thought you were dead?”
Junior nodded again, clearing his throat. As he talked his voice went from somewhat uncertain to confident, as if Junior had to convince himself to share the story. Every couple of minutes he’d clear his throat, an odd rattle of vocal cords and mucus painting his words. Blair could hear Rory’s teeth grating and fought the urge to chuckle, instead keeping his focus on Junior. Rand called him Howard, and Junior was quick to remove the name from the conversation. “I go by Mannie now. I couldn’t very well use my real name, and why would I want to? I’m pretty fucking sure you all know who my grandfather is.” Junior—no, Mannie—crossed his arms over his chest, clearing his throat again, his posture going from guarded to defiant in a split second.
“Mannie, can you please tell us how and when you met Bruce Pearson?” Rand’s tone was one of exasperation, and Blair found that it aggravated him, though he was unsure why. Reining in his emotions, he sat and listened intently, along with everyone else in the room, as Mannie spun a web of abuse and pain that spanned several years. His long, nimble fingers danced between pulling at the scarf around his neck, almost unconsciously, and anxiously rubbing his knee through the threadbare jeans he wore.
Mannie turned his focus to him, the question catching Blair off guard. “Can I ask you a question, Agent Cummings?” Blair nodded. “Am I the only one that made it out alive?”
Rand swore under his breath and Mannie flinched. The movement, while showing a level of discomfort, also seemed ingrained in the young man’s posture and it pained Blair. “How many more?” Mannie asked, his tone flat and resigned.
“Just one,” Rory whispered.
Blair glared at his partner. “That we know of.” He tried to reassure Mannie, gently touching him on the shoulder, and holy hell, the guy fucking freaked out. Jerking away, Mannie jumped to his feet and walked backward until the wall stopped him, his eyes darting around the room like a feral cat. Blair slowly approached him, hands raised in a calming gesture, not wanting to give him a reason to bolt. “Sorry, Mannie, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Can you come sit down and tell us the rest of your story, please?”
Mannie’s hands shook, trembling fingers pushing long, blond locks behind his ear. Blair watched him blink several times, those sky-blue eyes struggling to focus on his surroundings, slowly becoming more alert. Still, it took a little more coaxing, and Blair had to push the chair Mannie had been sitting in over next to where he stood before the scared rabbit sat back down. “In, out, in, out,” Blair heard him whispering, and certain the words weren’t meant for any of them, he didn’t respond.
Several long, awkward minutes passed as Mannie visibly relaxed before he spoke. With each word he threw into the room, Blair became angrier and more determined than he could remember feeling in quite some time. How could anyone have hurt this young man? He was so broken and fragile, wary of the entire world while managing to seem somewhat innocent as well. When Mannie pulled the wool scarf loose, turning his head to the side so they could see the angry scar around his neck, Blair fought to keep his emotions from spilling out all over the dingy floor beneath his feet. “I’d show you the six-inch incision on the back of my head and the metal plate that’s holding my brains in, but I wouldn’t want to scare the pretty lady.” For the first time since he walked into the office, Mannie truly smiled when he looked at Connie. At least now Blair knew the cause for the deep gravely tone to Mannie’s voice, a knife to the throat that could very well have taken the young man’s life.
When he resumed the story he’d been telling, Blair saw the light in Mannie’s intense gaze dim. The events of the last night Mannie had spent with Bruce Pearson were the stuff nightmares were made of, and Blair could feel his protective instinct kicking in, a small voice in the back of his mind telling him Mannie needed him, needed Blair’s gentle, steadfast persona to keep him safe and out of harm’s way. Tears welled up in the beautifully broken blond man’s gaze as he not only spoke of the events of that night, but obviously remembered them as if they’d happened only yesterday. Mannie sighed and slumped over in the chair, his anxiety seeming to drain away into a puddle of misery on the floor at his feet.
“Would you be willing to testify in front of the grand jury in King County when the DA presents his request to indict Bruce Pearson?” Rand asked.
Mannie looked up, confused, his eyes darting from Rand to Blair, then back to Rand. “What good would that do?”
Rand released a heavy, exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. “It would tie him to you when you were still underage, for starters. He then tried to kill you and left you for dead. I think that one’s a no-brainer, Mannie.” Rand’s tone was slightly condescending, and Blair wanted to throttle him. Mannie’s response was met with a resounding silence, the phrase “You could have heard a pin drop” never ringing more true than at that moment.
“No, you’ve got it wrong, Detective. Bruce didn’t try to kill me. Tuan did.”
Chapter 8
Mannie
Chest tight, Mannie fought against the black spots growing larger until his vision was blurred and dim. “In, out, in out.” He repeated the mantra that had effectively helped him to relax when stressed over the past nine years. Hearing one of the agents say that they couldn’t locate Tuan, the man that had left him for dead, terrified him so fiercely, it stole his breath and rendered him mute.
“In, out, in out.” The words, spoken in a voice that was not his own, the tone gentle and reassuring, jerked Mannie out of the anxiety-riddled haze he was stumbling toward at rapid speed. Soft blue eyes, the color of the sky on a mild, breezy day met his, small lines framing the gentle gaze. “There you go, Mannie. That’s it, focus on the sound of my voice.” How did this man know what to say, what to do? And why the fuck was every cell in Mannie’s body clambering to respond to Agent Cummings’s command? The calm bubble of serenity burst when he noticed the big guy with the buzz-cut hair looming, dancing around him like a lion circling its prey.
“Easy, Mannie. It’s okay.” Blair guided him to the chair, dragging his own chair over until he was seated, facing Mannie. Lord, but his smile was disarming. “I’d like to try a memory technique with you—if that’s okay.”
He snorted. “At this point, I’d try anything short of a lobotomy.” He closed his eyes and proceeded to follow Blair’s instructions.
Glimpses of that night slowly revealed themselves, and Mannie did his best to relay the images in words to the two men. His memories were still foggy, but whatever Agent Cummings was doing kept him calm and relaxed enough to pull at the edges and see more than he’d ever been able to commit to memory before. The man’s touch was an added bonus, Blair’s larger hands on his knees as he gave him direction with a firm but reassuring voice truly set Mannie’s mind at ease. That was until the short guy with the black hair said something that thrust Mannie back toward the darkness he’d only just dragged himself out of.
“What? Why the hell would he be in Dallas?” Black Hair shrieked.
Buzz Cut stood and crossed the room. “Who’s in Dallas?”
The pretty lady pinched her nose, sighing in frustration. “Tuan is listed on the manifest for a flight out of Seattle late last night. That flight landed in Dallas this morning.”
Mannie was on his feet and moving toward the door in an instant, his body in motion before his brain could catch up. “What?” he shouted, ready to make a run for it, but the handsome agent blocked his way.
“Listen to me, Mannie. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re in a building full of police officers—not to mention, the four of us in this room. We’ll keep you safe.” Blair’s words reassured him just enough to take the edge off the fear clawing its way up his throat, the taste acidic and revolting. It was the next thing the agent said that truly caught Mannie off guard. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
“Uh…I don’t know how to respond to that, Agent.” The commotion surrounding them reached a crescendo before dissipating as the mad clap of three rushed sets of fee
t left the room, leaving Mannie alone with Agent Cummings. What was it about this man that commanded his attention? He set him at ease in a way no one aside from Pete, Tony, and Sharon had ever been able to.
Tall and well-built, the man’s toned physique had captured Mannie’s attention the moment he’d walked into the room. Not that the other two men weren’t attractive, but Buzz Cut scared him and only had eyes for the agent with the black hair, Rory Landers. Blair, though, he was actually pretty damn delicious. His confidence and ability to make Mannie feel comfortable was very alluring, his light-blue eyes, genuine smile, and shaggy brown hair downright sexy. What would it feel like to run his fingers through Blair’s hair, to taste the man’s lips with his tongue? He’d only ever been with one man in his life, Bruce, and the memory of the time he’d spent in the vicious attorney’s bed left Mannie swearing to God and any other entity who could hear him that he’d never trust another living person with his heart again. The man sitting in front of him not only made his heart race, he set Mannie’s mind at ease with his calm demeanor and gentle touch.
“You still with me, Mannie?”
A simple nod was the only response he could muster. Looking over Blair’s shoulder, the clock on the wall showed the time to be almost nine. “Fuck.” He stood abruptly, noticing the look of genuine concern on the agent’s face. “Sorry, my return flight is at eleven. I need to get back to the airport.”
His finger was hovering over the Uber app when Blair reached up and covered Mannie’s hand with his own. “I’ll take you.”
“Yeah, okay, um…if you’re sure.”
Blair laughed, a melodic sound that made Mannie smile. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” He walked around the desk, pulling a revolver out of its drawer and sliding it into the holster at his hip before moving toward the door with precision and grace. The anxiety he’d entered the room with was washed away in the company of Agent Cummings, and Mannie happily followed him down the hall, a little sad that he had to go back to Arizona. In another life, perhaps he and the sexy agent could have been something more than just mere acquaintances.