Resist: Gavin

by Heather C. Leigh

  “Defending my honor?” I snicker.

  I turn and capture his chin with my free hand, brushing a quick kiss across his lips. “Something like that.” Gavin’s blue eyes sparkle with emotions, all swirling around in the flecks of light and dark.

  “We should go away,” Gavin announces, changing the subject.

  “What?”

  “With the tour done, I don’t have many commitments for a while. We’re not recording for another month. C’mon, Utah. Let’s go somewhere relaxing, you and me.” Gavin comes in for another kiss, deeper this time, opening his mouth as our lips meet.

  As I sink into his warmth, the thought of going away with Gavin, leaving behind the stress and the media and Grant Halifax, sounds like heaven.

  I pull back before I let him distract me with his talented mouth. “Sure. Whatever you want, Gavin. Let’s just catch this guy first.”

  As I’m contemplating pressing Gavin down on the couch and ripping off his clothes, my phone rings.

  I flip it open, my heart racing when I see the I.D. “Hale.”

  “He’s on the move. We’ve been following and have a possible location,” Van Zandt informs me. “I’ll call you when we know more, but we’re in a not so nice area of Anaheim.”

  The call ends without pleasantries.

  “What?” Gavin is staring at me, his handsome face filled with concern.

  “You dad left the house. Van Zandt and Halifax are following him. Looks like we were right about him knowing the stalker or at least being involved. He’s headed for a seedy neighborhood in Anaheim.”

  Gavin looks distraught. “He really did it. I can’t believe it. He actually hired someone to threaten me.”

  I pull him in close, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It might be something else.”

  Gavin jerks free, his face and neck turning red. “Don’t placate me, Mitch. You said it yourself. We’re right. My own father hates me so much that he would rather see me dead than admit that his son is a faggot!”

  I hold my hands up in defeat. “Hey, I’m on your side, Gav. I agree with you. You’re dad is a bastard and I’m so sorry he’s done this to you. If they confirm his involvement, we better pray I never see him again. I’ll probably go to jail for beating the shit out of that pathetic, homophobic asshole.”

  Gavin slumps back on the couch, the fight drained out of him already. “I’m sorry for lashing out, Mitch. I just don’t get it, why he hates me so much.”

  Pulling him closer, I brush a kiss across his tempting mouth. “Sometimes there is no reason, love. People just hate for no reason.”

  He huddles against me, putting his head on my chest. Sadness grabs my heart as Gavin comes to terms with such loathing from someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally. It’s a tough pill to swallow and the pain that he’s feeling brings out my primal need to protect and defend.

  But there’s nothing I can do to make this better. No words, no actions, no platitudes. Gavin will suffer until he can accept that there doesn’t have to be a reason for his father’s hatred. It just is what it is.

  “It took me almost dying for my father to be okay with me,” I murmur into his hair, inhaling his scent and letting it calm down my inner beast.

  “I did almost die, Mitch. When I was seventeen and I…” he chokes up. “You saw the report, I’m sure.”

  My soul cracks for him, for his suffering. “I’d rather hear it from you.”

  Gavin shifts in my arms, producing something from his pocket. He holds it out for me to take. “What is this?” I palm the small, heart-shaped rock, turning it over.

  “Hawke gave it to me when I was institutionalized,” he admits.

  I try not to show the shock I feel at finding out Hawke was a patient with Gavin, but Gavin can sense it. “You didn’t find him on your search, did you.” He chuckles. “No one ever does. His real name is Harold and his family was powerful. I’m sure his uncle made his records disappear.”

  “Was?” I ask, unsure if Gavin should be telling me Hawke’s story.

  He shrugs. “It’s not my place to tell his story. This rock though?” Gavin points at the stone. “Hawke had it with him in the hospital. He gave it to me when I needed it and I’ve carried it ever since.”

  “And all this time I thought you had your hand in your pocket to adjust your cock,” I joke.

  Gavin’s eyes go wide for a second before he bursts out laughing. “Fuck off.” He shoves me playfully. Then my phone rings again and our moment of levity is over.

  ***

  “Son of a bitch!” Gavin shouts, kicking over a poor, defenseless potted plant on the back deck.

  “Gavin, this is good news.” Van Zandt just called to let us know that whomever Gavin’s father went to see wasn’t home. “We have a name, baby. That’s unbelievable. After all this time we know who it is.”

  Troy Wolski. Even the name sounds like it belongs to a psycho.

  Gavin’s body is strung tight, the tendons in his neck standing out under all of that golden skin. Even through his shirt I can see his muscles tense as they flex with each movement.

  “To have it confirmed, Mitch… that my father is an unfeeling asshole.” He rubs both hands down his face. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m over his shit.”

  I grab one of his belt loops and tug him over. “Let’s go inside and relax for a while why they run this guy’s info. Sound good?” My tongue licks a path up to his ear and I can feel the goose bumps on his skin when I nip at the edge.

  “Are you going to make me forget?” He asks, his chest expanding and contracting faster as I trace his ear with my mouth and press my hips against his.

  “I’ll wipe your mind clean, baby. Come on.”

  Gavin follows me inside without saying another word.

  Chapter 16

  Gavin

  “Okay… Email me the info… I know you can, just do it!”

  I can only hear Mitch’s clipped and short responses on his side of the phone conversation, but it’s easy to figure out that he’s eager and irritated at the same time.

  “Right… That’s the one… Thanks, Van Zandt.”

  He disconnects the call, a spark of excitement in those grey eyes. I smirk, waiting for Mitch to realize that I’m standing next to him.

  “What?” Mitch asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “Are you going to share what has you looking like a kid on Christmas morning?”

  Mitch laughs. “They executed the warrant on the apartment your dad visited. Troy Wolski’s apartment. They’re taking his computers to the local FBI office.” He grabs me, nearly tackling me to the ground. I stumble and somehow manage to stay on my feet as Mitch squeezes the heck out of me.

  “Jeez! You’re going to break me!” I’m not really mad. Mitch’s enthusiasm is contagious. I can’t help but laugh along with him.

  “I have to go,” he says when he finally releases me.

  “What? No! Why?” My mind is catapulted from joy to terror in half a second.

  “Babe, don’t freak out.” Mitch takes my hands and drops a kiss on my knuckles. For some reason, that pisses me off even more.

  I tear my hands from his grasp. “I’m not a fucking chick that needs coddling, Mitch! Tell me what the hell is going on!”

  Mitch backs up a step. “Jesus, Gavin.” His face looks like I just slapped him. “I need my computers. I don’t want you going over there. That asshole already broke into my house once. There’s no way I’m having you anywhere near him.”

  I get right up in his face. “So I have to be locked up in my tower while you’re out slaying dragons? Is that it?”

  “No! It’s not like that at all,” Mitch explains.

  “Who’s going to watch out for you? You’re the one he shot! Your house is the one he destroyed!” My anger is growing exponentially, merely a cover for the real reason I’m upset. Fear. Fear that Mitch will be taken from me, permanently this time.

  “I’m sorry, Gavin. Yo
u’re right. I’ll take one of the guards, okay?”

  I blink. Shocked that he submitted so quickly. The wind goes right out of my sails. “Oh. Well, okay then.”

  Three hours later I’ve paced a hole in the hardwoods and another on the deck. I thought I’d be alright with being away from Mitch for a while, but clearly I’m not.

  Jesus, I have issues. My life is so fucked up I can’t wrap my mind around all of it. How can I fall in love with all of this shit going on? Yet the thought of Mitch still makes me smile in spite of the chaos. He’s the one good thing to come out of this.

  My hand itches to call Mitch, but I don’t want to interrupt. All it will do is slow him down, which means it will take longer for him to get back home. Home. Is this home? Would Mitch want to live here with me?

  I shake my head. I can’t be jumping so far off course. First, we need to deal with my dad and Troy Wolski before I can even think about living arrangements.

  I wish Hawke or Ellie were here with me. It wouldn’t be right to put them in danger, however small the chance is that the bastard can get past the team of guards around the house. Stopping my racing thoughts for a second, I drop into a deck chair to stare up at the sky.

  It’s dusk. The end of another day, and the sunset is breathtaking over the Pacific. Maybe seeing it every day has spoiled me, or maybe tonight’s slashes of orange and purple and gold are more vibrant than usual. I don’t know which it is, but for the next twenty minutes, I’m mesmerized by the swirls of color as they become muted and fade into the deep bluish-black of the night sky.

  “Mr. Walker?” I look over my shoulder to see one of the guards leaning out the back door, holding up my cell phone. “Sorry to intrude, but this keeps—”

  The loud cadence of Weezer blares from the device in the man’s beefy hand. His eyes pop and I burst out laughing. “Sorry, man. I loved them as a kid. Played it all the time to piss off my dad.”

  He hands me the phone and disappears back into the house, leaving me alone (well, alone minus the Bigfoot who is standing guard on the deck with me) to answer the call. I don’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Gavin? It’s Sasha.”

  My heart flutters nervously. Why is Sasha calling and not Mitch? “What’s going on? Why isn’t Mitch calling?”

  “There’s been another murder by our serial killer.” She drops the bomb on me without hesitation or compassion.

  “What?” I bolt upright, leaping to my feet. “You mean Wolski?”

  “If they turn out to be one and the same, then yes,” she confirms, her tone still professional and cold.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Sasha?” My hand plunges into my pocket, desperate for the soothing feel of my talisman. “Fuck!” The curse spills out of my mouth when I remember that I handed it to Mitch as he left the house.

  “Take this with you.” I press the stone into Mitch’s palm as he opens the front door.

  He curls my fingers back around it, pushing my fist back towards me. “No, Gavin. You need it.”

  “Please, take it. I… it sounds stupid but it will feel like part of me is with you if you have it,” I explain. “You can give it back to me later.”

  Mitch’s eyes mist over. He nods almost imperceptibly. “Okay.” I hand it to him, letting my fingers trace over his palm as I release the charm. “Thank you.” Mitch kisses me sweetly, holding the stone against my cheek as he frames my face with his hands.

  “Be safe, Utah,” I rasp, my voice wavering.

  “Love you, Gav.” Mitch gives me one more small kiss before backing up and walking outside.

  My vision blurs as I watch him leave, one of the guards getting into the passenger side of his car. As they pull out of the driveway, a dark cloud surrounds me, bringing menacing images of death and pain. Silently, I pray that this isn’t the last time I’ll ever see the man I love.

  “Gavin, stay calm.” Sasha snaps me out of my memory.

  “Calm? Tell me why the hell Mitch isn’t calling me himself?” My stomach cramps and I nearly pass out when every drop of blood in my body drains into my toes. “It’s not… he’s not… oh god, Sasha. Mitch isn’t the victim, is he?”

  “Oh no, Gavin! No! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you like that.” Sasha sounds genuinely concerned. Her FBI persona cracks for a second, letting me see the human side.

  “Fuck. You just took a year off my life.” I run a hand through my hair and realize my forehead is slick with sweat.

  “I’m sorry. No, that’s not why I’m calling.”

  My poor heart thuds behind my ribcage, waiting for the axe to drop. “Then why?”

  She sighs. “Mitch went to the crime scene.”

  “What?” The ominous feeling from earlier today shrouds me, dropping down like a thick fog, suffocating, weighing down on my shoulders. I collapse to my knees, not caring that the hard wood slats of the deck bruise and splinter my flesh. It’s a preferable pain to the splintering of my heart.

  “I told him not to, but he’s meeting Van Zandt and Halifax at the scene,” Sasha explains.

  That selfish asshole! He gave no thought to how I would feel at his recklessness, that I would worry and lose my mind while he’s off getting cozy with a psycho.

  My head spins and I have to thrust out a hand to stop from falling forward onto my face.

  “I-I have to go,” I stammer, ending the call before Sasha can say another word.

  Fuck him if he thinks he can do this without me. Fucking Mitch and his goddamn irresponsible behavior! I shouldn’t let my emotions take charge. My rational side is begging me to stop, but I refuse to listen. Clambering to my feet, I head up to my bedroom, grab my laptop, and furiously start typing.

  Fucking Johnny Utah. I’ll show him that I’m no damsel in distress.

  Mitch

  I accept the cup of burnt smelling coffee from the uniformed cop and take a sip of the bitter liquid. “Thanks.”

  It’s awful, but beggars can’t be choosers, and at three in the morning at a gruesome crime scene, I’ll take what I can get.

  “How did you get inside the tape,” he asks, frowning when he tastes his own cup of coffee.

  “Professional courtesy.” When the cop continues staring, I elaborate. “Former Fed. Used to be on a serial killer task force. This homicide involves a client of mine.”

  He nods. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  It takes a massive amount of concentration to keep from flinching back at the man’s question. No doubt he’s seen me in the tabloids or on T.V. with Gavin. “No,” I reply. “I doubt it.”

  Naturally, that’s when the reporters huddled along the yellow crime scene tape spot me and go crazy, busting my lie.

  “Mitch!”

  “Mitch Hale! Where’s Gavin?”

  “Is Gavin Walker the body you found?”

  “Did the stalker kill someone?”

  “Where’s Gavin?”

  The cop smirks at me after listening to the inane questions, certainly able to place my name and face after that display.

  Van Zandt emerges from the damp alley between a Chinese restaurant and a tiny grocery store in West Hollywood, snapping off his latex gloves. “Same guy,” he confirms, ignoring the continued shouts from the media. “Same victim type, same finger missing, same cause of death most likely, but we’ll have to wait for the M.E. to confirm.”

  “What’s the cause of death?” I ask. I did hours of research on the serial killings and the suspect before receiving the call from Sasha that there was a body found. Not once did it mention how the victims died.

  Van Zandt glances at the cop, glaring until the man walks away. “This is inside info, Hale. Only the bureau knows the COD on the vics.”

  “I won’t say anything, Lex. You know me.” He doesn’t really, but he has to know I’m not looking for publicity on this case.

  “They’ve all had their windpipes crushed,” he explains. “Someone most likely came from behind, put an a
rm around their throat, and squeezed until they died.”

  “That takes an enormous amount of strength, Lex.” I’m shocked. Someone who uses a knife to sever a digit uses suffocation to kill? “Why not use the knife? Stab them or cut their throat?”

  “My instincts are that he wants the scene as quiet and clean as possible. Blood is messy and leaves traces.” He shrugs. “Crushing the windpipe means no screaming, no noise, no mess.”

  I dump the heinous coffee on the ground and crumple the cup in my hand. “But the victim would fight back, scratch the killer’s hands and arms, leaving DNA behind.”

  Van Zandt shakes his head. “No. None. He must be completely covered up.”

  “Jesus.” That means this is a trained individual. And smart. And not impulsive, which will make him harder to catch. More importantly, he matches the profile of Troy Wolski, the man who owns the apartment that Gavin’s father visited. We most likely have our man.

  “I know,” Van Zandt agrees as if hearing my thoughts. “Nothing is done without reason,” he says.

  “How long has it been since the last kill?” I ask, already knowing the answer from my research.

  “When you received the finger,” he confirms.

  “Dallas,” I murmur.

  “Yes.”

  “And you found the body that goes with the finger in Dallas as well.” I’m merely speaking out loud as I put the pieces together.

  “Correct. And we linked kills to multiple other stops on Gavin’s travel schedule, going pretty far back. Wolski has taken no commercial airline flights to any of the cities where victims were found. The other team is still at the suspects home right now, executing the search warrant.”

  My mouth falls open. “So this guy has been driving to all of these places? Following Gavin and killing people in different cities?”

  “Appears so. We didn’t understand the pattern in the locations until that finger showed up in Mr. Walker’s dressing room. We probably never would have figured it out,” Van Zandt admits.