Golden Dancer

by Tara Lain

  “Fuck.”

  “I’m really sorry I gave you the impression I disliked homosexuality, Mac. Had Gavin not died, I would be living in a gay relationship today.”

  “And why did you assume I’d come talk to you about being gay?”

  “I remember the way you looked at Paavo when you were a boy. I saw you struggling with relationships with girls. But you never came to us, so I just assumed you’d made your own way.”

  “No…” To his chagrin the word cracked.

  “You mean you’re just discovering you’re gay?” Devin sounded genuinely horrified.

  “Yes.”

  “Trelain?”

  “Yes, and Daniel.”

  “What? Who?”

  “It’s too hard to explain now, and I’m too frantic about Trelain. There are three of us. That’s all I can tell you right now. Just don’t ask.” His voice rose, and he breathed hard.

  “Okay, Son. Okay. I just want you to be happy. That’s what I’ve always wanted. I want to help in any way I can. Please, tell me how Trelain is when you can. We love him too. And we want to meet, uh, Daniel, is it?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, Mac. Just the way you are, as some song or other goes.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Bye.”

  The line went dead and Mac stared at the phone. Twenty-seven years of assumptions, misconceptions, fear, denial, self-doubt, and misery. He looked up, and Daniel leaned over him.

  “Just caught the end of what I think was a very interesting discussion. Your dad?”

  He nodded.

  “You told him?”

  “That I’m gay and in love with two men, yeah.”

  “Okay, that must have made his day.”

  Mac felt stunned. “I imagine.”

  “But he wasn’t surprised you’re gay, was he?”

  Mac stared into the deep blues. “No. Did you hear?”

  “No, but your dad is around gay men all the time. He had to have suspected.”

  “Said I never talked about it, so he figured I’d worked it out.” And the dam that had cracked earlier broke. He felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest, and he couldn’t breathe. “I don’t know if I can take all this.”

  Suddenly he had a lap full of very large man. “Okay, my turn in the upper buffalo position.” Daniel’s arms went around him. “It’s okay, baby. One thing at a time, one day at a time. All these pieces are part of the same puzzle. Soon, you’ll barely be able to see the cracks. We just have to find Trelain first.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Crap. He had to stop shaking. Mac rang the bell of the sedate townhouse. Early-morning sun shone through the branches of the trees that lined the best-of-the-best New York street. Von Berg had said morning, and Mac was taking full advantage to get here at shortly after the crack of dawn. He had to find something to go on before Daniel decided to go confess to the police.

  The door opened, held by a stiff, slightly scary, Germanic-looking butler. “Can I help you?” At least he didn’t say, “You rang?”

  “Mac MacAllister to see Mr. Von Berg.”

  The butler glanced pointedly at his watch. “He is expecting you?”

  “Yes. He invited me.”

  “Very good, sir.” Clearly it wasn’t. “Herr Von Berg is finishing his breakfast, but I shall tell him you are here.” He ushered him into a beautiful, low-key entry hall hung with several old masters. Clearly a different aesthetic than Daniel. Interesting that they both valued the Dancer. The butler left him, and he perused the paintings while trying to control his hyperventilation. He had to learn something. Dear God, they wouldn’t hurt Trelain, would they? Daniel hadn’t told him everything about the ransom call. It was deadly serious. He was shocked to realize if they did hurt Trelain, he could imagine killing Von Berg.

  “Mr. Von Berg will see you now.”

  Mac knew he jumped at the voice, but tried to look calm as he turned and followed the butler up a flight of wide stairs to the main floor of the house and into what Mac figured would be called a morning room or breakfast room. Von Berg rose from a traditional round table set with an array of breakfast foods.

  “MacKenzie, good to meet you personally. Please, join me. How do you take your coffee?”

  Mac forced a smile. “Black, please.”

  The German sat again, his medium-height, medium-build frame giving no hint as to the ruthless man Mac knew him to be. Von Berg poured the coffee himself and handed it to Mac, who sat opposite him. The sun poured in from eastern-facing windows onto floral-print chairs and drapes, mocking Mac’s dark mood. The gray-haired German sat back, folding his hands over a slightly rounded belly. “So, what do you have for me that is sufficient to get me to, uh, continue my investigation?”

  Mac thought he’d like to wrap his hands around the old man’s neck and squeeze until he revealed where Trelain was being held. “I found out a detail that I think will give me a preponderance of evidence sufficient to write my story. I’m very excited and think you will be too.” He pulled the photograph from his backpack. “I have discovered that a man named Chaim ben Harrari has made claims that his family owns the statue and that it was stolen during World War Two. Of course, he claims that your father stole it. Amazing. Anyway, I’m sure you know all this. But what you don’t know”—he placed the photo in front of Von Berg with a flourish—“is that ben Harrari has a connection with Daniel Terrebone. My theory is that ben Harrari hired Terrebone to steal the Dancer, and Terrebone, out of boredom and love of adventure, did it. Of course, I won’t make such a claim in my story. I’ll let people draw their own conclusions.”

  Von Berg stared at the photo for several seconds. “Interesting, Mr. MacAllister. Of course, I know about ben Harrari’s outrageous, opportunistic claims, hoping to trade upon the sympathy people have for the so-called holocaust survivors.” Mac suppressed a shiver. It didn’t help his state of anxiety to be reminded just how insane Von Berg was. The man continued to stare at the photo fixedly. “And ben Harrari will get his hands on the Dancer when pigs fly.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The German glanced up as if just remembering Mac was there. “His claims are ridiculous, but the connection with Terrebone is very interesting. Congratulations, Mac. Well done.”

  Mac smiled as if basking in the man’s admiration, but his heart beat like a hammer. “Thank you, sir. So, do you think this could prompt you to continue looking for the statue? I would hate to see the whole incident just dissolve and your family lose such a cherished possession. If I write the story, it could give you an in to file a lawsuit, or at least begin a police investigation.” As if the old bastard would let the police within fifty miles of this case. Mac retrieved the photo, which Von Berg seemed to relinquish with reluctance.

  The pale gray eyes looked up at him. That was the feature that let you know just how scary this dude was. “I shall have to think on it, MacKenzie. I fear Mr. Terrebone may not give up the statue until pigs fly. Perhaps you have given me an opening for further investigation…and perhaps I shall try to, uh”—he grinned tightly—“generously persuade you to simply drop the story. I shall think on it.”

  “Well, generosity is always a consideration, isn’t it?” Mac smiled back, though it cost him tooth enamel to do it. “Then I won’t take more of your time.” He rose, trying not to run to the door. Oh shit, could he have done it? “I look forward to hearing from you.”

  The butler appeared as if manifested from a lamp and led Mac to the door, where he ceremoniously held it as if making sure he didn’t stick around to steal the silver.

  Mac forced himself to walk calmly down the steps and up the street, not grabbing for his phone. Von Berg could be—no, probably was—watching. When he got to the corner, he speed-dialed Daniel. The answer was instantaneous.

  “Where are you?”

  “Around the corner from Von Berg’s. Daniel, I think there may be a connection between SS and Von Berg. Maybe SS has Trelain. Didn’t yo
u say he has a hacker’s studio someplace in New York?”

  “Yes, down by the docks in an old warehouse building. I’m coming around the corner now.”

  “Let’s try it. It’s the best we’ve got, unless you discovered something.”

  “Nothing.” The limo pulled up beside Mac, and he jumped in the open back door, threw his arms around Daniel’s neck, and kissed him. When he pulled back, Daniel caressed his cheek. “You’re shaking.”

  “Yeah, never stopped from the minute I walked up the front steps. The man’s a wacko. Really hates ben Harrari.”

  “Tell me how you know there’s a connection between SS and Von Berg.”

  Mac grinned. “How much chance do you think there is that two Germans would happen to use the expression, ‘When pigs fly’?”

  “No chance in hell.”

  “Von Berg used it twice.”

  “Jesus.” He pulled out his phone. “I have to set up a phony ransom drop. They need to think I’m gathering the statue and taking it to the drop-off point. I’ll take enough time so they won’t move Trelain while you and my guys are getting to the warehouse.”

  Mac gave Daniel an incredulous look. “Are you going to miss the action?”

  Daniel grinned tightly. “No way in hell. I’ll have another car ready to pick me up while the limo and one of my men dressed as me goes through the so-called ransom payment motions. Meanwhile, I’ll be heading for the warehouse and you, baby.” He reached in a compartment in the backseat of the limo and extracted a gun. Whoa! He inspected it carefully. “Know how to use this?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been through a couple wars.”

  He handed it to Mac and took another handgun out for himself. “We’ll hope there’s no need to use them. My men are all armed, so don’t even pull this thing unless it’s to protect you or Trelain, got it?”

  “Yeah.” Mac nodded at Daniel. “Do you know how to use it?”

  The deep blue eyes gleamed. “Oh yes, I know how to use it very well indeed.”

  “Well then, let’s go get Trelain out of their pig sty.”

  * * *

  Trelain’s ass hurt from sitting on a hard chair, his arms hurt from being bound, and his head hurt from trying to figure out how to keep that German maniac from raping and murdering him.

  It was no sure thing. Yes, someone was probably counting on getting some kind of ransom for him. His poor mother. She’d be in agony, trying to raise whatever they asked. She had resources and contacts, so he was sure she could come through. But his guard clearly didn’t care about ransoms or terms, and there was no guarantee that whoever the “boss” was cared either. Did they figure his mother would pay to get him back even if he was damaged? Probably. Ruddy hell, damaged. To never dance again? Or to be so mutilated internally and in his mind that he didn’t care if he lived, much less danced? Every minute, the look in that big psycho’s eye got more glazed, his focus on Trelain more single-minded. Soon, he’d snap, and the damage would be permanent. Trelain couldn’t wait for a ransom. He had to find a way out.

  The nerd looked up from the computer magazine he was reading and glanced at his watch. “Hey, Rutger, why don’t you go get something to eat, then bring something back for pretty pants here, and I’ll go get my dinner after that.”

  “Ja.”

  “Let me go to the john first, okay?” The guy got up from the cot where he’d been lying and went into the little bathroom. Rutger walked around from behind Trelain. Bloody hell, the man was huge. Trelain saw his big paw reach out to finger his golden hair. Rutger licked his lips, a disturbing habit Trelain was seeing more and more. Then Trelain looked down. Oh shit. The guy’s khaki pants were tented by an erection. Rutger pulled Trelain’s hair closer until he rubbed it on the front of that tent. Trelain tried to pull his head back, but the man yanked harder and a deep grunting sound slipped from his thin lips. Fucking hell! The sound of water from the bathroom seemed to pull Rutger from his erotic daydream. He stepped back, and Trelain saw that erotic daydream was a wet one. The guy had come in his pants. He quickly pulled on his jacket and closed it over the wet spot. Nerd came out of the bathroom, and without another word, Rutger walked to the door.

  “Don’t forget food for his highness, and then you can take care of him while I go eat.” The nerd’s inane chuckle suggested that the guy knew exactly what Rutger intended in his absence.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Midtown traffic didn’t give a shit about life and death. Mac made the driver crazy, but it didn’t get them one mile closer to the warehouse. The guy made a sharp right into a neighborhood. On an obscure side street, the driver stopped next to a nondescript American car.

  Mac leaned forward. “Hey, what the fuck—”

  The back door of the car opened and a figure hurtled out, ripped open Mac’s door, and landed in a heap on Mac’s lap. The limo took off like a bat, throwing Mac against the backseat. Daniel pulled off his baseball cap and sunglasses and gave Mac a hard kiss. “Hi, baby.”

  “Crap, Daniel. Everything okay with the drop-off?” The man nodded. “I’m so glad you’re here. I want to move faster.”

  “Yeah. The traffic is a bitch. I’d feel a lot better if we were certain this isn’t a wild goose chase.”

  Mac grabbed his cell. “I’ve got an idea.” He dialed.

  “Kizwalski.”

  “Hey, John. Mac.”

  “Hi, Mac. I—”

  “Just listen for a second. I’ve got reason to believe that there might be a connection between that hacker—SS—you told me about, and the German guy who owned the Golden Dancer, Horst Von Berg. You got anything that would help me know I’m right?”

  The pause was pregnant.

  “John, this may be life and death, and that would mean life and death for me too. I’ll get you whatever you want, just…”

  Daniel leaned in. “Tell him I’ll get him hot and cold running boy whores. Just answer the fucking question.”

  Kizwalski came to life. “Was that…?”

  “Yeah, Daniel Terrebone.”

  “What the fuck…?”

  “It’s a long story, John, which I will tell you, but this involves someone I love. Someone that Daniel loves. Please.”

  “Shit, you know I’m a sucker for love.” Mac hadn’t, but he did now. “Okay, I hear, unconfirmed, that SS is pissed at Terrebone and tried to form some kind of alliance with Von Berg.”

  “Jesus.” Mac nodded at Daniel, who picked up his own cell phone. “Thanks, John. I’m serious about the gratitude. I’ll open you an account with the madam, and you can have your pick any time you want, okay?”

  “That sounds good, but I think I’m even more anxious to know your story.”

  “I’ll tell you soon; meanwhile, hope for a happy ending.”

  “My kind of happy ending?”

  Mac flashed on the highly oral ending of the massages given by John’s favorite boys. “Yeah, that too.”

  “Sheeeit. Now I’m even more anxious to hear.”

  “Gotta rescue the damsel in distress first. Talk soon. Thank you, John. This means a lot.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He hung up to hear Daniel say, “You’re not as close to the warehouse as we are. Get there as soon as you can. Is everyone armed? Good.” He hung up his cell phone.

  Mac snuggled closer, looking for some comfort. “I haven’t been shot at since Afghanistan.”

  “Today may be the day.”

  * * *

  Minutes. That’s what he had until Rutger came back, if he was lucky. Seconds, if he was not. Trelain looked at the nerd. “Hey, need the toilet.”

  The guy grinned evilly. “Wait for Rutger. He likes to take you to the bathroom.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t wait. You want to clean up the frigging floor of my pee? Explain that to Rutger.”

  “Shit. Pansy-ass.” He pulled himself off the cot. “Okay, okay, get over there.”

  Trelain stood and walked the short distance, then paused. The guy sighed and
unbound his hands, then opened the bathroom door. “Get on with it.”

  Trelain gave him the smile that had launched a thousand autographs. “Hey, do you think I could have a minute in the loo by myself? I mean, I need to do some serious business, and I don’t think I can manage it with you staring. There’s nothing in there for me to hurt myself with; you already checked. Couldn’t I just have a minute? Besides, I don’t think you really enjoy watching me shit like Rutger does.”

  “Man, you got that right.” The nerd thought for a second while Trelain tried to pretend he was calm. If Rutger came back, his chances were over. The nerd glanced into the bathroom, giving the high, tiny window an extra second’s perusal. “Okay, hell. Where can you go, right?”

  “Right.” Trelain sighed in what he hoped sounded like resignation.

  “Go on.” The nerd held the door as Trelain walked into the bathroom, thinking those two little words might be the most beautiful he’d ever heard.

  * * *

  “Let’s get out. We can run from here.”

  Mac piled out of the limo with Daniel behind him. Okay, maybe running was overstating the case. It was still several blocks to the warehouse, and they might manage a brisk trot, but on foot would be faster than this fucking New York traffic. Von Berg couldn’t hurt Trelain; he couldn’t, he couldn’t. The litany beat time in his brain as his feet hit the pavement.

  He wouldn’t hurt him before the statue was recovered. Would he?

  * * *

  High fucker and small too. Trelain stared up at the tiny window at the top of the bathroom wall. What did it sound like when you were having bowel trouble? “Unh, unh.” He needed the sound effects for the nerd. Yeah. It was high in here, but outside? Fucking hell, two stories. His mind flashed on all the things that German madman would likely stick in Trelain’s ass in addition to his own twisted cock. Okay, two stories wasn’t that high. “Unnnnnnh.”