by Sam Cameron
No way was he going to die a virgin.
He concentrated on Brian, and the way his hair flopped around, and his dorky glasses. About all the books he read and the way he stuck up for Christopher even when he didn’t deserve it. About the kiss in Mom’s office. About sitting next to him in the fort all night, afraid to hold him or touch him in any way that might be considered sexual.
For the first time, Denny realized how immensely screwed up his whole denial thing was.
His arms hit something hard. Confused, he rolled onto his stomach. He’d reached the shallows of Bardet Key. He dragged himself upright, staggered into the frothy surf, and went down to his knees in the sand in front of a palm tree.
For a long moment he breathed deeply and willed away the shakiness in his arms and legs.
Then he forced himself to his feet and went looking for that flare gun.
*
Something white streaked upward from Bardet Key.
“Look!” Kelsey shouted.
The tight knot of fear that had been coiled in Steven’s stomach undid itself.
“I’ll be damned,” Crown said. “Your brother must have nine lives.”
Garcia wasn’t convinced. “It might not be him.”
Steven had no doubts. He turned the boat and steered toward the fishing shack Uncle Rick used to keep. Denny was on the beach there, alive but alone. Steven pulled Mr. Carlson’s boat as close to shore as he could and turned the helm over to Kelsey. Denny limped down into the water and Steven met him halfway.
They eyed each other critically.
“You’re limping,” Steven said.
“You’re burnt,” Denny responded.
Crown leaned over the boat. “You okay, kid?”
“Fine,” Denny said. “Brian needs help. He’s over on Mercy Key and his uncle’s there, too.”
They hauled Denny onto the Docket. Kelsey got him some water and cheese from the galley. On the flybridge, Steven filled him in on the fire and Nathan Carter. Crown was busy on the radio, letting the Coast Guard know Denny had been rescued and directing the police toward Mercy Key.
By the time they reached the island, two police boats and the Coast Guard were on the horizon. Poul Damgaard’s boat was still anchored by the Sleuth-hound. No one was aboard, which meant they were on land chasing Brian.
Crown said, “You kids stay here.”
Garcia added, “This is FBI business now.”
“But we can’t—” Denny started to argue.
Steven stopped him with a hand on his arm. “No, he’s right. If the bad guys circle back around to here, someone’s got to stop them.”
Crown and Garcia exchanged looks.
“All right, Steven, you come with me,” Garcia said. “Denny, you stay here with my partner.”
“Why me?” Denny asked indignantly.
“Limping,” Steven reminded him.
Denny stood to prove he was fine, but his leg was obviously cramping up again.
Crown asked, “And why am I staying behind?”
“Because of Nathan,” Garcia said grimly.
“No stunts,” Crown said sternly. “This isn’t about revenge.”
Garcia checked his weapon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kelsey had observed the conversations without comment, but now she said, “Steven, be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” He followed Garcia into the water and onto dry land.
Chapter Forty-one
Brian had secreted himself in dense greenery near the old fort. He tried to make himself as still and quiet as possible. The plan worked until something dark and slithery crawled across his foot. He panicked, scrambled away, and made a lot more noise than he should have. Someone shouted out in Danish. Brian ran as best he could past thorny vines that reached for him, grabbed him—
A pair of hands caught his shoulders and slammed him against one of the fort’s old brick walls. Pain radiated down his broken arm and he gasped.
Agent Prosper from Key West—Poul Damgaard—gave him a sour, triumphant look.
“Brian,” he said. “My dear nephew. We’ve been looking for you. Where’s your friend?”
Brian tried not to squirm against the rough bricks. “Who? I came here alone.”
Poul shook his head. “You wouldn’t know how to steer a boat in a bathtub.”
Anger flared in Brian. “How would you know?”
“I know all about you. You think I came unprepared? Your school records, your shopping habits, your disgusting fondness for other boys—all this I know.”
Brian should have been intimidated. Maybe he’d been hanging around Denny too long, however, because instead he lifted his chin and said, “Then you’d better know that the police are on their way.”
“Doubtful,” Poul said.
He turned his head over his shoulder and shouted out in Danish. Two men emerged from the thickets—Henrik, looking disheveled with two days of beard stubble, and the German from Key West. The German had a pistol wedged into Henrik’s side.
Henrik’s helpless gaze settled on Brian. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Brian ground out. “This is your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Your family sucks,” Brian said.
Poul grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and shoved him down to his knees. “Careful, boy.”
“I’m sorry for all the problems this has caused,” Henrik said.
“Problems?” Brian squeaked out. He hated how high his voice sounded. He hated that he was kneeling on the ground, maybe about to be killed. “She set fire to the house! She killed Nathan Carter!”
Henrik said, “You promised, Poul! No killing.”
“Miranda did what she had to do,” Poul said smugly. “She’s my best child. She deserves to inherit the fortune our grandfathers started for us.”
“She’s in jail,” Brian said. “I hope she rots there.”
Poul cuffed the back of his head hard enough to make Brian’s eyes water.
The German said something short and curt.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Poul said snippishly. “Where’s your friend? The sheriff’s son. The Coast Guard has been on the radio all night about you two.”
Sunlight through the trees dazzled Brian’s eyes. He felt flushed and powerful with the realization that yes, they could kill him, but they could only kill him once. At least Denny would be safe.
“I told you. I came alone,” he said.
The German shoved Henrik to his knees and put the pistol to the back of his head.
“No!” Henrik yelled. “Please!”
The powerfulness that Brian had been feeling abruptly fled, leaving behind ice water in his veins. “Stop!”
Poul held up a forestalling hand. “Tell me, then. Where’s your friend?”
“You don’t need him,” Brian insisted. “He doesn’t know anything.”
Something hard nuzzled the back of Brian’s head. He knew that Poul’s gun was now wedged against it. This is it, he thought. I’m dead now.
“Please, Poul.” Henrik was crying now. Crying for Brian. “Don’t do this. I made mistakes, you made mistakes, but don’t let your hatred for me destroy an innocent boy.”
Poul said, “This has never been about hatred, Henrik. Only justice. I gave you many chances to right your wrongs. To make amends for everything you stole from me and my loved ones. Last chance, boy. Where is the sheriff’s son?”
“Right here,” Denny said, stepping out over one of the low crumbled walls. He looked confident and calm, his hands in the air, his gaze only on Poul. “I’m right here. You don’t have to hurt anyone.”
*
Brian wanted to sag with relief.
But then he realized this was not Denny. The clothes were different, sure, but there were subtle differences, as well—the hair, the stance, the way he held his head.
“Come on, then,” Poul said, grabbing Brian and hauling him to his feet. He tucked his gun into
his belt. “We have diamonds to go find.”
Brian’s legs were shaky. He didn’t understand what was going on. If this was Steven, where was Denny?
The German man pulled Henrik up from his knees. Brian didn’t see what happened next, but heard a solid thunking noise and then turned to see the German sagging to his knees, a hunk of coral falling from his shoulder to the ground.
“FBI, freeze!” yelled Agent Garcia from atop one of the fort’s few solid walls. He had a gun in his hand, and another chunk of coral waiting to drop down on them.
Poul went for his gun.
Steven tackled him.
Brian was knocked aside by the fracas. He landed hard on the ground, his broken arm bursting into white-hot agony.
Then a gun went off, so loud it nearly deafened him, and Brian saw only black.
*
The gunshot had Denny rearing to his feet.
“Sit down before I handcuff you to the railing,” Crown said. He immediately negated the threat by clambering over the side of the Docket. “If my idiot partner gets himself killed, I’ll kill him again for good measure.”
Denny vowed the same about Steven.
The Coast Guard and police boats arrived and a helicopter closed in from the west. Kelsey looked impressed. Denny was only worried about Steven and Brian. He followed Crown into the water. Hot pain like a fire poker stabbed into his calf, but he made it to the sand just as Steven emerged from the brush.
With Steven were Brian and Henrik Vandermark.
“Bad guy needs a doctor,” Steven announced. “Your partner says take your time.”
Crown muttered, “I bet he does.”
Steven looked as invincible as ever. Brian had one hand covering his left ear, his cast was cracked, and his expression glazed.
Denny touched Brian’s good arm. “Are you okay?”
“Half-deaf,” was Brian’s reply. “What about you?”
Denny grinned. “I had a nice swim.”
Brian smiled back at him. For a moment, it was just the two of them, the only important people in the world, despite the Coast Guard officers and policemen wading ashore. Denny felt elated, overjoyed, stupendously relieved.
And Brian must have felt the same, because he leaned forward and kissed Denny. No chaste, friendly kiss, either—this was hot and strong and smack-dab on the mouth, like a lightning bolt on a summer day, so passionate that Denny might have made a soft noise of surrender before he recovered his senses and jerked away.
“Sorry,” Brian said, but his expression didn’t show regret.
Steven cleared his throat. “I didn’t see that coming.”
Denny was sure everyone was staring at him.
All these men who worked with or knew his Dad.
“Forget it,” Denny said, his face burning, and he went back out into the water to claim his boat.
Chapter Forty-two
Denny slept for a whole day, exhausted. When he finally woke up, Mom fussed over him and Dad said he’d done well. Newspapers, TV people, and bloggers were all trying to reach him, but he agreed only to talk to Janet Hogan, because he owed her.
No one said anything about the public and very embarrassing kiss.
Brian and his mother hadn’t left Fisher Key, although their house was uninhabitable. They moved into a rental house near the Key West resort. Denny only knew that because Mom knew the rental agent. Meanwhile, Poul Damgaard and his daughter were in jail, and Henrik Vandermark was under investigation for fraud and other crimes by the FBI and Interpol.
“That computer hard drive from the SUV was full of financial records and incriminating evidence,” Steven explained. “Poul was using it for blackmail.”
Denny waited for Brian to call him at home or at the Bookmine, but there was only silence.
“You could call him,” Steven suggested.
“He kissed me in front of a dozen witnesses.”
“Heat of the moment! No one’s going to call the Coast Guard and report you before you even start.”
It felt like a weird kind of stalemate, but maybe that was too generous a word. Denny had seen the hurt on Brian’s face on the sunlit beach of Mercy Key. You don’t kiss a guy like that and expect him to say, “Forget it.”
But Brian had given him no choice. What did he think Denny would do?
He wasn’t thinking, a voice said inside Denny. He was just happy to see you.
Not for the first time, Denny pondered his own cowardice.
Caught up on his sleep, his leg all better, Denny still felt miserable. He moped around the house, barely ambitious enough to change the TV channel every couple of hours.
“If you don’t snap out of it, I’m going to beat you,” Steven threatened one night. They were in bed, the air-conditioner pumping out lukewarm air again, and Denny hated the rattle so much that he wanted to just push the unit out the window.
“I’m going outside to sleep,” Denny said.
He grabbed his pillow and a sheet and went outside, where the breeze made the air marginally cooler. Long ago they’d erected twin hammocks down by the water. Denny climbed into one and stared up at the white stars. A moment later, Steven got into his own hammock.
“I mean it,” Steven said. “Snap out of it.”
“Your bedside manner sucks.”
“You’re not sick. You’re sulking.”
Denny wanted to throw something hard at him, but his only ammunition was his pillow. He kept that tucked under his head.
Steven said, “Honestly. Go over and pound on his door and apologize.”
“He’s the one who kissed me! In front of a dozen witnesses. It kind of ruins my ‘stay in the closet’ scheme.”
“It’s a sucky scheme.”
“You want me to ditch the academy?”
“There are lots of gay people in the Coast Guard. Why do you have to be the only one who can’t have sex?”
“Sex, or a relationship?” Denny challenged.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’d know what you mean if you actually got back together with Kelsey,” Denny said.
“She’s still mad at me.”
“So make it up to her.”
Steven said nothing.
Denny listened to the water washing in and out. The sky above them stretched away and away, across the universe. He wanted to float up into it but was too tied down, too heavy for flight.
“Mom and Dad would die if they find out,” he finally said.
“Says who?”
Denny heaved a theatrical sigh. “You know what? You’re so big on the truth, I’ll make you a deal. When you tell them the truth about SEAL training, I’ll tell them that I like to kiss boys. We’ll ruin their whole summer all at once.”
Steven didn’t answer.
The next morning Denny woke with the sun in his face. He blinked at the blue-green ocean and cloudless sky. The smell of bacon wafted from the house. When Denny got to the kitchen, Dad was cooking. Dad never cooked. Mom was wrapped in her bright orange and yellow bathrobe, reading the newspaper. Steven was wet with sweat, just in from his run.
“Morning, sweetie,” Mom said.
Dad asked, “Hungry, kiddo?”
“Yeah.” Denny slumped into a chair and yawned. “I could eat a horse.”
Steven dropped into the chair across the table. “Mom, Dad, I didn’t get into boot camp in September. I lied about SEAL training because I couldn’t admit I’d failed the color test. But I’m working on getting a waiver.”
Mom lowered her coffee cup and stared at him.
Dad lifted his spatula and stared at him.
Steven said, “Now Denny wants to tell you something, too.”
Denny could have murdered him right there with a butter knife.
Instead of fratricide, he swallowed past a lump of panic and said, “Mom, Dad, it’s come to my attention that maybe I don’t like girls. The way I like boys. If you know what that means.”
He dared a glance at Mom. She had a p
uzzled look on her face, as if she couldn’t decide if they were joking or not.
Dad was frozen in place.
“I think the bacon’s burning,” Steven said quietly.
Slowly, Dad turned off the stove. “I think this family has a whole lot to talk about.”
*
Which was how they both ended up grounded for a week—Steven for lying, Denny for helping him keep the lie going.
As for the gay stuff?
“We’re both college-educated professionals,” Mom said. “I can’t exactly say we’re surprised.”
Dad added, “It’s not going to be easy for you, being gay and in the military. But what did you think? We were going to hate you? Kick you out?”
Denny’s face burned as he said, “It happens to other people.”
“It doesn’t happen around here,” Dad said and gave him a hug.
So now his parents knew, and the world kept spinning. The sun rose and set on schedule, Steven continued to stink up the bathroom with obnoxious smells, and Denny had to think hard about his future.
“Should I still go into the Coast Guard?” he asked his parents.
Mom asked, “Any reason you shouldn’t?”
Dad said, “Good reasons, that is. Not some rules in Washington from politicians who’ve never served a day in their lives.”
Denny loved his parents.
Today, Friday, was his first day back to work since the rescue on Mercy Key. Sean and Robin both wanted to know all the gritty details. To save himself from an interrogation, Denny holed himself up in the back and started putting the music section in alphabetical order. He was sorting through a dozen books about The Beatles when Mom fluttered into sight in her green and orange dress.
“There’s a customer out front with some books to sell,” she said. “Will you handle it?”
“Sean knows how,” Denny protested.
“These are rare books. I think you’d better do it.”