by Amy Lane
“We can!” she said. “We have an FBI interdistrict task force at our disposal for just such an eventuality,” she told him. “But that’s not the weird part. Do you want to hear the weird part?”
“Oh my God, I really do.”
“Okay, first of all, this guy is calling from what sounds like a school bus from hell. I ask him when he took charge of the children, and he says two days ago, in the afternoon. He says he took the kids to a medical professional to get them checked out, and then he’s had to change vehicles a couple of times because he was being tracked. I asked by who, and he said ‘The mob? The military? Take your pick. I’m trying to stay one step ahead.’”
“Jason Constance?” Jackson asked, because the name was familiar. He’d never met the man personally, but one of those little pockets in the desert housed a couple of friends, and he was pretty sure Constance was the CO to one of those people he regarded as a friend. In fact, earlier on in the year, Constance and Lee Burton—the friend—had been watching over Jackson and Ellery and Ellery’s mother in order to keep Ellery’s mother safe from a hit man. Jackson hadn’t seen them at the time—although he’d caught a glimpse of a thirtyish man with dark hair and big, sad brown eyes. They hadn’t spoken personally, but he and Ellery had known they were there.
“Colonel Jason Constance,” Mira corrected.
“Of course. Okay, that’s weird. When did he say he’d be here?”
“Tomorrow morning. He was going to find another vehicle and travel by night. I told him to head for the courthouse. He seemed to be afraid someone would take the kids away from him, and like I said, it sounded like he was driving the school bus from hell. Anyway, so we get that phone call, and then we get a call from Constance’s direct superior, who says that if we’re contacted by a Colonel Jason Constance, he’s acting without authorization of the US military and that he’s armed and dangerous, and we should not accept any shipments from him, no matter what kind of shipment he brought.”
Jackson went to take another sip of his soda and realized his hand was shaking. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. The last time he and Ellery had tangled with the military, they had almost died. Ellery had almost died. Jackson’s heart was going triple time, and he wondered if he should take some of the nitro left over from before his surgery, or if he was just having a full-blown panic attack.
But these were kids.
And that steadied him. He knew who he was. He knew who Ellery was. Neither of them were the kind of people to turn their backs on children.
“So someone intercepts these kids, and Constance wants to return them home, and whoever was up in the food chain wanted to do something else with them,” Jackson said. One of the things he did know about Constance was that he was in charge of a very secret, very important op. A rogue military leader had trained up a bunch of serial-killing psychopaths, one of whom had infiltrated Sac PD the year before. Constance’s job was to track them down and take them out—or imprison them—but mostly not have them out in the world, wreaking havoc on the general population.
They couldn’t lose Constance. Like Jackson and Ellery, he had a goddamned job to do.
“That’s what it sounds like,” Mira said. “And the thing that made me think of your case is that Constance said most of the kids were from the Russian and Ukrainian communities. There were a couple who spoke fluent English, and he was using those kids to keep the other kids calm. That sounds like—”
“Max and Sophie!” Oh holy hell. This was it. The miracle Tage Dobrevk and his family needed.
“Yes, it does,” she said. “But first he’s got to get here, and then he’s got to get here before the other guy, Brigadier General Barney Talbot, intercepts him and takes the kids to do whatever he had planned.”
Oh wow. “Constance is evading two bad guys,” Jackson murmured. And one of them was his own commander, fuck all the fucking things.
“That’s what we think,” Mira confirmed.
“What do Sodhi and Pasternak plan to do?”
Mira’s voice dropped. “Here’s the thing: I actually talked to Constance, but Talbot? He went to voicemail while we were in a conference. I played the voicemail for them, and Pasternak—you know how he’s so fair skinned?”
“Yeah?”
“His scalp turned purple. Like a beet. Like that’s where the expression came from!”
Jackson imagined Mira’s little upturned nose wrinkling in surprise, and he managed a smile. “That’s amazing,” he said.
“I know! Anyway, he looked me and Eleanor in the eye and said, ‘It’s a shame we never got this message, isn’t it, El?’ And Sodhi looks at me and says, ‘Our machine eats them sometimes, right?’ And I erased it while they were watching and said, ‘What message? I’ll have the FBI at the courthouse to greet Constance in the morning.’”
Jackson spit soda out all over his hand. “That’s… that’s… oh my God. Mira! That’s… you could all get fired!”
“Constance wanted to get the kids to their homes. This other guy wanted to stop them. I swear to hell, Jackson, we see garbage humans get away with garbage human excrement every day, and here was a chance to have kids reunited with their parents and someone was trying to get in this guy’s way? So yeah. But if you and Ellery wanted to be in front of the courthouse tomorrow around, I don’t know, 6:00 a.m. or so, maybe bring some coffee. I think that guy is going to need some, right?”
Jackson swallowed. What Jason Constance should have was a hero’s parade. Coffee was the least they could do.
“And a safe place to sleep and someone who’s got his back,” Jackson said soberly. “Ellery and I have that covered.”
“That’s good,” she said on an exhaled breath. “I’m… I’m glad. To be honest, my hands haven’t stopped shaking since I erased that message. Ethan and El are looking gray at the gills. It’s good to know that someone—someone—knows what’s going on.”
“Even better,” Jackson said softly, “I think I can talk to someone who might know more of the whole story.”
“Oooh.” Mira’s voice dropped. “Look, even if you can’t make it official? I’d love to hear the whole story. Seriously, Jackson, you dropped a monster on our lap, and then a leviathan jumped out of the toilet and ate it.”
Jackson chuckled a little at the image. “Well, it was a monster, Mira. Let’s hope the leviathan wins. I’ll call you if anything changes.”
“Deal.”
He hung up and finished his soda, then rinsed out the glass. After which he went to the bathroom and washed his hands and took three deep breaths. Every time he called this number—every goddamned time—weird shit happened.
But Tage’s little brother and sister might be on their way home, and Jackson needed to help.
He didn’t keep the number in his cell. He kept it in his head and dialed from memory.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Oh hell. Burton was probably in the middle of an op. Ring. Ring. Jesus, this guy might be killing a terrorist or a psycho killer or something. Ring. Ring. Ri—
“Sorta in the middle of something right now,” Lee Burton said tensely. “Make it quick and good.”
Jackson barely bit back the retort of “Said your boyfriend!” because now was not the time—although it was a near thing.
“Why is your boss on his way to Sacramento with half the military on his ass and a school bus full of kids?”
Burton grunted. “Hold on a sec. Dammit, Ace! Not now,” he cried. “Wait. What is Jai…? Oh Jesus fucking—”
The sound of the explosion was so loud it came across as silence over the phone, and Jackson stared at the device in his hand as though it would suddenly turn into a television monitor and show him all the things he was obviously missing.
He looked at the microwave clock, watched as a minute clicked off, and was about to hang up when Burton’s voice came over the phone again.
“I’ll kill him,” he said, growling. “I’ll kill them both. They have both obviously survived, but that wasn’t cool. If I hav
e to watch that asshole almost die again, I’m going to come unglued. Mother. Fucker.”
Jackson heard the long, shaky sound of a cleansing breath and realized he was sweating in sympathy.
“So,” he said, his own voice not too steady. “Everybody’s okay?”
“Well, that mobster’s not,” Burton said. “But he was a scumbag anyway.”
Oh Jesus. “Was that mobster’s name Dima Siderov?” Jackson asked, because that would be too convenient.
“No,” Burton said, dashing his hopes. “It was Alexei Kovacs. But Siderov reports to him, so, uhm, consider your hornets’ nest officially kicked. Now, what about Constance?”
“He apparently has a brigadier general trying to stop him from delivering a bunch of kids he intercepted on a trafficking route—”
“Ace intercepted,” Burton said succinctly. “And Jai.” He pitched his voice to a furious whisper, obviously talking to two people who were nearing his location. “Yes, I’m talking about you two assholes! Which part of drive up and wait until I have a clear shot did you not understand?”
Jackson could hear Ace Atchison’s voice clear as a bell through Burton’s phone. “The part where there were no kids in that house and a room full of drugs and bad guys with guns.”
“And C-4,” Jai said. “Don’t forget the C-4. That part is very important.”
“Yes,” Ace confirmed. “Jai saw the C-4 and thought that maybe one guy with a sniper rifle was not what the situation called for.”
“So you two idiots thought blowing up half a city block was what the situation called for?” Burton demanded, obviously still seething.
“But Lee,” Ace protested. “There’s no city anywhere. We’re out in the middle of the fucking desert!”
Burton took another one of those cleansing breaths. “Rivers, if I tell you I can get these two bozos to Sacramento by—when do you need them?”
“Tomorrow, in front of the courthouse, 6:00 a.m.?”
“Okay, yeah. I can do that. If I can do that, can I hang up and yell?”
“Knock yourself out,” Jackson said. “He’s your CO. You know what’s best.”
“Sure. Fine. See you then.”
Burton obviously hit End Call, and Jackson was left alone in the kitchen as darkness washed over the room.
God, it was almost eight o’clock. He’d been on the phone for what felt like hours upon hours. Restlessly he went and put the thing in the charger and set about making dinner. Nothing fancy—broiled pork chops and rice—but it was done when Ellery walked through the door.
“Hey,” he said, so happy to see his Counselor that his entire body almost melted with relief. “Does Galen have a car now?”
“Yes,” Ellery said, covering a yawn. “And so do you. It should be delivered in a couple of days.” Jackson washed his hands and moved to take Ellery’s briefcase and set it under the working end of the kitchen table before moving back into his space.
He smelled like heat and a little like sweat and a little like his deodorant, which really wasn’t bad stuff.
It all added up to Ellery Cramer, and after the intensity of rearranging the world by phone call, Jackson inhaled the basic smells of sweat and man with gratitude.
“You didn’t have to get me a car,” he murmured, nuzzling Ellery’s neck.
Ellery’s shoulders and body sagged a little, and Jackson thought fondly that Ellery went through most of his life with his spine straight and his armor in place, but in Jackson’s arms, all of that melted away. His Counselor was soft and very, very improper when Jackson kissed his neck and nibbled his ear.
“Sorta did,” Ellery mumbled. “I was being stubborn.”
Jackson chuckled, moving to his other ear, sucking on the lobe a little and enjoying the salt. “You? Stubborn? No….”
“No, no.” Ellery pulled away with obvious reluctance. “I have to say this or I’m just going to turn into a puddle and blow you.”
Oh, and wasn’t that an appealing image. “Heh heh heh heh heh heh….”
“Seriously, Jackson. Let me say this. And then we can….” His mouth, which had flattened into a grim line, went slack and lopsided. “Uhm, do that other thing.”
Jackson grinned, and then, in a moment of delight, turned the tables on him.
“How about food. Have you eaten? You look like you need protein. Sit down. Rest, Ellery. Let me feed you. You should have food before you pass out. You can’t neglect your health, you know.”
Ellery’s chuckle was both tired and a little hysterical. “Oh my God, you’re being an asshole.”
“I’m the asshole who cooked something that wasn’t mac and cheese, so be nice and sit down.” Jackson moved to the stove and started plating up their dinner, making sure to give Ellery a generous portion of steamed veggies ’cause they were good for you!
He set down the plate and some cutlery and then set his own place before moving back to the fridge and pulling out a chilled chardonnay.
Jackson had soda that filled him with deep delight—but Ellery really loved one, maybe two, glasses of wine.
He poured Ellery’s wine and then a half glass for himself, and sat down to his pork chops, risotto, and salad. He’d taken over some of the cooking while he’d been on sick leave—mostly from sheer boredom—and he was rather proud of how much he’d learned.
Ellery was chewing on a bite of pork chop, eyes closed in appreciation. “Mm… this is good. Did you make the marinade?”
“Store bought, like the risotto in a box,” Jackson confessed. “But that sweet-and-sour stuff? That was my idea.”
Ellery tasted it. “Hey, that’s great! What is that?”
“Balsamic vinegar and strawberry jam,” Jackson told him, grinning. “You like?”
Ellery was regarding him in shock. “Balsamic… and…. What in the hell?”
“Sweet and sour.” Jackson shrugged and took his own bite, smiling with a certain amount of self-satisfaction. “It totally works.”
“Oh my God, it does.” Ellery took another bite and washed it down with a sip of wine, and some of the exhaustion that had colored his movements as he’d come in washed away. “And you didn’t give me a chance to explain about the car.”
Jackson shifted uncomfortably and then winced. Gah! Stitches. On. His. Ass. The fuck! “You don’t need—”
“I need to trust you,” Ellery blurted.
Jackson looked at him in surprise. “Ellery, I’m not ever playing around on you. You know that!”
Ellery grimaced and nodded. “The fact that you think that’s what I meant means I teased you about that way too often, and I’m sorry.”
Jackson shrugged and took his own sip of wine. “I have a history,” he said.
“And I’m so impressed with you,” Ellery replied simply. “In just… all the ways. I look at you, and I think, ‘No wonder he’s slept with half of Sacramento. Everybody wants him. I don’t blame them. He’s amazing.’”
Oh my God. Jackson’s face was on fire, and he couldn’t even look across the table. “I’m a hot mess,” he admitted. Ellery knew this. Jackson had taken all those people to his bed to keep the nightmares at bay, because a body in there with him usually meant he could at least wake up before he sat up screaming.
“And it was self-protection,” Ellery said softly. “I know this. But that’s not why those people came to your bed. They came because you made them feel good. And you still do—just not with sex. And that’s amazing. But you have never even given me a doubt that way. In the last year, from the moment we first became a we, I knew I was important to you. You weren’t going to play around because you and I were serious. I’ve never doubted—never doubted—that you would be faithful, because that’s how your heart is made, Jackson Rivers. That’s not the kind of trust I was talking about.”
Jackson could hardly look at him. His brown eyes were so tired, but he was so earnest. It was one of the qualities Jackson had loved about him from the first. Ellery Cramer did and said exactly what he meant
.
“I, uhm, I’ve scared you a lot,” he said, knowing what this was about now.
“You think?” Ellery retorted, but he didn’t follow it up with a snort of humor, or even with a sip of wine. “I know you don’t think much of yourself, but I knew what I had from the very beginning. You are such a good man. And you cared for me, and I was—am—so afraid that you’ll just throw that away because you don’t understand how important you are to me. To your family. But look at this.” He gestured to the dinner. “Look at you.”
Jackson’s face had still not gotten any cooler. “I have stitches in my ass,” he pointed out, in case Ellery had confused him with someone else.
“Because you were protecting a terrified teacher, and your friend,” Ellery said softly. “And not because you were trying to throw yourself away.”
“I… I have a lot to live for,” Jackson said simply. But it needed to be said. It hadn’t always been that way, not even after Ellery. There had been a time—the longest, darkest night in November and its terrible aftermath—during which Jackson had looked at himself and seen who he’d been: the disposable boy, the junkie’s drop piece, the department snitch, and meat on the OR table. He hadn’t seen who he’d become, which was, he suspected, what Ellery was talking about now.
“Tell me,” Ellery begged. “I just bought you your fourth car in a year. If you gave birth, we’d be handing our firstborn over to my mother’s insurance broker. Tell me what you have to live for.”
Jackson had felt less naked when he’d been leaning over the ambulance, ass out, getting stitches put in his backside. But Ellery was here, telling Jackson he had faith that Jackson wasn’t going anywhere, and this? This emotional honesty? This was the price you paid for having a good person, a person you loved and desired, walk through the door and look at you the way Ellery looked at Jackson.
“You,” he said softly. “Us. Our friends. Our family. Our jobs. A chance to do good in the world. A chance to chase some of the monsters away. My cat. A new kitten. Calling your mother Lucy Satan. Watching my brother’s kids grow up. Working with my sister and putting her through law school.”