True Colors

by Clare London

  Miles bit his lip hard, holding back his own protests.

  “He’d drunk too much as usual. He didn’t want me in bed. Didn’t want me at all. He just wanted new and more unattractive ways of telling me so. He wouldn’t listen about the sketches, wouldn’t sign anything.” Remy was rambling now, and swaying slightly on her feet. “He refused to tell me where the missing two were hidden. He kept blabbing on about Zeke…. I guess I may have suggested at one stage that if he was that fond of baby brother, it ought to be him that Jacky went to bed with.”

  Miles let out a groan.

  She lifted her eyes now. “Don’t be so shocked, Miles. You’re ready enough to pursue your own pleasures with him, aren’t you? I was damned angry. Surely you can understand that?”

  “Did you fight?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Business associates had sometimes described that tone as soft and gentle as a gloved claw.

  “Yeah. We fought,” she snarled back at him. “You know how I like it rough sometimes, don’t you, Miles? Not that you’ve ever played those games properly with me… not like Jacky did. But this was no game, I guess. He slapped me, and I pushed back at him. He fell against the easel and hit his head. I think he was unconscious for a while. I was shaky myself. I’d dropped my bag. I’d dropped everything….”

  Miles glared at her. She rattled out her reply as if he’d demanded it of her; as if she were scared of what he’d do if she refused him.

  “It was an accident, sweetie. You know that antique lighter of mine? It’s always been faulty. The flame flares up too easily; the cover is loose. A spark from it caught at a canvas, and the fabric started to burn.” Her eyes were glazed now, as if she were having trouble remembering. Or acting as if she did. “It’s a beautiful thing, fire. Isn’t it?” Unconsciously, her tongue slipped out and licked at her lips. “Very clean; very true. It was good to see it licking all over his precious stuff: his canvases, and pencil sets, and easel… his furniture… all the good things of life that he said he treasured….”

  There was a sound like a sob from behind Miles.

  “Did you try to put the fire out?” asked Miles. The words sounded stilted. “Try to rouse Jacky?”

  Her eyes widened. “Heavens, that would have been very dangerous for me, wouldn’t it? If he’d woken, he might have hurt me even more. I can’t risk personal injury in my profession. And he’d made it clear that everything was over. I had to go, Miles. I had to get to safety. I gathered up a few of his papers that were on the nearest table, just out of instinct, you understand. And I left.” She drew a deep sigh, as if satisfied with the effort she’d put into the tale. “He deserved everything he got, Miles. I picked up my stuff, and I got a cab home.”

  “The whole place burned down,” growled Miles. “You took papers with his signature, so that you could forge the sale of the sketches, and you ran away. You never told anyone. You never told them that it was you at Jacky’s that night.”

  She looked at him as if he were mad. “Why would I do that? It was never my fault. I couldn’t be associated with such a thing. There was no need, Miles. No need.” Her slim shoulders almost shrugged. “Was there?”

  The atmosphere in the gallery around him was of shock, of suppressed pain and horrified disbelief. Carter’s white face shone like a mask of horror in the dim light; Red was making a swift call to the police on his cell phone, his eyes flashing to and from the man at his side.

  Miles stared at Remy, and felt nothing but cold disgust. “That’s what gave you the idea about setting the fire at my place, wasn’t it? You got the taste for it, for seeing flames burn whatever had disappointed you; whoever had rejected you.”

  “Miles, I…,” she said, just the once. The rest of her sentence dried up.

  “You stole Zeke’s sketches, Remy,” he said.

  “Just pictures, Miles,” she pouted. “Why is everyone so upset? It’s just business.”

  “Was Jacky just business? He was a person. He died. He was Zeke’s brother; Carter’s lover. What has your greed done, Remy?”

  “Zeke, Zeke, your little fuck buddy,” she snapped back, her gorgeous face distorted by the ugly words. “That’s all you can talk about, ever since you met him. Both of you, just playing at art. What the hell do either of you deserve? I saw you both at the exhibition—making out, for the whole damned city to see. Guess that’s why you never managed much for me, honey. Why you were such a damned disappointment in bed.”

  Miles smiled, though he felt no amusement. “I’d have said it was more to do with your own lack of sincerity, honey. Can’t help it if I find that level of superficiality less than desirable.”

  Behind him, someone cleared a dry throat, startling him. “He’s right, Remy. The loss is all yours. In bed, that is. And any blame for that is going to have to lie with you.”

  Miles’ blood ran hot at the sound of the new voice, at the most familiar voice. The body behind him was a warm shadow, and even as he moved to protect it, he shivered with the remembered delight of its touch. “Zeke…?”

  Zeke Roswell was awake, downstairs in the gallery, and standing beside him.

  Remy broke into loud, helpless sobs.

  Chapter 12

  THE police had come and gone, and Remy Dion had gone with them: a tall, beautiful figure, despite her astonishing outfit and tear-streaked face, and almost welcoming the attention she was getting. She had no further words for any of the men in the gallery. The police had suggested she call her lawyer, but she seemed more interested in calling her PA to have fresh clothes sent over. The officers were dismissive, having seen shock and denial too many times before, but Red rolled his eyes with disgust.

  He handled the liaison with the police as best and as swiftly as he could, but he felt surprisingly shaken. Closing the door behind them and shutting out the night, he turned back to face the gallery room. They’d all be required to make statements in the morning, but as Remy wasn’t denying anything, they’d been told they didn’t need to go to the station with her tonight.

  Carter stood quietly on one side of the Perspex screen. He’d watched the activity of Remy’s arrest without entering into it at all. Miles had taken Zeke aside and they were talking together in low, urgent voices.

  Red went over to Carter. It would have looked ridiculous to ignore him, wouldn’t it? Besides, that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Carter, are you okay? All that about the fire… and Jacky. I never imagined Remy was involved to that degree.”

  “Neither did I,” said Carter. His voice was cool, as if drained of life’s warmth.

  “I’m….” Red grimaced. Dammit. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tongue-tied. “I’m deeply sorry to have dragged you into this. If I hadn’t gone digging around in Remy’s past, setting ridiculous traps for her with the gallery….” Red cursed himself for his clumsiness. He wanted desperately to do right by Carter, but he’d never felt so awkward, so unsure of how to deal with the man beside him. He was aghast at the way that the night had ended.

  “It was never your fault, Red,” said Carter, and for a second there was the flicker of animation returning to his face. “I never wanted to think of that night, to imagine what it would have been like for him. But now that I know, I think I can face it again. I can remember him without the uncertainty and the fear being there. It’s odd….” He shook his head, as if he were amazed at himself. “You know—I never told anyone that before. I never talked about it to anyone before.” His voice was almost a whisper.

  Red couldn’t help himself; he laid his hand on Carter’s shoulder. Perhaps it was too personal a gesture for such a self-contained man as Carter Davison, but he didn’t shake off the comforting touch. “That was the most astonishin’ thing I ever saw,” Red said, gently. “To talk about the man like you did. To tell her the things you did. I can’t imagine I’d ever have the balls to do that myself. I’d never have the courage.”

  “It was the truth,” said Carter, flatly.

  “It hurt you,�
�� said Red. His throat felt very tight and his voice sounded hoarse, rather ugly. “Christ, it must have hurt you more than anythin’….”

  “No.” replied Carter, sharply. He turned and stared directly at Red. His eyes were bright again. He still looked immensely tired, but there was something fiercely alight in him now. “It was no worse than any other time with Jacky Roswell. No worse than any other jealousy or misery that he brought me. He was always sorry, believe me. He begged me—often—to stay with him, to forget all the others. They meant nothing. He genuinely believed it. He genuinely loved me. And I loved him in return. I wouldn’t have left him, not for that, anyway. Don’t you think that’s pathetic?”

  Red’s eyes widened sharply. “I don’t know anyone less deserving of that description than you, Carter Davison.” Carter continued to stare at him, but his eyes softened. “I envy you, in all truth,” Red said, slowly. “I’m jealous. Dammit, that’s not somethin’ you’re going to hear from my lips too often. But it’s somethin’ precious, to know what you want—to treasure it. Despite the pain that comes with it.”

  Carter smiled and shook his head, but gently, as if he’d heard something surprising but pleasing. “Precious, yes. Treasure it, no. I’m starting to think a little more clearly now, I think. Zeke tried to tell me that I should move on, but I only half-listened. Gave him plenty of advice, but took none myself.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, for God’s sake—”

  “Hush, Red,” said Carter.

  Red smiled wryly. Just how many people would’ve laughed to see how willingly he complied?

  “I loved Jacky. I’m not ashamed to say it. And it was the best time of my life so far.”

  “So far…?” Red’s heart was beating way too fast. His voice was so quiet he thought Carter probably didn’t hear him.

  “But it was a time full of shit as well.” Carter’s eyes were wide now, and his mouth set tight. There were mixed expressions of astonishment and hopefulness on his face. He seemed to be finding his shocked feelings both strange and amusing. Red felt a humbling gratitude for being able to see them; for Carter allowing him to. He wondered when the hell he’d become so poetic.

  “Now Jacky’s gone,” continued Carter. “And all that went with him. I think I want something rather more rewarding now; something more mature.”

  “Will you let me help you look for it?” Red was startled at the tone of his voice. It had lost its seductive timbre and sounded rather childlike.

  “Maybe.” Carter frowned and laughed at the same time, as if he didn’t really understand where he was, or believe what had happened. “We’ve got statements to make first; Zeke and Miles to protect. When this news breaks….”

  Miles appeared at Red’s shoulder, taking his arm. Zeke’s pale face loomed over his shoulder. “Red, we’re going to stay here for the moment, but can you organize some secure transport for us, to be on my call? I really don’t think Zeke is up to any questioning, official or otherwise. We need a temporary break from it all.”

  “Sure,” said Red. He flipped the cell phone open again, perfectly happy to wake his contacts well before dawn. Carter moved away to stand by Zeke and their heads dipped in some private conversation, their voices too low for anyone else to hear them.

  MILES felt exhausted. It wasn’t just physical, though he was tired from the show. No, it was a deep, saturating, emotional weariness.

  If he was affected so much, how the hell was Zeke coping with it all?

  Behind him, Red closed his cell, having cheerfully overridden all complaints and sleepy confusion at the security firm. “You’re a cool cookie, Winter,” he murmured. “When did you start to suspect Remy for the whole fire episode?”

  “I didn’t,” said Miles, bluntly. “When my house was set on fire that time, I came here to see Zeke. That’s when he told me more about his own story. I think I started to think then, about the connections between art and fire—the people who were common to us both. I didn’t have Remy in that category, I admit. But there were coincidences that hadn’t been explained; too many mysteries for my liking.”

  Red smiled. “You’re not at the top of the corporate tree by accident, hon. Tenacity is just one of your middle names.”

  Miles shook his head, dismissing the teasing. “But it wasn’t until I heard your conversations with her—you and Carter—that I knew she’d been with Jacky Roswell as well. It was the final piece of the jigsaw that I needed, to expose the fate of the sketches. And to confirm my suspicions about the fire that killed him.”

  “Told you to read the damned gossip press,” grumbled Red. “We might have worked this all out sooner if we’d known more about what Remy was up to. Your damned staff knows more about our social circle than we do ourselves.”

  Miles looked back at Carter and Zeke, now hugging.

  “Damned sap,” muttered Red, though he looked suspiciously moved. “Damned night this has been.”

  “Go and look after him, Red,” said Miles, knowing that Red would know who he meant.

  “If he lets me.” Red grimaced. “I’d kind of like him lookin’ after me as well, in return.”

  “I can’t say I’d envy him the job.” Miles smiled. “Will you come with us when the car arrives?”

  Red shook his head, grinning back. “I’ll go with Carter now, I think, to see him home okay. Whether he wants me to or not. He’s the sort of guy who’s going to need some persuadin’ that he needs me as a chaperone, you know?” He ignored Miles’ amused look. “And besides, I’m not going to play third wheel for anyone, let alone Mr. and Mr. Outrageous Couple.” He laughed and pressed Miles’ shoulder in support. “Call the guys when you want the limo delivered. And call me when you need me, hon, okay? I’ll see you’re both all right.”

  THE dawn light was creeping through the dim sky outside. It shone mistily across the bare floor of the studio room. Miles yawned, unable to hold back his tiredness.

  Zeke sat on his couch, legs curled up underneath him. He had just his shorts on, though Miles had insisted on draping a soft blanket around his bare shoulders. His hair was loose, curling on his shoulders. Miles had brought in two cups of strong, heavily sugared tea, but neither of them had touched a sip. He sat now at the very edge of the cushion, just like he’d done that first time, seemingly a million years ago, when he barely knew Zeke. Zeke’s clothes felt unfamiliar on his body. He wanted to reach out to the other man, and touch his face—to caress it—but he kept his hands to himself. He didn’t know what Zeke was feeling, and it worried him.

  Zeke looked up at him, frowning as if he felt the vibrations of Miles’ desire and confusion. “Miles, are you okay?”

  “Me?”

  “Uh-huh. About Remy. You know. She tried to fool you with just about everything….”

  “Christ, Zeke, of course I am.” Miles wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to sound heartless. Remy may have fooled him, but what did that matter? It didn’t do her any good in the end. She’d never reached his heart. And it was nothing compared to the hurt she’d caused Zeke. “I would have done anything to stop you hearing all that tonight,” he said, hoarsely.

  It was Zeke’s turn to protest. His eyes were wide. “Why? Isn’t it better I know the truth? It answered so many of my questions. Who Jacky was with; what really happened that night; how the accident ever came to be. And it was a damned sight worse for Carter to relive all the memories.”

  “You can go to him if you want….”

  “Nah.” Zeke smiled, sleepily. “He’s got Red for the moment—even if he had to forego the hot sex on the catalog table.”

  “You… look, are you going to be okay about all this?” asked Miles. The revelations of the night had been stunning. Was Zeke in shock? Distraught?

  “Fuck it,” Zeke swore. He suddenly stretched his arms high above his head, the joints popping and the long fingers locking his hands together. The blanket shifted down his back, exposing the glistening skin and muscles of his torso. “Of course I’m going to be
okay. What am I, a kid brother for the rest of my life? I don’t want that shit to consume me again, Miles. It’s too long gone. I’ve got to move on, haven’t I? Jacky himself would want me to keep going.”

  “To keep painting?” asked Miles. “I understand. You wanted something to remember him by. Perhaps your drawing tonight…?”

  Zeke frowned again, and sighed. “No, Miles. Dammit, how does a guy as thick-headed as you ever get to run a successful business? 4:Y has nothing to do with Jacky. Yeah, maybe I’ll draw something for him—about him—in the future. But the drawing tonight was for you alone. I’ll keep my memorials to the dead for another day.”

  Miles wanted to ask what plans Zeke might have for the future; when he might want to “move on,” as he said. No, I don’t. His head hurt. What the hell kind of masochist am I?

  And he knew that now was most definitely not the time to be discussing such things.

  “Zeke….” He swallowed, and started again. “Zeke, can I hold you?”

  Zeke’s smile was a pale imitation of other nights, but it was recognizable. He patted at the couch beside him, and Miles moved quickly along to sit there. He could feel Zeke’s warm skin close by, and his even breath warming the hairs on Miles’ shoulder, each time he exhaled. They sat silently for a moment, just gazing at each other.

  “You going to hold me, then, or was it all talk?” Zeke said softly. He was smirking. “I assume we’re not going back to bed, and the sun’s going to be up in no time, and this sappy look-into-my-eyes crap isn’t as warm as that blanket by any stretch of the imagination.”