by Tinnean
“I think we’d better get you out of here as soon as we can.” Josh ran a hand through his hair. He was a good-looking man, not as good-looking as Tim’s Cris, but as far as Tim was concerned, no one was.
“Becca asked me to stay until the funeral service on Tuesday… What is it?”
Josh was shaking his head. “We can’t wait that long.”
Tim expected her to put up a fight about it but she just tightened her grip on the little boy. “What happened?”
“We had a little disagreement upstairs.”
“Oh?”
“Three ass—Pardon me, Miz Babe. Three jerks tried to offer their condolences to Miss Lizzie instead of to Tom.” Josh looked steamed. “Then they tried to convince us the whole thing was a mistake—that they were at the wrong funeral.”
“Not very likely,” Tim mused.
“No. I’ve heard of instances where people walked into the wrong visitation room—”
Mopp turned to stare at Josh. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, although it’s usually because they’d had a few too many. The thing is, this is the only wake that’s going on here.”
Mopp nodded. “Mr. Canis told us he’d opened up all three visitation rooms into one. We followed them out of the room, but instead of leaving, they headed toward the stairs.”
“They planned to come down here?”
“Yeah.”
Babe started to shiver. “Okay, then yes, we have to go. Can we stop back at the ranch long enough to get our things? Everything is already packed.”
“I’ve got an idea. Mopp, would you go upstairs and ask Tom to come down here? We’re going to need his help.”
“Okay.” Mopp ran out of the lounge.
“Does he always do what you ask?” Tim waggled his eyebrows at Josh, and Cris stuffed a fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.
“You’re a dirty old man.”
“Hardly. I’m only thirty-four.”
“Yes, well, he’s straight.”
“Jackson was straight at one time also.”
Josh ground his teeth. “I’m twice Mopp’s age.”
“So?” Cris said. “Do you have any idea how many clients Tim and I had when we were working who were a bunch of years older than us?”
“Not something you should talk about in front of the kid.” Josh hissed.
That brought their attention to Denny.
“Ma?”
“It’s gonna be okay, kiddo. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I know, Ma.”
“Where’s your teddy bear?”
“He’s right here, Babe.” Cris held up the battered toy.
“Were you holding that bear all this while?”
“Yeah.” Cris looked a little abashed, and Tim was charmed by it. They’d been together almost twenty years. Back when they’d first started, when Cris was just a kid with no last name, Tim hadn’t been certain they would last, but they had.
Maybe it was time for him to give Cris his last name.
Tim shook his head. He’d think about it later. “I’ll have to get you one for your birthday.”
Cris grinned at him. “Okay.”
“Denny’s had his bear almost since he was born. A… a very good friend gave it to him. He doesn’t sleep well without it, and I don’t want it left behind.”
Denny took the bear and held it tight against his little chest. “I won’t forget him.”
“I’m so sorry.” Babe looked like she was going to cry again. “I knew that bitch wanted Denny, but I didn’t think she’d resort to murder.” She shook her head. “Mr. Jackson, then Del…”
“Bad people do bad things,” Cris said, touching her shoulder gently. “We just can’t let them get away with it.”
Tim came to him and leaned close. “You’re a good man, Cris.” He smiled when Cris blushed.
Before Cris could say anything, Tom came into the lounge with Mopp right behind him.
“What is it, Josh?”
“We need to get Miz Babe out of Savannah now.”
“Where did you want to go?”
“We’d planned to go to DC,” Babe said. “I… I still should do that. The least I can do is lay some flowers on Delilah’s grave.”
“But if the people who are after you are from DC…?”
She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it and shook her head. “I don’t think they’ll expect me to take Denny back into the middle of it. I’ll touch base with the friends I have there, and then we’ll go somewhere else. Another big city. Chicago, maybe, or Los Angeles.”
“Not New York? It’s the largest city in the country.”
“No.” She met Tom’s gaze steadily. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do, but we’ll let that go for the time being. How will you get there?”
“I was planning on taking a Greyhound.”
“What about Amtrak? If I recall correctly,” Tim said, “that would let you off at Union Station.”
She shook her head again. “It would be too difficult if we needed to get off fast. I’ll manage.”
“All right,” Tom said. Tim opened his mouth to object—it wasn’t all right—but Tom continued, “What do you need us to do?”
Babe looked tired. “Just get us to the bus depot.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Josh said.
She frowned and glanced at Josh. “I don’t want you to—”
“Remember I said I had an idea?” Josh turned to Tom. “Can you invite this crowd to the ranch?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Can Miss Abby arrange for enough food for that lot?”
In spite of his loss, Tom was able to smile. “You should know better than to ask that, buddy. My momma can do amazing things at a moment’s notice.”
“Yes, she can. Get her to start making arrangements.”
“Will do. What else do you need?”
“Would you mind if I borrowed Jack’s pickup truck?”
“Of course not.”
Okay, then,” Josh said again. He looked at his watch. “Sunset is in a couple of hours. With so many cars parked in the driveway and at the curb, and with all those people milling around, it should be easy for Miz Babe and Denny to sneak into Jack’s pickup truck. I’ll drive them up to DC.”
“I’m going with you,” Mopp said.
“No.”
“Josh.” Mopp stood toe to toe with him, his head tilted back, fixing a fierce glare at Josh.
Tim thought it was cute.
Josh huffed, trying to look fierce. “Mopp, you are one stubborn son of a gun.”
“Doesn’t matter, but you’d better know that now. I’m still going with you.”
“Okay.”
Tim exchanged a grin with Cris. The boy might be straight, but it didn’t seem that way where Josh Cooper was concerned.
“Y’know,” Tom murmured. “I never said no to Jack either.” He bit his lip and looked away.
“I know, buddy.” Josh rubbed his shoulder.
Tim had a sudden idea. “Josh, would you mind an extra passenger?”
He seemed to think about it for a minute, then said, “No. The truck holds five, and Denny is small enough not to take up too much room. As a matter of fact, an additional person should throw off anyone who might follow us.”
Mopp poked him.
“What?”
“Don’t get all innocent on me. You’d take someone else, but you wouldn’t take me?”
Josh opened his mouth, then shut it. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay, fine. Just don’t do it again.”
Tom stared from Mopp to Josh, blinked, then shook his head. “Who’s the extra passenger?”
“The kid who brought the letter from Charles is from DC,” Tim sa
id. “He needs a ride home.”
Cris nodded. “Good idea, babe.”
“He’s got it,” Josh said.
“Thanks.” Tim blew out a breath and turned to Cris. “You stay here and help keep an eye on things, okay? I’m going to drive back to the pub and get Dix, then bring him here until it’s time to head for the ranch.”
“Okay.” But Cris looked concerned.
“What is it?”
“If those looney tunes go after you, the Vette won’t provide much protection.”
“I’m one tough leather daddy. Maybe you should worry about those bastards.”
Cris touched his cheek. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”
“I won’t.” Tim squeezed Cris’s arm. He turned to Babe. “Does this plan work for you?”
“You’re all… I can’t begin…” Babe’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.” It took a minute, but once again she was in control. “You guys are the best.”
And one by one she hugged them all.
Chapter 21
ERIC WAS IN the bathroom when his cell phone rang. It was a generic ringtone—he didn’t have the time or desire to give everyone on his contact list a specific sound. In addition, it was decidedly bourgeoisie.
He barely took the time to shake off his penis and tuck himself away before hurrying to the night table where he’d left the cell phone.
“This is Jameson. What have you got for me?”
“Uh… nothing.”
“What?” He recognized the new guy’s voice, although he couldn’t remember his name.
“We couldn’t find them. You should have told us the guy was queer, because we greeted the wrong person as the widow and that got us kicked out. Before we could check out the lower level, two of them actually pulled guns on us and told us to get the hell out.”
Shit. He was starting to think having Gautier’s money was more of a hassle than it was worth.
Meanwhile, the idiot on the other end of the line was still talking. “… and everyone’s going back to the house where the dead guy lived. Everyone. Like almost two hundred people everyone.”
Eric stared at his phone. What had possessed him to agree to hire such morons?
His phone gave a beep. “Hold on, I have another call coming in.” He switched calls before the idiot could say anything. “Jameson.”
“Mr. Jameson, it’s Finchley, Dr. Gautier’s personal assistant.”
“Yes? What is it? I have one of my men on the other line.”
“Dr. Gautier would like to know what you have for her.”
He scowled at the phone, not happy that Finchley had used the exact words on him that he’d used on the men he’d hired.
“Mr. Jameson?”
“Sorry. We have nothing. The boy is surrounded by people who carry guns and don’t seem reluctant to use them.”
“Hmm. Dr. Gautier is going to be disappointed in your less than expeditious handling of this situation.”
“Look,” he snarled. “I’m doing the fucking best I can.”
“Tsk, tsk, Mr. Jameson. Language. Your best is obviously not good enough.”
Eric gritted his teeth. He’d come into contact with Finchley before, and the man was obviously a fairy who was obnoxious in the extreme.
“Dr. Gautier is considering putting this on hold for the time being.”
“Why?”
“That’s hardly your concern.”
Fuck the fag and fuck the woman! She’d been in such a goddamned rush, and now she throws this shit at him? “What about the funding for Senator Wexler?”
“That will be on hold also. If you’re the caliber of staff the senator has on hand—”
“I don’t work for the senator per se.”
“Indeed.”
God, he was so snooty Eric wanted to kick his ass hard, something he’d never done, even when he’d attended George Washington University as an undergraduate. “Look, if I can get the kid—”
“Then of course we’ll reevaluate the situation.”
“O—” The line hummed as the call was disconnected. “Son of a bitch.” He pressed the send button. “What were you saying?”
“Uh… Oh, we couldn’t find the kid. He might have been downstairs, but those two held guns on us so we couldn’t go down there.”
“Hmm.”
“But while you were on the other line, I got an idea.”
Would wonders never cease? “What?”
“Like I said, everyone is going back to Jackson’s house. The security guards at the gate won’t be paying much attention. We’ll be able to slip into the complex without anyone being the wiser. Once we get to the house, we can mingle. With that many people, it should be a lead pipe cinch. And when the opportunity comes up, we’ll grab the kid.”
It felt like he was clutching at straws, but, “All right, give it a try.”
“Okay, Boss. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Do that.” Eric hung up. He had brought his laptop with him and should be able to catch up on all the work that had accumulated due to his having to spend so much time… placating… Dr. Gautier.
He opened the Dell and got started.
Chapter 22
“WELL?” PANDORA GAUTIER looked up at Finchley from the hospital bed that had been set up in her Manhattan penthouse. Her physician had assured her the bandages on her face, breasts, and abdomen could be removed within the next couple of days. She knew how to remain patient. After all, good things came to she who waited.
This wasn’t her first plastic surgery; it wouldn’t be her last. She might be approaching sixty, but that didn’t mean she had to let herself deteriorate.
Finchley shook his head. “Really, Pan. I fail to see your reasoning in acceding to those imbeciles.”
From the beginning, he hadn’t been certain her decision to become partners with Edward Holmes would work. He sneered at Jameson, Holmes’s personal assistant, as well as that odious man who sat in the senate.
She considered it a momentary aberration, although truthfully, she liked seeing them jump through her hoops.
Finchley was probably the only man she trusted. He’d started out as her personal assistant, but over the years had become so much more. Nothing physical, of course. Appearances to the contrary, he preferred young women—very young women, as it turned out, although most people took one look at the prissy little man and assumed he was homosexual. Not that that either preference disturbed her in the least. Chacun à son goût.
Of course that was only when it suited her.
As for her, she had no interest in sex whatsoever. It was too messy and tended to cloud people’s minds.
She did want children, though. Not for something as ridiculous and maudlin as silencing the ticking of her biological clock. She had no intention of allowing her perfect body to incubate one of those little parasites. While she was working on her first doctorate in gene manipulation, she’d arranged to have her eggs harvested and frozen. She’d had that done each year until she reached menopause, which she’d managed to stave off until just a few years ago. Her ultimate goal was to produce a cadre of geniuses. The fathers didn’t necessarily have to have an IQ as high as hers—so few men did—but they needed to be smart and resourceful.
Unfortunately, their sperm didn’t fare as well as her eggs, and few of the embryos thrived, let alone survived to produce a living child.
Until she ran across Mark Vincent. It had taken a while—the man was almost paranoid in the way he looked out for himself, but he was surprisingly loyal, and she’d managed to use that to obtain what she needed from him. She would have smiled if the surgery permitted it.
It was amazing what a little scopolamine could do.
Everything had been going according to plan—she finally had a promising infant that survived to six month
s and seemed likely to live to adulthood—and then this happened.
Who would have thought someone as insignificant as the nurse who’d been hired to care for the baby would manage to get him past Pandora’s top-notch security team and out of the nursery?
Who would have thought someone brought up in the foster system would have the intelligence to avoid discovery for more than seven years?
Pandora didn’t frown—she never permitted any facial expressions to mar the smoothness of her features—but she could express her displeasure through her tone of voice.
“I take it Mr. Jameson was unable to acquire the boy.”
“In a word? Yes. What do you want me to do?”
“Deuce is in South Carolina. Get him on the phone.”
“You did give him two weeks off.”
Pandora said nothing, merely observed him stonily.
“Right.” He nodded. “I assume you want to see him? I’ll call him and tell him to get up here.”
“Excellent. Now, hand me that glass of juice.”
He did as she ordered—he always did—and she slid the straw between her lips. She’d have the boy back soon enough.
And if things went according to plan—and she saw no reason why they shouldn’t—within a month or so he would have a sibling as well.
Chapter 23
ERIC DIDN’T REALIZE how quickly the afternoon had passed until he found himself leaning forward and squinting at his laptop’s screen. A glance at the clock in the lower corner of the screen revealed it was after seven. The sun had long since gone down, and now the only light entering the room was from a streetlamp that illuminated the motel’s parking lot.
Why hadn’t his men called him? And could he take this as a positive sign?
Knowing those assholes… probably not.
He rose and groaned as he arched his back to work out the stiffness in his spine, then went to the bedside table and switched on the lamp. With that done, he crossed to the large picture window and yanked on the cord that drew the curtains shut.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since noon. The motel didn’t have room service, although the drawer in the bedside table had numerous takeout menus. He took them out and began thumbing through them. Chinese, Thai, Mexican, French, Italian, seafood, burgers, steaks…