Lost Souls Found

by Kris T. Bethke

  Until Sam walked into the conference room that first day, and Michael's lungs forgot how to work.

  The young man's bright smile and startling cobalt eyes caught his complete attention. So much so that Michael didn't even see the slightly older, dark-haired man behind him. Sam introduced himself and Dominic and then crossed the room and held out his hand.

  "I've heard so much about you from Blake. I'm excited to be home, to work here with you."

  Michael nodded because he didn't know what else to do, and he took the proffered hand. Electricity danced between them. Sam's eyes turned molten, and he licked his lips.

  "Welcome." Michael's voice sounded gruff, so he cleared his throat and forced his attention away from the gorgeous man and onto his anchor. "And to you as well."

  Dominic waved and opened his mouth to speak, but his gaze shot to Sam as Sam stepped closer to Michael and cocked his head to the side. "Funny how Blake never mentioned what a beautiful man you are. Seems like that's an important fact he should have relayed."

  Dom choked and coughed hard. "Jesus, SJ. What the hell?"

  Sam shot his partner a saucy wink over his shoulder and then returned his gaze to Michael. Michael wanted to bury his fingers in Sam's longish hair and tip his face back until his mouth was at the perfect angle for kissing. Lust hit him hard, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn't completely from himself. He was inadvertently reading Sam, doubling the attraction between them. With a concerted effort, he shut down his telepathy and took a very deliberate, very pointed step backward.

  "I expect you, and all my operatives, to behave appropriately in the workplace." Michael made his tone hard, and he saw the tiny flinch that shuddered across Sam's face. He wanted to soothe that, but he couldn't allow an ounce of his own riotous emotions to show through. It was work, and Michael had to exert his authority.

  He gestured to the table. "You both have a lot of paperwork to get through. You should get started. In the meantime I'll make sure that your office is ready and your tablets have been programmed and assigned. I'll be back."

  Michael gave them both a pointed look and strode from the room with a careful, measured step. He didn't want to look like he was running--he told himself he wasn't running--and he pretended he didn't notice Sam's hurt look or Dom's harshly whispered "I followed you here because this is the branch where you wanted to work. I swear to God, if you mess this up after I've uprooted my life, I'll kill you permanently."

  That was not the last time Sam had openly flirted, but Michael ignored it every time, shut it down fast so Sam wouldn't get any ideas. But as the years progressed, Michael let more familiarity in. Though he purposely avoided reading Sam, he had no doubt how Sam felt--and how those feelings had grown over the past decade.

  Michael's feelings for Sam had deepened too--not that he could or would do anything about it.

  A soft knock on the door startled Michael out of his reverie, and he straightened up and placed his hands on the desk. Then he called for Sam and Dom to come in.

  He noticed the stiff way Sam held his body, as though moving was a chore. His blue eyes had lost some of their shine, and a little bit of pain still lingered around his mouth. But he was walking on his own, even though Dom hovered nearby in case he needed help. Dom didn't have the anchor gene, but he was exceptional at his job, at least where Sam was concerned. The men were incredibly close outside the office as well as during work hours. He'd never seen a pair more suited to each other. Except perhaps for Blake and Derek, but that was a whole other level of connection.

  Michael waited for the men to sit in the chairs on the other side of the desk. He clenched his hands tightly together when Sam gingerly lowered himself. Michael did carry the anchor gene, and he was hardwired to care for a ghostwalker's comfort. He felt concern when any one of his ghostwalkers was still hurting from a ghostwalk. If the feelings went a little deeper where Sam was concerned, well, that couldn't be helped.

  "So." Michael eyed first Sam then Dom. Dom, at least, had the decency to look chagrined. "Care to tell me what's been going on?"

  A beat of silence, and then Sam tried for a smile. "Umm... we're doing our job?"

  That was technically true, but not what Michael meant, and Sam knew it. He didn't say a word, just raised one eyebrow and stared Sam down. It took a minute, maybe two, and then Sam cracked. He blew out a breath and shook his head.

  "It's just a reluctant spirit, Michael." Only Sam ever called him by his first name, though he gave his operatives permission to use it. Most everyone called him "Mr. King" or by his surname alone. It didn't matter to him what his operatives called him, but he secretly welcomed the intimacy of his first name from Sam's lips.

  "Okay," he said slowly, allowing for that truth. "But this spirit is just the most recent in a fairly long line of reluctant spirits."

  Michael reached out and tapped his tablet to pull up Sam's workload. Each report the pair had logged flashed in sequential order, one after another, as he flicked through the pages. He had reviewed the information while he waited for the pair to come see him, but he counted through them again.

  "Ten, in fact. Ten in a row where you've had to repeatedly go back to coax the spirit to cross. And each time, you've stayed dead longer and longer."

  "Hey wait." Sam sat up, frowning. "That's not true. There was the one.... What was her name, Dom? The little old lady with the bird of paradise tattoo on her chest?"

  "Lurlene Daniels," Dom muttered. He looked pained, and Michael tried not to smile. This was serious business, and he appreciated that Dom, at least, knew it.

  "Fine. But one case out of eleven is not enough of a break." Michael tapped the tablet again and closed the file. "You are purposely ignoring company guidelines and putting yourself in danger. And I want to know why."

  Sam's glare was mutinous. "Guidelines you let us ignore on a regular basis. How was I supposed to know I couldn't do it now? Besides, I'm not in any danger."

  "He really is okay," Dom added quietly. Without meaning to, Michael picked up Dom's conflicting emotions. He wanted to support him, but he also wanted Sam to take better care of himself.

  "You don't get to make that decision." Michael leaned forward. "It's my job to make sure all my operatives are functioning and performing at optimal levels. What you're doing puts you at high risk for burnout. It has to stop."

  Sam jerked forward, and hissed, but the anger apparently overrode his lingering pain. "I'm close to getting Tom to cross. If I stop showing up, I'll have to start over again with him. You need to let me do my job."

  Michael's first instinct was to dismiss Sam out of hand. But he prided himself on listening to his operatives without letting emotions color his judgment. That shouldn't be any different where Sam was concerned. Michael took a breath, let it out slowly, and thought over Sam's words. Then he turned his attention to Sam's anchor.

  "Dominic?"

  "He's good, King," Dom responded quickly and gave a sort of half smile. "I mean, I think we need a break after this is done. Maybe a couple of days off." They both ignored Sam's squawk of indignation. "But he's not hurting himself right now."

  Michael nodded, thought it over a moment, and came to a decision. "Fine. Finish this case, and then you both get some time off. At least three days."

  "I don't need time off."

  Michael fixed Sam with a harsh glare. "Be careful or I'll make it a week."

  "You can't do that," Sam grumbled.

  "Oh, yes I can. Because I'm the boss." Michael leaned back and let his words sink in.

  "Wait a minute--"

  "Thanks." Dom cut his partner off and stood. "We'll do exactly that. Let's go, Sam."

  Dom was halfway to the door when he apparently realized Sam hadn't moved. Michael stared Sam down without breaking eye contact. That wasn't the time to show any weakness. Sam's expression was unreadable, for once, but Michael refused to let his telepathy tell him what Sam was thinking.

  "I'll catch up in a minute, Dom."

>   Dom didn't move. "Sam?"

  A beat of silence, and then Sam looked over his shoulder. "I'll meet you in our office in a few. It's okay."

  Dom's gaze bounced back and forth between Sam and Michael. Then he nodded once and left. When the door shut behind him, Sam once again focused on Michael. He leaned forward and set his folded hands on the edge of Michael's desk.

  "You wouldn't be doing this if it were Blake instead of me." Sam's voice was low and measured. Michael appreciated his attempt at restraint.

  "Blake's situation is completely different, and you know it. The bond he has with Derek changes everything."

  A flash of pain that had nothing to do with his physical condition crossed Sam's face, and Michael reached out before he could stop himself. His fingers had barely made contact with Sam's when he caught himself and pulled back. The pain got worse for a split second, and Sam schooled his expression back into neutrality.

  "Fine. Let's not use Blake as an example, then. If any one of your other operatives were doing this, you wouldn't be having a talk with them."

  "Yes, I would," Michael insisted.

  "No, you wouldn't," Sam said in the exact same tone. "It's because it's me--because of how we feel about each other."

  Michael opened his mouth to dispute that, but couldn't find the words. There was truth in what Sam said--not that Michael wouldn't take another operative to task for the same behavior, but there was an added layer because of their emotions. He wouldn't admit that to Sam, though.

  "That aside," Michael said, "my decision stands. Finish this case and take some time off."

  Sam stared hard, but his expression was shuttered. "Fine."

  He stood and strode out of the room without even offering Michael a backward glance.

  The tension dropped the moment Sam left, and Michael rolled his neck to release the last of it. Damn that man for reading him so clearly! Michael would reprimand any of his operatives if he felt he should, and he would enforce time off if he had to. He just wouldn't be quite as invested as he was with Sam.

  He was a Guardian, and that meant he didn't have to try to care about anyone under his supervision. It was part of his makeup to see to their needs. He considered each of his sixteen operatives family in one way or another. But his affection for Sam wasn't brotherly or fatherly. It wasn't even all that friendly. His body and heart wanted more from Sam, though he could never have it.

  So instead he would take care of Sam the only way he could--by making sure he was safe and happy in his job and that he was well cared for, healthy and whole. If that meant he had to put his foot down and play the hardassed boss, then that was exactly what he would do.

  He logged a notation in Sam and Dom's file and cleared time off for them both when their case was completed. And he'd have to keep a close eye on Sam to make sure he didn't drag it out unnecessarily. With that done, he shut down his tablet, packed his bag, stood, and stretched. He'd make sure Lois and Keyanna were done and gone and that Sam and Dom did the same.

  Then he'd go home to his solitary house, take a long shower, and hope that, when he returned in the morning, he'd be more focused on his operatives and not the man he wanted as a lover.

  He'd been doing just that for ten years, and he could keep doing it for as long as it took.

  Chapter Three

  THE anger still churned in Sam's gut by the time he made it home. The drive from the branch office to his condo didn't take more than fifteen minutes, even when Sam took the long route by the river. But it was not enough to settle the fury in his stomach. How could Michael take him out of work for doing his damn job? It was unacceptable. Especially because Sam knew exactly the reason Michael was pushing it.

  The lights were on across the street, but Sam didn't even think of going over to visit with his brother and Derek. Normally it was something he enjoyed after a long week or a hard case. Blake knew exactly what Sam faced every day, and Derek was always sympathetic and conscientious. He was also an outstanding cook, and Sam couldn't do more than throw together a sandwich. Spending some time decompressing with Blake and Derek had quickly become one of his favorite activities.

  Even if he was insanely jealous of their bond.

  It wasn't something Sam would ever have. He would never get Michael in any way.

  Sam slammed into his house, and when the cat took off to hide in the bedroom, Sam made a concerted effort to calm down. Cameron was a rescue, and the Scottish fold had spent his first two years in a hellish situation. Though he'd come around, and he loved on Sam, he was still a little skittish, even after three years. Sam knew better than to bang around in Cameron's presence.

  He released a slow breath, walked into the kitchen, and opened a can of wet food for Cameron. Sam usually only fed him in the morning, but he needed a special treat because he'd been scared by his owner. Sam left it on the floor in the corner and hoped the scent would entice Cameron out of hiding so Sam could make amends. While he waited for Cameron to emerge, Sam poked around in the fridge to find something to eat for himself.

  He knew what he had to do. If Michael wanted him to take some time off, then, by God, he would. Ghostwalkers didn't get sick days because they didn't get sick, but they had personal time they could take on top of their built-in vacation time. A quick mental calculation made Sam realize that he had over three weeks accrued. He pulled out his phone and dialed Dom.

  "So after we finish this case, let's take a three-week vacation," Sam said as soon as the call connected.

  His only answer was the sound of choking, and then Levi's worried voice in the background, asking if Dom was all right. Dom must have responded in some nonverbal way, because Sam didn't hear Levi again. He sat on the couch, leaned into the cushions, and waited for Dom to get hold of himself.

  "Are you serious?"

  "Sure am. Levi would like that, right? Maybe you two could go away like you're always talking about doing. Except I never agree to that much time off because I'm a selfish jerk."

  "You aren't selfish," Dom denied. Then he let out a small laugh. "Much. The job is important, and we both take it seriously. So I have to wonder what exactly is behind your declaration."

  "Michael says I need to take time off, so let's take some time off."

  The silence stretched on far longer than it should. Finally Dom spoke carefully. "Punishing him isn't the answer."

  It was on the tip of Sam's tongue to deny it, but it was Dom, his best friend and anchor, the man who knew him better than anyone else--even better than his own brother. Sam made it a point never to lie to Dom, and he wasn't going to start.

  "Maybe not. But...." He blew out a breath and reached out to Cameron, who crawled closer. He nuzzled against Sam's hand and purred as he lightly stepped across the couch and right into Sam's lap. "But I think I need to take a break. Not because of the job. You know as well as I do that I can handle these cases for a lot longer than he thinks. But from him? Yeah. I need to step back."

  "Ah, Sammy. I know it's hard considering everything." Dom mumbled something he couldn't make out, and it took Sam a second to realize he must be talking to Levi. His voice was clear a moment later when he asked, "Tell me the truth. Is this about what you need or about showing King up?"

  Sam had the decency to really think about his answer. "Both? He just... with his eyes and his face and his big damn heart that he pretends isn't as soft as it is. I need a step back. Some perspective. And maybe while I'm gone, he'll realize some things too."

  "Like what?"

  Damn Dom for cutting right to the heart of it. Sam didn't want to answer because he wanted Michael to miss him, to see that not having Sam around was a bad thing. But even if Michael did miss him, it wouldn't make the slightest difference. Michael's convictions were absolute, and if Sam hadn't managed to crack through in ten years, it wasn't likely to happen with a few weeks' vacation.

  "Okay. I won't push," Dom conceded, correctly interpreting Sam's silence. "I just worry."

  "It's your job to worr
y."

  Dom chortled. "Yeah, that's the only reason."

  Sam laughed too and felt easier in his skin. Having Dom as a constant support, at work and at home, made his life better. And now he would give back by taking some extended time off. Dom could go do whatever Levi wanted.

  "So, we going to do this?"

  "Yeah. And Levi says thank you, and he'll bring you back something expensive and shiny. When do you think you can wrap up the case?"

  Sam thought about it. Considering the tidbit of information Tom had given him, Sam knew there was more to his story than the mediums had been able to glean. The original case file had been put together by one of their own, and Shona was always thorough, but she must have missed something.

  "A day? Maybe two," Sam said absently, his brain already working. He couldn't draw the case out and hope Michael would forget his decree. Michael would never relax his edict, and he'd keep a close eye on Sam to make sure he wasn't prolonging things unnecessarily. The only choice was to get it done. He hummed, then sat up straighter, and reached for his bag and the tablet inside. "Let me do a little research, and I'll let you know for sure tomorrow. It's not like Levi's going to have trouble getting tickets."

  Dom burst out laughing, and Sam grinned. Levi owned and ran a profitable travel agency and had connections everywhere. He also made a point of making sure his and Dom's passports were always up-to-date. If Dom's job were more flexible, they'd be globe-trotting constantly.

  They ended the call, and Sam knew he'd made the right decision. He might not travel to exotic locations, but he could use the time to decompress and gain a little perspective, as he told Dom.

  With that in mind, Sam opened a web browser. It took some time, and the clock had hit midnight when he had his answer. Tom definitely was more than he seemed, and though his passing a year earlier had been relatively painless, it wasn't the defining moment in his life. No, that took place twenty years before.