Even though it was late, Sam sent a message to Shona. She probably wouldn't see it till morning, but by the time he made it into the office, she'd have read it. Then, with luck and cooperating spirits, Sam would get the information he needed and finally be able to convince Tom it was time to cross over.
Plan in place, Sam locked up the house and headed for bed. Exhaustion swamped him as he brushed his teeth, and he only managed to strip down to his boxers and crawl into bed. A moment later Cameron hopped up and settled into the crook of Sam's knees. With the cat's comforting weight against him, he fell asleep.
Chapter Four
SAM decided to sprint up the stairs to the fourth floor. He'd taken a chance and come in early, almost certain Shona would already be in. She liked the quiet the early hours afforded, and Sam was banking that today was no different. Fortunately for him she was in her office.
"What can I do for you, Samwise?"
Sam rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname and told her what he needed. She studied him for a long moment and then lifted a stick of incense and fit it into the burner on her desk. She lit it, and the soothing scents of lavender and chamomile wafted up.
"So let me get this straight. You just want me to see if I can find any trace of this guy, anywhere in the spirit plane?"
"Yep. If anyone can do it, you can. There's no better medium in all the world."
Shona chuckled and shook her head. "Empty flattery is pointless, you know."
Sam grinned. "Except it's mostly true."
Shona considered that for a moment, then nodded and got to work. Sam stayed quiet and let her do her thing. He fought not to fidget, because he didn't want to distract her. The silence was a little unnerving, but he knew if he was patient, he'd get results. And eventually she gave him the answer he wanted.
"Nothing."
He sat up straighter as excitement ran through him. "You're sure?"
Pinning him with a look, she huffed out a breath. "Of course not. It's a big place, and I'm one person looking for one kind of aura. But relatively certain? Yes. Yes, I am."
"I'll take it."
Sam remembered to thank her as he sprinted out the door, bypassed the elevator, and headed for the stairwell. He jogged down the corridor to his and Dom's office, ready to get to work and put the case to rest.
Tom deserved it.
Dominic was already waiting for him, supplies laid out. Sam had sent his partner a text with the barest of information, so Dom knew what he was doing. Sam kicked off his shoes the moment he was inside, and Dom smirked.
"Ready to get to work, then."
It wasn't a question, but Sam nodded anyway. "Shona gave me what I needed."
"Of course she did. Now, do you want to tell me?"
Sam considered it. He had it all fixed in his head, and he knew if he talked about it too much, he'd lose it, which seemed the opposite of what should happen, what did happen for other ghostwalkers. But Sam had always been a little peculiar in that regard. It was better to keep the details to himself, keep them solid in his mind, but he gave Dom the basic info. "I have the thing that's going to make Tom want to cross. Be at peace. I know who's waiting on the other side for him."
That was all Dom needed. He picked up the phone and signaled Michael. Sam tuned out their conversation as he pulled off his shirt and settled himself in the chair. He stayed focused on Tom and kept his mind clear. Only Tom mattered right then--finding him and sharing the news with him, so Tom could finally rest.
Michael strode into the room a few minutes later. Damn, that man knew how to make an entrance. He was tall and wide, all power and confidence... with a longsword clutched in his hand. He wouldn't have been out of place in armor, on horseback, riding to rescue the damsel in distress or fighting for his queen.
No. Focus on Tom.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" Michael's voice was soft and concerned. Dammit. Moments like that gave Sam hope, because Michael didn't talk to his other operatives that way. Not exactly like that, anyway. He was always conscious of their feelings, of their needs. But for Sam, he had a special tone. And Sam knew he wasn't imagining it.
The bastard.
Okay, Sam didn't really think Michael was a bastard. Of course he didn't. But sometimes he wished he did. It would make his life a hell of a lot easier.
"I'm ready. Do the thing."
Michael stared at him, his dark eyes filled with affection and concern. "Can you give us a minute, Dominic?"
Immediately Dom stepped around the chair, but Sam grabbed on to the back of his shirt before he could get too far. "Dom doesn't have to go anywhere."
Dom's gaze snapped back and forth between his boss and his partner. Finally it landed on Sam, and he gave a pleading look. "SJ."
Sam grimaced. Their code. Dom only called him by his initials when Sam put him in a situation that made him uncomfortable but he didn't know how to get out of it. Sam knew Dom wanted to support him, and would stay if Sam needed him to. But ignoring a directive from his superior made him uneasy. It wasn't fair of Sam to put Dom in the middle, but there was no way he was going to let Michael talk him out of anything. Or into anything. Or whatever Michael intended to do. No. He needed to get it done and over with. Suddenly, a vacation seemed like the right idea. He needed the time away.
"Michael, just kill me already, will you?"
Something flashed across Michael's features, and then he lifted the sword and brought it straight down through Sam's chest.
THE forest was just like it always was, but this time, Sam didn't wait patiently for Tom to find him. Instead he walked in the direction from which Tom always appeared. It was peaceful and quiet, but Sam didn't take it in, didn't relax and enjoy it like he usually did. He was on a mission, and the excitement in his gut pushed him forward.
He didn't know how long he walked, but eventually he spotted movement among the trees and hurried toward it. There was Tom, as tall and stately as ever, his walking stick in one hand and his binoculars strung around his neck.
"What's got you in such a tizzy, boy? You that anxious to rehash the same old argument again?"
"No." Sam kept his voice low, because even though he was eager to finally help Tom, he was well aware it was a touchy subject. He had to tread carefully. "I want to talk about John."
The spirit went utterly and completely still. And then, ever so slowly, Tom turned to look at him. There was anger in his eyes, but Sam could see the hurt too. And he didn't flinch at Tom's voice, although it was filled with menace. "How in the hell do you know that name?"
That went better than Sam expected. He'd been sure that Tom would pretend he didn't know what Sam was talking about. Excellent first step, but it was time to employ all the tact he had. There was a reason Sam had a high success rate with the difficult cases.
"It wasn't hard to find, Tom. Okay, I had to do some searching, but it was all there. The articles and the transcripts of the trial." Sam took a step closer, but made sure to leave plenty of space between them. He didn't think Tom would turn malevolent, but he had to be cautious. A spirit that had gone dark was very dangerous.
He spoke slowly and softly to make sure Tom could hear the sympathy he felt in his words. "I know he was cornered outside of a laundromat. I know he was beaten and left for dead. I know you were his partner for fifteen years before he was taken from you. I know you testified against the ones who hurt him."
"Fat lot of good that did." Tom's voice was bitter. "He was still dead."
"Yes." There was no denying that fact. "But justice was served, wasn't it? The men who killed him were sentenced to life in prison, and laws were passed about hate crimes that have helped countless people since."
"What difference does that make? My love was gone, and I didn't fight for him. I should have been there with him, and I wasn't, and he died."
And that was the heart of it. That was the reason Tom felt he should be punished, that he should forever walk the spirit plane and never find peace. He thought he
'd failed his lover when his lover needed him the most.
"You know it wasn't your fault. I know you know that."
"Doesn't mean I don't feel it."
"Of course you do." Sam took one more step forward. "But you also know that John is waiting for you. Has been waiting for you. Why are you making him wait any more?"
Tom's gaze snapped to his. "There is no way he wants to see me. I failed him."
"I don't think John would think that." Sam leaned against a tree and let his arms hang loose. He did everything he could think of to keep from getting confrontational. "From everything you said about him at the trial, from everything his family said, he was a forgiving and gentle soul."
"Yes." Tom's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, but it didn't quite work. "He was the kindest man I ever met."
"And he loved you."
"M-more than anything." Tom was shaking now, and Sam was sure if he could, he'd be crying. But it felt like a healing sort of thing, not a bad thing. Sam let him have that for a few minutes, and then he gently pressed on.
"Do you really think a man like that isn't waiting for the love of his life to find him again?"
Tom lifted a hand and pressed it to his eyes, but he didn't speak. Sam let the truth of his words sink in. He waited, leaning on that tree, for Tom to put the pieces together, to finally know in his heart it was time to move on.
"You really think he is?" Tom's voice was so quiet, Sam almost didn't hear it. But the question was laced with hope, and Sam had to resist the urge to fist-pump the air in triumph.
"Well, I didn't know him like you did. Or perhaps I do. Because I read all the things you said about him." He paused, let Tom absorb that, and then continued. "And I had someone look--a very talented medium. She couldn't find any trace of him here. So he has to be on the other side."
"You think you're so smart," Tom said shakily, but it didn't sound like an insult. Sam allowed himself a tiny smile.
"I don't know about that. What I do know is that you deserve peace, and so does John. So, are you ready to be with him again?"
More silence. And then a broken "I miss him so much it hurts. Even after all these years."
What could Sam say? That was a pain he'd never experienced--not like Tom--and Tom wasn't the kind of man who would suffer platitudes. So he remained silent and waited for Tom to make his decision.
Eventually Tom spoke again. "Some things are worth fighting for, Sammy. If you really love this man of yours, you should do whatever it takes to get him."
Sam gave him a sad smile. "It takes two to tango."
Tom barked out a laugh, and shook his head. But there was something lighter about his demeanor, a brightness to his face that Sam had never seen before. He knew Tom had made his choice.
Sam grinned, and then he held out his hand. "You ready?"
For a moment Tom just stared. Then he stepped forward and tentatively placed his hand in Sam's. Slowly, carefully, Sam led him toward the light that was never too far away from wherever the spirit was. Whether Tom actually couldn't see it--some spirits couldn't--or he'd been purposefully avoiding it, Sam wasn't sure, and it didn't matter. The important thing was that he was going toward it.
Just before he stepped through, Tom stopped and looked Sam right in the eye. "You're a tenacious little shit. Go after what you want." He paused, looked at the light again, and then back at Sam. "You say it takes two to tango? Then you need to make him want to dance."
Tom let go of Sam's hand and stepped through. He shimmered and disappeared. Then the light itself dissolved until all Sam could see were trees and grass. He let out a sigh and mulled over Tom's words.
Make Michael want to dance? It was easier to herd cats.
Chapter Five
SAM made it all the way to day five of vacation before he was bored out of his skull. And then he'd only staved it off by binge-watching television and actually cleaning his townhouse. He resorted to sending random, inane texts to Dom, even though Dom and Levi were on a beach in Hawaii. Dom countered each text with a picture of the amazingly blue ocean or fancy cocktails in condensation-streaked glasses.
He really should have taken Levi's suggestion and gone somewhere himself.
With a sigh Sam pushed himself off the couch and wandered into the entryway. A glance across the street confirmed his brother was home. Without stopping to put on shoes, Sam locked his house, sprinted across the cold pavement and up the front steps, and walked straight into the house that was the mirror image of his own.
"Hey guys. It's me," he called as he shut the door behind him.
"Sam." Derek's greeting was as warm as his eyes, and he gave Sam a tight hug. "You hungry?"
Sam grinned. "Always."
Derek laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Great. I'm making curry vindaloo."
"Am I going to like that?" Sam scrunched his nose.
With a cocked eyebrow, Derek shot him a look. "Have I ever made anything you didn't like?"
Sam pretended to think about it. Then he laughed and dodged a playful punch. "Of course not."
"That's settled, then. Your brother is upstairs." Derek walked toward the kitchen, but called up in his deep, booming voice, "B! Baby, Sam's here."
Sam pulled a face. "You two are disgustingly cute."
"You're just jealous."
When Sam turned, he saw his brother jogging down the stairs, his hair wet from the shower. Sam shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. But just because I'm jealous doesn't mean I'm not also insanely happy for you guys."
Blake gave him a warm smile, and Sam pretended he didn't see the sympathy in his brother's eyes. "Yeah, I know. What's up? Or did you just come for my boyfriend's cooking?"
Sam threw himself onto the couch with more force than necessary and gave an overly dramatic sigh. "I'm so bored."
He expected Blake to laugh, but when he didn't, Sam chanced a look at him. The concern on his brother's face made him uncomfortable, but he understood it. Blake was his older brother and had been looking out for him his entire life. They took care of one another. And he knew Blake wasn't one to let things go, not when it came to Sam.
"I have to admit," Blake began carefully, and Sam didn't bother to check his groan. That earned him a smile, but didn't deter Blake. "When you said you were taking so much time off, I was surprised. I don't think you've ever taken more than a day or two off at a time before. In the entire twelve years you've worked for Requiem. Want to tell me what's going on?"
"No."
Blake laughed, but it sounded sad. Sam swallowed, kind of hating that his brother was so concerned and wishing Blake wouldn't push. They talked to each other about everything, but Sam didn't want to talk. He wanted everything to magically be fixed.
"Well, I suppose you don't have to. Because I know what this is about." Blake leveled him with a look. "It's about Michael."
Sam could lie and deny it, but it was pointless. Blake was nothing if not observant.
"It's always about Michael." Sam spoke quietly, not because he was worried about Derek overhearing--he was certain Blake had shared everything with him--but because he feared that if he said it too loudly, his heart would crack. And he'd come for company and food, not a commiseration session.
Blake nudged Sam's ankle with a toe as he sat down. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I know how much this sucks."
Sam scowled, and feeling snarky, he threw out, "But I, unlike you, actually pick good guys and not losers who can't handle your life and treat you badly."
Blake blinked placidly, unfazed by Sam's outburst. "Until I bonded with the most amazing man on the planet, that is."
Ouch. The barb hurt. Sam wouldn't ever have a bond like that. Not with Michael. Because he was a Guardian, Michael couldn't form an anchor bond with just one person. He was genetically coded to care for a whole host of operatives. If Sam wanted to have that, he'd have to find an anchor who had the gene and with whom he connected on every level. Which was impossible, since his heart was already engaged with Michael.
"And even then, you almost threw it away."
Blake opened his mouth, but suddenly Derek appeared with a wineglass in each hand. He shot them both a look, handed one glass to Sam, and then kissed Blake's temple and handed him the other.
"Don't you two start. I know you like to snipe at each other for fun, but I'm not in the mood to listen to it tonight." Derek caught and held Blake's gaze, smiled softly, and turned to look at Sam. "Let your brother help you."
Sam sighed and sipped the Riesling. He enjoyed the subtle flavors as he watched Derek saunter back into the kitchen. It was a good wine--not too dry, not too sweet--and he took another mouthful and leaned back into the cushions again.
"There's nothing you can do." He sighed heavily and swirled the wine in the glass instead of focusing on Blake. "There's nothing I can do. Michael won't budge. He's like a freaking redwood or something."
Blake made a humming sound and then leaned forward and set his glass on the table. "I know he cares about you. As more than just an operative, I mean. Anyone with eyes can see it. He treats you differently. In a good way. And you have him wrapped around your finger. You can get him to do things the rest of us can't."
Sam let out a mirthless laugh. He set his glass down on the table, rubbed his hands over his eyes, and sat back. "Please don't get my hopes up. I've spent a long time stuffing them down far enough that they were manageable."
"I know." Blake sighed and patted his arm. "I thought you were making progress with him. I mean, he anchored you when we went in to help Archie cross. Things were different after that."
Dom had been out sick when a ghostwalker passed and every operative was called in to ghostwalk to find the spirit and help him cross. Sam thought nothing could replace the care and understanding his anchor had. But in the aftermath of coming back to life, having Michael with him cemented Sam's feelings in a way he didn't know was possible. Michael's care was phenomenal. He instinctively knew what it had taken Dom years to learn. Sam bounced back more quickly from that encounter than he ever had before. Considering how emotional the ghostwalk was, Sam had expected to be a wreck. But Michael's tender care made all the difference.
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