by Josh Lanyon
“He’s dead?” Taylor leaned on the tomb, peering blearily over. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, he’s dead.”
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
Taylor folded slowly onto the tomb. He rested his head in his hands. His voice was subdued. “I think I tripped.”
Will, trying gently to examine the lump rising out of Taylor’s hairline, paused. “You tripped?”
Taylor’s response was terse.
“You tripped?”
“Shut up, Brandt.”
“You’re like a cat. I’ve never seen you tri —”
“Shut up, Brandt.”
Voices were coming toward them, drifting on the night air. Will tore his gaze from Taylor’s bent head in time to spot the circles of flashlight beams bouncing through the trees.
“Better late than never,” Will muttered.
Taylor raised his head and peered nearsightedly into the gloom. “I don’t see them.”
“They’re on their way. Just relax.”
Yeah. Right. It was like telling a jack-in-the-box to settle down. Taylor clambered to his feet and swayed. Will reached to steady him. “Would you sit still? You could have a concussion for all you know.”
Taylor’s heavy eyes popped open. He leaned forward, studying Will’s face intently. “Wait. Wait…”
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
Taylor’s jaw dropped. He peered closely. “Do I know you? Who are you again?”
Will couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. He grabbed Taylor and pressed a hard, hungry kiss against his startled mouth.
There wasn’t time for more. Within a minute or two the French police had reached them, and the questions began. Will and Taylor were separated and asked to give their individual account of events while the side door of the tomb was dragged open the rest of the way.
Whistles and exclamations followed the discovery of the contents of the tomb. Will and Taylor joined the circle around the opening as a heavy, square bundle wrapped in canvas and rope was lifted out.
Brief discussion followed as to whether they should wait for museum officials. Hell no! seemed to be the same in every language. The canvas was carefully ripped and laid wide to reveal the portrait of a smiling woman in an elaborate powdered wig and the rich robes of a long-ago empire.
Merveilleux! Fantastique!
And Will had to agree.
“You realize now we’re never going to know what it was that brought Helloco out of hiding?” Taylor muttered when they were finally waved off in dismissal. “We’re never going to know why he left Finistère. We’re never going to know if he was having a three-way with his brother’s wife. We’re never going to know —”
Will had a vision of Taylor trying to push to his feet directly in the line of fire between himself and Helloco. He interrupted mildly, “I can live with that.”
He looked back. Taylor had stopped at the fenced monument next to the tomb where Helloco had hidden the five paintings. “What’s up?”
“Look at this.”
Will obligingly walked the few steps back and looked — and then looked more closely.
Beneath the bronze medallion of a man’s profile were four stone placards. One of the placards bore the name Jacques-Louis David.
“Could that be a coincidence?” Taylor couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.
And studying his profile, Will said, “I don’t believe in coincidence.” He added, “Not anymore.”
* * * * *
The Eiffel Tower was gilded in pink-gold sunlight by the time they finished their phone calls.
Will listened to Taylor reassuring his sister with the usual white lies. “No, no one was injured. I mean, besides Helloco. I don’t know why. You know the news; they’ve got to say something, right?”
Will, lying on the bed and staring out the window at the sunrise, rolled his eyes.
“If you want to go ahead and attend the D-day ceremony, sure. No, Will and I have plans.” Taylor looked over his shoulder at Will.
Will nodded.
They had plans all right. Plans Taylor didn’t even know about yet.
“Sound him out,” Stone had said when Will had spoken to her a few minutes earlier. “He’s a little unorthodox, but he’s got imagination. He’d be a good man to have on our team, and we’ve got an opening.”
If nothing else it was vindication for Taylor. He’d gone out on a limb, but in the end he’d been proved right. So now he had another option. They both did.
Stone hadn’t been the first call Will had made. The first call had been to David. Will felt like he owed him that. The last few days probably hadn’t been much easier on David than they had on Taylor.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” David had said, once Will had gotten past the excuse of relating the news about Helloco and the confirmation that the D-day events could proceed as planned. “I’m glad for you both.”
Yeah. Well, that was why Will liked David so much. Why at one time he’d thought it might be him and David.
But as things stood, Will was never going to forget Taylor’s face when Will had inadvertently blurted out, “What about David?” Taylor had looked less hurt getting shot in the chest. Will was going to make that up to him.
So he’d apologized to David, and he got off the phone as soon as possible, and as soon as he disconnected, he’d gone to Taylor, burying his face in Taylor’s hair for a moment. Taylor had looked surprised and wary, but then he’d relaxed, giving Will a friendly little shove and ordering him to call Stone.
Taylor finally said good-bye to his sister. Will held the duvet up, and Taylor slid between the sheets, lithe and brown from the Southern California sun. He moaned his relief as he sank into the pillows.
“We’re officially back on leave,” Will informed him.
“Thank you Jesus.” Taylor closed his eyes and then opened them. “You never said. When exactly did you get your memory back?”
Will rolled onto his side, facing him. He had never been so grateful for a good mattress, clean sheets, and the superior quality of European painkillers.
“Not long after you went bounding off like a stag running from a forest fire.” He carefully brushed the hair from Taylor’s bruised forehead. Taylor winced but didn’t object. “What gets into your brain?”
Taylor’s eyelashes flickered a couple of times and lowered. “Hm?”
Will continued to stroke his hair. “I thought we were a team? Why didn’t you wait for me?”
Taylor sighed but didn’t answer.
“Are you falling asleep?”
“A little…” Taylor’s lashes didn’t stir.
Will smiled faintly. “Well, don’t fall asleep until you hear me out.”
Taylor’s eyes opened at that. “It’s okay, Will. Y —”
“Shut up,” Will said gently.
Taylor shut up.
“I don’t know why my brain selected the memories it did, but I can tell you this much: it wasn’t because I don’t care enough about you. I think maybe it’s the other way around.”
“I don’t care enough about you?”
Will sighed. “How hard did you hit your head tonight? No. I mean maybe I care too much about you.”
Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”
“Pretty much what I was always afraid of from the start. If I ever let go…” Will had to stop.
Taylor pushed up on his elbow. “I don’t understand. What? ”
“It’s not complicated,” Will said finally. “If something happens to you, it’s going to happen to both of us. Because I’m not going to survive losing you. You see what I mean?”
Taylor was silent. Finally he eased back to the pillows. “That. Okay. Fair enough. Same here.”
“I have something for you.”
A smiled flickered across Taylor’s lips. “Are you sure in your weakened condition — or my weakened condition —”
“You’ve got a one-tra
ck mind.”
“Like you’re not headed the same direction?” But Will had left the bed and was at his dresser, rifling through his undershorts. Taylor sounded rueful. “Maybe you’re not.”
Will found the small blue velvet box and tossed it to the bed.
Taylor caught it one-handed as he sat up. He stared down at the box. His gaze lifted to Will’s. He looked a little pale. “What’s this?”
Will came back to bed and slid in beside him. “Cuff links. What do you think it is?”
“We never…”
“I know. We should have. We sure as hell should have before I left for Paris. I was going to give it to you for your birthday. But we kept… I don’t know. The time wasn’t right. The thing about Iraq threw me.”
Taylor’s gazed as if fascinated at the small box. A muscle moved in his jaw.
“So here’s the thing.” Will cleared his throat. “I didn’t handle this right the first time, and I’m probably not going to handle it right this time. I don’t want you to take the posting in Iraq. Not because I think something bad will happen to you. Because I think something bad will happen to me. I think we’ll have to wait more years to be together, and we’ve waited long enough already.”
“We were at this point once before, you know?” Taylor was smiling, but something in that little twist of lips hurt Will’s heart.
“I know. I wasn’t expecting…Paris. I let my ambition get in the way of us. That was my mistake. But this…” Will nodded at the blue box. “This is my way of trying to show you that nothing has changed for me. It never will. And I’m tired of waiting. Life is too short. So…”
“So?”
“I meant what I said at dinner the other night. I want to resign. I want you to resign.”
Taylor closed his eyes. “Will…”
“No, listen to me. I’ve thought about this. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, to tell the truth. I want us to go into business together. I want us to start our own global security consulting business. We could do it. You know we could. We’re the best at what we do.”
“That’s enough of a reason to give up both our —”
“We could be partners again. Partners in every way.”
Taylor was silent so long Will’s heart grew cold.
Finally Taylor’s lashes lifted. He studied Will gravely. “Are you sure, Brandt? You sure you know what you’re saying?”
“I know what I’m saying.”
Taylor sat up, knees touching Will’s. He handed the box to Will. Will took it back slowly.
Taylor held out his left hand. It was a man’s hand. Nicely shaped, strong, steady. Understanding dawned in Will. He flipped open the lid of the box. The ring glinted brightly. A plain platinum band — platinum mixed with a small percentage of lead from the bullet that had hit Taylor slightly over a year ago. The bullet that might have ended everything — but somehow had meant a new beginning for them.
Smiling a little self-consciously, Will took Taylor’s hand in his.
About the Author
A distinct voice in gay fiction, multi-award-winning author JOSH LANYON has been writing gay mystery, adventure and romance for over a decade. In addition to numerous short stories, novellas, and novels, Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including The Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USABookNews awards for GLBT Fiction. Josh is an Eppie Award winner and a three-time Lambda Literary Award finalist.
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Find other Josh Lanyon titles at www.joshlanyon.com