Unspeakable Words

by Sarah Madison

  It hit him while he was trying to pull one leg forward and reach around behind him to feel the trunk walls. He was the distraction. Once he was officially designated missing, all resources would turn to finding him and not investigating DeShano. DeShano must have some sort of exit plan in place. This was to buy him time to disappear. The question as to why he was still alive niggled at him. DeShano had nothing to lose by killing him outright. He’d still be missing as far as the FBI was concerned. Maybe it had to do with him being a special agent. DeShano had to know that the FBI would never rest until he was captured if Jerry died as a result of this imprisonment. On the other hand, if Jerry was going to die in this trunk, his last hours were going to be unbelievably unpleasant. On some level, it probably amused DeShano to leave Jerry’s fate up to chance.

  A faint glow caught his attention, and he reached for it eagerly. Disappointment plummeted through his chest when he felt the torn plastic and realized someone had taken a screwdriver to the compartment. The switch was hopelessly damaged.

  Fine. So he couldn’t get out the easy way. Fine.

  He began to pull at the carpet with his nails.

  SOMETIME near one a.m., he fell asleep, as opposed to passing out again. He took this to be a hopeful sign that maybe he wasn’t going to herniate his brainstem after all. He didn’t sleep for long, however. He was simply too cold. He assessed his long-term chances brutally. If he survived hypothermia and the head trauma didn’t kill him, his next biggest concern was dehydration. A person could live without food for several weeks, but water was another story altogether.

  He’d finally remembered that he’d gone back to the Weir. He remembered flashing his badge at the curator while she was on the phone and heading down the stairs, ignoring her as she’d called out to him. He could see the displeased and puzzled look on her face as she held the phone up to her ear, as though it were a snapshot in front of him. What had she wanted to tell him? Had she been about to let him know that DeShano was already in the basement and that both of them needed to hurry, as it was almost closing time?

  What had he come back for? The memory returned with sudden visceral force. The wrapped object in the dumbwaiter. DeShano must have run out of time to grab it the night of the murder, because first, Emily had interrupted him, and then he and Flynn had shown up. The wrapped object the size of a painting. The missing art supplies. An art dealer willing to murder to get back his prize. Oh yeah. They had to be dealing with art forgery here.

  When he realized that this information was entirely useless to him at the moment, a wave of depression swept over him. He was going to die in the trunk of his own car, and no one would ever know what he knew about the crimes that DeShano had committed.

  Hey, Flynn? Jerry tossed out the thought with no real hope that Flynn could possibly pick up on him. They simply hadn’t practiced any long-distance connections; Jerry didn’t even know if they were possible. But he couldn’t help talking to Flynn anyway. It gave him a small measure of comfort. See, this is what I think happened….

  THOUGH he’d been able to pull up the carpet, he’d not been successful in tearing his way into the interior of the car. The ends of his fingers were raw from the attempt. He imagined they’d find bloody smears all over the interior of the trunk when they finally found his body.

  The brutal headache was still there; he probably had a concussion at the very least. He shifted restlessly and felt the crinkle of plastic underneath his elbow. Cautiously he isolated the sound and discovered an evidence bag.

  Suddenly he remembered the scene in Smokescreen where the actor was handcuffed to the wheel of a sports car and left to die in the African bush, in a macabre reenactment of a scene from his latest movie. Link had used a sandwich bag and a rubber band to collect moisture overnight and use it as a water source. Hah. He didn’t even need a rubber band—the bag was self-locking.

  Placing it over his mouth, he breathed out into the bag several times until he could feel it grow warm with vapor, and then he sealed it. It felt like a small balloon in his hands, and he carefully placed it aside on the wheel well, where it would hopefully collect a small amount of condensation by morning. He searched with his hands until he found another bag and grimly stuffed it in his pocket. That would come in handy when he had to pee. He might need to drink his urine when all was said and done, and the thought nauseated him.

  By God, wouldn’t it be funny if he was saved by a cheap paperback thriller?

  He laughed, wanting to share that with Flynn, and suddenly his emotions threatened to swamp him. Goddamn it, you will not cry, he threatened himself. Like you can spare the bloody tears.

  He took a couple of gulping breaths instead. He checked his watch. 1:45 a.m. The coldest part of the night still lay ahead, but it wasn’t as if he would freeze to death. He could tough it out.

  By 2:00 a.m. he’d have been missing for nine hours.

  JERRY pressed the button that lit up the face of his watch. Three a.m. The Hour of the Wolf. The hour when most people, the sick and the elderly, die. The hour when you wake from restless dreams because fear and anxiety gnaw at your bones.

  He was cold, so cold that his teeth were chattering. He rubbed his hands up and down his limbs where he could reach them, but it was no good. The cold and discomfort of not being able to move much was pervasive and prevented him from going back to sleep. He thought of his warm bed and waking in the middle of the night to find Oliver curled up beside him. He thought of Flynn’s consternation over Phoenix wanting to sleep under the covers and his concern that he’d accidentally hurt her. He pictured the kind of warmth that he got only when he slept with his arms wrapped around someone else, and he felt extremely sorry for himself that he had no such person in his life at the moment.

  He wondered if Flynn would adopt Oliver.

  He wished he hadn’t been so keen on trying to impress everyone down at the bureau. And if he was being honest with himself, Flynn as well. If he’d just waited, gone in with some back up… but he’d just been following up on a hunch. DeShano must have been there already, but how was he to have known that? No one could have predicted that. He wasn’t a bloody mind reader.

  He grinned in the dark, wanting to share the joke with Flynn, and realized that was the second time he’d wanted to do that since he’d been trapped in the car. Sighing, he tried to think about something else, but it was no good. His biggest regret, it seemed, was going to be not kissing Flynn. That was foolish because, though incredibly tolerant of him, Flynn was as straight as they came. Just because Jerry was amazingly comfortable with him and attracted to him and they’d been thrown together under outrageous circumstances, it didn’t mean that Flynn was remotely attracted to him in any way. It just seemed unfair that he would never know what it was like to kiss that incredibly generous mouth or feel the heat of his skin or know how he looked during orgasm. Telepathy had to make for some really incredible sex. There was no way he could disappoint a partner. Flynn was one lucky bastard.

  It only seemed right to allow himself to indulge just a bit in such fantasies. After all, who was to know? Flynn was surely outside of telepathic range.

  Are you sure about that? Who knew what Flynn’s telepathic range really was? It wasn’t as if the device came with a manual or anything. He’d picked up on what was happening to Phoenix from inside a car as they were driving by, well outside the ranges they’d come to expect. What had he said? “Strong emotions carry farther.” He’d also said he could pick up Jerry better than anyone else. Because he was so loud.

  You want loud, baby? I’ll give you loud. Come on, Flynn. Focus. Find me, because otherwise this is going to be like your worst nightmare all over again, and I don’t want to be responsible for that, okay? Hey, are you listening to me? I’d really appreciate it if you could get off your ass and find me now. Come on. Oh yeah, and bring me a nice cup of hot coffee while you’re at it. And some of those pull-apart cinnamon buns.

  You gotta come get me out of here, Flynn. Because
I’ve got things I need to say to you, and I need to say them to your face and not hide in the soundproof booth. Or let my thoughts slip in front of you and pretend I’ve said them and leave all the responsibility of deciding whether or not to act on them up to you. That’s not fair. Come on, John. Find me.

  Find me.

  THE sound of a car coming to a sliding stop on the gravel outside woke him, and for a startled instant, he stiffened in panic. His first thought was that DeShano had come back to finish the job. He felt around for the lug wrench he’d uncovered earlier and gripped it tightly, prepared to strike out at whoever opened the trunk of the car.

  “Jerry!”

  He heard Flynn’s hoarse shout, even as hands slammed on the hood of the trunk. He opened his mouth to answer, but it was too dry, and he could only make a croaking noise. He blinked rapidly, trying to see into the darkness, his eyelids gritty and threatening to stick to his corneas.

  Smash the lock. Just break it. I don’t care about the car; you should see what I’ve done to the interior of the trunk here. For God’s sake, John, open the fucking trunk!

  “I’m coming. Hang on. I’m coming as fast as I can. Watch your face.”

  The sound of something being inserted into the lock was clearly audible, and then Jerry felt and heard Flynn banging on the lock with something hard. There was the sound of screeching metal, and the trunk popped open.

  The night was clear and cold. The first pale streaks of dawn were lighting the sky. The moon was an enormous pale disk overhead, thin and insubstantial. Flynn was lit from behind with the headlights from his car. It created a weird sort of nimbus of light around his head, and Jerry watched as the sea air ruffled his heavy forelock of hair. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved in days, though it had been less than twenty-four hours. His suit was crumpled and worn. His shirt was open at the collar, and his necktie had been loosened. He had bags under his eyes. He looked terrible. He was also the most beautiful thing Jerry had ever seen.

  “Yeah, good to see you too,” Flynn said in a voice that had a suggestion of a tremor. “Sorry, no time for sticky buns and coffee. I had to stop and feed the cats.”

  Jerry gave a laugh that twisted oddly and sounded like a gasp of pain, so he turned it into a cough. Flynn reached into the trunk for him, taking him by the arm, sliding one incredibly warm hand into his cold one, and pulling him up.

  It took Jerry a second to unfold himself from his cramped position, and then he couldn’t figure out how to actually get out of the trunk. The rear hatch only opened so far, and he had to somehow get his feet underneath him and over the edge of the opening. It seemed impossible, and Jerry made a noise of frustration as he tried to free his legs without banging his head on the open hatch at the same time. Flynn’s hand came up to protect the back of his head, and Jerry stilled, taking a moment to regroup and figure out how he was going to do this.

  “Jer,” Flynn said softly, his left hand sliding down to cup the back of Jerry’s neck, sending an involuntary shiver down his back. Flynn’s fingers curled into Jerry’s hair at his collar. He bent down and gently rested his forehead on Jerry’s. “I couldn’t find you,” he whispered.

  Jerry swallowed hard. “Not right away,” he managed to get out. He briefly closed his eyes, suddenly embarrassed by his emotional broadcasting. Besides, he must be little rank by now. His eyes burned, unable to produce any tears. He shifted a little, pulling away. “But hey, better late than never, right?”

  Flynn’s face was serious as he stared down at Jerry, looking as though he didn’t understand Jerry’s reaction before his expression cleared. He reached in the trunk and grabbed the nearest pants leg, helping Jerry lift first one and then the other leg over the rim of the trunk and then pulling him bodily out of the car. Jerry came out of the trunk abruptly, leaning into Flynn for a long moment when his feet hit the ground, grateful to be out of the car at last. He was grateful, too, for the support of Flynn’s arms around him, absurdly so. It made his eyes burn again, and he told himself he was just reacting to the relief of being rescued.

  Flynn pushed him back gently until he was resting against the edge of the trunk.

  “Wait here,” Flynn said shortly, walking in rapid strides back to the other car, stepping out of the glare of the headlights. Jerry shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to see where Flynn had gone, able to follow his movements only through the crunch of gravel under his feet. He returned with a heavy coat and thermos of coffee.

  Jerry let him tuck the coat around him, and he gratefully accepted the little plastic cup of coffee, cradling it in his hands. “See, you do love me,” he said, taking a deep, appreciative whiff of the hot liquid before sipping.

  Flynn looked at him with startled eyes for a second before pulling out his cell and making a call. “It’s me, Flynn. I found him. Yes, but we need medical assistance. Send a rescue squad out to this location.” He read the address off his GPS.

  “I don’t want to hear it. You’re going to the hospital.” The look on Flynn’s face was resolute, and Jerry knew it would do no good to protest. He did send a rather pathetic image of himself in his own bed, in his fuzzy bathrobe, eating soup and reading a book.

  Flynn’s eyes narrowed. “Nice try.” He pocketed the phone and then retrieved the cup out of Jerry’s hands, setting it down on the ground beside the thermos. “You shouldn’t move,” he said a moment later, a little less certainly, as Jerry began to shift again.

  “I’m cold, and I want to sit down,” Jerry said flatly, and relief swept over him when Flynn merely nodded and held out a hand so that Jerry could grab it. He leaned into Flynn’s support as he hobbled stiffly toward the other car. It felt so good to have his feet on the ground and Flynn’s arm around him. Together they managed to get him into Flynn’s car. Without a word, Flynn turned on the engine and cranked the heater, going back for the coat and coffee while Jerry shivered miserably with his hands in front of the heat vent.

  Flynn opened the passenger door and dropped the coat over Jerry before coming back to the driver’s side and getting behind the wheel. Jerry huddled into the coat and reached for the thermos again. Flynn shot him a look as if he was going to stop him and then subsided when he realized it was a losing battle.

  “So how’d you find me? Do you know what happened? I seem to have a gap in my memory. Did you apprehend DeShano?”

  “No.” Flynn’s jaw tightened. He leaned over and gently probed the back of Jerry’s head. Jerry sat with his eyes closed, cradling his cup of coffee, until Flynn settled back again. “That’s a helluva crack you took to the back of your skull. Lucky it’s so thick.”

  Jerry curled his lip briefly at Flynn’s lame attempt at humor. He started to squash his “brain-damaged” fears into the soundproof booth but felt like it was too much effort.

  With a long, silent look, Flynn reached out and squeezed his arm briefly before continuing. “As a matter of fact, I never got your message until I started asking around to see if anyone had heard from you. I called your cell but got rolled over into voice mail. Of course, I realized right away that Fielding had conveniently ‘forgotten’ to give me your message. By the time we got the warrant for DeShano, he was nowhere to be found. I’ll be honest— I was starting to worry for your safety. I knew what kind of man DeShano was, and by that point, it had occurred to me that he might have gone back for something at the Weir, with you catching him in the process. We both know how that turned out for Ms. Marsden.”

  “Yeah.” Jerry let the dumbwaiter and the wrapped object within flash into his mind, taking advantage of the verbal shorthand because he was too tired to talk when he didn’t have to do so.

  “We put out a BOLO on DeShano. In the meantime we started searching for you. Unfortunately for us, DeShano had dumped your cell somewhere along Highway One.”

  “Ouch,” Jerry said, taking another sip of coffee with trembling hands. “That’s a lot of territory to cover. So how’d you find me?”

  Flynn reached over to the gl
ove compartment and pulled out several packs of sugar without asking. Jerry smiled as Flynn tore them open and poured them into his coffee.

  Flynn opened his mouth and then closed it abruptly. He bit at his lower lip, twisting his mouth before he shrugged and tried again. “I, um, concentrated on listening for you. It took a while, but once I could pick you out of the crowd, you were sort of hard to miss.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “And then I just got in the car and followed the signal, like the kids’ game of hotter, colder.”

  Hah. I have my own bat signal. Jerry found himself beaming goofily at Flynn. Huh, he thought. Maybe I have brain damage after all.

  Flynn smiled at him. It touched something deep inside of him and made him feel safe. Which was silly, because why on earth would a grown man want to feel safe, for fuck’s sake? Flynn’s smile spread into a grin, and he smiled back.

  Jerry recalled some of the thoughts that had flashed through his mind over the last twenty-four hours or so, and heat suddenly flamed his face.

  Flynn’s expression grew serious. “Once I could hear you, I knew you were all right, you know? I mean, not in a good place and definitely needed help, but I knew you were still okay. But whenever you fell asleep….” He looked out of the car window for a long moment. The sky was growing steadily brighter as the sun crept up over the horizon. He faced Jerry again. “It sucked, Jer. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”

  Jerry felt warmer already.

  “So,” Flynn said, suddenly brisk. “We’ll get you checked out at the hospital and make sure you’re okay. In the meantime, don’t worry about the cats. I’ll take care of them. And the super has a spare key, remember?” He touched Jerry briefly on the arm. “Everything will be there waiting for you when you get home.”

  “Everything had better include quiche from the corner bakery.” Jerry sniffed. “Hospital food sucks.”