For Immediate Release

by Clancy Nacht

  Something about him rang false.

  Gideon had gone down the rabbit hole, and Lance’s records, as far as he could tell, were complete. No giveaway Social Security number; he had a record of parents who’d died, no siblings, a degree from the University of Texas. He was a whole person with a whole life, and yet, even his name. Gatsby. That was a name that demonstrated bravado.

  It was an inherent dare to riddle him out.

  Most worrisome about the whole situation was the tangential one. Michael Rios. All signs pointed to Voelker, a wicked and broken black ops man, the creature of Magnus Schrader. Schrader would’ve been able to arrest the news story of Rios’s death.

  Schrader traded in secrets, and if Rios had been hacking, it made perfect sense for Rios to be in Schrader’s employ. He maintained a network of spies and hackers to keep him at the apex of the shadowy world he inhabited. Early on, Gideon’s father, Dante Kurtz, had helped build Schrader’s secrets and fortunes. The partnership lasted over two decades until Schrader became greedy and had Dante murdered.

  Gideon had taken up the trade himself, looking for ways to destroy Schrader. However, that underground network had thus far proved nearly impenetrable. Gideon had done little but kill the occasional agent that crossed his path. Was there a connection between Rios’s death and Lance? Why was Lance so paranoid about it?

  While Lance could seem filled with empathy, something deeper disturbed Gideon about the situation. Was Lance estranged from Schrader too? Or had Lance stepped into something innocently?

  Gideon didn’t think Lance possibly could be that innocent. He’d managed the dead body with nary a batted eye and seemed more than comfortable around Gideon, whom he knew to be a contract killer. Gideon was used to making people nervous; he enjoyed the power he held when people knew who and what he was.

  Yet, there was something intriguing about someone who knew but didn’t appear to care. Someone who knew how to administer stitches and who thought to use a wineglass as a weapon.

  Lance Gatsby didn’t make sense.

  The group was breaking up. Corey was on the phone, presumably arranging for the senator and his wife to go on a hunting trip. Elliot and Lance had separated likely for the purpose of keeping Jeff from figuring out the game. Susan had disappeared to the bedroom where she was going through the closet to change clothes. Jeff stood with Lance, head down like a shy boy trying to ask out the prom queen.

  Gideon had only been tasked to watch the goings on in the hotel. He had terabytes of video that included everything from the mundane to exotic sexcapades, all recorded for Corey’s benefit. Once everyone was gone, Gideon could nap, but he was curious about how Lance would deal with Jeff, so he took a quick shower and changed into a polo shirt and khakis, a ubiquitous outfit that would help him blend in at whatever bar the pair chose.

  Lance had gone to his room, where he was working on his computer. The visual Gideon got on it was Lance mapping out where to go for his public “date.” Jeff had left, presumably to go to Swardson headquarters to do whatever work he could get done.

  Corey was on the phone, working his contacts to let them know that the Swardsons would be hunting, and fielded calls regarding Lance, explaining that he was a staffer but also a family friend, and the one that Elliot had mentioned was gay.

  On the television screen, the video of Lance and Susan was replaced by another grainy visual of the originally favored Republican presidential nominee, Congressman Steven Gilbert, who was caught on a hot mic referring to poor people as lazy leeches who would only vote for people who would give them a free ride. Gideon rolled his eyes. Even by airhead politician standards, Gilbert was stupid, but before this Gideon would’ve credited him with having enough sense to keep his mouth shut in public.

  Apparently not.

  The good news was that the “affair” scandal that might’ve entertained people on their way to work was officially over in favor of the new lunchtime outrage.

  Corey sighed as he watched the scene play out and called out to the Swardsons, who were dressed in camo, ready to go on the hunt.

  Gideon flipped the channel to monitor Lance’s room. Lance stood in front of the television smirking, then called Jeff to let him know they were probably off the hook, but asked if he wanted to meet for drinks anyway. Jeff agreed, so they made plans to go to the Flying Saucer, which was a short walk from the hotel.

  Lance left his room to meet Jeff.

  Gideon flipped the channel back to the Swardsons, who were headed out to hunt, tailed by Corey, who was still on the phone. They walked by Gideon’s room, then took the elevator near him to leave.

  So, the final decision. Gideon was dressed up with nowhere to go if he decided to nap. But honestly, he was too curious about Lance to leave him be. Yes, he was beautiful, but there was something else about him, something that drew Gideon.

  Lance needed watching. Gideon didn’t know why; it was a hunch.

  So, he followed, a good ten minutes later. When he arrived at the Flying Saucer, it was crowded. The heat and the weekday made the outside porch a less popular option, something that must have appealed to Lance and Jeff because that’s where they were.

  Gideon requested a spot in the corner, out of the way from all the late lunchers and day drinkers. Lance had a pint of beer, but Jeff was drinking sweet tea. Soft pretzels were added to their table a couple of minutes after Gideon arrived.

  Gideon ordered a pint and a pork belly sandwich. He was far enough away, and the place was just crowded enough, that he could only hear snippets of the conversation.

  “New Hampshire was… beautiful girls… football.” Jeff looked happy and leaned close. He added a pint to his order. As the alcohol hit him, he edged ever closer to Lance.

  Lance smiled politely. He allowed Jeff to get closer and raised a brow now and then as Jeff prattled on about his past. That Jeff was into Lance was obvious; he sounded almost desperate to gain Lance’s approval, which Lance gave with reserved responses as he downed another pint.

  After Jeff’s second pint, he leaned in to kiss Lance.

  Politely, Lance turned his cheek.

  “Don’t have to… no press… not even TMZ… thanks.” Lance smiled faintly, the portrait of letting someone down easy.

  Jeff nodded, but it was slow. He’d only had two pints, but it was evident he didn’t drink often. He pointed sloppily over his shoulder with his thumb, indicating he had to get back to Swardson headquarters. He stood and pulled out his wallet, but Lance waved him off from paying.

  “On me.”

  “Thanks.” Jeff frowned. “Sorry about the…”

  Lance shrugged and gave a saucy smile. “Maybe next time.”

  Jeff left, and Lance ordered another pint. He hadn’t eaten much of the pretzel; Jeff had wolfed most of it down. Lance added a turkey sandwich to his tab, which he ate alone with yet another pint.

  He pointedly did not look over his shoulder at Gideon, which only convinced Gideon Lance knew of his presence. Settling in for a meal was an invitation.

  Tempting as it was, Gideon wouldn’t risk being photographed, particularly in the company of someone who might be connected with Schrader. Tangential as it was, that was a risk.

  Someday Gideon would have his revenge, but not until he found the opportune moment.

  Gideon periodically checked his phone, watching images of the rooms he was monitoring to make sure that no one sneaked in. Other than that, his focus was on Lance.

  After Lance finished his meal, he stood. He was steady on his feet considering his size and how much he drank. Gideon wouldn’t have let him drive that tipsy, but Lance only had to walk a few blocks.

  Gideon left three twenties on his table and followed Lance out a couple of minutes later. When Gideon hit the street, Lance was half a block ahead of him. It was a good distance; Gideon was just a tourist out for a walk, one maybe staying at the same hotel.

  There weren’t many people on the street when Lance ambled to the crosswalk and hit the b
utton.

  A black van tore around that corner, engine roaring. Its side door slammed open, and two men in ski masks jumped out. Gideon ran toward Lance, though he had no hope of getting there in time. He didn’t even have time to wonder why it was happening. All he could do was watch as one man grabbed Lance’s arms and twisted them behind his back.

  Lance struggled upward like a leaping salmon, all twisting, sinewy grace. The man in front of him jumped forward to help his partner control Lance.

  “Oh no, you shouldn’t have…” Gideon kept running, but a smile bloomed across his face. His kitten was tough.

  Lance threw himself back against the man holding his arms and swung up his legs. He didn’t have enough height to do much other than climb, step after step, up the taller man’s body to wrap his legs around the man’s neck. Then Lance twisted his body, a move that might have broken the man’s neck if the assailant behind Lance hadn’t dropped him. Left without leverage to kill, Lance still brought down the would-be captor.

  Releasing the taller man, Lance pushed off the pavement with one foot, his other leg already moving to execute a backflip. One leg caught the second kidnapper squarely in the face, smashing his sinuses in. It wasn’t lethal, but it would hurt like a motherfucker.

  The man stumbled back, hands on his ruined face, while Lance kicked the taller man, still on the ground, in the side.

  Gideon slowed to a walk to observe. Kitten was a ninja and didn’t need protecting… at least, not in the short term. He could defend himself. Too well.

  The sinus-bashed man ran at Lance. Lance caught him with one arm out to block that attempted punch, spun him around, and threw him into the van. The driver shouted something Gideon couldn’t quite make out, something about “Talk to you…”

  Lance shot the driver the finger and then unceremoniously threw the taller of the kidnappers in the van too before slamming the door.

  When the van didn’t immediately move, Lance pounded on the door. “I said go the fuck away.”

  The van peeled out.

  Lance watched it go. Then he knelt and frowned at a hole in his trousers.

  People were gawking. Shockingly no one had a camera phone out. It had happened so fast.

  Once the shock wore off, the good people of South Carolina rushed in to offer help, including calling 911.

  “No need for that. I’m a detective.” Gideon hoisted Lance up by his arm. “I’m going to take him to the station to report the incident.” He gave Lance a tug. “Come with me.”

  The bystanders gave Gideon a questioning look. His polo and khakis probably didn’t shout police detective, but they let him walk off with Lance in the direction of the hotel.

  When they were far enough away from concerned citizens, Gideon whispered in Lance’s ear. “What was that?”

  Despite how cool Lance had looked when he was kicking ass, now he was a trembling mess of nerves. He shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “Don’t know or don’t want to tell me?”

  They turned the corner of the hotel.

  Lance shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “You don’t trust me?” Gideon ushered them through the entrance and into an elevator.

  “I don’t even know your real name, Guy. Why should I trust you?” Lance slipped from Gideon’s grip.

  “Don’t worry about videos getting out again. The security guy and the desk clerk were fired after that video came out. The hotel is going to sue them, I think.”

  Lance leaned against the wall of the elevator. He looked exhausted, but he nodded. “Great.”

  The bell dinged for Lance’s floor, and he stepped out of the cabin.

  Gideon followed, but Lance turned and put his hand on Gideon’s chest to stop him.

  “No.”

  “Lance, those guys meant business. They were professionals. What is going on?” Gideon left out that he thought the taller one might’ve been Voelker. He’d been too far away and the man too covered up to be sure. Plus he’d never seen Voelker get his ass handed to him that way.

  At the moment, Lance’s eyes were cold and shark-like, as if he was just a breath away from becoming exactly like Gideon.

  Lance gave a wry smile and tilted his head. “Hm.”

  Then he shoved Gideon enough to get him back into the elevator cabin.

  Sighing, Gideon let Lance go. Lance walked away as the elevator doors closed.

  Chapter Seven

  There were a variety of hunting spots to choose from in South Carolina, and Elliot left everything up to Corey. If this had been a real hunting trip, Elliot would’ve had opinions, but this was a photo op. Corey’s NRA buddies coordinated the licenses and booking.

  Going out in the heat of the day seemed insane. That wasn’t going to impress hunters, and it was going to make them sweaty. Fortunately, Susan had learned the art of sweating through her make-up, but Elliot worried he’d look like an overheated pig. Or worse, he might look too cool, as if he didn’t take hunting seriously.

  As a kid, hunting was one of the few areas within his rather large family where he distinguished himself. The fourth of twelve Swardson kids, he’d rarely stood out. His parents were practicing Quiverfuls who worshipped in a Charismatic Evangelical church just outside of Houston. Outside of the Tea Party bubble, Elliot rarely spoke of them, but among the hyper-conservative, it served as shorthand that Elliot was one of them.

  Elliot’s father saw the smaller brood of two as a disgrace. To Elliot’s shame, he’d lied about Susan’s womb being uncooperative to maintain peace with his family.

  Of course, now Elliot was a senator and potentially the next president. That appealed to his father’s dominionist beliefs. God was simply using Elliot in the political realm for the moment.

  Though Elliot craved his father’s approval, in honesty, he barely knew the man.

  It was Elliot’s oldest brother, Junior, that he’d looked up to, and even Junior had been a remote compared with the many sisters who’d doted on Elliot, all of whom would be horrified to find out about Lance.

  He shook off his brooding and squeezed Susan’s hand as South Carolina passed by outside the black SUV’s window, the city giving way to open skies and landscapes with remarkable speed. She gave him a half smile, apology in her eyes, but she had nothing to apologize for.

  Sure, the clinch between Susan and Lance had been disconcerting, but even pixelated and in black and white it didn’t read passionate. They’d never discussed Lance’s sexuality fully, but Elliot didn’t think he was bisexual. Even if he was, Lance had initially refused to sleep with a married man. Why would he cross even more lines to get with Elliot’s wife?

  Susan obviously found Lance attractive—she’d made no secret of that—but Elliot didn’t think she’d go there. She was his best friend, and up until lately, they told each other everything. When he’d brought Lance into this arrangement, Elliot hadn’t expected Susan to back off to the extent that she had. He missed her.

  Or maybe he wanted to miss her.

  He’d been so preoccupied with Lance, getting back to Lance, touching him, doing all of the things that had been denied to him for so long, that until he saw her on that grainy video, it was as if he’d forgotten about her almost entirely. In that respect, he couldn’t make himself angry with her for what had happened.

  Elliot slipped his arm around his wife and she rested her head on his shoulder as their ride turned onto the road to the hunting property. Corey sat in the passenger seat next to the driver. He peered back at them and grinned.

  “There’s that happy couple everyone wants to see.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but his phone rang. “This is Corey. Yeah? Huh. Got it.”

  The truck edged forward to a clearing dominated by a huge wooden lodge. Camera crews with desultory field reporters appeared to be packing up.

  Elliot released his wife and leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

  Corey snorted. “Gilbert screwed the pooch. Called poor people lazy.
Black people criminals.”

  Susan shook her head. “Well that’s one way to break the news cycle and appeal to the base.”

  “It wasn’t intentional.” Corey smirked and eyed Elliot. “You need to make a statement. I can wrangle the reporters, see if I can rustle up a black person out here in Whitesville to stand next to you.”

  Elliot gave a curt nod. He was tempted to ask Corey why Elliot was condemning racism when it seemed all the rage among his colleagues.

  Susan looked out the back window and then pulled out her phone. “I think we have some campaign volunteers. We’re not that far out of the city. Corey, see if the reporters would hang around for a statement in an hour? Elliot can prance around for them in his hunting drag or something.”

  “Prance, huh?” Elliot knocked her knee with his and she winked. “I will manfully hunt something down, eat its heart, and then give an inspired speech about racial equality.”

  “Right.” Corey chuckled. “I think all we need is you shooting the shit with your new gun buddies, then you repudiate Gilbert’s ignorance. Susan, you stand next to him, take some questions about Lance. He’s a good friend, gay staffer, you felt safe being vulnerable, he wouldn’t take advantage, blah, blah, blah.”

  She nodded curtly. “Right. And if they ask why I needed comforting?”

  Elliot looked out the window. A few men in camouflage and orange vests stood together, giving side eye at the SUV. They didn’t appear to be particularly thrilled or in any hurry to meet him, which seemed odd.

  Actually, though Elliot was surging in the polls, he’d received a fairly cool reception from those he supposedly represented.

  Brooding over that, he suggested, “Campaigns are stressful. It doesn’t have to be a big deal unless we make it one.”