Javi’s head fell and so did Ian’s heart at the sight.
“What?”
“Mijo, she can’t record this. There is no way to take this image and record it. Finding it the few times she did was hard. I’m not up on all the newest shit, but somehow they change servers or whatever every half hour, every single day. And there is no way to download the images, record them to another disk, anything. She tried everything she knew, and she knows just about everything. Even trying it with my phone’s video, it’s so grainy, you can’t make out the faces.”
It was true. He knew the men in the video, but if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to fully make out who they were. They were hard enough to tell from each other, let alone someone that didn’t know what they were seeing, to know a father made his own son kill himself…
“Then they’re going to win. There’s no fucking way to get them, is there?”
Pat was by his side, reasoning, “We don’t know that yet, Ian. There are still a lot of things we may be able to do. If she found this, maybe there is more, more that is clearer, that can be used to stop them. Don’t give up hope, baby.”
“That’s getting harder to do with each passing day and they’re still planning this culling.”
Javi vowed, “I’m not going to stop until we find something, Ian, and after seeing this shit, Prue isn’t even charging me anymore. It made her fucking sick.”
“Mine? Did you see mine, Javi?”
“She found it, yeah, mijo, but I couldn’t watch it. If I had, I don’t think I could stop myself from strangling your fucking dad.”
Javi was becoming a good friend, and Ian didn’t doubt his word. “I’m glad you didn’t watch. I…I was a coward.”
Pat spun him around and growled, “Don’t ever fucking say that. If anyone went through that, there’s no being brave for that shit, Ian. No one.”
When Ian met his father the next day, the visions of Cameron’s final moments were still on his mind. He was dressed well, decided to keep hoping, and keep his utter contempt from showing.
Unlike the time before, he didn’t see his mother, which was good. The thoughts he’d been having of her of late were a mixed bag of emotions. It wasn’t only his father that was in a loveless relationship, it was her too. Was she all for it? Or, did she dream of a man who would love her, like Pat loved Ian?
He pushed the study doors open once he heard his father call out for him to enter. When he walked inside, he saw it, his father gazing up at the painting, and he knew then that at least that theory was right.
The look in his eyes told Ian that he’d felt more than a passing friendship with James, and their affair, if still going on, was the one bright spot in his life. Ian couldn’t imagine that it was great, however, after the Grail made James watch his son shoot himself.
“Father.”
“Ian, good afternoon. Sit, please. Drink?”
That’s when he noticed there was a crystal tumbler of scotch on the desk in front of him. “Father? It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”
Sighing, Ian junior went to the shelving on the far right of the back wall and poured another glass, bringing it to Ian. “Perhaps.”
Ian didn’t drink it, setting it in front of him on the desk when he sat. His father took his seat and asked, “What is it you need, Ian?”
“I’ve been studying,” he began, trying to watch his father’s face as he spoke for any clue as to what he may be thinking. “I don’t understand a lot.”
“What’s not to understand, Ian? You’re a smart boy. I’m sure that with a little more concentration, you will sort it all in your mind.”
His father looked as though he’d been crying, and Ian Andrews Jr. did not cry. “I’m sure I could, and I’m sure I’m simply jumping the gun. I feel like a lot is being held back to those of us in the first degree. I was hoping you could tell me a bit more.”
“You’ll learn everything in time, like I had to, and the others in the order, Ian.”
He had to try another tact. The painting hung on the wall, guarding the safe and looming over the room. “Father, this painting…why did you choose it over all the finer art you could hang there?”
Ian Junior’s eyes moved over the painting, then back to the drink in front of him. “Not all art has to have a price tag of millions to be something to be cherished, Ian.”
As he nodded his agreement to the statement, he told his father, “I have a small print that proves that. It’s a terrible painting of a home in the mid-eighteen hundreds. I didn’t pick it for the artist, or because it was particularly well done, but it strikes something in me. I guess this one does the same for you. It reminds you of someone.”
Unlike previously, when he’d barely glanced his son’s way, Ian Junior locked eyes with him and stared him down until Ian had to look away, afraid that he’d gone too far. “Ian, what are you getting at?”
“Nothing, father. Okay, something. That painting reminds you of someone you care for. I’m not judging, Father, but I’m swimming in an abyss of questions. I need some answers!”
Ian Junior stood and whispered, “Ian, leave it alone. I’m pleading with you to leave this alone.”
“I can’t, Father. I can’t sit back and see this fucking order hurt more people!”
Like he had been completely defeated, Ian’s father fell back in his chair, eyes slamming shut. “There’s…there’s another meeting this coming Thursday. Your, uh, mother wants to throw a soiree for your graduation on that Saturday. She’s been planning a month.”
“Glad she let me in on it before it was over. Was I invited?”
His father laughed a little and finally, he seemed to relax. “I don’t know if I was either.”
Ian decided to table the rest for the moment, taking advantage of his father’s better mood. “Well, I’ll speak to her about getting you into your own party, and a few of your friends. I can’t promise a lot of them, though, you know how she is about her guest lists.”
“Only the finest families, I know.”
They’d never done that, bonded that way. Ian was more confused by the moment, but an idea did come to him. “Father, would you mind, since there’s a meeting, and then the party soon after, if I came home for a few days? It would save a lot of driving back and forth.”
His father opened his mouth, like he was ready to agree, then stopped and narrowed his eyes at Ian. “And who would be coming with you?”
Straightening his back to show he was not open to negotiate, he stared plainly, “My bodyguard.”
“Ian…”
“Father, wouldn’t it seem stranger for the Grail to see me without him? I don’t expect him to stay in my room with me. He can stay in one of the guest rooms.”
“He can stay down in the servant’s quarters, Ian.”
Ian stiffened more, but his father sighed hard and reasoned, “It’s not across the country, Ian, there are stairs, and even an elevator in this house to get from floor to floor.”
Deflating, Ian gaped at his father. Then it hit him. “I guess sneaking around is in our blood. Right, Father?”
Not giving him an answer, he swerved the subject back around to Ian’s stay. “I’ll let your mother know you’ll be staying for a few days. She’ll likely have your room redecorated before you can get back here with your things. I’ll expect you for the evening meal.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Ian told Pat his plans, Pat wasn’t enthused. In fact, he was a little peeved. “You could have run this by me, Ian.”
“I didn’t have time. I’m going to a meeting Thursday, then the party is Saturday. I graduate next week, so I guess my mother was beating the rush of them. Who knows? Anyway, I want to be there, be in my father’s face so he can’t keep running away from me and changing the subject. Plus…the family grail is there. I want to break into the safe.”
“What? Are you crazy? Ian, I know we have your theories on what’s going on with
your father, but they are theories and until we know for sure, you have to be much more careful with him. Taking the grail is insanity.”
“It’s not fucking insanity! Getting into that safe and maybe finding some proof? That’s insane? My mother can keep my father busy with the party for hours and in that time, I can get into the safe and out and no one will know a thing.”
Pat was getting pissed, but Ian wasn’t going to back down, Dom or not. Pat finally rolled his eyes and walked off, grumbling, “Get your suitcase packed.”
“Oh, yes, sir. Should I do yours too, and maybe suck your dick while I’m doing it?”
Pat stopped on his way back into the apartment but didn’t turn. He warned, “Keep that shit up, Ian. Keep it up.”
Before Ian could smart mouth him again, Pat went into the apartment and slammed the door behind him. When he threw it back open, he found Pat in the kitchen, drinking a beer at the sink. “You slammed my own fucking door in my face.”
“I’ll slam more than that in your face if you don’t back off, Ian. I’m in no mood.”
His face was getting redder by the second and his eyes were mere slits. Ian decided to back off for the moment, but he knew it wasn’t over. He wanted to let Pat know exactly how wrong he was.
He packed his good suits into a garment bag and then the rest of his clothes into his suitcases. He saw Pat’s backpack in the closet, the one he’d been toting around with him since meeting Ian. For the first time, it was empty, Ian clearing out a couple drawers for him in the dresser.
It would be back into the bag again, and on the move, and all to appease his boyfriend’s selfish, and yes, dangerous ideas. Ian sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the closet, bringing in Pat’s backpack to his face. So many times he’d forgotten it wasn’t only his ass on the line.
“Damn it. I’m fucking this up.”
He stood and took Pat’s backpack to the dresser, packing Pat’s clothes into it. Thinking of telling Pat he’d be in the servant’s quarters, that would be fun. He’d hate it, and he’d resent Ian for it. He was so anxious to get to the house and possibly getting into the safe, he hadn’t thought how degrading it would be for Pat, his boyfriend, to be sent to the fucking servant’s rooms.
Pat drove, and they didn’t say a word to one another the entire trip. He tried to turn on music once, but Pat’s fist stiffened on the wheel, so Ian snatched his hand back and set it in his lap.
A few blocks before the house, though, Ian had Pat pull over to the side of the road where there was a stand of aspen mixed in with the red boulders and Russian sage of the perfect landscaping. “What?”
“Pat, I’m sorry. I should have discussed it with you first. I just saw the opportunity and dove in, and for that, I’m sorry. But…but I do hope you see that I did see an opportunity.”
“I do see that, Ian. I could have gotten on board with it, but then you spit in my face with the way you spoke to me. I’m angry, Ian, angrier than I’ve ever been with you. I’m also fucking worried. If you get caught, and all your theories are wrong, and he’s not gay and he’s not conflicted over the Grail, you could be killed.”
Ian reached over and took his hand. “I was stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Ian, that’s the thing. You just don’t think things through. You jump and run and that’s when you get yourself into trouble.”
He swallowed as he thought about how he should tell Pat the bad news of his accommodations. “Uh, you can’t sleep in my room, at least not formally. After hours, you can come upstairs, and we can be together. If you even want to now.”
With eyes that held no emotion at all, Pat glared at him. “So, the help can come up and serve you sexually before retiring to his room in the basement? Nice, Ian.”
Ian closed his eyes and felt tears springing to them, but then he felt himself being pulled closer to Pat and then heard him whisper, “I’m sorry, baby. I guess it’s my ego taking a bump. Of course, you have to adhere to the norms there at your parents’ home.”
Chancing to look, he saw right away that Pat was being serious. “I don’t ever want you to feel like a fucking servant.”
“I know that, baby. But we have to put this act on. If your theory of your father isn’t right, or if Grail members are there, or we’re being watched there, we have to play our roles. I’ll sneak up to your room at night, and sneak right back to my room in the morning. It’ll bother me, sure, but I know it’s not your choice.”
“Pat, I love you. You’re my man, and that is all that matters to me. All of this? The money, the house, my parents, none of it means as much.”
“Don’t say that, Ian. I know you are not close to your parents, but they are your parents. And, like you, I do think your father knew it wasn’t going to be you. And I think he would have stopped you if he thought it was.”
That was his wish, his hope, but he didn’t count on it. If he did and found it not to be true, it would hurt more than the day he had the gun to his head. “Thanks, Pat. We’ll see, I guess.”
“Yeah, baby. Either way, you’ve got me for all of it. I won’t leave your side unless I have to, and I won’t be far. I’m going to be there for you to lean on if you need that, or if you have troubles, anything. That will always be my place now, Ian. Beside you for whatever comes your way.”
He couldn’t respond, not with the lump in his throat, so he pulled Pat over for a scorching kiss, hoping that conveyed his love and thanks enough. It seemed to, because the few blocks they had left to drive were much more relaxed and happy.
Pat’s eyes narrowed, though, when they reached the humongous estate. “I forgot you saw this place before you saw me.”
“Didn’t like it then either.”
“I caught that from the look on your face,” he said, chuckling. They went to the gate and were immediately let inside, then Ian pointed to the driveway that led to the back of the house. There was a series of garages, and he told Pat to park in front of the third one. “That is the only one with any room left. My father got into classic cars about ten years ago and he filled these up, and two more of our homes.”
“La di da,” Pat teased. “That is one thing we have in common, in all seriousness. Maybe while we’re here, you can show them to me.”
“Love to. I don’t know shit about them, but I can show them to you.”
They went in through one of the many back entrances, this one leading into the kitchen. Ian went to the tall, thin and shockingly blonde cook who was dressed all in white with the chef’s hat and greeted her warmly. “Fiona, hey.”
“Ian, hey! How are you?”
“Fine, fine. This is my…” he hated it, hated to introduce Pat as his bodyguard, but he didn’t have to.
“I’m his bodyguard, Pat Castaldo.”
She wiped her hand on her apron and shook his proffered hand. “Fiona Wallace, the head cook. You lucked out and got the best of the clan right here.”
Pat was beaming at him. “Oh? We’ve only met not long ago. So far, he’s a terrible boss, always with he orders.”
“I don’t believe that a bit. He’s a sweetheart.”
Ian kissed her cheek and explained to Pat, “She came the last few months before I moved to the apartment. I showed her the ropes, told her about my mother’s temper and pickiness. She’s lasted over three years because of my warnings.”
“I hate to say he’s right, but he’s right. Hey, so you’re the reason for the spread? I was wondering. I haven’t cooked for company for a while now.”
“Oh?” That surprised him. Usually his mother had dinner parties once a week. “None?”
“Two months, I think. They’ve either kept to themselves or they’ve been traveling.”
Ian and Pat exchanged a look, and it told Ian that Pat was thinking what he was. Two months was right after his induction into the Grail. “Thanks, Fiona, for the information. It’s ammo around here, as you know.”
“I know. I’ll make all the food extra wonderful for you, Ian.”
>
“Thanks, but that’s not hard for you.”
The kitchen was huge, as was the rest of the place, but he liked it there much more than anywhere else in the house. There were so many cabinets, even all his mother’s dishes could fill them, and two large pantries, three smaller, two refrigerators and a stove with twenty burners. The room was set up for parties, which was handy. Except for lately, as Fiona said.
The kitchen also had three doors into different parts of the house, and Ian took the one next to the bigger of the pantries. It led into a narrow hall, so different from the rest of the house. This had plain white walls and cheap, hollow doors. Ian knew that Pat would see right away that this was where the servant’s quarters were located.
“I wanted to show you how to get up to my room right away.”
Pat laughed a little and looked around, confessing, “This is still nicer than the first three apartments I lived in after college, Ian. Stop worrying.”
“Can’t help it. I hate that you can’t just have one of the dozen fucking guestrooms upstairs.”
“Dozen?”
“Don’t get me started.”
There was an empty room at the end, and Ian told him, “This is good. No one on the right to bother you. The walls are thin here.”
“Okay.”
There was a double bed with a green comforter and fat pillows, an oak dresser and matching desk, and there was a bathroom off to the side. “En Suite? Do all the servant’s rooms have these?”
“Sure, yeah. They’re small and most only have showers and no tubs though.”
“I’ll try to deal with roughing it, Ian.”
Ian caught his smile and stopped, leaning on the wall. Pat closed the door and went to him, kissing him tenderly. “Baby, this is fine. I’d rather be with you, but if I’m down here, maybe I can pick the brains of some of the staff. If I’m here, I’ll be one of them, and maybe they’ll trust me more.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He embraced him, maybe a little tightly, but he couldn’t stop. “I’m going to miss waking up with you though. I’m getting used to it.”
“Good. I want you to get used to it.”
33 Degrees of Separation (Legacy) Page 23