by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish
Vale eyed Tate with barely veiled disgust. Did he think he’d believe that? Then again, why was he thinking of him as a he? “Oh really? And who was asking?”
“That Australian...Sutherland. He seems to be quite pessimistic about his own health.” It was near the truth. Lyle hoped it would float.
Vale shook his head. He was tired, and the cut on his head ached. His arm ached too, making him wonder if he had a bruise. Damn pretty boy. “The only thing that Australian bastard is interested in is sticking his nose in other people’s business. I think it’s time to drop the charade, Mr. Tate. Oh, sorry, Ms.”
Lyle blinked. This was his second shock of the morning. Things weren’t going well. “Sorry? I don’t follow...” He tried to look as innocent as he could, distracting himself by wondering how Vale has got such a fresh a cut on his temple.
“Let’s cut the shit, shall we? I know you were once a woman, which explains your oh so delicate features. I also know there are some people looking for you, and you really don’t want them to find you, not if you altered your gender to hide from them. Are you understanding this? Shall I bring out the hand puppets, or are we clear here?”
“What? Sorry, I don’t understand...” Vale was wrong about his gender. He couldn’t have realised just through observation; Lyle knew he passed well, despite being a bit too pretty for a male as yet. He did, didn’t he?
Vale glared at him. Tate was always pale, but now he was so ashen he was almost translucent. He was understanding just fine, he - she - just didn’t want to believe it. “Have you gone deaf now, shall I bring out a sign language interpreter? You’re not who you claim to be, and you never have been. Perhaps by now you’ve gathered that I make an awful lot of money for a funeral home in a very small town. Why that should surprise you I don’t know, since dodgy book-keeping is right up your alley, isn’t it?”
Did he bluff? Could he? Vale seemed to know far too much about him. Or was he just putting scraps together to frighten him? It was working, but should he show that? “So what’s your problem with me? If you know so much, you know I’ve already done the public spirited thing. I’m keeping my head down now. Like you said, deaf and blind.”
“Really? If so, why were you in the basement? Why were you talking to Flynn Archer at the nightclub?”
“Archer? We weren’t ‘talking’. He was being an arse, hassling me and my boyfriend.” That had come out of left field at him. The dots suddenly started joining up, though. “He was ranting that we were in cahoots with you over something.”
“Uh huh. So why were you in the basement? I’m waiting, Miss Tate.”
“It’s Mr. Tate. And I already told you, I was weighing some urns.”
Vale had just about enough of this. Between him, Parker, and Archer disappearing, he was at the very end of his patience. “One phone call, and those people who are looking for you find you. What happens then? Do you think you can lie your way out of having them kill you? Kill your boyfriend? He does know, doesn’t he? The truth about you.”
Survival mode was kicking in. However Vale knew whatever he knew, further discussion wasn’t an option. “So you know stuff. I know stuff.too. It suits us both if we mutually shut the fuck up.”
That made Vale grin. How long had it been since he’d had a good laugh? “No. See, I could destroy you. Me, I have nothing to lose, and very powerful friends who will make sure I’m protected no matter what. Can you say the same thing, Ms. Tate? Or should that be Mrs? I’m always fuzzy on the rules about widows.”
“Look, I don’t know what the deal is over Flynn Archer, and I don’t give a damn about the little shit. Your ‘powerful friends’ can shove it up their arses. I have no interest in them and my only interest in you is getting trained as a mortician. That and putting you on your arse if you keep using the wrong pronouns”. Vale had him rattled, but the man knew that anyway. Might as well make things as clear as possible.
Vale walked right up to Tate, still grinning, almost unable to suppress a chuckle. All these willful little snots, thinking they had any sort of chance against him. Idiots. Little pissants with delusions of grandeur. “You want to take a swing at me? Go on, let’s see you try. This ought to be hilarious.”
It was tempting, but he’d stated the circumstances in which he would fight and he wasn’t going to get dragged in just to amuse Vale. He knew a sadist when he saw one, and he’d seen one when Vale had argued with Flynn. “Leave me alone, Henry, and I’ll leave you alone.“
“Oh yes, you set the rules now, I forgot.” He grabbed Tate’s arm, deliberately digging his fingers into the muscle so it would hurt. “Listen to me, she-male, and listen good, as I’m only saying this once. You want to live through the next two days? You do as I say when I say it, and keep your mouth shut. Otherwise the men that killed your husband will be waiting for you when you get home. If you doubt my ability to make this happen, give it a shot. It worked out well for Riley, surely it will work out well for you.”
It took seconds for Lyle to calculate the odds. He could look to throw Vale or break his arm; it wouldn’t take that much, since the dumb asshole had put himself in just the right spot, but then he did just confess to murdering Stan Riley... If he kicked this off now he would have to end it with Vale dead, and he’d much rather see the shit banged up and sitting on the electric potty. He opted for the long game.
“So you’re connected, you’re a made man. I get it. But I’m still not interested in your business, other than your legitimate business that is. Have fun playing your dirty little games with shits like Archer, but leave me out of it.”
Now he was chuckling. This was terrific. “Again, making the rules. You got in it the moment you started poking around, Miss Tate. So you’re going to work with me, or you’re going back where you belong, into the loving arms of the people who have been searching so hard for you. This could be a break, you know. Handing you over could be a peace offering we could feast off of for years. Make it worth my while to keep you alive.”
“That I can’t do. There’s nothing I can bargain with apart from my disinterest and my desire to keep breathing. But if you know so much you also know that if anything happens to me you will have a lap full of Agents taking a huge interest in you all of a sudden. That would really screw up trade for you, and for anyone who’d had recent dealings with you.”
Vale was enjoying this immensely. He didn’t know, did he? This was almost precious, like a baby lamb curled up next to a baby deer. So sweet. “Oh, absolutely. It isn’t like we have law enforcement on the payroll ... oh, wait a minute, I forgot we don’t live in Happy Fairy Land. If we don’t own it, we can buy it, and if we can’t buy it, we can destroy it. The guys who want you are Old World, and dying on the vine. We are what is taking over now, and we’re twice as strong, and about eight times smarter. Test it if you’d like to find out, but you can do it just the once.” He let go of Tate’s arm, because he was sure he left finger shaped bruises on his arm already. Couldn’t make bruises more bruised. “What you’re going to do is this: a delivery should be coming in soon. I want you to take it to the crematorium and put it in the furnace. You do not ask who or why, you just do it. Afterwards, I’ll tell you what you’re going to do with the ashes.” Ever since Riley tried the hands trick, he had a secret internet camera installed in the crematorium. He’d watch Tate, and if he tried anything like that, he would tell Dmitri to go ahead and throw the little fruit in the furnace. He’d probably enjoy that.
“So you get me on tape as an accessory? I give you more to blackmail me with than you already have?”
“I already have all I need to wipe you off the planet. Why do I need more evidence? It’s gilding the lily, isn’t it? I simply want you to prove you want to live.”
Calculations kept running through Lyle’s head. He needed to get out of here so he could call Agent Tyler. If that meant sucking up to the psycho bier baron he would do it. Vale could pay for it later. He’d pay for it in ways that would pleasure Lyle, too, but fo
r now go with the flow. “Okay.” He tried to make it look good, huffing and letting his body go slack, as if defeated.
Should he trust this? Maybe the mule had seen the light, but the stupid often had to learn things the hard way. Riley proved that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and Flynn was proving that as they talked. Vale leaned back against the countertop casually, as if satisfied with this, and looked at his nails. It was very important to keep them clean, it let people know you were serious in your hygiene and your work, and he could see a fleck of something dark beneath his index finger nail. Blood? Dried blood. How disgusting. He pulled the scalpel out of his pocket and worked the tip carefully under the nail. “See that you do as you’re told, Tate, and don’t get any bright ideas about, say, calling the police. Because the first call they’ll make is to me, and I have plans this evening.”
“Dating a cadaver are you?” It got out before Lyle could stop it. Anything to make a mark though, now.
Vale gave him a grim, humorless smile. “Don’t assume everyone shares your deviancy, Tate.”
“Are we done here? Do you have my work schedule so I can get on?”
Vale worked out the flake of dried blood, and wondered if it was Aiden’s. Probably. Oh, where was Archer? He was getting antsy to vivisect someone. “You will go wait in the crematorium. I expect the delivery should be here within ten minutes. I keep a rigid schedule. Sloppiness is the sign of a lazy mind.”
Lyle turned back to the cup he had set on the worktop before Vale showed up. He put the kettle to boil again. “I’ll see you later then, Henry.”
“I imagine you’ll be seeing me a lot, Mr. Tate.” He tucked the scalpel back in his coat pocket, and flexed his fingers. You’d think they’d hurt from punching the teacher, but no. All those interrogations had paid off; he had great callouses on his knuckles now. “Oh, and if you do see Mr. Archer again, anywhere, call or tell me immediately, would you?”
Haven Falls #196 Medium Rare
Miles Sutherland, Carter (Gil) Gillespie, Lyle Ashley Tate
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Miles spooned the last of the dog food into the two bowls. Dante seemed to have settled in well, but every time he looked at Aiden’s dog a cold feeling settled in the pit of Miles’ stomach. Where were Flynn and Aiden?
After checking in at the florist shop, Miles had gone around to Flynn’s apartment but there’d been no sign of life. His visit to the cop shop hadn’t produced any spark of interest - “Maybe they’ve gone away for the weekend.” - had been the laconic response to his assertion that all was not well.
Miles sat back on his heels and watched the dogs eat. His life had taken such a dramatic turn since arriving in Haven Falls. The last thing he would have expected was to have a dog, let alone now caring for two. Somehow he’d also acquired a housemate. Where was the Haven he’d come to find? Somewhere he could bury himself in work and forget all that had come before. He’d succeeded in doing that. Almost too well. Last night he’d slept better than he had in months, years even.
Was it just the knowledge that he wasn’t alone? That some other person was nearby? Even if in a different room. Miles sighed and stood, brushing his hands down his sweatpants. Maybe now he wasn’t alone he should start wearing less daggy clothes. Since shedding ten kilos he now had the opposite problem. They were too big. He shouldn’t have had the big clean out when he moved out of the house he’d shared with Darren. Too many of his things had triggered memories though. Darren had always been there when they’d gone shopping, insisting he dress neat. The New England influence shining through.
He needed to go on another shopping trip in Asher Bay again. While there he could also check out the nightlife venues. The sexual assault victim he’d been treating had let slip he’d been to some BDSM club, but wouldn’t give the name or location. Surely there couldn’t be too many places around.
As he washed his hands, Miles reminded himself to cut down on his hot water consumption. After this morning’s long shower, trying to wake up ready for Monday’s shift, he’d banged on Gil’s door and left for work. Hopefully there’d been enough hot water in the tank.
The big test of how compatible they would be was still to come. When Lyle had been here yesterday after helping Gil to move in, Miles had noticed a degree of stiffness in the air. Stiffness... Miles groaned and scratched his head. Why, oh why, had let himself be coerced into this arrangement? It was going to be pure torture having Gil around. According to the policy manual he’d dug out, there was a specific clause discouraging romantic or sexual relationships between employees. Given he had a degree of supervisory role at the hospital, forming any kind of personal relationship with Gil could be considered inappropriate. So not only would he be risking what was developing into a form of friendship, he’d be transgressing a workplace policy. At least if Gil’s interest in Lyle developed, he’d be less tempted. From the looks Lyle had been sending Gil’s way when Gil wasn’t watching, the guy was definitely more than keen on him. The little green-eyed monster inside Miles had to start learning his lesson. Gil was off limits.
The sound of a key in the lock managed to make itself heard above the scuffling of the dogs as they competed to see which could finish their dinner first. Gil was home.
That damned dream, Gil found himself thinking as he let himself in, it really knocked me off kilter all day. He had no idea what to say to Miles that wouldn’t give anything away and he was so not going to tell him about it. What a can of worms that would open. He hung up his coat and kicked his boots off, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Act nonchalant, he thought, you can do it. The dogs came snuffling round his feet as he entered the kitchen, which provided the distraction he needed. He ruffled behind ears and murmured words of welcome and approval while two doggy faces laughed up at him. At least they wouldn’t judge.
“Hi, mate. How was your day?”
“Fine.” Gil kept it short and simple. In truth it hadn’t been all that fine. The shitty headache he had begun the day with from whacking his head on that bloody silly shelf—who the hell puts a shelf that low above someone’s pillow?—had put the brakes on the day’s chances of being anything but a damp squib. But we Brits are masters at saying we’re fine when we’re not, he thought, stiff upper lip and all that. What a load of bollocks....
“Hope I left you enough hot water this morning. There’s still a few things we need to sort out so we don’t tread on each other’s toes.” Miles opened the fridge and pulled out a ginger beer for himself and a beer for Gil. “Here, when you’re ready, we’ll sort out a few things. Sorry the place is a bit of a mess, I didn’t get time to do much today.”
Oh, God, I didn’t need any hot water, Gil remembered. “The place is fine, I don’t OCD on stuff like that. I like a place to feel lived in, not like something out of a magazine. I’m not messy or anything, just...relaxed?” He carefully avoided the water comment. “What things did you have in mind anyway?”
Miles pulled his earlobe. “Take a seat, first. I’m not even sure where to begin. In some ways we’re strangers, but in others we’re friends and workmates. I’ll try to respect your privacy when you have friends around....” He dragged out a couple of steaks he’d been marinating. “... but I’m just not used to living with someone on those terms. Apart from Darren, I’ve never lived with anyone other than family.”
Gil accepted the beer and dropped into a chair. “That’s okay, I’m the same really.” Gil had lived at home for a while after he and Simon had split, finding comfort in having family around him. His independence had got the better of him eventually and he was about to look for somewhere to live when this opportunity had arisen to do the exchange. Being single was still a novelty, even if living with someone wasn’t. “Don’t worry, I can respect privacy too. Your room is off limits unless I’m invited.” Fuck, he hadn’t meant to say that. Gil busied himself in downing the beer and tried to look unconcerned.
Miles took a deep breath. The t
hought of how good Gil would look sprawled out on his bed was definitely tempting. Had the remark been meant that way, though? Maybe it was just an expression of speech. “You do know there is a specific clause in the Policy and Procedures manual, about relationships between employees, don’t you? Not that I’m saying that’s what you were talking about. Just wanted to get that clear.” Miles turned his back and placed the steaks on the grill. Shit, maybe he was imagining things. That would be typical. It had been so long since he’d been on the scene, he wasn’t even sure when someone was cracking on to him.
Gil froze at the mention of relationships between employees. It was a good thing Miles’ back was turned. Quick, now what? You’re used to thinking on your feet, Gil, get a grip. “Well, technically, you’re not my employer...” Okay, now you’re in the shit. Way to go, numbskull. Gil paused, waiting. Some part of him, the cheeky teasing part, was eager to see what Miles would say to that. The rest of him wanted to curl up and disappear.
“I may not pay your wages, but there’s still a degree of my being the one calling the shots, as it were, telling you what to do.” Miles straightened and turned, hoping the color in his cheeks could be attributed to bending over, not the things he’d like to tell Gil to do, starting with sucking a part of him that seemed awfully in need of attention.
Yeah, and you really like telling people what to do, don’t you, Miles? Gil thought with a grin. “Well, I guess the hospital board would deal with any disciplinary action if I step over the line at work, not you.” He downed another gulp of his beer. “Anyway, that’s work. What about here? What are the house rules?”
“Rules?” Maybe the thought of the BDSM club were starting to prey on his brain, but the words, ‘rules’, ‘discipline’ and ‘stepping over the line’ were a little too close for comfort. Satisfied the steaks were cooking nicely, Miles leant back against the bench and took a sip of his drink before answering. “For starters, when it comes to the kitchen, if I’m home I cook. Savvy? You may have noticed I’m a bit fussy when it comes to food. So speak up now if you have any likes or dislikes. Music? Anything as long as it’s not rap. Friends over? Fine as long as I don’t have to watch.” Miles lip curled for a second. “Unless I’m invited of course.”