Lying Eyes

by Robert Winter

  To Torres, Jack said, “I was given an injection of some kind that knocked me out and, frankly, I’m feelin’ like ’angin’ right now.” He gave a small shrug at Torres’s confusion. “It means I feel like shite. I believe they gave the same drug to Randy.”

  Torres called out instructions and one of the officers found a spare shirt for Jack. Another turned up Randy’s boots. A team of EMTs arrived. One determined that Randy was physically fine but declared him in shock so he sat wrapped in a warm blanket while a second EMT did what she could for Danny. Jack slouched with his eyes closed, wrapped in a blanket of his own, his head drooped.

  Randy rasped out, “Are you really all right, Jack? How did they get to you?”

  Jack opened his eyes and straightened his head to look at Randy. “I received a call that said you wanted to meet me to discuss the painting. It was Gates, I realize now, but he sounded calm and I suspected nowt until I took a taxi to the address he gave me. I was foolish, I know, but I walked into the warehouse anyway and, well, I was injected with something. Everything was hazy an’ all for a long time after that, but I became aware of you telling Danny to position me on my side. I think that was when I really started to come back awake, but I kept still until I could understand what was going on.”

  “I’m glad you’re safe. When I saw you in that cell…” His stomach churned at the memory.

  “You as well, Randy.” Jack paused, then said softly, “I’m very sorry about what happened with Danny.”

  Randy watched intently as the EMT stabilized Danny. He knew Jack wasn’t talking about the gunshot, but about the betrayal. Now that the danger was passed, he found himself replaying the previous week with Danny. How was I so foolish a second time? What did I miss?

  As if Randy had voiced his questions out loud, Jack said, “You did nowt wrong here. You tried to help someone in need. Yes, he took advantage of your nature. He’s young and no doubt Gates confused him. But Randy? I was looking right at the two of you when Gates fired. I was sure you’d be shot, and then Danny was there, pushing you away. He wanted to save you. Let that sink in. He made a terrible mistake, but he cared enough for you to risk his life.”

  Randy only nodded because he was unable to speak, but Jack’s words helped. As the EMTs loaded Danny’s stretcher into an ambulance, he reached out to take Danny’s limp hand in his own while he tried to remember a prayer from his childhood.

  Chapter Twenty

  Randy and Jack were driven to the same hospital as Danny in a second ambulance. When they arrived, Torres was already there and told them that Danny was in surgery.

  They were taken into the ER and placed in adjoining cubicles to be checked over by a doctor. The police had found vials of the fentanyl-based compound with which Gates had sedated them, and the doctor was able to determine they should have no lasting ill effects. She pronounced them both fit to leave, though she advised rest and fluids for at least twenty-four hours.

  Torres was in the hospital waiting room when they both emerged from the ER. Her gray wool coat hung open over jeans and a blouse that showed a surprising amount of dirt, and the normally neat ponytail in which she kept her long black hair was coming loose.

  She saw Randy’s raised eyebrow and bared her teeth at him. “No smart comments, pendejo. When I dressed for work this morning I didn’t expect to be hunting through abandoned warehouses.” Randy chuffed as she looked him up and down critically, then glanced at Jack. “I was going to take your statements, but you both look like crap. We can do this tomorrow.”

  Randy twisted his body to stretch out his back. “I don’t mind doing it now. I want to wait for word of Danny’s surgery anyway. Jack, you can go back to your hotel, maybe get some rest.” But Randy hoped he’d stay. His quiet demeanor was soothing and helped keep Randy’s anxiety down.

  Jack cocked his head and gave Randy a small smile as he sat on a plastic chair. “I’ve slept enough today. I dunna think I could rest anyway until I understand what just happened.”

  Randy dropped into a chair next to him. Their arms brushed, but Jack made no move to pull away. I was so close to losing him. Then he recalled sadly, He’s not mine to lose.

  He sighed and asked, “Where do you want to start, Torres?”

  She dragged over a third chair to face them and pulled out her notebook. “Let’s start with you, Mr. Fraser—”

  “Jack, please.”

  “All right. Jack. How did you end up in the warehouse?”

  Succinctly, Jack described the call he’d received and what happened afterward. With a glance for permission to Randy, he also detailed the circumstances of his initial meeting with Bernard Gates and expanded on the reason he was in Washington. Torres asked probing questions to elicit details, including how he had located Randy in the first place.

  “When I spoke to Gates, he wouldn’t reveal the name of the purchaser,” Jack explained. “But I knew from talking to the family who had consigned Sunrise to the Gates Gallery the date of the sale and that the painting had been shipped to America. When artwork over a certain monetary value is shipped internationally, a customs form must be filed. I submitted a request under your Freedom of Information Act for all such forms filed within a week on either side of the sale date. It took quite a long time to receive the responses, and when I did, all I had to go on were the descriptions of the painting being shipped or, in a few cases, a photo of the work that was attached to the customs form. From that, I eventually was able to identify four works of about the right size, value and description. I went to Boston and eliminated one such possibility, then I came to see Randy. I had his home address, but when he didn’t respond to my letter requesting a meeting, an internet search led me to Mata Hari. Eventually, it turned out Randy’s was the correct work of art.”

  Randy was impressed. Even though Jack had told him about the FOIA request, he realized he’d never understood the extent of his investigation. “That’s a lot of legwork.”

  Jack smiled at him. “Well, yes. Being an art historian is a bit like being a detective, without the guns.” Randy winced and Jack covered his hand with his own. “That was thoughtless. I’m sorry.” Randy shrugged, but he looked down the hallway, hoping for a glimpse of Danny’s doctor.

  Torres turned her attention to Randy and had him fill in what details he could. Randy relayed the things Gates had revealed to him and what had happened as they waited for rescue. He frowned. “I don’t really know how I ended up in a different warehouse. Gates said something about tunnels and a cart?”

  “We found a motorized flatbed cart that I guess was originally used to move inventory,” she said. “It turns out there’s a system of underground tunnels to connect various warehouses to the railroad, so I think Gates and Winiarski probably used those tunnels to haul first Jack and then you to the other location.”

  Torres leaned forward and rested her elbows on her thighs. “I’m sorry it took us so long, Randy. My squad was all over the initial meet point, but we didn’t spot the entrance to the tunnels. I had another team going building to building in the neighborhood but they hadn’t made it as far as your warehouse before the phone app kicked in and narrowed your location. We were mobilizing to break in when Scarborough called me about your request.”

  She smiled admiringly. “That was smart. When he heard you call him ‘Jason’ he guessed right away you were giving him a signal to call me. You made sure he could alert us there were hostages at gunpoint, so we went in quietly. You know the rest. I already called back to let Scarborough know that you’re safe, by the way.”

  Randy hung his head. “Danny heard you coming in before I did. He was actually great. He created a big distraction for Gates to cover the sounds your guys were making.” He tried for a grin but his teeth were clenched so it probably looked more like a grimace. “It wasn’t much noise, but I’m telling you, a few training sessions for your team in stealth entries might be a good idea.” Pain flickered through his chest then. “Danny was between me and Gates when they
came in. Gates panicked and fired…” He rubbed his face, and was surprised when Jack’s arm fell around his shoulders.

  “He’ll make it through,” Jack murmured. “You heard the woman before he was taken in the ambulance. The bullet missed his heart and lungs.”

  Randy realized he was leaning into the comfort Jack offered, and he was suddenly so tired that he couldn’t remember why that was a bad idea. “I know. There was just so much blood, though, and he’s so thin.”

  “We should talk about Winiarski,” Torres said. “He’s an accessory to kidnapping, at a minimum. The district attorney will probably come up with more charges.”

  “Ah shit,” Randy groaned. “I didn’t even think about that. Look, you won’t arrest him while he’s in recovery, right?” he asked Torres. “I’d really like to talk to him before he’s taken into custody. Can you give me that?”

  She looked troubled as she tapped her pen against her notebook. Finally she closed the book and shrugged. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m going to have to put a uniformed officer outside his door to make sure he doesn’t run.”

  “That’s fair. I just need to understand. Once the wheels are turning, I think it will be too late.”

  Torres looked up as movement caught her eye, and she brought Randy and Jack’s attention to a man in scrubs approaching them.

  “Detective Torres?” he asked. “I’m Dr. Gannon. I was asked to give you an update that Daniel Winiarski is out of surgery.” He frowned at Randy and Jack, but Torres signaled for him to go on. “Well, the surgery went well. The bullet lodged in his shoulder but we extracted it successfully. We don’t expect permanent nerve damage, though rehabilitation may take some time. He’s under anesthesia right now but he should be awake in a few hours. Would you like us to call when he’s conscious?”

  Torres walked a short distance away with Dr. Gannon to discuss arrangements for guarding Danny’s room, while Jack pulled Randy into a hug.

  “You see? I told you he’d be well,” Jack said, looking up at Randy with a smile.

  Randy allowed his head to loll against Jack’s shoulder. “You were right.” He was more relaxed now that Danny was out of danger and found himself murmuring, “You were also right about the paintings in Mata Hari. The way I have them displayed sucks.”

  Jack laughed affectionately. “We’d better get back to that doctor. I’m sure you’d never admit that in your right state.”

  Randy pulled back to look Jack in the eye. “Thank you,” he said, but then turned uncharacteristically shy. “For staying here. For what you said about Danny. You’re the only one who knows about, I mean, why that hurt so much. To find out Danny was using me.”

  Jack brushed a thumb along Randy’s cheek. “I’m glad I was of help to you. And by the way,” he added acerbically, “thank you for rescuing me. I didn’t care for being the damsel in distress.” That made Randy grin. “Good. I like your smile. Now please go home and get some rest. You won’t be able to talk to Danny for a while anyway, and you’ll be able to handle the conversation better when you’re fresh.”

  “That’s good advice.” Suddenly Randy couldn’t face the idea of the empty house in Arlington. He knew he’d wander the floor, looking at Danny’s things and the signs of his habitation. He’d let himself into his studio and stare at the portrait of a young man he had thought he understood but didn’t really know at all.

  Perhaps Jack could tell Randy’s heart was heavy and troubled because he bent his head and said quietly in Randy’s ear, “I suspect you’d rest better with me. Come back to my hotel room. Please.”

  Comfort. Warmth. Kindness. Randy ached for what Jack was offering. He wanted to wrap his arms around Jack’s slender frame and keep him close as they drifted away, then wake up with his face buried in Jack’s soft, dark hair. But he didn’t know if he could trust himself.

  Jack brushed his hand along Randy’s cheek. “Just to sleep. I respect your convictions.” Randy could sense Jack’s slight smile, hear the gentleness, as he added, “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

  Randy closed his eyes. It was a fucking terrible idea, but he knew he would give in. Even if one night of comfort would make it hurt worse when Jack returned to England, and would leave Randy feeling like shit for seeking intimacy with a man engaged to be married. He nodded. “Okay. Just sleep.”

  Randy put on his jacket as he considered their options. Torres would arrange a police car for them and he could deal with his truck, parked back at the warehouse, the next day. She was still talking to the doctor, though, so he took Jack’s hand in his big paw and left the hospital to find a cab.

  They were quiet in the back of the taxi until Randy started. “Shit. I need to let Thomas know what happened.” He pulled out his phone; the battery was low and it was the middle of the night, but he figured his friend would be awake and eager to hear from him so he dialed anyway. Sure enough, Thomas picked up on the first ring.

  “Randy! Jesus, man. Are you okay?”

  “I am, buddy. You really helped me by alerting Torres.”

  “Well, I figured that was what you meant when you said ‘Jason.’ From when you, Torres, and I talked about my old life in Seattle. She gave me the highlights a few hours ago, but what happened?”

  Randy summarized the events briefly, including the fact that Danny had been playing him. Jack squeezed his hand as he told about Danny getting shot, and Thomas exhaled heavily across the line.

  “Aw no. That must hurt. I know you were trying to help him, and then to get stabbed in the back like that. Fuck.”

  “Yeah, that’s about right.” Randy hesitated before continuing, but finally confessed, “Even with that shit Danny pulled, I don’t want to see him in jail. Does that make sense?”

  Thomas was silent for a long moment. “Knowing you? Yes, it does make sense. You’re my best friend, so I hope you don’t take this wrong. When you give your loyalty, that’s a bond for you. Even if the loyalty isn’t deserved, I don’t think you can withdraw it.”

  Randy thought about Thomas’s words, and Trevor came to mind. Even with all the crap that went down there, a part of Randy still wondered about him. He didn’t even carry much anger anymore. He just wondered occasionally, was Trevor all right? Did he ever get to see his wife?

  “I see that, brother,” Randy said. “I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing though.”

  “Believe me, it’s good. You want my opinion? I think you’ll need closure with this Danny kid, no matter what happens. Go talk to him. See if he can be honest with you, and trust your instincts like you always do.”

  Randy sighed. His instincts… they’d failed him with Trevor, and again with Danny, but he didn’t have a better plan. “Okay, I’ll do that. Talk to you soon.”

  At the hotel, Jack obtained a replacement key card since the one he’d been carrying was evidence. He leaned against Randy in the elevator as it rose. He opened the door and gestured Randy inside.

  A maid had apparently turned down the bed for the evening, and a low light burned. Randy’s heart beat faster as he turned to Jack. He hoped he was equal to the temptation facing him, because all he wanted at that moment was to bury his sadness and relief and loneliness inside the man before him.

  Jack watched his face closely, his whiskey eyes darting back and forth to gauge Randy’s emotions. Finally he said in a low voice, “I wish things were different. If you met Sophie–” He cut himself off and shook his head. “Never mind. I understand. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  He went into the bathroom, the shower ran, and a few minutes later he emerged in loose-fitting sleep pants. The bathroom light behind him cast his slim body in silhouette, but as he moved to the bed, the lamp there shone on his bare chest with its swirls of soft hair, still looking damp from his shower. Randy wanted to comb his fingers through it, to grasp and tug just hard enough to awaken the senses, and then to roll Jack’s nipples between thumb and forefinger until his back arched and he gave himself over to Randy’s touch. The
curl of desire in his belly flexed and grew as he watched Jack’s lithe body slide into the sheets. He remembered penetrating Jack as he bent over a chair and then the sensation, as he sank deep, that he was home. Jack said Sophie understood…

  No. This can’t happen. He took his turn in the bathroom to rinse the weariness of the day, and the traces of Danny’s blood, down the drain. He hesitated before returning to the bedroom, but finally pulled his white cotton T-shirt and jockey shorts back on. Jack held the blankets open to him and Randy climbed into the big luxurious bed, sliding close over smooth, cool sheets.

  They lay facing each other, not touching. Randy stuffed one hand under his pillow to keep from reaching out. Jack gave him a sad smile and silently mouthed the words, “Mighty bear” before he rolled over, facing away.

  A sense of expectation remained in the room and Jack’s breathing was controlled. Tense. Randy studied the shape of his lean body under the draped bedclothes. This much won’t hurt anything, Randy lied to himself as he shifted closer and draped his free arm over Jack’s waist. Jack gave a contented huff and adjusted himself with a small grunt so they were spooned together. He fit into the curve of Randy’s body like the missing piece of a puzzle.

  “Good night, Randy,” he heard, and then Jack clicked off the lamp. The stress of the day faded as exhaustion stilled Randy’s body. He began to drift away, and the last thing he remembered was Jack taking his wrist and pulling his arm even more tightly around.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Randy woke a few hours later in the darkened room, momentarily confused until he heard Jack snuffle in his sleep. Jack had rolled over so he faced Randy, knees crooked and dark head bent. Randy longed to stroke his hair and run hands over the lean muscle of his body, but fought off the impulse. Jack needed to rest after the things that had happened to him.