by Josh Lanyon
He moved on to the kitchen, opened drawers, checked cupboards. He looked in the bathroom, checked the bathroom cupboard...there just didn’t seem to be anything useful. Talk about leaving a light footprint. Alvin was the original invisible man.
Griff checked his phone. He’d been in the cottage for nearly thirty minutes. Way too much time already. He took a final glance around the room, making sure he had left nothing to reveal his intrusion.
He opened the door, stepped outside into the bright sunlight, and put his key in the lock. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He started to turn, the sun seemed to nova and the world turned white.
Chapter Twenty-One
Someone was knocking on the roof of his brain. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Griff’s nose twitched. What the...shit? That smell. What was it? Cow? Manure? Moldy hay? All of the above?
He tried to pry one eye open. There was a single shaft of light beaming straight into his face. He winced, put a hand up, and bits of dirt drifted down. Was he lying on the floor?
The floor of where?
This was one heck of a hangover and he couldn’t remember the party...
Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart beat with painful loudness in his ears. He hadn’t had a headache like this since...
Ever.
He pried his other eye open. Overhead was a hay loft. Motes of dust and pollen floated in the golden rays of the dying sunlight pouring through the giant hole in the roof.
He was in a barn. A barn no longer in use. By anyone but him.
What. The. Heck.
Slowly, very cautiously, he sat up, fighting the instant surge of nausea. Not good. Not good at all. He felt his head, trying to pinpoint the exact...ouch.
Yeah. There it was right on his hairline. No blood. That was the good news. But a knot the size of a...knot. A not-supposed-to-be-there-sized lump. He laughed shakily, wove his way to his feet, leaned against a weathered post. He felt around for his phone.
No phone.
Crap.
Blearily, he tried to focus on the hay-strewn floor. No phone. He felt over his jeans pockets. No wallet. Nothing. Nothing but Pierce’s business card. Okay. So. Next idea?
He stumbled his way to the wide double doors and pushed, half expecting them to be locked. But no, with a gargantuan screech of rusting hinges and rotting wood, the doors swung open. In fact, one of them sagged down, nearly taking the wall with it.
Griff stepped through the opening and found himself in the middle of green and rolling nowhere.
No sign of his car. No sign of any car. No sign of anyone. In the far distance, he saw cows grazing.
He began to walk.
In the plus column, it wasn’t raining.
At last he came to a silver mail box at the end of a dirt road. He followed the dirt road to a faded yellow house with several broken-down trucks and tractors in the yard. Flapping and clucking, chickens escorted him to the front porch where an elderly dog lifted its head and bayed at him and then thumped its tail.
A red-haired woman in a flowered apron came to the door. She stayed on the other side of the locked screen. Griff asked to use the phone and she declined. He felt in his pocket and pulled out Pierce’s now slightly crumpled business card.
“Then could you please call this guy for me? Tell him where I am and that I need a ride back to...where I left my car?”
After a moment’s scrutiny, she unlocked the screen, took the card, and disappeared inside the house. She was back a short time later. She unlocked the screen again and opened it wide. “He wants to talk to you.”
Griff rose from the steps where he had been petting the aged hound dog, and followed her into the house to the kitchen. He picked up the phone. “Hey, it’s me.”
“What happened?” Pierce sounded brisk and reassuringly normal.
Griff glanced at the woman in the apron. “I’m not exactly sure. I’ll try to explain when I see you. I don’t have my wallet or cell, so can you send a taxi or—”
“I’m already on my way,” Pierce interrupted. “But it’s going to take a while.”
It took four hours. The woman, Mrs. Butler, eventually invited Griff back inside the house. He washed up in the little downstairs bathroom, and she served him coffee and cookies while she did laundry. She was not the chatty type, and he wondered about her. She seemed to be doing a lot of laundry for one person, but no one showed up during the long afternoon or the early evening.
“Do you know who owns that old barn over the hill?” Griff inquired, as Mrs. Butler carried another laundry basket through the kitchen. “It looks abandoned.”
“It is abandoned. That’s the old Jensen place. The bank foreclosed on them about five years ago. They’ve never been able to sell the property.”
In other words, anyone in the area—or from the area—might know about the barn. Would know it was a handy place to stash someone or something. Griff was grateful that whoever had attacked him had not tied him up—or hit him harder. It was a warning. Not a friendly warning, but not as unfriendly as burying him in the meadow.
It was after eight when Pierce finally arrived, and Griff had never been happier to see anyone.
Pierce looked as unruffled as ever, as though driving halfway across the state to pick up his co-conspirator was business as usual. He wore jeans, a white T-shirt and a leather jacket, so maybe he didn’t work on Fridays. It was the first time Griff had seen him in casual clothes, and he liked the look of this more approachable, human-seeming Pierce.
“Whoa,” Pierce said, getting his first glimpse of Griff. “Didn’t you see the tank coming?”
“No, I sure didn’t.” Griff took his leave of the unflappable Mrs. Butler and followed Pierce out to his car, a silver Porsche Boxster. The beauty of the car almost, though not entirely, distracted him from all his aches and pains, both physical and mental.
“So what the hell happened to you?” Pierce asked as the Porsche purred into life like a well-fed cat waking from a pleasant nap. “Don’t tell me you got into a brawl. That would surprise me.”
“I was checking into Alvin’s last-known address. Someone came up from behind and clocked me.”
Pierce threw him a quick, disbelieving look. “You were knocked out?”
Griff cautiously felt the front of his head. “A little.”
“You were a little knocked out? What does that mean?”
“It means I have a very hard head.”
“That I don’t doubt. Did you see who hit you?”
“No. I have a pretty good idea though.”
Pierce looked away from the road again. “Who?”
“When I was checking out Alvin’s LKA, I crossed paths with a pal of his. I think there’s a chance he called Alvin after I left and Alvin told him to follow me.”
Pierce’s attention seemed to be on the dusty road. He said finally, “When you say ‘checking into’...?”
“Don’t ask. You don’t want to know.”
The Porsche’s headlights swept along the dirt road, picking out the occasional rock or shrub.
Pierce said without inflection, “You do realize we both have to be very careful? You can’t break the law. No matter how promising the lead, no matter how tempting the opportunity.”
“I know.”
“I have a professional responsibility to report a crime.”
“I know.”
“Please don’t put me in the position where I have to—”
“Pierce.”
Pierce fell silent. After a moment, he reached for the stick, and the Porsche thrummed its pleasure as the throttle opened wide and they merged onto the main highway. The starry night slid by in a blur.
Griff said wearily, “Anyway, it was a waste of time. That part of it. But I spoke
to Alvin’s ex-girlfriend, and she had an interesting story to tell.”
“You found his ex-girlfriend? In one afternoon?”
“I did, yeah.”
“I have to say, I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, but that was mostly luck.” Griff filled Pierce in on everything Clotilde had shared about Alvin’s past. “So if it is a scam, it’s not one he’s been planning for a long time.”
“If?”
“I don’t know,” Griff said wearily. “Everything I learned today confirms for me that he’s not Brian. But at the same time, you have to admit there are some odd consistencies to his story.”
“Like what?”
“He was in foster care.”
“Lots of kids are in foster care, unfortunately.”
“True.” The unfortunately reminded Griff of something Diana had said, something he’d almost missed in the drama of the moment. “Diana said you do a lot of pro bono work for the elderly?”
“I don’t know if I do a lot of it. I do pro bono work, yes.” Pierce’s tone was wry. “Is that a shock? Will you be equally stunned to learn I also work with at-risk teens?”
“Doing what?”
“I’m on the advisory board of the Youth Court program and I’m active in the Mentoring Partnership of Long Island.”
When Griff didn’t answer at once, Pierce said, “Just because I’m not always a nice guy doesn’t mean I’m never a nice guy.”
* * *
They found Griff’s car on Fourth Avenue right where he had left it. His keys were in the ignition and his cell phone and wallet were on the seat.
“That was thoughtful,” Pierce remarked, when Griff returned to the Porsche to report his find.
“And a good way to make sure there’s no incentive for the police to follow up.”
“It would be hard for you to report this anyway.” Pierce added, “I assume.”
Griff grimaced. “No comment.”
“Are you sure you can drive?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“I’ll follow you, so if you decide you don’t have the energy to make it all the way back to Long Island, just signal and pull over.”
Griff nodded. Pierce kept surprising him. Just when he had been sure Pierce was a completely ruthless bastard, Pierce had suddenly become human. Even likable.
“I think you should come back to my place tonight. Just in case you do have a concussion. We can talk over our next move.” Pierce’s words were practical, but his tone was just a little too casual. Griff tried and failed to read his face in the light cast by the street lamp.
“If you think it’s a good idea,” he said, trying to sound equally offhand.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay. See you there.”
It was a long drive, though, and it felt even longer given Griff’s pounding headache. By the time they reached Pierce’s, he was bone tired and wanting nothing as much as he wanted to lie down and close his eyes.
Pierce took a good look at him and seemed to recognize that fact. He tossed his keys on a small table in the long empty entrance hall and clamped one hand on Griff’s shoulder, steering him toward the staircase. “Come on. We’ll figure out our strategy in the morning.”
Griff preceded Pierce upstairs. They reached the bedroom, Pierce snapped on the light. Griff took a good look at the room and laughed.
The first night he’d been too preoccupied to notice the room. Now that he had a good look at it, it was enormous, with all the warmth and ambiance of a football field. Positioned against one wall was a king-sized bed and, across from the bed, seeming about a mile away, a fireplace. There was a large flat screen TV over the fireplace. At the far end of the room was a chest of drawers. That was it. Minimal furniture and no art.
“What?” Pierce asked.
“Do you play handball in here?” Griff moved past him, walking down the long, gleaming stretch of oak flooring.
Pierce looked around the room. “How much furniture do you need in a bedroom?”
“How much acreage do you need for a bedroom?” He’d seen men’s shops that weren’t as large as Pierce’s walk-in closet. He peered inside. “How many suits do you own?”
“Fourteen.”
“Fourteen suits?” Griff stared. “You don’t think that’s extreme?”
Pierce seemed to consider. “Not for my line of work, no. If I spent my days running around breaking into people’s houses, then I might not need so many suits. But my job is to try and make sure the people who break into other people’s property don’t go to jail. So I wear suits.”
Griff sat on the foot of the bed. “You’re not a criminal lawyer.”
“I’m not. That’s true.”
The last burst of adrenaline that had kept Griff up and moving trickled away. He closed his eyes, wondering what Pierce would do if he just fell back on the mattress and began to snore.
The mattress sank as Pierce sat down next to him. “Here. Let me see.”
Griff opened his eyes in surprise as Pierce put his hands on either side of Griff’s head, tilting his face up. His touch was warm and uncharacteristically gentle. “Well, your eyes are okay. Pupils normal. Are you feeling nauseous?”
“No.”
“Dizzy? Weak?”
“I haven’t eaten since breakfast. So yes.”
Pierce made an amused sound, his breath light against Griff’s face. “Are you experiencing confusion or irritability?”
“Aren’t you?”
Pierce laughed. “I think you’re okay. You should really get a doctor to look you over. But I guess that’s not going to happen. You want me to fix you something to eat?”
“I thought you couldn’t cook?”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t cook. I said I don’t. Would you like scrambled eggs? I think I’ve got eggs. And maybe bread for toast.”
Griff’s stomach growled loudly in response.
Pierce chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll be asleep in five minutes anyway.” Griff said it apologetically because, as tired as he was, he was pretty sure Pierce had not invited him back for a council of war, let alone scrambled eggs.
Pierce studied him, and then smiled faintly. “Go on. I’ll wake you up.”
He rose from the bed, went downstairs, and Griff undressed and crashed down into the cool sheets.
He did fall asleep almost instantly, but woke when Pierce returned carrying a wooden tray with scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice.
“Just like Mom made,” Pierce said.
Griff smiled faintly and picked up his fork. To his surprise, Pierce undressed down to his black silk briefs, got his laptop out, and settled next to him on the bed to work.
Maybe he’d got it wrong. Maybe Pierce really did just want to talk strategy. Maybe the moment for something else had passed and they had moved on to an uneasy friendship. That would be the best thing because there really wasn’t any future in the other—he wasn’t even sure what the possibilities for other would be with Pierce—anything else was just going to be confusing and maybe hurtful. He was pretty sure Pierce could hurt him a lot without ever trying.
But the funny thing was he didn’t feel relieved. He felt disappointed and let down, as though the hurting had already begun.
“You’ve been on your own a long time, haven’t you?” Pierce was clicking away on his keyboard, not looking at Griff.
All my life. Griff didn’t say that aloud. He shrugged, finished his scrambled eggs.
Pierce said, “I know you didn’t have it easy.” He sounded abstracted, as though he was talking to his laptop. Maybe he was talking to someone on Skype.
“It was okay.” Did he sound defensive? Maybe. But it was surely a stran
ge comment. An astonishing comment. “A lot of kids have it worse. I was never one of your at-risk teens.”
Pierce stopped typing and smiled at him. His eyes were warm, and it was a natural, easy moment. Griff felt the impact of that smile in his chest, in a way that Pierce’s more polished efforts never affected him. It felt as though he and Pierce had spent many evenings lying in bed talking together. It felt comfortable and right in a way it had never felt with Levi, even though Griff had a million things in common with Levi and none, at least that he knew of, with Pierce.
Griff put the dishes on the floor beside the bed. He flopped back, hands linked behind his head, and studied Pierce’s profile. A huge yawn swept over him, though he made a belated effort to smother it.
To try and conceal the fact he was falling asleep, he said, “Your sister says you have trust issues.”
Pierce, tapping away again, said, “I’m a lawyer. Of course I have trust issues. When did you talk to my sister?”
“She invited me to lunch yesterday.” Yesterday? It seemed like a week ago. The night before last he had been in this very bed with Pierce. That seemed a long time ago too. “My ex says I have intimacy issues. I wonder if that’s the same thing.”
“No.” Pierce turned off his laptop and set it aside. He turned on his side facing Griff, propping his head on his hand. “‘Intimacy issues’ is code for ‘I haven’t met the right person.’”
“And what is ‘trust issues’ code for?”
Pierce held his gaze. “I’m afraid to believe I’ve met the right person.”
Griff nodded thoughtfully before another yawn caught him off guard.
Pierce smiled, shaking his head. He reached back and snapped off the light.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He woke to a sense of warm and utter well-being.
Having been fathoms deep in sleep, he needed a groggy second or two to separate pleasant dreams for a still more delightful reality and realize exactly why he felt so good. The room was filled with gentle sunlight and a hot, cherishing mouth moved on him, sucking, sucking strongly, while at the same time fingertips were rubbing deliciously over his anus.