Stranger on the Shore

by Josh Lanyon

  Griff gasped, his cock already flushed and swollen, tingling with anticipation, too far down the road to come back now even if he’d been so inclined. From beneath his lashes he could see Pierce’s face, almost solemn in its attention to him, Pierce’s beautiful, hard mouth wrapped around the thickness of his cock.

  A frantic, fraught sound escaped Griff as Pierce changed the angle, changed pressure, let him feel the glide of teeth, instantly replaced by the sweet rough side of his tongue. He bit down on his lip to stop any other helpless embarrassing noises; in a moment he would be mewling, it just felt so unbelievably good.

  Better than anything he could have imagined, maybe because it was Pierce, Pierce doing this for him.

  Griff’s hands knotted in the sheets, he dug his heels into the mattress, rocked his hips up, wanting, needing more, he was so close now, so close that the idea of Pierce stopping was frightening...

  There was something silky and slick on Pierce’s fingers, and he pressed inside Griff, touching him with intimate and devastating authority. It was overwhelming, that duality of pleasure, the blaze of sensation sliding up and down his cock while at the same instant a gentle, steady friction was applied to his prostate. Something had to give or his entire frame was going to fly apart, nuts, springs, wires, bolts flying across the room.

  A strangled sound ripped out of him and he managed to give fair warning. “Oh God. God, I’m going to come.”

  But instead of backing off, Pierce’s fingers twisted, sending red sparks dancing behind Griff’s eyes. Pierce’s tongue dipped and traced the frantic pulsing vein beneath Griff’s heavy cock, and his mouth closed a final time over the throbbing head.

  Flashpoint. Griff began to come in spurts of blood-hot salt. And Pierce swallowed it down, making Griff come harder still, sobbing with the joyful relief of it.

  * * *

  “Am I redeemed a little?” There was a faint smile in Pierce’s voice.

  He was still holding Griff, had been holding him for some time, now that Griff was awake, alert enough to take notice. He was embarrassed because he had cried. Wept on Pierce’s manly chest like some Victorian maiden experiencing her first orgasm. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed sex before. He always enjoyed sex. As a matter of fact, sex had been the one thing that had always been very good between him and Levi right up until the very end.

  It was hard to say why this had meant so much. It went beyond the physical pleasure, though there was no question Pierce’s talents in that arena were considerable. In fact, Griff was sort of afraid to explore his intense reaction. He was so emotional these days. It was weird.

  So instead of answering, he said, “Do you remember Matthew’s dog Corky?”

  Pierce raised his head, inspected his face, gave a funny laugh and said, “Sure. He was a yellow lab. Not too smart but a nice disposition.”

  “And he used to sleep in the nursery?”

  “He was an inside dog. I don’t know where he slept.”

  “Was he inside the house that night? Was he upstairs with you and Diana? Was he in the nursery?”

  Pierce considered. “Maybe. I don’t remember. Is this like that Sherlock Holmes story? The one about the dog that didn’t bark in the night?”

  “I think so, yes. Nobody has mentioned the dog barking. Michaela’s dogs yap every time a stranger walks into the room. But there’s no mention of Corky barking that night. There was a baby monitor in the nursery, so people would have heard.”

  “The dog didn’t bark. I would have remembered that.”

  “Right. And it seems to me like most dogs would bark if a stranger walked into a room at night. Dogs have a protective instinct, don’t they?”

  “Usually. Ours always did.” Pierce was silent. “But like I said, Corky wasn’t exactly guard dog material. And he might have been sleeping in the room with Diana and me. But I see where you’re going with this. You think whoever took Brian was known to the dog?”

  “Yes. Unless Brian did get up and walk out on his own two feet.”

  “I don’t think that helps us much. The dog knew every person on the estate.” Pierce smoothed back Griff’s cowlick. “You’ve got quite a bruise there. I’m surprised you don’t have a black eye or two.” His kiss on Griff’s bump was gentle.

  The tenderness was unforeseen and maybe alarming. Griff had no idea how to respond. He was probably misreading it anyway. He smiled absently, stroked Pierce’s thigh. He said thoughtfully, after a time, “You don’t seem like a guy who would have a tattoo.”

  “I’m not. That was me trying too hard to prove something.”

  “To who?”

  “Maybe to myself.”

  Griff thought this over. “You never thought of getting the tattoo removed? That can be done, right?”

  “I believe in learning from past mistakes, not trying to erase them.”

  Griff tilted his face to meet Pierce’s rueful eyes. He smiled. “Me too.” He reached up to pull Pierce down for a kiss.

  * * *

  Despite the fact that it was Saturday and Pierce did not have to go into the office, he had some kind of formal Bar Association luncheon to attend. Griff, freshly showered and sitting cross-legged on the foot of the bed in his jeans, watched him fasten his snowy shirt sleeve with a gold cufflink.

  “Something funny?” Pierce looked up, catching him mid-grin.

  “I don’t think I know anyone who wears cufflinks.”

  Pierce sighed. “Are you going to make fun of my clothes again?”

  “No.” Griff couldn’t help asking, “Do you wear tie clips?”

  “Sometimes.” Pierce picked up Griff’s T-shirt and tossed it in his face. “Happy?”

  Griff laughed and pulled the soft cotton down. “Hey, has Muriel had her portrait painted lately?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. But I’m not sure I would know.”

  “The guy who steered me to where Alvin is living now said that Alvin painted a lot of middle-aged women. He called it the cougar club.”

  Pierce’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “You’re suggesting Muriel is having an affair with Alvin?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’ve known Muriel all my life. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve never seen her show any interest in a member of the opposite sex. Or the same sex, for that matter.”

  Griff thought it over. “Okay. So maybe there isn’t any sexual or romantic relationship. Maybe she met him some other way and recognized a unique opportunity and a relatively small window of time to realize it.”

  “Two problems. DNA. No one could have anticipated that Jarrett, let alone the others, would waive the idea of paternity testing. I’d have bet money it would never happen. Second, the ongoing question of Tiny Teddy. Where the hell did he get that bear?”

  “He either really is Brian or whoever took Brian gave him that Teddy Bear.”

  Pierce stared at him. “You’re saying you think Brian was taken by a member of the family?”

  “Well, yes. I thought we were in agreement on that. Isn’t that what you were saying the other night?”

  “Hell no. I don’t believe one of the Arlingtons took Brian. I’ve known every member of that family my entire life.”

  Griff opened his mouth, but he didn’t want to argue with Pierce. Not now. He changed his words. “Okay, not necessarily the family. There are still a couple of people on staff who were employed when Brian disappeared.”

  Pierce threw him a deprecating look, not bothering to reply.

  “I tried to interview May Chung and she said I should talk to Nels Newland.”

  “Talk to him about what?”

  “I don’t know. But she seems to think there’s something relevant to the investigation.”

  “I don’t buy it.”


  Griff expelled an exasperated breath. “Then what? Because I don’t see how Odell Johnson could be part of this.”

  “It follows that we’re looking for someone else. Someone who has not ever been on the radar.”

  “But then we’re back to this unknown kidnapper somehow coming into contact with Leland Alvin and using him to impersonate Brian. It’s too farfetched. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Pierce looped his tie around his neck and knotted a half-Windsor without bothering to look in the mirror. Tip of the tie to top of his belt buckle, it was the perfect length. “That much we agree on.”

  “Maybe the problem is we’re trying to connect two unconnected things.”

  “I’m not following.”

  Griff shook his head. “I’m not exactly sure. Not yet.” He picked up his T-shirt and dragged it over his head. He crawled across the mattress to the side of the bed, hunting for his socks. He grabbed one sock and pulled it on.

  Pierce was still watching him. “If you’ve got a theory—”

  “You’ve heard as much of a theory as I’ve got. I think we have to take each of these elements and examine them individually. Not try to connect them at all.” Griff located his other sock and pulled it on. He bounced off the bed and started looking for his chucks.

  “Brian’s kidnapping is not related to Leland Alvin showing up?”

  “Well, obviously it’s connected in that Brian had to disappear for Leland to have an opening. But that couldn’t have been planned at the time of Brian’s disappearance.”

  “I agree it’s unlikely.” Pierce glanced at his watch. “I’m late. You’re going back to Winden House now, I assume?”

  Griff nodded, shoving his foot into his tennis shoe. He looked up as Pierce crossed the gleaming floor to him.

  “Just remember the walls have ears.” Pierce’s hand locked behind Griff’s head and he drew him in for a quick and thorough kiss.

  * * *

  Come to think of it, he didn’t need to worry about the Arlingtons asking him to leave. As Griff pulled into the front courtyard of Winden House, he remembered that he was supposed to be departing the next day anyway. His vacation week was over. Tomorrow he would be on his way back to Janesville.

  He turned off the Karmann Ghia and sat for a few moments listening to the engine ticking over, studying the white and impervious façade of the mansion.

  Slowly an idea began to formulate. He pulled out his cell and phoned Pierce, but Pierce did not pick up and the call went to message.

  Griff said, “Here’s a thought. Maybe Alvin isn’t afraid to consider DNA testing because he’s Marcus’s son. Maybe they’re acting together. Maybe they think the results would be close enough. Maybe the results would be close enough given that neither Matthew nor Gemma is around for comparison.”

  Griff was no expert on DNA, but he knew it all came down to genetic markers and probability values. If the father was deceased or his DNA was not available, the DNA of a parent or sibling could be used to establish a high probability of paternity. So if the sibling actually was the father, the genetic markers would be present. The danger would be too many genetic markers might be present, but that was a comparatively small risk in a case like this where the family wanted to be convinced.

  He disconnected and saw that in the meantime Jarrett had phoned him. He listened to the message.

  “Griff, my boy, I was wondering if you could make time to come by the house this afternoon. I’d like to speak to you when you have a moment.” Jarrett’s tone was cordial and courteous, but it was a command nonetheless.

  He’d known that was coming. “May as well get it over with,” Griff muttered.

  He got out of the car and walked past the two stone griffins, up the wide and shallow steps, past the fountain, its dry marble bowl filled with scattered lilac petals.

  Today he went to the front door, knocked and waited for Mrs. Truscott to let him in.

  “Mr. Arlington asked to see me.”

  Mrs. Truscott nodded. She looked tired, older. For once there were no acerbic comments, no disapproving looks. She almost seemed to avoid his gaze.

  There was no sign of anyone as they crossed the parquet floor and walked up the marble staircase. Granted, there was usually neither sight nor sound of anyone, but the house felt oddly empty.

  “Where is everyone?” Griff asked.

  He fully expected to be ignored, but she answered, “Mr. Marcus is golfing with friends. Mr. and Mrs. Shelton are lunching out today. Miss Muriel is showing Mr....Brian around the grounds.” She added almost in afterthought, “Miss Chloe didn’t come last night.”

  Golf, lunch, or otherwise MIA. In other words, life as usual.

  Eyeing Mrs. Truscott’s rigid back, Griff impulsively asked, “Were you aware that, according to the police, Mrs. Cameron faked her references to get the job here?”

  She turned. “That was thirty years before, when she first came over from Scotland!” Her expression was a mix of disbelief and disgust. “No one with half a brain could believe Aggie Cameron had any part in taking Brian!”

  Griff found he was inclined to agree with her. “It seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” He wanted to ask her about Nels Newland but they had reached Jarrett’s study.

  As on that first afternoon, Jarrett stood at the arched windows gazing down on the star-shaped courtyard. He turned at Griff’s entrance and smiled. His smile seemed genuine, if less easy to read.

  “Griff. Come in, my boy.” His expression changed as he took in Griff’s bruised face. “What happened to you?”

  “Oh, I, uh, fell,” Griff said.

  “Good Lord. Off what? A skyscraper? You must have knocked yourself cold.”

  “I guess so, yeah.” Griff’s glance fell on the seating tableau where he had lunched with Jarrett and Pierce his second day on the estate. An unopened box for a 35mm Nikon digital camera sat on the low table. His heart sank.

  Following his gaze, Jarrett said, “It’s for you. To replace the one you lost on the bridge. If you prefer a different make or model, please say so.”

  “No,” Griff said. “I don’t. And I can’t. Really. That’s far too expensive a gift.”

  Jarrett’s smile faded. “It’s not a gift. It’s to replace the camera you lost.”

  “Yeah, but mine was old. And it wasn’t a great camera to start with.”

  “No, but I insist,” Jarrett said. “You lost your camera through my negligence. Old or not, it’s my responsibility to replace it.”

  Presumably Michaela hadn’t come clean about her role in the accident on the bridge. Griff said, “Honestly, it’s not necessary.”

  “Of course it is,” Jarrett said with a shade of impatience. “I don’t want to hear any argument. Now sit down, my boy. We need to have a talk.”

  This was the Jarrett Arlington who had successfully run the Arlington empire for six decades. Griff took a chair and waited.

  Jarrett sat down across from him. “I won’t beat around the bush, Griffin. Brian is adamant that he doesn’t want this book written.”

  Griff started to speak, but Jarrett went on. “And, realistically, given the circumstances of Brian’s disappearance, there really isn’t a story.”

  “Respectfully, I don’t think many people would agree with that, sir. I mean, for one thing there’s the story of how Odell Johnson sat in prison for twenty years for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  Jarrett stopped smiling altogether. “Pierce is working with the authorities on behalf of Johnson. But let’s remember that Johnson is not blameless in this. We all have to assume responsibility for our actions.”

  Griff was disconcerted to realize how much he didn’t want to argue with Jarrett. First Pierce and now Jarrett. Since when had he lost his appetite for a fight? He said, “Or our non-action. Which se
ems to me to include Brian. Doesn’t it bother you that he deliberately let you believe for years that he was dead?”

  Jarrett’s blue eyes studied him. “I’m afraid Brian is correct. You’re not inclined to write a sympathetic account of his story.”

  “I haven’t heard his story.”

  “I know this is disappointing for you. I know you’ve put a great deal of time and energy into this project. You’re a conscientious lad and a responsible journalist, and I know you felt you could do some real good with this book. But if you write it now, you will not do good. You may do great harm.”

  Griff sighed. “Mr. Arlington—”

  Jarrett leaned forward, his expression intent. “Brian is not like you. He’s not tough or resilient. He’s a survivor, yes, but for him survival comes at too high a price. He isn’t ready—can’t—face the past yet. And that’s what this book would force him to do. At least that’s how it appears to him now.”

  Griff stared out the window and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Griffin. I truly am. I almost wish—” Jarrett broke off and said instead, “I liked you from the minute you walked into this room. That’s the truth. Tell me what you think this book would have earned you—best-case scenario—and I will pay you not to write it. Name your price.”

  Name his price? For an instant Griff let himself consider. Best-case scenario? Twenty grand? A hundred grand? He didn’t even know what the best-case scenario was.

  He said with an effort, “That’s very generous. Beyond generous. I appreciate that you’re trying to be fair about this. But it isn’t just about the money.”

  “Of course. It was to be your big break. I do understand. But my grandson doesn’t want this book written. And that’s all that matters to me. If you insist on writing Brian’s story, I will do what I can to stop it being published. I don’t want to threaten you. I would very much prefer that we handle this privately between ourselves. I would prefer that you come out of this financially ahead. I would like us to stay friends. I mean that sincerely.”