The Starbucks drive-thru was around the back of the building, and in truth Michael never had noticed it before. He gave Gil a startled look when he ordered his flat white.
“How do you know what kind of coffee I like?”
“I’ve made the coffee run before.”
Michael frowned, trying to remember. Then it came to him. It had been the first time they’d had an actual meeting concerning how to go forward with Delta Restoration, Renovation, and Design. Michael stared at Gil’s strong profile. “That was December.”
“Yeah, so?” Gil shot him a quick look as he lifted his hip to pull his wallet from his back pocket. “Has your preference changed since then?”
“No, I—” Michael blinked, then turned away quickly, staring unseeing out the window. He couldn’t have said why he was moved by Gil remembering his coffee order months later, but he was.
“Here ya go.”
Michael turned back to find Gil holding out the large coffee. He took it from him, grateful for the warmth of the cup in his hand. “Oh, you can’t pay….” Michael reached for his wallet in his jacket pocket, but Gil waved him away.
“Get the next one.”
Michael still felt off-center when he got out of the truck at A.F.I. and pulled open the front door.
“Hey, Michael!”
He turned back, standing in the open vee of the doors. “What?”
“See you at four thirty, baby.”
Candy from reception and Debra from textile acquisitions walked up together at that moment, heads swiveling as they looked between Gil in the big truck and Michael in the doorway. He stepped aside for them to enter while giving Gil a withering look. By the time he got upstairs, the information that a man in a big truck was calling Michael baby would be all over the floor, and he felt the beginning of a headache behind his eyes.
“You’re determined to drive me insane,” he told Gil.
“No. Just determined to make sure you’re safe.”
When Gil said stuff like that, Michael thought, what was he supposed to do? He shook his head as he entered the bustling lobby.
THE NEXT few days were a weird combination of Gil’s reassuring presence and Michael’s remaining fear from his encounter with the vandal. Work began on the O’Banyon mansion, mostly prep stuff for the crew and web searches for the different artisan and antique reproduction materials needed on the design side. Michael and David were still discussing the best time to leave A.F.I. and hadn’t come to a consensus. They were going to make enough money that they didn’t need the day jobs anymore, but there were several contracts outstanding, and David wasn’t comfortable just leaving the company in the lurch. Michael couldn’t have cared less, but he took his cue from David in that regard. He certainly wasn’t going to quit and leave David alone there.
Michael spent hours each night huddled in his studio apartment, leaning over his laptop, searching for the perfect fabrics and wallpaper. He’d turn on the TV, eat something fast and easy, then dive into the Internet. He was making good headway on procurement, even if he wasn’t sleeping much. Staying busy was intentional; after waking the one morning held in Gil’s arms, his narrow bed was cold and lonely, and he hated it. When he did sleep, invariably he dreamed he was being chased by a masked man with a shovel, and he’d wake shaking, his head pounding, with a blinding headache. He started driving his car to work, and even though he wasn’t walking anymore, Gil was still there each morning and afternoon, following him in the pickup, lingering until Michael was inside A.F.I.’s doors or in his apartment building. Michael wondered how Gil was managing to be there twice a day; he and Vernon and a hired crew were working at the mansion, supposedly prepping the walls and ceiling in the entrance hall. Michael felt almost guilty that Gil spent so much time as his private security detail. Almost.
Gil texted him each evening, just to be sure he was okay once he was home. The texts were reassuring, but the element of flirtation was gone. Michael couldn’t really complain; he’d made himself clear. He hadn’t wanted anything other than a hookup, and they’d had that. He still checked his phone several times a day, disappointed when the only texts he received were from David.
Then Detective Mitchell called, wanting to see all of them at the house the next afternoon. He had interviewed David and Jackson, but he hadn’t spoken to Michael and Gil since the night of the incident. Now he wanted to see them all, and Michael resigned himself to another sleepless night.
He wasn’t the only one who wasn’t sleeping. David looked exhausted when he arrived at work the morning of the meeting. So much so Michael told him to go home and take a nap, and he took the two meetings on David’s book that day. After the meetings, where pointless information was discussed and nothing was decided, Michael was twenty minutes late arriving to meet with Mitchell. When he pulled up, Gil’s truck was already parked out front. The snow was gone and the lawn was beginning to green up. It was the first time Michael had seen the new colors with sunlight on them, and he smiled in spite of his exhaustion; the house looked darling. It also had a neighborhood watch sign in the front window and the small logo of a security company in the flower bed. Jackson had installed security cameras on the porch and above the garage, and Michael wished all the steps had done anything to make David feel safer. They hadn’t.
He rang the bell and was slightly surprised when Gil opened the door.
“Oh, hello.”
“You’re late.” Gil gave him a mildly reproving look as he held the door open wide. “You said you’d be here by three.”
“I got held up in a meeting.” Scooter gave a happy bark and met him at the threshold, tailless butt wagging. He bent and stroked his hand down her back. “Hey, pretty girl.” He straightened. “And don’t nag,” he muttered at Gil. “Hey, Jackson.”
David’s fiancé was sitting in the rocking chair, and he gave Michael a nod. “Where’s David?” Michael took off his jacket and hung it on the coatrack.
“He’s still asleep. Mitchell got held up and won’t be here for a few more minutes, so I didn’t wake him. I’d love to think this meeting will help him feel better, but somehow I doubt it.”
Michael couldn’t help but agree. He sat in the corner of the sofa, aware of Gil’s attention trained on him.
“David isn’t the only one not sleeping,” Gil muttered.
Michael thought the large frames of his glasses and the judicious use of concealer had hidden the dark circles under his eyes, but it had been eight hours since he’d applied it. Apparently it had worn off.
“Bad dreams last night?”
Michael could feel them watching, seeing more than he wanted them to see. “I’m fine,” he said brusquely.
“Michael,” Gil persisted.
“Gilbert, leave me alone.”
Gil huffed. They were saved from further discussion when the doorbell rang.
When Gil opened the door, Detective Mitchell greeted him with a wan smile. “Mr. Chandler.”
“Gil, please.” He shook the detective’s hand. “Come on in.”
The detective crossed into the room, offering his hand to Michael as Jackson stood up.
“I’ll go wake David. He hasn’t been sleeping worth a damn, and I wanted him to rest as long as he could. Be right back.”
The silence that remained in his wake was anything but comfortable. Mitchell slipped his hands into his slacks pockets and rocked back on his heels. Gil turned and looked out the window, but Michael doubted he was enjoying the view. Murmured voices came from the bedroom, and then Jackson returned.
“Can I get anyone a cup of coffee?”
“Yes.” They all spoke in unison, then exchanged amused looks.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“All of the above,” Gil answered.
“I’ll help.” Michael stood, wiping his damp palms on his jeans. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. “So how pissed off is David that you let him sleep?” he asked when he arrived in the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a bot
tle of creamer.
“Pretty pissed off.” Jackson got a tray out of an upper cupboard, his tone mild. He set five mugs on it, then added a sugar bowl filled with packets of sweetener and poured the flavored creamer into a small pitcher. “He’ll get over it. He needs the rest.”
“He needs to be treated like a grown-up.” David bustled into the kitchen on a wave of hair-gel-scented air. He’d clearly just redone his hair, and his eyes were bright and clear even if there were bags under them. Michael suspected Visine drops. “We need sugar too. Some people don’t use sweetener.”
“Okay.” Jackson found another sugar bowl in a cupboard, and David went to the walk-in pantry to get sugar. When he came back out holding a small box of sugar cubes, Jackson took it out of his hands, then slipped an arm around his waist. “And I always treat you like a grown-up.” He pressed a lingering kiss to David’s lips, and Michael saw the stress begin to bleed from his friend’s shoulders. He turned away with a slight smile.
“You don’t, but I know you’re just thinking of me.”
“I am,” Jackson agreed. There was the sound of another kiss, and this time Michael grimaced.
“Can you two put a cork in it? At least until after I get coffee?”
He took the pot out of the coffeemaker and poured the liquid into mugs. He’d teased David about his old-school coffee machine, but secretly he loved the smell of the coffee brewing. He inhaled with pleasure.
“How did the meeting with Snyderman’s go?” David leaned around Jackson’s arm and put both the sugar bowls on the tray.
“Fine.” It had been annoying from beginning to end, but David didn’t need to know that.
David gave him a sardonic look. “Liar.”
“Then why did you ask?” Michael took the tray from Jackson, added the creamer, and carried it into the living room. He set it on the table and began to doctor his coffee.
Once everyone was settled, Mitchell on a dining room chair Jackson carried in and placed near the door, the detective cleared his throat. He leaned forward, linking his hands between his knees.
“I wish I could tell you we have a suspect,” he began without preamble, shaking his head. Michael was struck by how much he resembled a hound dog. “We don’t. We are seeing a recent uptick in hate crimes, however. And we think where your group of friends is concerned, it might all be the same perpetrator.”
“So what does that mean?” Gil had never settled, and he stood near the door, a scowl on his face.
Mitchell turned to look at him. “We think this was the same guy, all the way back to the damage on Jackson’s truck.”
David and Jackson exchanged another of their looks, the one that said they didn’t need to speak to know what the other was thinking. Michael looked away.
“There are earmarks,” Mitchell went on. “Similarities in style that lead us to believe it’s being done by the same person. Symbols almost like a signature on the graffiti. We’ve got a receipt from a store downtown, so we know the point of purchase. Unfortunately it’s a busy store, and the cashier who rang up the sale doesn’t remember who purchased it. It’s also a very common brand of paint.”
“Don’t they have video surveillance?” Michael frowned. “I mean, don’t all stores have that now?”
Mitchell grimaced. “The camera pointing at that register wasn’t operating. And it’s an old part of town; the business owners have been slow installing video cameras.”
“Well, crap.”
David looked at him with a small smirk. “The king of understatement, that’s our Michael.”
“It’s a somewhat milder sentiment than the one I expressed to the store owner.” Mitchell grimaced.
“So, basically you’ve got nothing?” Gil asked. He sounded angry, and Michael looked up to see that his skin was flushed. Michael stared until Gil glanced at him, and then turned to look away toward the windows.
“I didn’t say we had nothing,” Mitchell countered calmly. “The paint didn’t match your car, David. I still haven’t come across anything like that paint. The paint samples do match your truck, however.” He turned to look at Jackson.
Jackson’s dark brows rose. “But it’s a common brand, right?”
Mitchell nodded. “It is, but in my experience vandals and taggers use the same brand of paint over and over. They also tend to sign their work. The tag signature was the same on Jackson’s truck and David’s car. We think the only reason he didn’t sign what he’d done here was that Michael interrupted him.”
“So, it’s one guy who took a bat to Jackson’s truck, then David’s car, and now did the damage here?” Gil glared at Mitchell. “How fucking hard can one guy be to find?”
“One guy is actually harder to find than an organized hate group.” Mitchell shook his head. “The difference this time is that… we have an eyewitness.” He gestured to Michael.
Michael felt cold slip down his spine, like someone had taken an ice cube to his bare skin, the memory of those black eyes chilling him. He straightened, forcing himself to lift his chin. “I didn’t see anything but his eyes through the mask.”
“You also know how tall he is, what his build is like, and that he has a mark above his right eye. Which is a lot more than we had before.”
“So your theory is that this is some… rogue homophobe?” Gil’s voice had gone from irritated to confrontational.
“Gilbert, for God’s sakes.” Jackson turned to look up at him. “Cut the man a break. This isn’t his fault.”
“I know it’s not his fault,” Gil shot back. “But what he isn’t saying is that whoever this is, he’s escalating.”
David put out his hand, and Michael hated that it was trembling. He settled a comforting touch on his friend’s thigh, squeezing gently.
“Is that true?” David looked from face to face, finally settling on Mitchell’s. “That he’s escalating?”
Mitchell pursed his lips. “Yes, I’m afraid so. In the beginning he seemed satisfied with malicious mischief and property damage, and that may just be a function of the fact he wasn’t caught. But when he picked up a shovel and physically threatened someone, he upped his game. I think it’s safe to say if he’d caught Mr. Crane the other night, at the very least, he’d have hurt him badly.”
A wave of fear curdled Michael’s stomach. He’d seen it in those vicious eyes; if the man had caught him, he’d have been lucky to get out alive.
“The main reason I wanted to see you all this afternoon is to advise you to be very careful for the foreseeable future. Be aware of your surroundings. Don’t take unnecessary risks. I saw that you’ve started a neighborhood watch; who is your police contact?”
“Officer Dwyer,” Jackson replied. “He met with us last night. David’s and my mom are designated window watchers, and trust me, after last weekend no one is going to get past them.”
Mitchell gave them a slight smile. “That’s good. You’d be amazed how many suspects have been apprehended by neighborhood watch groups. As for the rest of you”—he looked from Michael to Gil—“I can only advise you to be vigilant. It might be wise to consider getting a roommate if you live alone.”
Michael glanced at Gil, then quickly away. It was tempting, but that was a very bad idea.
“You’re moving in here.” David grabbed Michael’s hand, and Michael flinched. David’s hands were freezing, and Michael covered them with both of his, squeezing. “Just for a while. If anything happened to you….”
Michael wasn’t going to quibble. Frankly, he was scared. Even with Gil as escort to and from his building, he’d been looking over his shoulder almost constantly. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“Gil, see if Vern can’t move in with you temporarily,” Jackson said. “That trailer he lives in is as secure as a tuna can.”
Gil’s jaw was hard. “I’ll convince him.”
“Also, you have a doggy door, right?” Mitchell looked at Scooter, who was happily gnawing on a cowhide chewy in her bed.
“Yeah, we
do.” Jackson glanced at Scooter. “Why?”
“Consider locking it and only taking her out on a lead. Try to prevent her from eating anything she finds in the yard or on the street. Keep any new toys or balls that might just show up and turn them over to your police liaison. Animals have been targets in situations like this before.”
David’s grip on Michael’s fingers became almost punishing.
“The main thing is to be vigilant. We did get a few clues here. Because he was interrupted, he wasn’t as careful as before. He paid cash for the paint, and the area he purchased it in could be significant. There is a possible suspect on a CCTV feed, but he knew where the cameras were and managed to completely cover his identity with gloves and a hooded sweatshirt.” Mitchell looked from face to face. “I just want to reiterate; you need to be careful for the foreseeable future. We’ll get this guy, but we don’t want any collateral damage in the process.”
Mitchell left not long after, and the silence that remained felt heavy.
Jackson pulled David against his side, rubbing his hand up and down his fiancé’s arm. David still held Michael’s hand in a hard grip, but Michael was looking to Gil. The big man was leaning against the door, the expression on his face resolved.
“I’ve got you.” Gil’s deep voice moved over Michael’s raw nerves, a settling presence, larger than life. Michael felt his gaze like a fierce hug.
Gil dipped his chin in acknowledgment, and Michael tried for a small smile.
He failed.
GIL HAD apparently been in earnest when he told Michael he “had him.” He went with Michael to his studio apartment within minutes of Mitchell’s departure and helped him load most of his wardrobe into the back of his car. He teased Michael over the amount of grooming products he owned, but he carried everything to the car without complaint. When they got to David and Jackson’s, he unloaded it all with the same good spirit and installed everything in the closet of the spare bedroom.
While they’d been gone, Jackson had put a piece of wood across the doggy door, something Scooter didn’t approve of at all. David was terrified now that someone would try to poison her. In fact, David seemed more frightened and frail than before, and Michael was concerned about him. He promised to never let Scooter out of his sight, and that seemed to mollify David somewhat, but there was no mistaking he was shaken.
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