Warrior's Cross

by Abigail Roux

  “Julian,” Blake greeted in a low voice. “I thought you might like to know I had a visitor tonight.”

  Miri glanced around and took a slight step closer to the office door, straining her hearing.

  After a moment Blake said, “Lancaster’s in town. No, he was just here… I don’t fucking know, but you need to watch your back, friend.”

  Miri looked blankly at the door for a split second before backing away slowly, hoping he wouldn’t hear her. She needed to find Cameron.

  He was in the service area, showing a new waitress how to properly prepare a full coffee service. He sent her off with instructions to keep smiling just as Miri entered the area. He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow at the look on her face.

  “You know that Julian and Blake are friends, right?” she asked him without preamble.

  Cameron’s shoulders stiffened, but his hands kept moving. “Yes,” he said, turning away from her.

  “Blake’s on the phone with him,” Miri told him, an odd chill bothering her. “He told him to watch his back; that someone named Lancaster was in town. Watch his back, Cameron! That’s not something you say to an antiques dealer!”

  Cameron showed an unusual fit of temper, throwing down his towel in frustration. “What’s your point, Miri?” he asked, refusing to look up at her.

  “What do you mean?” Miri asked in confusion.

  “Julian is no longer any of my business,” Cameron told her in a harsh whisper, turning back to wiping down the counters. His shoulders hunched, and he’d dropped his head.

  Miri took another slight step back and watched Cameron, sadness written across her face. “I’m sorry, Cam,” she offered lamely, wanting to ask what had happened but knowing not to push. “But… aren’t you just a little… worried, though?”

  “I was always worried, Miri,” Cameron said quietly. “That was the problem.” He left the counter, pushed past her, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Are you sure it was him?” Julian demanded as he gripped the phone tight in his hand.

  “I’m getting old, Jules, but I’m not senile,” Blake snapped in return.

  “He came to the restaurant,” Julian murmured as his mind raced. Blake hummed in affirmation, and Julian closed his eyes and shook his head. “That means he’s identified you as my handler,” he said with a wince. Unless Lancaster was there looking for someone else. Julian pushed that thought away.

  “Or at least thinks he has,” Blake agreed.

  “We have to move you,” Julian told him with a hint of shock in his voice. They’d planned for this contingency, but he’d never actually expected to need to use it. He’d always assumed that he would be the one found first.

  “And just how do you propose we do that?” Blake asked with a disbelieving laugh.

  “Very quickly,” Julian answered grimly.

  “Fuck, Julian,” Blake muttered in disgust.

  “We’ll start tomorrow.”

  “Us and what army?” Blake asked incredulously. “Emily won’t let me leave all her shit behind, you know. We can’t hire a moving company; he’ll be able to trace it.”

  “Be creative, Blake,” Julian told him impatiently. “Send Emily off to wherever, and tonight I’ll find somewhere to move you. I’ll be at your house at five in the morning to start. Don’t be sleeping, and make damn sure you have help, because Preston and I aren’t lifting your goddamned furniture alone,” he snapped before ending the call and stalking out onto the landing of the massive staircase. “Preston!” he bellowed into the darkened house. “We have problems!” he shouted as he started down the steps two at a time.

  It wasn’t unusual for Blake to call his wait staff into the back rooms of the restaurant and have meetings every now and then, but tonight it was obvious that this meeting was totally unplanned. The floor full of diners was completely unstaffed, and prepared dishes waited to be taken out. It was unprecedented.

  Blake stood in front of the group of gathered servers and didn’t wait for the chatter to die. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he started, his commanding voice immediately silencing the room. “The restaurant will be closed tomorrow. You’ll all be paid overtime for the inconvenience. Those of you wishing to take the day off, I hope the weather is nice for you,” he said with a smile, but there was no humor in his voice or in his eyes as he spoke. “But anyone wanting to make a little extra cash in exchange for some heavy lifting, please come talk to me in my office at some point before you take off tonight. That’s all,” he finished, not even attempting to end his announcement with something clever like he usually did.

  He turned and left the prep area, head down as he made his way back to his office.

  Standing with a gaggle of waitresses who immediately began talking excitedly about the unexpected day off, Cameron frowned, wondering what was going on. Heavy lifting? He shooed the others back to work and corralled the hostesses to help deliver waiting meals as he pushed his curiosity aside.

  But hours later, once most of the staff was gone, Cameron set his jacket aside on the bar and ventured down the hallway to Blake’s office, where he rapped lightly on the door.

  “Enter,” Blake’s distracted voice called through the closed door.

  Cameron pushed the door open and stepped part-way inside. “Blake?”

  Blake’s eyes were wide, reflecting surprise at seeing Cameron. He reached over to the phone on the corner of his desk and said, “I’ll call you back,” before hitting a button on the speakerphone to end the call. “Are you here for heavy lifting or is there something else?” he asked Cameron curiously.

  “Both, I guess. To offer help and ask if everything’s okay,” Cameron said, studying the older man.

  “Everything is not, in fact, okay,” Blake answered with a hint of humor. He gave Cameron a small smile. “I have to move, you see. Very sudden thing. And I need help with all that damn antique furniture,” he grumbled.

  Cameron raised an eyebrow. “Thus the need for heavy lifting,” he commented. Then he shrugged. “I’m happy to help.”

  Blake looked at him dubiously. “Do you need the extra money?” he asked.

  “Not hardly,” Cameron answered. Then he frowned. “Have you got enough help already?”

  “Not hardly,” Blake answered wryly. “We’re starting at six a.m., but you’re welcome to get there any time you like. I can send a driver for you so you don’t have to catch a cab,” he offered.

  “Yeah, getting a cab at six a.m. would be a pain in the ass,” Cameron agreed. “So a ride would be great.” He studied Blake. The other man looked worn out and worried. “Are you okay?”

  Blake ran his hand through his hair and gave Cameron a small smile. “Not at the moment,” he answered truthfully. “But I will be, as soon as Julian gets this shit straightened out.”

  Cameron stiffened, unable to return that smile. He settled on a jerky nod.

  Blake didn’t seem to notice his sudden discomfort, and he picked up a piece of paper and turned it around and around on the desk, fiddling with it to dispel some nervous energy. It was the first time Cameron had ever seen him fidget. “So,” he said as he folded the paper in half and tapped it on the desk. “You call me when you’re ready for the car to get you. I’m providing breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if needed. There will be copious amounts of alcohol if we finish by nightfall,” he rambled.

  “In a hurry, huh?” Cameron said quietly. “I’ll call,” he said.

  “In a very big hurry,” Blake muttered with a nod of his head. “Thank you, Cameron,” he added as he reached over and picked up the phone again. “You have a good night.”

  Uneasy, Cameron nodded and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. He should have known he wouldn’t completely get away from reminders of Julian. Shaking his head, he headed back to the bar for his jacket. It would be a quiet walk home with his memories.

  “What the hell, Blake?” Julian muttered as he sat on one of the counter stools in Blake’s gourmet kitchen. Preston sat
beside him, sipping from a mug of coffee.

  “What?” Blake asked defensively. “I have Irish crème,” he offered with a grin as he held up the coffee-pot.

  “I told you to be ready at five a.m., not wandering aimlessly in your boxers and a robe,” Julian said.

  “You know, I read a study that said wandering aimlessly for an hour fulfilled a percentage of your daily exercise regimen,” Blake told them as he poured his own mug of coffee and sat opposite them. “You should wander aimlessly more often,” he advised seriously before taking a small sip of the steaming liquid.

  “If I had the fucking time to wander anywhere, I would,” Julian snapped, his impatience growing as he thought about the large house full of large furniture they would need to move before nightfall.

  “Technically, sir, you have quite a lot of time. You just can’t wander,” Preston pointed out quietly, hiding his smirk behind his coffee mug.

  Julian turned his chin slightly to glare at the man. “You jump from a fucking twenty-foot brick wall and see how daintily you land,” he challenged. “And stop calling me sir, goddamnit,” he added crankily.

  He tried to stand from the counter stool, but the unwieldy walking boot on his newly broken left foot got caught in the bottom rung, and he had to kick at the stool and curse before he was free.

  Neither Preston nor Blake laughed as he struggled. They knew better.

  “When is your fucking help getting here?” Julian demanded as he thumped away from the center island and looked out the large bay window of the breakfast room.

  “He’s cranky, is he?” Blake asked Preston in a low voice.

  Julian turned in time to see Preston merely raise one eyebrow and take another conveniently timed sip of coffee.

  Blake’s smile faded as he glanced at Julian and met his eyes. Julian knew the man well enough to know that he wasn’t as cheerful or as cheeky as he seemed this morning. They were preparing to uproot his entire life. It was a heavy day in more ways than one.

  Julian sighed softly and reminded himself to go easy on his friend. It wasn’t going to be fun.

  “I have a list of addresses,” Blake told them as he pushed a piece of paper across the counter and slid it in front of Preston. “You can take my Escalade. Less trips,” he added as he placed the keys next to the paper.

  “Yes, sir,” Preston acknowledged with a nod as he glanced over the list and then folded it into his pocket. He looked over to Julian as he stood, then back at Blake before turning and heading toward the foyer.

  Julian frowned, wondering what the odd look had been for. He shrugged it off, though. “Where are we starting?” he asked Blake softly.

  “Bottom floor, I guess,” Blake answered with a sigh. “We need to find creative places to hide shit. Just in case.”

  Julian nodded and cleared his throat. “You may want to get dressed first,” he reminded as he turned back around and looked out at the misty morning.

  The buzzer rang at almost exactly the time Blake warned Cameron it would. He shoved his wallet into his jeans and grabbed his keys, and then he was out the door, leaving behind forlorn yips and yaps as he hurried down the stairs.

  He stopped still at the glass door when he saw Preston outside, surprised and confused to see the man. He pushed through the door. “Preston?”

  “Good morning, sir,” Preston greeted as he stepped slightly to the side and waved his hand at the huge black SUV parked at the curb.

  Cameron glanced to the truck and saw Charles wave at him from the back. He shot another look at Preston. If Julian’s driver was going to be at Blake’s, that meant—

  “We have several more stops to make, sir,” Preston said to him pointedly. He walked swiftly to the back door of the Escalade and opened it for him.

  Swallowing hard, Cameron shoved his hands in his pockets and followed, climbing into the truck with no comment, instead nodding to the others Preston had already picked up, all of whom were in various stages of wakefulness. When Preston closed the door, it echoed in Cameron’s ears. He closed his eyes.

  He had a sudden feeling that today was going to very uncomfortable.

  The rest of the ride to pick up the other volunteers and take them to Blake’s house was a quiet, unsettling one, but Blake was waiting on the great stone steps of his home to greet them when the car pulled up in his driveway.

  “Good morning!” he called cheerfully. “I have coffee and breakfast of sorts in the kitchen,” he offered as he shook each of their hands in turn. “Morning, Cam,” he said with a smile as he took Cameron’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  Cameron nodded slowly and studied Blake. It occurred to him that Blake might not know he and Julian had broken it off. Surely if he’d known, and if Julian really was here, Blake wouldn’t have put Cameron in this situation. Right? He offered half a smile and followed the rest inside. His stomach was already churning.

  As they walked through the house, it became obvious that a little work had already been done. There were bare spots on the walls where paintings had hung, shelves where knickknacks might once have sat. The formal rooms near the front of the home looked as if a herd of elephants had tried to play chess with the furniture, but nothing appeared to have been moved out of any of them yet.

  As they neared the kitchen, a repetitive banging echoed in an adjoining room. As Blake passed by he began to snicker, and he stood at the doorway to the kitchen and ushered everyone by while looking past them toward the noise.

  “Come eat breakfast, Jules. Those things can wait,” he called out.

  Cameron stopped so suddenly in the doorway to the kitchen that Keri ran into him and squeaked. He turned to the side, apologizing as the others laughed and paused in the hallway, teasing him about still being asleep.

  “It’s not breakfast when you’ve been up all fucking night, Blake,” Julian’s voice answered as soon as the banging stopped. “Did you find the painter’s tape?” he asked in an annoyed voice as he leaned out of the doorway, just ten feet away from Cameron. His eyes were on Blake as he spoke, but when he saw Cameron he seemed to jerk slightly, blinking at him in stunned silence before recovering and moving his eyes back to Blake without any other reaction to Cameron’s presence.

  All discussion died off as Julian appeared, drawing everyone’s eyes.

  Blake grunted at him and nodded, reaching into his back pocket to extract a roll of blue tape. He tossed it at Julian, muttering about breakfast as he turned and walked into the kitchen, obviously expecting to be followed.

  Keri cleared her throat first, being the most accustomed to seeing Julian—besides Cameron, of course. “Good morning,” she greeted him. The other staff members raggedly joined in with a variety of comments along the same line. All except Cameron, who was looking at anything except Julian.

  Julian merely nodded to return their greetings and then disappeared back into the room.

  “C’mon, Cam,” Charles said, pulling at his arm. “Let’s get something to eat before Blake works us like dogs.”

  “Like usual,” Keri added playfully.

  Cameron let them pull him along, making himself look toward the kitchen and not back at Julian. Just that one look at him had set his heart pounding hard enough to make him breathless, and he could feel the pendant under his shirt heavy and warm against his skin.

  Blake stood at the end of the large center island, eating a doughnut and scowling at them. “I wouldn’t work my dogs like I work you people,” he told them with a small smile.

  Dragging his attention to the bar, Cameron picked through the pastries. “Do you actually have dogs?” he asked distractedly, looking around at the fancy kitchen.

  “Only if you count Julian and Preston,” Blake joked with a wink as he poured himself more coffee.

  Cameron cleared his throat and reached for the juice as the other restaurant staff started talking and wandering around the house to gawk while they had the chance. He stayed right there. Cameron hadn’t seen Julian even once since that very
painful night—not once in three weeks. He squeezed his eyes shut for a short moment. He didn’t want to dwell on how much he was hurting.

  “Cameron?” Blake asked softly as soon as the others had begun to wander. “Are you okay?”

  “I… I didn’t know he’d be here,” Cameron said softly, not looking up from his juice.

  “Who?” Blake asked in confusion.

  “Julian.”

  Blake glanced at the kitchen door with a frown. Just beyond, the banging started again, perhaps a little louder now than it had been. “I don’t understand,” Blake admitted as he looked back at Cameron.

  Cameron swallowed. Obviously Julian hadn’t said anything to Blake. “We’re not… together anymore,” he murmured, poking at the half doughnut in front of him.