Warrior's Cross

by Abigail Roux

  Julian stood by the side of the table for a long moment, managing to look large and intimidating even in the finely tailored suit. Lancaster leaned back in his chair casually, looking up at Julian almost insolently before he stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and offered his hand with a few words in greeting. Julian looked down at the hand for a moment, and then he grasped it and shook it stiffly. He looked around, seeming almost uneasy, and he unbuttoned his jacket slowly as he sat opposite Lancaster.

  They sat silently, staring at each other.

  “This is not good,” Sylvia whispered at Cameron’s side. “What do we do?”

  Cameron stared through the blinds, feeling his emotions drain away. He’d been too upset, too scared, too lonely, all for too long. It was too much to feel any of it right now, so he buried it deep down. “We do what we always do,” he answered flatly, voice becoming more firm as he spoke. “This has nothing to do with us.”

  “What are you talking about?” Miri asked from Cameron’s other side.

  “We don’t know them. We don’t know them from any other customers,” Cameron told them. Ignorance would keep them safe. Julian had taught him that.

  The women nodded slowly, and they all looked back out at the two dangerous men.

  They seemed to be complete opposites. Julian sat proper and tense, his face expressionless as he looked at the other man. Lancaster, though, sat slightly sideways with his elbow propped on the back of his chair, reclining casually with his ankle resting on his knee. He was grinning impishly and meeting Julian’s eyes unflinchingly.

  Cameron straightened and tugged at his collar before smoothing down the front of his shirt. He picked up the card listing the evening special and walked out of the service area.

  How he found the determination, he didn’t know. How he knew what was going down was wrong, he didn’t know. All he could do was follow Julian’s lead as he’d seen it before—do his job and pretend not to know the man who had been his lover.

  When he got to the table, Lancaster had just begun to speak in a low voice. “You’re a hard man to track,” he said in amusement. “Hiding in your castle. Might as well be Bruce Wayne.”

  “Does that make you the Joker?” Julian asked flatly, clearly not amused.

  Cameron paused a few feet away, completely taken aback by the sound of Julian’s voice in a melodic Irish accent. It was right, but it wasn’t. He’d never heard Julian use an accent. Maybe it was something he was doing with Lancaster? Something to hide his identity? If so, he was really good at it.

  Lancaster laughed softly and nodded.

  “Why are we here?” Julian asked with the barest hint of annoyance.

  “I heard you like this place,” Lancaster answered innocently. “The food is delicious. Although the service is somewhat lacking.”

  Julian was silent, staring at his companion blankly, and Cameron took that as his cue to approach the table. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted, trying desperately to keep his voice from wavering. “My name is Cameron, and I’ll be your server tonight.” His voice, thankfully, came out purely professional, as was his manner. He rattled off the night’s special without looking at either man and then asked, “Would you like to start with some wine?” He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact, especially with Julian.

  Lancaster looked up at Cameron with a large grin. “Wine sounds wonderful,” he drawled happily. “Bring us your most expensive bottle,” he requested as he looked back at Julian almost challengingly. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

  From the corner of his eye, Cameron saw Julian’s jaw clench.

  Cameron tipped his head in a brief nod and set the specials card between them. “Right away, sir,” he murmured before he strode away to get the wine and glasses.

  Somewhere deep inside he reeled at being so close to Julian again and not being able to do anything about it. But he knew he couldn’t let that little bit of himself out. He just couldn’t. If he did, there would be no reining it in again. That fear he’d always felt on Julian’s behalf, the fear that his lover would be hurt or even killed, was back full force. As Cameron re-entered the service area, he realized that he felt it even though he wasn’t with Julian anymore—and that he’d much rather feel it being with Julian.

  “What are they saying?” Miri demanded in a hushed whisper as she and Sylvia crowded around him.

  “You should be working,” Cameron said sharply as he walked to the fine wines cabinet and pulled out the best wine the restaurant offered. He carefully wiped down the bottle and picked up two glasses and set it all on the tray. But he had to pause as his hands shook enough that the classes touched together with a quiet chime.

  “Jesus,” Sylvia muttered as she looked at the expensive wine. “What, are they on a date?” she added distractedly.

  “Don’t ask,” Cameron muttered darkly.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Miri said to him in a hushed voice. “You can see the tension over there. I could cut it with one of Jean-Michel’s knives!”

  Cameron picked up the tray, righting the slight bobble and then pausing for a steadying breath. “They’re just customers,” he said, reminding himself as well as them. He left the girls behind and carried the tray to the table, setting it on the nearby stand before presenting the linen-wrapped bottle.

  Lancaster looked down at it and nodded his head at Julian. “Let him try it, if you please,” he requested.

  Julian continued to stare at him wordlessly. Both of his hands were resting on the table in front of him; Cameron knew he usually kept at least one of them in his lap when he ate. He also knew why, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. Lancaster sat with both of his hands above the table as well. They reminded Cameron of Old West poker players, always keeping their hands in sight. Miri was right; the tension was palpable.

  Cameron set down the bottle as he pulled out the corkscrew. He opened the bottle efficiently, surprised his hands weren’t shaking anymore, let it air for a moment, and then poured a couple sips’ worth into one of the glasses before offering it to Julian without a word. Cameron finally let his eyes settle on his ex-lover, and he felt a pang of longing so strong it almost doubled him over.

  Julian still stared at Lancaster intently, his entire body coiled and tense. Finally, he dragged his eyes away and took the glass. He looked up to Cameron, and in his dark eyes there was a spark of something Cameron had never seen there.

  It might have been… fear.

  Julian sipped at the wine and nodded his silent approval. Cameron couldn’t do anything but stand there, the bottle clutched in one hand, after he saw that look in Julian’s eyes. He wondered if it was a reaction to his presence or to Lancaster’s. Cameron made himself look over to the other man and offer the wine bottle.

  Lancaster nodded without looking at him, waving his hand through the air as he smirked at Julian. “So, what will it be, Julian?” he asked smoothly. “The special?” he asked sarcastically.

  Cameron took up the empty glass silently and filled it just over halfway before setting it down in front of Lancaster carefully. Lancaster’s words and tone scared him—the man had obviously researched Julian somehow. He seemed to know him well. Cameron swallowed and tried not to flinch.

  Lancaster took the glass and held it up, as if ready to make a toast. He smiled at Julian, his eyes warm and friendly even though Cameron instinctively knew it was a mask.

  “What was that toast you taught me, Jules?” Lancaster asked Julian with a smile. “Something very Irish,” he mused as he tried to remember it.

  Julian stared at him, obviously having no intention of answering. Cameron glanced at Julian carefully as he lifted Julian’s glass, filled it as well, set it down along with the bottle, and waited silently, although he edged away from the table. He had taught this man toasts? Picturing Julian with a boisterous crowd of drunks, reciting “very Irish” toasts didn’t seem right to Cameron. Had he truly known his lover even a little bit? He moved a half-s
tep backward.

  “May those who love us love us,” Lancaster said suddenly as he held up his wine. “And those that don’t love us, may God turn their hearts. And if He doesn’t turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles, so we’ll know them by their limping.”

  Julian pursed his lips, leaning forward slowly and finally resting his elbows on the table as he looked across at the other man. His dinner companion leaned forward to meet him with relish.

  “You really think this is how it works?” Julian asked in a low, dangerous voice. The Irish accent sent a shiver through Cameron’s body, and he couldn’t help but stare at Julian, wondering how many other things he had never known about the man. “You think you can come into my city without retribution?” Julian continued. “You think you’ll make it to dessert?” he practically snarled.

  Lancaster’s smile vanished, and he gave one quick nod of his head. “You should have thought of that before you taught me everything you knew,” he murmured in a voice to match. “The special?” he asked in a completely different tone as he sat back. He nodded again. “We’ll both have the special,” he told Cameron with a smug, satisfied smile.

  Cameron’s eyes bounced back and forth between them, and he could only nod jerkily. “The salad will be out shortly,” he said. It came out weak to his ears. He collected the menus and turned away. As he did so, he saw Julian raise his own wine-glass and hold it up to Lancaster. “To your limp, Arlo,” he said solemnly.

  Behind him, a small clank and a grunt of pain signified that one of the men he’d left behind had just kicked the other under the table.

  If he hadn’t been so terrified, Cameron might have laughed.

  “Why are you here?” Julian asked through gritted teeth.

  “Because your time has run out,” Arlo answered bluntly. “You’ve been doing the wrong work for the wrong people, mate. Informing for the police? Sound familiar?” he asked cheekily.

  “We all do what we have to,” Julian responded in a low voice. Arlo knew more than even Julian had suspected he would.

  “But you didn’t have to, Jules,” Arlo argued, the smile still on his face. “You don’t need the money. You don’t even need the work anymore. The only reason you still do it is because you enjoy it,” he accused knowingly.

  Julian gritted his teeth harder and lowered his head slightly, refusing to look away.

  “You enjoy the stalking. The fear. You enjoy the killing, and you always will. You’re not one of the fucking good guys, so why try to tell yourself you are?”

  Julian sat back slightly, taking in a deep breath. The hell of it was that Arlo was right. He enjoyed what he did. He was good at it and always had been. He had, in the end, been given a choice. Remain one of the bad guys or be loved. And he had walked away from love. He’d chosen to be a killer rather than to be with Cameron.

  “Were you behind the big fucking dog?” he finally asked Arlo.

  Arlo actually laughed. “No,” he answered with a gleeful shake of his head. “But I heard about it.” He practically giggled. “Juvenile, but still slightly brilliant.”

  Julian sighed and took a long sip of wine.

  “If I don’t take you, someone else will,” Arlo told him, suddenly serious again. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Julian met his eyes and nodded. “Someone else,” he repeated grimly. “The man who hired you. Tell me who he is,” he demanded. “You know I can get to him. You won’t have to do this.”

  Arlo responded with a slow, wicked grin. “What makes you think I don’t want to?” he asked.

  Twenty minutes after taking their orders, Cameron arrived at the table with the two entrées. The mood at the table had gone steadily downhill, but somehow it helped Cameron maintain his distance. It was like a husband and wife squabbling. He wouldn’t get involved then, and he wouldn’t get involved now. But he still had to listen.

  He lifted the two covered plates and approached the table. When he set the dinners in front of them, Lancaster gave it a sniff and quirked an eyebrow. “What is this, exactly?” he asked Julian.

  “Shut up and enjoy it,” Julian snarled.

  Lancaster looked from him to Cameron. “What is this?”

  Cameron blinked at him for a moment before answering. “Snapping turtle soufflé and Southern red-eye gravy with pommes frites.”

  “Jesus Christ, Jules,” Lancaster groaned as he sat back and glared.

  “You want to go into tonight with nothing but a few hundred dollars of wine in you, be my fucking guest,” Julian muttered.

  “I can get you another entrée,” Cameron felt compelled to offer.

  Lancaster was watching as Julian started to eat, and he wrinkled his nose distastefully. “This is fine,” he muttered. “Thank you,” he gritted out.

  “This was always your problem, you know that?” Julian said to him heatedly as he dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. Cameron had rarely seen this level of emotion from him, especially in public. “You were all show and no real substance. You never fucking did your research.”

  “I found you, didn’t I?” Lancaster shot back.

  Cameron withdrew without his usual reminder to flag him down if they needed anything. No way was he interfering in that conversation.

  “Eat your fucking dinner,” he heard Julian snarl again as he left.

  It would have been comical if Julian hadn’t sounded so furious. Cameron tended to his other tables and kept an eye on that one, just in case violence erupted. He didn’t think it would—he thought Julian had nearly limitless control—but tonight it seemed like Julian’s anger bordered on rage.

  When Cameron glanced back several minutes later, he saw Lancaster upend the wine bottle over his glass and shake it. He dreaded going back to the table, but he knew he had no choice.

  “More wine?” he asked quietly as he stepped up beside the table.

  Both men answered at the same time, Julian with a resounding “No” and Lancaster with a cheerful “Please!”

  The waiter raised a doubtful eyebrow, suddenly seeing the morbid humor of the situation. It wasn’t at all funny. These two men were at each other’s throats, but there was an element to it that made him want to laugh hysterically. “How about I take your plates while you decide?” he offered tentatively.

  Julian sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Lancaster through narrowed eyes. Lancaster mirrored him and cocked his head to the side. “Dessert?” he asked with a smirk.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Julian answered calmly.

  Cameron had no idea what to say and wished he could just walk away. Instead he started picking up both plates and soufflé ramekins.

  Lancaster glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes. “You’re the bloke who claimed he didn’t know Julian,” he said. “‘Never heard of him’. Funny that, because my sources told me you two were a bit of a thing,” he continued as he leaned more across the table toward Julian and grinned. “That research thing again,” he mused with a shake of his head.

  Cameron couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Julian. He willed Julian to believe that he hadn’t told Lancaster anything. God, if Julian thought he’d betrayed him on top of everything else…

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Cameron managed to get out.

  “Yeah, I can tell,” Lancaster laughed wryly. “Don’t worry about it, mate,” he sighed as Julian remained tense and silent. “He doesn’t really care what you do anymore,” he announced as he met Julian’s eyes. “I’ve been stalking you for weeks, and Jules here hasn’t said word one about it. You’ve got new things going, don’t you, Jules?” he asked maliciously. “No need to bother with the cast-offs.”

  Cameron flinched before he could stop himself. Julian, stone-faced as ever, glared at Lancaster without ever bothering to look at Cameron.

  “Come on, Jules,” Lancaster invited, still smiling the same charming, almost boyish smile even though his eyes glinted dangerously. “Tell him about it. Tell hi
m about what and who you were doing. Why you never saw him on Sundays and Thursdays. Where you went on Saturday nights after you left him.”

  “We’ll take the check,” Julian responded through gritted teeth.

  Cameron fled immediately. Once he made it to the service area, he set down the dishes with a clatter and leaned against the counter, shaking and biting his lip hard, trying not to let the tears that threatened loose.

  Miri came over and took his arm. “Cam? What do you want us to do?”

  He forced himself to straighten and rub his eyes while he took several deep breaths. “You’re staying here, and I’m delivering this check. And hopefully, they’re leaving Tuesdays and not coming back.”