by Elle Keaton
“Okay, I can listen.”
“No. I mean, yes, I want to—need to—talk to you, too, but I mean I should talk to a professional. Nobody who’s not getting paid needs to listen to my head.”
Joey was at a loss. His innate need to help battled with Buck’s obvious desire for privacy. “Is this about what we talked about the other night?”
“Yeah.”
Okay, that he could wrap his head around. “Is it okay that I’m here?” He sounded pathetic and needy.
Buck graced Joey with a hesitant smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I like you, Joey.”
“I like you, too.” They locked eyes. Joey knew they were saying more, but out loud “like” was as far as either of them could venture right now. “Miguel is cooking; can you eat?”
Buck sat up a little, and his eyes glanced off Joey’s. Whatever he had to say, Joey wasn’t going to like it. His long fingers twitched against his comforter; a loose thread was receiving a lot of attention. “Um, do you think you can give me some time?”
Joey didn’t think he meant the amount of time it would take for Miguel to finish scrambled eggs, or for Buck to shower. He meant time. Joey stood up and turned away so Buck couldn’t see his eyes. It was Joey’s turn to hide now. The emotional roller coaster he’d been riding was about to fly completely off the rails.
“Hey.” Buck tugged at Joey’s sleeve. “I know it sounds—I know I’m not saying this right. I need time. I do want to see you, and everything, but I need to be better off in my head. When we start to date, I don’t want ghosts hanging out in my head, interfering with what we have going on.”
Joey opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. A final conversation with another Seattle boyfriend popped into his head. He’d thought Peter was “the one” from their first date. He had been so sweet and chivalrous; he opened doors, insisted on paying, held Joey’s hand. Joey had eaten it up. They’d gone to farmers’ markets and movies; stayed over at each other’s houses. He had been sure Peter would ask him to get married. Certain. When everything imploded a year later, Peter accused him of being suffocating, of having unreal expectations. He’d said Joey didn’t love Peter at all; he was in love with a perfect, unattainable man.
He had been devastated. Betrayed and confused. Why had Peter never said any of this before?
“Because you never let me get a word in edgewise,” Peter fumed. “You parade me around like a trophy. I’m a real person, Joey, with real feelings and faults. I can’t live on a pedestal; it’s too lonely.” With that parting comment, he had packed the spare clothing he’d kept at Joey’s apartment and left. Joey had been extraordinarily hurt and angry. Why had Peter never said any of this to Joey before he dumped him?
Buck watched him warily, his strong fingers still grasping the edge of the comforter. Joey took a deep breath, looking around Buck’s room. It was the only room in the house where he’d seen any signs of personalization. A beautiful tall wooden dresser that stood opposite the bed held a single framed photograph of a tired-looking blond woman holding a tiny baby. An oversized, cushy-looking reading chair sat tucked under the window. There was a small bookcase stuffed with paperbacks. A battered Shirley MacLaine autobiography sat on top of one of the shelves. His boy ran deep or, more likely, goofy.
Recalling that last bitter conversation with Peter helped him to pause and think. Buck was telling him he wasn’t perfect, that he wanted to be better for Joey. Buck was asking him to wait. Not saying everything was over, but that he needed some time. He was giving Joey something to work with, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
Stuffing his initial feelings of rejection back where they belonged, he dug up a smile for Buck. He took one of Buck’s hands in his own and brought it to his lips, tenderly kissing the still-bruised knuckles. “I can give you all the time you need.” He meant it, too, even though it felt like his heart was breaking. “Will you at least let me know you’re okay? Text or something?”
Relief washed across Buck’s face. “You’ll wait?”
“I’ll wait. It’s been a pretty crazy week.” And wasn’t that the understatement of the very new year?
They looked down again at their clasped hands. “I promise I will text you,” Buck said, “or call?”
“Okay. Um, hey, I’m going to get going now.” Joey stood up. “I should take Xena home and probably check my work schedule.” He needed to leave because, right decision or not, he was going to break down if he stayed a moment longer.
Miguel gave him a look when he came back into the kitchen but didn’t ask any questions. Joey grabbed Xena’s leash and dragged her away from the kitchen snacks before his tears started to fall.
Thirty-Six
The scent of whatever Miguel was cooking drifted into Buck’s room and his stomach growled ferociously. Okay, yeah, he needed to drag himself out of bed, shower, and see if Miguel had any leftovers.
Fifteen minutes later, when he made his way into the kitchen, there was a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and a mug of coffee sitting on the kitchen table. Miguel paused, a loaded fork halfway to his mouth.
“The dead arises.”
“The dead is hungry.”
Miguel gestured with his fork. “Eat; you bought it, after all.”
The silence between them as they ate was pleasant. Miguel didn’t drive Buck crazy with questions. He waited until they were done eating to say anything at all.
“All right, Bucky. You’ve eaten; now you want to tell me why Joey left here looking like he lost his best friend?”
Buck rolled his eyes at the hated nickname. “I asked him for some time.”
“Aw, man, nobody likes that. Please don’t tell me you used, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”
“Nah, I just asked him for some time. I meant it; it is about me. Not Joey.”
Miguel eyed him. “Is this about why you spent the last two days in your room? Sneaking out in the middle of the night to use the bathroom?”
Buck was embarrassed. He had acted like a child, but he had needed to hide away, to be in a space that was all his own so he could think. The events of the last couple of weeks had exhausted him. He was drained. Never one to be the life of the party anyway, what with the emotional floodgates opened by everything that happened, he had just shut down.
Would Miguel understand the rage Buck had felt when he witnessed Andriy shaking and hitting Perla? About being violently ill when it was all over? “It’s been a kind of overwhelming past couple of days,” he replied. Miguel deserved more of an explanation than that, but Buck didn’t feel equipped to provide it right now. “How’s your hand?”
The hand in question was carefully lifted for Buck to see. “Gotta go in and have the doc look at it in the next couple of days. The stitches itch like fucking crazy. And you’re welcome for getting your car for you—did it slip your mind that it was a stick?” He shook his head. “I had to ask, uh, someone to help.”
“Someone?” Miguel’s hesitancy had Buck instantly suspicious. “Who did you call?” Who would Miguel call? The guy didn’t have a lot of friends in Skagit. He hung out with Buck for the most part. Of course, at the party the other night . . . “Was ‘someone’s’ name Sara?”
“Shut it,” Miguel snapped. “Quit trying to distract me from whatever the hell is going on with you. Maybe it was.”
Buck chuckled. So, Miguel had called Sara. Good.
“No more hiding in your room for days, all right? I was actually worried about your sad self. Just look at you.” He waved his fork again. “You look terrible. The gaunt look is not good for you.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry.” He felt sheepish.
“No man, don’t be sorry. Just, I’m not letting you do it again.”
By unspoken truce, Miguel opted to stop pestering Buck if Buck pretended not to know he and Sara were whatever-they-were-ing. After cleaning up the mess his one-handed housemate had made in the kitchen, Buck retreated to his room with his laptop and began to resea
rch therapists in Skagit. He’d meant what he said to Joey; he needed some time to sort himself out.
Slowly Buck got the garage opened back up again. Luckily, between the holiday weekend and the snow, he wasn’t too far behind. He made some apologetic calls and, for the most part, was forgiven. He finally got a hold of someone to fix the furnace. Next, he called Oleg to see if he could help out more permanently. The unfamiliar deep voice that answered his call said Oleg was “unavailable” for the foreseeable future. Whatever that meant.
The thought of advertising for help made him wince. He’d have to wade through applications and talk on the phone. In a move driven by desperation, he tracked down Micah at the Booking Room. He liked to think they had become more than just acquaintances in the past few months.
Micah was sitting at a table in the back, and of course Adam was there with him. Adam scowled at Buck when he saw him moving toward them.
“Buck.”
“Hi, Adam. Hey, Micah.”
“Tell me you aren’t here to offer your chauffeur services,” Adam said dryly.
Micah laughed. “Jeez, Adam, give a guy a break already.”
“Nah, something else.”
Which is how he found himself with not one, but two new employees.
One and a half was more like it.
“Really? You’d hire me?” The kid Micah had mentioned, Kevin Whittman, was about to explode on the spot.
Buck was certain he had never had that much energy. He also reminded himself that if he had been all bouncy, his dad probably either beat him or scared it out of him. The therapist he had found wanted him to acknowledge what he had been through, to get out of the habit of pushing it aside. To quit compartmentalizing, whatever that meant.
He reminded her he didn’t like to think about it, and she had replied, “Exactly, and not thinking about it is interfering with how you want to live your life, correct?” Buck had groaned. Always with the questions. He’d never been around a person who could change every single sentence into a question. It was exhausting.
“Yeah, kid, I need the help. You can do parts runs, learn the paperwork, kind of like I did when I was a kid.” Of course, Buck had been eight when he started at the garage.
Micah had told Buck the kid’s story; of course, Buck would find work for him. And he didn’t have to find it—he needed the help. This would take a little of the pressure off while Buck found another mechanic.
“My brother is a mechanic,” Kevin said. “You’d probably rather hire him.”
“He’s looking for work? What’s his name?”
“Dom just graduated from tech school in Mt. Vernon. He’s been looking, but for some reason he wants to stay in Skagit.” The kid pulled a face.
“Is he any good?” Buck asked.
Dom was no more than twenty-two, and no one would ever mistake him for anyone but Kevin’s brother. They all met at the garage and Buck put him through his paces on a pretty standard tune-up. The kid knew what he was doing. That was how he ended up with one and a half very enthusiastic employees.
It was obvious that Dom was sticking around Skagit to keep an eye on Kevin. He hadn’t been able to help him when their parents threw him out. Buck saw shadows in his eyes, it must have hurt that Dom couldn’t help his brother when he needed it most.
It had been a week since he’d seen Joey, although he had texted him twice saying hi. Adam’s team had brought each of them in separately to reiterate their version of events. He’d seen Weir and Adam. From what they implied, Andriy was not talking.
Perla, it turned out, had been in the hospital under protective custody. She had been the one to tell Weir about the other properties in the county that the Russians were using. That was why Adam had known the address Buck had asked about. When they had been searching for Matveev it had been empty.
The whole thing was so complicated it made Buck’s head spin. He couldn’t wait to return to his boring life as a mechanic and restorer of vintage vehicles.
Thirty-Seven
“Why are you here?” the large man lying in the hospital bed grumbled at him.
Joey eyed Sacha. The guy looked like crap; he was pale and covered with bruises, scrapes, and cuts. He looked like he had fought for his life. “C’mon, you missed me.”
“No, no, I really didn’t.”
“I want to apologize. If I hadn’t gone to that warehouse, Andriy wouldn’t have figured out you were a cop.”
“Not a cop, how many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Right. US Marshal.” Joey snickered; Sacha must be on the mend if he could work up the energy to get angry with him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he muttered.
“What? Really?” Joey came closer to the bed, looking down at Sacha. At his nod of invitation, Joey pulled up one of the hard plastic visitor chairs and sat down.
“Andriy is a suspicious motherfucker. I let myself forget that. He followed me into town, saw me go into the hospital. He confronted me back at that house. I’m not sure he knew the warehouse had been compromised. Although,” he pointed a thick finger at Joey, “it didn’t help my blood pressure to have your skinny ass show up there. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking there were sick kids who were alone and scared.”
“Fine. Don’t go being a superhero again.” Sacha was looking closer at Joey now. “What is rattling around in that rabbit brain of yours?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
What Joey was thinking was that they still didn’t know who had initiated bringing the kids in. Who had run, was probably still running, a human-trafficking ring that spanned several continents. Because not only had that person been culling from the local population, they had decided to expand their operations by importing from Eastern Europe. What Joey kept thinking about was what Kon had said and where he and Buck had been headed when everything broke apart at the seams.
“I’m thinking,” he replied angrily, “that this person is still out there! Still thinking he can use people like, like, toilet paper and throw them away when he is done.”
“Toilet paper?”
“It was all I could think of.”
“Well, kid, you’re right; he is still out there. And from the scraps Andriy was dropping before your boy took him down, something big is in the works. And no, I have no idea what it is. How is your boy, anyway?”
Now, there was a question. How was Buck? How much could Joey say without revealing a very private moment? He looked away, trying to decide what to say.
“Ah, like that, is it? Sorry about that. Be patient with him; he seems like one of those silent-but-deep guys.”
Sacha was trying to comfort him? The world must be coming to an end.
“Get outta here, I want to take a nap.” Sacha waved him toward the door, but then called out, “Wait.” Joey stopped, his back still to Sacha. “I apologize for getting you involved in this,” Sacha said.
Joey turned back, but didn’t move closer. “Why did you?”
Sacha groaned. “That bastard Andriy wouldn’t let me take Matveev to the hospital, and by the time he figured out the infection was serious it was, obviously, too late. I was hoping to get some more information out of the guy—a name, anything. But Andriy didn’t trust me, wouldn’t leave me alone with him. Well, he was right about that; lots of good it did him.”
Joey nodded. “I’ll come visit tomorrow.” He thought he saw Sacha smile, just a little.
On his way out of the hospital he stopped by the information desk. After chatting with Hosanna Gulema, their newest staff member, for a little while, he casually asked how she and her family had been sponsored to come to the United States, and to Skagit specifically.
What he learned then, and later confirmed through research on his laptop at home, was that legitimate refugees could not be brought in on a personal sponsorship unless they were a blood relative. There were other complicated rules set by the US governm
ent, but basically, the kids he was trying to help had been smuggled in and most likely had no family left behind in their home country to advocate for them. Konstantin had said he lived with an “Auntie,” whatever that meant.
To Joey it meant either someone had paid off the family he lived with, promising a better life perhaps, or he had been given away, one less mouth to feed. In the week that Kon had been staying at Joey’s mother’s his English had improved dramatically—the kid was a sponge—but Joey doubted if he would ever have the words to express exactly what had happened to him over the past few months. He had nightmares every night, even though he had Xena to protect him.
“Mom, can I borrow your car again, for an errand?” Joey needed to sort the car thing out, but he was secretly waiting for Buck’s help.
“Sure, hon. Have it back this afternoon; Kon and I need to go grocery shopping.” Currently she and Kon were involved in a book. The boy was curled up as close to Maureen as he could get while she read aloud to him about an orphan wizard and his friends. Kon was entranced, stopping her every few paragraphs to ask questions or comment on the story. Joey hadn’t seen his mom this happy in a very long time.
Joey ruled out the Catholic churches, or at least decided to leave them for last. He focused on the smaller, strip-mall-style ones. For whatever reason, strip-mall churches seemed super shady and thus the best place for him to start looking for the mastermind behind a human-trafficking ring. Plus, they seemed to serve more itinerant, diverse populations.
Several hours later he was worn out from driving back and forth across Skagit. Most of the churches were closed. Those whose doors were open early on a Thursday afternoon had a skeleton staff on site and were unable to answer Joey’s questions. He didn’t know why he thought he would learn something by just asking.
As he was heading home he thought about the conversation he and Buck had had regarding the Dutch Reformed Church and the split several years ago, when a group of parishioners formed their own very conservative branch.