by Elle Keaton
“So, you guys, huh?” Adam asked as they trailed into the kitchen, which someone, likely Micah, had quickly cleaned.
“You know, just because we fucked doesn’t mean anything,” Sterling bit out.
Huh. Okay, that hurt. It wasn’t as if Weir was thinking the guy would get down on his knees with a diamond ring, but he thought he rated higher than “just a fuck.” The sensation of being iced, glaciered, out was not one he enjoyed. On that note, he walked around to sit on the other side of Micah, forcing Sterling to sit next to Adam.
“I hadn’t told Sterling yet about what Sammy dug up. Was getting around to it.”
“If by ‘around to it’ you mean fucking on our couch first—”
“Adam, shut it.” Micah broke in across the beginning of his diatribe, scowling at his partner.
“Why are you back?” Not that Weir didn’t appreciate Adam’s help with the situation, but he’d thought they were going to be gone another week.
“Apparently I can’t leave this one-horse town without a crime wave breaking out.”
“What he means is, we were done in California and he couldn’t wait to get home,” Micah added.
“Met the Klay side of the family.” Adam ran his hands through his hair, making it look like he’d been caught in a windstorm. “Only one of them isn’t batshit crazy. Luckily, we met her early on and she warned us not to stay long. Filled me in on some shit I would rather have never known. So, yeah, Micah’s right, I’m glad to be back.”
Sterling watched the exchange with a stony expression, not saying anything. Weir couldn’t read him for once.
The long and short, or long-long, of it was, Sammy had followed up at Patty’s diner. Based on additional discussions with the wait staff and patrons, the man who had taken the girls had been identified as Darren Potts, Pony’s paternal uncle. Sammy discovered that Potts was deep in gambling debt. Tribal casinos littered Skagit County, and Potts had spent money, too much money, in all of them. He had an outstanding debt of over fifty thousand dollars to a money man who went by the name of Charlie Herb.
Sammy had tracked Charlie down. He’d called in the debt over a month ago. Hadn’t seen the money yet, and Potts only had a few more days to come up with it before Charlie was placing a lien on everything the man owned, as well as alerting his ex-wife.
It wasn’t hard to connect the dots and deduce that Potts thought he could use Raven to get the money he needed. Everyone in town knew the Baileys had money. Sammy figured Potts found out Pony and Raven were friends and took advantage of them being at the café. Frighteningly, Charlie Herb’s deadline was tomorrow evening, and the Baileys had not come up with the two million dollars. Nice padding Potts was adding there. You know, in case he ran into trouble again.
Darren Potts. The name rang a bell. Weir had seen it at some point recently. Getting hit by a car and nearly dying had really done a number on him. Breathing deeply, he let the name swirl in the back of his mind. He’d remember. When Sammy had mentioned it, he’d intended on checking his case notes. Sterling’s slashed tire and general needing-to-be-fucked demeanor had him putting Potts on a shelf.
He let out an involuntary snigger. Sterling glared at him.
“Where are they?” This was the first thing Sterling had said since sitting down.
“We don’t know. We’re hoping he’ll lead us to them tomorrow.”
“He has both of them?”
“The Schneider house has been under surveillance since you called in yesterday. At this point, while the Schneiders are not cooperating fully, we have no evidence Pony is in the home.”
“Are my parents cooperating?”
“They are now.” Adam grinned wolfishly. Weir wondered what evidence of repugnant behavior Adam had dug up to ensure Stephen Bailey’s cooperation. Weir would have searched himself, if he had thought of it.
Twenty-One
Sterling’s head was going to explode. Weir was calmly sitting and discussing shit with Adam after they had been busted sleeping naked. After fucking. On. His. Couch. Even if it was technically Micah’s couch, it still freaked Sterling out. Then there was the fact that that POS Darren Potts had his hands on Raven. And his own niece, most probably.
Darren and Sterling had a history. One involving Darren being a bully who made fourteen-year-old Sterling’s life a living hell. Darren, in fact, was the person who was responsible for him being outed to his parents. Darren wasn’t responsible for his parents’ reaction, but he started the ball rolling. Darren was still a cowardly piece of shit, and Sterling was going to rip his throat out. He wasn’t a ninety-pound fourteen-year-old anymore.
The chances of Darren being terribly original in where he had taken the girls was minimal. Sterling figured he had a 90 percent chance of being right. The 10 percent was because Darren was, at his core, a stupid man, and possibly had them stashed at his own home. Sterling didn’t think so, though.
“Hey, guys, rather than playing musical beds, Adam and I will sleep upstairs in the other spare room.”
Micah’s announcement caused a conversation that would have been hilarious had Sterling not been so wound up. Micah prevailed, but it was after eleven before he and Adam finally tromped up the stairs. Sterling insisted on changing the sheets and moving Raven’s stuff out of the way. Adam griped, but Micah seemed to have him in hand.
No. He hadn’t thought that. Please, let them not have sex tonight. He didn’t think he could deal with it. Didn’t matter, he wouldn’t be there to hear it. Aside from having plans to find Darren Potts, he also had a perfectly good apartment of his own a few minutes away. One where he could be alone with his thoughts. Thoughts he needed to unwind from the tangled web they had become. At the center was a crazy man named Carroll Weir.
While he waited for everyone to go to sleep, Sterling paced around the small bedroom, packing the belongings he had brought with him. He considered stripping the bed and tossing the sheets in the laundry. On the other hand, he didn’t want to alert anyone to his departure.
After midnight, the house fell into a deep quiet. Everyone was asleep. Sterling listened to the creaks and groans of the old house as it, too, settled for the night. Thank god, he hadn’t heard any sex sounds from Adam and Micah’s room. Tossing his backpack over his shoulder and grabbing his duffel bag, Sterling made his way silently downstairs and outside to Sheila.
It was pitch-dark, of course, but it wasn’t raining. In fact, the sky was mostly clear. Sterling saw peek-a-boo stars for the first time in months. Taking a breath, he got behind the wheel, debating for a moment before deciding that Darren had almost certainly taken Raven and Pony to the old ranger station at Olympic View State Park. It was a rite of passage for groups of teens to break into the old stone building during the off-season for drinking, drugs, or sex. Or all three. He’d seen Darren there plenty of times before his parents had kicked him out.
The streets were empty, streetlights semi-hazy in the cool night air. He loved this time of night. It was one of the many reasons he was suited to be a bartender. As soon as he took care of this business with Darren, he would turn his attention to what the fuck was going on at the bank. He made a mental note to call Vijay.
In the meantime, he needed to focus on Raven and Pony. Sterling had turned right from Micah’s street onto Steele when a voice from behind him asked, “So, where are we going?” It was a good fucking thing there were no other cars on that stretch of road, because he swerved into the oncoming lane before straightening out.
“Jesus Christ, Weir, what the ever-loving fuck are you doing in the back of the fucking car?” He emphasized his expletive-laden rant by pulling over to the curb and stopping with a jerk that had Weir nearly sliding off the back seat into the footwell. The fucker had been lying down in the back seat, and Sterling had been so lost in thought he hadn’t clued in that there was someone in the car with him.
“I’m getting out of the back and coming around to sit in front. My leg is killing me. If you so much as think for on
e second about driving off without me… just don’t,” Weir growled.
Sterling did consider it, but the thought of having to explain himself to Adam or Micah stopped him cold. For all his bitching, Sterling knew that Adam liked and respected Weir. If he left Weir on the side of the road, Sterling would find himself on the wrong end of not one but two pissed-off federal agents.
The passenger door opened, and Weir dropped into the seat with a groan. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”
Sterling scowled at him. “I was being sneaky, waiting for everyone in the house to go to sleep. I thought.”
“You were so totally unsneaky. Adam and I were on to you immediately.”
“Wait. Adam knows?” Could this night, this entire fucked-up day, get weirder?
“Hell, yeah. We’ve been texting back and forth since you all headed upstairs. Dude, you do not have a poker face. As soon as Darren Potts’s name came up, we knew. Hang here for a minute, Sammy and Adam are coming with.” God, he sounded smug.
Sure enough, within a few minutes a nondescript gray sedan pulled up behind them. Sterling could see the silhouettes of two men in it.
“Where are we headed? I’ll text them.” Weir looked at him knowingly and wagged an index finger. Sterling had a nearly overwhelming urge to kiss that fucking look right off his face. From Weir’s expression, he wasn’t opposed to that idea.
“When we get back, baby, when we get back.” Weir was a fucking menace. Sterling had a hard-on in the middle of trying to rescue his sister.
“Olympic View State Park, the old ranger station at the south end. It’s been closed for years. The state doesn’t have the funds to retrofit it or something. Great place to get in trouble in the summer. This time of year, it’s usually vacant.”
Weir tapped at his phone, then motioned for Sterling to get going. Asshole.
The colossal stone building harked back to the 1930s and FDR’s New Deal. In its heyday it must have been gorgeous. Huge river rocks supported the foundation and rose halfway up the outside walls. Where the rock stopped, workers had fitted logs together, Lincoln Log–style, up to the eaves. The passage of time had not been kind, though. The roof was in disrepair, windows had been broken out by vandals (such as himself fifteen years ago), and the foundation had eventually settled oddly, making the building look like it was sitting back on its ass. Too much longer and there would be no way to save it. Last Sterling knew, there was a community fundraiser to try and save the place, but they were far short of the necessary funds.
Sheila’s engine ticked into the inky night while they sat quietly in the car. There were no other cars in the small turnout area about a half-mile from the ranger station. Ironically, they were only about a mile south on Old Charter from where Weir had very nearly died. When Sterling pointed it out to him as they passed by, Weir only nodded, commenting that he didn’t really remember anything from the incident.
“Here’s the deal.” Weir’s voice startled him from his thoughts. “We are going to patiently wait here while Adam and Ferreira do a little recon to see if Potts and the girls are inside.”
Sterling sputtered, lunging for the door handle before Weir could stop him. Weir was prepared, though, and Sterling was driving an unfamiliar car. Before he had an idea what was happening, Weir had grabbed Sterling’s right wrist and snapped a handcuff snugly around it, the other bracelet already attached to Weir. Sterling tugged futilely for a moment, even though he knew it was a lost cause.
“Problem solved. Besides, you wouldn’t want me to be out here by myself, would you?”
Sterling thought it was pretty fucking amazing that he managed to remain dead silent, yet still communicate his absolute and complete fury at being forced to stay in the car.
“We could always make out.”
Sterling didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t bother looking at him. Didn’t want to think about warm lips that were almost always quirked up a little on one side like there was a joke but he was the only one in on it. Didn’t want to look into dark-brown eyes that held a lot more understanding than anyone’s his age should. He wondered how Weir managed it, searching for other families’ lost ones without having found his own. He wondered if he had ever looked for his mother.
“So, that’s a no?” Weir managed to sound a little pouty. “It could be a while.”
“You are a fucking asshole,” he huffed.
“Yeah, I know. You know I really like Raven, too? It’s been nice spending time with her. I’m worried, too. But neither of us are the best people to go in there right now. If they’re there, Adam will get the job done.”
“I really hate you right now.” He didn’t.
“I know.”
Sterling didn’t hate Weir at all. Every time he thought he could turn his back, return to the way things had been before Weir had fallen into his life, something happened to prove him wrong. He’d stopped caring about the age difference. Weir’s personality and life experience more than made up for any age gap. There was no going back, only going forward.
“Why do you go by Weir? No nicknames, or anything?”
“Adam calls me ‘Ace.’ If you do, I’ll kill you in your sleep. No, never any nicknames. Didn’t stick around schools enough to earn one. Carroll was my dad’s name, too. He didn’t call me Carroll, either. Usually it was ‘Hey you,’ or he’d get pathetically drunk and call me Esther, which was always wonderful.”
“I can’t believe you handcuffed me.”
“Would you have stayed in the car if I’d told you the plan?” Weir turned so he was sideways in his seat, his arm resting across the console, watching Sterling. No, he wouldn’t have stayed. He would have ignored Weir and burst into the building with his figurative guns blazing.
“Plus, maybe I’ve discovered a kinky side to myself,” Weir mused with that stupid smile.
The handcuffs gave Sterling an easy excuse to twine his fingers with Weir’s while they waited. The silence was comfortable. Weir’s hand was warm and solid, an anchor. He absently stroked the back of Weir’s hand with his thumb, letting the tide of unnamed emotion flow back and forth between them.
Weir broke the silence. “I may have discovered a flaw in my plan.”
“Which plan is that?”
“One plan at a time, dude. Uh,” he chuckled and lifted their joined wrists, “the key is in my jeans pocket, and the angle is bad for my arm. So one of us can crawl across the console, or you’re going to have to get it for me. From my pocket.”
“From your pocket?” Sterling repeated. “You are ridiculous.”
“You like me.” Weir huffed.
Weir was right, Sterling did like him. More than liked him, and he had never allowed himself that before. For another person. What he felt for his sister was different. It wasn’t terrifying. It didn’t make Sterling feel raw and exposed, a dog rolling on its back, belly up.
The darkness made it easier for Sterling to get the words out. Tightening his grip on Weir’s hand, like he was about to jump out of an airplane, he said, “I do like you, Weir, you know that. I more than like you. I’m not sure what to do about it. It’s confusing and frightening. I’ve never been with someone before, for more than sex—”
In the gloom, he saw Weir’s mouth gape. Slowly he closed it, and a tentative smile appeared, not the quirky one Sterling was beginning to understand he used to keep people at arm’s length. Keeping his eyes locked on Sterling’s, he leaned in. Sterling met him halfway, their kiss gentle and sweet, a promise. Sterling wanted to deepen it, make it more, but Weir pulled away, taking a deep breath.
“Let’s not get too distracted; we really do need that key. I don’t think crawling over the console is a good plan. So hurry up and stick your hand down my pants.”
Twenty-Two
“I think I can multitask.” Sterling pushed farther over the cup holder and parking brake, pressing his lips against Weir’s, warm tongue sliding across and requesting entrance. Weir couldn’t help himself; h
e opened, letting Sterling in, reveling in the taste and feel of him, how his tongue swept across the roof of his mouth, making him shiver. Fuck, he was in trouble.
A hand, Sterling’s hand, maneuvered its way into his right front pocket. Before he snagged the key, he took the time to stroke Weir’s quickly hardening cock through the thin cloth.
Weir jerked his mouth away. “Jesus Christ, Sterling.”
“Told you, multitasking.” Triumphantly he held up the little silver key.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” Adam’s voice boomed across the vacant parking area.
By the time the two of them stopped laughing hysterically and Weir got the cuffs off both of their wrists, Sammy had appeared as well, morphing out of the darkness like some kind of ninja. He looked questioningly toward Adam.
“Don’t ask. I do not want to know what these clowns were up to. We’re out here because Sterling’s sister has been kidnapped, Weir, not so you can play pocket pool and act out your kinky bondage fantasy.”
Weir opened his mouth to retort, but Adam beat him to it. “Shut it.” He couldn’t help smiling, though.
Adam and Sammy piled into Sheila’s back seat. Weir had the absurd thought that they were in a clown car, but managed not to say anything. He did snicker, earning the classic Klay glare.
Looking over at Sterling, he saw that his mood had relapsed to anxious and worried. Weir hoped Adam had some good news. Unfortunately, Adam was wearing a grimmer-than-normal expression.
Sammy spoke first. “I was able to get inside; evidence points to it being inhabited. Tire tracks and footprints everywhere. There’s a propane camp stove, an empty cooler, sleeping bag, trash, but the kids are not in the building.”