by Kate Lowell
Julian turned to her and patted her hand. His movements lagged, exhaustion showing in every line of his body. “It’s okay. He’s FBI. I’m FBI too.” He turned and walked into the room to face Leo.
The nurse gave them both an intense look, then turned to leave with a tight mouth.
“Ma’am?” Julian raised a hand and looked back at her over his shoulder. He seemed troubled, and he avoided Leo’s eyes.
“Yes?” the nurse asked, coming into the room.
Julian looked her in the eye, then glanced away. “I need a rape kit.” It came out in a rush. Then he looked at Leo. It took a few moments before Leo realized the expression on Julian’s face was guilt.
Fucking guilt. What did Julian have to be guilty about? The room went red in Leo’s vision, and if DeGraff or Carragher had been there, it would have been Leo going to prison, because the other two would have been dead. He put out a hand and touched Julian’s cheek.
“It’s fine.” Julian squeezed Leo’s hand. “I’m fine. But it’s evidence. I think.” He looked at the nurse. “Can he stay?”
“He really is your partner?”
“Best one ever. Lets me boss him around.” A quick flick of Julian’s eyes, and Leo summoned up a smile to reassure him.
She still didn’t seem certain, but when Julian took her hand and smiled at her, she yielded. “Yes, he can stay. Would you prefer a man or a woman perform the exam?” She walked to a cabinet on the wall and pulled out a bundle of cloth. “We’ll need to keep your clothes.”
“They aren’t mine anyway.” Julian reached for the cloth, but she shook her head.
“You’ll need to stand on this to undress when the doctor gets here. I’ll do my best to speed him up, but it could be a few minutes, so I’ll spread it over the bed if you want to sit down.”
“Just make it happen. It doesn’t matter.” He waited for her to lay the cloth over the mattress and leave, then dropped Leo’s hand and walked over to sag onto the bed. He looked up at Leo. “I’m sorry.”
Leo sat down next to him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
Julian patted his arm, then began fumbling at his bloody clothes. “You think I can get out of the shirt at least, as long as I leave it on the bed?”
“Probably not.”
Julian gave a frustrated sound and levered himself up to lie on the bed. “I hate looking at the ceiling.” He pressed a green arrow on the side rail, and the head of the bed slowly rose until he was sitting mostly upright.
Leo pulled over a chair to sit beside him. “What happened?”
“Did you guys know you had a sales department?” Julian scratched at his chest, then his belly, then his balls. “Damn, I’m itchy. What’s taking that kit so long? I want a shower. You know he shipped me out without even letting me clean up?” He laced his fingers over his belly with obvious reluctance. “Creepy guy from last night—Carragher—came in and told me I’d been sold. They made me get dressed and put me in a limo with another creep. I ended up shooting him. And the guy driving. They didn’t touch me. Well, they did, but not that way.” By the end of his little speech, the words were running together in a frenetic roller coaster of sound. He turned toward Leo. “I don’t feel bad about it.”
“You shouldn’t. That’s where some of the missing kids have been going, private sales.” Leo laid a hand over Julian’s. “I misjudged things. You should have given me more trouble.” He dipped his head. “I’m sorry about last night.”
Julian’s gaze sharpened. “That was my choice.” He seemed about to say more, but the nurse came in, carrying a tray covered in blue cloth. A doctor followed close behind her. They seemed to be pulling out all the stops for him, which made Leo feel grateful, then guilty. He hoped they weren’t making the victims wait, but at the same time he was glad Julian was getting seen right away.
“Hello, Agent Fitzroy.”
“Call me Julian.”
The doctor stepped up to the side of the bed. In the gentlest voice Leo had ever heard, he said, “Julian, then. I’m Dr. Stram. First off, I’m going to do a physical exam. Then we’ll take some samples. This whole procedure can feel rather invasive, so we’ll go slow, and you’re welcome to ask me to give you a moment at any time.”
“Fine.” Julian closed his eyes. “Leo, the DNA will be from a young male named Shiro. At least, that’s what the guy who owned him called him. That blond from last night.” He opened them again, some darkness haunting them. “He’s one of the victims, I think. Harrow said you got the laptop. Is it there?”
“We don’t know. The IT guys will get into it.”
“Good.” Julian closed his eyes again. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
The doctor smiled. “I’ll try to be unobtrusive.”
Julian snorted and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Sure.” He dropped his hands and reached for Leo. “You okay to stay, or would you rather leave?”
“I’ll stay. If you want me to.”
“Yeah.” Julian closed his eyes again, but his fingers clutched at Leo’s hand. “I’d like that.” Then he turned to the doctor and asked, “What do we do first?”
“First, you can tell me what happened.”
Julian’s fingers closed around Leo’s hand, his grip strong enough to hurt.
Break
Julian lay in the jet tub in his hotel room and contemplated the ceiling while the bubbles swirled around him. He was kind of surprised that the FBI was spending money on a four-star hotel just to debrief, but maybe all the other hotels were full? Whatever, he’d soaked in the jet tub in the bathroom, washed his hair four times, and scrubbed every inch of his skin until he started to worry he wouldn’t have any left. And that was after having a shower at the hospital, with some sort of green liquid soap that smelled like antiseptic. Now he was just suffering from a serious case of inertia.
A knock on the door woke him from a half doze just in time to keep his head from sliding under the water. He hadn’t realized he was that tired.
“Just a minute,” he yelled and dragged himself out of the water. He dried off and started to walk out into the room. At the doorway, he paused, uneasy. There wasn’t any reason for it—he could see the entire room from where he was standing.
Whoever was at the door knocked again. “Agent Fitzroy?”
That’s what it was. The sense of someone outside his room. “Hang on. I’m getting dressed.” He forced himself into the main part of the hotel room and dug through the bag they’d given him when he arrived. Inside, he found his favorite pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and his old hoodie from high school. Underwear, socks, his new sneakers—he nearly cried when he saw them. They must have asked Dave to pack a bag for him. He dressed in short order and went to peer out the peephole in the door.
It was Harrow. Julian opened the door. “Sorry, I was in the bath. Come on in.” He followed Harrow over to the small table-and-chair set, scooping the lost-and-found clothes from the hospital into the garbage on his way, and took the unoccupied chair opposite Harrow. “I suppose this is the debrief?”
“The first part. It’ll take a couple of days for Leo, for sure, but you’ll probably be done tomorrow. How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
Harrow nodded. “That’s pretty normal. I’m told Leo fell asleep in the middle of a sentence once, and he hadn’t been under near as long as this time. I’ll probably need a joy buzzer to keep him awake.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small digital recorder. “It’s best to get these things done as soon as possible, before the details fade.”
“All right.” Julian rubbed his hands down the fronts of his thighs and tried not to look too nervous.
The interview lasted well over two hours. Harrow was a skilled interrogator, digging out details that Julian hadn’t even realized he’d noticed. Everything was fine until they got to the last couple of nights. Then he paused, not sure how much he wanted to reveal. He’d had to tell
the doctor about sleeping with Leo two nights ago, but he’d skipped over it with Harrow.
“Every little bit, Agent,” Harrow said.
Yeah, right. Instead, he tried distraction. “That’s the second time you’ve done that. I’m not an agent.”
“You could be. I can talk to them about putting a hold on a seat in the next agents’ session at Quantico for you. After this, I don’t see how they can say no. Think about it. Ronalda says you’ll make a good analyst. I think you’ll be an exceptional agent.”
Julian paused. “I’ll let you know,” he said, surprising both himself and Harrow.
Harrow nodded and continued questioning him. “So, this other young man?”
“Yes, Shiro. I don’t think it was his real name.”
“Probably not. You say he seemed content with this man?”
“I don’t know; it’s hard to explain the experience. He was definitely alert to anything the guy said or did or even his facial expressions. He wouldn’t accept any excuses from me at all—we just kept rolling to whatever pace the old guy wanted.” Julian couldn’t say owner, though that was the truth. Something in him still seemed determined to deny the depravity of the whole organization.
“And then he forced you to have sex with him.”
“Not forced…” Julian reached for his bottle of water to give himself time to think. “No, there was no force involved,” was the excuse he finally settled on and then put the bottle to his lips, letting the water trickle slowly down his throat while he marshaled his thoughts. It had been weirdly tender and ruthless at the same time. So strange, he was still confused about it, and as he put the bottle down, something in Harrow’s expression said he knew what was going on in Julian’s head.
Julian wiped his mouth. “Is this part pertinent?”
He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Harrow watched him closely.
Julian’s heart began to pound. He didn’t want to think about that—his own emotions were so muddled. There was some embarrassment but mostly shame and anger. Not over what was done to him, but for everything that must have happened to Shiro to make him the person he was now.
“What, specifically, do you want to know?”
“I’m getting some mixed signals here. Talk to me about last night. Not the dry details, but everything else.”
“There’s not much to say. Shiro wasn’t scared, but he definitely knew he didn’t have any say in the matter. Like a well-trained dog.”
“And the man? No other defining characteristics?”
Julian shook his head. “No. Shiro called him sir, or”—he paused to wrap his mouth around the word—“Gaykah. Something that sounded like that. You want me to talk to an artist?”
“As soon as we get you back to Washington. The suite you mentioned is empty, and the name he checked in under doesn’t exist. We’ve got a watch out at the airports, but it’s not likely we’ll find him. There was no record of any flights scheduled for Lida this morning, and the employees aren’t turning up anything useful.” Harrow put aside his pen and leaned toward Julian. “I want to talk about you. This was a lot to ask of a civilian, and it went sideways in some unpredictable ways.”
Julian pulled on his blank actor’s face to his instinctive response of, “Like fucking hell.” Instead he folded his hands in his lap and said, “I’m fine,” and dared Harrow to challenge him.
Years behind a desk hadn’t stunted Harrow’s people-sense, because he nodded and said, “We can pick this up again in Washington. It’s been a long week, and you look tired. And speaking of home, it’s bureau policy that agents undergo a course of psychological assessment and treatment after highly sensitive operations like this one. I’m putting you on two weeks’ paid leave starting immediately, and I’ll have someone call you with the details of your first counseling session.”
He stood up, collected the recorder, and patted Julian carefully on the shoulder, like Julian was a bomb and Harrow worried he might explode. “I hope this experience won’t turn you off joining the bureau. Most investigations aren’t at all like this one.”
The bomb idea wasn’t all that far from the truth. Julian seethed inside. So many emotions roiled within him that he couldn’t tell one from the other. In self-defense, he shoved them back in their box with all the other ones he couldn’t take the time to face right now and pasted on a neutral, professional expression. “I hope so too.”
Harrow walked to the door and paused in the opening. “Get some sleep. Your flight home is tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll have the tickets brought up to you tonight.” He looked down at the floor, then back up, catching Julian’s eye. “You did a good job, Julian. I’m proud of you.”
Julian stared at him, speechless, until Harrow stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. For a few minutes, Julian sat frozen in his chair, playing with his water bottle while his stunned brain processed what Harrow had said.
Then he picked up the bottle and threw it across the room with all his strength. Proud? Harrow was proud of Julian? What the hell right did he have to be proud? All he’d done was toss Julian into a no-win situation, with no training and no fucking way to call for help. No way to avoid doing—
Julian stood up from the chair so fast it fell over. Automatically, he reached to put it back up again, but as soon as his hand touched the wood, a red rage came out of nowhere, drowning him in its fury. The next thing he knew, the chair was flying toward the wall. It hit with a sharp crack, then bounced onto the floor, leaving a weird triangular hole in the plaster.
It wasn’t enough.
Mend
The room wasn’t nearly as wrecked as Julian wanted it to be by the time the men came through the door. The idea that someone would notice the yelling and breaking of furniture shouldn’t have been a surprise, but the bang of the door against the wall startled him. The shock of the sudden noise made Julian drop and cower against the foot of the bed. His panic faded after a second, and he was already on his way to his feet when one of the men grabbed his arm and pinned him on the floor.
“Get off me.” He grabbed at the man’s head, his fingernails scraping over cheek and jaw. His attacker twisted Julian’s arm up behind his back, wrenching his shoulder and forcing a short, sharp cry from his mouth.
I can’t breathe. The weight of the man on his back sent panic crawling up his spine, filling his mouth with the bitter metallic taste of adrenaline. Fragments of memory from last night overwhelmed him—helplessness, fear of a wrong step. Then emotions from later, horrible things, and all he wanted to do was get away. He yelled and shoved against the floor with his feet, rolling as well as he could with the weight of the man crushing him into the—not a leather bench seat. A floor. A carpeted floor.
A lucky blow with his free hand caused the man to catch both of them and hold them in a painful grip in the small of Julian’s back.
Maybe it was the sudden flashback to the first beating, or the feel of Kittridge on top of him, Julian choking and light-headed, lungs screaming for oxygen. Full-blown panic hit in earnest, and he thrashed with furious strength. Then, in an instant, the weight was gone, and he was left flailing against nothing but empty air.
Without even a glance to find out why the agent had disappeared, Julian bolted for the bathroom. He slammed the door and locked it, then sank to the floor with his back against the side of the bathtub. “What was that?” He pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked blindly around the room, momentarily lost.
He probably only jumped half a foot when someone rapped on the bathroom door.
“Julian?” It was Leo. “Can I come in?”
He thought about it for a long moment, then got to his feet and opened the door to see Leo caught with his fist in the air.
He grimaced and dropped his hand to his side. “Sorry. I was just about to knock again.”
“Impatient much?” Julian raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. �
��Sorry. I’m a bastard.” So much for watching his language. He turned back in to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub.
“No, you’re not. You’ve been through stuff even an experienced agent would have trouble dealing with. I don’t think I could keep it together if I’d been through what you have.”
Julian squinted up at him through his bangs. “Yeah?”
Leo put the toilet seat down and sat. “Yeah.” He clasped his hands together, letting them hang between his knees. “What did Bert tell you?”
Julian shrugged. “To get some rest. That he’d talk to me again in the morning. That they’d send me to a shrink.” He rubbed his hands over his upper arms, suddenly cold. “I don’t think he understood. That’s probably my fault.”
“I doubt it. It’s not an easy thing to explain. Do you want to try me?”
Julian looked up, startled. Leo’s eyes were warm, no longer the eyes of the violent goon he’d worked with for the past week. Something about the look in them told Julian that if anyone was going to get close to understanding the crap swirling in his head, this was the man. “You sure you want to get into it?”
“I was there. And I’ve got my own demons to exorcise.”
Yeah, he probably did. And that made Julian feel like shit, so wrapped up in his own problems that he’d forgotten he wasn’t the only one who’d gone through hell. He’d been in it maybe a week? Leo had been there for almost half a year. Stop being a baby.
Leo switched his seat over to the bathtub beside Julian and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Come on. We can talk in my room.”
Julian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “All right.” Leo’s arm felt so good around him. He wasn’t ordinarily clingy, but at the moment all he wanted to do was crawl into Leo’s embrace and never come out.
The room was empty when they left the bathroom. Leo stopped and surveyed the damage, and Julian tensed, expecting a lecture he was in no mood for. But Leo only chuckled low in his chest and headed for the door.