by C J Baty
"Least you can do is stay and eat," Justin said.
Damien looked at his friend and saw worry crease the lines of his face. Justin cared about him. Damien let his body relax. He'd been wrong to jump to conclusions. "Sure."
Peter stuck around while Damien ate the sandwich and fries. He had to admit that everything tasted great. Home cooking wasn't something that Damien got often. After he finished his meal, Peter took away the plates and left the three of them alone again.
"Let's get started. Who's on the list?" Justin asked while Marcus opened his notebook.
Damien retrieved his laptop from his room and brought it into the office, while Marcus booted up his computer. There were emails from Tony; he saved those for later.
The three men revisited several articles that Damien had worked on in the last year which had produced quite a media stir. Damien didn't apologize for stepping on the toes of the men he had exposed in those articles. They were all subhuman as far as he was concerned. Two had tried to sue Damien and the newspaper for libel but were shot down. One of the exposés had caught
the national news headlines on CNN and went viral overnight. Damien had received several offers of positions with television shows after that, but he was a newspaper man, with no intention of changing that now. Three stories came to light with timings that correlated to when the emails and phone messages had begun.
"Last December, you released the story on Michael Winehouse. The first set of notes was dated earlier in the year. Detroit was already making the news because of political corruption, faulty utilities and gang related issues. Then you tell the world about Winehouse, exposing him for the lowlife he was,"
Marcus stated.
"The man was charging those people hundreds of dollars for deplorable living conditions and leaving them in rat-infested buildings. He was scum."
Damien had seen for himself the conditions in which people were living. No running water and no electric on the top two floors of the building. Most of the windows were broken, with no screens, letting in everything and everyone. It was beyond him, how the local authorities had never shut the place down. It wasn't until after a toddler fell from a third-floor window that the police had taken notice. Why did someone have to die before the authorities came around?
Damien's story about the toddler and her family, and their living conditions, had been one of his best pieces. Michael Winehouse didn't think so. He'd served six months of a three-year sentence. No one had seen him since his release.
"I can't find any updated information on Winehouse," Marcus said, as he continued to search the Internet for anything that would tell them Winehouse's whereabouts.
"He's married. Maybe the wife would tell you something," Damien offered.
"I'll check into that."
"Who's next?" Justin asked.
"Simon Clavis or Theodore Walker," Damien offered.
"Why is that?" Justin said, then added, "Anyone want more coffee?"
"I'll take some." Marcus offered his cup to Justin and waited as he poured.
"Only if you'll add a little Baileys to it," Damien said.
"Not funny."
"Who's being funny? I'm serious."
"Back to work," Marcus encouraged.
Damien thought about the two stories in question. Either man could have left those messages. The stories had broken a few weeks apart.
"Wait. Wasn't Simon Clavis that guy who was running the fake charity? He was supposed to be collecting money to send to children in need in some of the Appalachian communities." Justin sat next to Marcus at the desk. "I remember because one area that was supposed to receive funds wasn't that far from Beaufort. Those poor kids needed that money, and they received next to nothing."
"Exactly. Simon collected almost two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, but only about ten thousand made it to children and their families. It amounted to about ten dollars each. Not even enough to purchase a decent pair of shoes." Damien slammed his hands on the desk and pushed back his chair as he rose. "The son of a bitch was fined and didn't even serve any jail time. I heard he skipped the country with the majority of the funds."
"That's easy enough to trace, and I'll get on that." Marcus made notes on a pad in front of him, and then asked, "What about Theodore Walker?"
"That lowlife was a real piece of work. Theodore Walker was the county clerk in Carroll County. He was embezzling from several of the county's funds, one of which was the building fund for several downtown apartment complexes in Savannah. He was cutting corners on replacing electrical wiring in the buildings. A fire broke out in one apartment and a family of four died." Damien rubbed his eyes to avoid the tears gathering. "A mother and three young children. He will be in prison for a long time."
All three men sat wrapped in their own thoughts. Damien hated going over these stories. They brought back the memories he tried so hard to bury in his mind. The broken body of that toddler lying in the filth of the street where she had landed had haunted many of his dreams. The looks on the dirty faces of all those children who were starving and needed warm clothing before winter set in, and the remains of that family. That was an image he would carry with him forever. His only hope of sanity was to bury them deep and never let them out.
"All right." Marcus stood. "I will look for Clavis and Winehouse. I'll also check on Walker. Hopefully, I'll have something to go on by the end of the day."
Damien looked over at Justin, who averted his eyes and stared at the floor.
Damien knew he wasn’t going to like whatever came out of Justin's mouth next.
"We've forgotten one person."
Damien was right. "No."
"Damien, it's possible he—"
"No," Damien said again. "It can't be."
"Why?"
"Because it's finished. He's gone and long gone." Damien turned away from the others. He would not accept that Carter Preston was back to haunt his life again. He couldn't.
"Carter Preston has every reason to hate you, Damien. And there's been no news of him for close to a year, since he broke parole and disappeared. I think we should add him to the list."
Damien watched as Marcus added the name to the notebook. Then he ran from the office, slamming the door behind him without saying another word.
Chapter Two
Robert Wyler couldn 't think of one thing to say as Damien Fitzgerald walked away with Justin. Nothing. Not one snappy comeback. Not one sardonic syllable. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did Damien always affect him this way?
Thankfully, Damien would probably be in and out of the hotel before Robert caught sight of him again. The best thing to do was get back to work and, as the song went, let it go . There was only one little thing that was stopping him. Something was wrong. Robert felt it in his gut. And if Robert had a fault, it was this desire to help whenever he saw someone was in a bad place.
Damien Fitzgerald was always well-groomed and sophisticated. The man with whom Robert had crossed words was anything but. Jeans and a stretched-out-of-shape sweater had replaced his former, meticulous clothing.
Granted, the steel blue of the sweater made the paleness of his eyes deepen in intensity. It was the dark circles under those eyes that bothered Robert, and Damien's thinness. Damien's trim and toned physique had been something to admire. He was the total opposite of Robert and his bulky heaviness. But Damien was thin now. He hadn't been eating; it was plain to see.
Peter passed Robert, loaded down with a try of food, heading for the office.
He smiled at Robert and nodded toward the door. Robert opened it, but he didn't join the group inside. He overheard Damien arguing with Marcus and Justin, trying to calm them. Not wanting to intrude, Robert closed the door behind Peter and headed down the hall to the lounge. There was work that needed to be done.
"Hey, how's it going down there?" Peter called out in a cheerful voice as he leaned across the bar in Robert's direction.
"I'm counting stock, to gauge how much I need to
add to the order this week," Robert said as he got to his feet. "Actually, since guest traffic has been kind of slow, the order will be low this time."
"Makes sense."
Peter looked over the order sheet that Robert passed him. He counted to himself and wrote his initials on the bottom of the form. "I don't think we're going to be very busy the next few weeks, if that weather forecast proves true, anyway."
Robert set two glasses of ice on the bar and filled both with Coke. It was still too early in the day for anything else. Peter accepted the tumbler Robert pushed toward him.
"You mean all that talk about a snowstorm headed this way." Robert chuckled as he drank.
"You don't think it's possible?"
"Of course, anything is possible. But snow? Here? Come on, Peter. Can you remember the last time it snowed in Beaufort?" Robert doubted Peter remembered any snowfall in their hometown. He didn't.
"Well, not here, this close to the coast, but it's possible in the mountains.
That would make driving pretty rough. God, do you remember when Atlanta shut down two years ago because there was an inch of snow on the highway and a little ice?"
Robert laughed, recalling how the local news stations and most of the nation had laughed at Atlanta and the mess the highways were in. Nobody knew how to drive in the stuff, and there were accidents everywhere. They eventually chose to close the main roadways because service trucks were unable to get to stranded vehicles and motorists with bumper-to-bumper stranded vehicles.
"Let's hope they learned their lesson from the experience. They will be better prepared if it does snow this time."
Robert lifted a basket of clean glasses from the dishwasher. As he dried them and set them on the sideboard behind the bar, his mind drifted back to Damien.
"Did you see Damien?" Peter asked, interrupting his thoughts about the man.
"Yeah. We spoke." Robert didn't want to admit that he was curious, but he was. "Is he okay?"
"I'm not sure what's going on. Marcus didn't say a word while I was in the office. He kept writing in some notebook." Peter sighed. "That means he's on a case. So, he must be helping Damien with something. They arrived early this morning. But did you get a look at Damien? I've never seen him so disheveled."
"I didn't really notice." Robert hoped he sounded convincing.
Peter's stare heated his skin. Robert didn't blush, but he didn't like having anyone try to read him either. He'd learned the hard way not to give his
trust to another person. It always ended badly, even when it was a good friend.
"Well, I need to get back to work," Peter said as he slipped from the stool upon which he was sitting. "See you later."
Robert heard Peter's words, but he never looked up. He was trying to regain control of his mind and not let it run to places he did not want to visit.
"Hey, Peter. How's Sally doing today?"
Robert recognized Krystal Smith's voice as she greeted Peter on her way into the lounge. She was Peter's girlfriend's cousin. She came to work at the hotel shortly after it reopened. Much like Sally, she was an attractive woman with a strong personality and a great smile. Customers loved her.
"Hey, Krystal. She's doing a lot better. The morning sickness seems to be finally coming to an end." Peter laughed. "Now she complains about her clothes not fitting. But don't tell her I said that."
Krystal joined in the laughter and reassured Peter that things would get a lot worse before they got better. This was Sally's first baby. She and Peter were overjoyed. They were planning a summer wedding after the baby came in early May.
"Give her my love," Krystal added as she kissed Peter's cheek.
Peter left, and Krystal went to the small office behind the bar to put away her things. She came out tying her apron around her waist. Robert really enjoyed working with Krystal. She had quickly become a good friend who read his moods like a book. This time, however, he hoped she'd not pick up on how he was feeling today. She grabbed a rag and headed out to the tables. Lowering the chairs to the floor, she rubbed the table tops down as she went. Every once in a while, Robert saw her glance up and observe him.
She moved to the next table and the next. Eventually, she finished and walked to the bar, where she sat on a stool in front of where Robert was working.
"What gives?" she asked.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Robert said, hoping she'd let it drop, but knowing she wouldn't.
"Something is wrong, and don't tell me it's nothing. I can see it on your face."
She stepped down from the barstool and moved behind the bar, where she turned on the mini Keurig and waited for it to heat the water. She drew a pod out of the drawer under the coffee machine, popped it in, and hit the blue light to brew the coffee. Then she brought her cup with her and settled on the barstool again.
"Okay, I've got my go-juice, now talk."
She wasn't going to let go, and Robert didn't know how to put into words what he felt.
"Got anything to do with that hot-looking guy in Justin's office this morning?"
"How did... never mind. Sometimes I think you're a witch or something,"
Robert said. He fixed his own cup of coffee then joined her on the other side of the bar.
"Or something." Krystal laughed. "Give."
Robert sighed, saying, "The guy in Justin's office is Damien Fitzgerald."
"Wait—the guy you saved when the hotel was blown up?" Her eyebrows shot up, and she stared at Robert.
"Yes. He and I don't see eye to eye on most things. Not even when it came to saving his life." Robert sipped his coffee, smiling as he remembered Damien's reactions that night.
"He's hot." Her smile was knowing.
"He's not my type. Too pretty. Too smart. And too self-centered."
"I was wondering, what is your type? I mean, I haven't seen you with anyone since I've been working here." She stared at Robert over her coffee and added, "It's a simple question."
Robert wondered how she did that: hit right at the heart of something so easily.
"I don't have a type . I haven't met anyone who interests me in a while."
"So, what interests you?" she asked. "You're a great guy, Robert. You deserve to have someone special in your life."
Robert wasn't sure what to say to that. He wanted someone in his life, but he didn't want the kind of attention that men usually paid him. The fact that he took care of his body and liked tattoos didn't mean he wanted to rule over someone. He wanted give and take in a relationship. Most guys looked at him and assumed he would be into things in which he wasn’t the least bit interested.
"I don't know what kind of man is my type because I haven't met him yet,"
he answered honestly.
"Maybe you have, but you're letting stereotypes cloud your vision," Krystal offered. "You don't like it when someone makes a wrong assumption about you because you have muscles and tattoos and a gruff exterior. Aren't you doing the same when you say someone is too pretty or self-centered? Could be, they are protecting themselves too."
Robert had never thought of it like that. He was attracted to Damien—he had been from their first meeting—but Damien's mouth always got in the way. Could he be using sarcasm as a defense? Robert wasn't sure that was it. Mostly, he figured Damien Fitzgerald really was a self-centered son of a bitch. That thought made Robert smile.
After the evening rush, Robert grabbed his jacket, left Bill, the new barman, and Krystal in charge and headed out back to take a walk. Running into Damien today had dug up memories he didn't want to deal with. His past was his past, and he was planning on keeping it there. It shaped him, that was true, but it didn't define him. He'd learned from it and moved on. What he had discovered was, he couldn't do casual. His heart always got involved.
That was his biggest problem.
Men and women looked at his body and tattoos and wanted him physically.
He understood that. What he didn't understand was why some of them mistook h
is appearance for a person he was not. He wasn't domineering.
Sure, he was strong and had worked hard over the years to keep his body in good shape, but he didn't want to hurt anybody. Not now. Not ever. He wanted someone who would love all of him, not just his outward appearance.
His first real relationship happened years ago. Mike Watts was a handsome, well-dressed accountant by day and something else entirely by night. Robert had never met anyone like him. It was as if he led two different lives. Robert had tried so hard to please Mike, but he just couldn't do the things Mike had needed him to do.
It had hurt like hell when Mike left him because he'd refused to go to the BDSM clubs. Mike had mistakenly thought, because of Robert's size and appearance, he would be into the scene. He was beyond angry when he'd realized that Robert wouldn't play those games. Mike had ended their relationship by slugging him before he walked out the door. It was months later that Robert saw Mike with a collar, and a new man holding the leash.
He really hadn't dated since.
For a time, he'd thought that something might work out between him and Justin. They had been friends for years. Justin hid his sexuality, kept it a secret, though Robert had often speculated about it. When Justin finally came out, Robert had wondered if he would stand a chance with him. He should have known better. Justin was in love with Marcus Drummond, even if Justin couldn't admit it to himself. When Marcus returned, and it became clear that Justin was still in love with him, Robert decided it was better to stay friends. Love had worked out well for Justin and Marcus. They were building a strong relationship based on love and respect. He envied them.
Robert was drawn to the beach, like most of the people who lived and worked in Beaufort. It was a part of their souls. He knew Justin and Marcus ran on the beach nearly every day. It was great exercise, but he spent enough time at the gym that jogging on the beach wasn't necessary for him.
What he did enjoy was finding some place quiet to sit and view the stars when they were out. Tonight, the sky was clear and the stars were sparkling like diamonds. It was magical. So many stars it made his head spin.
A movement in the shadows caused him to jump. Damien stepped out onto the sand.
