Survivor Trilogy Box Set

by T. M. Smith

  Graduating at the top of his class at Quantico and being one of the youngest and brightest field agents, according to his boss at the Bureau, were accomplishments he was proud of. Hell, it was all he’d ever wanted when he was growing up. One of the first things he’d learned on the job was to never get involved personally with a suspect, witness, or case. Yet all it took was one kiss from Frank Moore to make Rory forget who he was, why he was there. No one had ever made him feel the way Frank did when they were together, and that wasn’t just in bed. But this was his career he was messing with. So when Frank starting dropping hints about them becoming more than just casual fuck buddies, Rory had to bury those feelings and put some distance between them. Did he want more? Yes, he did. But he wasn’t about to throw away his career; he’d worked too fucking hard to get where he was.

  One day very soon, he hoped, they’d solve the case and apprehend the murderer. Then Rory could be honest with Frank and he hoped—no, prayed—that Frank would forgive him, and they could take their relationship to the next level. But until then, Rory would have to continue to play the part of Trevor when he wanted Frank to see him, all while doing his job in the background just out of Frank’s sight.

  Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, woken up far too early by the beeping of his alarm clock. An hour later, Rory had showered and was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee thick enough to clean rust off a car bumper, when his roommate and assigned partner finally stumbled out of bed. Blair Cummings might be the same age as Rory, twenty-nine, but he didn’t look a day over twenty-one, which was why he’d been assigned to Taylor Langford. Rory did not envy Blair or his part in the investigation, not for one second. While Rory got to traipse all over the globe disguised as a flight attendant, Blair went back to high school and then college, playing the part of one of Taylor’s closest friends, Kian Douglas.

  “Jesus, is this coffee or sludge, Landers?” Blair’s nose curled in disgust. He jerked the fridge open and grabbed the almond milk creamer. He poured a healthy amount into his cup, taking another sip and sighing. “Ah, better. So, what’s on your agenda for today?” Blair came around and took the chair across from Rory at the table.

  “We have a briefing at the office in Dallas after lunch with the director and Gonzales, and then I’m flying out to Quantico for a couple of weeks by way of New Orleans.” He waggled his eyebrows. Cummings was well aware of the slight detour Rory had taken while shadowing Officer Moore. Every year before heading to Martha’s Vineyard with his father, the Stones, and Taylor, Frank would spend a day or two in New Orleans with Trevor.

  Blair whistled low, shaking his head. “You naughty, naughty boy.”

  “Whatever.” Rory snorted. “I have to spend three weeks catching up on paperwork and trying to close a few short cases while you get to go off to the Vineyard and soak up the sun.”

  Rory knew it was the luck of the draw that he and Agent Gonzales, who worked her assignment as the Stones’ housekeeper, flew back to Virginia every year to work at the FBI headquarters, and Blair got to vacation on the beach.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault I was blessed with good genes,” Blair shot back, standing and heading toward the bathroom. “I’ll be ready in fifteen,” he called out as he disappeared down the hallway.

  ***

  Traffic in Dallas was a nightmare. Some asshat had come off the ramp and shot across three lanes on the Dallas Tollway, and Blair had to slam on the brakes right as Rory was taking a drink from his travel mug. The rich, dark liquid, now seeping through the white button-up shirt he wore, was scalding his chest. “Motherfucker!” he shouted, glaring at Blair when he started laughing.

  Rory’s day didn’t get any better from there. He and Gonzales were each handed a file on an open investigation into a missing persons case in Tacoma, Washington that was possibly linked to an unsolved murder in Portland, Oregon. “You’ll still be on the NOLA flight, Agent Landers, but instead of spending two days in Louisiana, you’ll be flying out to Washington first thing tomorrow with Agent Gonzales. I can’t stress the importance of this case enough. We need to solve this one—and quickly. Am I clear, Agents?” The director eyed him and Connie over the wire rim of his glasses. The boss was in Dallas to attend the retirement ceremony for an agent that lived locally.

  Joseph Stalling took his job as director of one of the most prestigious agencies in the country very seriously. Rory had only ever seen the man smile a handful of times; he often wondered if his boss had any family to speak of as there were no pictures in Stalling’s office back at Quantico. Hell, even the crankiest agents’ desks were adorned with images of beloved pets—if nothing else.

  “Of course, sir.” Gonzales stood and tucked the file under her arm. Rory nodded, standing and following her out into the hall. The heels of her shoes clicked on the linoleum, the noise echoing down the length of the long corridor they traveled to the small office they shared with Agent Cummings.

  Consuela Gonzales, Connie for short and if you valued your life, was a statuesque woman with dark skin, high cheekbones, and long, black, wavy hair. She was intense and stunning, a tall stick of dynamite, both skilled and determined. She reminded Rory of the actress that played Letty in the Fast and the Furious movies—full of piss and vinegar when challenged but fiercely loyal to those that earned her trust.

  Her fingers were on the keyboard before her ass was completely in the chair. “Fantastic!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “Okay, so the body of Mitchell Helms was found in a wooded area of Macleay Park in Portland, Oregon in 2007. He’d been reported missing by his parents in 2005 when he was…Jesus, Rory. He was just sixteen when he went missing. What the fuck is this world coming to?” Gonzales frowned, taking her frustration out on the keyboard in front of her.

  Flipping through his copy of the file for the information on the missing person, Rory prayed that the poor kid was still alive, that his body wasn’t out there somewhere waiting for them to find him. Reading through the pages, he discovered why the director was so keen on them quickly solving the case. “Fucking hell, did you see this?” he asked Gonzales, holding the file up and pointing to the picture of a young man with blond hair, blue eyes, and a very familiar last name.

  “Son of a bitch.” Connie jerked her file open, flipping to the same page. “Howard Manning Tullor Junior. His grandfather is Judge Tullor?”

  Rory nodded.

  Judge Howard Tullor presided over the great state of Washington, ruling with an iron fist and a constitution rooted in hatred. He was old and distinguished, but he was also racist and a bigot. “So, we have to assume that his disappearance could lead back to a case his grandfather heard.” Rory fired up his computer and entered the file number into the FBI database, so he could see all the information on the case.

  “I agree, but we need to consider every angle here, Landers. Don’t let your hatred for this fucker cloud your judgment,” Connie warned him. He nodded his agreement. Scrolling through the file on his computer, Rory couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between the young man whose body was found in the park and Judge Dickhead’s grandson. Young, blond hair and blue eyes, very pretty and effeminate…the fact that Junior was missing could have absolutely nothing to do with who he was related to and have more to do with the fact that he fit a certain profile.

  “Besides, wouldn’t it be just priceless if an openly gay agent with the FBI found and brought home the grandson of the judge that voted against equal rights for the LGBTQ community?” Her maniacal grin should have frightened him but he was on her side, so he was safe. Judge Dickhead? Not so much. The unsub that had killed at least one young man and likely taken another was up shit creek without a paddle as well. Special Agent Connie Gonzales was on the case now, and she didn’t take names or prisoners. She kicked ass with impunity.

  “Goddamn, if I weren’t gay, I’d fucking marry you, woman.”

  Gonzales snorted. “As if.”

  Chapter Two

  Rand 2012

>   “That’s the last one.” Claire set the box in the corner by the bookshelf, collapsing onto the couch beside Rand.

  Wrapping an arm around her, he kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Sis. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Let’s never find out, okay?” Claire elbowed him playfully. Her logic was sound, and he agreed wholeheartedly.

  He hooked the handle of the cooler with his foot, dragging it closer to the couch. Lifting the lid, he grabbed a couple of beers, twisting the caps off and handing a bottle to Claire, then taking a healthy swig from the other before leaning back and sighing. The apartment he’d rented in Cedar Hill was small and quaint, nothing compared to the one he and Grant had shared for the past several years. But Rand didn’t see any sense in paying an exorbitant amount for rent on a place he’d probably only sleep and watch football games in. It was hell starting over though, and he was thankful to have his sister there with him, bearing part of the burden.

  “I hate the fucker. Always have—that’s no secret. But I know you loved him, Rand, and I’m sorry for what he’s done to you. But…” Claire paused, taking a pull from the bottle in her hand. She turned to him and said, “I’ll help you dispose of the body if you wanna take him out.”

  Rand cracked up. He laughed so hard he was crying and his ribs hurt, and it hit him—that was her intention. “God, I love ya, Sis.”

  “Seriously, big brother, you’re some hot-shit former Military Intelligence Officer. You have to have connections that can assist with burying the body somewhere it would never be found.” Claire waggled her eyebrows, taking a long drink from her bottle before belching loudly.

  “How, and I ask you this with all seriousness, are you still single?” He ducked when she swung at him, chuckling.

  It had been just the two of them for so long, their parents having died in a car crash when Rand was sixteen and Claire fourteen. Hell, she was the reason he joined the Navy to begin with, so he could afford to give her the best of everything. They spent three years with a distant cousin in Texas—two together and Claire for another year while Rand went through boot camp in Chicago. As soon as he was at a place where he could apply for housing, he did and promptly moved Claire to Chicago with him. Everywhere he was stationed, they went together—all over the world; they even spent several years in France and a few in Italy. Claire could speak both languages, fluently, and a stranger would be none the wiser that she wasn’t born in either country.

  Eventually, they wound up back where they started when Rand was assigned to Whidbey Island Naval base in Oak Harbor, Washington. Little more than a decade after their parents’ deaths, they visited their graves for only the second time. When Rand retired from the military, he asked Claire where she wanted to live—he couldn’t really care less just as long as they were together and putting down roots. So they moved back to Texas, the place Claire called their second home, having spent the last of her formative years on the ranch in Austin with their cousin.

  “Hey, why don’t you stay the night?” he asked. “I can make up the sofa bed, and we can order takeout. It’ll be like old times.”

  She sidestepped his question with another. “So, Senior Detective Davis, when do you go back to work?”

  Ah yes, the silver lining in his otherwise shitty circumstance. Rand had been so excited the day he was officially promoted that he’d taken off early and rushed home to tell Grant, only to have his heart broken when his suspicions that Grant was cheating were confirmed. It was a blow that still stung, a cut that hit to the bone when the man Rand thought he’d spend the rest of his life with betrayed him. He’d spent the better part of a month working from sunup until sundown, closing out several open cases, then passing out on Claire’s couch every night.

  Claire snapped her fingers in his face. “Earth to Rand. Have you heard a goddamn word I’ve said?”

  “No.”

  “Listen—”

  “Nope.” He cut her off again, setting his empty bottle on the coffee table and grabbing a fresh one from the cooler.

  “What am I going to do with you?” She sounded exasperated.

  Rand scooted down, laying his head on her shoulder, sticking his bottom lip out, and batting his eyelashes. “Pwease Claire, say you’ll stay wif me.”

  His sister chuckled, shoving him off. “Fine. I’ll stay, but only if you cut that shit out.” She stood and headed into the kitchen. “Where did you put the menu for that Thai place on the corner? If we’re ordering takeout—that you’re paying for, by the way—I want the good stuff.”

  While they waited for dinner to arrive, Rand hooked up the TV and DVD player, and Claire dug out sheets and made up the couch. He rummaged through the box of movies until he found My Big Fat Greek Wedding, one of their favorite movies, and they curled up with crispy spring rolls, pad thai with shrimp, and steamed dumplings, eating until they were stuffed. It was just what he needed: a night spent with someone he loved where he could shut everything else out. They laughed, fed each other dumplings, and polished off the rest of the twelve-pack in the cooler before passing out on the sofa bed.

  Rand woke a few hours later, bladder screaming for release, and turned the TV off on his way back from the bathroom. “Whas wrong?” Claire asked, groggy from sleep, as he climbed back under the blanket.

  “Nothing, had to take a piss is all. Go back to sleep.” He kissed her forehead, loving the sleepy smile he was awarded.

  “Love you, big brother.” She yawned, rolling over.

  “Love you too, little sister.” He lay there, watching her chest rise and fall, his mind racing as it often did, keeping him awake.

  “Jesus, I can hear your mind cranking, and it’s giving me a migraine. Shut it off, Rand, and get some sleep.” He chuckled. No one knew him as well as Claire, and he doubted anyone ever would. If he could just find that guy, one that could read him, one that could stand up to him, one he could trust implicitly, life would be golden.

  Rand had once thought he’d found that person in Grant. Boy, was he wrong. Regardless of the outcome, there were fond memories of their years together that Rand didn’t want to forget. When Grant made partner at the architectural firm he worked for, he took Rand and Claire on a three-week jaunt through Europe. They stayed in quaint little hotels in Paris and Switzerland, dining in back-alley restaurants that served the best food—as well as hiking, visiting castles, and touring some stellar wineries. The highlight of that trip had been the five days they spent in a small medieval town and commune in the Aude department in the Occitanie region of southern France, Caunes-Minervois.

  There were blatant and obvious signs that Rand had ignored over the past few years though, little things here and there that had shown the fabric of their relationship was unraveling. With them both having demanding jobs, Rand was able to brush off late nights that became all-nighters and quick overnight trips to bid on projects that became weekend stays.

  Then there was the afternoon he stopped to pick up dinner for them at one of Grant’s favorite Italian places. Rand took a picture of the restaurant sign and texted the image to Grant with the caption, Dinner for two headed your way, open a bottle of bubbly and light some candles, babe! The detective in him recognized a rent boy when he saw one, and Rand would put money on the guy that shot past him as he headed into their apartment building being on the job. He grinned, shaking his head and climbing the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Grant showering in the afternoon when he normally did in the morning, two bottles of water half-full, condoms and lube already on the bedside table—Rand dismissed all these things at the time. Looking back with fresh eyes that had cried genuine tears after their breakup, he realized the young man that brushed his arm in a rush to exit the building had been in his apartment, being fucked by the man Rand loved, in his goddamn bed. And just to be a dick, when he moved out, Rand took the bed. He then drove out to a solitary campground he and Claire had visited several times over the years. He poured gasoline over the mattress and box sp
ring and set them on fire, watching the flames rise then fall, dissipating before flickering out, much like his love for Grant.

  Claire rolled over, curling up beside him. He pulled her close, kissing the top of her head, her five-foot frame easily fitting under his arm. It was just the two of them again—as it had been for more than half their lives. “Someday, Sis, we’ll find the right ones,” he promised before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Shannon 2013

  “Oh come on, Pretty Boy. Just one more dance, please?” Shannon begged.

  Rolling his eyes at the nickname, Taylor finally caved. “Fine, but ten minutes from now I’m walking out that door, with or without you.”

  Shannon wormed his way through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor, pulling Taylor along behind him. They’d met the year before on Grindr. Hooked up and had hands-down the single most satisfying sexual experience of Shannon’s life. Alas, they were destined to be best friends, not lovers. Taylor was crushing hard on an older man in his life, Frank Moore, a cop with the Dallas Police department. Shannon would sometimes tease him and tell Taylor that he’d ruined him for all other men. And while it truly was meant to tease, sadly, it was also the truth.

  After escaping the hell he’d lived in for three years with Bruce, Shannon had locked himself away when he first arrived in Austin, fearing that his abusive…what—ex-lover? No, that wasn’t right; there was no love there whatsoever. Bruce treated him like an object or an abject thing and not a person. Still, he’d lived those first few months in Texas with a cloud over his head, jumping at every noise, terrified that Tuan would pop up around every corner and drag him back to the condo in Washington.

  Surrounded by sweaty, gyrating bodies on the dance floor, people touching, groping, and bumping into one another no longer sent Shannon running for the door. Three years of freedom had lightened his mood. “Okay, time’s up, Tinkerbell. Let’s jet!” Taylor shouted in order to be heard over the disco music and loud bass thumping in the speakers beside them that were almost as tall as Taylor.