Survivor Trilogy Box Set

by T. M. Smith

  “Hey, I’m just fucking with you.” Frank grinned maniacally, having far too much fun at Rand’s expense.

  “Back in the day, Billy and I used to fool around.” Taylor told him between bites of food.

  Rand snorted. “When was that, in kindergarten?”

  Frank and Taylor both laughed. “Good one.” Frank clapped him on the back.

  When they were done eating, Rand helped clear the plates and put them into hot, soapy water. Standing at the sink looking out at the water, Rand cursed both Frank and Taylor when he caught Billy watching him from his porch. He winked and waved, and Rand knew it was time to get the hell out of dodge.

  Chapter Nine

  Shannon Fall 2016

  Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” blared through the speakers of Shannon’s red Honda. It was a breezy day in Dallas, allowing him to drive down the Tollway with the windows open, the wind mussing up his hair. He sang along with the song, wiggling in his seat, dancing to the beat. The volume was high enough that when the song faded, replaced by Siri alerting him to a call from Rory, he shrieked. “Fucking A.” He pressed the Talk button on his navigation screen. “Hey, babe, what’s up?”

  “I’m stuck here at the office a little while longer. Do you want to meet me here or head to the restaurant and wait for me at the bar?” Rory sounded exhausted.

  “Sweetie, you sound plumb tuckered out. How ’bout I come there, and when you’re done I’ll drive us back to my place, and we’ll grab some takeout on the way.” Shannon offered a solution.

  “But…” Rory stammered.

  “No buts.” Shannon cut him off. “That trendy new hot spot on lower Greenville will still be there next week. You need some rest, babe.”

  He could hear the smile in Rory’s voice when he answered. “Okay, I’ll see you soon then.”

  Pushing the button to disconnect the call, he picked right up where the song left off, getting off the Tollway to take the back roads to Rory’s office. Their relationship had progressed easily, naturally. Nine months in and Shannon continued to be surprised by his boyfriend’s patience. Shannon had started worrying about him recently, though. He’d been clocking his hours with the Bureau on the case in Washington while working on the Langford case behind the scenes with the detective Shannon had met at the beach over the summer. After Taylor’s father tried to kill him and ended up back in prison, this time on death row for two counts of capital murder, Shannon assumed the case would be closed. Officially, it was. Unofficially, Rory and the detective were convinced that something was amiss, that there was a larger web of deceit they needed to pick through to get to the truth.

  Speaking of the truth, he still hadn’t been open or honest with Rory about his connections to Washington. Of course he eventually had to tell Rory where he was from, and it wasn’t as hard to talk about as he’d initially feared. It had been challenging early on to separate the sexual aspect of his new romance with Rory and the memories of the one he had with Bruce. One night stood out in his mind—a turning point for him. They’d been dating for three or four months, and Shannon had recently gifted Rory with a key to his apartment; he trusted him implicitly. His lover arrived that night while Shannon was pulling dinner from the oven, and they’d had the hottest sex Shannon could ever remember having. Rory couldn’t know the trembling and shudders racking his limbs were fear brought on by memories of similar touches when he was with Bruce.

  His domineering ex had liked to make Shannon stand naked facing the wall, walking past him and kicking Shannon’s legs apart, beating him if he lost his balance. Bruce had also enjoyed making Shannon feel inferior and helpless, grabbing his hair and jerking his head back so hard that his head throbbed for days. But with Rory, it was different, in every way. When he wanted Shannon to open his legs, he lifted one leg with his foot, sliding his legs apart. And the way he grabbed his head for that kiss, grip firm but gentle, tugging his head back and kissing him like he needed Shannon’s taste to breathe…fuck. He was getting hard just thinking about it. Shannon had made it a point to look Rory in the eyes that night, to watch the emotions dancing behind his black eyes lined with green so that he was able to see what true want, need, and lust looked like. There was a world of difference between blown pupils and pure evil.

  Arriving at police headquarters, Shannon drove through the lot until he found Rory’s car and parked beside it. The guard at the door nodded, watching him go through the metal detectors then waving him toward the elevators. The doors were closing when someone shouted, “Hold the elevator please,” a foot stopping them from closing. When the doors slid open, Shannon was greeted with a familiar face, Rand Davis. He held a tray with four venti cups from Starbucks and Shannon wondered who the other three were for. “Well, hello, Shannon Dupree. Good to see you again.”

  “You too, Detective.”

  “Oh no, call me Rand.” He precariously balanced the tray in one hand, holding the other out to Shannon.

  “Of course, Rand,” he said, smiling. “Who are all of those for?”

  Detect—Rand held the tray up, obviously looking for a specific cup. “Myself, Gonzales, and your beau and…ah, here we go,” He pulled one of the cups from the tray, handing it to Shannon. “Rory said you’d want a venti flat white with two pumps almond and two pumps caramel.”

  Giggling, he took the offered cup, taking a sip and sighing. “Ah yes, he knows me so well. Thanks, Rand.”

  The man nodded, his eyes holding Shannon’s gaze until it became awkward, and he glanced away. A quick peek and, yep, Rand was still looking at him. It was almost unnerving, but then, there was no malice there—more like curiosity. But how could that be? Fuck. This was the slowest elevator ride in history. Shannon took another sip of coffee, “Mmmmmm, good.”

  What the hell, Dupree? his inner diva asked, the squinty-eyed bitch. He would not look at him again, nope, not…dammit! He couldn’t help it. The man was so…so…fascinating. Tall, brooding, and devilishly handsome, the complete opposite of his Rory who was lithe, jovial, and alluring.…His Rory. Fucking hell, what am I doing, side-eyeing this guy in the elevator on the way to see my boyfriend? Classy, Dupree, real classy. Looking is okay though, right? Yes, I can look but never touch.

  From the first day he’d met Detective Rand Davis at the Vineyard, he’d been curious and somewhat fascinated. Slightly taller than Shannon with a toned physique, muscles that rippled when Rand took his shirt off to play volleyball on the beach, the man belonged on the cover of a magazine. Not Vogue or High Fashion Magazine—no, more like Men’s Health or some other fitness spread. He and Rory were in a committed relationship, but Shannon would have to be dead not to notice the gorgeous man. When they returned home after that trip to Martha’s Vineyard, Rand Davis became a permanent fixture at dinners and gatherings, his charm and witty banter only making him that much more appealing. Look, but don’t touch. Appreciation is fine…acting on that emotion, not so much. Shannon had said those words to himself more times than he could count the last few months. If only the threesomes he read about in his naughty gay romance books were real, something he could grasp instead of fictional characters on a page.

  The elevator stopped, doors slowly sliding open. Oh, thank fuck! Lightheaded, Shannon all but sprinted down the hall to the office Rory shared with Gonzales and Cummings, knowing Rand was going to the same damn place. He could hear Rory and Connie talking, their voices growing louder, words clearer the closer he got to the office.

  “We have got to catch this guy, Connie. This is all starting to remind me of the Green River Killer, except with men.” Shannon’s steps faltered. Was this the Washington case Rory was talking about or the Langford murders?

  “You going in?” Rand whispered, breath rushing past Shannon’s ear, and he damn near shit his pants, unable to stop his limbs from tensing up. “Hey, easy, I was kidding. You okay, Shannon?”

  “Yeah, I…” He turned to look at the man behind him, his larger frame so close to Shannon that he could feel the heat radiati
ng off Rand’s body in waves. When Rand’s amber gaze lowered, he licked his lips, sucking in a breath as he watched Rand’s pupils dilate. The want and need couldn’t be denied, not when he was standing close enough to Rand to hear the sharp intake of breath, to see his nostrils flare.

  Shannon blinked, snapping out of the haze his mind was in. “Ye…yeah, I’m good.” He finally answered Rand’s question before taking the last few steps into the brightly lit room, smiling when he saw Rory. His hair was a mess, eyes puffy with dark circles, showing how little sleep Rory had probably gotten over the past few days since they’d last seen each other. Shannon tucked all that away for later, instead walking straight over to him and kissing him, letting Rory pull him down into his lap. “Missed you.”

  “Me too, babe. These cases are kicking my ass. If we don’t solve one of them soon, I may go mad.” Rory’s words were said in jest and with a smile, but Shannon could hear the sharp edge to them. Gonzales would likely note the barely audible nuance in his tone as well, but would Rand?

  “You want some cheese with that whine, Landers?” Well, that answered that question. Rory took the coffee from the detective, glaring up at him.

  “Good one.” Connie took her cup, bumping Rand’s fist with hers.

  Rory pouted, sticking his bottom lip out for emphasis. “Do you see the copious amounts of verbal abuse they heap on me, baby?” Shannon laughed, shaking his head as he leaned in for another quick kiss before standing.

  Of course his stomach chose that moment to protest the lack of food—Shannon hadn’t eaten since lunch. “Well, on that note, you guys about done? I want to get him home, feed him, and put him to bed. You look like you’re dead on your feet, hun.” He could feel eyes on him and knew without looking that it was Rand.

  Rory rummaged through a stack of papers on his desk. “Can you give me ten minutes, Shan? I should be ready to head out by then.”

  Agreeing, Shannon stood and walked the perimeter of the room, looking at the certificates on the wall that documented the achievements within the Bureau of the three agents that occupied the small office. Knowing that Rory was good at his job made Shannon feel safe and secure. Turning, he ran a finger over the desk in the corner, taking a seat in the chair. He’d have known it was Blair’s desk even if there wasn’t a picture of the agent with Taylor and Bradley in hiking gear sitting there in a simple, wooden frame. The desk was immaculate, and Blair was the only one of the bunch with OCD when it came to his space. There was a stack of files, and one of them caught Shannon’s eye. The corner of a photo was sticking out of the file and he could see a blond head of hair. Curious, he opened the file. A teenage boy, roughly fifteen, Shannon thought. White-blond hair, blue eyes…damn. He and the teenager could be related—the resemblance was uncanny. Picking up the image, there was another photo, another teenage boy with blond hair and blue eyes. His features were more angular than Shannon’s, but there was a resemblance nonetheless. His heart started racing—there were dozens of photos, all young men that looked to be no more than nineteen, all with the same hair and eye color, similar facial features, similar to him. “Oh, God.”

  “Shannon, you okay?” Rand’s voice sounded distant, hollow, but Shannon couldn’t form the words to answer. All his attention was centered on the piece of paper in his hand, the words Columbia River—Washington—bodies—missing persons—teenage boys—blond hair—blue eyes—drowning victim? standing out like a fucking neon sign blinking, Danger Will Robinson, Danger!

  Words scribbled on a sheet of yellow legal paper. The victims, all male between the ages of thirteen and nineteen, all from Washington and Oregon, all with blond hair and blue eyes. Most victims have scarring or broken bones, fractures, some healed, some new. Obvious abuse…

  Heart pounding in his chest, ears ringing, he tried to pick up the file, tried to stand, but his limbs were numb. “Rory, what…what, is this?” Pushing back from the desk, he finally got his feet under him and stood on shaking legs, the room spinning, making him dizzy. Strong, muscled arms reached for him and Shannon jerked away, memories of Bruce drowning him, threatening to pull him under the strong currents of the past. Biting back the fear and anxiety, he tried to focus on the person pawing at him when he felt the familiar warmth of Rory’s arms wrap around him, pulling him close. For a moment, he couldn’t tell whose heart was beating faster, his or Rory’s.

  “Hey, I’m here, babe. I’ve got you.” Rory soothed him with words of comfort, lips pressed softly to his cheek.

  Blinking, he felt the tears drip from his eyelashes, streaming down his face. “I…” His throat was dry and scratchy, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. “…I wanna go home, Rory. Please, let’s go home.” Shannon saw the fear he was damn near paralyzed with mirrored in his lover’s eyes and wanted so very badly to comfort Rory, but he couldn’t. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other as they left the office, headed for the elevator, with Rand and Gonzales right behind them.

  Words were exchanged between the agents and the detective as they rallied around Shannon, shielding him from the outside world. In that moment, the fact that no one would get past the three people escorting him out to Rory’s car penetrated the fog of trepidation surrounding him, and Shannon was able to breathe once again. Someone asked where they were going, another mentioned grabbing food, and Rory kept up with the conversation while gently guiding him into the passenger seat of his car, slipping the seat belt into place, and kissing Shannon on the temple before closing the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Rory

  Standing at the foot of the bed, Rory watched Shannon intently while waiting for Gonzales and Rand to arrive at the apartment. Even in sleep his muscles twitched, his long lashes still damp from the tears. He’d drifted off on the ride home, thankfully, and barely opened his eyes as Rory guided him up the stairs and straight to the bed. Sighing, Rory wracked his brain, pulling up every detail of the afternoon, zooming through every image of Shannon’s time in his office. It was the file on the Washington case that had his lover reacting like a soldier with PTSD that had just seen images of whatever war-torn country they’d fought in, bringing visions of the past forward so vividly that the person couldn’t differentiate between memories and reality. But why that case? He knew Shannon was from Washington. Could he have known one of the young men that had gone missing or turned up dead?

  A ding from his pocket snapped Rory out of his trance, and he pulled out his phone. It was a text from Gonzales telling him that she and Rand were on their way up. Walking around to the side of the bed, he tucked the blanket under Shannon’s arms, wiping a strand of hair off his forehead. “Sleep, my love.” Flipping the lamp off on his way out, Rory quietly closed the door and crossed the large open space to the area Shannon had set up as a living room.

  The apartment above the dance studio Shannon owned was laid out similar to a flat, with exposed brick walls, high ceilings, and hardwood floors. Only two rooms were closed off—the bedroom and the bathroom; everything else was pretty much wide-open space. There were two false walls that anchored the living room area and partially separated it from the kitchen, the door to the stairs conveniently between the two rooms. Rory turned the lock and opened the door just as Gonzales came up the steps carrying a box that was likely full of cartons from their favorite Thai restaurant on the corner. Rand was right behind her with a six-pack of craft beer in each hand, concerned expressions on both their faces.

  “Shan’s sleeping, so keep your voices down.” He waved them into the apartment, closing and locking the door. “I say we talk while we eat and he’s still resting.” They followed him into the kitchen.

  “Is he okay?” Rand asked.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Rory sighed, grabbing plates and silverware, setting them on the table. “You guys okay drinking the beer from the bottle? Shan has some glass mugs in the freezer if you’d rather.”

  Gonzales snorted, picking up a bottle from the cardboard container, twisting the cap an
d flicking it at the trash can in the corner before downing half the bottle in one swig. “Classy, Connie, real classy.” He tried to joke, but his heart wasn’t in it. His heart was in the bedroom on the other end of the apartment, sleeping. Rory froze, his own beer mere inches from his lips. The realization that he’d fallen in love with Shannon hit him like a ton of bricks. For one fleeting moment, he considered how Rand would react when he learned that Rory was in love with Shannon. And fuck it all, he was too exhausted to dissect that train of thought.

  “Earth to Rory.” Connie snapped her fingers, waving her hand in front of his face. “What’s going on in that mind of yours, partner?”

  “Just thinking about earlier,” he lied.

  “Yeah, that was some surreal shit. There was this look of sheer terror in his eyes, and, well, honestly…” Rand took a second to swallow the mouthful of pad thai he’d been talking around. “…it reminded me of some of the soldiers I worked with when they were stuck in a flashback.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking—PTSD,” Rory agreed, trying hard not to stare at the detective’s lips when he licked a dollop of sauce from the corner of his mouth.

  Rifling through her messenger bag, Connie pulled out the files on the Columbia River Killer, setting them on the table. “Something in here spooked him. This is the image I pried out of his hand before we left the office.” She set the photo of one of the young men listed as a missing person on top of the file. He studied the picture for a long moment, expecting Rand to put his two cents in. When he looked over, Rand wasn’t even paying attention. Turned sideways in his chair, strumming his fingers on the table absentmindedly, Rand Davis was staring at the closed bedroom door.

  Rory cleared his throat and Rand jumped, head jerking around. “Something I can help you with, Detective?”