by T. M. Smith
“BB, what’s all this? Are they all—oh God, Rand, what the hell is this case about?” Claire asked as she reached for his arm, pulling him closer.
“There’s something missing from your board.” Shannon pulled the image of him and Taylor out of the pocket inside his coat, walking over and placing it on the board above the year 2010.
“Why 2010?” Rand and Connie asked in unison.
Shannon sounded like a wounded animal when he spoke, Rand nearly forgetting the question he asked. “Because that’s when I got away.”
Chapter Thirteen
Shannon
The drive back to the apartment was a daze. Shannon sat in the passenger’s seat, staring out the window, feeling lost and overwhelmed. There was some ridiculous, pitiful part of him that screamed, It’s not Bruce. He’s not that cruel. Jesus Christ, he was so fucked up. He knew firsthand exactly how vindictive and violent Bruce Pearson was. Why was his brain having such a hard time believing the man capable of murder? His phone vibrated in the cup holder, but he couldn’t find the energy to lift his arm and pick it up. Thankfully, Rory answered it. Shannon had no idea who it was or what was said; his mind was frazzled, and his head hurt. The next thing he knew, he was in the bath, no memory of arriving home, getting out of the car or walking upstairs, much less getting naked and climbing into the tub.
“Here, babe. Drink this.” Rory kneeled beside the tub, a mug with steam rolling off it in his hand.
“What is it?”
“Just some herbal tea with a little honey.” He took it, taking a sip, not realizing how cold he was until the hot liquid ran down his throat.
Rory smiled, rubbing his cheek before leaning over and kissing him on the temple. “I don’t think I’ve told you today that I love you.”
Shannon chuckled and shook his head. Covering Rory’s hand with his, he squeezed. “Thank you. For the tea, for staying with me last night and this morning, for putting up with my mood that’s slowly leaning toward insanity, but mostly, thank you for believing in me.” Sitting up so he could kiss Rory, the cold air on his damp back made him shiver, but he ignored it and deepened the kiss.
A loud banging made him jump and damn near drop his mug into the tub of water. “That’ll be Taylor and Frank.” Rory stood. “I put some clothes on the counter by the sink for you. Finish your bath and come out when you’re ready.”
Even with the door closed, he could hear Taylor. “Where is he? Shannon!” Murmurs, words he couldn’t make out. “I will not calm down. Fuck you, Landers—get out of my way!” Shannon laughed, climbing out of the tub and getting dressed quickly before his best friend went through Rory to get to him. Or worse, broke down his bathroom door.
The hardwood floor was cold on his bare feet, so he slipped into the bedroom for a pair of socks, padding out into the living room, where he was immediately grabbed and fussed over by Taylor and Frank. “Are you okay? Let me look at you.” Taylor’s eyes roamed from head to toe, turning Shannon to one side then the other, inspecting. It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so goddamn endearing. “When I called earlier, Rory answered your phone and told me what happened last night and this morning, and I was so worried, Shan.” His friend pulled him in for a hug, his head tucked up under Taylor’s chin. Wrapping his arms around Taylor’s waist, Shannon lost it, again. He was so overwhelmed and confused. Learning that he was loved by a man that respected him while simultaneously learning that his ex was quite possibly a murderer with at least four bodies under his belt before he and Shannon got together would drive a sane man to the brink. As they’d already established, he was dangerously close to the edge. Not to mention, his growing infatuation with Rand Davis. But he couldn’t talk about that right now, not with Rory beside him.
“Oh God, Taylor, I don’t know what to do, what to say. I don’t know how I should even feel about this and I’m losing time. Fuck, I really just want to crawl out of my own goddamn skin!” he shouted, unable to keep it bottled up inside any longer.
Rory reached for him but Taylor held on, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking him right in the eyes. “You’re not alone in this, Shannon. Not anymore, never again. But you go ahead and do whatever you need to do, scream, cry, shout—the three of us will still be right here beside you when you’re done.”
“Dammit!” he cursed. “Why am I still letting him do this to me? Why can’t I forget and stop feeling worthless for letting him hurt me the way he did over and over and over? I’m still letting him hurt me, Taylor. He’s not even here and it still fucking hurts.”
“Because he convinced you that it was your fault, that somehow you made him do it and you deserved to be punished. He engrained that in your psyche day after day with punishment and pain, only rewarding you with his twisted version of love and kindness when you obeyed.” Rory sighed, plopping down into one of the kitchen chairs.
Sniffling, Shannon turned to his boyfriend, bewildered. “Rory, I don’t…I don’t understand. How can you know exactly what’s in my head when I didn’t?”
“Because I profiled you, Shannon. It’s my job, and it’s something I promised myself I would never do to you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” Shannon walked over and kneeled in front of him, placing a finger over Rory’s lips. There was so much sadness in his eyes and it cut deep, to think he was the cause of that. He could hear Frank and Taylor whispering, Frank saying they’d be in the living room, their footsteps retreating.
Rory ducked his head, looking away. “Hey, look at me, Rory. It’s okay. I’m not upset, and I don’t really care what you just did, because you’re right. I’ve never been able to put my feelings into words before, but you just did.” Leaning forward until their lips met, Shannon grabbed a handful of the shirt Rory was wearing and he fell, the two of them landing in a heap on the floor, both of them laughing, exchanging another kiss. “I do so love you, Agent Landers.”
“You do now, do you?” Rory waggled his eyebrows.
“Yeah, we’re still here, jackass!” Frank shouted from the other side of the large space.
“I really do. Now, get up. We have company.” Shannon stood, pulling Rory up with him, swatting his boyfriend on the arm when Rory smacked him on the ass.
Taylor and Frank stayed until midnight, the four of them passing time playing cards, ordering pizza, and watching slasher flicks until they all passed out in front of the TV, bellies full. When they climbed into bed at one in the morning, he sighed happily as Rory curled up behind him, pulling him close. Within minutes he was softly snoring, but it took Shannon awhile longer to fall asleep. Lying there with the man he loved wrapped around him, skin tingling from the connection, he felt safe in Rory’s arms. For the first time in his life, Shannon was completely at ease.
Chapter Fourteen
Rory
The week went by in a blur as they stacked more and more circumstantial evidence on the mountain they planned on burying Bruce Pearson under. Between credit card statements, eyewitnesses, video surveillance, and a couple of blurry photos Gonzales dug up online, they’d linked him to eight of the eleven victims. In addition to the credit cards in Pearson’s name that he’d added four of the young men to over the past fifteen years, there were plane tickets and hotel reservations that placed the attorney in Portland, Oregon in 2007—mere days before the body of Mitchel Helms was found in Macleay Park.
Leaning back in the chair, he stared at the board, the image of Shannon and Taylor in the middle unavoidable. So many lives were irrevocably changed after crossing paths with Bruce Pearson. Rory had a sinking feeling that the twelve they’d tied together was not the total number of young men. God only knew how long Pearson had been reeling in naïve, unsuspecting kids and feeding them false promises, then delivering nothing but pain and suffering. If only they could find another person that had gotten away, someone to corroborate Shannon’s story. Perhaps once they gathered enough evidence to put the piece of shit behind bars and the story was made public, other victims would come forwa
rd. Judge Tullor’s grandson would be perfect, but he and Rand had come to the conclusion that the judge’s grandson was likely dead, and the only thing left to do was find the body. When they subpoenaed Junior’s cell phone records to try and find a location based off the last phone call made and compared them to Pearson’s, he was less than three miles away from the location. Agents in Spokane had spent two days at the location with cadaver dogs and found nothing.
The phone on his desk rang and he reached for it, his mind still stuck on the board in front of him. “Yeah.”
“Landers, is that you?” The director was calling him? Lord, he hoped it was good news. He couldn’t take any more circumstantial bullshit red tape government BS.
“Director, sorry sir. Yes, this is Agent Landers.”
“Get your ass on a plane to Seattle as soon as possible. A federal judge there has agreed to issue a probable cause warrant for you to search Bruce Pearson’s home and bring him in for questioning.” His boss sounded pleased; that was always a good thing.
“Yes! Oh, sorry sir, I’ll get that flight booked as soon as we hang up.” Rory couldn’t wait to tell his team and Shannon. His boyfriend would likely sleep better at night if the man that caused him years of pain was locked up, and the key was dropped in the middle of the ocean.
“Oh, and Landers?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take that detective with you—Davis, I believe it is. I’ll make a call to the Dallas PD Chief of Detectives and have it cleared through him. Be sure to keep me in the loop as well, Landers. I don’t want any goddamn surprises. We clear?” The prospect of being in close quarters with Rand Davis made him nervous, but he didn’t have the time to ponder why right then.
“Yes, sir. And her, not him.” Rory fist pumped the air. Finally, they were being given the green light to bring Bruce Pearson down.
“Her, who?” his boss asked.
“The Chief of Detectives here in Dallas is a woman, sir.” As soon as he hung up, he grabbed his cell and called Rand, telling him to turn around, go back home, and pack a suitcase. His next call was to Gonzales, then Blair, and finally, Shannon. Rory insisted that Shannon go stay with Taylor and Frank while he was in Washington, just in case Bruce Pearson did, in fact, have someone inside the legal system that would get wind of the warrant and warn him. Thank God Rand was slightly paranoid and had contacted an acquaintance at Seattle PD to put a tail on the attorney until they arrived.
“Will I see you before you leave?” Shannon asked.
“I’m not sure. Let me see what time we have to be at Love Field Airport, and I’ll text you.”
“Okay. I love you, Rory, and just in case I don’t see you before, please be careful.”
***
As it turned out, he didn’t have the time to return to the loft to see Shannon before their flight. Packing was never an issue, not for an agent with the Bureau. An away bag was always ready, and Rory kept his at the office. Without a minute to spare, he, Rand, and Gonzales barely made it to the airport in time to catch their flight. Gonzales and Blair had to toss a coin to see who got to go round up the bully and who got to stay behind with Shannon. It worked out well since Blair and Taylor were still pretty tight, and it put Rory’s mind at ease knowing someone he trusted with his own life would be watching over his boyfriend. “Can I get you anything, sir?” A perky brunette flight attendant asked.
“Just water, please.” He was reminded of the many flights he’d been on as Trevor and how different his life was now. Back then, he wanted nothing more than to solve the case, tell Frank who he really was, and hopefully explore the possibility of a relationship. While losing Frank at the time was heartbreaking, he was with Shannon now and couldn’t imagine his life without the vibrancy Shannon brought to it. Not to mention that if you looked up the definition of happy in the dictionary, there would be an image of Frank and Taylor beside it.
“Jack and Coke please.” Rand smiled at the stewardess.
“We’re working here, Detective.” Rory rolled his eyes.
“No, we’re flying to Seattle and then going to a motel for the night. Tomorrow morning, we’ll be working.” Rand opened the teensy bag of pretzels and tipped it back, shaking them all into his mouth at once.
“Good lord, you have the manners of a goat.” Why did Gonzales take the window seat? Rory silently cursed his partner.
“You should have a drink too. Might help with that stick that’s embedded in your ass.” Of course, Rand talked around a mouth full of pretzels. Rory didn’t even grace him with a response. Instead, he put his earbuds in and scrolled through the songs on his phone, pressing play when he came to “Bodies” by Drowning Pool. Randall Davis really did get on his last good nerve. Why
did he have to smell so nice and be so sexy and—fucking hell, Landers. Get it together! He turned the volume up a couple of notches to drown out the voices in his head that were singing the praises of the annoying man beside him. Not even the voice of Dave Williams, God rest his soul, could block the scent of Rand’s cologne from wafting his way.
It was almost midnight by the time they got to the hotel, and he was exhausted. Far too tired to argue when Gonzales asked for two rooms—a single for her and a double for the boys was how she requested their accommodations from the clerk at the front desk. Were Rory in his right mind, he’d have put up a fight, but it was just one night; he could do this. At three a.m. when he was lying awake staring at the ceiling while Rand—most aggravating man on the planet—Davis snored like a goddamn bear, he was second-guessing that decision.
What little sleep he got was clouded with foggy images of Rand in bed with him, the larger, imposing man stretching his body out beside him, agile fingers brushing Rory’s hair behind one ear before leaning close and kissing him. Shannon was in his fantasy as well, his body more loose and pliable, wrapped around Rory like a snake. To his surprise, the two men worked together, playing his body like a violin until he exploded in a symphony of moans and pleading murmurs. Remembering the dream when he woke, vividly, filled him with confusion and a desire for more. So, to say he was in a mood when the alarm went off at seven a.m. was an understatement. Pissed off, exhausted, and nerves just this side of raw was more like it. And the Neanderthal he’d been forced to bunk with for the night was the one that decided to pinch that last nerve and push Rory right over the edge.
“Jesus Christ, Rand, were you born in a barn? Raised by wolves? That handle on the side of the toilet has a purpose—fucking use it. And your towel is not going to magically climb up off the floor and wrap itself around that shiny silver rod on the wall.” He was making obscene hand gestures, fingers dancing wildly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “And just for the record, I’m utterly shocked that the game warden didn’t bust down our door last night and shoot you with a tranq dart. If you’d snored any louder, they’d have heard you on the fucking moon.” Stomping into the shoe box disguised as a bathroom, he slammed the door.
“Oh, my God. This is it. I’ve found it. I’m in hell.” Rory jerked the shower curtain open with enough force that it tore away from the two hooks on the end. Moaning, he climbed into the tub and closed the craptastic shower curtain as best as he could and shrieked when nothing but cold water came out.
“Motherfucking fuck my life.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rand
“Huh,” Rand muttered as the bathroom door slammed shut. The rings that attached the shower curtain to the metal rod screamed in protest followed by a very unmanly shriek, and he prayed Rory couldn’t hear him cackling. He couldn’t help it; the agent was uncharacteristically edgy. In fact, he’d seemed anxious since they’d left Dallas, and Rand really couldn’t blame him. They were about to confront the man that had hurt Shannon in unspeakable ways, the man that had preyed on a confused and inexperienced teenager that only wanted to be loved. Bruce Pearson was a sadist and, if their suspicions were validated, he had murdered several innocent men. Hell, just thinking back to the night Shan
non had told them about the cruelty he’d lived with for years caused a spike in Rand’s blood pressure. Two decades spent either in the military or working law enforcement and Rand had seen depravity the likes of which they made movies about. But Pearson, well, he was lecherous and vile and a different kind of evil that Rand had no experience with. And while Shannon carried the scars from his time with Pearson inside and out, he’d worked hard not to let the abuse drown him or allow it to define who he was.
An image of Shannon at the beach the previous summer, laughing at something Taylor said, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling in the midday sun, those perfect, pert lips upturned at the corners, flashed through his mind. He’d been drawn to the young man from the moment he saw him. Tall and thin, with pale blond hair and a smile that could light up the night sky, Shannon was the very definition of ethereal. Were he thirty pounds heavier with longer hair, he could have passed for the hot-as-hell elf with the bow and arrow in the Lord of the Rings movies. More than once he’d unknowingly commanded Rand’s attention, without even trying. “Get your shit together, Davis. He will never be yours, because he belongs to the man in the shower.” Instantly the blond in his head was replaced with a shorter, black-haired, green-eyed, striking FBI agent. Nostrils flaring, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, pushing thoughts of a naked, wet, and slippery Rory just on the other side of the door, out of his mind. “Jesus, I need to get laid.” Truth be told, he was inexplicably drawn to both of them.
Snatching the tie off the back of the chair, he finished getting dressed and was sliding his feet into the brown Freeman Henley Chukka Boots he loved when Rory stepped out of the bathroom. Rand barely managed to stifle the groan at the sight before him. Still slightly damp with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist—small beads of water dripping from the ends of his hair, landing on his olive-colored skin and slowly trailing down his back, disappearing beneath the white cloth—Rory looked fucking edible. Had he been a weaker man, Rand would have stood, stalked over, and snatched the towel away so he could squeeze what he was certain would be perfectly rounded ass cheeks. Then he’d spin the annoyingly sexy man around, lift him, sit him on the counter and drop to his knees to…
