Dusk is settling over Lake George and the quiet hangs over James and Derek where they’re tangled together on the fold-out sofa bed in the small cabin, weighty but not oppressive. They haven’t seen anyone except each other in days.
James nuzzles the side of Derek's neck, breathing out over the bump of his Adam's apple and watching the thin, delicate skin break out in goose bumps. “All's quiet on the city front from what I hear,” he says softly, not wanting to break the peaceful silence by speaking too loudly. “Bailey's taken lead on Saracen's protective detail. Fire chief says they're not seeing nearly as much firebug activity. Sal hasn't reported anything new from the gang scene.”
“That's good.” Derek's voice is dull but he curls slowly toward James as he says it, his palm coming to rest on James's side. His movement is still hesitant and ginger, pain dogging his heels most of the day. He doesn’t like the prescription painkillers, and James can see the anxiety lurking in the corners of his eyes and tight lines of his mouth. Peaceful or not, it has been a long ten days on Lake George.
“I know you think we benched you, Derek.” James pushes himself further up the mattress, far enough to tuck Derek's head under his chin and worm closer until they’re curled around each other. “But I couldn't solve this, not with you in the firing line like that. We were both these big neon targets and it was going to make it too easy. Coy's a ghost. It killed me to leave my team to deal with this but I couldn't let you go alone either. You get why, right?”
Derek's breath catches audibly, jerking a little where they're pressed together, and James reaches out until his hands are splayed over Derek's back. He can feel his thundering heart against his palm and starts counting out loud. “One in, Derek. In and out. Two. In and out. Three. Come on, breathe with me, okay?”
The sting of fingernails dig through his worn shirt as a gasp breaks through Derek's control. “You're all right,” James whispers against his temple. “We're all right. Come on, you know the drill. Slow, small breaths.”
It takes a handful of long, fraught moments for Derek to sag against him, quieter and slightly more regular breaths puffing out against James's throat. “That's the way,” James says softly. “You with me?”
Derek nods. “Ye—yeah,” he croaks out. “Sorry.”
“Don't be sorry.” James runs his hand down the length of Derek's back, squeezing at his hip before smoothing it back up to his shoulder. “I meant it. We're all right, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Derek's hair is soft underneath his jaw as he presses closer to James. “I—I just, me too. Me too, you know? I wish I was there instead, most of the time, but I couldn't have left without you.”
James's chest swells with something indefinable, warmth spilling out to his fingertips and toes. “We're emotionally stunted jackasses,” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “The pair of us.”
10
Peter is startled out of sleep when something starts vibrating on the nightstand. Five nights in a row in Daniel’s bed have worn away the shock at waking up somewhere new to barely more than a confused blink before he remembers. He snuffles into the back of Daniel’s neck, muffling a yawn in his hair. “Hey,” he whispers. “Your phone’s going nuts.”
Daniel grunts, reaching blindly toward the nightstand. His fingers close around his phone, and Peter feels blood rush back into his tingling arm when Daniel goes up on an elbow to blink down at the screen.
“Shit,” Daniel says, and then he’s rolling toward the edge of the bed and cool air is rushing under the covers and making Peter squirm.
“Rude,” Peter mutters and snatches the covers closer as he drags himself into a sitting position, shaking the feeling back into his dead arm. “What’s going on?”
“That building where Fairhall took you,” Daniel grunts, crouched on the ground with his pants, trying to get them the right way out again. “Reports of gunshots. Neighbors can smell gas.”
A hell of a lot more awake suddenly, Peter sits up straighter. “You think he’s there?”
“I think it’s more likely him or Bartlett than a coincidence,” Daniel says, standing up and stepping into his pants. “I’m going to go in quiet with a team, see if we can get the drop on them. I’m sick of chasing them.”
Peter struggles free of the covers and scrambles off the bed. “I’m coming to the precinct with you,” he says. Panic is starting to bubble in his chest as Daniel whirls around, face like thunder even in the darkened room. “No, I’m not saying I’m going out there with you,” Peter blurts. “Just coming to the precinct. I’ll—I’ll stay with Kay, or whoever’s there, but I can’t stay here.”
Daniel stands there for a long moment, face caught between anger and something softer, before his features smooth out and he nods. “Okay,” he says as he buttons the pants one-handed and turns around to find his shirt. Peter stares at the expanse of his bare back for a moment, heart still racing, before he casts around for his own clothes.
Clint is waiting out the front of the building for them when they make it out there. The sun has barely started to peek over the horizon, only the smallest reflections visible through the breaks in the skyline. Clint nods at Peter but his face tightens when he turns to Daniel. “Fire brigade are on standby, no one’s happy with the thought of waiting for this to escalate.”
“We’re not waiting for it to escalate,” Daniel says sharply, jerking his head toward the cruiser and using a hand against Peter’s back to urge him into the back. Peter doesn’t hear the rest of it, the door slamming closed behind him. A few seconds later, Daniel gets in the passenger side and Clint climbs back in the driver’s side.
Peter buckles himself in and sits, torn between wishing they’d had time for a cup of tea, and an adrenaline rush. Daniel and Clint both look clear-eyed and serious, and Peter wonders whether adrenaline and training is enough to negate a caffeine addiction. He’s seen the way Daniel takes his coffee and knows that no one who drinks coffee like that drinks it for the enjoyment but because they need it. He must doze off, because when he opens his eyes the sky is lighter and Clint is turning the car off.
“Come on,” Daniel says from the open door, reaching out with a hand.
Peter takes it, fumbling to undo the belt and then get out without falling on his ass. Daniel keeps a hold of his hand the entire way past the night receptionist and through the bullpen, taking him into James’s office. Roger Murphy is already there, and Peter only knows who he is because of Daniel’s description of him. He blinks at the older man, surprised by how accurate Daniel had been. Daniel goes a little stiff beside him, his fingers tightening, but Peter cuts a sideways glance and sees that it’s just because there’s laughter to hold back.
“Callahan,” Roger says and lifts a bushy eyebrow at Peter. “Saracen, I assume?”
Peter nods. “Yes, sir,” he says, and Daniel squeezes his hand again before dropping it.
“He’s going to stay here with Kay while we deal with this,” Daniel says. “Figured there’s no place safer than here.”
“Reasonable,” Roger agrees, and then he looks away from Peter. “Stash him somewhere out of the way ’til she’s in for the day. I want to know what the hell you’re planning here.”
“Hang out in the break room until Kay gets here,” Daniel says. He smiles, although it’s tight. “I’ll come see you before we head out.”
Peter nods again, feeling like his head is on a spring, and slips out of the office toward the break room. The morning is dawning clear and sunny outside, but he can’t shake the sensation of impending storm clouds all the same.
“Come on,” James pleads over breakfast. By breakfast, he means buttered toast with jam and instant coffee. He would seriously consider murder for some Chinese at this point. There’s enough in the cupboards, both freezers, and the refrigerator to keep them going for another couple of weeks if they need to, but the both of them are going stir-crazy. Derek’s gotten quieter and more anxious the longer they’ve been there. He’s moving better but
James is starting to seriously worry about the psychological effects of not only the injuries but the stress of the whole situation. He’s going to give it another few days before he places a discreet call to the doctor from the hospital, he thinks, and in the meantime try to get him out into the fresh air for a few hours.
Derek looks up from his coffee. The bruises are starting to fade around the edges, and the grazes are clearing. James just wishes there was more fire behind his eyes—that’s what he misses the most. “What?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
“Let’s go out and spend a couple of hours by the water,” James says. He leans forward, grinning. “The sun’s out, there’s some soft sand out there. Richie says there’s probably even a couple of paddleboards in that boathouse between here and the next cabin. We can splash around. We’re the only people for at least three miles, Derek, I promise. No one except Richie, Roger, and Daniel know where we are.”
James doesn’t miss the quick, almost-wistful look Derek darts at the window. He presses the advantage while it’s there. “You’re starting to look a little undead,” he says, propping a hand under his chin. “I’ve been trying, but you’re still low on Vitamin D.”
Derek blinks at him. “Is that… Are you actually a thirteen-year-old boy? Have I been breaking the law our entire relationship?”
James bursts into laughter, stress and relief tangling together and keeping him laughing long past an acceptable time frame. When he calms down, Derek’s looking at him with fond exasperation. His face looks lighter.
“A couple of hours,” he allows after a moment. “Just so you don’t make any more Vitamin D jokes. I could get away with your murder, James. I know all of the mistakes they make.”
“That should not be so sexy,” James says, still breathless from laughter. “Tell me more.”
Derek huffs out something close to a laugh as he gets up from the table to take his mug over to the sink. “I know better than to reveal my secrets.”
It takes longer than Daniel would have liked to convince Roger that his plan isn’t insane. “What do you mean, you want to take them by surprise?” the older officer asks. “If that’s Fairhall and Bartlett in there, we’re taking the building before they burn it down and disappear again. I’d like to put a bullet in Fairhall myself, make sure he never pulled another escape act.”
“I want to know what they’re planning,” Daniel says. “We’ve got them trapped right now, there are officers on every point of exit and they aren’t getting out of this. I want to see their faces when they realize that.”
“Vendettas never end well, kid,” Roger says. The words are heavy, a weight behind Roger’s lined eyes that might have made Daniel rethink the plan if he were an iota less stubborn and determined to end this now. “But James told me to trust your gut so take what you need. Just remember that there’s someone in that break room who wants you to come home in one piece, all right?”
Daniel opens his mouth, not even sure what he’s going to say, but Roger raises a hand. “Don’t argue,” he says. “Go take who you need and make sure you see him before you leave. I want everyone on a channel I can hear and regular updates.”
“Yes, sir,” Daniel says, and Roger shakes his head, looking down at the files on the desk and muttering something too low for Daniel to hear.
Peter looks up from a barely touched tea when Daniel stops in the break room doorway. His eyes are wider and more alert than they’d been in the car, and Daniel’s heartbeat picks up a little when he recognizes the Henley jersey he’s wearing as one of his own. “You doing okay?” he says.
Peter nods, pushing the mug away and getting up. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “How did—I mean, did he approve your plan?”
“Sure did,” Daniel says. He meets Peter halfway, drawing him into a loose hug. “This will all be over later today, I promise.”
“You better come back,” Peter murmurs against his chest, head tucked under Daniel’s chin. “Be safe, or I’m gonna push it and take you back to Tia’s place tonight. She doesn’t believe a word I said about protective custody, and she has a nurse outfit that she’s been threatening me with for years.”
Daniel barks out a laugh, pressing a kiss against the side of Peter’s head. “What an incentive to stay out of trouble,” he says, bringing his hand to Peter’s chin and tilting his face up. “I’ll be fine. You stay safe here too, and maybe we will go back to your place tonight. Gotta rip the Band-Aid off and face her eventually, right?”
Peter smiles, small and hesitant. “That’ll be the real test,” he says.
Daniel leans in and kisses him, firm and chaste, and then pulls away to rest their foreheads together. “Won’t be a problem,” he says, and brushes his thumb over the corner of Peter’s mouth. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Torture Kay for me.”
Peter’s smile is brighter, almost blinding, and he pats Daniel’s chest as he pulls away. “Consider it done. See you soon.”
Derek likes the chair with inflatable floating arms. They found it in the surprisingly clean boathouse about half a mile down the beach. There had even been a pump in there to inflate it, and the floating donut that looked like an actual donut, James had immediately claimed for his own too. When they make it down to the beach, the water is chilly but the sun is shining, and Derek’s ribs feel better than they have since the accident.
James splashes around a little deeper, while Derek stays near the rickety little wooden dock. It means that his feet sometimes catch on the sandy bottom, but he feels better knowing he could stand up and only be chest deep at any given moment. The sun feels wonderful on his face when he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. He’s been trying to hide how little he’s sleeping and how much the isolation is getting to him. The constant façade is almost as exhausting as trying to keep James from noticing that he’s still having trouble with his eyes and that his ears have started to ring almost constantly.
Rocked by the water and warmed by the sun, he’s starting to doze off when a sharp crack breaks through the lapping of the waves and animal sounds. He jerks in the chair, the motion and the way his feet hit the ground sending shockwaves of pain through his ribs as he stands up, whirling to look and see which part of the dock had split. The inside of his cheek stings, split where his teeth catch it in surprise. He’s still looking for a hole or missing plank when James shouts his name and the frantic splashing reaches his ringing ears.
He’s spinning to find James when his eyes pass over a figure on the beach, with the distinctive long barrel of a rifle, and Derek’s heart seizes, the air in his lungs freezing.
As soon as the building comes into sight, the back of Daniel’s neck prickles with goose bumps. He settles his hand over the butt of his gun, letting the familiar shape under his fingers soothe the pinpricks of fear. He shunts aside the memories lurking, reminds himself that James and Derek are safe somewhere Coy will never even look for them, and that Peter is safe back at the precinct. Daniel tips his head back to take in the building from top to bottom, steeling himself, and glances sideways where Cohen is standing at his right, staring up at the building too.
“You remember their faces?” he asks, and Cohen nods tightly.
“Sure do,” he says, his voice low. “Couldn’t forget them if I wanted to.”
“Good.” Daniel flexes his hand before settling it on his gun again and pulling it out. “Stay on my back and stay on guard. This ends today.”
“I’m with you,” Cohen says, and then they’re through the door.
There’s no one on the ground floor, and Daniel motions two of the officers behind them to clear the basement because he’s sure it’s empty. The first-through-third floors are empty except for the smell of gasoline and the odd crunch of flaked-off paint and chips of wood underneath their boots, but as they ascend the stairs to the fourth floor, they hear voices. Daniel halts and waves frantically behind him until everyone stops. He motions for two to take the left fork, and two to take the center, and Cohen fol
lows him around to the right.
The water feels like quicksand around James as he sees Derek stop, too close to the shore and the man with the rifle. The bullet graze on his side throbs with every frantic beat of his heart and bursts into a burning pain when he pushes off the sandy bottom of the lake and launches himself toward Derek. It only takes a few steps for him to recognize Coy Fairhall behind the rifle, and even if he hadn’t, the voice would have clued him in. “Stay right there, James!” Coy calls and swings the rifle toward Derek.
James stops immediately, the water still navel-deep, and presses a hand over the graze. He looks between Derek and Coy, heartbeat pounding in his ears, and the panic that rises in his throat tastes like bile. “Good man,” Coy says, looking at James even as the rifle stays trained on Derek. “Now, Derek, we’re going to start walking toward the boathouse. James, I want you to come closer to shore nice and slowly, and stay a few yards away but walk with us too. Keep pressure on that side of yours, too, wouldn’t want to lose too much blood so early in the day.”
Derek’s head whips around toward James, and James can see the wide-eyed panic even this far away. “I’m fine!” he says and starts slowly coming closer. “Derek, I promise, it’s just a graze. I’m fine.”
The panic turns into rage in the space of a heartbeat, and James has never seen that cold a fury on Derek’s face before. It slowly bleeds away as he turns back to face Coy and starts walking in closer. James wants to shout out again, to warn him not to do anything stupid and to just follow Coy’s instructions. Neither of them are at peak strength, not now, and Coy is armed. A fleeting thought about how the hell the man found them passes through his mind, but when the crack of another bullet sounds and the water just left of him splashes up, he snaps back to the present. “Chop, chop!” Coy shouts, impatience sharpening the edges of his voice. “We’re running on a timeline here!”
Cause and Effect Page 13
