by Tal Bauer
Fear lingered in the edges of Jack’s eyes, in the shine of his gaze in the moonlight.
“I don’t regret it,” Ethan whispered. “I’m happy with you.”
Jack smiled and curled closer, and they fell asleep wrapped around each other and holding hands.
6
“Ethan!”
Ethan bolted upright, blood pounding through his chest, his arms, his adrenaline racing and making his hands shake. Darkness pressed in on all sides, and he searched for Jack, tearing at the bedsheets. What was happening? Where was the threat? He had to get Jack, get him to safety―
Jack grasped his hand, his arm, and tugged him close, shuddering and gasping and clinging to Ethan in a cold sweat. His fingernails bit into Ethan’s shoulder as he clung to him, tried to climb his skin.
Ethan’s adrenaline petered away, leaving him cold and drifting, listless in the bed as he wrapped his arms around Jack. Jack was trembling, shivering, and trying to crawl into Ethan’s lap. “Jack?” He nuzzled his lover’s sweaty forehead, pressed kisses to his eyelids. “Jack, what’s wrong?”
Jack fought for words, clinging to Ethan and working to calm his breathing. The sheets were tangled between them, tied around Jack’s waist almost in a knot. “Ethan,” he exhaled, his nails still digging into Ethan’s shoulders. “Ethan… God, it was so real…”
“What was?” Ethan kissed Jack’s hairline. Stroked his back.
“Ethiopia. Except this time, you were dead. Really dead. I was in the street, over your body, and your blood was everywhere―”
“Shhhh.” He pulled him fully onto his lap. Jack went, molding himself to Ethan’s chest as Ethan leaned back against the headboard and ran his hands up and down Jack’s trembling arms and over his clammy back. “I’m not dead, Jack. I’m right here.”
“I was holding you when you died.” Jack’s voice was small, almost a whisper. “I wanted to tell you I loved you, but―” And then he couldn’t speak. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on Ethan’s shoulder.
Ethan held him until the trembling stopped, until Jack’s breathing leveled out, and then held him some more, his hands caressing every inch of Jack’s back, his shoulders, and his arms. Finally, he slipped his fingers into the short strands of dirty-blond hair at the base of his neck. “I’m here, Jack,” he murmured. “I’m here with you. I’m with you all the way.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack finally grunted. He pushed back, sitting up, but didn’t meet Ethan’s gaze. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Hey.” Ethan cupped Jack’s cheek, drawing his gaze up. “I will always wake up to be with you. Always.”
Jack tried to smile. He failed.
“Nightmare?”
His eyes slid away. “They’re not every night.”
“Which means they’re more than just tonight.” Ethan’s other hand joined the first, cradling Jack’s face before he leaned in and kissed him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Jack looked down. He picked at the sheet, at a loose thread. “I didn’t… I didn’t go through what you went through. Why am I having nightmares? It’s stupid. I’m―” He clamped his mouth shut.
“You were held hostage, Jack. Betrayed by your friend. They strapped a nuke to you. If you didn’t have nightmares, I’d be worried.”
“I don’t have nightmares about that. You were there. You saved me. Us.” Finally, Jack looked up. “I only have nightmares about losing you.”
What could he say to that? Guilt flooded his heart, sliding down his insides. Jack had enough to worry about without having nightmares about him. He shouldn’t have been captured. Shouldn’t have ever brought Jack to Ethiopia and sent Jack down this twisted path of dark fears.
“How often?” he whispered.
Jack shrugged. “Sometimes a couple nights a week. Sometimes I can go almost two weeks before it happens again.”
“What do you do when…”
“I get up. Read. I’ve got a thousand briefing papers I need to read. A thousand different memos. I can always find something to do.” Jack was trying to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Call me next time? If I can’t be here to hold you, then I want to be there to talk to you.”
“It’s the middle of the night―”
“I always have my phone right next to my pillow. Just in case you call.” Ethan kissed each of Jack’s knuckles, his lips lingering on his skin. “I want to be there for you, Jack. For everything. Even when I can’t be right here to hold you like this. I still want to do everything that I can.”
Nodding, Jack finally managed a tiny smile. “Okay,” he breathed.
They kissed slowly and lay down again, and Jack passed out with his head pillowed on Ethan’s chest, his ear over Ethan’s heart.
In the morning, they made love again, soft and sweet, grinding slowly as they kissed and kissed and kissed, until they came pressed tight together, legs interlocked, smiles on their faces.
After lounging naked, Ethan rose with a kiss and made Jack breakfast in bed, bringing back a tray of eggs, French toast, sausage, orange juice, and coffee. Jack shared bites with Ethan, feeding him as they held hands and traded kisses.
Jack’s cell phone rang when they were finished, and Jack heaved a heavy sigh before he answered. He squeezed Ethan’s hand, though, and Ethan sat back against the headboard as Jack answered.
“Hello, Mom.”
Ethan couldn’t hear Jack’s mom, but he watched Jack close his eyes and then pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know, Mom, I know. But I really want you to hear me on this. I know you promised you’d spend my first Christmas in the White House with me. But, this year, it’s just going to be me and Ethan.”
Jack squeezed Ethan’s hand again, smiling.
“That’s why I came to see you for Thanksgiving. It’s our first Christmas together, Mom.” He sighed, tipping his head back. “Yes, Mom, you’re right. He was with me last year over Christmas, but that doesn’t count. We weren’t together. This is our first Christmas together. As a couple.”
Jack’s mom got quiet on her end, but Jack was still smiling. Ethan watched the laugh lines deepen at the corners of his eyes and the way his shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, I’m hoping there are a lot more Christmases together too,” he said, rubbing his thumb over Ethan’s palm. “And yes, we will all celebrate together in the future. But this one? It’s going to be his and mine. Just the two of us.” A pause. “Thanks, Mom. Tell Dad I said hi. Love you too.”
He tossed the phone on the nightstand and gave Ethan a rueful grin. “She’s desperate to meet you.”
“Do you want your family to come here? I know you guys are close.”
“No.” Jack smiled, lying down and resting his head in Ethan’s lap. “We are close. But I meant what I said. I want this to be our time. Just us. Maybe next year we can all get together.”
Next year. Jack had already tossed out next Thanksgiving Day plans, saying he wanted Ethan with him. And now Christmas plans with his family. Ethan was all in, one hundred percent committed, but a lingering fear squatted in the darkness of his heart. How long would Jack keep this up? Until the novelty wore off? Until he didn’t like the media hounding him? When would that happen?
Never, Ethan hoped. Never, ever.
“What about your family?” Jack rolled over, resting his cheek on Ethan’s thigh. “What are they doing?”
Ethan brushed Jack’s hair off his forehead and smiled. “Dad passed away. Cancer got him ten years ago. He was a two-packs-a-day smoker my whole life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. We were close, and I was able to get out there before he died. We had our goodbyes.” He’d driven his dad up into the forest, into the mountains, and they’d sat on the tailgate of his dad’s pickup and fished by the lake. Drunk beers and watched the Wyoming sun set, and then rested around a crackling campfire. His dad had been frail and he huddled inside a jean jacket that seemed almost like a muumuu, and then under a thick blanket a
s the sun wore down the day, but he’d smiled through it all.
“Be happy, son,” his dad had said. “That’s all I ever wanted for you. Be happy.”
At the time, he had been, and he told his dad so. His dad just beamed at him, content to the marrow of his bones as he watched the fire settle and the logs shift beneath the stars.
A few days later, his dad passed in his sleep, and Ethan scattered his ashes in those same woods.
Jack listened as Ethan relayed their final days. When he was done, Jack pressed a kiss to his palm. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Your mom?”
“Never knew her. She took off sometime after I was born. It was just Dad and me and our little trailer. He was a farmhand, and I’d hang around him and help out when I wasn’t in school. Pick fruit on the farms over summer. Go with him in the mornings to help in the barn. We didn’t have much, but we had enough. Dad wanted me to go to college, and he would buy me books whenever he had extra cash. Enlisting in the Army was my ticket to more opportunity. From the Army, I went to the Secret Service.” Ethan leaned over. Jack and kissed him. “What about you?”
Jack shrugged. “Nothing that interesting. Dad was a corporate lawyer. Mom stayed with me. Little League and piano lessons. Boy Scouts and football. We were good, but Dad was busy a lot. We got really close after Leslie died, though.” Jack smiled, sad on the edges. “They were amazing.”
“I’m glad you had them.”
And then it was Sunday afternoon, and the reality of Ethan leaving in several hours began to set in. Just like every Sunday, they grew quieter, held each other longer. Ethan lay on the couch in Jack’s study, Jack stretched out on top of him as Ethan breathed in the scent of his hair. Kissed his head and stroked his back. Football droned on the TV, but Ethan couldn’t remember the score.
“You fly to New York on Thursday, right?” he murmured into Jack’s scalp.
“I meet with Puchkov that night. Address the Security Council on Friday. My advisors are saying they expect the deliberations to go into Saturday, with a vote late Saturday or even Sunday.”
They were losing the next weekend, too, thanks to Jack’s pitch at the UN. “You’re going to do great.”
“Will you help me with my speech this week? Over Skype?”
“Of course.”
Jack swallowed, and Ethan felt it through the tight press of their bodies. “I won’t see you again until you come back for Christmas?”
“Yeah.” Ethan had rearranged the days so that he’d miss a weekend, but be back in DC for longer over the holiday. “On the twenty-third. Be here until Sunday.”
“Five days.” Pushing up, Jack grinned, his mussed hair standing every which way. “Five days with you here. It will be…” His grin turned sly. “Like Christmas!”
Ethan laughed, and he kissed him until he thought his heart would burst.
Scott took him back to the airport every Sunday night, picking him up in the private underground entrance to the Residence in an unmarked SUV. Agents were scattered around the garage, doing their best to give them both some privacy. Unlike yesterday, no one was smiling.
The goodbye was always excruciating.
Ethan and Jack held each other while Scott loaded Ethan’s duffel and made himself scarce at the rear of the SUV.
“Knock ’em dead at the UN.” Ethan kissed Jack’s nose. “You’ll be amazing. I know you will.”
“Good luck with your case.” Jack tugged on Ethan’s scarf. “Your case. I don’t care that an infant is the case agent. It’s yours. You did the work.”
“Call me when you need me.” Leaning in, Ethan pressed his forehead to Jack’s, staring into his eyes.
Jack nodded. “You too, okay?”
“Okay.”
And then they kissed until Scott coughed to get their attention. Ethan reluctantly broke away. He bit his lip, caressed Jack’s cheeks with his gloved thumbs, and kissed Jack’s forehead again as Jack’s hands refused to let go of his thick trench coat.
“Sixteen days until I see you again,” Jack whispered, kissing Ethan one last time.
Ethan groaned. “That’s way too long.” Ethan stole another kiss.
“We gotta go.” Scott always sounded like he was telling them their mothers had died, interrupting as quietly as he could with the terrible news. “We’re running behind as it is, and the snow’s coming in again.”
Finally, Jack stepped back, releasing Ethan. Ethan headed for the SUV. As they pulled out, he watched Jack in the rearview mirror until they turned out and he couldn’t see him any longer. Behind them, Jack crossed his arms, rubbed his hands over his sleeves, and shivered in the freezing underground garage. But he waited and watched Ethan and Scott pull away, all the way out of the garage, every time.
The ride was always silent. There was nothing to say after that, and he and Scott kept up through text and the occasional phone call anyway. Just having Scott in the car with him was enough, sitting next to him in the darkness as the lights of DC smeared against the windshield and fell over his face.
At the airport, Ethan shouldered through a gaggle of reporters, all vying for a picture, and escaped into the terminal. Within minutes, his federal shadow appeared, standing three spots behind him in line at the coffee shop. Ethan paid for his coffee and then paid for his shadow’s.
His shadow toasted him with his paper cup after taking up position on his right, ninety degrees off, inside twenty yards, leaning against a wall and trying to look nonchalant.
They boarded forty-five minutes later, Ethan collapsing into his first-class seat with a sigh. His phone buzzed.
A text from Jack. A single sad face emoji.
Ethan sent back the one with a tear slipping free. [Miss you already.]
Gotta get working on that time machine.
[I love you.]
The flight attendants dimmed the lights and shut the doors, and the announcement came on about turning off all cell phones. Sighing, Ethan hit the power button.
I love you so much, Ethan.
Jack’s text flashed before the power cut out, and his heart leaped into his throat as his eyes watered and his lungs burned. The agony of leaving Jack was searingly intense, almost as intense as the love Ethan felt for him.
But this was the price that had to be paid. He’d known the cost. He’d always known it would turn out this way.
7
Des Moines, Iowa
Agent Blake Becker swallowed hard, his face pale, as the medical examiner gripped the edge of the white sheet covering the body.
Ethan eyed him, holding out his hand to still the medical examiner. “You ever seen a dead body before?” He kept his voice low, turning so he was speaking just into Becker’s ear.
Becker shook his head, fast shakes, his eyes never leaving the lump beneath the sheet. “Just the slides from that one course in training.”
Forensics for Special Agents. How to not fuck up a crime scene until the real techs got on deck. For Special Agents like Becker, running financial crimes investigations, the chances of encountering a dead body were scarce to laughable. Ethan, running on the other side of the Secret Service―protecting the president―had a daily realistic possibility of having to shoot someone―or multiple someones―dead. And he had.
A gulf of experience separated him and his case agent, a man he was supposed to be working under.
“It’s going to be overwhelming. Try to focus on areas. Don’t get lost in the whole body. Did you put your menthol on?”
Becker nodded. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Ethan pulled his hand back. The medical examiner glanced between them and flicked back the sheet, exposing the dead woman lying on the refrigerated steel rack. “She was found Saturday morning dumped off I-35,” the medical examiner grunted. “Time of death… best estimate is sometime late Thursday or early Friday morning.”
Next to Ethan, Becker shuddered, turning away from the corpse, his hand covering his mouth as he coughed.
&nb
sp; The isolation had done its job. She’d been left in the snow for over twenty-four hours, and parts of her body had frozen black with decay. Her skin had pulled taut, stretched across her pale face as if she were screaming, crying out in agony. Blood pooling on her right side turned the parts of her skin not frozen a rotten black into a deep emerald and aubergine. Dependent lividity. She’d been dumped on her right, and her blood had followed gravity’s natural pull.
Her wrists had been bound. Angry ligature marks broke the skin, bloody scabs flaking free. Her abdomen had been stabbed fourteen times, slices and tears shredding her midsection into thin filets of flesh. One large Y-incision went from her collarbones to her pubic bone, the marks of her autopsy. Her organs were gone, off for analysis, but the medical examiner had stitched her back up, giant black Frankenstein stitches running up her skin.
Ethan dragged in a deep breath through his nose, letting the menthol he’d smeared over his lip fill his lungs, tingling his body. It centered him, put his feet squarely back on the ground, and took his mind off the grotesqueness before him.
He flipped open the folder of crime scenes photos he’d been given by the Des Moines police officer on his way into the morgue. “She was found with counterfeit bills stuffed in her mouth?”
“Seven counterfeit hundreds.” The medical examiner pointed to her open mouth. “Some were shoved deep in her throat. Enough to choke on.”
Ethan frowned down at one of the evidence photos: all seven of the bills in a plastic bag. “The blood on the bills. Is that ante- or postmortem?”
“Antemortem. She was alive when they were shoved in.”
Becker appeared at Ethan’s shoulder, ghost white. “Are we done here?”
“Have you ID’d her yet?” Ethan’s gaze roamed over the girl. Late teens. Maybe twenties. Maybe younger. Evidence of a hard life pocked her skin. Track marks on her arms, needle scabs and scars in her veins. Old scars from cigarette burns on her thighs. A softness to her hips that suggested she’d carried a child.
