by Jeremy Pack
Hiroko made a living as a seamstress and saved every penny she could to put Keisuke through college."
Chris held his own mug of tea in both hands and sipped it cautiously. He raised an eyebrow. The flavor was nutty and surprisingly complex.
Jason's eyes softened as he continued Hiroko's tale. "Her brother is now one of the country's top neurosurgeons. This restaurant was a gift to Hiroko. It was her dream to someday be a successful businesswoman, and since she'd been responsible for helping him become a doctor, he made her dream come true in return."
Chris was surprised at how much Jason knew about Hiroko, and he couldn't help but be impressed by the story of her life.
"How do you know so much about her?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
"The FBI," Jason answered, refilling their teacups.
"The FBI? Don't tell me you did a background check on the poor woman before you came in here to eat?"
"No." Jason's amused expression dimmed, and his face became somber and distant as he settled the teapot back onto the table. "Once upon a time... I was a legitimate investigator." He spoke as though the admission were something to be ashamed of. He worked a jaw muscle and shrugged. "I picked up a couple of habits---late nights, for one."
"And?"
"I have a knack for getting people to talk to me."
"You never said anything about working for the FBI before." Chris couldn't imagine why he seemed so put off about his past. Remembering the painful memories that seemed to have surfaced during their earlier conversation, he wondered if there was some bad history associated with his former occupation.
Jason's expression was guarded when he spoke again. "I spent seven years in the force," he said slowly. "In fact, I was a special investigator in the CACU---Crimes Against Children Unit."
"So what happened?" Chris asked, leaning in with interest.
Jason looked away. "I wasn't cut out for it." There was a brittle edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.
Chris pulled back, completely stunned by the change in Jason's demeanor. He'd obviously crossed into dangerous territory. He was instantly apologetic. God knew he understood the inclination to avoid intensely personal revelations. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
Jason's expression softened as he realized how inappropriate his sudden defensiveness had been. "It's okay, it's just...." He seemed to struggle with how to articulate his thoughts. "Just bad memories."
Chris reached out and lightly touched his hand. "I have a few of those myself," he said.
Their eyes met and held. The casual touch was nothing more than one human reaching out to comfort another, yet something indefinable passed from fingertip to flesh in the brief moment of contact. There was a compelling chemistry at work, something that could be felt but not readily described. It was intriguing, if a little alarming.
The sound of the sliding partition broke the connection, and they became immediately self-conscious. Chris stared fixedly into his tea, as though trying to divine his future in the murky depths. Jason focused his attention on Hiroko, though he seemed to be having some difficulty concentrating on her presence.
Hiroko was sensitive enough to notice that she had interrupted a private moment, and she took their orders quickly and rushed away, her eyes begging forgiveness for the intrusion. Jason watched her go and turned his gaze back to Chris.
When their eyes met again, the mood had shifted. "I've been wracking my brain," Chris said.
"Oh? Over what?"
"Michael. I can't think of any reason he would want to fake his death. He could have left at any time."
"That's the big mystery."
"I've been working this over in my mind since I heard the tape in your office, and I might have a suggestion."
Jason raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Let's hear it."
"What if...." Chris had to swallow hard. The idea was so horrific to him that he had trouble articulating it. "What if they wanted me to kill myself? I have a history." His eyes unconsciously sought out his wrists.
"Make things bad enough, push the right buttons... doesn't really get much worse than this, does it?"
"Do you have any idea why he would have wanted that?"
"Maybe to get me out of the way so they could blackmail George?"
"Interesting theory," Jason said, nodding slowly.
"I'm not a rich man. I don't have any assets of significance. They wouldn't have anything to gain by handing a ransom demand to me. Besides, Michael would have known I would take it straight to the police. George, on the other hand... if he had something to lose, his firm's reputation, for example, and I wasn't in the picture, well, that would probably compel him to pay whatever they asked for."
"You sure you haven't done this before?"
Chris shook his head and frowned. "I don't know. It doesn't explain why I needed to kill myself. This guy Brunner, if he's the criminal you say he is... seems like there are easier ways to off me than waiting around for me to do it myself. The more I think about it... it just seems too elaborate. There has to be something else, something we're missing."
"You underestimate yourself. For someone who doesn't claim to know much about Brunner, your theory is as good as anything I could come up with," Jason said. "He's known for particularly elaborate schemes."
"How much money would they have made from selling her?" Chris tried, thinking of another angle. His voice trembled at the thought of it.
Jason considered. "A couple hundred thousand, maybe."
"That's all?"
"Obviously that theory is out. I like the ransom demand of MacQuery better. Sounds more like Brunner's style. George could afford to drop a couple million without batting an eye."
"I only met Brunner once or twice," Chris mused. "I didn't really like him. He seemed like a snob. Made me feel like a bumpkin."
"He's probably one of the most conniving criminals I've ever met. He's crafty. He's power hungry and well-connected. That makes him dangerous."
"Brianna was the only thing that really mattered to me." Chris tried to blink back the tears that brimmed in his eyes. He was unwilling to make such a show of weakness again.
"If she's alive, I promise you we'll get her back. We'll make Brunner and Michael answer for what they've done."
Chris blinked rapidly. The embarrassing tears would not relent. In response, Jason reached out. He placed his hand atop Chris's. Chris looked into his eyes and then quickly looked away. Something in Jason's stare alarmed him. Maybe he was just imagining it.
But no, when he looked back, the intensity remained. Jason's gaze had taken on a new magnetism. The scrutiny was similar to but more genuine than the affected flirtation Chris had endured during their first meeting. Although it had been a very long time since anyone had looked at him in just that way, Chris knew instantly what it meant---at least subconsciously. His hands trembled, and butterflies arose in his stomach.
His body was automatically responding to the mysterious transformation of posture and expression that had come over Jason. Although he willed his hand to move, it seemed to be melted directly into Jason's warm flesh.
Heat flared in his cheeks. He was certain they had become flushed.
Summoning all of the strength of will he had, he averted his eyes and pulled his hand away, though he was positive it was the most difficult thing he'd ever had to do. Confused and utterly betrayed by the treachery of his automatic responses to Jason's charisma, he couldn't force himself to look back for several minutes. How could this be happening? As much as his body might want to act upon the strange ideas that were forming in his mind, he could never follow those impulses. This vague desire was unsettling and entirely inappropriate.
"I have to be honest with you," Jason said. "I really hope I'm not leading you astray. I really don't have much evidence, but I believe that Michael and your daughter are alive. I trust Rosalita Morales. She wouldn't have lied to me. I'm sure their disappearance is some kind of scheme Brunner concocted. I can feel it
in my gut." He shook his head.
"I won't blame you if you want me to back off, but I'm in too deep now to let go." There was a purposeful double meaning in what he was saying.
Chris's response to his bold flirtation had not gone unnoticed. Jason seemed determined to act on the attraction between them that remained unacknowledged. "I just hope there isn't more heartache in this for you."
It was only with supreme effort that Chris was able to meet Jason's eyes. He could read the subtext of what the other man was saying clearly upon his face. As preposterous as it seemed, Jason Kingsley was genuinely interested in him, wanted more than a professional relationship.
Chris said firmly, "I won't let myself be hurt again. It's been too long since I've been in the driver's seat of my own life. It's time I got back behind the wheel."
Jason nodded, understanding the challenge he had just been issued, but the look in his eyes said he was undeterred. "I wonder where our food is."
As if on cue, the screen slid open and Hiroko whispered through in a swirl of silk and delicate footsteps. She quickly laid the table with a delectable assortment of sushi, tempura, and yakisoba and smiled graciously when they thanked her. As they started eating, she excused herself quickly and slid the screen closed.
AS HE walked along the sidewalk in front of his apartment complex, Jason replayed the dinner with Chris in his mind.
He remembered the kindness in Chris's emerald eyes, the grief, and the quiet strength. He replayed the scene at Chris's house where he'd called him a coward, and colored in shame. How wrong he'd been. Chris James was anything but a coward. He'd somehow endured all of the monstrous things visited upon him, and though he had nearly been destroyed, he'd held on. If you looked just beneath the surface, there was grit there. Chris was tenderness with a rock-solid core. There had been a moment when he could almost have brought himself to speak of the guilt and torment that had tattooed blackness onto his own soul, of the sorrow he himself had borne. What was it that made him want to reveal those carefully kept secrets? Chris was a perfect stranger... and yet there was something between them that Jason was at odds to define.
There was a gibbous moon in the evening sky, and a soft breeze, laden with the tangy scent of the sea, blew in from the west. He stopped at the stairwell and breathed deeply, relishing the moment.
A shrill voice floated out of the shadows, interrupting his reverie.
"Well, it's about time."
Jason jumped.
Bradley.
He gritted his teeth, struggling to regain his composure before turning to face the interloper. "What are you doing here?" he asked cautiously, hoping to avoid a scene.
Bradley peeked out of the deep shadows at the base of the steps, brushing at his backside. He walked casually into a pool of streetlamp light and ran a slender hand through unruly blond hair.
He fixed Jason with a pouting, petulant look. "Oh, love the getup," he said, reaching out and straightening Jason's jacket collar.
Jason resisted the urge to flinch away and stood stock still, waiting for the unwanted ministrations to run their course. He stepped back when it became apparent that Bradley would expend no effort to diminish the physical distance between them.
Bradley wrinkled his nose and sniffed pertly, "Oh delish, you smell like grease and raw fish."
"I just came from Hiroko's," Jason said. Bradley was being purposefully provocative. So much for avoiding a scene. He's here for a fight.
"I don't get why you like that dump."
Frustration mounted and he fought to control it. "Come on, Bradley. Are we really going to do this again?"
Bradley's lips formed into an intense pout. "Do what again?"
"It's over. Enough is enough."
Bradley's cheeks flushed. "It's over when I say it's over. You might think you can just write off three years, JayKay"---Jason cringed involuntarily at the sound of the nickname he hated with his very soul---
"but you're wrong if you think I'm going to make it easy for you." He shoved fisted hands against his hips.
Jason took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry you're hurting, but you really have to move on."
Bradley sneered and rolled his eyes. "Don't patronize me."
Although he was trying very hard to avoid a confrontation, he was seized by a sharp flash of anger. How many times was Bradley going to rub their breakup in his face? How many pounds of flesh did he intend to take? Keeping his tone carefully neutral, Jason said, "I've apologized a hundred times in a hundred ways. Believe me, Bradley, I beat myself up over what I did to you far worse than you ever could. This scene is getting tired. It's pointless."
Bradley was silent. Jason could see his shoulders trembling. It was apparent he was fighting for control of his emotions, though stoicism had never been one of his better skills. "You're seeing someone else, aren't you? My side of the bed is barely cold and you're out playing house with some little skank."
He wasn't, of course, but there was no point arguing. He shrugged.
"What if I am?"
"I knew it," Bradley said, as if uncovering some dark secret.
"Our relationship has been over for months," Jason said. "Why should it matter to you?"
"Let me guess, you're shagging one of your clients again? So predictable."
Although he didn't want to fight, Jason's anger was rising to the point that it would soon become inevitable. His hands curled into fists.
"It's time for you to go." He reached out, grasped the smaller man's shoulder, and pointed him toward the parking lot.
Bradley jerked out of his grip. He latched onto the collar of Jason's jacket. "I'm not some cheap tramp you can just toss out into the street," he said. "I have feelings."
Jason wrenched away and glared. "What do you think you're going to accomplish with this?" He took a step, closing the distance between them. "Do you think I'm suddenly going to change my mind and want you back?"
Bradley gave him a scornful look. "Please," he said. "What makes you think I want you back?" The lie was blatantly obvious. Bradley had always been given to flights of melodrama. This was just another expression of his need for constant attention. Good, bad, it didn't really matter as long as he got it.
Recognizing Bradley's tantrum for what it was dulled the edge of Jason's ire. Looking into Bradley's eyes now, he felt only pity. "Go home, Bradley," he said. "Get help. Get a life. I don't care. Just leave me alone."
For a moment, Bradley didn't say anything. Jason could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to think of a way to keep the fight going.
Finally, in a small, wounded voice, Bradley asked, "That's it?"
"It's all I've got," Jason said, bringing his hands up in a gesture of defeat. That was the cold, hard truth. He'd run out of attention. He'd run out of remorse. If Bradley needed a fix, he'd have to find it somewhere else from now on.
Bradley nodded slowly. "You get back what you give times seven. Good and bad."
"I've paid that price many times over," Jason said. "You know that better than anyone."
The reminder of Jason's troubled past seemed to catch Bradley off guard. Jason saw a blush of shame rise to his cheeks, and Bradley looked away. He seemed suddenly incapable of meeting Jason's eyes. "Your past is no excuse for how you treated me. Stop using it as a crutch."
"I wish I could," Jason admitted, surprising himself.
Bradley stared back at him for a long time. "And you think I need help?" He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Goodbye, Jason," Bradley said, and then turned and walked away.
As Jason watched him go, he breathed a sigh of relief. Goodbye, Bradley. Maybe this time it would stick.
Chapter 6
LAFFERTY'S was typical of the Seattle waterfront: a millish-looking wooden structure set far out onto the end of Pier 61. The weathered, boxy building atop tarred and barnacle-crusted posts perched precariously over the greasy, oil-slicked waters of Puget Sound. Gulls wheeled lazily overhead, searching for scraps, and the soun
d of a ferry's foghorn blasted through the drizzly afternoon.
Chris followed Jason along the wooden pier toward the entrance.
Despite Jason's optimism and the high value he placed on Jeffrey Cross's esteem, Chris remained skeptical. He was still trying to reconcile himself to the fact that, after nearly a year of dead air, there was finally a glimmer of hope. A soaring heart always fears the fall, he thought.
Once inside, they were taken immediately to a table in a secluded corner of the establishment with a good view of the water. Chris stared out at the sound in contemplation while they waited for Cross to make his entrance.
They didn't have to wait long. Jeffrey Cross had been looking forward to the meeting, and he was prompt. He was a short, rotund man with cherubic features and thinning blond hair. He was clad simply in a pair of khaki chinos and a blue chambray shirt. As he approached, he was preceded by the almost overpowering fragrance of his cologne.
He smiled warmly as he settled in an empty chair and shook Chris's hand.
"Christian," he said in a surprisingly rich baritone. "I've been dying to shake the hand of the man who saved Lafferty's."
Chris smiled and blushed. "I'm sure you're giving me far too much credit. As I recall, your gumbo is extraordinary."
Cross laughed a deep, hearty laugh. "Modest. I love that about you. That and your discerning palate."
Jason sat back and watched with admiration. Whatever misgivings Chris might have had about this meeting, he seemed to have put them aside. His casual familiarity was obviously charming the pants right off of Jeffrey Cross. Before that moment, he'd harbored some reservations about bringing him along, but seeing Cross's beaming smile, he put aside his doubts.
After several minutes of small talk and two rounds of hastily gulped drinks, it was clear that their host was becoming more malleable.
Drink had lent a rosy glow to his cheeks and the patches of balding pate just visible beneath his wispy blond hair. Jason decided it was time to get what they had come for.
