by Jeremy Pack
Frank pointed at the chair. In response to the disapproving scrutiny, he finally sat down and looked at his lap in shame. "A lot has been going on," he lied feebly.
"Don't give me that crap. I'd knock Curt upside the head if he didn't keep in touch with us. Sounds to me like you need a knot jerked in your tail, kid."
Jason smiled wanly. It was true. A busy schedule was a lame excuse. He was an only child, and he knew that, no matter what, he was the focal point of his parents' universe. He was their legacy, however flawed. Undoubtedly, the long silence had broken their hearts---well, he corrected himself, it had probably broken his mother's heart, at least.
"I broke up with Bradley a few months ago, and I guess I've been trying to work through things on my own."
"Bradley," Frank said thoughtfully. "That the one we met at Thanksgiving last year?" He didn't wait for Jason to acknowledge the guess. "Curt said he was a pain in your ass. Seemed okay to me, but not exactly who I'd have imagined you with."
As it always did when Frank spoke so casually, Jason was seized by a sense of unreality. The openness, the candor---they were so at odds with the man's incredibly gruff exterior.
Curt had blazed this particular trail, though, and because of that, things that were often taboo in other families were commonplace to Frank. Curt would never have tolerated the avoidance and careful politics that were the rule in Jason's family.
"Bradley was all wrong. I have a knack for making those kinds of connections."
"And this client of yours, there's something there, isn't there?"
Despite the anxiety, despite the dour mood, Jason laughed. "Curt," he said, as if uttering an epithet.
"Said he'd never seen you quite so smitten with anyone. Whatever the hell that means. The words that kid uses." Frank's eyes sparkled as he thought about his son. There was unashamed love and pride reflected there. "This is more than a case for you, though. Even without a gossipy kid in my back pocket, I could see it written all over your face. What's the story?"
There was no way Jason could lie to a seasoned federal investigator.
Frank would have instantly seen through any kind of subterfuge. "No story, at least not anymore. I killed any chance I had of that."
Frank leveled a finger at Jason and jabbed it in his direction.
"That's another thing you get from your dad. That temper of yours. Let me guess, you got pissed and started running off at the mouth."
Jason nodded sadly, guiltily. "He would never have run off if I hadn't." Jason leaned back in the chair and looked up at the older man miserably. "Sometimes I can't control myself."
"You put on a tough front, but you've always been too fluffy for your own good. You get too close to things, make it all personal. It's both a credit to you and a curse." He smirked. "Don't I know it? Your dad's the same way. When we were partners, worst part of the job was mopping up that asshole's tears."
"Dad? My dad? We're talking about Max Kingsley, right?"
Frank laughed. "The one and only," he said, his tone softened by some fond nostalgia. "Just like you, he took everything, and I mean everything, to heart. Every success, every failure, every case, no matter how big or small, Max made it personal."
Jason's lips turned up in a small smile of disbelief. The man he knew was laconic and reserved. Frank's assessment contradicted a lifetime of personal experience as the son of Max Kingsley. He thought about denying it again, but after a moment, a memory resurfaced that made him reconsider.
"When I graduated the academy, we had a father-son talk." His thoughts were far away as he remembered that night. There had been a look of pride he had never seen in his father's eyes as he hoisted a beer in honor of his son. "That was the first and only time in my life I can remember having a serious conversation with my dad. I could tell he was proud of me, but he was worried too. He warned me that I would see things, experience things, that could leave deep scars. He told me to keep work at a safe distance---no matter how hard that might be."
Frank pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He knew from experience," he said. "Damn good agent. The best. You know why, Jason? You know what made him special?"
Jason shook his head.
"He made it personal. Exactly what he was warning you not to do. Every case, big or small, like I said. But you pay a price for that kind of investment. He retired early. Damn job was killing him. Why do you think he never tried to talk you out of leaving the unit?"
"I always thought it was because he was disappointed in me. Ashamed," Jason responded.
"It was because he was relieved, son. Watching you was like looking in a mirror." Frank leaned forward on his elbows and answered the skepticism in Jason's eyes with firm resolve. "The way you beat yourself up over that mistake, the funk that put you in... scared the shit right out of him. Your dad loves you---if you had a kid, you'd understand. Watching your child suffer like that... it's damn hard. The job took its pound of flesh, kid, and your dad---he knew exactly what that felt like. He kept quiet because he never wanted to see it again. You were making it all too personal, just like he had."
"But it is personal, Frank. Don't try to tell me it isn't."
Frank frowned. "I won't, then. Because you're right, it is. It's always personal. Thing that's different about me is I can put it away when I hang up the badge for the night. Your father never could. It's a lucky thing he had your mother to look after him. She's the second-best woman in the whole damn world." There was a twinkle of humor in his eyes as he spoke. "My Ann," he said, grinning, "she's just a little bit better." He made a pinching gesture with his thumb and forefinger. "But only by a hair."
Jason chuckled. He was comforted by the easy familiarity and warm memories the long-standing joke brought to mind.
Frank's expression turned serious. "We need you back, Jason. There are more freaks out there than ever before. The country needs good men like you on the job. You're one of the best we had. You owe it to yourself---to all those kids---to get back to doing the good work."
Jason hesitated. Chris had said something similar to him the night before, and it had made him think. Though his instinct was to protest, somehow, time or acceptance or just talking about it had dulled the edge of guilt. All of his reasons for leaving the CACU seemed less significant now than they had in those early days after Gerry had gone free.
He wasn't quite ready to commit yet, though, so he shook his head slowly. "Not something I can think about right now, Frank. Not until I see this one to the end. Not until I face whatever's coming."
Frank gave him a reassuring wink. "Well, at least give your damn parents a call. They're worried sick."
Jason's heart warmed as he realized that, despite everything, he was loved. He wondered how much worse off he would be if his situation had been similar to Chris's. His parents were dead, and for many years, Chris had been estranged from his father---
His father.
"His father," he cried as a realization struck him---one that he had not considered until just this moment. "His father."
Frank was stunned by the sudden outburst, and his brows drew together. "Now what are you on about?"
"Chris," Jason said. "On the plane... Chris told me his parents were killed in a car accident. Mechanical failure or something." He rose from the chair, pacing, remembering. He was babbling as he followed his train of thought, the words running together, pouring out of him in staccato succession. "He was estranged from his father. Said he had some letters he'd never read tucked away somewhere---from his father." Frank too was rising out of his seat now, caught up in Jason's excitement. "When he told me about the accident, something struck me as odd, but I let it go. Those letters may have been the missing piece all along."
"You think there's something about the diamond in them?"
"Frank, what if Michael Blake found them? What if he's the one who told Brunner and started this whole thing in motion?"
Frank moved toward the door. "Hot damn. Pay dirt. Let's get the team looking into the el
der James. See what turns up."
WHEN Brunner merged onto Interstate 5 from Highway 89---the winding two-lane road they had traveled across the state of California---
Chris breathed a sigh of relief. After what felt like a never-ending trek through raw wilderness, the wide expanse of interstate was a welcome sign of civilization.
After a short northward jaunt, they arrived in the city of Weed, California. In the moonlight, off to the south, Chris could see the snow-capped dome of Mount Shasta rising into the blackened firmament. For a moment, he could almost imagine that he was looking at Mount Rainier, so similar was the distinctive shield of the Pacific Rim volcano to the mountain that was a defining landmark of his Washington home. A lump formed in his throat, and tears threatened. He hadn't realized how much he missed it, and a rising dread that he might never see it again pulled painfully at his heart.
He involuntarily clutched Brianna more tightly, and she stirred in his arms, roused from slumber.
Brunner drove slowly through the small town and finally found a roadside motel on the northern outskirts that looked satisfactory to him.
He pulled into the parking lot, parked the car, and turned to face Chris.
"You're coming with me. I'm not letting you out of my sight."
Chris thought about protesting, but instead, he nodded in acquiescence. Now was not his moment. Soon, though. Soon.
"Don't think for a second I will hesitate to use my weapon if you make any move to escape. Act naturally and everything will be fine."
Chris closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. "I already told you. I'm not going to try anything."
Brunner nodded curtly, climbed out of the car, and opened the door for him. Chris stepped out and drew a deep breath of the fragrant mountain air. It was cool and clean, invigorating. After long hours of confinement, this was a tiny pleasure and a happy relief. Without a word, he followed Brunner into the motel.
He stood patiently, silently, his eyes upon Brianna as he cradled and rocked her while Brunner transacted with the desk clerk. Fixing his attention on his sleeping daughter helped to keep him centered and calm.
Her placid expression, the tiny dimples as her lips curled into a smile at some dreamed happiness, were both a balm and a motive. Since she had come into his life, she had been his purpose. As she slept on, completely oblivious to the gathering storm, his resolve crystallized. Whatever else happened, whatever the cost to himself, she, at least, would be spared the horrible fate Brunner had planned.
Dangling the key before him, Brunner snapped him to attention and pointed toward the door. Mutely, Chris followed the man to the parking lot. "That was very good," Brunner praised him. "Keep cooperating just like this and you may yet walk away with your life."
Chris said nothing, biting back a smart retort. It was important for Brunner not to question his control. The more he felt in command, the more comfortable he would become. There would be a moment, Chris was sure, when Brunner would be vulnerable, and if the man's guard were down, seizing it would be easier.
The room was garish, decorated in shades of brown, amber, and green. It was, however, clean, a fact for which Chris was grateful.
Brunner allowed him and Brianna to use the bathroom and then said, "Put the girl on the bed."
As Brunner secured the door to their room, Chris placed Brianna on the bed and pulled the covers up around her. Her eyes were heavy, and it didn't take long for her to fall back to sleep. He helped her along by smoothing her hair and whispering soothing words to her. Once she was out, he stood and flexed his arms. They were stiffened and sore from long hours of immobility.
Brunner had been standing near the bureau watching him attend to his daughter. When Chris turned his attention away from her, he noticed Brunner removing his belt. He eyed Chris and said, "Come here."
Chris held back, unsure. He met Brunner's gaze with suspicion.
Brunner saw his hesitation and laughed. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type." He held forth the belt as if in explanation. "I'm not taking any chances. You say you're not going to try anything, and this is just a little insurance to hold you to your word."
Gritting his teeth, Chris approached. Brunner held his hands behind his back and strapped them tightly together.
"You're cutting off my circulation," Chris complained.
"Good," Brunner replied, cinching the belt even more firmly. "I won't have to worry about it coming loose."
When he was satisfied that Chris was securely bound, he leaned in close from behind. His hands roamed over Chris's body. Chris tried to ignore the bile rising in his throat at the violation of Brunner's hands touching him. He'd already endured this examination once before, so he couldn't imagine what Brunner thought he might find.
Brunner leaned forward and breathed into his ear. Chris wrenched away from the offensive invasion and was jerked roughly back. He gasped as he was pulled tightly into Brunner's hard, muscled body.
"I thought I wasn't your type," he said through gritted teeth.
"I lied," Brunner whispered into his ear.
Chris's heart raced. Oh no. Not this. Please, not this. He was sickened by the thought of Brunner's touch. The man's breath was hot upon his cheek, and one arm squeezed his chest tightly.
"I get off on the S&M stuff, you know." Brunner nipped Chris's neck.
Chris trembled, and tears stung the corners of his eyes. Trussed and physically inferior, he was powerless to stop whatever Brunner unleashed upon him.
"Are you afraid?" Brunner asked.
Chris did not respond. He tried to keep himself rigid, to still the trembling that belied his mounting panic, but it was no use.
Brunner whipped him around and backhanded him, lust adding force to the blow. Chris's knees buckled, and he went down. As Chris knelt, his battered face stung painfully. Brunner thrust his groin forward and rubbed against him. "Are you afraid?" he asked again. The big man's breathing was heavy and labored. His erection pressed deeply into Chris's cheek.
Chris was so revolted by this assault, he was sure he was going to throw up. In spite of his disgust, though, he stubbornly refused to respond. He would not give this monster the satisfaction.
Brunner hauled him to his feet. He crushed his lips to Chris's, biting down hard and drawing blood. Chris gagged as Brunner forced his tongue, snakelike, into his mouth.
Impassioned, Brunner entwined his fingers in Chris's hair. He gave a hard tug, jerking Chris's head backward. Chris felt him fumble, and a moment later, the barrel of a gun was thrust into the tender flesh beneath his jaw. Brunner cocked the hammer. Chris could no longer contain his fear. He whimpered, overcome, the façade of stoicism crumbling at his feet. Brunner's offensive desecration of his body was one thing. The threat of a painful death was quite another. Now he could admit he was afraid.
Brunner laughed evilly and shoved the gun more deeply into his flesh. "Are. You. Afraid?" he asked, every word clipped and hard.
Chris tried to speak but could not. Instead, he nodded almost imperceptibly.
"What was that?" Brunner asked, his lips a hairsbreadth from Chris's ear.
"Y-yes," Chris finally managed.
Brunner gave him a hard shove. Chris stumbled and fell onto the bed with Brianna. As he landed next to her, she was startled awake and began to cry. He wriggled close to her and hovered protectively as Brunner loomed over them with an imperious sneer on his face.
Brunner holstered his weapon and said, "If you were contemplating escape, remember what just happened to you. Imagine how much worse it will be if I am truly aroused. That and the belt should keep you from doing anything stupid." Brunner stared down at him, allowing the words to sink in. When he was satisfied that he had made his point, he knelt down and removed Chris's shoes, tossed them over to the other side of the room, and pointed toward the pillow. "Sleep," he commanded, then turned and walked into the bathroom.
Chris rolled toward Brianna and shushed her, trying to keep her calm. She w
rapped her arms around his neck, and he fought against tears as she clung to him. Trussed as he was, he could not hold her or offer any more comfort than the closeness of his body and gentle words. He trembled and his stomach churned. He felt sick. The belt dug cruelly into his wrists, and he cringed as he tested the bonds.
After a time, Brianna's tears quieted, and snuggling close to Chris, she fell back to sleep. He watched her for a long while. How he had ached to look upon that tousled red hair, that angelic face again. But not like this... never like this. A cold knot of helpless dread formed in the pit of his stomach. Brianna knew nothing of the terrible danger that faced them---danger that seemed far more real now than it had before. How had he ever thought he was any kind of match for Brunner? The man was a veteran criminal, violent, ruthless, and completely without remorse.
What was more, he was physically powerful. Chris was outclassed. The repulsive assault had proven as much. He was just not equipped to match the man's cunning or sheer bulk.
What had he done? Why had he allowed his temper to guide him directly into the arms of danger? He had put both his daughter and himself in dire jeopardy with his recklessness.
If only he'd been more rational, he might never have pushed Jason to say the things he'd said---and they'd been true, after all. That was what hurt the most.
He was a coward. His feelings for Jason Kingsley terrified him.
The yearning that no other save Jason could satisfy, the intense longing and the filling of the emptiness he hadn't known existed---these needs, so long denied, were dangerous.
He'd lost everything more than once, and each time the pain of it had nearly destroyed him.
I'm a coward. This time, he thought, looking at Brianna, he wasn't the only one who would pay the price.
What had he done? Oh, what had he done?
Chapter 15
"MACQUERY," George said on the other end of the line. Frank and Jason had him on speakerphone in Frank's office.
