by Mari Carr
Eric stepped back, looking at the men on the ground, then called out, “You want to tie them up?”
One girl turned on the lantern again. Several others picked up pieces of what looked like well-used rope before running out to bind the new captives. As they passed him, Walt saw the raw red skin around their wrists.
And for a moment, Walt wanted to pick up a gun and shoot the men himself.
Instead, he hauled his kit to the table and got ready to do his job. He was going to patch them up—all of them. The girls first, even if all he did was give them aspirin and Band-Aids. Then he’d stabilize the men, particularly splint the legs of the two with now destroyed knees. And when the authorities got here, he would throw whatever political weight he had behind the girls to make sure the men weren’t simply released.
Four hours later, Walt sat on the floor with his back against the wall. He was in the small rural police station not far from the extremists’ compound. The girls had been questioned—lightly, since he and Eric hovered—and most had been reunited with their parents. Some were orphans, some runaways. Most had been snatched while they walked to school.
The men were in jail, and Walt had pointedly and loudly talked about how great it was the authorities were going to make sure men like this didn’t operate here. He was pretty sure at least one of the men had a politician parent, so he’d have to keep up pressure to make sure the men weren’t released after a few months in prison.
Eric sat down beside him, groaning exaggeratedly. Walt had dug a spare scrub top out of the bottom of his kit for Eric. It barely fit, but Eric looked less like a deranged serial killer now that he was clothed, with only a few streaks of blood on his pants.
“Thanks for your help, Doc.”
“I’m not sure how much help I was. None of them would have died.” Suffered greatly but not died. Walt closed his eyes, weary beyond words.
Eric shrugged. “Never can tell with internal bleeding.”
“And you know that because you regularly hunt down terrorists?”
“No. Happy accident. These guys beheaded some women. I was following that.”
“You were looking for people who like to behead other people?” Walt didn’t bother to open his eyes. This conversation wouldn’t get any less surreal if he did.
“Right now I am. I’m…well, there’s time for that later.”
“Did you spend Christmas hunting down killers?” It was December twenty-seventh. He’d video chatted with his family on Christmas day, then talked separately with Langston about the surprise wedding for Oscar.
The Trinity Masters were insisting on keeping the wedding a surprise, including tricking Oscar into thinking he wasn’t going to be one of the grooms until the last minute. Walt, like Langston, had a feeling it would go badly, but apparently no one was going to listen to them.
“Isn’t that how everyone spends the holidays?” Eric said in a jolly tone.
“I’m flying home in a few days. For New Year’s.”
“You’re leaving the clinic?”
“Don’t worry, the baby docs can handle it, and anything serious will go to the doctor in the city.” He hadn’t had much notice about the need to be home for New Year’s, but luckily there was enough coverage that he could attend the wedding. And then, he was going to take a few weeks off. Mental health breaks were necessary, and he was smart enough to know when he needed one. After tonight, he really needed one.
Eric merely grunted.
“Why were you looking for people who behead people?” That sentence was messy, but Walt was tired.
“Behead, dismember. It’s the signature of…of a killer I’m hunting.” Eric’s voice had dropped to a growl.
“I’m guessing these guys weren’t who you were looking for.”
“No.”
“But you decided to just stop and dismantle an extremist cell while you were here.”
“Yep. I’m out of leads. I…I don’t know where I’m going next.” Eric seemed almost surprised by his own admission.
Walt turned his head, opened one eye. “Want to be my date to my brother’s surprise New Year’s Eve wedding?”
Eric blinked, then grinned.
Chapter Two
Walt walked into the hotel conference room with Eric. They’d been summoned from Oscar’s wedding reception by Juliette, the Grand Master of the Trinity Masters. They’d arrived at Oscar’s wedding shortly after the ceremony had started. The fact he’d shown up in Boston with the head of the Masters’ Admiralty had caused a stir.
As Walt took in the faces of Juliette, Franco, and Devon, he felt a bit like he used to when he’d been called to the principal’s office back in school—something that occurred quite frequently, given Langston’s love of blowing things up in chemistry class and Oscar’s propensity for using four-letter words at all the wrong times. Walt’s presence usually fell under the all-for-one-and-one-for-all rule of being a triplet. Though he couldn’t deny he also was a big fan of jokes—he was often labeled the class clown—so he probably dragged his brothers down just as much as they did him.
Langston was already in the room, leaning against a side wall, offering Walt that same “we fucked up again” grin that was far too familiar to him. Eric was about to close the door, but before he managed, Oscar shuffled in.
“Seriously?” Oscar grumped, closing the door with more force than was probably necessary. “It’s literally my fucking wedding night. This shit couldn’t wait?”
Juliette narrowed her eyes at Oscar, and Walt suppressed a sigh. Oscar had a very bad habit of saying everything he thought as he thought it, with an extra fuck or two added to each sentence. “I’m aware it’s your wedding night. By the way, you’re welcome.”
Oscar scowled, though Walt thought the expression was there to mask the tiniest bit of regret Oscar felt for his comment. After all, the Grand Master had just put Oscar in a trinity marriage with the two people his brother had fallen madly in love with. “Yeah. Uh. Thanks.”
Juliette didn’t reply but instead pointed at a chair.
Oscar—wisely—took it without comment.
“Great party. This is fun.” Eric took a noisy sip from the signature cocktail he’d brought with him. “Congrats, Oscar. Though I would have given you two wives.”
Langston raised his hand. “It was me who wanted that.”
“Is this going to take long? I want another one of these.” Eric jiggled his glass, the ice clinking noisily.
Walt gave him the side-eye, and then took a discreet half step away from the Viking.
Juliette Adams, whose identity as the Grand Master was a closely guarded secret, turned her cool blue gaze on Walt. He put his hands in the pockets of his pants and smiled. He was very aware of how tenuous his current situation was. He’d had plenty of time on the flights here to think about it.
He wasn’t a member of the Trinity Masters, and yet he knew the Grand Master’s identity, a secret most members did not.
He’d brought a plus-one when the invitation definitely hadn’t included one.
And his plus-one was the leader of a rival secret society, though he wasn’t totally sure if rival was the right word.
Some days he was as dumb as his brothers, and apparently this was one of those days. Hopefully the fact that Langston and Oscar were both in the room meant one of them would draw Juliette’s ire away from him.
His money was on Oscar. The man had a gift for being an asshole.
“I’m surprised to find you here, Eric,” Juliette said. “Apparently, you’re a missing person.”
“I am never missing. I am always precisely where I’m meant to be,” Eric intoned.
Franco snort-laughed. Juliette glared at him.
“It’s a Lord of the Rings reference. It was funny!” Franco grinned at his wife. Devon’s eye seemed to be twitching.
“Why are you here?” Juliette asked Eric. “I thought we discussed this the last time we were together. You’re not allowed in my territory without
prior notice and my approval.”
Eric pulled his phone from his pocket, passing his empty glass to Walt, who accepted it while trying to blend into the wall. Eric typed something, then stuck his phone in his pocket.
A second later, the small jeweled clutch Juliette carried pinged.
Juliette didn’t even bother pulling her phone out. When Franco reached for her clutch, she smacked his hand away.
Oscar started to belly laugh. Langston slapped a hand over his brother’s mouth. Walt shoved Eric’s glass toward him.
Eric frowned at Walt. “You know, since you’re my date, shouldn’t you offer to get me a new drink?”
“If you get me killed, I’ll haunt you,” Walt muttered.
“Why. Are. You. Here. Eric?” Juliette repeated.
Eric bowed his head for a moment, and when he raised it, the teasing light was gone from his eyes. The air in the room shifted, and instead of just one powerful authority in the room, it became clear there were two. It was like Eric had put on a cloak made of duty and responsibility.
Devon took a step forward, standing at Juliette’s side. Langston pushed away from the wall, stepping closer to Walt.
“I came because I’m out of leads.” Eric’s voice was low and dark.
Langston caught Walt’s eye, and Walt vividly remembered the story Langston had told him about Eric literally ripping a man’s head off.
“Explain.” Juliette, unlike the men in the room, appeared perfectly calm, unafraid.
“I’m looking for a killer. A serial killer.”
Juliette glanced at Devon briefly. “And you believe this person is on American soil?”
“No. I don’t know where he is, and that’s the fucking problem.” The glass in Eric’s hand cracked. Walt instinctively batted the glass away before it could completely shatter and cut Eric.
“He found me in Bani Walid,” Walt said when the glass fell to the carpeted floor, rolling, ice spilling.
“Libya?” Devon asked, looking at Eric.
“The man I’m hunting dismembers, beheads, or both. There had been some beheadings in Bani Walid. I tracked it down. Wasn’t him.”
“Eric took out an extremist cell that was starting to take hold in the region. He freed the young girls they’d kidnapped.” Everyone looked at Eric again, but this time there was approval in the attention. “He also wanted me to patch the bad guys up so he could keep torturing them.”
“Did you?” Franco asked with interest.
Walt frowned. “No.”
“Why not?” Franco pressed.
“Because I’m not a psychopath?” Walt couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.
“Why are you, single-handedly, looking for a serial killer while also hiding from your own people?” Juliette raised a brow. “I’ve been working with Sophia.”
“Oh. How’s that going?” Eric asked. “Well? Because if so, I’ll make her my ambassador to the Trinity Masters.”
Juliette’s lips twitched in a small smirk. “I have enjoyed it. She dresses better than you, and now that I have another woman to work with, we’ve made great strides in developing a useful relationship between our societies.”
“Ouch.” Eric rubbed his chest. “That hurt.”
Oscar sighed loudly, rising and walking over to stand next to Langston—and closer to the door—making sure everyone knew he was still there and not on his honeymoon.
Juliette didn’t acknowledge the sound. “Let’s cut to the chase. Tell me what the hell is going on here.”
Eric turned away from them all, staring at the wall. Everyone else exchanged glances, and Walt was aware of a horrible sense of fascinated anticipation, like listening to a true crime podcast or watching a train wreck.
“You know we had a traitor within the Masters’ Admiralty. He killed my predecessor. Killed others. But he didn’t do it all himself. He had people—puppets who danced to his tune. He dredged up old enemies and gave them new life. He’s dead, as I’m sure Langston remembers.”
“Vividly,” Langston said.
Eric finally turned back around.
“He’s dead, but killing him only freed the puppets from his strings. We have a religious cult who likes bombs…” Both Oscar and Langston nodded. “…and at least one serial killer.”
“The serial killers were his puppets?” Franco asked.
“Yes. We caught one, who’d kidnapped our people on his orders, back before we knew how deep it ran. But when we were closing in, someone I was close to was murdered.” He whispered her name. “Josephine.” Eric’s hands flexed, turning into tight fists and then relaxing. “He left her head in a fucking basket for us to find.”
“My God,” Langston breathed.
Juliette’s eyes softened briefly. Walt’s chest was tight, his throat closing as he considered what it must feel like to find someone you loved that way. Walt made the mistake of imagining it was Sylvia’s head, or Oscar’s or Langston’s.
“Eric,” Walt said softly, but the other man either didn’t hear or he ignored him.
“The man I killed, Petro, the puppet master…the mastermind…whatever the fuck you want to call him, he didn’t kill Josephine himself. He had one of his pets kill her.”
“And so now you have to hunt him down,” Oscar said quietly.
“When I cut off his head, it will be slow.” Eric’s voice was factual, as if it had already happened.
Devon cleared his throat. “That doesn’t track, Fleet Admiral.”
Walt looked at Devon and wondered if the man had brain damage that he would question Eric, who was clearly emotional about the death of Josephine, who, from the sounds of it, had been Eric’s lover.
“Abort, abort,” Franco whispered loudly.
Juliette looked at Devon, then motioned him to continue.
Devon stepped forward. “You have access to, and the ability to command through your membership, every law enforcement agency in Europe. They would be far better equipped to find a killer than you would be. Tracing specialists, forensic psychologists—”
Eric jerked, as if he was surprised or shocked by something Devon had just said.
“—and if what you wanted was to abandon any semblance of justice and murder the man yourself, I’m sure that could have been arranged.”
“I’m being lectured on morals by someone who works for the CIA? Fuck that, you pompous ass.” Eric took a threatening step forward.
Walt, for reasons he would never understand, grabbed Eric to hold him back. His brothers leapt to help.
Franco was his mirror image, though the arm he grabbed was Devon’s. “Devon. Let the man speak. Eric, why didn’t you seek help from the Masters’ Admiralty? Why did you feel like you had to do this on your own?”
Devon opened his mouth, apparently ignoring his husband, but Juliette spoke first.
“Enough!” Everyone fell silent at her command. “Eric is going to explain.”
Was that a command, or was she confident that Eric would open up?
Eric shook off Walt’s hold, but then put a hand on his shoulder, as if to indicate he was calm. Then Eric very obviously tucked his hands into his pockets and relaxed his shoulders.
“I left,” he said after a long moment, “to protect them from me.”
“Protect ‘them’ who?” Walt asked.
“Everyone.” The word was a dark rumble. “The members of my society, the people around me. Hell, all of fucking Europe. When I get angry…”
“Berserker rage,” Langston muttered. It wasn’t the first time Walt had heard Langston use that term in reference to the fleet admiral, Eric’s title within the Masters’ Admiralty.
Eric nodded. “After my wives died, I left for a long time. I had to. Killing Petro wasn’t enough. I was feeling that way again, but last time I felt like this I didn’t have this much power.” There was a bleak sadness to his voice. “You’re right, Devon, I could have turned the full might of the Masters’ Admiralty on finding the man who killed Josephine. An
d I would have destroyed us to get it done.”
Walt, like the others, was probably thinking through all the grim possibilities, what exactly “destroyed us” might have looked like.
Juliette nodded slowly. “I understand. What do you need from us?”
The tension left the room and everyone’s focus shifted. Now they had something to do: help Eric.
“Ten minutes ago, I would have said nothing.” He pointed at Devon. “But you gave me an idea.”
Devon grimaced.
“And that is?” Juliette patted her husband’s arm.
“I need a forensic psychologist.”
Juliette glanced at Franco, who was the most familiar with the backgrounds of every member of the Trinity Masters.
Franco pressed his fingers against his lips for just a moment, then said, “How would you feel about a criminal psychologist? We have one of those and they’re basically the same thing.”
Eric shook his head. “No, actually I have someone in the Masters’ Admiralty who fits that bill. What I also want is a doctor.”
“A forensic pathologist,” Walt corrected slowly. “If you want someone to examine bodies, or look at existing autopsy records, that’s who you need.”
“No, I need a doctor.” Eric clapped Walt on the shoulder. “Want to come help me hunt a serial killer?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“I’ll go!” Franco grinned.
“No,” Juliette and Devon said in unison.
Juliette frowned. “I find it hard to believe there isn’t a single doctor in your society. As a Trinity Masters’ recruit, Walt isn’t available to you.”
Walt cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. He rarely pulled out the “I’m a doctor/authority figure” voice, but if there was ever a time to do it, it was now. “You don’t get to say where I go.”
Juliette’s expression never changed, never revealed the slightest annoyance, though Walt would bet every last dollar he’d pissed her off every bit as much as Oscar did. “True, but you’re an American citizen. Your work is funded by NIH and NSF grants, and your brothers are members.”
