Jeremy smiled, remembering. "Yeah. You were. But even from the beginning, I felt like, something more than that for you."
"Like what? or maybe I shouldn't ask."
Jeremy shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sweats. "I remember the first time I saw you, I thought, 'Jesus, he's hot.' And...this is confession time, right?" He paused, but Arthur said nothing, so he continued. "Sometimes, it wouldn't be just guys from the swim team I thought about in bed at night. You know?" He raised his eyebrows.
"I know." He visualized a dollhouse-like cutaway of the Tyler house, with Arthur pleasuring himself downstairs thinking about Jeremy upstairs while Jeremy was upstairs pleasuring himself thinking about Arthur downstairs.
It was sort of French-comedy material, in a way.
"And that first time you held me, remember? We were in your room?"
"Of course I remember. We were talking about Jonathan and Danny being out there somewhere, together even."
"And you put your arms around me, and hugged me."
"And at first you didn't hug me back."
"I couldn't." He looked down. "I was scared of you."
" Scared of me? Why on earth would you've been scared of me?"
"Because you're a man. A real man. Powerful, and experienced." Jeremy looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the words to express what was in his heart. "And even though I know you love me, I think you forget who I am. And that's scary."
"That's impossible."
Jeremy laughed. "Think for a second where I was a year ago, and what my life was like until my mom went into rehab."
He pondered the question. "OK?"
"Don't you get it?" His jaw clenched and he glared at him.
Arthur sighed. "I guess I don't."
"You see me as Jonathan almost as much as Katharine does. But I'm not.
Underneath all of this, I'm just that fucked-up, ass-poor kid who grew up in that shitty apartment in Fresno with a drunk mom. And what pisses me off is that everyone forgets that who I really am isn't what you see. I'm what you don't see. I"-
-he fought sudden tears--"I want you to love me and I want to love you, because I've never had anyone ever who put me first, except you. So much that you make me feel teeny sometimes."
"What do you mean, 'teeny'?"
Jeremy made his way over to him. "You make me feel like I could"-- he reached out and took his hand--"be safe. Forever. That you could protect me and bring out the best in me. like you did already."
Arthur reached down and took his other hand, and they stood face-to-face.
"When you held me that night, it was like a wall came tearing down, a wall I didn't even know was there before. It was the beginning of...me; it was when I started feeling things that people--normal people--are supposed to feel. And I felt right then that we belonged together, that we fit together like...like socks fit feet.
Perfectly, you know?"
"I felt it, too," Arthur said.
He slipped his hands around Arthur's waist. "I still feel it," he murmured, pulling their bodies together. "I feel it every day."
Arthur resisted, with every rational synapse in his brain screaming no! But when he felt the heat and smelled the scent from Jeremy's body, his head spun crazily with desire. In an instant their contact became too much for him to refuse, and Jeremy clenched him harder, and raised his mouth to his and pressed their lips together, and Arthur hugged him fiercely and wrenched his mouth open with his own. Their tongues mashed and twisted, and Jeremy shoved his body tighter against Arthur's and slipped his hands up inside his T-shirt. And as their kisses became deeper and more furious, Arthur heard him whimper.
He breathed him in.
Seawater...skin...my Jeremy...
He broke his mouth away and pressed their cheeks together so hard that Jeremy thought his skin would tear from the scrape of the man's stubble. "You have no idea how much I love you," Arthur's tortured voiced managed, at last. "Or how scared I am."
"But what are you--," Jeremy started to ask, but stopped.
He heard footsteps running up the front stairs.
Chapter 25
They pulled away from each other, wide-eyed.
Arthur pointed to the bathroom, and Jeremy trotted on tiptoe into it and pressed the door shut. Once inside, he turned on the sink faucet full blast.
Arthur, glad that his T-shirt was already untucked, adjusted his aching erection before making his way to the entrance. Don't look guilty. He rubbed his face, then reached down to slide open the door. "Thank God," he said to Carlo, meaning it.
"You made it back safely." With one glance at the young man's face, he could see he was worried. Could he possibly know what just happened? "Did you find Afonso?"
"Hey, Arthur," Carlo said, stepping inside. "Where's Jeremy?"
"In the bathroom." He threw a nod toward the closed door. "I guess lunch didn't agree with him."
"Neither did my visit to that favela," he replied, making his way toward the sofa sectional. "I did find Afonso, but it took me a while because now he goes by the name 'Babalu.'"
Arthur chuckled. "Babalu? like Lucy and Ricky?"
Carlo shook his head as he began unlacing his soggy shoes. "It's an old family nickname I'd almost forgotten about. But once I found him we had a nice little chat and he gave me some very interesting information. We all need to talk. Now."
"I'm sure he'll be out in a second." Arthur made his way to the kitchenette. "Want something to drink?"
"Naw. Sure. Yeah, that'd be great." He looked around the room, trying to regain his bearings. "Hey, how much do you know about Fabiano?"
"Just what that friend of mine from the bureau told me: family was in the slave trade, some shady union squelching, stuff like that." Was that what this was about?
"But I guess like any good businessman, he's a shark--and he's probably done some things he doesn't want us to know about. By the way, how's your cousin's health?
Is he doing OK?"
"He isn't doing so great," Carlo told him. "But not as bad as I thought. It's hard to tell; I'm still not really sure what's wrong with him. Didn't want to ask."
The bathroom door opened and Jeremy emerged, smiling brightly. "Hey, baby," he said, and went over to Carlo and kissed him. "How'd it go?"
"Not so good. But I did find him."
"What happened? God, is he really sick?"
He shook his head. "I was just telling Arthur he's doing better than I thought." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "It's what he said, or didn't say, about our host that freaked me out." He looked at the men and saw identical expressions of concern.
"What?" Arthur asked as he handed him the glass of water.
"He said we need to leave--the three of us. Right away. That it's really dangerous here." He looked from one to the other. "But he wouldn't give me anything specific; just as I was gonna beg him to tell me, those two gorillas came up to his shack and said we had to leave 'cause of the weather. And they were right, because the flight back was really bumpy."
"And you don't have any idea what he meant?" Arthur asked.
Carlo shrugged, then finished his water.
"Then we need to go back and find out," Jeremy suggested, "then come back here."
Carlo shook his head. "no. He said to leave."
"We can't just leave," Jeremy countered. "There's too much going on here, and too much I still need to do. Aunt Katharine would kill me if I cut the trip short without finding out what I needed to."
"Who gives a shit about Aunt Katharine?" Carlo snapped. "Babalu said get out. So that's what we need to do."
"How reliable do you think he is?" Arthur asked.
"If you mean do I think he was telling me the truth, absolutely."
"What, exactly, did he say? Tell me as much as you can remember."
"He said something like, 'The less you know, the better it'll be for you, because you still need to smile into Fabiano's face,' and we should 'just find a way to go home today or tonight if y
ou can; you don't know how much danger you're in.' He even knew that he goes by the name el Gigante, and said he was a very bad man."
"Shit," said Jeremy.
"We need to find out what it was he was going to tell you," Arthur stated. "And if it's that bad, we're on the next flight home."
"Then I'll go back there," Carlo offered. "Tomorrow, if I can get that plane to take me over there again. I'll just"--he looked up at the ceiling--"throw some aspirins in a little bag and tell them it's some kind of AIDS drug, and that I need to get it to him right away. Then I'll smile all pretty in his big ol' pumpkin face."
Jeremy glanced at Arthur, then back at Carlo. "We'll go with you."
Arthur nodded. "Yeah. We'll go together; it was stupid for us to separate even just once. In the meantime, I think we've seen enough here to report our findings to Katharine. And if there's anything more we can find out from Babalu, we'll add that, too."
"If we're all leaving suddenly," Jeremy asked, "then what'll we tell Fabiano?"
"We can tell him"--Carlo squinted--"someone at home is really sick, like my dad, so we need to go."
"But none of the cell phones work here," Jeremy reminded. "How would you know if someone was sick back home?"
"Because I just got back from Rio, dummy, and got my voice mail there." Carlo smiled brightly while pulling his phone from his pocket. "Which I did, by the way, and he is really sick. Food poisoning from some old chorizo."
"And we'll tell him we're so happy with what we've seen, we're recommending that Katharine throw him even more support."
"Yeah," agreed Jeremy.
Carlo stood. "Then let's get out of here. First thing tomorrow."
Chapter 26
Was that her cell phone ringing in the kitchen? She thought she'd heard it earlier, but when she checked it there was no voice mail, and no evidence of a missed call.
So she left the phone on the granite countertop and went back into the conservatory, where she continued poring over the revised trust papers her attorneys had sent over that morning.
Settlors, trustees, deeds, appointers, beneficiaries, tax liabilities . She was sick to death of this language, of this unending legalese. But it was necessary that she scrutinize every line; Bill's embezzling from her had demonstrated clearly that she could no longer sit on the sidelines and just expect her corporation and investments to flourish.
She heard a noise, and cocked her head. Yep, that's it. But who could be calling?
God, please let it not be about Jeremy.
She jumped up from her seat and marched quickly across the room, through the long dining room and into the kitchen, and was just reaching for the phone when it stopped ringing.
She picked it up and looked for the missed-call icon.
Nothing.
They'll call back.
She clutched the phone in her hand and made her way back to the conservatory.
She had just folded herself down onto the old wicker chaise when it rang again.
"Katharine Tyler," she announced.
"Mrs. Tyler," the man's friendly baritone announced, "this is Special Agent Carl Singer. I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
"Are you the one who's been calling?"
"Yes, we've been trying to reach you."
"Then please, Agent Singer, you should know that it's good manners to leave a voice mail. Now, what might I do for you?"
"We've obtained some information that concerns your corporation, and we'd like you to come down to our office immediately."
"I'm rather engaged at the moment," she told him flatly. "But I'll be happy to give you the number of the law firm that handles these matters."
"It's urgent. It concerns your venture in the Brazilian resort."
She felt her face flush. "Has something happened to my nephew?"
"Nothing we are aware of, Mrs. Tyler." He paused. "It's of a sensitive nature, and the bureau would prefer that we convey this information to you in person."
She huffed. "Could you please tell me what this is regarding?"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not permitted. Do you remember where our office is located?"
"How could I forget?" she answered dryly. "At what time?"
"As soon as possible. And I'm sorry to inconvenience you with such short notice."
She looked at her watch. "I can be there within the hour. Should I ask for you?"
"Yes, please. My office is on the fourteenth floor; we'll be waiting for you."
"Should I take anything with me?"
"That won't be necessary."
"Then I'll see you soon, Agent Singer."
"Thank you, Mrs. Tyler. Oh, and one more thing."
"Yes?"
"For future reference, you should know that the bureau doesn't leave voice mails concerning matters of this nature."
Chapter 27
Some urgent business with his bankers had necessitated Dom Fabiano taking the jet into Rio de Janeiro that morning, so he was glad to oblige the trio with their request to visit Carlo's cousin again, and then leave for home. So Carlo, Jeremy and Arthur, in their best impersonations of double agents, sat opposite the big man, making small talk during the quick flight back from the island, telling him how excited they were about the resort, and how Jeremy would recommend his family's continued participation in the venture, and might even pledge more support in case it was needed.
Fabiano seemed satisfied with their response but appeared more glum than he had on the island. In any case, as the plane began its descent into Rio's airport, Arthur figured they were home free.
That is, after they paid their last visit to Babalu.
Fabiano insisted on calling a car for them; Arthur wanted badly to refuse his help, but to have done so would have appeared suspicious. So this time it was a black Denali that wove its way through the narrow streets leading up to the favela.
After it pulled curbside, the three let themselves out of the backseat and began making their way up the crazy stairs toward Babalu's, as the bodyguards below leaned against the SUV, smoking their cigarettes.
Arthur looked up to see the morning haze beginning to clear, while across the hills Cristo vanished and reappeared through the floating shroud of clouds. He considered the statue for a moment, and concluded that although Flavius said the statue represents "freedom from Portugal's imperialism," it now seemed the perfect metaphor for oppression, considering how those rosary-clutching, genuflecting Portuguese had been some of the most rabid pope worshippers of all time. Thus Cristo seemed an assurance that the Brazilians would never throw off the church's imperialism; because if imperialism meant having foreigners dictate your life, how much more insidious to have their religion imposed upon your mind and soul, even into their supposed afterlife?
Up and up they climbed, while the people they encountered looked at them as if they had just stepped out of a flying saucer. Up beyond this shack and that wall and another pile of garbage they followed Carlo, until he slowed his climb, made a left and came to a yellow door.
He knocked.
No answer came, so he knocked again.
He tried twisting the doorknob, but it was locked. So they went around to the window and peered inside.
Babalu's bed and belongings were untouched.
Had he just left for the morning? When would he be back?
" Ela não está aqui," an old woman's voice rasped from behind them.
Carlo turned. " Sabe onde ele foi, Nana?"
She shook her bandana-wrapped head and held up two fingers. " Dois homens. Ele saiu com dois homens."
Carlo's stomach flipped. " Eles estavam armados?" he whispered to her.
Her eyes widened; then she held up her hands in the universal I-don't-know gesture.
"Fuck!" Carlo exclaimed. "She said he left with two big men!"
Carlo and Jeremy looked at each other; then the younger men looked at Arthur.
"We need to get out of here," he told them.
"With those gorillas?" Je
remy asked. "Do we trust them?"
"We don't have a choice right now," he said. "In twenty minutes we'll be back at the airport, and we should be safe there until we can catch a flight--any flight--out of here." He looked at Jeremy and saw he was breathing hard. "Carlo, you lead the way down. And for God's sake, don't look like anything's wrong. When we get into the car, make sure Jeremy's in the middle."
"Why?" Jeremy asked, sounding panicked.
"Because, young man, you are the proverbial chicken who lays the golden eggs,"
Arthur joked, trying to alleviate the tension.
"And we don't want any big bad giant stealing you," Carlo added.
They picked their way back down the hillside, and when they approached the vehicle Braulio and his sidekick threw their cigarettes in the gutter.
Carlo went around to one side and got in, while Jeremy entered the car on the other, followed by Arthur.
Carlo fixed a casual smile on his face as they buckled themselves into the backseat.
"He went out for breakfast," he told the men in Portuguese. "So I guess we'll just go to the airport now."
" Si, si," the men acknowledged. And with that, Braulio pulled and pushed the gearshift into drive, then back into reverse, over and over as the huge vehicle made a five-point turn in the narrow street, then snaked its way back down the hill.
Minutes later they were lurching along with the rest of Rio's crazed morning traffic.
But what happened next took everyone by surprise.
Chapter 28
They were sitting at a stoplight perhaps only ten minutes from the airport--Arthur was counting the minutes since they left Babalu's favela--when the Denali was rear-ended. Hard.
"Shit!" Carlo exclaimed, after his head snapped backward from the impact.
"What the fuck was that?" asked Jeremy, looking around.
Arthur knew exactly what had happened.
Braulio put the car in park and reached for the door handle. " No! Go, go, go! "
Arthur barked at him, but he was already halfway out the door.
As was the other.
Nick Nolan Page 18
