by SE Jakes
Reed had war in his eyes. Sometimes, when he woke, he still did. He told Keith he always dreamed of the rain.
“There’s no one like you,” Keith told him. “We can’t keep him here longer than tomorrow.”
“There’s your suspicious side coming through,” Reed grumbled.
“You know I’m right to be cautious.”
“I know. He’s beautiful, though,” Reed murmured, and Keith rubbed a hand over his shaved skull as he moved forward toward the bed and wondered what the hell they were doing not calling the police.
“Yeah, a beautiful con artist,” he muttered. Reed turned and shot him a sharp look as their patient suddenly opened his eyes and stared directly at Keith, a gaze that made him feel a sharp tug from gut to groin.
Fuck. It had been a mistake to let him in this far.
Shane struggled to sit up, but Reed was pressing his shoulders back down to the pillows. “Easy, big guy. You’ve been out of it for a while.”
Keith held out the cup of water and Shane took a greedy pull from the straw, until he coughed. Reed eased him back, covered him back up and waited until he’d caught his breath.
“What’s your name?” Keith asked.
Shane looked at him, a sudden confusion covering his handsome face. “It’s um…fuck.”
“Um fuck, huh?” Keith started, but Reed interrupted with a glare at Keith.
“It’s Shane Wills. Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t remember,” Shane admitted.
“What the hell were you doing out there?” Keith barked.
Shane pressed his lips together, shook his head as if attempting to clear it. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s a simple question,” Keith asked, but Reed put a hand against his chest to stop him, asked instead, “What’s the last thing you remember, Shane?”
“I remember walking down a street in Philly…some guys hassled me and I fought them off, but not before I lost my wallet and they got in some good punches,” he started slowly. “A truck driver took pity on me—cleaned me up and took me as far as here, I guess. When he dropped me, he told me there was an inn a mile from here. And then I walked.”
Keith mentally cursed the driver for dropping this kid into the middle of nowhere in this weather. “No one’s ever found that inn.”
Because this is the inn.
He caught Reed’s eye and both men fought a smile.
“And before that?” Keith pushed Shane, who shook his head.
“I don’t remember. I’ve been trying to for the past few days—the whole ride…I was panicked.”
“Maybe we should call the police—file a missing person’s report—” Reed said.
“No!” Shane’s hand shot out, grabbed Reed’s wrist. “No.”
Keith’s eyes met Reed’s. No doubt about it—Shane was nothing but trouble.
Not telling them much seemed like the best thing to do. Technically, Shane wished he couldn’t remember shit, so maybe pretending not to remember wasn’t such a big deal anyway. They seemed like all-right guys—former military, because he’d learned to spot them early on. But that would cause problems for him as well, because already, they didn’t believe his story. Beyond that, they certainly didn’t need his shit on their heads.
This was all a complication he didn’t want and they didn’t deserve. And him lying here, sick, weak, wasn’t going to get him away from their prying eyes anytime soon. Not without major effort, and he was willing to give it that as soon as they gave him a little space.
He flicked a glance at each of them—both were good looking—Reed, the doctor, was blond and Keith’s head was shaved, his eyes dark and his build broad. Reed was in shape too, although naturally slimmer. Keith had the bearing of a military man—he’d bet his life that the man was a Marine, but Reed also held the quiet edge to him.
Special forces, he thought to himself. And you won’t be here long enough to find out if you’re right.
“Shane, can you tell us a little more about…anything?” Reed asked.
What did they want to know about him? Much more than he was able to tell—and he knew the amnesia routine would wear thin quickly. To an extent, it already had in that Keith didn’t seem to believe him and Reed was also somewhat skeptical.
Maybe telling total strangers would be easier. Maybe he could truly disappear from his old life and start over.
But every time he’d tried that, he was found. Followed. Tracked, like prey. Which was why staying in one place too long was never a good idea. “I already told you I don’t remember anything else.”
He closed his eyes again before they could say anything else to him. He heard them rustling around and then two sets of footsteps getting softer as the men left him alone. The door creaked a little, and when he looked from a slitted eye, he saw it was half shut.
Sleep, he told himself. Sleep. Get stronger. And then get the hell out of here.
But that old fight-or-flight feeling jangled through him like a drug, and he knew it was now or never. Silently, he shifted out of the bed and pulled the IV out. Wrapped a piece of gauze to staunch the blood as he spotted his clothes by the chair. They were still damp, but they were better than nothing.
His training had kicked in—he could do things fast when necessary—it had been pounded into him to keep moving, whether or not he was half dead. Shane began to suspect the instructors liked the new recruits that way.
“Your comfort has never been, nor ever will be my concern” had been his drill sergeant’s favorite line during Ranger school.
Silently, he moved out to the snow-covered deck and jumped into the soft, freezing snow. The hail hammered his face and he looked down before he continued.
He thought about how kind Reed had been and wavered for a second. Then he pictured Keith’s scowl and continued along through the hip-deep snow and waded through to the trees he’d followed on the way up the driveway—it would lead him to the road about a mile down.
Better not to involve anyone else in his troubles. Kyle had already paid that price, and Shane didn’t want any more blood on his hands.
He hadn’t even realized the date until he’d heard Reed mention it. He shivered by the end of the first mile, hoped to hell a truck or a car was passing through with a Good Samaritan willing to pick up a total stranger on Christmas Eve.
Reed checked on the food while Keith snagged some cold appetizers from the fridge.
“I’m starving,” Keith told him.
“We’ll eat soon—it’s almost ready.” Reed had lowered the stove and oven so nothing would burn. He took the ham out and left it covered while he popped in some other dishes and set the timer.
He glanced toward the half-closed door as the wind rattled the windows. “You think he’s faking it?”
“You’re the doctor. You and I both know that amnesia is really rare and usually has a medical explanation—like head injury or tumor.”
Reed shook his head. “Could be emotional trauma.”
“You’re not buying it either. There’s just something about this kid that makes you soft.”
“Fuck you.”
Keith laughed, because Reed couldn’t tell him he was wrong. Instead, the big man moved to pull Reed closer. “He’s not you.”
“Could be,” Reed mumbled, his face pressed against Keith’s neck, liking the feeling of the solid body against his.
“Ah, Reed, come on.”
But he knew he was breaking his lover down, the way Keith told him Reed always could. From the second he’d come into the man’s life, Keith told him he couldn’t resist him when he set his mind to something.
“Fine,” Keith said. “We’ll keep trying to help him. If he wants it.”
The wind howled again and Keith’s head jerked to the side as if he’d heard something else through the noise.
Both men went to the guest room to find it empty. Reed immediately went for his gear while Keith opened the door to the deck and t
ried to see out into the night.
When he came back in, Reed was already dressed for the weather, gun and flashlight at the ready.
“The kid’s got a death wish,” Keith grumbled, but Reed knew he was more pissed that Reed would be the one to go after him. Reed knew Keith’s pissed-off attitude translated as worry for Reed, who appreciated that worry more than he could ever say. But while Keith had the brawn, Reed always had the tracking skills plus the necessary speed.
“You’re just pissed he gave us the slip. Means we’re getting old. And I’ll be fine,” Reed insisted.
Keith glowered at the getting-old remark. “If you’re not back in twenty minutes—”
“I will be,” Reed promised. In the cold was where he worked best, since his body always seemed to run hot, some kind of medical anomaly.
And although he never wanted to be near the desert again, hated the sand and heat and much preferred this weather, the snow that surrounded him could easily trigger his claustrophobia. To be fair, sometimes anything could, but now that he couldn’t see his goddamned hand in front of his face, he had to stop, bend over and stare at his knees, because his boots were buried.
Ground yourself, dammit.
If he wasn’t back in time, Keith would come looking for him. Knew he was already on shaky ground because of the holiday and Shane’s arrival.
He drew a deep breath and then another, flashed back to the box with the vent and the wet on his lips, just like the wet from the snow. But this was freezing and that water hadn’t been, and he was free to continue walking.
And finally, he did, pushed forward toward the side of the house and quickly followed Shane’s path down the slanted land that led to the main road.
Reed had no problem catching up to him. Shane was weaving a little, although he had to give him credit for trying. Hell, he gave him credit for still being on his feet and having forward motion.
Definitely military.
He called Shane’s name a few times so he didn’t startle him, and Shane finally stopped, but he didn’t turn. He accepted Reed’s hand on his shoulder. And when Reed realized it wasn’t going to work, he picked him up over his shoulder and double-timed it back to the house.
Keith was waiting, opened the door and took Shane from him.
“Hey, it was well under twenty minutes,” Reed called as he stripped.
“Yeah, you made it by half a second,” Keith told him as he put Shane down on the chair and got his clothing off so he wouldn’t get the bed wet. By the time Reed got there, Keith had him tucked in and had the IV running.
“You warmed the blankets?” Reed asked.
“Shut up, Reed,” Keith warned.
“I know when to cut my losses,” Reed told him, buried his face against Keith’s chest as a form of thank-you, because he still had trouble saying the words after all these years.
Chapter Four
Cold. So goddamned cold. He shivered, despite the fact he had long johns on under his uniform and tried to concentrate instead on the task at hand.
You’re not back in Iraq with Kyle. You’re feverish. In the Catskills somewhere.
But the dream pulled him in, and he could see Kyle’s serious face as the older man placed a blanket over him and handed him a hot cup of bad coffee.
He was on the hard ground, unable to be moved. His ears were ringing.
Kyle. Staring down at him.
“You’re okay, brah. You’re going to be just fine.”
Shane couldn’t actually hear the words, thanks to the roadside bomb exploding so close to him. But he read Kyle’s lips and his eyes, because the man had always had such expressive eyes.
He put a hand up to Kyle’s cheek. Wanted to express, yeah, I got you, but Kyle’s eyes widened in surprise. It took Shane a few seconds to understand. Kyle’s mouth opened, and Shane wanted to sit up, especially when he saw Kyle’s face contort, a rictus of pain before his face went slack.
Shane tried to move, saw a figure move away, but not before he saw exactly who it was. But his attention pulled back to Kyle, who fell over to one side, on Shane’s legs. Shane, who couldn’t move himself. He screamed. At least he hoped he was, because he couldn’t hear his own voice.
He was so goddamned cold.
Reed checked on Shane, who was restless as hell. His eyelids fluttered and he groaned, thrashed in sleep. Reed adjusted the meds. He didn’t want to knock him out completely, because the fever was already doing a great job of that, but Shane was too agitated to let his body heal.
He hadn’t worked fast enough though, because Shane let out the most heartfelt scream Reed ever heard. It was like a plea, like…
“He’s mourning,” Keith said from the doorway when the screams died down suddenly, cut by the narcotics Reed pushed.
Reed rubbed the goose bumps on his arms away, noted that Keith had come all the way into the room—the first time in days—and held Shane’s hand.
“Think he’s dreaming of Kyle?” Reed asked finally.
“He’s seen combat,” Keith said grimly. “Could be reliving that.”
Reed wondered if he’d screamed like that. He must’ve, and more than once.
“Don’t go back there, Reed,” Keith said quietly. A command. An order, despite the softness, and Keith was very good at giving them. Reed met his eyes—deep and dark. The keeper of all Reed’s secrets—and God knew, there were a lot of them. “I swear to you, I will throw this kid out into the snow if this brings you back to that place.”
Keith would never do that, but he would separate Reed from Shane. “I can do this.”
“I know you can. But do you want to?”
Reed could drive Shane to the hospital. Could’ve done so two days ago when the storm broke and Keith went out to stock up on supplies before they were socked again. Their Christmas Ever dinner feast had lasted them for a good long time, even if they didn’t get to start it until well into Christmas Day.
“I need to,” was all Reed said. Keith continued to hold Shane’s hand until the boy totally calmed. He knew they’d both noted the light band of scars that circled each wrist all the way around.
“They’re about a year old,” Reed noted.
“He’s been held. Captured,” Keith said quietly. Reed rubbed his own wrist unconsciously under the thick leather bracelet of Bobby’s he always wore over it. His scars were older but otherwise the same. Deep. Ugly. Never going to heal.
Men like Reed never wanted to be held down. Sitting patiently wasn’t in his DNA. Not in Shane’s either.
Reed let Shane’s wrist go after several long moments, and Shane immediately tucked it under the pillow, like he was trying to hide it. Or like he was used to sleeping with a gun under his pillow.
“Look how he sleeps,” Keith told Reed. Shane was on his stomach, one arm curled around the pillow, another stuck underneath his head and under the pillow and, if he’d had a weapon, Reed had no doubt Shane’s hand would be wrapped around his gun right now. A classic pose for CIA, FBI, detectives…not really a military move, though.
“If he’s been running from someone, that could explain it,” Reed said as he stared at the boy with a little frown on his face. “He looks so young when he’s sleeping.”
“Because he is young.” Keith turned to him. “At least you didn’t use the word ‘innocent’.”
“With a military man? Never.” He reached for Shane’s wrists, and the man restlessly moved but didn’t wake as Reed exposed them. Keith stared at him for a long minute before Reed nodded. Keith took the two pairs of padded, binding cuffs and hooked one wrist and one ankle each to their closest bedpost.
“It’s for his own good,” Keith told him quietly.
“I know.” But Reed’s voice was quieter than he’d meant it to be.
Keith pulled the covers up over Shane’s chest, put a hand on Reed’s shoulder for a second and then walked out.
Reed followed after several minutes. Found Keith at the desk by the computer, a large sandwich on a plate n
ext to him.
“Want half?” Keith asked as Reed reached for it.
“Forgot to eat,” he mumbled around the food. Didn’t say anything else until he’d finished that half and then the other, realized that Keith had actually made the sandwich for him. Because if Keith had handed it to him and told him he needed to eat, Reed would’ve refused. In many ways, he was more of a stubborn bastard than Keith.
He sank into the chair next to his partner, put his feet on the desk and sighed. His back ached—neck too—and he knew he needed a nice, long run along with some weightlifting. And sex. They were way overdue on something more than a quick shower and blowjob.
“Shane’s ID isn’t fake,” Keith told him.
Reed’s feet came down, and he was looking at the intel on the computer that Keith was definitely not supposed to have. But no one told a Force Recon Marine no.
Not often, anyway.
“Whoever erased him has to be high up. Is he being trained?”
Sometimes the CIA pulled promising candidates straight from the military for deep undercover work off the grid. Shane could be more dangerous than either man realized, although both had considered it. That was also why, especially now, Houdini was semi-shackled to the bed.
They needed to keep their own safety tantamount. Reed could always count on Keith for that—he was the one who made Reed feel protected during a time when no one else—not even Bobby—could.
“I’ll dig a little more, but from what I can see, he was a good soldier. Being recommended for Ranger school, not Delta.” Being recommended for Delta was rare, but it did happen. Reed was a living, breathing example. Part Creek on his mother’s side, full Irish on his father’s, he had both the bluster and the quiet. He was from a family of medicine and battle—it was in him from birth. When the time came to choose, he’d decided to combine both instead. He was a medic in Delta, and when he was on medical leave from the team, he’d decided to stay in the Army and go to med school, since he rarely slept anyway.
