by AJ Lange
There were a shocking number of rhyming phrases that you could pair with blow me, Jane.
The flap began to lift and he retrieved a pair of tweezers from the kitchen drawer filled with miscellaneous screwdrivers and nails and other junk. He carefully slid out a sheet of dense, heavy paper and unfolded it, touching only the edges with his gloved fingertips. There were two lines of writing at optical center:
If the Lamb will not return to the fold,
The Wolf is forced to roam.
A curl of golden blonde hair was fastened below the words with a single strip of clear tape. Gavin blanched, his cop senses tingling. This was unexpected, new; a path he had not anticipated.
This was evil. And it was directed at Matt.
He carefully replaced the letter into the envelope and gently pressed the still-damp glue into place. It wouldn’t seal completely, but it would be enough, hopefully, that no one would suspect it had been previously opened. Or, if they did, they would assume it had been Matt.
Gavin didn’t have enough information to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing at this point, and he tamped down the frustration. He studied the postmark again, memories whisking him nearly twenty years into the past.
Cedar Falls.
Camp Chitaqua had been located just outside of Cedar Falls, Tennessee, on a small, rural lakeshore. The summer they were fifteen, he and Matt had taken a bus together, the farthest from home they had ever been, to serve as camp counselors at Chitaqua. Those four weeks had changed the course of both their lives, forever, and revealed to Gavin a love he had never believed existed outside of fairytales and movies.
One night, they had also taught him true terror.
“Going somewhere?”
Gavin jumped at the too-close voice, almost bumping his head on the roof.
“Dammit, Dom,” he grumbled, slamming the door closed on his bags. He thrust the plastic hospital sack at his partner. “Here.”
“What’s this,” Dom asked, taking the bag from him. His eyes widened when he recognized dried blood on the contents.
“The hospital gave it to Matt when he left. He left it in the Jeep.” Gavin leaned back against the door, one foot crossing at the ankle. “I went through it already,” he said with a hint of defiance.
“Of course you did,” Dom chuckled. He held the bag gingerly to the sun, peering at the contents. “What did you take?”
Gavin scowled. “Nothing.” Goddamn Dom and his goddamn psychic tendency that had always read Gavin like a book.
Dom raised a single eyebrow skyward.
Gavin rolled his eyes. “Fine. Here.” He dug the folded envelope out of his pocket and shoved it at him. It was giving him the heebies to have it in his possession anyway; the thing felt rotten with evil and malcontent.
Dom opened it, ignoring Gavin’s protests to at least put on a pair of gloves first. He paled when he saw the lock of hair.
“What? Dom. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Gavin straightened, a nervous energy permeating the air around them. He licked his lips. “Why are you here, anyway?”
Dom carefully folded the letter back up and tucked the envelope inside the hospital bag. His face was serious when he looked back at Gavin. “I need you to come across town with me. Leave your car here.”
Gavin shook his head. “Uh uh. You spill whatever’s got you spooked first.”
“Where’s Matt.” But it wasn’t a question. Gavin hesitated and Dom sighed, rubbing his temple. “I know he’s gone, Gavin. Burke was at the Laurel house earlier and they said you had been looking for him yesterday.”
“I’m not exactly his keeper, Dom. And he sure as hell doesn’t need my permission to leave,” Gavin retorted obstinately. He didn’t want Dom to probe too deep; he never lied to Dom. It was their cardinal rule. But there was also an incident from their past, his and Matt’s, that they had agreed to never tell anyone, and that night was somehow tied up in all of this. Gavin just hadn’t sorted out the how and why yet. First, he needed to find Matt.
“Look, just come with me across town. Hank and I found something and I think you need to see it.” Dom’s face was pleading and Gavin sighed.
“Hank? Really?”
Dom shrugged. “You’re on vacation and I needed a partner.”
“Fine,” Gavin grumbled. “But that skinny little shit better not be using my desk.”
Dom didn’t answer and Gavin threw up his hands in disgust. “That’s just great.” He yanked open the passenger door.
“On the way you can tell me where it is you think you’re going,” Dom added as he folded himself into the driver’s seat.
Gavin frowned. Damned know it all.
Dom drove to a storage facility behind the railroad tracks. Gavin tensed; it was a seedier part of town, and if there was drug activity or violence, it was usually in this general vicinity. It was also the place to be if you didn’t want anyone to notice you; everyone in this neighborhood had honed the skill of looking the other way. Dom parked in front of unit one-oh-eight.
Gavin’s eyes narrowed at the multitude of footprints at the base of the steel roll-up door. “Busy place.”
“Yeah, um,” Dom said meekly. “Most of those are mine?”
“You’re losing your touch,” Gavin smirked.
“Shut up and help me lift the door, wiseass.” Dom used a key from his pocket to unlock the padlock.
It took Gavin’s eyes a minute to adjust to the dim interior, and then another to digest what he was seeing. The ten by ten-foot square floor was lined with filing cabinets along two walls; the remaining wall held two five foot folding tables, their surfaces covered with newspaper clippings and what looked to be photo albums or binders. Gavin reached in his pocket for the penlight he always carried. As he walked closer to the tables, his eyes widened; there were cork boards hanging on the walls and they were covered with thumb-tacked, grainy photos of women and girls of varying ages. Most seemed to be in their late teens to early thirties, and nearly all of them Gavin recognized with a sickening twist in his gut.
They were all missing persons cases.
“Fuck,” he exhaled a shaky breath.
“The rent is in Matt’s name,” Dom said quietly.
“Yeah, I got that,” Gavin murmured, stepping closer to one of the tables so he could flip open the uppermost binder. More newspaper clippings were taped inside, but also handwritten notes, details from news stories, personal information about the victims, all in a slanting scrawl that Gavin knew by heart. One of the pages had a locket taped to it, a tarnished piece of broken jewelry, the letter ‘K’ engraved on the front of a domed heart.
“He’s had this building for almost eight years, Gavin. As far back as some of these cases go.”
Gavin’s head whipped around. Eight years...that meant Matt had kept this from him, had been keeping this from him, even when they were together. Gavin swallowed hard.
“You got a theory, hotshot?” His voice was gravelly, unsteady. He didn’t know if he could stomach what he feared would be Dom’s hypothesis.
But Dom surprised him, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Gavin. I’ve been hoping you still had him with you, so we could ask him together.” He smiled wryly. “I guess that’s shot to hell now, huh?”
Gavin smiled grimly. “Not quite yet. I’ll find him.” He switched off the penlight and strode from the building, blinking at the bright noonday sun.
“Gavin,” Dom started, then stopped, mouth dipping in a frown. “This isn’t what it looks like. Is it?”
For the first time in his life, the first time since he was five years old, Gavin didn’t feel like he knew Matt well enough to be able to answer. Finally he shook his head. “It can’t be.” He met Dom’s eyes over the hood of the squad car. “It’s not.”
Dom dropped Gavin off in his drive, admonishing him to be careful, and to call me every two hours. It had been their longstanding stakeout rule; you make contact every two hours if you weren’t together. Period. It had
kept them both alive and safe over the years, and it would keep Gavin grounded now. Because he was floating, disconnected and scared of what he would find when he finally tracked Matt down.
But at least now he had a starting point: Tennessee.
Gavin drove through the afternoon and evening, crossing most of Missouri, finally forced to stop for the night in Willow Springs. He ate in a diner across the street from his motel, chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes, which made him think of his mom. He dug his cell phone from his pocket while he waited on a slice of apple pie and dialed his parents’ number.
“Hello?”
“Dad,” Gavin said, mouth quirking upward in spite of his current restlessness. “How’s it hanging?”
Angelo chuckled. “Not too low, Gav. What’s up, kid?”
Gavin smiled. He supposed he and Angie, his younger sister, would always be kids to the old man. “Not much. I’m, uh,” he paused. He didn’t know how much Dom would have told them, if anything. The piss of it was, they were usually together when they were doing stuff like this. Gavin wasn’t used to being a solo act. “I’m out of town for a few days. Just thought I’d let you and mom know. See if you’d run by the house and check on it, maybe tomorrow?” It wasn’t why he’d called at all, but it had been a spur of the moment thought, and it wouldn’t hurt; it might even make them feel more at ease once they found out why he was gone. And they would find out. It was the way of the DeLuca clan.
“Sure, sure. You going after Matt, then?”
Gavin closed his eyes. I should have known. “Yeah, Dad, I am,” he said quietly. He smiled at the waitress when she slid his pie onto the table.
“You take care of him, and you, you hear me? Don’t be doing anything foolish. Call Dominic before you make any rash decisions.”
Gavin scoffed around his mouthful of apple and cinnamon and flaky crust. “Since when do I make rash decisions?”
Angelo snorted. “Since birth?”
Before Gavin could protest, he heard his mother’s voice, admonishing Angelo and wresting the phone from his grip.
“Gavin?”
Gavin warmed instantly at her voice. His mother had that knack; she made everything better, smoother, sweeter, with only a few words and a smile. “Hey, mom.”
“Your dad is right, Gavin. Call Dom first.” She sighed and Gavin could hear the worry belying her casual tone. “You should have let Dom come with you.”
“I’ll be okay, mom. I’m going to find him and bring him home.” He sounded more assured than he felt, but the words bolstered him just the same. Home. He was bringing Matt home, and he by God wasn’t letting him leave again, not Gavin, not the DeLuMatt.He thought of the warehouse room and its contents and knew, unequivocally, that it wasn’t what it appeared to be. This was his Matt.
And they would deal with this together.
The motel room was drab and bland, the color scheme a combination of moss greens and golds. It smelled stale, a mixture of cleaning products and worn fibers and filtered air. There was a queen size bed and a small sitting area, a dresser with a large flat screen TV (that Gavin coveted quite a lot) and a small balcony that overlooked the parking lot below. Gavin drew the blinds on the glass doors of the balcony area and flipped on the TV before plugging in his cell phone on the charger. He was tired; he had driven several hundred miles with only a few stops, and the emotional toll of the past few days were catching up with him. He thought it probably best if he showered and went to bed, faced tomorrow more rested and with a, hopefully, clearer head.
He had just climbed between the white sheets when his phone buzzed.
“DeLuca,” he said cautiously. The number was unknown.
“Did I wake you,” Matt asked quietly and Gavin’s breath left his lungs in a rush.
“No,” he said gruffly. “Where are you?” He was already sitting up, reaching for his jeans.
“No, Gavin. I just wanted to,” Matt paused, sighing. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“I’m coming to get you,” Gavin said forcefully. “I don’t give a shit, Matt. Whatever it is, whatever you think you’re hiding, I know, okay?”
“Shut up, Gavin,” Matt urged, voice tinged with anguish and possibly a hint of fear.
“Shut up? No, I won’t.” Gavin was standing now. “I saw the letter, I know—”
“Please. Stop,” Matt whispered.
Gavin waited. He could sense Matt had another reason for calling, the base of his spine prickling with a sense of foreboding. He bit his tongue to keep the words that wanted to spill forth at bay.
“Where are you,” Matt asked quietly.
Gavin didn’t hesitate. “Comfort Inn in Willow Creek, Missouri. Room 306.”
The line went silent. “I wanted to hear your voice too,” he said to the dead phone, throwing it across the room in frustration. The back popped off and the battery skittered across the carpet. Gavin sat on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. So much for getting any sleep tonight. He would never be able to stop waiting for a knock on the door.
The knock came almost three hours later.
Gavin was mindlessly watching an infomercial for cookware, his only other choices the all night news and weather stations, or pointless sitcoms. He wasn’t in a comedic mood.
He pulled the door open without looking through the peephole.
Maybe he should have.
Matt’s jaw was covered in a day’s growth, darkly dangerous, his mouth too full and too fucking feminine; it pissed Gavin off. He blocked his path after he slammed the door behind his entry.
“Took you long enough.”
Matt cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve been driving all damn day, Gavin. And I just backtracked a hundred and fifty miles.”
“Which direction,” Gavin crossed his arms in front of his chest stubbornly.
Matt chuckled, tiredly. “Guess.”
Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like chasing you,” he muttered. “I never liked chasing you.” He dropped his arms and stepped into Matt’s personal space.
Matt held steady, eyes warming as they caressed Gavin’s face. “I don’t remember you doing the chasing, DeLuca.”
Gavin gave in to the itch in his palms and slid his hands up Matt’s forearms, gripping his elbows before trailing back down to rest at his waist. “Then you have a faulty memory.”
Matt smirked and his fingers hesitantly brushed Gavin’s abdomen. “Maybe so,” he said softly, ducking his head until it was so fucking close Gavin could almost taste his breath.
“You’re wearing my clothes,” Gavin said roughly, yanking Matt by the hips until they were flush against his own.
“I couldn’t exactly go home for my own,” Matt said. His mouth hovered just off center of Gavin’s, and each warm exhalation sent a tick of heat through Gavin’s gut.
He licked his lips, watched Matt’s eyes track the movement. “Let me correct that, you’re wearing too many of my clothes.” He inched his fingers under the hem of Matt’s shirt, unsure of where this was going, but not really caring. A deep, intense craving had been weaving its way through his core for two days, and it trumped all other emotion and all common sense.
Tonight, it was just him and Matt. And it had been too long.
Matt leaned in and licked his upper lip.
“Fuck,” Gavin breathed and crushed their mouths together. It was messy and wet and it hurt when tooth hit lip, but Gavin didn’t mind, not with Matt kissing the soreness away in apology. His tongue delved deep into his mouth, toying with him, and Gavin held on, hands fisted in the fabric of his own button down, snug around the warm body of the one he had never been able to forget.
“Off,” he mumbled around Matt’s tongue. “Shirt, off.” He tugged at the buttons on the front, his brain misfiring through a haze of lust.
Matt chuckled, a low rumble in the back of his throat and pushed Gavin’s hands back to his hips before making quick work of the buttons on his shirt and then starting on Gavin’s. Gavin took advan
tage of the new skin as it appeared, mouth latching onto bare neck, smooth and warm under his tongue. Overwhelmed with the familiar scent and taste of him, Gavin moaned, sucking hard on a collarbone.
Matt palmed the back of Gavin’s head, holding him in place, fingers combing through the short hair at his crown. He worked the last button of Gavin’s shirt free with his other hand, then snaked inside, smoothing around to his back.
Gavin cupped his ass with both hands, grinding them together, hip to knee, and Matt hissed, throwing his head back when Gavin found the perfect alignment.
Gavin kissed his bared throat, running his teeth along a taut cord there, tugging the shirt from Matt’s arms and discarding it on the floor.
“Bed,” he whispered, pushing Matt back reluctantly.
Matt’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark. He still had one hand gripped low around Gavin’s waist. Gavin reached down and unbuttoned the top button of Matt’s jeans, smiling to himself when the black of Matt’s pupils dilated, huge and dark, eclipsing the iris. He nudged him again, fingers slipping into the front of Matt’s fly. “On the bed, baby.”
Matt obliged, breaths too fast, eyes unsettled. He backed up a few steps until he was at the edge, reaching out when Gavin’ didn’t follow. “Gavin. ”
Gavin sucked in a breath as Matt lay back against the pillows and smiled. “I’ve imagined you in my bed for a long time.”
“This isn’t your bed.” Matt’s still held one hand out, the other undoing the rest of the buttons on his fly. Gavin’s eyes followed the movement, groin tightening in anticipation.
“No, but I can pretend right? I’m good at pretending.” This last was said with some bitterness and Matt leaned up on an elbow, hand still outstretched.
“Get over here,” he murmured.
