by Andrew Grey
“I will do anything to keep him happy, and I won’t let anything stand in the way of that. I can’t. He deserves a stable home with someone who loves him.” Jordan turned to face Pierre. “Do you know how hard it was for him to trust me at first? He still thinks I’m going to leave him. He looks and watches for any sign. Just yesterday he asked me if I was to get married… would he have an evil stepmother who wouldn’t love him.” Jordan wiped his eyes. “Sometimes fairy tales really suck. And at day care, they had been reading Cinderella.” He swallowed really hard. “I told him that if I got married that it would be to a man and that he would never have a stepmother, evil or otherwise. That made him happy. But I will never put him in jeopardy, and you can’t ask that of me.” He shivered and turned away.
Pierre placed his hand on his shoulder, the touch gentle, caring, and still he shook like a leaf. “What has you so scared?”
Jordan shook his head once again. What Pierre was asking him to talk about was fraught with peril for him, as well as Pierre. He firmly believed that keeping quiet and saying nothing would keep everyone he cared about safe. But then, if someone found out and they somehow figured out that Jordan knew, he’d be in a huge amount of trouble. Then where would he and Jeremiah be? The answer was up shit creek.
It all came down to trust, and Jordan needed to decide who he was going to tell about what he’d found. Did he trust Pierre? He’d never been given a reason not to, and Pierre had looked after him and Jeremiah when his son had been in the hospital. He’d also stood up to the pain-in-the-ass caseworker who didn’t want to take no for an answer. Watching him squirm had been a thing of beauty.
Jordan sighed. “Okay. I’ll tell you about it, but not now, and not with Jeremiah around where he can hear me. But it’s going to get really ugly. I warned you.”
Pierre took his hand. “If that’s the case, then we should bank up some fun to balance out the ugly later.” He guided Jordan away from the wall and helped him get moving again. Jordan managed to get a rhythm going and, surprisingly enough, didn’t fall for the next little while.
Once their roller-skating time was up, Pierre took them back downstairs and handed Jeremiah some game tokens. He had a ball at a motorcycle game, rocking back and forth as he zoomed past his computer-generated competitors.
“Dang, he’s going to be great at this stuff.”
“I know. I want to get him a game console, but haven’t been able to afford one. His fifth birthday is in a few months, and I’m hoping to be able to get him one then. But they’re expensive, and I have to figure out which one he wants. I hate to ask him because then he’ll have expectations, and I don’t want to disappoint him.” Jordan waited until the game was over, and Pierre put in more tokens so Jeremiah could ride again. Then Pierre walked them to a roller coaster simulator game, and they got on with Jeremiah in Jordan’s lap. All three laughed as they rolled and swooped through an abandoned mine roller coaster, giggling like fools.
“Can we do it again?” Jeremiah asked, and Pierre added more tokens. This time they took a swirling, zooming ride through an abandoned circus. “Again?”
Jordan hugged Jeremiah. “I’m sorry, but Pierre is out of tokens, and I think we’ve had enough for one day. Save some for next time.” He helped Jeremiah down. He clearly wanted to play some more and looked around, then turned back to Jordan, probably contemplating pitching a fit. Jordan raised his eyebrows and set his lips. He didn’t have to say a word, and Jeremiah settled against him.
“We can come back,” Pierre told him gently as Jordan led him toward the door.
“You need to say thank you to Mr. Pierre for bringing us.” Jordan placed his hands on Jeremiah’s shoulders.
“Thank you. It was fun. I really liked the go-carts.” He stepped out of Jordan’s touch to hug Pierre. Then he turned back to Jordan, yawning and trying to hide it.
“Let’s go get a snack,” Pierre offered.
“How about we go home and I can make us one?” Jordan countered. Pierre had done plenty and showed them a really good time. But Jeremiah was wearing down quickly and would probably nap for a while if they got him to a quiet place. Jordan knew he was a little old for regular afternoon naps, but being sick this week had taken more out of him than normal, and rest was part of how he was going to stay healthy.
They went back to Pierre’s car, and by the time they got Jeremiah settled and the engine running, Jeremiah was already slumping in his seat. Jordan had to admit he was a little tired too, and nervous. He couldn’t believe he’d actually agreed to tell Pierre what he’d found.
When they reached the condo complex, Jeremiah was half-asleep. Pierre pulled to a stop, they got out, and Jordan got Jeremiah inside and into his room. He took off Jeremiah’s shoes and spread a light blanket over him, letting him rest.
Closing Jeremiah’s door, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a couple bottles of Rolling Rock and some grapes and melon he had cut up, and brought them into the living room. “I really don’t want to talk about this stuff with anyone.” He figured he might as well get the shit portion of the afternoon over with. Then maybe he could think about something else.
“All right,” Pierre said, drawing his eyebrows together.
“You have to know that I didn’t have anything to do with this. What I’m going to tell you has nothing at all to do with me.” Jordan opened the beer and took a swig, the hops biting his throat as it went down. He sighed and wondered exactly where to start. “Okay, I think I need to lay some background.” He took another drink, letting the alcohol give him some fake courage.
“I take it you stumbled onto something at work,” Pierre supplied, and Jordan nodded. “Okay.”
“No. It’s not okay. Look, I was going through some old records to see what was over seven years old and could be archived. Court records don’t get deleted, but after a period of time, they get sent to storage, where they’re digitized or stored. Anyway, I stumbled on some records that weren’t that old, pulled them out, and was shocked. I think Judge Crawford was hiding them there. I put them back where I found them and closed the file. When I looked again a couple days later, they were gone.” Jordan’s heart beat quickly.
“What were they?”
“Case records, except they weren’t official, and when I checked them against the official ones, there was more information in it. There was evidence that wasn’t presented in court. It looks like Judge Crawford was hiding evidence. I pieced the case together, and in this instance, the defendant was found not guilty, but I’m willing to bet that if this evidence had come to light, the case would have had a different outcome.”
“Okay. He’s hiding evidence, or maybe he found it inadmissible,” Pierre offered.
“No. It was never presented, according to the court records.” Jordan sighed. “I think he arranged for the evidence to disappear in exchange for money, favors—I don’t know. But he lives in a huge house, and his wife has a maid and a garden service. Since the threats started, he has his own security. How does he afford all that?”
“But why not destroy what can incriminate him?” Pierre asked.
“Blackmail? Insurance? I don’t know.” Jordan groaned again, taking another swig from the beer and wishing he hadn’t when his stomach roiled. “The thing is, now I have no proof at all, because it’s gone. I’ve checked when Crawford was out of the office and don’t see any new hidden files, but I’m getting afraid to look anymore in case he gets suspicious of me.”
Pierre touched his arm. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. It isn’t like you can investigate a judge. As soon as you do, word will get back to him, and then you’re in deep shit. No accusation can be made without ironclad proof, or you’re at fault and could be charged. So we have to be careful. To top it off, he’s my boss, so I could lose my job, and then my adoption of Jeremiah would be in jeopardy.” Jordan set down the bottle when his hand shook. “If he got wind of it, Judge Crawford could put an end to the adoption. All it would take is a
bug in the judge’s ear, and suddenly I’d be suspect and they’d dig until they found something. This could affect my life, Jeremiah’s life…. I just want this to go away. I wish I never found what I did.”
“But if Judge Crawford is dirty… then…. Jesus, I never would have guessed it. He’s the damned hanging judge.” Pierre stood to pace the floor slowly. “That would explain why he’s getting threatening notes. What if it’s the family of the victim of someone he let off this way?” Pierre set his bottle on the coffee table. “This changes everything.”
“Maybe, but we have no proof. It’s gone now. I should have made copies or something, but I’ve been too afraid to do anything to draw his attention. There is no good way out of this. The judge holds all the power unless we have enough to get him dead to rights and it’s strong enough to get the judicial review board involved.” Jordan hated this and knew it was going to suck. “That’s why I haven’t told anyone. There is so little I can do.” He turned to make sure the door to Jeremiah’s bedroom was still closed. The last thing he wanted was for him to hear all this. “So, now you know, and you have to decide what you’re going to do with it.” His stomach churned something terrible. “The proof I saw is gone, and it wasn’t definitive, but something is most definitely wrong.”
Jordan had taken the plunge and decided to trust Pierre. Now he hoped like hell his trust hadn’t been misplaced, because if it had, he could very well lose everything that was important to him. Judge Crawford had the power to rip Jeremiah away from him, take away his job, and even his freedom. Jordan was well aware of the power he was going up against. At first he’d wondered if Pierre would believe him. Now he was scared half to death that Pierre wasn’t going to take this seriously. If he didn’t and word got back to the judge…. Jordan’s hand shook, and he placed it on the sofa cushion to stop the visible sign of his nerves. Pierre had to believe him now; it was his only hope.
Chapter 3
“SHIT, SHIT, shit,” Pierre mumbled under his breath. When he’d wondered what was bothering Jordan, he’d been worried that he knew something about the letter writer that hit too close to home. He hadn’t imagined that Judge Crawford, the hardest nose in the courthouse, had been doing things that were illegal. Just what they needed, a dirty judge. That was the very definition of ugly in his world. There had been stories about another judge from before Pierre joined the sheriff’s department, and it had been dreadful beyond belief. People had lost their jobs, and the person who blew the whistle was raked through the mud. That was the last thing he wanted for either of them.
Jordan was right; this situation held no good side for anyone. If Jordan was correct and they came forward with no evidence, they would find themselves in jail fast. Pierre would lose his job, so would Jordan, and Jeremiah would find himself back in foster care and completely heartbroken.
“What do we do?” Jordan asked him, and Pierre didn’t have an answer for him right away.
“Shit,” he said one more time. “I wish the fuck I knew. I’m scared to take this to the sheriff. As soon as he gets word of it, this will be part of the public record and things will snowball from there.” Pierre knew he should tell Sheriff Hunter what Jordan had stumbled onto, but they had no proof, and as Jordan said, judges in Pennsylvania had a great deal of power, as well as legal protections. He really was uncomfortable with this, but Jordan had trusted him with the information and he wasn’t going to betray him, not if he could possibly help it.
“I told you this sucked.” Jordan sat back. “If you want my opinion, I’ll keep my eyes open at the office, and if I find any evidence again, I’ll try to make copies of it. Though sneaking them out of the courthouse will be a violation and I could get in trouble for that too.”
“If you see anything, let me know. As an officer of the law, I can remove the copies. That’s our specific jurisdiction. And I’ll keep working on these letters. I’m going to assume going forward that the two things are linked. Especially with the way the letters were worded….” Pierre wished Jordan had told him about this information earlier, but he understood why he hadn’t.
“I know. I should have come forward, but I was scared. I still am.” Jordan drained the last of his beer. “Do you know how hard it is to trust someone with something that could cost you everything you love?” He took the bottle to the kitchen as Jeremiah joined them, rubbing his eyes. Jordan sat back down, and Jeremiah climbed onto the sofa next to him to curl in for a little cuddle time.
If only Jordan had said something earlier, but he also had to admit that if he was in that situation, he might have done the same thing. But now that Jeremiah was up from his nap, their chance to talk more about it was over. Jordan had made it very clear that he wasn’t talking about it in front of him.
“Can we have ice cream?” Jeremiah asked as soon as they had finished a quick lunch. “I was good.”
“Yes, you were,” Pierre agreed. “But the doctor said you shouldn’t have any milk.”
“That’s right. But I have some that you can have.” Jordan settled Jeremiah next to Pierre and stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Jeremiah leaned against him as Jordan went to the kitchen. Pierre tried to remember the last time a kid had actually spent time with him. He didn’t have many of them in his life. His sister had a girl, his niece, Veronica, but she lived on the West Coast and he only saw them every few years. Veronica would be about Jeremiah’s age, but the last time they came to visit, she’d barely remembered him, and Pierre didn’t have enough time to really bond with her.
“Are you staying for dinner? Daddy is making pizza.”
“I don’t know. Your daddy hasn’t asked me, and it would be rude to just assume that he wanted me to stay.” Hell, his mother would probably hit Pierre upside the head if she knew he’d said that. It was rude in itself, and she wouldn’t hesitate to tell him so.
“Daddy,” Jeremiah said in that tone that only kids have and use when they think an adult is being stupid. Jeremiah slid off the sofa. “It’s pizza.” As though that explained everything. Jeremiah must have thought it was mean to exclude anyone from pizza.
“Of course Pierre can stay for dinner.” Jordan came back over and lifted Jeremiah to whirl him around before setting him back on his feet.
“I like him, Daddy,” Jeremiah said in a stage whisper. “He’s funny sometimes and he makes you smile.” Jeremiah leaned closer, but didn’t lower his voice. Kids were so interesting. “I like that you smile when he’s around.” He patted Jordan on the hand, and Pierre wondered what it was for.
Jordan looked up and their gazes met. Jordan did indeed smile, one filling with heat, and Pierre squirmed a little, because popping wood in front of a four-year-old would not be a good thing.
Jordan got his motor running, there was no doubt about it. Just watching him move was sexy. He didn’t slump or trudge. Jordan glided, like just now, when he turned to go into the kitchen to get Jeremiah a glass of apple juice.
“Did your daddy dance?” Pierre thought he saw it in how he moved and the way he placed his feet.
Jeremiah shrugged as he took the cup and looked up at Jordan expectantly. Pierre added his own gaze, and Jordan sighed.
“Yes. I took ballet lessons for years. That’s why I want you to dance too. We can do it together, and it will help you the rest of your life.”
“Were you good?” Pierre asked, already knowing the answer… at least in part.
“I like to think so. I danced some of the principal parts when I was a teenager. We did Swan Lake, and usually they’d bring in guest performers for the major lead roles because they were so demanding. But I danced the part of Siegfried.”
“But you don’t dance any longer?” Pierre asked.
“No. It’s very demanding at that level, and one injury can kill a career. I had done it for years, and my mother hoped I’d go professional and become famous. My father thought it was a nice hobby, but as far as making a living was concerned, it was unpredictable. I’d seen people go
on to famous ballet companies and then wash out.” Jordan turned to Jeremiah. “I think what did it for me in the end was that I wanted some stability in my life and not all the uncertainty that comes with performing. I also wanted a family. I loved dancing, but I couldn’t see myself doing it forever. So I took my life in a different direction. But I want Jeremiah to have that choice too. Training your body to do what you want it to is important.”
Pierre flushed as he thought of just what he’d like to see Jordan’s lithe body do under him, and it had little to do with dancing, though it could be very athletic. He blinked and tried to clear the sexy thoughts from his head. This was not the time. But there was something about Jordan that got under his skin. “Are you excited about dancing?” Pierre asked Jeremiah.
“I’m a good dancer.” Jeremiah bounded away from the sofa, shimmying and jumping up and down in the middle of the room to a musical beat that only he could hear. He laughed and moved until he got tired, then returned for his glass of juice.
“Yes, you are. Maybe you could show me how to dance,” Pierre offered. “Do you have some music?”
“Yes.” Jeremiah raced away, and Jordan rolled his eyes.
“Remember, you asked for it.” He grinned as Jeremiah turned on the radio. “I never know what he’s going to find.” Thankfully the first station, some hard rock, didn’t appeal, and Jeremiah kept going.
“Is this dance music, Daddy?” Jeremiah asked when he stopped on some big band music the NPR station was playing.
“Yes,” Pierre told him and stood, extending his hand. Jordan’s gaze traveled up him, so intense he could feel it, and then Jordan took his hand. Pierre tugged him to his feet and into his arms. Damn, Jordan felt good, and when he took that first step, Jordan went right along with him.
