by Rhys Ford
“If you’re looking for your suspect, I’m not him,” Stewart drawled. Even his flat edge of sarcasm mirrored Miki’s, and Kane couldn’t help but smile. “I’m supposed to meet someone here, and I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re not him.”
“No, I’m not. I’m the fiancé,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Senior Inspector Kane Morgan, SFPD. Miki and I have been together for a couple of years now. I sent one of the watch guys to go get him. They just told me you were here.”
The assessing look in Stuart’s green-flecked brown eyes only held a mild curiosity, erasing the slight challenge there a moment before. He studied Kane for a moment, then said, “Nobody told me he was gay.”
“Is that going to be a problem?” Kane tucked his hands into his jeans pockets, widening his stance and squaring off his shoulders. “Because if it is….”
“I didn’t say it was going to be,” Stewart shot back. “Just that nobody told me. But then, DEA tends to hold their cards close to their chest even if their own players need to know what’s in their hand. All I was told was that he’s a musician and they’re pretty sure he’s Achara’s son. Since I am fairly certain I was the only one with her about that time, more than likely he’s mine. Beyond that, I’ve got nothing.”
“So you’ve never heard about Sinner’s Gin?” Kane pressed. “The rock band? That accident after the Grammys? Only the lead singer survived and then the guitarist resurfaced and now they formed a new band called Crossroads Gin? None of that sounds familiar?”
“Look, I listen to two types of music, blues and jazz. And you probably thought I was going to say country and western, but are you even old enough to know that movie?” Stewart turned at the sound of the door opening, and the wariness returned to his expression. It quickly changed to a brief flicker of surprise when Donal walked in. He glanced between the two men, then crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m going to guess that by the looks of both of you, you’re related. Also, the name tag on the brass was a dead giveaway. So, is there even really a son, or was this put together by Wong so the two of you can work me over?”
“And here I was thinking that Miki was a pain in the ass in his own right,” Donal rumbled as he closed the door behind him. “I didn’t think it was hereditary, but that is what life is about, learning new things every day. Yer Miki went to grab Damien out of the bullpen. He’ll be by in a bit, just long enough for me to have a talk here with this one.”
The look on his father’s face was familiar. Kane’d seen it quite a few times before, usually when he was caught trying to sneak into the house at three in the morning before he was eighteen. It was concern mingled with authority with a hint of unrelenting righteousness. More than a few times when Kane stepped in to take a scolding for Quinn because he dragged his younger brother in much too late for his father’s liking, and for a moment, he had a wild suspicion he would have to do the same for Stewart, but Donal merely nodded and introduced himself.
“So I wasn’t wrong,” the former DEA agent said. “You’re related? Brother, nephew, or son?”
“He’s my son. Just like Miki,” Donal said quietly. The Irish rolled from his father’s tongue, a thickening of emotion and family covering his every word. “I’ll not be lying to ye by telling ye I hadn’t planned on coming in here to tell ye not to hurt my boy. Because I’d meant to. I’d meant to come in here and scare the living shite out of ye, because our Mick doesn’t need any more pain.”
“For a nonthreat, you’re pretty close to telling me you’d be okay ripping my legs off and feeding them to the dogs.” Stewart let out a soft scoff. “You sure you’re not here for Wong?”
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about before Miki got here,” Kane interjected, resting his hip on the edge of the table in the middle of the room. “I’m guessing you know that Hall took his own life yesterday.”
“That was a part of the briefing I got when I was dragged in to get my head yelled at last night.” He pulled out one of the four industrial-steel chairs tucked under the table, then straddled it, resting his arms on its back. “Let me catch you up with what I know. Or at least tell you what I can. When I was taken off of the assignment, it was because they suspected Wong knew I was a plant. They buried me for two years so no one could touch me until I testified in court. It took that long to put Danny Wong behind bars, and by the time I finally shook free of the lockdown, Achara was dead. Nobody said anything about her having a kid, so I moved on. Wong was supposed to die in jail. Honestly, I never thought he would last longer than six months, because he made a lot of enemies. Now he allegedly is out and orchestrating hits? Who the hell is working for him? And how the hell do we stop them?”
“Hall gave us a name before he….” Kane trailed off. He didn’t need to spell things out for Stewart or his father. At least, not about a dirty cop with a heavy, guilty conscience. “Do you remember a man named Mark Zhou? Hall said he was Wong’s go-to when he didn’t want to get his own hands bloodied.”
“Yeah, I remember him. He’s the one who was going to pop me for Wong. He wanted me out of the organization because he thought he could step in, but he didn’t realize everything I got was because it was fed from the DEA. He also had a thing for Achara, but there was no way she was going to let him near her.” Stewart’s attention was still on Donal, standing sentinel by the door. “I haven’t been in the city for a long time, but I still have some connections. Give me a couple of days and I can find out where Zhou is.”
“I don’t know if we have a couple of days,” Kane remarked, looking over his shoulder as his father walked toward the table and chairs set into the middle of the room. He could see Donal reflected in the one-way mirror set into the long side of the wall. “A good guess says Wong knows you’re in town, so I expect the attacks to escalate. Someone took out one of Wong’s guys, and I don’t know if it is someone protecting their territory or it was to show Wong still has power.”
“Are you talking about Rodney Chin? Because if you are, I can pretty much guarantee that was Zhou. I read the reports. It looked like something he would do. The guy liked to cause pain, preferably with something heavy, so even with twenty years on him, I could see him doing it.” A knock on the door brought Stewart’s head up and his expression shifted, an indiscernible something flickering in his gaze. “We’re going to have to shelve this for now. I think I’ve got a son to meet.
“And just so you know, Morgan,” Stewart said to Donal, rising from his chair. “I don’t know anything about being a father, and from what I’m guessing, everything he’s learned about being a son, he’s learned from you. I don’t know where we are going to end up—he and I—but I don’t have any illusion that I’m going to be as good of a dad to him as you are. Micah and I are going to have to work things out—however we work things out—so I’d appreciate a little bit of breathing room, and if you feel the need to punch me out, I understand. Especially since I’m asking you to share your son.”
“Fair enough, Stewart,” Donal conceded, moving aside so Kane could open the door. “But just so ye know, I’m not the one yer going to have to worry about if ye hurt him. That’ll be my wife. And fair warning, I’ve got a whole clan who is more than willing to help her dig a hole in the garden about yer size. Just remember that every time ye look at Miki.”
THERE SEEMED to be an unspoken conspiracy among the people Miki brought with him, because he went through the door of the interview room, and much like falling through a looking glass, he tumbled in alone. He had a vague impression of a deep kiss left on his mouth by Kane and a Donal-scented hug, but no memory of Damien leaving him behind in a square box painted in industrial blah, containing a man who moved like he did. The lights were on in the observation space behind the faux-mirrored wall, showing the normally hidden room was empty. Miki wasn’t sure if the privacy the Morgans and Damien gave him was something he actually wanted, but it was too late to protest, especially since when next he blinked, the only one left in the
room was a man who had his eyes.
And possibly even a little bit of his pain.
“Dear fucking God, you look just like her.” The man—his father—breathed out his words, a whispery, almost prayerlike tone Miki heard people say over rosaries from his spot in the back of the Morgans’ church. He took a few steps closer to Miki, his hands stretched out with trembling fingers that almost brushed Miki’s face, but Miki backpedaled before they touched him. The sardonic laugh Liam Stewart let go echoed in the tiny room. “And then, there’s the me in you.”
“There’s only me in here. Not any of you. Not any of her.” Miki shook his head, lengthening the distance between them with a few short steps. Staring at Stewart across the table, he knew what he’d just said was a lie. The man sounded exactly like him, battered and coppery with more than a full helping of acerbic vitriol and burgeoning doubt. “Kane said you didn’t know about me. That true?”
Stewart blankly stared at him for a few seconds, then rolled his shoulders back. Letting go a long sigh, he gripped the top of one of the chairs and leaned on it, meeting Miki’s gaze. “No, I didn’t know about you. They yanked me out before I could even do something for her. I kept telling myself she’d be safe because Wong liked her, but—”
“Yeah, I guess he liked her long enough to keep her alive until he went to prison.” Miki grimaced, shutting his mind off before it wandered down an all-too-familiar dark path. “And Wong hates you enough to try to kill me. It all started with her friend. The cop who killed himself knew I was hers, knew I’m yours. I never thought about why she reached out now, but it makes sense if they were looking for you the entire time.”
“I remember Sandy. She really was a good friend to your mom.” Stewart threw the word mom out so casually, as if it was how Miki’d thought of Achara Sangsom his entire life. It struck him as much of a shock as seeing his face on hers or hearing himself in Stewart’s voice. “She was very sweet but not bright. Someone had to have put her up to contact you.”
“She went through my record company and my manager, Edie.” Miki caught himself before he leaned on the chair, mirroring his father. “Kane and Kel haven’t talked to me much about the case, just enough to tell me to keep my head down and stay indoors until they figure out where Wong is and who he has working for him.”
“That’s not bad advice,” Stewart muttered, and then he glanced over Miki’s shoulder at the observation room, still lit up and empty. “SFPD seems to take protecting you very seriously. I got patted down and gone over with a wand before I was let in here. Your boyfriend probably would have asked for a cavity search if he thought he could get away with it.”
“There’s enough of his family at the station that if Kane wanted it to happen, they would’ve held you down and just did it.” He matched Stewart’s sneer, and the older man laughed. “I don’t know what I was expecting. I guess I wanted to see the guy who walked away from my mother. Who let her die.”
“You’re not saying anything to me that I haven’t said to myself over the past twentysomething years, kid.” His tone softened and his knuckles relaxed their grip on the chair’s back. “I get you’re angry at me—”
“I don’t even get why I’m angry at you. I walked in here without any expectations for you, but my brain keeps coming back to one thing.” This time Miki laid his hands on the table and leaned forward. “You were a cop, or as good as one. Why the fuck didn’t you get her out? Even if you didn’t love her, she was a fucking kid and you left her there.”
“Because they had me locked down. Because the damned DEA pulled me out and threw me into a hole. As far as my superiors were concerned back then, she was just one of Wong’s assets, no matter how much I fucking begged,” Stewart spat back, his eyes going green with anger. “And by the time I got someone to finally listen to me—to finally let me out—she was dead. After that, I spent my time working and trying to find the bottom of every whiskey bottle I could get ahold of until a couple of days ago when a DEA agent assigned here to the San Francisco office hunted me down and told me I had a son, Achara’s son.
“And if you walk out of here knowing one fucking thing today—” His voice broke, as fractured as shattering glass, and Stewart swallowed before continuing. “You’re fucking wrong. I loved her. As much as I could love anybody. And walking in here—seeing your face—makes me want to crawl right back into that bottle, because looking at you hurts. And knowing that I could’ve saved you from what sounds like a really fucked-up, shitty life, that I could have had a part of her with me, helps me understand why that dirty cop ate his gun because he couldn’t handle the guilt.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I slide into the crack of midnight
Forgotten, broken, bitten and torn
Just need to survive what you do to me
Just need to see the morn
I lit all the candles
Given to me by a man
Who told me to pray
God has me in his hand
You came anyway
Walking through the flame and smoke
I’ll never get back my innocence
I’ll never get back what you took
—Innocence Lost
“LOOK, LET’S take a walk or—at least—get out of here. You and I aren’t the kind of people who do well in boxes, and this is the worst possible box.” Stewart pulled himself up, inhaling sharply. “This would be a lot easier if we were sitting down with a bottle of whiskey between us. Except I’m trying to cut down on the whiskey part, so it’ll have to be coffee.”
“Why?” Miki rocked back on his heels, his thumbs hooked into his pockets.
It was hard to get a read on the guy, especially since his emotions were a maelstrom of confusion, doubt, and resentment. He hated wanting to like Stewart. It seemed as if he was being disloyal to Donal somehow, and Miki had to take a step away from the conversation. Even if it was just for a moment, he needed some space to work through the tangle in his head.
Still, as much as he wanted to go back out through the door to find someone familiar, that need felt like he was running away, and Miki refused to tuck his tail and bolt.
“Why what?” Stewart cocked his head and frowned a little. “Why the coffee? Or why not the whiskey?”
“Why do you think this would be a lot easier?” The resentment was ebbing, replaced by a burr of curiosity. He kind of hated wanting to know more about Stewart and maybe hearing a story or two about his mother. Miki didn’t know if his heart could take it. The what-ifs were too heavy and looming, but also so damn tantalizing. “Also, if you’ve forgotten, someone is trying to fucking kill us. Or maybe just me. I don’t know. Maybe Wong thinks you knew about me the entire time, unless you’re lying and you did.”
“My mother cursed me with having a kid just like me, and fuck me if she didn’t get her wish.” Stuart rubbed at his face, then let out an exasperated sigh. “Why would I leave you to Wong? If I’d known about you, I could’ve told the agency, and then they would’ve gotten off their ass to get Achara out. That was why they kept pushing back, because she and I didn’t have any connection, but you would’ve been enough to tip the scales my way. What kind of asshole would leave a kid someplace Wong could get to them?”
“The cop that blew his own head off yesterday?” Miki reminded him. “He didn’t have any problem dumping me in the lap of the guy who didn’t seem to understand there are things you don’t do with little kids. So don’t talk to me about assholes, I’ve had to live through enough of them. So yeah, you’re going to have to excuse me if that’s my first default setting when you ask me that question.”
Stewart seemed shaken, and Miki shoved down the flicker of remorse he felt trying to flare up. His father looked away, his attention fixed to a corner of the room, and when he finally looked up at Miki, his eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“I don’t know anything about you,” Stewart confessed. “I found out about half an hour ago you’re apparently a musician I should’ve h
eard about and that your childhood was shitty, but I don’t know anything else. I don’t know what happened to you and I can tell just by how wary you are that there’s a lot I’m going to be sorry for.”
“You want to know the truth?” Miki pushed forward, unable to hold back his emotions anymore. “Right now, I’m pissed off about everything. In the last couple of weeks, my whole fucking life has been turned upside down, and it isn’t that I had an idea in my head about who you were going to be. I never once thought about you. I never ever thought about my mother—Achara—because I figured I wasn’t good enough for her to hold on to—”
“I may not have known about you, but your mom wanted kids so badly. But she knew if she had one then, Wong would just use it against her,” his father cut in. “She’d have done everything she could to keep you safe. We used to talk about having kids one day, but I couldn’t even tell her I was undercover. If Wong found out she knew, she’d have been dead before—well, I guess none of that really matters because either he had her killed or Zhou murdered her because he couldn’t have her. But I know without even being there, without even knowing you existed, she would’ve loved you so fucking much and probably died protecting you. I don’t doubt that for a moment.”
If the photos hadn’t made his mother real, then Stewart’s words did. What he’d lost when Achara died became all too real in that moment, and Miki staggered back, unable to keep the grip on the chair he’d clenched as if he would drown if he let go.