by Sara Bell
“Nope. Only one part of me is sore right now, and it sure as hell isn’t my shoulder.” He smiled down at Nate. “I guess we’ll just have to keep doing it until we work the soreness out, huh?”
Nate kissed him soundly on the mouth. “Come on, sex maniac. Let’s change the bed and get some sleep. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”
* * *
After breakfast, Brandon and Nate headed home. A quick call to Sam confirmed that Howard’s men had arrived and already swept the office. Pronouncing the station clean, they’d headed over to the house. Howard was waiting by the backdoor when Brandon pulled the Camaro into the drive.
“You look none the worse for the wear after last night.”
Brandon shook his hand. “Then why do I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck?”
Howard grinned. “Aftershock, my friend. Happens to me every time I take a hit off a perp.” He patted Nate on the arm. “How’s it going, Doc?”
“I’ll be better once I know our house isn’t bugged.”
Howard nodded. “It’s a creepy feeling, isn’t it? My men are already upstairs, thanks to your deputy. He met us here with a spare key. Speaking of which, the lock doesn’t appear to have been jimmied or picked. Since I don’t subscribe to all that metaphysical crap about walking through walls, I think the guy must have used a key. How many have you got floating around, besides yours?”
Brandon began counting on his fingers. “My mother, Keith, and Nate each have one. I keep one at the station, the one that Sam gave to you today, and I keep a spare here at the house.”
“Where, exactly?”
“On a rack in the mudroom, just inside the door.”
Howard nodded. “Let’s have a look, just in case.” He started up the back steps, then stopped and said, “By the way, how’s your dog?”
“I called Dr. Payne first thing this morning. He said she’s almost back to her old self, but he wants to keep her one more day for observation, just in case. He said the drug she was given was some kind of human tranquilizer. Diazepam, he thinks.”
“Diazepam?”
Nate said, “Generic valium. I give a low dose of it to patients who are suffering from mild anxiety. Dr. Payne found a couple of undigested tablets when he pumped Sasha’s stomach. He isn’t sure just how much she was given, so it could be a while before we know if there’s been any long term damage done to Sasha’s system.”
“Keep me posted.” Howard made his way into the house, followed by Bran and Nate. “Show me where you keep your keys.”
Brandon pointed to the hanging rack directly above the light switch on the left side of the door. The first thing he noticed was the empty peg where his spare key should have been. “Damn. The son-of-a-bitch must have taken it. That definitely narrows down our list of suspects to someone we know.”
Howard sighed. “I don’t suppose you have a running list of all the people who’ve been in your house since all this started , do you?”
“Almost every member of my immediate family, and Nate’s, too, not to mention a least four of my deputies and a few of the folks from my church who came by to check on Nate when he was recovering. At least fifty people, if not more.”
“I knew it wouldn’t be easy.” Before he could say more, someone hollered, “Agent Howard, I think we’ve found something, Sir.”
Brandon followed the voice to the bedroom. A young red-haired agent Howard introduced as Agent Miles held up a round, putty colored glob. “I found this stuck to the inside door frame. Whoever planted it was smart enough to make it look like a piece of calking. In an old house like this, no one would ever notice.” He turned it over to reveal a tiny lump of circuitry. “This thing may be small, but the transmitter is powerful enough to carry even a sigh all the way across the room. Anything said within twenty-feet of this little guy would be as plain as if you were whispering in the guy’s ear.”
Brandon glanced over and saw Nate shivering. He turned to Howard, who must have noticed it, too, because he said, “Have you finished the sweep, Miles.”
“Yes, sir. I still have the guest bedroom to do, but this room and the adjoining bath are clean.”
“Let’s get to it, then.” Howard ushered miles out of the room, closing the door as they went.”
Brandon pulled Nate over to the bed and cradled him in his arms. He could feel the trembling even through the heavy coats they both still wore. Brandon stripped Nate of his coat and took off his own, then pulled him close again. “It’s all too much, isn’t it, babe?”
“He’s been in our house, Bran. It could be one of our friends, even a relative. Why does someone want me dead bad enough to go to these lengths? I mean, bugging our bedroom? God, Bran, that’s like something out of a James Bond movie.”
Brandon stroked his soft blonde hair. “I know, baby, but we’re gonna catch this guy.” He tilted Nate’s chin up to look at him. “I promise you we will, Nate.”
“I know. I just wish this would all end soon. I’m not sure how much more either of us can take.” Brandon continued to hold him, rocking slowly back and forth. He didn’t know who was comforting whom. He only knew he needed the soothing power of having Nate’s body against his own. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there like that, but a knock on the door broke them apart.
Bran cleared his throat. “Come in.”
Howard stuck his head in the door. “If you guys would come downstairs. Miles is ready to give his report.”
Brandon nodded and led a too quiet Nate down to the kitchen. They took seats at the table, as did Howard and Miles. The rest of Howard’s team busied themselves by packing up equipment and loading the two non-descript sedans they had arrived in.
Miles said, “We swept the whole house, including the porches and outbuildings, even the vehicles. We found one each in the kitchen and bedroom. Your SUV was clean, Sheriff, but we did find a couple in your car.”
“Why would he put two in my car when he only put one in the kitchen and one in the bedroom?”
“My best guess: to filter out road and engine noise. Your Camaro’s got a three-fifty and a four barrel, right?”
“Actually, she’s got a six pack.”
Miles looked even more like a freckle-faced kid while he was drooling over Brandon’s car. “Awesome. Did you do all the restorations yourself?”
“All but the body work. One of my cousins did that for me, cheap.”
Miles said, “Really? Wonder what kind of deal he’d give me on a new paint job for my Mustang?”
Brandon seemed to forget all about the reason Miles was sitting at his kitchen table. Now they were just two motor-heads raving about the objects of their affection. “Mustang, huh? Is she a classic?”
“Is there any other kind? She’s a sixty-six, all original. All she needs is a good paint job and she’ll be showroom quality. What’s yours, a sixty-nine?”
“Sixty-eight. I—”
Nate said, “Not to interrupt this riveting conversation about the raptures of classic muscle cars, but wasn’t Agent Miles about to tell us something about the guy who’s been trying to kill me?”
Miles blushed and Brandon felt an immediate stab of guilt. He took Nate’s hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Sorry, sweetheart. I get a bit carried away when I talk about my car.”
“It’s, okay, but I would like to know what Agent Miles found.”
Howard said, “So would I. Do you think you can trace the bugs to the manufacturer.”
“Nothing, doing, Chief. These jokers are homemade. A pro like your guy could walk into any Radio Shack and pick up the components to make them. They aren’t real sophisticated, as far as listening devices go, but they’ll get the job done.”
Howard rubbed his forehead. “Everything we know about Wilson says he has the know how to make these bugs, but I doubt he could have gotten close enough to plant them without that key and the alarm codes. That means whoever planted them has been in contact with him at least once since he ar
rived here.”
Brandon shook his head. “Twice, actually. Someone had to pass that car-rental receipt to Wilson so he could plant it at the second arson site.”
“The victim of the second fire, Marjorie Newman. How is she?”
“Still in a coma. I went by the hospital yesterday after work. The doctor’s remain hopeful, but so far, nothing. Keep her in your prayers.”
“I’ll do that.” Howard paused for a minute, thinking. “What about the knife your brother and Dr. Vaughn pulled out of your shoulder? Any luck?”
“I’m sure you won’t be surprised when I tell you no prints were recovered, but it isn’t the kind of knife you buy at a hardware store, either. I’m pretty sure it’s custom made. Sam’s been on the phone half-the night and most of this morning trying to track down the manufacturer.”
Howard nodded. “Good. Maybe he’ll come up with something. My men will be following the two of your everywhere you go until we catch Wilson. He’s our best hope for tracking down the creep who hired him. Your home and offices will be under surveillance, and you’ll have a tail anytime you go anywhere.”
“Fine, but I want to keep my deputies on the job, too. If your men are discreet enough, Wilson might not notice them and make a mistake that will allow us to catch his ass.”
“Good idea.” Howard stood up, and Agent Miles did the same. “We’re gonna get out of here, Nash. We’re staying at different places throughout town and on into Chicago, so as not to arouse suspicion, but you can reach me anytime on my cell.” He was almost to the door when it flew open and Sam rushed inside, panting for breath.
Bran raised a brow at his deputy. “I take it you have news?”
Sam collapsed into a chair. “I sure do, Boss.” He gave Nate a pitying look. “How are you, Doc?”
“I’m, okay, Sam. Brandon was the one hurt last night, not me.”
“I know, but. . .” he trailed of and looked down at the floor.
Brandon reached for Nate’s hand. “Tell us, Sam.”
“We traced the knife to a specialty firm in Atlanta. They only take custom orders. The guy I talked to remembered the knife, just like he remembered the name of the guy that bought it.”
Nate said, “Let me finish it for you, Sam. The customer’s name was Calder Morris.” Chapter 12
“I’d still feel better if you’d let me wear my suit.”
“You’d never get it on over that cast. Besides, our church is fairly casual.” He looked at Nate’s khaki Dockers’s and dark-blue pullover. “You look great, as always. You’re gonna cause me to have impure thoughts all during the service.”
“You’re pretty sinful yourself in those black jeans and that white button-up shirt.”
“Be sure to mention that to my mother, would you? She’s always after me to dress up a little more. She has a fit that I wear jeans with my uniform shirts.”
Nate sat down on the bed. “I think it’s hot. I won’t be telling Gale that, of course.”
Brandon sat down next to him, noticing the lines of worry on Nate’s face. “Still thinking about your father?”
“Yeah. I don’t guess you’ve heard anything?”
Brandon smoothed a stray strand of hair off Nate’s forehead. “Not since this morning. The Atlanta PD went to his house last night after Sam got that call-back from the manufacturing company, but he was gone. They went to his office, too, but either he got tipped off about the arrest warrant, or he really is on a business trip like his secretary said. The FBI has all his known hangouts covered, as well as the airport. When he comes in, we’ll be ready for him.”
“I can’t imagine Calder ‘hanging out’ anywhere. He’s more of a lurker.”
Brandon fastened the last button on his sleeve. “I also spoke to your mom this morning. She’s really worried about you.”
Nate’s shoulders sagged so much, Bran regretted even mentioning it. “I know I should call her, but I just don’t think I can face her right now. I’m still trying to process it all. As soon as I saw that knife, I knew, in the back of my mind, that it was my father’s. He’s practically famous for his knife collection. He’s especially fond of the custom made ones. What I don’t understand is, if my father hired Wilson, why would Wilson throw my father’s knife at you? There’s no doubt he meant to lodge it in your arm. He had to know you would trace it back to Calder. And why plant that rental receipt?”
“Maybe your father double crossed him, made him angry. Hell, Calder was here for less than twenty-four hours and he managed to piss me off at least six times. There are lots of reasons Wilson could have planted that knife, Nate. We won’t have all the answers until we get them both in custody.” He stood up and pulled Nate with him. “Come on. We aren’t going to solve anything by sitting here asking ‘what if.’ Besides, if we’re late for church, my mother’s going to want to know why. And if she asks, I’ll tell her we were late because I was screwing you senseless on the carpet here in our room.” Nate gave him a slight smile. “We aren’t doing anything even remotely like that.”
Brandon rubbed his hand lightly over Nate’s crotch. “No, but we will be if you don’t get your tight little ass out the door within the next ten seconds.”
* * *
The First Christian Church of Reed was an architectural wonder. Built in the early nineteen-hundreds, the building looked almost like a three-story box from a distance. Only when you got closer could you appreciate the true beauty. A daylight basement made up the first level, but it was the entrance to the main level that made the place so unique. Fifteen hewn-stone steps led the way to the main sanctuary. Brandon led him up the steps and through the entry hall into the sanctuary. The entire room danced with color as the sun shone through a set of eight, twenty-foot stained-glass windows. They were all amazing, but Nathan’s favorite was a scene of the crucifixion. The craftsman had captured Jesus in all His glory and sacrifice. Nate was so intent on studying the window, he didn’t hear the man who slipped up behind him.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it? I’ve been the pastor here for over fifteen years, and I never get tired of looking at those windows. Sometimes I come here to do my morning prayers just so I can watch the light dance across the pews.”
Nate turned around and held out his uninjured hand. “Sorry about that. I guess I zoned out for a minute. I’m Nathan Morris.”
“Walter Oakley. I’ve been meaning to come by for a visit, but autumn seems to be unusually busy for our congregation this year. Between the youth fall fundraiser and the ladies prayer group, I’ve hardly had time to drink an entire cup of coffee.” He grasped Nate’s hand with a warm smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Gale and Dean, and from Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. I get the feeling they’d be willing to add you to their family tomorrow, if possible.”
Walter Oakley was the quintessential small town preacher. He had thick graying hair, friendly hazel eyes, and little round spectacles. He was wearing robes and carrying a big black Bible. Nate grinned. “They’re a great family, no doubt about it. I couldn’t have chosen a better family to marry into. I love them all.”
“I hope I’m included in all this lavish praise you’re heaping on my family.” Brandon slipped up behind him and put one arm around his waist. Nate tried to make him let go, but Bran held firm.
“Brandon, We. Are. In. Church.” He said each word slowly and separately, growling through clenched teeth.
Brandon gave him a goofy grin. “Is that where we are? I thought this was Jimmy’s Car Wash.” He winked at Pastor Oakley. “I think Nate is embarrassed by my shameless public display of affection.”
Walter nodded. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Nathan. God invented sex, you know.”
Nate cleared his throat. “I know, but Bran and I are, well. . .Bran and I are just different.”
“Because you’re gay?”
When Nate nodded, Oakley chuckled. “I hate to tell you this, son, but God invented gay people, too. In fact, I’ve been wondering here recently if that isn’t why he
put a man’s prostate just exactly where he put it. That way, both partners can enjoy sexual intercourse equally.” Nate wanted to crawl under one of the walnut pews, but Brandon said, “You know, I’ve never thought about it like that, but I think you’re probably right.”
Pastor Oakley gave them a devilish smile. “I’d love to take credit for that little bit of wisdom, but it was actually passed onto me by Mrs. Taylor.”
“Grandma Abigail?”
“Yes. She’s taken a recent interest in anal sex, you know.”
Nate wondered if God gave you extra points for dying in church.
* * *
Brandon and his family always sat on the first four pews from the front. Grandpa Taylor claimed God talked a little louder when you sat near the front. Grandma would then reach over and adjust the volume on his hearing aide. Whatever the reason, the habit was there. Since Megan had brought Dillon to church with her, Brandon and Nate were forced to sit on the fifth pew next to a young couple with a fussy three-month-old baby girl. All through the first three hymns and the Lord’s Supper, the baby fretted and whimpered. Brandon loved children, but he was ready to pull out his hair when the sermon started and the little darling’s whimpers turned to ear-splitting cries. The mother was doing all she could, but nothing seemed to help. Five minutes into the sermon, Nate leaned over and whispered, “May I?”
The mother was hesitant, but Brandon figured she was desperate enough to try anything. She handed the little girl over, and almost fainted when Nate laid the baby face down across his lap.
The young woman got out, “What are you—” but broke off when the baby’s cries immediately stopped.
Brandon watched as Nate gently balanced the baby with his cast and used his left hand to massage several odd points across the baby’s neck, back, and legs. The little girl cooed as Nate rubbed tiny circles against her skin with one finger. Within minutes, she was asleep. The grateful mother carefully scooped the sleeping infant into her arms and gifted Nate with a brilliant smile as she watched the gentle rise and fall of her daughter’s chest. Brandon looked up and saw that the entire congregation, including Pastor Oakley, was watching Nate with a look of awe. Pastor Oakley went on to preach a brilliant sermon about the merits of peace and quiet.
