by Josh Lanyon
So they waited till suppertime, when the odds were in their favor that Valz would be home from a hard day’s work ripping off the US government. Señora Valz opened the door to their knock. Good smells issued forth, along with a babble of non-Spanish.
Nahua, identified Will, who had spent some time in San Salvador. So there was another strike against Valz, who claimed in a couple of documents to be a lawful citizen of Mexico — those would be in the documents where he didn’t claim to be a United States citizen.
A roomful of wary black eyes turned their way, and silence fell.
Bradley began to explain their business in painstaking Spanish. There was the squeak of floorboards behind them. Will turned, and there was Valz rabbiting down the apartment hallway toward the staircase.
Will was after him, shouting a warning for Valz to stop. He wasn’t going to shoot the guy in front of his kids — wasn’t going to shoot him at all. Nothing in Valz’s profile indicated he was dangerous or warranted shooting. In any case, Valz paid no attention.
Will jumped over the railing and gained a flight, dropped over another metal railing, and hit the ground floor the same time as Valz. He could hear the pound of Bradley’s feet behind him — slower and heavier than Taylor, who would have passed Will up by now.
Valz burst out through the side entrance that led to the pool courtyard.
Will shot through the doors a few seconds behind him.
The courtyard was empty. It was too cold for swimming this time of year, even in San Diego, but there was some kind of pool maintenance going on and the deck was wet. A large gray hose was stretched across from a rumbling truck in the parking lot, and it sounded like the pool was being vacuumed.
Though small and portly, Valz was fast. Or very scared. He went through the obstacle course of lounge chairs and tables like a steeplechaser. Will was gaining on him, though, until he slipped in a puddle. He knew an instant of chagrined surprise before his foot shot out from under him and he plunged headfirst into the pool, his skull grazing the cement lip of the edge. His last thought was the hope that they weren’t draining the damn thing…
Chapter Seven
“Will?”
A hand was patting his cheek. Annoying.
“Will?”
He twitched his eyebrows in irritation. His head was pounding sickeningly, like someone was kicking an oil drum next to him. He was wet and cold and starting to shiver…
“Come on, Marine. Talk to me.”
And if that fucking voice and fucking hand slapping his cheek did not go away, Will was going to punch someone. His eyes snapped open.
David Bradley was leaning over him, his handsome face grim and worried. In fact, his face was quite close to Will’s, his mouth a couple of inches away, his breath warm on Will’s chilled skin.
Seeing that Will was conscious, he drew back in relief. “How do you feel?”
Now that he thought about it…not good. In fact…
A wave of nausea rose inside him. Salty saliva filled his mouth; his stomach lurched. He rolled onto his side, away from Bradley, and was sick on the pavement.
“Great,” he got out.
“I see that.” Bradley’s big hand was on his shoulder, squeezing in support.
“I’m okay,” Will assured him hoarsely. “That’s just reaction.” He pushed up from the mess.
Bradley grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. “More like concussion.”
“Nah. Where’s our guy?”
He was upright now, weaving a little in the mild evening breeze. Bradley steadied him and chuckled. “He ran straight into the arms of a pair of sheriff’s deputies here to collect a deadbeat dad.”
Will laughed shakily, put a hand to his throbbing head.
“Let’s get you back to the base,” Bradley said with quick concern. “They’ve got it under control here. It’ll do Valz good to wait a little before we question him.”
* * * * *
The base medic pronounced mild concussion, recommended a couple of days of bed rest, and sent them on their way. When they got back to Bradley’s office, Will accepted a change of clothes and declined the offer of a bunk.
“I’m serious. You can stay at my place,” Bradley said. “You should not try driving tonight. I’ve got plenty of room. I’d like to have you.”
No kidding. And Will would like to have Bradley too. But that was not going to happen. Will might be suffering from mild concussion, but he’d have to have major brain damage to go along with that idea. He tried to imagine breaking it to Taylor he was having a slumber party at David Bradley’s house. Not going to happen.
Bad enough that he wasn’t going to be able to drive back home tonight. He wanted to, but he knew better. He was just groggy and exhausted enough to make that unwise.
“I appreciate it,” he said, “but I think I probably better get a hotel room.”
“Now I’m insulted,” Bradley said, and he did look pretty formidable. Definitely not a guy to jerk around. “I sort of thought, regardless of the rest of it, we were friends.”
“We are friends,” Will said.
“But what?”
“There is the rest of it. I’m not going to pretend I don’t still want you. But I’ve got someone now.”
“So you said.” Bradley was watching him closely, speculatively. “Is it this partner of yours?”
Will hesitated. He felt he owed Bradley this honesty. “Yes.”
“I wondered. I knew you were close. When he was shot, it was pretty clear your world narrowed down to him.”
What could Will say? It was the truth.
“I’ve never been partnered with anyone, so I wasn’t sure if it was like that for everyone. I had a feeling it might be unique to the two of you.” Bradley asked tentatively, “Does he feel the same?”
Will nodded. He had a sudden sense of how very lucky he was. He could see it on Bradley’s face.
“Well, hell.” Bradley grimaced. “I guess I made a mistake backing off when I did. I was kind of hoping you’d see the light. Unfortunately it turned out to be a different light.”
“I’m sorry,” Will said. “It…caught me by surprise too.”
“I believe that. I thought we had something pretty special ourselves.”
Will didn’t want to hear this; what was the point? “We had something good,” he acknowledged.
Bradley was still eyeing him in that steadfast, measuring way. “And you don’t have any doubts about this partner of yours? I thought he was kind of a wild card?”
“I don’t have any doubts about him.” End of discussion.
Bradley nodded, mostly to himself. His eyes met Will’s, and there was a wicked gleam in the brown depths. “Okay if I kiss you good-bye?”
Will laughed uneasily. His heart started thumping. It was ridiculous and stagy, but easier to get it over with than make a fuss. “Sure.”
Bradley put his arms around him, and Will thought what a crazy thing it was that for all Bradley’s greater size and obvious strength, it was only when Taylor held him in that bony, fierce grip that Will felt helpless. Then Bradley’s mouth was on his, and Will stopped thinking, because he’d forgotten how good this was. And Bradley was applying his considerable talents to this moment.
Dazedly, Will was aware of a surge of sexual hunger, of fierce physical desire, his body responding to the expert pressure of the hot mouth on his own. It was startling because it wasn’t like he was doing without these days, and it was alarming because it would be very easy to give into this. Sex had always been good between him and Bradley.
But what he had with Taylor went way beyond this.
He drew back — not without effort — and said, “And this is why spending the night at your place would not be a good idea.”
Bradley looked slightly dazed himself. “Will —”
“I’ll stop by tomorrow on my way out of town,” Will said, and he got himself out of there.
* * * * *
The generic hotel was m
ostly clean and mostly quiet. Will used the complimentary toothbrush, took a couple of painkillers, climbed into bed, and phoned Taylor.
Taylor’s voice had that edgy, on-the-job note when he answered, and Will said, “Everything okay?”
“Sure.”
Will could hear the conscious effort to ease up. Something had happened; Taylor was definitely wound tight. Tighter than usual. Will silently cursed the fact he wasn’t driving back. “Any more weird gifts or notes?”
“Nah.” He sounded relaxed about that, so it was probably just the stress of working with Varga. Taylor confirmed that a second later. “Varga and I are in the doghouse. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“Well, I’ve got bad news,” Will admitted. “I’m not going to make it back tonight after all.”
“Ah.” Neutral.
“It’s… Well, I had a slight mishap.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I was in pursuit of a suspect, and I —” Will broke off to cough. He hadn’t swallowed a lot of water, but enough that his lungs were still a bit foggy.
“And you what?”
“Fell in a swimming pool and knocked myself out.”
“You’ve got to be — Are you all right?” Taylor’s voice was hard and terse.
Will reassured quickly. “I’m fine. But I don’t think driving back tonight is a good idea. Much as I want to.”
The edge was noticeably sharper as Taylor questioned, “Where the fuck was Lt. Commander Bradley during all this?”
“He was right there. He pulled me out of the pool.”
“If he’d been doing his job, you’d never have fallen into the pool.”
“Come on, MacAllister.”
“Don’t ‘come on, MacAllister’ me, Brandt. He was supposed to be watching your back.”
“Nobody failed in their duty, nobody made any mistakes — except me slipping in the pool water.”
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
This was touchy. The few times he’d tried to address this with Taylor, Taylor had shut him down fast. Will gentled his voice. “Shit happens, Tay. No one should know that better than you.”
Silence.
Taylor changed the subject. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay. Swear to God.” Will added softly, “I’m disappointed too.”
Taylor let out a pent-up, irritable breath. “It’s not that. Well, yeah, it is partly that, but…you could have been killed, Brandt, and here I am stuck babysitting East Africa’s answer to Paris Hilton.”
“That bad?”
“Yes. And don’t change the subject. Did you actually see a doctor, or did you just decide all on your own you didn’t have a concussion?”
“Yes. I saw the base doctor. I just stunned myself for a few seconds. If I hadn’t fallen into a swimming pool, it wouldn’t have been worth mentioning.”
Taylor made a huffy sound that made Will’s lips twitch into a grin he’d never dare have shown.
“On the bright side, we’ve wrapped our case up,” he offered.
“Yes?” Taylor sounded slightly mollified.
“Yep. I’m driving back first thing tomorrow morning, and we can spend tomorrow night together. Your place or mine, you can choose.” He planned on stopping off in Orange County and doing some more checking into the recent activities and general attitude of the Phu Fighters, but he wasn’t going to mention that right now. Taylor was edgy enough.
“We’ve got one more day escorting Miss Congeniality around LA. Then they fly her off to San Francisco, and the gang on Pine Street get to amuse her for the next forty-eight hours.”
“So, tomorrow night. My house or yours?”
“Mine. I…want to show you something.”
“Oh yes?” Will said hopefully, suggestively.
There was a smile in Taylor’s voice, but he sounded absent. “Will?”
“Right here.”
There was a pause. “When I was shot —”
Will’s heart quickened; he wasn’t even sure why. “Yeah?”
“It wasn’t because of you…turning me down. It wasn’t because my mind wasn’t on the job.”
“No?”
“No. I know — at least, I think I do — that you thought you were somehow to blame for me getting nailed. It wasn’t anything to do with you.” He heard Taylor sigh. “It was when I saw how young they were. Kids. And I hesitated. I hesitated a couple of seconds too long. That’s all.”
Something inside Will relaxed, like the clutch of a child’s hand on a balloon. The balloon went sailing free and happy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. So if you’re, you know — you don’t have to.”
“Huh?”
Taylor said carefully, painstakingly, “So, if you’re you know —”
Will burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it — not to save his life. “You are fucking insane, do you know that?”
“I beg your pardon?” Taylor said in outrage.
The formal words and indignant tone made it all the worse, and Will was already having a very hard time not roaring. He couldn’t even explain why he felt so happy. “You think I’m with you out of guilt?”
“No, you ass. Of course not. I just mean —”
“You’re a nut, MacAllister. I’m with you because I love you.”
There it was, out. Three little words. Three of the most common words in the world, but string them together and they were more powerful than any warrant, any extradition papers, or even treaty. Stronger than any magical spell. Had he really never said them aloud to Taylor? Something in the ringing silence that followed made him think he maybe hadn’t.
It was a relief when Taylor said, at last, in that irritable voice that always signified nerves or great emotion, “That’s fine. I just thought you should know.”
“I love you,” Will repeated firmly, having got the hang of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, you lunatic.”
“Love you,” Taylor said tersely and hung up.
* * * * *
Taylor stared at the receiver in its cradle and then got ready for bed.
If he was spending the night by himself, he’d have preferred to be between his own sheets. Somehow it felt lonelier in Will’s bed without Will. And it was hotter and smoggier here than in Ventura, and the street outside Will’s place was noisier than his own neighborhood.
He left his .357 SIG on the nightstand within grabbing distance.
Even Riley seemed uneasy without Will, jumping up and growling at phantom shadows a couple of times during the long night.
“Easy, Riley,” Taylor muttered, and each time the dog curled up next to the bed, grumbling under his breath. He lay, head raised, panting softly in the gloom, ears twitching at every sound.
Taylor wasn’t much better. He wasn’t nervous, but every time he started to relax into sleep, he’d remember something and jerk back to full consciousness. At first the memories were good: Will saying he loved him. Not that he didn’t already know this, but if Will was saying it out loud, saying it so casually, acceptingly, they had turned some corner.
The laughter, the affectionate exasperation in Will’s voice was…well, the best birthday present he could have received.
But then the memories grew darker. Things he had forgotten, tried to forget, came back to him. His shooting. The subsequent trip to the High Sierras when Will had been taken hostage. When he’d feared Will was dead. Other memories, older memories. Other friends, other losses and failures.
Japan.
A long time since he’d let himself think about Japan, let himself remember. No point to it. Nothing productive was going to come out of raking over those memories. Better, healthier, to forget.
Not that there weren’t good memories too. A lot of good memories. Even if he wasn’t ready to face them yet.
It was the cobra in the bottle that had started him remembering. Old poison.
Weird.
There couldn’t be a connection. It was nearly a decade ago
.
But equally he had trouble believing that the Orange County Phu Fighters were still gunning for him. He couldn’t even picture them coming after Will, let alone him.
And that note: Old poison slays as swiftly as new. Vietnamese gangbangers were not going to leave notes in Japanese kanji. If they wrote anything at all, which would be doubtful, it would be in their own Romanized national language — or English. But the fact was, they wouldn’t leave notes; they wouldn’t send cobras pickled in rice wine or try to set booby traps with Japanese fireworks. They’d shoot him when he walked out his door one morning.
By the same logic, he dismissed the idea of the punks in the Red Dragon parking lot. To start with, the cobra in the bottle had been sent before the altercation in the parking lot. And that little dustup couldn’t have been staged, because no one but Will knew where they were headed that night. Secondly, Mexican gangstas were even less likely to leave notes in Japanese than Vietnamese gangs. Thirdly, this whole complicated threat scenario was out of character. Out of character for both the Latino and the Vietnamese gangs. Wine with cobras? Cryptic notes? Bombs made out of fireworks? It was just too involved.
Convoluted.
Personal.
Granted, he and Will pissed people off in the normal course of their duties, but Taylor just couldn’t see the forgers and counterfeiters they typically went after lashing back with this kind of scenario.
It was sort of, well, theatrical. Like those Noh dramas Inori had dragged him to see.
Taylor was tempted to dismiss it as a joke, but there was no reason anyone would be joking about Japan to him. Ninety bucks for a giant firecracker and another ninety bucks for a bottle of imported rice-and-cobra wine was a fairly expensive joke.
No, there was something not right.
Nothing he couldn’t handle, but maybe he did need to talk to Will about Japan. He didn’t want to. He could think of few conversations he wanted to have less. But Will had brought it up, and he deserved to hear the truth.
