Ethan finally looked at Jack, and the fist on top of his car loosened, fingers spreading out over the black duco. “Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. You’re right. I don’t have experience with any of those things, and I can’t promise that I won’t make mistakes upon occasion. I can, however, assure you that regardless of what anyone else thinks or says, I want to be here. With you.”
Jack wanted to believe him. Desperately. Yet, he could still clearly feel the way Ethan had reacted to his touch, the same way he did when threatened. If he wasn’t worried about being openly gay, then what had caused him to pull away?
“I want you here, too.” Jack took a couple of steps towards him, testing his limits. “It’s why I asked you to come and stay. I know it’s not going to be easy. I don’t have a great track record with relationships. I’m undoubtedly going to mess something up at some stage.”
The corner of Ethan’s mouth quirked up. “We’re not incapable men, Jack. I’m sure we can weather the rough patches. And if you were to leave me, I should remind you, I’m retired, not disabled.”
Jack snorted, that involuntary draw he constantly felt for Ethan, especially at times like this, bringing him another step closer.
“Too soon?” Ethan leaned back against Victoria’s side.
There was barely ten inches between their chests. “Too cheesy.” Jack let his voice drop into a husky rumble.
The panes of Ethan’s glasses angled downward, judging the distance. “Jack, am I required to remind you we’re not exactly in private?” His little smile turned brittle, and his tone flattened.
And there it was. What had made Ethan pull away from Jack in front of Mr. Cesare. Ethan didn’t want to be touched in public not because he feared being seen as gay, but because it was a risk to his control. Jack was fascinated and aroused by how tranquil and easy Ethan could be when they were together, but only when he felt secure. Outside of his lairs or Jack’s apartment, he was constantly on alert, wary, ready to face any threat. Having someone touching him hindered his ability to react, and perhaps having Jack touch him was distracting on other levels, as well.
“No,” Jack whispered and backed off. “Just wanted to tell you that I’ll miss you today.”
Before he got out of range, Ethan put his palm on Jack’s chest as he said, “And I you,” then let it drop, unspoken thanks for understanding.
Exchanging smiles, they got onto and into their respective vehicles. Jack watched while Ethan backed the Vanquish out and turned her towards the exit. He wasn’t a publicly demonstrative person, but he took a moment to mourn the loss of simply holding hands as they walked together, then started the bike and headed in to work.
His welcome at the police station wasn’t quite as warm as Ethan’s parting smile. Steph and Adam were both on their phones, having tense conversations. Adam was pacing the length of the room while Steph sat at her laptop, phone held between cheek and shoulder while she tapped keys angrily.
“It’s okay,” Adam ground into his phone when he saw Jack. “He just showed up.”
Steph, too, ended her call with a “He’s here,” and stood, hands on hips.
“Where the hell have you been?” Adam demanded.
“I’m not that late.” He was. Ethan was very distracting. Still, he hadn’t expected showing up late would cause such a strong reaction.
“So?” Steph asked, sounding calm. “Do you have an explanation?”
“As it happens, I do.” Jack casually strolled to his usual seat and sat. This was the perfect opener for his demonstration. “Steph, would you care to call the front desk and make sure I’ve arrived, please?”
Eyeing him sceptically, Steph called down and after about fifteen seconds, turned a furious glare on Jack. “He hasn’t checked in? No, that’s okay,” she said into the phone, tone low and tight. “We’ll sort it out up here.” Then she slammed the phone down and glared at Jack.
“And that,” Jack said mildly, “is how easy it can be to bypass security, even in a secure place like this, or a military base.”
Adam gaped from him to Steph and back again.
“Explain,” Steph said.
“The best way to get around most security measures is familiarity, confidence and—” Jack produced a laminated card and put it on the table in front of Adam. “—forgeries.”
Picking up the card, Adam glanced at it, then at Jack, then did a double take with the card. He swore and tossed it back at Jack. “This is why you came out for drinks last night? To get my AFRG card and copy it?”
“And you didn’t suspect a thing. I got a photo of it and had a forgery made.” By Office techs. “I’ve been in and out of this building for several days now. A lot of the staff in this section have seen my face. They’re familiar with me being an ‘approved’ visitor. Today, I simply walked up to the back door at the same time as someone else, flashed my new card, and they happily let me in with them.”
Silence greeted his speech, neither of them looking appeased.
“This is why you wanted me here, to explain how your offender got in and out of the military base. And it is easier than you think.” Jack looked between them. “Do you want to hear it or not?”
“By all means.” Steph had regained some equilibrium. “Tell us your theory.”
Jack took them through his analysis of the Morrissey scene. He had personal experience with the base in question and described how it was possible to circumvent the outer security, which was similar to what he’d done that morning. Familiarity, confidence, and forgery.
“Once inside, it’s easier to move around. There is nothing simpler than blending in with military personnel. Everyone in uniform, drilled into acting just as uniformly as they look, coached in exactly what to say to anyone who crosses their path. Enough people cycle through those places not everyone is familiar. As sad as it is, this was the easiest and least risky entry faced by your killer.
“Adam, on day one, you said serial murderers often have a fascination with the police. That could extend to the armed forces, right? Your offender knows enough about the military to blend in. He probably tried to enlist but was knocked back for failing the psych evaluation. Or maybe he did get in and was discharged due to psychological issues. I’d say he’s physically fit, if he subdued Morrissey, though.”
“Shit,” Adam whispered. “This is why ADFIS didn’t want us looking at Morrissey. They know the offender could be one of theirs.”
Armed with a new perspective, Adam’s perpetually lazy mien vanished, and Jack got to see the profiler in action. He buzzed through the gathered information with a new vigour, looking at it all from a new angle. Several times he threatened to kiss Jack for “breaking the case wide open.” Steph regarded these declarations with a tolerant smile and a quiet thanks to Jack for giving Adam exactly what he needed.
If Jack had been worried his part was over, he was soon disabused of that notion. Steph made good on her promise from the first day and set him to work going over witness statements, looking for anything that might stand out in light of the new information.
Likewise, once convinced of Jack’s theory about how the Judge got into Williams’s workplace, Connors set the Scene of Crime team to the task of scouring the route for evidence. Between Jack and Toomey making the run, there was a substantial amount of disturbance of the area, as well as five weeks of accumulated weather and wildlife to deal with. Still, a couple of days later, Steph reported that the SOC team had found a partial print under the skylight the Judge probably used to gain entry. Thanks to Jack, the investigative team had a new lead, as well.
The excitement of Jack’s revelations seemed fleeting, followed as they were by days of tedium. There was a staggering amount of information from the three civilian victims to go through, and it was only compounded when every day or so, Adam would give Jack and Steph a new piece of his evolving profile to chase down in the case files. The whiteboard quickly filled up with Adam’s scrawl, listing traits he believed the Judge p
ossessed. A lot of them were rather generic—abusive childhood, cruelty to animals, fascination with fire—but some seemed oddly specific—he would drive a statement car, either expensive or overly modified; he would be charming and make himself attractive to others; he would be physically fit, perhaps obsessively so.
Jack continued to give in to Adam’s invitations for drinks every couple of days, and by the end of the second week, drinks had extended to dinner just so Jack knew Adam was eating something substantial.
Things at home, too, settled into a comfortable pattern. Ethan was there most nights when Jack got in, and they usually spent some time doing tai chi together. It helped Jack ease out of the mindset work put him in and also mellowed Ethan out. The nights Ethan wasn’t there, he invariably showed up after Jack was in bed. Occasionally, when Jack walked into the apartment after having dinner with Adam, he would find something changed. Usually something small, like the order of his books on the shelves, or the cutlery in the drawer, or the towels in the linen cupboard.
Sometimes, Jack would purposefully put something back out of place and see how long it took Ethan to correct it. That stopped after the day Jack came home early, hoping to surprise Ethan with butter chicken for dinner. Expecting to find the apartment empty, he was startled to come across Ethan in the bedroom. Every drawer on the tallboy was pulled open and all the clothes were on the bed, half of them folded neatly, the other half strewn across the bedspread chaotically.
“What happened here?” Jack asked.
Ethan didn’t look at him, totally focused on folding T-shirts. “You put the underwear away wrong, Jack. Again.”
Cranky from Adam’s passive-aggressive demands for something more and annoyed that his surprise was ruined, Jack’s mood soured further with the knowledge he’d caused Ethan to get deeply lost in his compulsions. Rather than possibly make it worse, Jack backed off. He tried to start dinner but ended up just stewing over everything. All the while, he could make out the soft opening and closing of drawers as Ethan continued working through his own problems. Eventually, Jack made a cup of tea and took it in to him. Most of the clothes were back in their drawers and Ethan was pairing socks, and ignoring him. Jack left the tea on the corner of the tallboy and retreated again. Ethan didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night, and while he didn’t sleep, he did lie beside Jack in bed, without touching. In the morning, Jack woke up groggy and cranky, only to find Ethan had made him breakfast and was ready to communicate again. That night, he let Jack touch him. Lesson learned, Jack was extra careful with the clothes afterwards.
Then there was the day Jack came home and found Ethan in Mr. Cesare’s doorway. He wore an old T-shirt of Jack’s and a pair of jeans that clung to his thighs and arse as he crouched to measure the bottom of the doorframe. Around his trim hips was a battered tool belt, pulled low with the weight of hammers and screwdrivers. Short Round was there, little butt planted beside Ethan, devotedly watching everything the human did like the world’s creepiest supervisor.
Unable to help himself, Jack wolf-whistled as he sauntered up.
Ethan looked up, sunglasses on, lips curled into a little smile. “Hello, Jack.” He stood and wrote a number on a small notepad. At his feet, Shorty picked up his arse and looked between them expectantly, tail waggling so hard his long body wobbled.
“What are you doing?” Jack asked.
“Rocco asked if I’d look at installing an alarm system for him.”
“And you actually are?”
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t. He’s a lovely gentleman, and I don’t mind helping him. Don’t worry, I’m only charging him for the cost of the system.”
Before Jack could say anything else, Mr. Cesare shuffled out of the kitchen and joined them.
“Your drink, son.” He handed Ethan a glass of iced tea. “Hello, Nishant. I hope you don’t mind, but I stole your young man today for my own purposes.”
“It’s all good, Mr. Cesare. Just check his pockets before he leaves. I fear I’m going find Shorty held hostage in our place soon.”
At the sound of his name, the dog jumped up on his back feet, pawing at the air. For once ignoring the dachshund’s antics, Ethan stared at Jack, mouth open in surprise.
Chuckling, Mr. Cesare admitted it was good advice, then wandered back inside to turn on the news. Jack put a finger under Ethan’s jaw and gently shut his mouth.
“What?” he asked, partly worried, partly amused.
“You said ‘our place.’”
Shit. He had. Jack’s belly rolled uneasily. “Yeah. Is that okay?”
Ethan just nodded.
“Good.” Jack sounded like he meant it, which he did, but it was still a bit startling to realise it. “You going to be much longer here?”
“I have a few more measurements to get, but that won’t take long.”
Jack stepped back and turned towards their apartment. “I’ll be waiting for you, then. Oh, and when you come in, leave the tool belt on.”
That turned into a very good night, but then there was the day Jack came home, a bit late, and found Ethan closed off and silent. He spent a lot of time at the door to the balcony, carefully standing so he didn’t silhouette himself in the glass, and stared out at the city. His stiff posture discouraged touching, and his vague, single-syllable answers to Jack’s questions stopped any chance of meaningful conversation. It made it hard for Jack to relax and he spent the night restless, waking several times to find Ethan gone. Jack usually found him at the front door, watching the screen hooked up to the external camera, but one time, he was fastidiously checking every window lock.
“Is there a problem?” Jack muzzily asked.
“No.” Ethan didn’t pause in testing the pressure mat under the window in the spare bedroom. “Go back to bed, Jack.”
Wrecked from a long day of going through evidence reports and then a few too many drinks with Adam, Jack did so.
Then there were the bruises. In Jack’s regular explorations of Ethan’s body, he found a new one every couple of days. Ethan’s excuses got thin pretty fast, and when Jack stopped accepting them, Ethan turned his talent to distraction. When that wouldn’t work anymore, he settled on, “It’s nothing to be worried about, Jack. I’m just . . . it’s a surprise. For you.”
Jack feathered his lips over the newest bruise, a purpling patch under Ethan’s ribs. “What sort of surprise entails this?”
“A good one, I hope.”
Abandoning Ethan’s lower torso, Jack slid back up until he could look him in the eyes. “Nothing is worth you getting hurt.”
Ethan cupped his hands around Jack’s face, holding him still and staring into him so deeply Jack thought he saw something flicker for a second in Ethan’s fixed pupils.
“Some things are worth it,” Ethan whispered.
Feeling raw and exposed, Jack asked, “Like what?”
“Like you, Jack.”
Jack had no real expectation of finding Ethan at the Sydney Motorsport Park, but he couldn’t not check it out. He used his ISO ID to get into the restricted areas, flashing a picture of Ethan from the Office’s file at every staff member he could capture. A few recognised him as Roy Carter, Ethan’s amateur racing nut persona, but no one recalled seeing him in over a year.
Realising that, once again, it had been too long since he’d eaten, Jack got a coffee and a sandwich from a café and watched V8 cars pelt madly around the track while he ate.
It was hard to think of the sport as relaxing, and certainly the few times Jack had been in a racing car with Ethan, the experience hadn’t exactly left him tranquil. But it was the opposite for Ethan. It was like the single-minded focus he needed to control the car and judge corners let him put everything else about his life out of his mind. Everything narrowed down to right there, right then, and all the paranoia and stress of his dangerous world didn’t fit into that space.
God. Jack was an absolute shitheel. He’d been too distracted by Adam, and yes, guilty about it all, especia
lly about thinking he was “helping” Ethan, to really hear what Ethan needed from him. The signs had all been there—the distance, the obsession, the compulsions. The bruises. Ethan had talked a good game, but he’d been stumbling when Jack wasn’t looking.
Fuck. He discreetly rubbed away a few tears.
About the best he could expect was that Ethan had left the message on the mirror and they would meet up that night. Until then, Jack had other mysteries to solve.
Feeling a bit aimless as he left the SMSP, he had a sudden urge to go back to Middle Head. His recent visits had reminded him how much he used to enjoy the park. If he hadn’t had his head up his own arse these past weeks, he should have taken Ethan. Perhaps he would have found some of the peace there that Jack did.
Jack headed for Mosman. He wouldn’t get there before the park closed, but that was probably a good thing. If the Judge was still following him, then an empty space filled with old fortifications wouldn’t be an entirely bad place for a fight, at least.
He was cruising along the M7 when his implant pinged.
“Jack.” Lydia sounded excited when he answered. “Are you sitting down?”
“Of a sort. You have news?” He didn’t want to tempt fate by saying “good news.”
“Of a sort,” she repeated in the same wry tone. “The blood sample from your place came back. It’s Blade’s.”
It was a both a worry and a relief to know Ethan had been back home after the arrest. Had he gone there looking for comfort? How had he been hurt? Who had hurt him? And was that person the same one who’d been inflicting the bruises?
“Also, the fingerprints on the mirror match that found at the Williams scene. We’re treating them as the Judge’s. So far, no hits on any databases, but we’re still looking.”
Jack felt sick that the psycho had been in his home. Now he understood why Ethan needed so much security around him.
Why the Devil Stalks Death Page 18
