“He told me about you.”
Startled, Jack stopped and looked down at the man. He stood on the lower steps, most of his body obscured by the next flight above him. All Jack saw was a large hand on the railing, a blue uniform, and a flash of blond hair. Constable Toomey. He wasn’t looking at Jack, but as usual stood with his shoulders hunched and his head down. The only “he” they had in common was Adam, the man Toomey had just tossed aside.
As another man who had probably just been tossed aside, Jack wasn’t exactly feeling diplomatic. “He told me about you, too.”
Toomey grunted. “Do you want to know what he said about you?”
Pretty sure he didn’t, Jack made to continue.
“He said you’re the only one who’s ever made him happy.”
Jack stalled. Adam had told his current fuck that a past one was the only one who’d made him happy? Christ. Jack might have just fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to him, but at least he knew you didn’t say shit like that. Perhaps Toomey had been right to end things with Adam.
“Sorry you had to hear that.” Jack took another step up. This was getting beyond awkward. “See you round, Constable.”
“Are you going up there to fuck Adam?”
“What the hell? Where do you get off asking that? You kicked him aside, so it’s none of your business.”
A little growl entered Toomey’s voice. “You already have a boyfriend. Are you a cheater, Jack?”
The sound of his name from this guy sent an unpleasant shiver down Jack’s spine. No. It didn’t matter how much of a dickhead Adam had been, he was better off without this man.
“Yeah,” Jack muttered and kept going. “I’m going up there to make him happy. Good night, Constable.”
He didn’t wait to see if Toomey stayed or left, didn’t really care either way.
“Look, Rich, I can’t do this any—” Adam said as he opened the door to Jack’s knock, cutting himself off when he saw Jack. “What are you doing here?”
“Having a creepy conversation on the stairs with your ex. He’s still your ex, right?”
“Still my ex.” Adam stepped back and waved Jack in. “He came around to explain why he had to drop me. As if ‘you’re too controlling’ wasn’t enough.” Returning to the small table, Adam sat and tapped his laptop to bring the screen back to life. “I was just going over the latest forensic reports on the Luntz scene.”
“Anything new?”
Adam sipped from a tumbler of amber fluid. “No. This guy is a fucking robot. Did you come over to talk work? Because we did that all day, and frankly, I could use a distraction.” He shut the laptop and leaned back in the chair. “Well, a distraction that isn’t some guy telling me I’m too controlling but, apparently, have no self-control. So I don’t want to hear it from you, either.”
Robbed of some momentum by Toomey, Jack leaned against the counter in the kitchenette. “Did you really tell him I was the only one who ever made you happy?”
“What? No.” But he wouldn’t look at Jack as he said it.
Letting that one go through to the keeper, Jack said, “He’s not the man I want to talk about, anyway.”
“Let me guess. The significant other.” Finishing off his drink, Adam said sourly, “Did he hold you up at gunpoint?”
“Jesus, no. I told you, that wasn’t his fault. He doesn’t always react like that.”
“You can’t discount the fact that he did, though.”
Jack steeled himself. “I don’t. And if he’ll ever see me again, I’ll talk to him about getting help.”
Adam stood and came over. “What happened?” The irreverence was gone, leaving him serious and concerned.
“Ethan knows something.” It hurt to admit it, but if any good was going to come out of this shit, Jack had to let Adam know. “About the case. About the Judge.”
“What? How?”
“Because I’ve been talking to him about it. All the evidence and the scenes and the victims.” Jack continued as Adam backed off, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t do this shit every day, Adam. I needed to vent to someone, and he’s the only person I could talk to. He’s not just a normal guy. There are special circumstances. I can’t tell you without betraying him, but he has insight. Like you do, but different.”
Adam stared at him like he’d just confessed to being the Judge. “And this crazy, special, dangerous man can do my job better than me?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I mean, yes, he has this ability to read a person and pick them apart until he knows exactly what’s going to fuck them up, but this time, I think he knows something.”
“He knows something,” Adam repeated bitterly. “What does he know?”
“I don’t know exactly. He went quiet on me and wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Because he couldn’t control the situation, clearly. You shouldn’t push him like that. Who knows what the hell he’s going to do?”
“He won’t hurt me.” Even now, Jack believed it.
“Excuse my selfishness, but I’m more worried about me right now.”
Jack grimaced and headed for the door. “I knew this was a mistake. You can’t get over the fact I don’t want you, so you won’t help me.”
The door was open and he was halfway out when Adam spoke.
“I’m sorry, Nishant. I haven’t had a great evening, in case you couldn’t tell. Stay. Tell me what happened, and I’ll try to be sympathetic.”
Pathetically grateful this man had stopped him from walking out, Jack went back in but didn’t get far. Sagging against the wall by the door, Jack rubbed his hands over his face. “We’d just got back together. He left after you showed up at my place, said he wasn’t safe there. I get it. I do, but he wouldn’t let me go to him, either. But last night, he let me in, and now this.”
When he opened his eyes, Adam was right in front of him and looking more than concerned. He studied Jack’s face for a long while, exposing his own feelings in his eyes. The intent in them hit Jack in his guts, and not in an uncomfortable way. A warm pressure grew in Jack’s stomach as Adam’s crisp scent surrounded him, permeated him. Sex had been good with this man. Great, even. It could have easily become brilliant, if they’d let it. God, it was more than that, though. Jack hadn’t been lying when he told Adam he was a good man. He would be an easy man to be with. Jack wouldn’t have to worry about deadly mood swings or big fucking secrets—except his own.
Jack hit that stumbling block and dropped his gaze. Ethan had his issues and they couldn’t seem to go long without a monumental hiccup, but he knew Jack. Knew exactly what he did, where he’d come from, and who he was. And Jack’s heart was tearing in two thinking that it might all be over.
“Nishant.” Adam pressed his hands to Jack’s chest, leaning closer. “He needs help, and maybe that help isn’t you.”
“You’re just saying that because you want me for yourself.”
Lips twitching into a sardonic smile, Adam said, “Probably. But you came to me.”
“To tell you about the case.”
“You could have called. If you really wanted him over me, you would have stayed there.”
Jack shook his head but couldn’t voice the denial. He wanted Ethan and no one else, but couldn’t work out how to say it to convince Adam.
“It was so good with us,” Adam persisted. “It would be better now. What does he have that I don’t? Apart from the obvious.”
That sparked enough heat in Jack to form words. “My heart.”
“Does he? Have you kissed him on the mouth, Nishant? It’s not hard to work out why you don’t kiss like that.” He curled the hand over Jack’s heart into a fist. “You have to love a person before you kiss them. You have to trust them with everything you are before you’ll give them that final bit of your soul.” Adam slid his hand around the back of Jack’s neck, tugged him forwards until their lips were maybe an inch apart. “I know you haven’t kissed him. Does he know why, though?”
Jack closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see everything Adam was laying out right in front of him.
“Nishant. Look at me. Jack.”
His first name, unusual from Adam, made him open his eyes. The raw need on Adam’s face made his breath catch.
Adam pressed against him, whispered, “Let me,” and kissed his jaw.
About to push Adam away, a soft sound caught Jack’s attention. He looked and there was Ethan, framed in the open doorway.
Déjà fucking vu.
Ethan’s expression shifted through shock, confusion, and hurt before leaving his face entirely. Stone-cold, he said, “Turnabout is fair play, after all,” then turned on his heel and left.
Jerking at the sound of Ethan’s voice, Adam looked at the now empty doorway. “Was that him?”
“Fuck.” Jack shoved him away. He should be running after Ethan, yelling at him that it wasn’t what it looked like, but the fight was gone. He felt tired and confused and wanted nothing more than to be alone. “I’m going home. I won’t be in tomorrow.”
“Nishant?”
Jack left. He trudged down the stairs and got on his bike. Without conscious thought, he ended up at Middle Head. He sat in the outer fortifications, thinking about all the relationships he’d fucked up in his life. His mother had died thinking he didn’t care about his heritage, and his niece was growing up believing her uncle didn’t care enough to see her. He hadn’t tried to meet his sister halfway in so long he barely remembered why she made him so angry. Jack had technically broken up with Ian, but that was because he didn’t want to fight for him. Hamish had walked away from him because Jack wanted to fight too much. And now Ethan.
God. Neither of them were capable of a normal relationship, but what they had—this crazy, amazing, strange, and wonderful thing—was right for them. It had been working in its own weird way. What they needed to keep it working was help. Ethan had to talk to someone, and Jack had to be honest, to Ethan, and about him. Which meant telling McIntosh and Tan everything. It also meant telling Lewis and Lydia, a thought that made him more nervous than anything else.
Somewhat settled, Jack went home. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing his apartment, where he and Ethan had been happy, mostly, but it was the only place he knew he would be alone.
Except that he wasn’t.
Detective Connors and four officers waited for him outside his door.
“What now?” Jack asked wearily. “Another death?”
“We just need you to come with us, Mr. Reardon,” Connors said sternly.
Finding a shit to give, Jack backed up. “What’s this about?”
Two of the officers got behind him, ready in case he decided to run.
“It’s just a routine interview. If you wish, you can have a lawyer present, but it’s not necessary. Now come along. It will look better if you don’t resist.”
What the fuck? Hadn’t they got what they wanted from the “routine interview” the previous morning? About to resist, Jack froze when Mr. Cesare’s door opened.
“Nishant?” He peered out nervously. Shorty wiggled in his arms and growled at the policemen. “Is everything okay?”
Not wanting the sweet man to worry, Jack let his fist relax and displayed his empty hands to the officers. “It’s okay, Mr. Cesare. It’s just a routine procedure.” He turned to Connors. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
“Glad you’re on board,” the detective muttered, then signalled for the officers behind Jack to cuff him. “Jack Reardon, you are under arrest for suspicion of murder.”
Jack was ambulanced to Royal North Shore Hospital for emergency surgery, but once he was in recovery, he was transferred to the infirmary at the Office. His tendency to talk about anything and everything while under anaesthetic meant they couldn’t risk him in an unsecure place. He spent most of the first day in and out of a drug-induced sleep. Sometimes when he woke up, Adam was in the bed next to his, receiving fluids for dehydration and antibiotics for possible infections. Other times, the bed was empty. Lewis was there a couple of times, too. Between naps, Jack learned Adam was undergoing interviews and counselling, while believing he was in an ISO branch.
Then he woke up, feeling more alert, and found Ethan with him. Unlike Lewis, Ethan wasn’t sitting in the chair by the bed, but lay on it with Jack. Pressed to Jack’s good side, he rested his head on Jack’s chest, eyes closed and relaxed. He wasn’t in a proper, deep sleep. Jack could tell because he wasn’t drooling. Still, the fact Ethan felt secure enough to be even this vulnerable here, of all places, let Jack drift happily back to sleep.
Three days later, after a gentle debriefing and a visit from the Office shrink, Jack was allowed to go home. Folding himself up to get into Victoria hurt, but he dealt with it because it meant he and Ethan could be alone. While Jack recovered, Ethan had been in negotiations with Tan, McIntosh, the minister, and several other higher-ups.
“Tell me now,” Jack commanded as Ethan drove them home. “What’s the deal?”
Ethan focused on the traffic. “Well, it wasn’t a thoroughly enjoyable experience, but we managed to come to an agreement in the end. In short, I have been retained by the Office of Counterterrorism and Intelligence. They will pay me to be available upon request. I do have control over what I will and won’t do for them, but if they discover I have taken outside work, then it’s open season on me.”
Jack rested his hand on Ethan’s thigh. “And us? What did they have to say about that?”
“Fraternisation isn’t a fireable offense, thankfully, but we won’t be allowed to work together. Ostensibly, I am classified as External Threat Assessment support staff, under Director Tan.”
“That smug bastard always gets what he wants.”
Ethan chuckled. “He didn’t quite rub his hands together in maniacal glee, but it was close.” After a deep breath, he added, “And I have a standing appointment with the Office psychiatrist every week.”
“That’s good.” Jack squeezed his thigh.
“It will be,” Ethan said firmly.
Home turned out to be the Bathurst Street one. Ethan assured Jack he would eventually be able to return to Leichhardt for more than a visit, but not for a while. Jack didn’t care. He could get very used to lounging around the penthouse. He spent several more days recuperating by watching telly, eating everything, and gradually joining Ethan for his now daily tai chi. Ethan stayed close most of the time. Occasionally he would disappear for an hour or two, returning to Jack either smiling or pensive, and there were nights when he wouldn’t talk but let Jack hold him. Jack knew the signs of grief well enough to recognise them. He hoped it was all for Nine and not Two, though he doubted it.
They didn’t kiss again. Didn’t mention it. Didn’t even hint about it.
A week after the fight at Middle Head, Jack shooed Ethan out of the bedroom and slowly put on his dress uniform. As each dark-khaki item was settled into place, Jack could feel himself change. Spine straight, shoulders back, head high. These days, he only wore the uniform when he could attend an ANZAC Day service, which he did without fail, unless work commitments prevented it. Today was not ANZAC Day and yet he felt the same pride and confidence he always did when wearing it. How his military career had ended hadn’t been great, but his years in service had been some of the best of his life and he still believed the hard work done by the soldiers, sailors, and pilots of the defence force was highly admirable.
Slouch hat the last thing to be put on, Jack took a deep breath and walked out of the bedroom. His back still hurt but he couldn’t help but move with the steady, proud tread of the solider he had been.
“Oh, my,” Ethan murmured, standing from where he’d been sitting and reading. Book forgotten, he took a couple of steps towards Jack.
“Does it look okay?”
After a long, silent moment, Ethan shook his head and turned away. He picked up the velvet box Jack had set out on the sideboard and opened it gently. Reverently, he lifted ou
t Jack’s medals and, with a questioning quirk to one brow, brought them over. Jack nodded and watched as Ethan’s nimble fingers secured the medals to his chest.
Leaving one hand resting over the medals, Ethan smiled at him. “Now you look perfect.”
Jack let his gaze rove over Ethan. He wore a fitted suit in black, with a black shirt and tie. “So do you. Are you sure you won’t come with me?”
“It wouldn’t feel right. I’ll pick you up after, though.”
Understanding Ethan’s reticence, Jack went down stairs and found McIntosh already waiting for him. He settled into the passenger seat of her car and she nodded approval of his choice of clothes, then pulled back into the traffic. The drive to Rookwood wasn’t a long one, but their progress was stymied by hundreds of cars outside the Rookwood Necropolis. About a third of the traffic jam was police cars. An hour later, Jack and McIntosh stood amongst a sea of police uniforms, waiting for the graveside service to start. Across from them, Senior Sergeant Stephanie Phelp’s immediate family sat in several rows of white chairs, the rest of her relatives gathered behind, their contingent almost as large as that of the New South Wales Police.
As the priest began the service, Jack stood at parade rest, as did the police officers around him. The quiet reverence and solidarity of so many proudly worn uniforms was as palpable as the grief. It was a comfort to Jack, a reassuring weight that held his other, more personal feelings down. Here, he was part of a larger whole, not an individual. It gave him the strength to get through this funeral better than he had the last one.
Towards the end, Stephanie’s family stood and slowly moved past the lowered coffin, letting handfuls of dirt cascade over the polished surface as they said a teary goodbye. At the end of the line, Adam Quinn waited patiently, and when it was his turn, Jack saw tears falling freely down his pale cheeks. The last of the sod crumbling from his fingers, Adam looked up and met Jack’s gaze.
Adam paused, then shook his head, brushed the dirt off his hands and stepped back into the crowd of Stephanie’s family.
Afterwards, as the two separate groups gradually mixed in swirls of blue and black, Jack found Adam already heading out of the cemetery.
Why the Devil Stalks Death Page 31
