A Barlow Lens (2 page)

Val pulled the extra blanket folded at the end of the bed up and shoved it under them while Wyatt tugged the comforter over them, yawning and mumbling softly, “Love you.”

Val nodded and sighed out, “Me, you.”

The next thing Wyatt was aware of was the sun streaming through the window and Val hanging off the side of the bed, slapping at the floor. He finally pulled a pair of pants up and extracted a noisy phone from the pocket.

Val squinted at the screen for a second before he answered, “Hang on, I'll get him.” Whoever was on the other end couldn't have possibly had a chance to speak.

Wyatt arched an eyebrow, pushed up against the headboard, and folded one arm behind his head. Val dropped the phone on his chest, gave him a cocky grin, and said, “US Marshals' office. It's not for me.” Val rolled off the bed, smiling when Wyatt caressed his rear and then gave him a playful slap. “Bathroom. Don't wander off.”

Still watching Val as he ambled to the bathroom, Wyatt put the phone to his ear. “Harig.”

A man cleared his throat, and a gravelly voice asked, “Uh, I hope I'm not calling too early?”

Wyatt laughed at that. “I don't think it's ever an inappropriate time for the US Marshals' office to call. And since you're at work early on a Sunday morning….”

“Hey, watched the race last night. Congratulations, by the way.” The guy's voice brightened, and Wyatt smiled when he heard a soft laugh and the rustling of papers from the other end. “So, sorry to bother you, I'm Griff Diamond.” Griff Diamond obviously did his homework before making phone calls.

Wyatt scrambled around mentally, trying to remember the correct title to use to address a US Marshal. It seemed every branch of law enforcement had a different set of titles, and they all got pissed off if you called them by the wrong one.

He went for the obvious. “Marshal Diamond, what can I do for you?”

“It's Inspector,” Griff Diamond corrected. Wyatt closed his eyes and cringed. Inspector Diamond continued, “But just call me Griff. I was given your name by a former colleague of yours, Kevin Fells?”

Wyatt blew out a breath and pulled his arm out from under his head when Val returned and stretched beside him, handing him a glass of juice. “Years ago, we were both involved in some insurance investigations. He's not really a friend.” He couldn't imagine why an asshole like Fells, who hated gays in general and Wyatt in particular, would recommend him for anything. “He was also the brother of a… friend, but….” He didn't know what to say and wondered why he was explaining this to a US Marshal.

Griff laughed outright. It was a hearty, warm laugh that set Wyatt at ease. Val must have heard it, because he turned his head far enough and leaned over Wyatt's chest to look at the phone, raising his eyebrows.

“He's a bit of an intense guy. I don't think he was too happy about handing over your name, but he said you might be interested in some consulting work, and we needed someone with a few specialized skills.”

“Okay. Color me at least interested in the details,” Wyatt said.

“Here's the quick version. There was a big storm here—
I'm in Cleveland, Ohio—a few weeks ago, and there was a building that was damaged. Years ago it was a school, or so I'm told. Anyway when the construction crew went in to start repairs, they realized the thing needed to come down. That's when they found the remains of three people. They are skeletons, but we got lucky and were able to get IDs on them. One of them was on our fugitive list, which is now why my office is involved. There's more to it than that, but that's the basics. The family of one of the other victims is also Fells's wife. She won't let anything go forward with the building or the remains until she has answers about what happened. I need someone with criminal investigative experience who can work with what is basically an archeological site. Fells works for the insurance company handling things, but he's not involved professionally with this claim. Mrs. Fells is footing the bill for a private investigation. That's how I got your name,” Griff paused. “Whatcha thi
nk?”

“Her name is Lily.” Wyatt drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I'm in Baltimore now and have to be in Belmont, New York by the first week of June. I'll need to talk things over with my fiancé. We're getting married a few days after the Belmont Stakes. Can I get back to you?” He had the thought again, why was he explaining all this?

“Sure, and hey, more congratulations. Let me give you my personal number. Mrs. Fells had boxes of family documents in storage, and now it's all piled in my living room. My partner is less than enthusiastic about our new decorating scheme.”

Wyatt snickered, twisted, and reached to the table beside the bed for the pad of paper and pen he knew every hotel in the free world placed there. Val took the paper and pen from him and sat poised to write. Wyatt repeated the numbers Griff gave him, said good-bye, and disconnected the call.

He set the phone on the bed and looked at Val. “How about a trip to Cleveland?”

“Ohio?”

Wyatt nodded, and Val shrugged and said, “Okay. Thistledown is a sweet track; too bad the Ohio Derby isn't until July.”

“Your internal calendar really does revolve around the race circuit,” Wyatt said. He reached out and cupped Val's chin, kissing him. “Let's get cleaned up and go to breakfast. I'll fill you in.”

 

V
AL
PUT
his fork down and sipped his coffee, wearing the expression that told Wyatt he was working things out in his head. “So you wouldn't be a private investigator, but some kind of consultant who does investigations?”

“Technically, since I'm still with Homeland Security, I'll need consent from them. I'll have to find out more from this Griff Diamond, but I don't see why they wouldn't approve my retirement, and I'm sure they won't take issue with me working as a consultant on US soil on a case for US law enforcement.”

“Do I get to help?” Val asked.

Wyatt smiled. “I'm counting on it. We are a team, after all.”

They had driven to Baltimore, so after spending another day with Janelle, Vin, and Izzo, Val and Wyatt packed their bags in Wyatt's car and were on their way northwest to Cleveland.

Wyatt shifted in his seat, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. He fiddled with the side and then the rearview mirror. When he started the entire ritual all over again, Val reached out and rubbed his hand over Wyatt's knee.

“Will you just tell me about this Fells guy? All I know about Jack is his name, you two were together a long time, lived in Europe, and he was some kind of investment banker. And now I know he had a brother, Kevin. Jack got sick. It wasn't your fault he died. His brother must know that,” Val said quietly.

Wyatt glanced at Val for a second before turning back to the road. He took a few deep, slow breaths. “I know I had nothing to do with Jack's death, and I don't think Kevin blames me. In fact I don't think he cared enough to blame me for any of it. Funny thing is, I met Jack because of Kevin. We worked together, drank together, spent more time with each other than our families. There was a time I thought he was the best friend I had, would ever have.”

“What happened?” Val asked.

“Jack happened.”

“Kevin found out you were gay and, along with that, so was his brother and didn't like it?”

“Something like that. Jack told him but didn't tell him who he was involved with. I told Kevin that myself. Never had a clue it would be an issue,” Wyatt said. “There were a few words exchanged and more than a few punches. We ended up beating the crap out of each other. Their family wouldn't have anything to do with Jack after that, and I found a new job. None of them even so much as sent a card, let alone attended his funeral.”

“That's… I don't even know what to say.” Val sounded gutted.

“When Kevin and I worked together, he was no saint, but then neither was I. Jack and I met, and I thought I really knew Kevin. I told him much the same thing Vin told you once.”

“That my family wouldn't care if I was gay and to stop hiding,” Val said.

Wyatt nodded. “Yeah. Didn't work out as well for Jack and me. We had the opportunity to stay in Europe and did so.”

“Do you regret any of it?”

Glancing at Val again, Wyatt nodded and turned his attention back to the road. “No, not one bit.”

“It's okay to talk about him, Wyatt. I know you were in relationships, and considering you're more than twenty years older than I am, I'd be a little worried if you hadn't been. Stop trying to be the strong, silent type, worrying you'll hurt my feelings mentioning Jack. Because you won't.”

Wyatt reached over and squeezed Val's wrist very gently. “Thank you.”

 

 

G
RIFF
HAD
given Wyatt the name of a hotel near his neighborhood and within walking distance of the home he shared with his partner. It was also a few miles from the building where the victims had been discovered.

It was a warm spring day, and the street leading to Griff's home was quiet, lined with trees, modest brick homes with trim lawns and bright flower gardens. The air smelled faintly of lilacs, charcoal, and freshly cut grass.

When they reached Griff's front walk, two canine faces watched them approach and Val's face lit up like a Christmas tree. There was a gate across the drive, and Wyatt presumed the rest of the backyard was fenced in. Wyatt wasn't any better with dog breeds than he was with horses, but both dogs looked like mixes. As they walked up the drive the two dogs announced their arrival.

A man, around Val's age, ambled from the back of the house and shushed the dogs. He opened the gate, explaining, “It's nice outside, so we thought you'd enjoy the patio. Just got the grill fired up.”

Wyatt couldn't decide if this Griff guy was some kind of law enforcement child prodigy or looked far younger than he actually was. He certainly didn't look old enough to have reached the rank of inspector with the US Marshals' office, nor did he give off that “cop” impression. Time to take the plunge.

“Inspector Diamond?”

The guy laughed. “Oh, hell no, he's the one firing up the grill.” He had the sort of tan one acquired from working outside, and a broad grin. Extending his hand, he said, “Clint Bishop. Griff's my partner, and these are our dogs. They're noisy but very friendly.”

Clint probably saw how unnecessary his statement was when Val knelt down and petted two very excited dogs.

“Wyatt Harig,” Wyatt said and shook Clint's hand. “The guy trying to steal your dogs is Val Mihalic.”

Val looked up and grinned sheepishly. He stood, brushing his jeans off, and offered his hand to Clint. “Sorry. I miss my guys.”

Clint chuckled. “You don't have to explain to me. They go almost everywhere with me.” He moved the dogs back and swung the gate shut after Wyatt and Val were all the way through. “Beer? We're sort of beer guys. There's a few really good microbreweries in this area. I've got a good selection.” They walked around to the back of the house, and Clint waved them toward a nice slab patio with a grill off to one side. “Griff, company is here.”

The man near the grill turned and smiled. He was more what Wyatt had expected. Early forties, he estimated, fit, with short wavy, light brown hair kept neat. Griff carried himself much the same way Wyatt was probably seen by other people. Most people who had depended at least at one time or another on their fists to stay alive had the same aura, that “you don't want to run into me in a dark alley” attitude. Griff Diamond was no exception.

Griff put down his spatula and strode forward. “Wyatt Harig, I'm Griff Diamond.” He gave Wyatt's hand a hearty shake before turning to Val. “Vladimir Mihalic.”

They weren't questions, but confirmation Griff already knew who they were. Wyatt completely expected it and would have judged Griff poorly if that hadn't been the case.

“Uh…. Val. Most people call me Val.” Val gave Griff's hand a quick shake and inched back.

Wyatt gave himself a mental kick in the ass. Of course Val wouldn't know Griff would have examined any information he could on both Wyatt and Val. It made sense he'd never invite them to his home, with his partner there, unless he was completely convinced they were not going to become a safety issue. Wyatt also knew Griff was immediately sizing them up, just as Wyatt was doing to them. It was a habit. In their line of work, you had to judge people, sometimes very quickly and accurately. Wyatt had learned long ago his life could hinge on that judgment.

If he was going to continue investigative work, and he thought that pretty likely, he'd have to clue Val into some things. Wyatt realized it was likely Clint had seen pictures of both of them and learned long ago to not let on to those sorts of facts.

Clint reappeared with an assortment of different beers. “I brought dark ale, something that is more barley, and one that is more hops.” He held up one hand with a bottle between each of his fingers. “And these are pale ale and cider. I have about four other kinds in the house, we can go look if you want. These were all I could carry.” Clint offered them a lopsided grin and set the bottles down on a round glass-and-iron table on the patio. He had one bottle under his arm that was handed off to Griff.

“Thanks.” Wyatt picked out a bottle, and Val
immediately followed his lead.

“How long you guys lived here?” Val asked. He looked a little more at ease as he settled in one of the chairs. One of the dogs, big and white, with kind light brown eyes, sat beside him and laid his chin on Val's knee.

“I'm sorry—” Clint took another chair and snapped his fingers. “Phoenix, don't be a pest.”