Kick Start: Dangerous Ground 5 (11 page)

“How do I know?” Dennis said. “I know they’re looking for me.”

“Maybe he’s seen too many movies,” Will said. “All I know is, we can’t stand around here talking about it. Let’s get back to the house. Pop needs to let his pals in the Marshals Service know that Dennis is back.”

It was disappointing though. Disappointing and frustrating. Frustrating to the point of physical pain. And if Will found it painful, Taylor must be tied up in knots. Just what Will did not want, could not afford. Taylor feeling neglected and unsatisfied. Which he clearly already did. One more thing to worry about.

They left the card key on the table as they exited the room and walked out to the parking lot. They climbed into Will’s Land Cruiser. With perfect timing, Emmylou Harris launched into “Together Again.”

“I thought you got on the CC Rider.” Taylor was clearly not going to let this go, and Will mentally braced for a very long drive.

“I snuck off again,” Dennis said, sounding pleased with himself.

“Why?”

“Because…”

“Exactly,” Taylor said dryly. Though exactly
what
, Will wasn’t clear.

Dennis leaned forward between the two front seats. “Look, I’m not a-a secret agent. I’m not used to life on the run.”

“So far it’s been a morning on the run.”

Will threw Taylor a look, but Taylor ignored him.

“Did you work for the Russian mob?”

“Me?”
Dennis sounded genuinely bewildered. “Of course not.”

“That’s quite a leap,” Will said to Taylor.

“The Russian mafia has taken over a lot of the criminal activity on the Gulf Coast.”

“Is that true?”

Taylor nodded. To Dennis, he said, “Well?”

“Well, what? I never worked for the Russian mob. I’ve never worked for any Russians. Ever.”

“Did you make any phone calls to anyone this morning?”

“Of course not! I’m not
crazy
.”

“Where are you going with this?” Will asked.

“I don’t like coincidences.”

“What coincidences?”

“You run into Gretchen Hart who used to work for a Russian mobster and less than twenty-four hours later we pick up a tail. We lose the tail but then we run into Cousin Dennis here who just happens to be running from trouble in South Florida, and now suddenly the tail is back.”

“Okay, slow down,” Will said. “First of all, we have no proof that anyone was or is tailing us. Secondly, that would be too big of a coincidence. That somehow Dennis is connected to someone in the Russian mob who would have it in for us? Who?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like this.”

“What is it you don’t like?”

Taylor threw Dennis a cold look. “Well, one thing I don’t like is getting my nose broken.”

“Your nose isn’t broken,” Will said. “Believe me, if your nose was broken, you’d know it.”

“I did not call anyone,” Dennis said. “I don’t know anyone in the Russian mob to call.”

Taylor ignored that. “What did you hit me with?”

Dennis looked uncomfortable. “I, uh, found a broken-off tree branch to defend myself with.”

“Nice.” Taylor stared straight ahead.

Will was angry about the tree branch himself. It wasn’t that difficult to kill someone if you hit them hard enough in the wrong spot.

Dennis rambled on, “I don’t have anyone I could call even if I wanted to. That’s the point. That’s why I’m back. I didn’t know what to do. I realized I wasn’t going to be able to make it on my own. I decided to lay low somewhere, but then I saw you two show up at the motel and I realized my best bet was to stay in the program. So I ran down and knocked on your door.” He added, “I thought you were looking for me. But I guess you were just —”

Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Taylor’s forearm recoil. The back of his fist connected with Dennis’s face with machine-like precision. Dennis howled and fell back.

“I knew that was coming.” Will muttered.

“What was
that
for?” Dennis protested, cupping his nose.

“Nervous twitch,” Taylor said, gazing out the side window as the town of Mist Bend grew smaller and smaller behind them.

* * * * *

When they arrived back at the house, Will’s dad greeted his runaway houseguest without particular joy, and retreated to the kitchen to once more call Clary Bennett at the U.S. Marshals Service.

Dennis, still cupping his nose, retreated to the loft. Grant was in the den watching television again.

“You want to take a walk?” Will asked Taylor. He felt obliged to ask, although the drive and his various worries had resolved his own state of arousal. He’d been up since four, and what he most wanted was a nap. A nap with Taylor would be especially nice, but that was liable to get them both — certainly Taylor — wound up, and they had enough trouble with that already.

Taylor glanced at the clock on the bookshelf. “I’m going to try to get hold of the DMV before Euphonia leaves for the day.”

“If you feel like it’s important, okay. I’m going to close my eyes for half an hour.”

Taylor nodded, already punching in the numbers on his cell phone.

Will headed for his bedroom. Passing the den, he spotted Grant sacked out in one of the large leather chairs, mouth agape, snoring in front of the TV. Will paused in the doorway. Grant looked like such a kid, sprawled there. It made Will’s chest ache. The next time he saw Grant, Grant would no longer be a boy. The service would change him. It would change him in good ways, but… Will was going to miss this impulsive, hot-headed, sometimes irresponsible, but always good-hearted young goof. It was crazy they were wasting this time together. The whole reason Will had made this trip was to spend time with Grant. Why did Grant have to turn it into a choice between himself and Taylor?

Will hesitated, then reluctantly continued to his room.

The house had a quiet, peaceful, familiar feel to it. It reminded him of Saturday and Sunday afternoons growing up.

And the thought of Taylor here, right down the hall, made it even better. Will pulled off his boots, stretched out on his bed and was asleep in seconds.

When he opened his eyes again the room was in shadow. He could smell woodsmoke from the fireplace in the front room, and the smell of home cooking. He listened, but the only voices came from the television set in the den.

He got up, splashed water on his face, and went into the kitchen. His father was lighting the burner beneath a kettle of peeled potatoes.

“Where’s Taylor?”

“I think he took the dogs for a walk.”

“Taylor did?”

His father looked up. “Any reason he shouldn’t?”

“No. Just that Nature and Taylor don’t get along.”

Bill smiled faintly. “Maybe we’re winning him over. You could give him a shout. We’re going to eat before too long.”

Will nodded. He glanced back at the living room, but there was no one around. Grant had still been sleeping in the den when he walked past. “Grant isn’t taking this well,” he said.

“Your brother has to work this one out for himself.”

Not exactly what Will had been hoping for.

He mulled it over and said resolutely, “You haven’t said. What do
you
think?”

Bill, placing trout in an iron skillet, looked up. “About what?”

“About MacAllister. Taylor.”

“He seems like a good kid.”

“Kid.” Will snorted.

“You’re all kids to me.” Bill went back to arranging the fish, but he must have felt the weight of Will’s gaze. He said slowly, “I think he’s a straight shooter, son. He won’t let you down. Not if he’s still standing.”

Will thought about that
still standing
comment as he crossed the meadow to where he spotted Taylor standing motionless, watching a Cooper’s hawk hunting.

His dad had unknowingly zeroed right in on Will’s deepest fear. That reckless streak of Taylor’s, that apparent, terrifying belief that he was impervious to harm, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary.

But he wasn’t forgetting that conversation with Taylor the night before they’d left Ventura. Whatever his private anxieties — the fear that his happiness was tied to the safety and well-being of someone who didn’t give a damn about his own safety and well-being — he could not afford to let any of that show. They could not have a repeat of Paris. He could not treat Taylor any differently on the job than he had when they’d first been partnered.

Or he would lose him.

As much as Taylor loved him, and Will didn’t doubt that for a second, he saw now that this was Taylor’s line in the sand. Why it should be so, he didn’t know, but he had seen it on Taylor’s face in Paris. And he’d heard it in his voice the other night.

Riley came tearing across the meadow toward him, followed by Roxie. Taylor turned, and seeing Will, smiled and started back to meet him.

“Enjoying yourself?” Will greeted him. “Sorry for sacking out like that. I must be getting old.”

Taylor shrugged in a
doesn’t matter
gesture, kept walking till he was face to face with Will, and Will’s arms closed around him automatically. Taylor fastened his mouth on Will’s, wrapped his arms around Will’s shoulders. Will held him hard, absorbing all that warmth and energy and strength in one wiry, lithe body, enjoying the aggressive press of Taylor’s cool mouth on his.

They broke the kiss, smiling.

“And sorry for the Black Bear Inn,” Will said, holding him still tighter.

Taylor laughed. “It could have been worse. It could have been four minutes later, and then I
would
have killed Cousin Dennis.”

“Pop says the marshals will be extracting Dennis on Sunday.”

Taylor nodded absently, stepping back, and Will let him go reluctantly. “I got hold of Euphonia at the DMV.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The black Porsche is registered to a Stuart Schwierskott. He’s a private investigator. He works for Schwierskott & Associate. He’s the associate. His old man owns the company.”

Will took a moment to digest this. “Not a coincidence then. He was following us.”

“Yep.”

“And you did see him going into the Laundromat.”

“Yep.”

“I think we need to pay Schwierskott and his associate a visit next week.”

“Yep.”

They started back to the house, the dogs racing ahead. “I wonder who the hell hired them.” Will said.

Taylor shook his head.

“And who the hell conducts surveillance in a Porsche?”

“A graduate of the
Magnum PI
School of Investigation?”

“I thought Magnum drove a Ferrari.”

“Did he? I don’t remember.”

Will glanced at him. “Hey. I know we said three or four days up here, but since we’re all here, Pop wants to have a Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday. Do you mind staying till Monday?”

“Nah. It’s fine.”

“Have I told you lately what a good boyfriend you turned out to be?”

Taylor grinned lazily. “Better than David Bradley?”

“He’s not even in your weight division, sweetheart.”

Taylor laughed. “Sure.”

Dinner was pan-fried trout, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables. A staple when Will was growing up. Not that his dad had been home often to cook meals, but when he did cook, it was usually some kind of fish and vegetables. Or chili. Or lasagna. Will had learned to cook early. He didn’t get much opportunity these days, but he enjoyed cooking. He enjoyed cooking for Taylor when he wasn’t on one of his vegetarian streaks.

He was obscurely flattered to see Taylor eating heartily at his dad’s table. Of course, Taylor usually ate like a horse. He had to fuel all that nervous energy. He had been cautious about the chili though, so it was nice to see him tucking in.

They were all eating heartily; maybe that was partly to avoid dinner table conversation. Cousin Dennis put away nearly as much food as Grant, and Grant was apparently preparing for a famine. Which wasn’t far from the reality.

In an effort to reach out to his brother, Will started talking about his own tour of duty in Iraq. “The best meal was always midrats. That’s where most of the socializing takes place. You’ve got the first crew coming off shift and the second crew coming on. It’s not just that it’s a hot meal — although when you’re cold, tired, and being shot at, that does matter — it’s also the camaraderie.”

Grant said, “I think they cut midrats in Afghanistan because we’re supposed to be winding down our presence there.”

“Is that true? What total bullshit,” Will said, and Grant nodded in complete accord. For a moment it was like old times.

Bill put in, “Food in the Corps is never just about food.”

Will said, “True.”

“I remember my first Marine Corps Birthday in Nam. We’d just come off the Hải Vân Pass and I was five days shy of my first year in the Corps and a whopping one month in country. We were living off two C-Rats a day and I don’t recall ever getting a hot meal out there both times we were on the hill. But I do remember the 10th. It was just after noon and a lone CH-46 came flying in low and landed. A work party unloaded a small bunch of cases, and then down the ramp comes a cook in white trousers and green T-shirt, wheeling a rickety old mess hall cart with a cake on it. He just missed getting stuck in that damned red clay. We got the word to line up, and the cook started cutting pieces of cake no thicker than a slice of Wonder Bread. Every single Marine got a piece. And we each got two beers and a soda.”

Grant was grinning.

Dennis said, “Sounds pretty miserable.”

“Not at all,” Bill replied, eyeing him without favor. “It’s the essence of being a Marine. And the essence of being a Marine is what we celebrate every November 10th. Marines are the only fighting force in the world that stops a war to have a beer and wish each other a Happy Birthday.”

Will laughed. “I guess the Continental Marines passed around the flagons of rum outside Philadelphia in 1776?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“If you’re a global security firm, I guess there’s a possibility you could be working out of Iraq or some other international hot spot one day?” Dennis asked.

Taylor’s gaze met Will’s.