Kick Start: Dangerous Ground 5 (12 page)

“Now there’s a question,” Taylor said.

“I guess anything’s possible,” Will said evenly.

After dinner Bill suggested cards. They cleared the dishes and then sat down again at the dining room table for a game of poker. Now
that
brought back a lot of memories. Good memories.

He knew his father and brother’s strategies as well as he knew his own. The real challenge came from Dennis who turned out to be quite a card sharp.

Taylor, on the other hand, was a steady but usually unlucky card player. Surprising, given how Machiavellian his thought processes could be. But no. He did not have a poker face and he did not have a poker mind.

They whiled away a relaxing and harmonious hour and then, while Bill was shuffling the next hand, Will rose.

“You want another beer?” he asked Taylor.

“Sure.”

“Anybody else?”

“I guess I’ll have another,” Dennis chimed in. He was in a jovial mood as his stash of Honey Nut Cheerios mounted steadily.

“You’ll have to get it from the fridge downstairs in the garage,” Bill said. “We already drank everything upstairs at dinner.”

“There isn’t any downstairs either,” Grant said.

Bill stared at him. “There was still a twelve-pack down there yesterday.”

Grant shrugged.

“You drank the last of the beer and you didn’t say a word,” Bill said slowly, as though this were beyond human comprehension.

Grant’s expression grew defensive. “I didn’t know it was the last beer in the house.”

“You damn well know you’re supposed to check whether it’s the last beer or not. That rule hasn’t changed since you lived here.”

“We were in town today, we could have picked up a couple of cases.” Will caught Taylor’s eye and realized too late that comment really wasn’t helping.

Grant exploded. “I suppose
you
never forgot and drank the last beer, Will?”

“Not once I was your age.”

“Yeah, I know, William. You’re perfect in every way! Except for the fact you like to su —”

“
Grant
,” his father said in a voice the Brandt boys had only rarely heard growing up.

Grant didn’t finish the thought. He glared at Taylor.

“Except for the fact I like to do what?” Will asked.

Grant was still glowering at Taylor as though this was where the real battle lay.

Will repeated quietly, “Except for the fact that I like to do what, Grant?”

Taylor gazed back at Grant calmly. He put his cards face down on the table. “Why don’t you and I go on a beer run, Grant?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t go anywhere with
you
,” Grant shot back.

“You’re over the limit. You’re sure as hell not driving yourself,” Bill said.

“Can I take your car?” Taylor asked Will.

“Anything I have is yours,” Will said. Including his jerk-ass brother, and if that sounded like a declaration, everybody could just get used to it. He got up, got his keys from his jacket hanging on the rack near the front door. He tossed his keys to Taylor.

Grant looked from Will to Taylor. “I said I’m not going!”

“Yeah, you are,” Will said. “You drank the last beer, you need to replace it.”

“I don’t need to replace it tonight. And I don’t need you tel —”

“Yeah. You do,” Bill said with finality.

Grant stared at his father. He swallowed.

“Don’t worry,” Taylor said. “I won’t bite.”

Will knew that sardonic curve of Taylor’s mouth, that not-quite-smile, and as furious as he was, he felt a flicker of sympathy for his brother.

Possibly he wasn’t the only one, because as Taylor gestured politely for Grant to precede him, Cousin Dennis said, “Uh oh.”

Chapter Eight

G
rant buckled himself in with the air of someone about to take a trip to outer space.

“I think I remember the way,” Taylor said. “But if I miss the turnoff, tell me.”

Nothing.

Not that Taylor expected anything. He was only one of a number of things Grant was mad about, but he provided the focus for all that resentment and frustration. He understood that. But in order to move forward…well, they had to move forward.

He put the Land Cruiser into drive, the tires crunched over sand and stone and they bumped their way onto the dirt driveway.

The moon over the mountains and pine trees was ridiculously large and bright. He could practically see every crater and dry lake in its silver face. The stars glittered like glass shards in the cold, black night.

“You don’t see stars like this in the city,” Taylor commented.

“I know. I went to college in Portland. I’m not some dumb hick.”

“I don’t think you’re a dumb hick. I grew up in Los Angeles where there’s too much light even at nighttime to really see the stars.”

Grant folded his arms across his chest.

Taylor chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking it over. He had to handle this right.

How old was Grant? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? Not exactly a boy. But not exactly a man either. Younger than either Taylor or Will had been at that age. At twenty-five Will had already graduated from college and was in the Marine Corps. Whereas Grant, from what Taylor knew, was a little bit of a goof-off, a little bit of a screw-up. He had waited a couple of years to enroll in college, hadn’t done so hot, and was only now finally following family tradition and joining the Marines. The Marines would be good for him.

In the meantime…Grant had always looked up to Will, always admired him, and had always fallen short of the example Will set. What a pain in the ass to spend your life being compared to Hometown Hero William Brandt.

That was the first point of resentment.

The second point would be…your idolized older brother, the aforementioned Hometown Hero William Brandt, whom you haven’t seen in a year, finally returns for a visit and drags along his new significant other. So instead of getting to spend undisturbed quality time, the last chance you’ll have to spend this time for — maybe — ever, you have to watch your brother catering to this stranger who also happens to be…

Point three. A cocksucker. Or words to that effect.

There were a couple of ways Taylor could do this. If they had more time, he’d have opted for diplomacy. He hadn’t joined the DSS for nothing. But the Brandt brothers did not have time. They had less than forty-eight hours to sort it out.

Taylor yanked the wheel, pulling over to the side of the road. The car bumped over rough ground onto the narrow shoulder, and rolled to a stop. He cut the engine and turned to Grant who, even in the enveloping woodland darkness, he could feel watching him warily.

Taylor said, “You have something you want to say to me?”

“No, sir.” Funny how disrespectful “sir” could sound, depending on the tone and the expression.

“Sure you do,” Taylor said easily. “Let’s hear it.”

Grant unsnapped his seatbelt, shoved open his door and got out. “I’ll walk back,” he said, and slammed shut the door with all his force.

“Shit.” Taylor undid his seatbelt and opened the driver’s door. The night air was very cold and rich with the spicy scent of pine and earth.

He followed Grant who was moving fast, fueled by rage, and already several yards away. Grant’s compact silhouette stomped up the steep incline. Taylor loped after him.

“Do I really scare you that much?”

Grant rounded on him. “
You
don’t scare me at all.”

“Then why are you running away?”

“Because Will won’t like it when I kick your skinny ass from here to Portland.”

Taylor chuckled.

“You think that’s
funny
?”

He did, yeah. And the offended note in Grant’s voice struck him as even funnier, but Taylor didn’t want to escalate this any higher than necessary.

“Kind of. Don’t you? What are we really fighting about?”

“We’re not fighting. And we won’t fight so long as you stay the fuck away from me.”

“Only the problem is, we’re family now. So I can only stay so far the fuck away from you.”

“You’re not family! You’re just Will’s…friend. He’s not going to — you’re not going to be here forever.”

Ouch. Would it have been different for David Bradley? Taylor had to wonder. Bradley’s military background, even his size and looks, would probably have been more palatable to Grant.

“I wouldn’t bet on that. Why don’t you just tell me what the problem is.”

He could feel anger and frustration coming off Grant in waves. “You
know
what the problem is.”

“Sure. I have a pretty good idea, but why don’t we get it out in the open.” Taylor gestured at the towering trees and moonlit mountains. “It doesn’t get more open than this, right?”

He could feel Grant’s inward struggle. At last, Grant spat out, “You’re a queer.”

“I don’t like that word, but yep. I’m gay. And you have a problem with that.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you are,” Grant said. “I don’t care about
you
. I care about Will.”

“I understand that. But Will is who he is. He didn’t become gay for me. I didn’t make him gay.” Taylor’s sense of humor sparked back into life — did Grant think he’d forced Will to watch musicals? Eat quiche? — but he squelched it. This was serious because this angry young man was Will’s little brother and his feelings and opinions mattered to Will. Therefore they needed to matter to Taylor.

“He was never queer before.”

“He’s been queer for as long as I’ve known him.”

Grant made a sound of fury and launched himself at Taylor.

Taylor was ready. Mostly. He had known from the minute he forced Grant to go with him, this was probably going to happen. In fact, he had been pushing Grant into it. Even so, he’d had a long and exhausting day, and as Grant piled into him like a young bull charging a red cape, he felt a flicker of alarm.

He had underestimated his own weariness and stiffness. He had also underestimated Grant, who had been taught to fight by Will.

Grant tackled him low, burying his head in Taylor’s gut, wrapping his arms around Taylor’s knees, and Taylor, who relied on kicks and footwork to avoid getting thrown to the ground where his lack of weight was a dangerous liability, couldn’t maneuver. The wind was knocked out of him and he went down hard in the damp earth with Grant on top.

Worst case scenario. Thirty seconds in and he was about to be pinned in a double leg takedown his own sister could have avoided.

Instinct and adrenaline saved him. That and Grant’s unsportsmanlike attempt to knee him in the balls. Possibly a subconscious wish to neuter him, or maybe not subconscious, but Grant’s shift allowed Taylor to twist and bring his own knees up. He used his left forearm to trap both of Grant’s in an arm bar. That left his right hand free. Taylor swiveled, grappling under Grant’s legs, and throwing his left leg behind Grant’s neck. He was trying to pin Grant face down, but Grant knew that move and yanked out, rolling away to his knees.

Taylor let his own momentum carry him to his feet, and he scrambled ungracefully up. Standing, he was no longer vulnerable. He faced Grant who was upright again as well.

He needed to prevail here. It was that simple. Partly because he would not be able to live down the embarrassment of pushing for a fight he couldn’t win. Partly because with a young guy like Grant, winning was nine-tenths of the law. The law that said Might Makes Right. But he had to do it without seriously hurting Grant — and without letting Grant seriously hurt him. Because Will wouldn’t forgive either of them for seriously harming the other.

Now aware of his own limitations, Taylor waited, breathing hard, for Grant to charge back in — which he did, still too angry to be cautious, throwing a powerful right punch that would have taken out a rib or a lung had it connected. Yeah, that power strike was straight out of the Will Brandt book of hand-to-hand combat. Taylor deflected, grabbed Grant’s lapel and hauled him sideways while delivering a hard kick to the inner knee area of Grant’s weight bearing leg. He was careful not to take out Grant’s knee, but even so the strength and speed of that blow should have brought Grant down.

No such luck.

Oh, Grant was hurting, limping, but he was still on his feet, still looking for a way past Taylor’s defenses.

“Come on, Kwai Chang,” Grant jeered. “What else have you got?”

It was the Kwai Chang comment that did it. It sounded exactly like Will, and Taylor started to laugh, albeit breathlessly. “You little shit. Why do we have to do this? Will is
exactly
the same person you loved and respected two days ago. He hasn’t changed.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to think.” Grant crowded in on him, and Taylor realized the kid was shrewdly trying to maneuver him onto the wet grass where his footing would again be precarious.

Taylor’s aggravation bubbled over. “I’m not telling you what to think. I’m pointing out what oughta be obvious even to a boneheaded jarhead like you. As far as you and Will are concerned, nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change unless
you
change it.”

“Things are already different if
you’re
going to be around all the time.”

That note of childish grievance said it all. This was exactly what Taylor had thought, and the reason he had thought it, was he too had been the youngest kid in a family where failure was not an option and most attention and affection had come from his two older siblings. So yes, he understood the instinctive fear of being supplanted. And it would be worse for Grant. With a woman, a girlfriend or wife like Madonna, there would be clearly defined roles and parameters. But another man…

“Sorry. I’m not going anywhere,” Taylor told him. “Will and I are partners in every respect. But I’m not going to get between you. I’ve got a brother of my own. I know how it works. I’m not going to push in where I’m not wanted.”

“You already did. You’re
not
wanted.”

“No.
You
don’t want me. Will does. And how come his feelings don’t matter?”