The Magic in Your Touch (41 page)

 

Brandon’s voice never wavered, not even with the terror Nate knew he must have been feeling. “You put down that gun Vaughn, and I give you my word you’ll still be breathing when all is said and done.”

 

Mike didn’t so much as flinch, his finger resting firmly on the trigger. If Brandon shot him, Mike’s finger would automatically depress, and Nate would be a dead man.

 

Mike said, “And if I decide to hang onto it instead?”

 

Brandon’s gun hand was rock-steady. “You put so much as one mark on Nate’s skin, and you’ll die where you stand.”

Mike shook his head, the movement excruciatingly slow. “I have a better idea.” He lunged at Nate, wrapping his arm around Nate’s neck and pressing the gun to his temple. Nate struggled, but desperation gave Mike a strength that was near impossible for Nate to overcome. Mike tightened his stranglehold and pressed his face to Nate’s ear. He spoke loudly enough so that Brandon would have no trouble hearing.

“This is how we’re gonna play it. I want Nate’s car brought around to the front gates so he and I don’t have to go traipsing back through the woods. We’re all gonna stand here nice and calm until it’s done. I see one person put so much as a toe out of line, and Dr. Morris here is gonna have a brand new hole in his head. When the car gets here, everyone is gonna stand back and let us pass. Nate’s gonna drive, and no one is gonna follow us. If I see anyone behind us, be it a police cruiser or a busload of nuns, it’s lights out for my boy here. Understood?”

Before Brandon had a chance to answer, Nate rasped, “If you’re gonna kill me anyway, why the hell should we co-operate?”

 

Mike kept his eyes on Brandon. “Cause like all good cops, Nash knows that there’s always a chance that you’ll get lucky and survive. He’s not going to do anything to lesson your chances. Right, Nash?”

Brandon grabbed the radio at his shoulder and spoke into the mouthpiece. “Sam, bring Dr. Morris’s car around to the front gates of the new cemetery. All other units retain their original positions. No one moves unless it’s on my command.”

Nate had heard other hostages say that time seemed to drag in the face of death. Some even claimed that time virtually stood still when one’s life was at stake. For Nate, it was different. Time had no meaning as he stood staring at the man he loved for what was most likely the last time. He used the silent standoff between Mike and Brandon to memorize Bran’s moonlit face, the inky darkness of his hair, the slight curl of his soft lips. He could see the faint shimmer of tears in Brandon’s eyes and the slight trembling in his still-raised gun hand. He had just enough time to mouth the words, “I love you,” as the gunning of the V-8 announced the arrival of the car.

Mike frog-marched Nate to the gates, all the while hissing orders into his ear. “Slow and steady, buddy. Almost there. When we get to the car, I want you get in on the passenger’s side and slide over. Just in case you feel like trying any funny business, remember I got my gun cocked and I’m more than ready to use it. It’s gonna be pressed to your head the whole time.”
Like Nate needed a reminder. The walk to the car was agonizing, but they made it without incident. Just as Mike said, Nate opened the passenger door, and made a move to slide in. Mike released his arm from around Nate’s neck, but he kept the gun pressed firmly to Nate’s skull. After a few awkward maneuvers, both Nate and Mike were inside.

Mike said, “Start her up and head east out of town.” Nate reached for his seat belt, but Mike shook his head. “You won’t be needing it.” Nate did as he was told.

The road was completely deserted, just as Nate new it would be. Brandon must have ordered all the roads from town cleared, willing to take no chances with Nate’s life. Nate was thankful for the cell phone still in his pocket. At least Brandon would know what was happening inside the car. Nate was so caught up in wondering what was going to happen next that he didn’t realize Mike was still speaking to him.”

“It’s a shame it had to end this way, Nate. I’d planned on killing you slowly and then going back to finish Leda later, but that old bitch Marjorie woke up too soon and ruined everything.” He sighed. “I really thought it would take Nash longer to figure out where we were. If I’d known he was gonna get here so fast, I’d have just killed you back at the house.”

Frustration and fear came spilling out of Nate like poison. “So why didn’t you? Why put yourself at risk by going through an elaborate execution? Why didn’t you just shoot me when you had the chance to make a clean getaway and be done with it?”

Mike tightened his grip on the gun. “Because killing you like that would have been too fucking merciful. I wanted you to know what Leda had done to you, to see your own mother’s hatred for yourself. I wanted you to loose everything the way I’ve lost everything. It wasn’t enough to destroy your body. No, sir, I was after your soul.”

Nate knew he was running out of time. Mike would kill him the second he got a chance. Mike was going to off him whether Brandon came after them or not. Time and again, Brandon had saved his life. Hell, Brandon had given him back his life by loving him, by showing him how beautiful it could be. This time, Nate could depend on no one but himself. His first thought was to swerve off the road and wreck the car, but he’d seen enough auto accidents as a doctor to know that the outcome was anyone’s guess, a crap shoot at best. Even with the roll cage, the Ford could still become his coffin if he was the slightest bit off. It was when he saw the hairpin curve ahead that he remembered Cain Lucas’s warning about the doors and their tendency to fly open under pressure. Without a second though, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator and took the curve at about sixty miles an hour. Since Mike had never given him the chance to arm the power locks, the passenger door flew open the minute Nate guided the car through the sharp bend.

Mike was still going on about Nate’s impending demise when Nate rammed his foot down on the accelerator. Mike waved the gun around wildly and said, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Nate?” He aimed the pistol and would have fired except at that exact moment the door came open.

Mike reached for the handle. The minute his fingers fastened on the door, the force pulled him forward. He grabbed at Nate with his right hand, but his futile efforts were no match for the strength of the wind and the speed of the car. Mike was hurled outwards just as Nate lost control and ran off the other side of the road.
* * *

Brandon heard the crash over his cell and increased his own speed. He’d instructed his men to follow at a safe distance and to keep their lights turned off, his own SUV leading the way. As soon as he heard that crash all bets were off. He switched on his lights and sirens and ran the SUV wide open. Just as he approached the curve, his headlights made out the still form of a body sprawled across the pavement. He slammed on the brakes, threw the car into park, and jumped out, his heart in his throat.

The minute he realized the body was Vaughn’s, he didn’t spare the bastard a second glance. From the corner of his eye he saw Sam and some of the other deputies running towards the scene, but he keep going at breakneck speed towards the wrecked Ford and his only reason for living.

The car wasn’t near as damaged as Brandon expected, giving him hope that Nate had made it through unharmed. He expected Nate to be trapped behind the wheel, maybe even unconscious. The ambulance was already on its way, so all he could do was bide his time and hope they got there fast. The last thing he expected to find was an empty car.

Brandon’s heart dropped to his stomach. Nate must have been thrown out. Oh God, it was worse than he thought. He raced around to the front of the car, searching desperately for any sign of him. He almost knocked him over in the process.

Nate sat in the grass, staring off into the distance. Bran looking him over, seeing no visible signs of injury or trauma. Bran knelt down beside him and was about to reach for him when Nate spoke.

 

“You heard everything.” It was a statement, not a question.

Brandon nodded, but Nate was still staring off in the distance and couldn’t see it. Finally, and keeping his voice as soothing as possible, Bran said, “Yes, baby, I heard it all. If you hadn’t called me, I never would’ve found you in time.” He forced a smile. “I’ve always said I hooked myself a smart one.”

“Yeah. Well, if I’m so smart, why didn’t I realize that my own mother wanted me dead? Why didn’t I see that Mike resented me to the point of homicide?” Nate shuddered. “You want to know the worst part?”

Brandon was terrified of the answer. He remembered the three weeks of isolation Nate subjected himself to after Amy’s death. He’d go out of his mind if Nate shut him out again. Swallowing, he said, “What’s that?”

Nate turned to look at him for the first time, his eyes unnaturally bright in the light of the Ford’s still burning headlights. His voice was low, but the detachment was no longer present. He said, “The worst part is, I don’t care, Bran. Let them hate me all the way to hell, but God help me, I don’t give a flying fuck. Leda’s dead—Mike too for all we know—and I could care less.” He reached out, his hand shaking, the tears falling freely as he caressed Brandon’s cheek. “All I care about is that I’m alive, and I can touch you again. Oh God, Bran, I thought I was never gonna get to touch you again.”

Brandon gathered him close and rocked him back and forth in the glow of the headlights, stroking his fingers through Nate’s dirty hair, savoring the smell of him. Kissing Nate’s temple, Brandon closed his eyes and thanked God.
Chapter 17

Brandon complained all the way to the car. "I told you, I don't want a bachelor party."

 

Keith shook his head. "I don't remember asking whether you wanted one or not. Every guy has to have a bachelor party. Back me up, Wayne."

 

Wayne grinned. "I'm not sure, but I think maybe it's a law."

Les, home from college for the wedding, opened one of the rear doors on Keith's Stratus and said, "If I ever talk about getting married, just shoot me." He raked his fingertips through his dark red hair, which glowed orange in the glare of the security lights brightening Brandon's driveway. "I think single's the way to go, but I'm happy for you and Nate."

Randy, the youngest Nash brother, also home for the wedding, grabbed the handle of the opposite door. "I second the well wishes for you and Nate, but unlike Mr. Single-and-Loving-It, here, I hope I do get married." His expression turned grim. "Not that I think I ever will. Gay and bipolar isn't exactly a sought after combination."

Brandon climbed into the passenger seat. "That's bullshit. We've known you were bipolar for years, and it's not like you don't keep it under control with meds. I admit, the gay part was a shock, but since I'm on the verge of marrying the man of my dreams tomorrow, I think you can probably tell that you've got my blessing." He turned around to Randy and cracked a grin. "Everyone says you look just like me with that black hair and those big ole blue eyes. How could anyone not fall for you?"

Randy ignored that and said, "Yeah, but you guys are my family. You have to love me."

 

Wayne squeezed into the back seat with Les and Randy. "We do? Damn. I didn't know that."

Keith slid behind the wheel just as Randy popped Wayne on the back of the head. "Cut it out. Don't make me come back there. We're running late enough as it is. Grandpa and Dad were expecting us to be at Shorty's a good half-hour ago."

Brandon glared at Keith. "Hey, it's not my fault the rehearsal ran late. Since Nate started working at Chicago General, his hours have been crazy. He was almost an hour late getting there, himself. And since you're the one who got him the job, it's conceivable that I can blame the whole thing on you."

Keith snorted. "Don't even think about it. Who gets married the first Friday in January, anyway? You could have at least waited until Valentine's Day. At least that makes more sense."

 

Brandon shook his head. "No way. We had to postpone for two months, anyway. As it was, I was afraid Nate would shut down again, like he did when Amy died. I thank God it didn't happen."

 

Wayne stretched his legs out as best he could in the cramped back seat. "I still can't believe Nate went to Leda's funeral. I'd have been hoping the old bitch rotted in Hell, myself."

"Me, too, but Nate's not like that. I do think he went more for Seth's sake than anything. And there was no way I was gonna let him face Calder alone, no matter how much I hated Leda for what she did." He turned around and looked at his brothers as Keith started the car and pulled out of the drive. "In case I never told you guys, I really appreciate the way you rallied around Nate at the funeral. And at Vaughn's arraignment."

Keith shrugged. "Nate's family. We wanted to be there."

Wayne said, "What got to me was the way Calder refused to even look at Nate or Seth during the service. Seth was sobbing his heart out, and Nate was all to pieces, but that old bastard never even glanced their way."

Les adjusted his seat belt. "At least it looks like Vaughn is going to get his. I'm just sorry it took so long to arraign him. No telling when he'll actually go to trial."

 

Randy shook his head. "I can't believe he's pleading not guilty. Who does he think he's gonna fool?"

Keith turned the car onto the Reed Highway. "He probably thinks a jury will feel sorry for him because he lost the use of his legs. Being paralyzed from the waist down is humane compared to what he did to Nate, not to mention to his own wife."

Desperate for a topic that didn't make his stomach turn, Brandon said, "Speaking of Nate, does anybody know where Seth was taking him tonight?"

 

Randy laughed. "Like we'd tell you if we did."

 

"I'm just curious." And if Seth took him to one of those gay strip-clubs, he'd skin him alive.

 

Conversation continued in a teasing vein until Keith whipped the Stratus into the parking lot of Shorty's Pub. Brandon noticed the parking lot was unusually empty, even for nine o'clock on a Thursday night.

Brandon saw his dad and Grandpa Taylor leaning against the backend of his dad's mini-van, or as Brandon liked to call it the Paw-Paw wagon. Dean used it to haul around all eight of his grandkids in one shot. Brandon and his brothers climbed out of the car and walked over to where the two elders stood.