Blind Spot (21 page)

“I don’t understand how you can drive that thing,” Eric said. He reappeared with a bottle of water in one hand, and a bottle of aspirin in the other. “It’s got no character. Not like old Bess.”

“How dare you,” Simon interjected. “I think it’s divine, Nathan dear.” He arched an eyebrow at Eric from the couch. “Much better than that rusty old heap you made me drive across this vulgar nation.”

“Rusty old heap?” Eric nearly snarled.

“Our room’s this one,” said Nathan, nudging Sam. They escaped from the escalating bickering into the relative quiet of the room. Like the rest of the suite, it was clean and modern, but not too fancy. The bureau didn’t spring for five stars. Nathan shut the door behind them.

“So that’s Simon,” said Sam.

“That’s Simon.”

The two of them looked at each other. Sam wished they were alone. He wanted to have the kind of sex that would rattle walls.

“So what now?” Sam sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Now I catch up with Eric and see where we stand on this case. Then touch base with HQ. Once that’s settled, we’ll figure out what to do about the rest.” He stepped forward between Sam’s spread legs, and Sam leaned his forehead against Nathan’s belly. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself to say what he’d been thinking.

“I want to see about getting the accident investigation reopened.”

Sam looked up, and Nathan brushed a hand across his cheek. “I thought you might.”

“What do you think?”

“I think we should wait until the dust settles first.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. He wasn’t ready to confess his doubts about Sheldon’s involvement. The certainty he’d experienced after the visit with Janice had been comforting in a strange way. With Sheldon the responsible party, a known, hated entity already under lock and key, Sam could rest. But if the killer was an anonymous threat and still at large, that was a different story. Unless they opened the accident investigation again, they might never know the truth.

He wanted it to be Sheldon, which was the biggest warning sign of all. He was allowing his emotions to mislead him, and he needed to think with a clear, dispassionate mind.

“All right,” he said. In any case, Nathan was right about timing. He couldn’t imagine the uproar in Stonebridge once residents found out what had gone down with the mayor over the years—and the fact his death was likely due to his mob connection. Of course the new mayor and several of his staff would be arrested.

It made Sam wonder about Donna Howard again, and whether she was as crooked as the rest of them. Even though she always seemed on the up-and-up, her previous mayoral appointment made Sam seriously question his trust in her. Either way they’d find out soon enough.

He only hoped the people of Stonebridge could weather the coming storm.

THEY ORDERED
in for dinner, and while Eric and Nathan sat in the small dining room beyond the dividing wall to catch up on the case, Sam found himself watching some British fashion show with Simon.

“So how did you start working with the FBI?” Sam asked, bored out of his mind and only half tasting the Thai food on his plate. He wished he were in the other room, taking part in the conversation there. It was hard not to feel like he and Simon were being relegated to the sidelines while the real men took care of business, though he knew the thought was uncharitable.

Simon laughed. It sounded forced. “Oh, I’m not with the agency. I’m a rent boy. A high-end rent boy, of course. I’ve known Eric for ages.” He drew out the last word, injecting it with a bit of meaning Sam easily deciphered. “I help him out on occasion, when the matter in question is related to my subject of… expertise.”

“Ah.” Sam stabbed a piece of shrimp with his fork and waited for him to go on. But Simon didn’t seem inclined to elaborate on the intimate details. He set down his half-eaten plate of food and stood up.

“Let’s have a drink. Shall we?” He swayed his thin hips as he made his way to the liquor cabinet Sam had been trying to ignore. Sticking his ass out, he bent over and picked up a bottle of expensive vodka. “I can make a passable martini,” he said, turning around. “Or perhaps you’d prefer a whiskey? The selection’s not very good, I’m afraid. Nothing that isn’t American.” He wrinkled his pert nose.

“Uh. I’m good. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sam forced down a bite of food as Simon grabbed the cocktail shaker. He’d meant what he said to Nathan about not drinking anymore, but desire smacked him in the face with tinkling ice, crystal, and the pungent scent of olives.

“So what do you do, Sam, other than our dear Nathan? What a darling he is. I am so sorry about the misunderstanding the other night. He was quite cross with me.”

“It’s fine,” Sam said. “I overreacted.”

“You mustn’t mind me,” Simon continued as he mixed his drink, “I have a shameful lack of concern for anyone but myself. Just ask Eric.” There was a bite to the last statement not meant for Sam. He walked back to the couch, sipping carefully. “So?” Simon said once he sat down. “What do you do?”

Sam shifted away from the smell. He focused on the TV show, where three judges were frowning at an atrocious-looking ensemble created by one of the contestants. “I guess you could say I’m trying to be a journalist.”

“Trying to be?” Simon fished one of the several olives out of his glass and held it to pursed lips.

“Well, I’ve had a measure of success, but I’ve been a little distracted lately.” He wasn’t about to spill his guts to a stranger.

“Hmm. Writing seems so difficult. I abhor hard work. You can ask Eric that too. He knows I can’t be bothered to lift a finger.” He raised his voice again, and this time Sam heard a muttered curse from the other room. Simon stretched out his legs and propped them up on the coffee table, seemingly satisfied. Sam couldn’t help feeling like he was putting on an act.

“Why do I not believe that for a second?”

Simon gave him a hard-edged smile, and his rent boy persona wavered like a mirage.

“Believe what?” Nathan stood in the doorway looking edible in a Henley and jeans. Sam was getting used to the sexy casual clothes. He moved over on the couch to make room.

“Oh nothing. Your boy and I were having a little chat,” said Simon, waving his glass casually.

While Sam didn’t mind thinking of himself as Nathan’s boy, hearing it from the mouth of a kid who was probably no older than Tim made him bristle.

Simon smiled sweetly. “Oh, you don’t like me calling you that. But why? I should think anyone would be proud to be Nathan’s boy.”

“You making trouble in here, Si?” Another voice joined the conversation. Eric swung his massive arms as he stalked across the room toward the liquor cabinet. Contrasted with Simon to Sam’s right, he was mountainous.

“As always, darling.” There was no emotion in the drawled endearment, and Eric responded with a vinegary frown as he made his drink. The air in the room felt like it had chilled thirty degrees—obviously something had changed in the last few hours. Sam remembered the tattooed initials he’d seen on Eric’s arm and the conversation they had back in Stonebridge about love, though it seemed an eternity had passed since then. Whatever the relationship between the two men, it was complicated.

Nathan seemed as eager to escape the tension as Sam. “Well, I think we’re headed to bed,” he said, putting his hand on Sam’s thigh. “Eric, let’s talk again in the morning and finish the report. Hopefully we’ll be out of here in a couple days.”

Eric grunted his assent and raised his glass of whiskey, which he downed in one large gulp. His usual good humor was gone. “Night.”

Simon didn’t seem to notice them leave. He was too busy staring at Eric.

“SO WHAT
did you and Eric decide to do?” Sam asked later, his voice husky from the blowjob he’d given Nathan. He was sleepy and boneless from the reciprocal attention, but still curious about the case and the men in the other room. At the moment Eric and Simon were having either an argument or very angry sex. It was hard to tell which.

“He agrees with me the case is going nowhere. He and Simon have gone back several times and there’s no sign of illegal activity, not even solicitation. They can still be shut down for operating without a permit, but the cops don’t need us for that.”

“So you’re out?”

“We’re out.” Nathan pulled the blanket over them and then turned out the light. From beyond the far wall, Sam heard a moan that was definitely sexual. It probably would have gotten him going again, if not for the whole being-exhausted thing.

“What about Simon?” Sam asked as another, louder groan punctuated the air.

“What about him?”

“Does he solicit?”

“No. Of course not.” Nathan sighed and flung an arm around Sam.

Sam turned toward the embrace. “He made it sound like he did. Called himself a rent boy.”

“Oh. He was, years back, until he was arrested.”

“Who arrested him?” Sam had a sneaking suspicion he knew how Nathan would answer.

“Eric.”

“Hmm.” Sam yawned and snuggled closer. He was going to sleep like the dead. “So are they in love or what?”

“I don’t think they know.”

Sam closed his eyes. No matter the uncertainties in his life, at least there was one person he could count on.

SAM’S RINGING
cell phone dragged him from sleep early the next morning. He grabbed for it as Nathan grunted his protest.

“Hello. This is Sam,” he whispered, pushing back the covers and exiting the bedroom with haste. He’d recognized the ring. Shady Brook.

“Sam?” said a familiar voice on the other end of the line. “It’s Lisa.”

“What’s going on? How is Tim?” His stomach clenched. If something happened while he was away, he’d never forgive himself.

“There’s been some movement. And some vocalization.”

“What do you mean? Another seizure?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. The doctors…. I don’t want to get your hopes up, and that’s why I didn’t call right away… but they think he might be responding to stimuli.”

Sam froze in the doorway. He’d heard the words clearly enough, but his brain refused to absorb them. The early light had started to filter in, and the sound of commuters on the street below combined with the pounding of blood in his ears. He almost thought he was dreaming.

“Are you serious?” he whispered.

“I am.” There was a smile in her voice, but it faded quickly. “But listen. We need to talk about expectations. I know you know this, but even if he does wake up—and it’s still not a guarantee—there’s a long road ahead. We don’t know the extent of the damage. And of course the effects of being unconscious so long….” In the silence Sam heard the litany of warnings she’d stopped herself from elaborating—the possibility he might never walk, or speak… the possibility he might not know Sam. But none of that mattered.

“I’m just trying to prepare you for any eventuality. Okay?” she continued. “I want you to keep your expectations realistic.” It was too late. He was already flying. The hope he’d come to dread, long repressed and withered, seared his chest with joy.

“We think it’s a good idea for you to come down. Having someone familiar nearby…. Family is really important.”

“I’m already on my way. Thanks, Lisa. Thanks so much.”

“I’m hoping for the best for both of you.” The smile in her voice was back, and Sam found himself foolishly grinning at the air. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste and ran smack into Nathan’s bare chest as he emerged from the bedroom.

“Whoa. What’s the hurry?” Nathan asked, steadying him with hands on both shoulders. “I heard you talking out here. Is everything okay?”

“It was Lisa. The doctors think Tim’s waking up. I need to go home.”

Sam braced himself for the inevitable objection, preparing for battle. Nathan wouldn’t want him heading back alone under the circumstances, but nothing could hold him here, not when his brother needed him.

Instead Nathan smiled as the words sank in, and Sam’s gut clenched in an entirely different way. Nathan always looked younger when he smiled. His face was open and unguarded. It reminded Sam of the hundred times he’d seen that expression before they were together, when that smile and the man behind it were nothing more than a dream. The reality was so much better than anything he could have imagined.

Sam leaned up on his toes and dragged Nathan’s head down. Their mouths met in a smiling, laughing kiss that stole Sam’s breath and made his heart pound.

“I want this more than anything for you,” Nathan said, murmuring the words against Sam’s cheek as they broke apart.

Sam hugged him tighter. “Thank you. I know it might not happen, or that he might be…. But I don’t care. I need to get to Shady Brook.”

“Of course. Let’s get you a rental. I’ll catch up with you later this afternoon,” Nathan said, releasing Sam from the embrace.

“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “No warnings about being safe? No dire predictions about a certain sedan?”

“Well… I do think you should go directly to Shady Brook and stay until I get there.”

Sam was confused for a second before he remembered. “Oh right. The security detail.” They’d made sure to give Tim’s room extra cover, and surely the guard would still be there. He wasn’t going to object to the precaution. Getting killed was not on the agenda for the day.

His brother was depending on him.

RACHEL, ALEX,
and Yuri met him in the care facility’s waiting room, adjacent to the lobby. All three of them looked up anxiously when he entered. Sam stopped in his tracks, surprised to see them.

“Did Nathan call you guys?” It was the only explanation. Sam had spoken with his grandparents in Florida on the drive over, but he almost got pulled over by a cop, so he hadn’t chanced any more calls.

“Yeah. He thought you might need some friends,” said Rachel. She smiled and pulled him into a hug, and Sam hugged her back gratefully. Alex smiled as she watched, twirling a strand of her bleached-blonde hair around her finger.