Dead Run (5 page)

“What
will
the neighbors think?” Taylor managed finally.

Will gusted out a little laugh and kissed him.

Taylor dozed. Maybe they both dozed. If so, Will must have woken first, half suffocated under Taylor’s weight, because Taylor came to with kisses, warm and wet on his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth.

“The bed will be more comfortable.” Will’s voice was heated against his ear.

Taylor nodded, disinclined to move. He nuzzled Will’s chest, tasted the stickiness there.

Will’s breath caught. “Come on. You need real sleep.”

He sat up, dislodging Taylor.

Taylor sat up too, rubbing his head. He mumbled, “You’re going to have to get these cushions cleaned.”

“I don’t know.” Will’s voice sounded too loud in the hazy sunshine. “I was thinking it was time for a change of decor. I like the loved-in look.”

Taylor studied Will from under his eyelashes. Despite the sex—nice sex it was too—they were still just a little out of sync. Not much, just a fraction of a second off-beat. No big deal. They’d get it back. They—Will—needed to stop trying so much. He reached out to brush Will’s hair out of his eyes.

Will moved his head away, stood, and hauled Taylor to his feet. “Did you sleep at all on the plane?”

“Not that I recall.” Taylor swayed, putting a hand to the base of his spine. “I don’t know if my back will ever be the same.”

“Same here.” Will rubbed his ass, clowning.

Taylor spluttered a laugh, letting Will steer him up the stairs to the bedroom, one of Will’s hands locked on his hip, the other on his shoulder. He had a quick impression of inlaid wood, creamy walls, creamy bedding, sheer veils over a view of the garden and the roofs of other buildings. Nice but not Will’s style. The apartment came furnished.

Will said, “Voilà. Clean sheets. Just for you.”

“I ought to call Tara,” Taylor mumbled, dropping face-first into the cool linen.

“Just what a fella likes to hear after a bout of vigorous lovemaking.”

“My sister, you ass.”

“That’s probably worse.”

The mattress dipped as Will flopped down on the bed beside Taylor. They rolled into each other’s arms.

From somewhere a long way off, Will’s deep voice said something.

Taylor murmured encouragingly and promptly fell asleep in the middle of Will’s answer.

* * *

They dined at a fancy, overpriced restaurant called L’Ambrosie.

A sleep and a shower had gone a long way to reviving Taylor. He was all for leaving the car and walking to the Métro when Will suggested it. On foot was clearly the way to see Paris, and he enjoyed the brief walk and even the Métro ride.

Will looked especially handsome and more sophisticated than usual in dark trousers, dark silk T-shirt, and a charcoal blazer. Not that Will wasn’t always a snappy dresser, but this was something more. Something uncomfortably close to elegant. He was wearing his hair a little differently too. It had to be the cut. Nothing obvious but somehow a little sharper, a little more fashionable. He looked good. He looked great. Like someone out of a magazine. Taylor was getting irritated with himself for noticing every minuscule change. Eleven freaking months in a foreign country. Of course there would be some changes. What the hell did he expect?

Every time his eyes met Will’s, Will smiled. Smiled with real pleasure as though seeing Taylor a few feet from him was the best sight in the world. And
that
was all that mattered.

From the Métro it was another short walk to the restaurant. L’Ambrosie was a seventeenth-century town house in the picturesque Place des Vosges, the oldest and reportedly most beautiful square in Paris. The restaurant was also beautiful—and formal. Warm lighting from a sparkling chandelier bathed the parquet floors, chinoiserie carpets, and honey-hued walls brightened with oil paintings and rich tapestries. The tables were covered in creamy linen, and the chairs were plum or gold velvet. There was an abundance of candles and roses and tall mirrors.

Every single table in the place was filled. Great. Taylor had been hoping for quiet and intimate. In fact, he’d been hoping for dinner at Will’s place and an early night.

But it was what it was, so he needed to make the most of it. He scanned the menu and nearly dropped it on the elegant flower arrangement. “Jesus, Will.
Eighty-six euros
for hors d'oeuvres? If we order wine and dessert, this meal is going to set you back a grand or more.”

“Simmer down. I’ve been planning this meal. I want this night to be special.”

“Sure. We can mark it down as the night we officially went into debt.”

Will’s smile faded a little. “Would you knock it off, MacAllister? I’m trying to do something nice for you.”

Taylor knew better than to say it, but the words popped out anyway. “You must have one hell of a guilty conscience.”

Now Will was no longer smiling. His eyebrows made one dark, uncompromising line as he scanned the menu. He said curtly, “The langoustines in curry appetizer are supposed to be phenomenal. The langoustines melt in your mouth. So I’ve heard.”

Langoustines
being just a fancy word for
lobster
. Taylor swallowed that comment and said instead, “You come here often?”

“Of course not. I was here once before for an embassy dinner.”

“How are the steaks?”

Will’s head shot up. “
Steak
? You’re the guy who always wants to experiment and try something new, but suddenly you’re going to come to Paris and eat
steak
?”

“Jeez, Will—”

“What happened to trying not to eat red meat?”

“What the hell are we arguing about?” Taylor asked softly.

Will’s hard gaze fell. He shook his head. “Sorry.”

Taylor studied Will’s downbent head, caught his own somber expression in one of the long mirrors across the room. They looked more like two guys saying good-bye than enjoying a reunion dinner.

He took a deep breath and then let it out silently. “You pick the wine and appetizers, okay? I’ll pick the dessert.”

Will looked up and smiled. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

The food was good. Not the best meal Taylor had ever had in his life and not, in his opinion, worth the money—other than after the last eleven months he would have been willing to pay anything for dinner with Will again—but well-prepared and nicely presented. They started with piping hot
gougères
, a cheesy puff pastry fresh from the oven, and ended with a delectably light chocolate tart. Will chose, as he frequently did, sea bass, and Taylor went for the chicken stuffed with morel mushrooms and white cream sauce. They drank a good deal of very nice wine and relaxed a little further with each sip.

Will raised his glass. “Happy birthday, Taylor.” His eyes were dark with affection and more—much more—so that Taylor’s face warmed and he forgot all about the price tag of the meal.

They toasted, crystal glasses chiming with silvery sweetness.

Taylor said slowly, “You know this is another anniversary as well.”

Will’s look was inquiring.

“It was five years ago yesterday that we were first partnered.”

Will’s smile was very white in the candlelight. “There are marriages that don’t last that long.”

They sipped their wine, both thinking.

Taylor tried to keep his tone casual, but it needed to be asked. “Has your RSO given any indication whether they’ll want to extend your stay?”

He could read the reluctance to answer in Will’s face. Will expelled a long breath. “I haven’t accepted.”

“Yet.”

“I haven’t accepted,” Will repeated. “That’s not a decision I’m going to make without talking to you.”

Taylor nodded noncommittally.

“I don’t want to stay. But…”

“But we both knew it was a possibility.’

“Yes. We did.”

“And that’s kind of the object here. To move up the ladder.”

Will stared at him. “It is. Yeah. But not at the expense of everything else. Not at the expense of us.”

Taylor hoped his laugh didn’t sound as bitter as it felt. “I think I can simplify the choice for you. I’ve got my next posting as well.”

Will’s dark brows drew together. “Shit. Overseas?”

Taylor nodded. “It’s an RSO position. Like we thought.”

“Congratulations,” Will said without enthusiasm. “Not France obviously. Where?”

“Iraq.”

Chapter Four

“No. No fucking way.”

“Will—”

“No. You are not taking a goddamned posting in Iraq.” Will didn’t care that diners at the next table were glancing their way.
Iraq
? And the way Taylor popped out with it like…
ain’t no big deal
. The hell it wasn’t.

He watched Taylor strive for patience. “Look, we both knew I was eventually going to be posted overseas.”

“Not to Iraq.”

“Oh for chrissake. Iraq is where they need people.”

“You said you’d resign if they tried to send you overseas.”

Taylor’s jaw dropped.

Will flushed. He knew he was being unreasonable but…Iraq? The highest casualties in the DSS were in Iraq. Will had been stationed in Iraq when he was in the marines. It was a goddamned hellhole, and he couldn’t bear to think of Taylor there.

Taylor had that dangerous glint in his eyes. He said with ominous patience, “When I said I’d resign, it was because I didn’t think we could survive a long-distance relationship, but since we’re
in
a long-distance relationship, what the fuck is my excuse for not taking a promotion?”

“What about us?”

“What
about
us?” There was no give in Taylor, no softening. Stone-faced, he said, “I’ll be there two years, which is about how long you’ll be here in Paris. Perfect timing, if you ask me.”

“Two years minimum. They’ll ask you stay on. You said it yourself; they need people there.”

“How about I get through the first two years before we worry about it? For all you know you’ll be here in Paris for however long I end up in Iraq.”

“I already said I’d turn down the extended tour of duty if you asked.”

“No, you didn’t. And I wouldn’t ask.”

That was the truth. As much as Taylor had not wanted Will to go, he’d had the strength of will, the discipline to resist asking him to stay. Will, on the other hand, had already misplayed his cards by ordering Taylor not to take a posting he probably didn’t want anyway, resulting in Taylor, well-known for being one of the world’s most stubborn sons of bitches, now being set on going.

“What about our house?”

Taylor was looking at him like Will was an idiot. “If you want me to keep the house, I’ll rent it out.”

“What about Riley?”

Taylor nearly strangled over that one. “Riley? Your
dog
? You want me to turn down a posting so I can babysit your dog for a couple of years?”

He was making it worse with every word out of his mouth, but Will couldn’t seem to stop himself. “You know what I mean. We have a life. We have a home.”

Taylor leaned back in his chair, calm again. “Maybe someday. But we also have jobs. And right now those jobs are in conflict with these other things.”

“Is this payback because I took the Paris posting?”

Mistake
. What was new? He watched Taylor’s temper spike, although Taylor managed a comparatively restrained, “I’m going to forget you said that.”

Will shut up before he said something that had Taylor walking out of the restaurant. This was not at all how he had pictured their first night together. He’d wanted everything to be perfect for Taylor. Taylor deserved that, deserved to be spoiled after the way Cooper had been running him ragged for a year.

Will tried a different tack. “Listen, it’s not that I’m putting my career over yours.”

“No?”

“If this posting was anywhere else in the world, I’d be glad for you.” Come to think of it, no, he wouldn’t. He hated the idea of Taylor taking a posting anywhere—part of what made his own posting bearable was the thought of Taylor and the home they would eventually share and the life they would eventually build—but Iraq was definitely the worst. The idea of Taylor in Iraq terrified him. He’d lost too many friends in Iraq. Seen too many people he cared for crippled and maimed. “I was in Iraq.”

“In the marines. I know.”

“It’s not…healthy.”

Taylor’s lip curled. “No? I heard it was just like Paris only they like Americans better.”

“You’ve already been—” Will stopped as Taylor’s expression went glacial. “Think about how you’d feel,” he said instead.

“I wouldn’t be happy, but I wouldn’t assume that you’d be killed if I wasn’t there watching your back every second. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Although, yeah, it kind of was. Taylor was smart and strong and dauntingly efficient in a fight, but he lacked a normal sense of self-preservation. He just didn’t seem to understand how terrifyingly mortal he was.

Taylor said, “I still can’t figure out how my getting shot is somehow more traumatic for you than me.”

This time Will shut up for real.

They finished their meal, Will paid out half his life savings, and in silence they left the restaurant.

It was a short walk to the Métro station, a pleasant evening to be out, and they fell into step with the automatic ease of long partnership.

All along the cobblestone streets, the windows of fashionable cafés, galleries, and boutiques were ablaze with life and light. The elegant seventeenth-century stone mansions of Place des Vosges—with their steeply slanted blue slate roofs and ornate facades—always seemed to Will to belong to another world, another time, as in fact they did. The square had been the center of aristocratic life in the seventeenth century.

They walked on, not speaking, though their footsteps stayed in time as they passed the center park lined with rows of shaped chestnut trees where sleepy songbirds offered a final chorus in the face of encroaching shadows.

The curved teardrop lamps winked on, casting artful shadows across the splashing fountains and the large equestrian statue of Louis XIII that dated back to the 1800s. This was the second statue of Louis. The first statue had been destroyed during the Revolution.