Job Hunt (22 page)

Jack stretched languidly in the huge bed, the vague ache in his lower back a pleasant reminder of the night’s activities. Gareth’s ministrations had stopped his busy mind most effectively, even if Jack could not explain what had prompted him to so relax his guard. Jack hadn’t bottomed in years: seventeen years to be exact. For a long time after his escape, sex—or rather his memories of what had happened—had forced him to carry a knife wherever he went. Once he’d learned to defend himself and gotten over his aversion to feeling someone else’s hands on his skin, he’d never had the inclination to cede control to his bed partners.

Until last night, when he’d wanted nothing more urgently.

Jack buried his face in Gareth’s pillow, and the spicy scent of Gareth’s cologne sent a curl of arousal through his gut. So much for using sex to get the man out of his system. Great.

He growled into the soft cotton, irritated by his inability to just let it go. Life would be so much easier if he could just be done with this crush… this attraction… this… thing that made him wish for Gareth’s hands on his skin right now.

He wasn’t that needy. Not ever.

“Head out of that pillow or the coffee goes down the drain,” a cheerful voice interrupted his self-flagellation.

“Don’t you dare,” Jack threatened. He rolled onto his back, reluctant to lose Gareth’s enticing scent, only to find the man himself close enough to touch. “Hi,” he managed.

“Hi.” Gareth grinned. He was shaved, freshly showered, and already half-dressed. “Breakfast’s almost done,” he said, sitting down on the side of the bed, hands going to Jack’s shoulders. “I thought I’d let you sleep for as long as possible.”

The touch of Gareth’s palms on his sleep-warm skin kicked Jack’s libido into overdrive. He swallowed and took a deep breath before he tried his voice again. “Much appreciated.”

“Really?” Gareth’s hands slipped down to rub over his nipples, and Jack shivered. “Maybe you’d have liked being woken.” The silver head dipped to nuzzle along Jack’s jaw to his ear. A flash of heat raced across Jack’s skin, and he his dug teeth into his lower lip to stifle a groan. When had he ever been that easy?

Truth was he hadn’t been. He’d only ever carried a torch for one man, and he should have remembered that. Using sex to get Gareth Flynn out of his system was about as logical as using a match to find a gas leak. Jack blamed sleep deprivation.

Cross with himself, he pushed the enticing hands away and struggled upright. “Did I hear you mention coffee?” he asked, voice gruff.

“Sure.” Gareth’s playful mood vanished. He reached for the mug he’d set on the bedside table and held it out. “I’ve put fresh towels and stuff in the bathroom. Come down when you’re ready.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Jack to scowl at his coffee and feel uncomfortably as if he should go after Gareth and apologize.

I
N
THE
week since their reunion, Gareth had gotten a good measure of Jack’s monstrous appetite. So when Jack arrived downstairs shaved, showered, and—regrettably—fully dressed, the kitchen table groaned under a load of breakfast dishes. Jack nodded in appreciation as he took a seat, but then he kept his head bent over his plate and avoided Gareth’s gaze. He didn’t respond to attempts at conversation, and Gareth wasn’t sure what to make of Jack’s mood. Jack wasn’t a morning person, but the black scowl on his face hinted at other issues besides waking up in installments.

“Do you want to stop by your house on the way in?” Gareth asked as he collected the empty plates and loaded the dishwasher.

“No need. I brought my go bag, remember?”

Jack sounded like a stranger, and Gareth wanted to shake him. Would have done if he hadn’t known that intimidation didn’t work on Jack; it would only make him clam up more. He topped up Jack’s mug with the last of the coffee.

“Last night….” He struggled to find words that would erase the wary look from Jack’s face. A deep breath steadied him. “Last night… wasn’t an apology.”

“Good to know.”

Jack’s tight shoulders relaxed a little. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, not objecting to Gareth’s scrutiny.

Jack looked more rested than Gareth had seen him in the last few days. The deep shadows under his eyes had lightened, but the crease between his brows had not, and Gareth was reminded of their discussion the night before.

I can’t always tell you what I’m doing or why.

Gareth didn’t believe that Jack had let this slip by accident. Even too tired to see straight he wouldn’t make such a rookie mistake. This could only mean that Jack wasn’t as
out
of the service as Gareth had thought, that there were ties and obligations that held him still. Whether the ties were too close for comfort or whether Jack was trying to keep Gareth and his new colleagues out of the line of fire didn’t really matter. Jack felt bound, and Gareth wasn’t happy about that.

He considered telling Jack about Aidan and Alex’s attempts to learn more about Jack’s past, but then he decided against it. He wasn’t going to ruin their fragile accord by quizzing Jack the morning after they’d reached it.

“Do you want me to brew another pot?” he asked instead, waving the empty glass carafe to emphasize his point.

“Do we have time?”

Gareth couldn’t resist the hopeful note in Jack’s voice. He set the carafe on the table, reached for Jack’s chin, and leaned down to kiss him slowly and sweetly. “Just this once, I’ll let you have a pass,” he said.

“D
O
YOU
have a moment?”

Gareth looked up from his study of the most recent threat assessments to find Jack standing in the open office door.

“Come in.” Gareth set his keyboard aside, noting Jack’s tense stance and the uncertain look on his face.

Despite their slightly slower start to the morning, they hadn’t been that late arriving at the office, and Jack and Frazer had immediately buried themselves in the results of their overnight searches. Neither had come up for air since, but they had both accepted the brimming mugs Gareth had set on a corner of their desks halfway through the morning with grateful nods. It was close to lunchtime now and, as far as Gareth was aware, nothing of note had happened.

Jack stepped into the room and carefully closed the door. “Frazer’s onto something,” he said before he had even taken a seat.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Jack didn’t meet Gareth’s eyes. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, tapped the arms of the chair, and rubbed at his face until—

“Jack. Just spit it out.”

Jack squared his shoulders and braced as if for a blow. Just as suddenly, he relaxed back into the chair and crossed his arms. “Fuck it!” he said succinctly and took a breath. “I can catch the fucker. With the stuff Frazer found last night, I can catch the fucker.”

“But?” Gareth could hear the “but” as if it was a black shadow looming over Jack.

“It could take all night. And tomorrow. And the day after.” He shrugged. “I just don’t know. It’s like… like—” He waved his hands around vaguely. “—like looking for a needle in a haystack? I could get lucky and find something right away, or I won’t. I don’t want you pitching another shit fit and…. Hell, I
hate
asking permission to do my work!”

The last words came out as a shout, and Gareth flinched. He supposed he deserved that one. “You don’t have to ask permission,” he reminded. “We cleared that up last night, remember?”

“As long as you do. Remember, I mean. You know I get a little….” Jack sighed before he stood and stretched until his back popped. “It was easier while we served. Do you wish you were back?”

“No. And it wasn’t easier. You were just resigned to having fewer choices.” Gareth couldn’t hide the smile that came with the memories. “I used to be on your case all the time. I lost count of the number of times I had the spooks ’round wanting your help….”

Jack huffed. “And you never once pushed me where I didn’t want to go.”

“I told you that I would not on the day you first reported to me. It’s not my fault you weren’t listening.”

“I was listening,” Jack disagreed. “I just didn’t believe it would work out that way.”

“Well, believe me now. We’ll make this work. We’ll find an MO that suits all of us.” Gareth had no idea where the sudden bout of certainty came from, but he welcomed it just as he welcomed the glimmer of a smile that lightened the color of Jack’s eyes. “You haven’t been here a week, and a lot of shit’s blown up out of nowhere. Give us time to find our feet, okay?”

He waited for Jack’s nod before he reached for his keyboard and mouse. “Now get out and catch that fucker.”

“D
ON
’
T
MESS
with me, you little cunt.”

The backhanded blow sent Nico’s head into the wall with a crack. Stars danced through his vision, and his teeth came together with a snap so hard a flare of pain shot down his spine.

A part of him wanted to let go, let his unsteady knees fold and sink to the floor. He wanted to pass out from the pain and nausea and pretend the coming torture was already over.

Despite being in the hospital, despite the police guard outside their door, Goran’s man had found them. He would drag them back to Goran now, and Goran wasn’t merciful. Nico had seen him deal with boys who had tried to run. He carried scars aplenty to know how brutal the punishment would be, and the next breath seemed one effort too far.

Another backhand. Another impact rattling his teeth until a wave of nausea forced him to clamp them tightly together. Coffee and garlic scented breath blew in his face, and a harsh voice rasped in his ear.

“You’re nothing, you hear? You’re zero. Nothing. There’s nowhere you can go I won’t find you. And you have nowhere to run.”

The moment the enforcer reached for Daniel, Nico’s vision cleared with a snap. Daniel was his sanity, his lifeline. Without Daniel the world would be scary, without comfort, smiles, or jokes shared in quiet whispers. There would only be fear and pain and helpless loathing. And while Nico shivered in terror at the ordeal in store for them, he also knew that Daniel might not survive it.

Daniel didn’t deal well with pain and struggled with the increasingly brutal abuse. After each one of Goran’s punishments, he withdrew a little more into himself: not speaking, not eating, and sometimes barely breathing.

If the man who’d come for them—Nico had no name for him, had never seen him around Goran before, and thought he might be a tracker working for a fee—returned them to Goran, neither of them would make it out alive.

The idea of losing Daniel scared Nico more than Goran’s enforcer. Ricky was gone. If he lost Daniel, he’d be… alone.

You’re not alone. You are not helpless.

The words Jack had spoken over and over during the last week penetrated the clamor in Nico’s mind. He remembered Jack’s green gaze—calm eyes that never judged, never pitied, never demanded. Steady hands and slow, deliberate movements. Jack knew. He… understood in a way nobody else did.

Detective Inspector Baxter wanted justice, or perhaps revenge. The social workers wanted to… make him and Daniel forget what happened, maybe?

Jack Horwood dressed up like a boy for hire and stepped into nightclubs where pimps hung out. He used himself as bait to rescue boys like Daniel and Ricky and Nico, even though his wrists bore faded scars, and his eyes burned with pain and shame when he failed. Jack brought weapons and food, stood guard while they slept, and taught them how to fight. Jack never judged, never pushed, and never expected… anything.

Nico slid down the wall as if his legs couldn’t hold him. His fingers shook as he pulled the knife from his shoe and gripped it the way Jack had shown him.

He wasn’t a zero.

He wasn’t helpless.

Having the knife in his fist helped him focus. His grip on the handle was white-knuckled, but he was no longer scared. Jack’s words came back to him as if they’d been branded into his mind:

Work as a team.

Go down when hit.

Get the knife.

Wait until he turns away from you to deal with Daniel.

Push up from the floor. Hard.

Lead with the knife in your fist.

And Nico did just that.

“T
HANK
YOU
.”
Clive Baxter smiled at the tired-looking girl behind the refreshment counter. Judging by the queue of people behind him, she wouldn’t catch a break for a while yet. He took the last of the plastic mugs from her, slipped it into a protective cardboard sleeve, and set it into the carrier she’d so helpfully provided as soon as he’d rattled off his order. Clive had never trained as a waiter, so weaving through crowded hospital corridors with three coffees and two hot chocolates on a tray did not sound appealing. This was easier.

It was early afternoon, and there should have been a lull in normal hospital activity. It was Friday, though, and Fridays seemed to march to a different beat.

Clutches of people thronged the hallways, hospital personnel in their vary-hued garb hurried this way and that, and the short walk to the elevator turned into an obstacle course dotted with children, wheelchairs, and rushing nurses.

The small gift shop’s customers, browsing for paperbacks and sweets and waiting to pay for their purchases, spilled out into the concourse, and Clive pushed his way across the queue, smiling in apology and nodding in thanks at the same time.

The area in front of the bank of elevators felt like a haven of peace in the melee, with only a few orderlies and two women waiting for the next car. All three elevators hit the ground floor in short order, and by the time he was past the fourth floor, Clive was alone in the car.

He slumped against the wall and sucked in a deep breath. Babysitting two barely responsive teenagers when he wanted to be out pulling in the pimp who had hurt them was a darn sight harder than it looked.