Page 26 of Lover
“Of course,” Shannon purred, loving the flash of heat he saw in Rory’s eyes.
Once Rory was out the door, with nothing else to do, Shannon headed downstairs to the studio. It had been far too long since he’d danced freely, no students, no expectations, just him and the music. Dance had been an escape for him as a child, a place he could go and disconnect from the world, from life, and from his emotionally barren parents. As he grew up his love only deepened. When he’d left Washington and fled to Austin, he was in a very dark place—no longer suicidal, but broken and scarred, unsure of himself. Sex helped for a while, a short while. But it was meeting Taylor and having the positive influence of someone that loved him unconditionally in his life that reminded him that there was something he loved deeply as well: dancing.
Enya serenading him, Shannon danced until his muscles ached and his head was clear, not stopping until the jingle of the bell over the front door rang out. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was eleven—time for his three-day-a-week Mommy and Me class. The next time he looked at the clock, it was going on seven and his last class was leaving. Locking up and heading upstairs, he was surprised to find his apartment dark. When Rory left that morning, he said he only had to work for a few hours. Almost nine hours later, he thought surely Rory would be waiting for him. Flipping on the kitchen light, Shannon grabbed his cell from the cabinet where he’d left it charging and saw a missed call from Rory as well as two texts.
Babe: Hey sexy, I’m going to be here longer than I thought. We’re interviewing a witness this afternoon at 4 so I should be there around 6. Miss you.
The second text came in just after five p.m.
Babe: FML. The witness isn’t here yet. His flight was delayed and now he’s stuck in rush hour traffic. I’ll be home as soon as I can, but it might be late. Don’t wait up if you’re tired. Love you.
Shannon typed out a quick response telling Rory he understood, and he’d see him when he got there, ending withLove you too. It wasn’t the first time Rory had been late, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. The downside to falling for an FBI agent was long nights spent at home alone and extended, unplanned trips at the drop of a hat. But if he got to call Rory his, got to be loved by the man, who was he to complain?
Throwing together a salad, he relaxed on the couch to catch up onAmerican Horror Story; he was three episodes behind. He wound up passing out halfway through the second episode, waking when he heard Rory climbing the stairs. Shannon could hear the knob jiggle, and he shook his head, smiling. “Babe, where did you leave your key this time?” he called out, walking over and swinging the door open. But it wasn’t Rory standing on his welcome mat.
Chapter Twenty Three
Rory
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Leaning back in hischair, feet propped up on the desk, Rory tossed a tennis ball at the wall, catching it easily when it came back to him. The King County DA had called earlier in the day to let them know he was going to indict Bruce Pearson on nineteen counts of assault on a minor, two counts of murder—since they could put the attorney at or near where the bodies were discovered—and several other charges Rory didn’t pay any attention to. The murders were circumstantial at best; Pearson had been right about that, and the DA couldn’t charge the fucker with sexual assault of a minor since there was no evidence of him actually sleeping with any of the victims unless Shannon testified. Gonzales had described in great detail exactly what she planned to do to his and Rand’s nuts if either of them even considered that option.
“I’m fucking insulted, Consuela, that you’d think for one second I’d do that to Shan.” Rory used her full name knowing how much she hated it. With a statement like that, she was asking for it.
Rand snorted. “Con...” Gonzales growled at the detective, baring her teeth like a barracuda. It was quite fun to watch the normally brazen Rand Davis, eyes wide, hands in the air as he slowly backed away from the woman snarling at him. “Whoa, sorry, I’ll shut up now.”
In his periphery, Rory saw Rand run his hand over his buzzed hair and smile. Fucking hell, the man was entirely too tempting. They’d come dangerously close to crossing a line, to making a mistake that neither of them could have been forgiven for. And the horrid truth of the matter was, Rory didn’t feel like they’d done anything wrong, not really. It was just a kiss, right? He kept trying to tell himself that. It crossed his mind the night before when he was holding Shannon in his arms to tell him about the near mishap with Rand while they were in Washington. But he’d told himself the same thing then that he was now—that it was just a kiss. What kind of a person did that make him?
The phone on Blair’s desk rang, and Rory prayed it was the desk sergeant announcing the arrival of their mysterious visitor. “Yes, bring him back.”
“Thank fuck.” Rand took a seat on the corner of his desk. “I was beginning to think we’d be here all night.”
Feet already on the desk, Rory swung his right leg to the side, shoving Rand off. “Manners, Detective.” Rand turned and glared at him, his eyes lowering when Rory licked his lips. They were in close enough proximity that Rory heard the sharp intake of breath. He looked to Blair, then Connie, grateful that neither of them seemed to hear. Before he could figure out how to respond, there was a knock on the doorframe.
Rand turned just as Rory stood, both of them cursing. “Holy shit.” Standing in the doorway to their office was Howard Manning Tullor Junior. Older now than the images in the folder on Rory’s desk, he and Shannon had both aged well and no longer looked as identical as they had when they were teenagers, but there were still similarities evident in Junior’s features. His blond hair was unkempt, brushing his shoulders. He had blazing blue eyes and he was tall, more so than his Shannon. When Rand walked over and introduced himself, he was at eye level with Junior, which meant the kid was six four. He wasn’t a kid though; Rory reminded himself that the man standing before him was not the adolescent he’d seen in photographs.
“Please, come in, sit.” Blair walked around his desk, grabbing a chair from the corner and pulling it over between his and Rory’s desks. “Can I get you anything before we start? Water, coffee?”
“Water would be nice.” Junior thanked Blair with a forced smile. His voice was...odd. Rory couldn’t put his finger on it, but his tone sounded almost, damaged in a way. Like the demon-possessed girl inThe Exorcist—damaged. Connie tossed a bottle of water to Blair, leaning back against her desk with the small voice recorder she kept in her purse in her hand.Smart woman.Rory hadn’t even thought to take notes.
“So, when you called me this morning, you said you heard we were looking for you and that you had information on Bruce Pearson. Why don’t you start by telling us how you heard we were looking for you when we all thought you were dead?” Blair wasn’t normally the talkative one.
Junior nodded, clearing his throat. “I have a friend that still lives in Seattle, and he got word to me about a year ago that there were a couple of FBI agents in town digging up old cases, asking questions about missing teenagers, and my name was on the list.” Twisting the cap off the bottle, Junior took a healthy swig before clearing his throat again. “I completely disappeared when I left Washington, because it was necessary, and I’ve stayed hidden because I knew if he ever found out that he didn’t actually kill me the night I tried to leave, he’d find me and finish what he started.”
“Jesus,” Rand groaned. “Let’s take a step back, Howard. Tell us how you wound up in the spider’s lair to begin with.”
“I go by Mannie now. I couldn’t very well use my real name, and why would I want to? I’m pretty fucking sure you all know who my grandfather is.” Junior crossed his arms over his chest, clearing his throat again. It was really starting to drive Rory crazy and damned if he could say why.
“Mannie, can you please tell us how and when you met Bruce Pearson?” Rand was using his exasperated tone.
Wiping his hands on the threadbare jeans he was wearing, Junior told a story much like Shannon’s. “I was fourteen and angry at the world. I already knew I was gay, but there was no way in hell I could tell anyone. Not when my grandfather and father were both spewing fire and venom, weekly conversations over dinner about the gay agenda and how homosexuality was turning the world to shit. I rebelled, acting out in other ways—vandalism and petty crimes. Of course my grandpa being who he was, he couldn’t let it be known that his grandson was a hooligan. He hired the best lawyer his money could buy to represent me in juvenile court, not realizing that he had basically handed me over to the devil himself.” Junior snorted, eyes distant, obviously remembering something.
The silence stretched toward uncomfortable. “Go on.” Blair waved a hand in the air.
Junior flinched, eyes vacant for a brief second. Blinking, he shook off whatever it was holding him captive, clearing his throat, again. “Sorry, I sometimes have issues staying focused.” Junior apologized, tapping his temple with a finger. “Doc says it’s from my injuries. Where was I? Pearson, right. So Daddy dearest and Gramps handed me over to someone they assumed was a responsible adult. Not so much.” Junior scrunched up his face comically and Rory fought the urge to laugh.
“Bruce told me I was better than the role models in my life, that I was more than where I came from. I was young, stupid, and fearless, and I trusted him. For a very long time, I thought I loved him, and that fucked with my head for years. Eventually I came to the realization that what I loved was the man Bruce pretended to be, the man he presented himself as in the beginning.” The longer he talked, the more restless Junior became. His eyes darted around the room, not staying focused on any one thing for more than a few seconds. A thick, wool scarf was wrapped around his neck and he kept pulling at it, like it was irritating him, but he wouldn’t take it off.
