Page 18 of Lover
Rory
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The week went by ina blur as they stacked more and more circumstantial evidence on the mountain they planned on burying Bruce Pearson under. Between credit card statements, eyewitnesses, video surveillance, and a couple of blurry photos Gonzales dug up online, they’d linked him to eight of the eleven victims. In addition to the credit cards in Pearson’s name that he’d added four of the young men to over the past fifteen years, there were plane tickets and hotel reservations that placed the attorney in Portland, Oregon in 2007—mere days before the body of Mitchel Helms was found in Macleay Park.
Leaning back in the chair, he stared at the board, the image of Shannon and Taylor in the middle unavoidable. So many lives were irrevocably changed after crossing paths with Bruce Pearson. Rory had a sinking feeling that the twelve they’d tied together was not the total number of young men. God only knew how long Pearson had been reeling in naïve, unsuspecting kids and feeding them false promises, then delivering nothing but pain and suffering. If only they could find another person that had gotten away, someone to corroborate Shannon’s story. Perhaps once they gathered enough evidence to put the piece of shit behind bars and the story was made public, other victims would come forward. Judge Tullor’s grandson would be perfect, but he and Rand had come to the conclusion that the judge’s grandson was likely dead, and the only thing left to do was find the body. When they subpoenaed Junior’s cell phone records to try and find a location based off the last phone call made and compared them to Pearson’s, he was less than three miles away from the location. Agents in Spokane had spent two days at the location with cadaver dogs and found nothing.
The phone on his desk rang and he reached for it, his mind still stuck on the board in front of him. “Yeah.”
“Landers, is that you?” The director was calling him? Lord, he hoped it was good news. He couldn’t take any more circumstantial bullshit red tape government BS.
“Director, sorry sir. Yes, this is Agent Landers.”
“Get your ass on a plane to Seattle as soon as possible. A federal judge there has agreed to issue a probable cause warrant for you to search Bruce Pearson’s home and bring him in for questioning.” His boss sounded pleased; that was always a good thing.
“Yes! Oh, sorry sir, I’ll get that flight booked as soon as we hang up.” Rory couldn’t wait to tell his team and Shannon. His boyfriend would likely sleep better at night if the man that caused him years of pain was locked up, and the key was dropped in the middle of the ocean.
“Oh, and Landers?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take that detective with you—Davis, I believe it is. I’ll make a call to the Dallas PD Chief of Detectives and have it cleared through him. Be sure to keep me in the loop as well, Landers. I don’t want any goddamn surprises. We clear?” The prospect of being in close quarters with Rand Davis made him nervous, but he didn’t have the time to ponder why right then.
“Yes, sir. And her, not him.” Rory fist pumped the air. Finally, they were being given the green light to bring Bruce Pearson down.
“Her, who?” his boss asked.
“The Chief of Detectives here in Dallas is a woman, sir.” As soon as he hung up, he grabbed his cell and called Rand, telling him to turn around, go back home, and pack a suitcase. His next call was to Gonzales, then Blair, and finally, Shannon. Rory insisted that Shannon go stay with Taylor and Frank while he was in Washington, just in case Bruce Pearson did, in fact, have someone inside the legal system that would get wind of the warrant and warn him. Thank God Rand was slightly paranoid and had contacted an acquaintance at Seattle PD to put a tail on the attorney until they arrived.
“Will I see you before you leave?” Shannon asked.
“I’m not sure. Let me see what time we have to be at Love Field Airport, and I’ll text you.”
“Okay. I love you, Rory, and just in case I don’t see you before, please be careful.”
***
As it turned out, hedidn’t have the time to return to the loft to see Shannon before their flight. Packing was never an issue, not for an agent with the Bureau. An away bag was always ready, and Rory kept his at the office. Without a minute to spare, he, Rand, and Gonzales barely made it to the airport in time to catch their flight. Gonzales and Blair had to toss a coin to see who got to go round up the bully and who got to stay behind with Shannon. It worked out well since Blair and Taylor were still pretty tight, and it put Rory’s mind at ease knowing someone he trusted with his own life would be watching over his boyfriend. “Can I get you anything, sir?” A perky brunette flight attendant asked.
“Just water, please.” He was reminded of the many flights he’d been on as Trevor and how different his life was now. Back then, he wanted nothing more than to solve the case, tell Frank who he really was, and hopefully explore the possibility of a relationship. While losing Frank at the time was heartbreaking, he was with Shannon now and couldn’t imagine his life without the vibrancy Shannon brought to it. Not to mention that if you looked up the definition of happy in the dictionary, there would be an image of Frank and Taylor beside it.
“Jack and Coke please.” Rand smiled at the stewardess.
“We’re working here, Detective.” Rory rolled his eyes.
“No, we’re flying to Seattle and then going to a motel for the night. Tomorrow morning, we’ll be working.” Rand opened the teensy bag of pretzels and tipped it back, shaking them all into his mouth at once.
“Good lord, you have the manners of a goat.”Why did Gonzales take the window seat?Rory silently cursed his partner.
“You should have a drink too. Might help with that stick that’s embedded in your ass.” Of course, Rand talked around a mouth full of pretzels. Rory didn’t even grace him with a response. Instead, he put his earbuds in and scrolled through the songs on his phone, pressing play when he came to “Bodies” by Drowning Pool. Randall Davis really did get on his last good nerve. Why
did he have to smell so nice and be so sexy and—fucking hell,Landers.Get it together!He turned the volume up a couple of notches to drown out the voices in his head that were singing the praises of the annoying man beside him. Not even the voice of Dave Williams, God rest his soul, could block the scent of Rand’s cologne from wafting his way.
It was almost midnight by the time they got to the hotel, and he was exhausted. Far too tired to argue when Gonzales asked for two rooms—a single for her and a double for the boys was how she requested their accommodations from the clerk at the front desk. Were Rory in his right mind, he’d have put up a fight, but it was just one night; he could do this. At three a.m. when he was lying awake staring at the ceiling while Rand—most aggravating man on the planet—Davis snored like a goddamn bear, he was second-guessing that decision.
What little sleep he got was clouded with foggy images of Rand in bed with him, the larger, imposing man stretching his body out beside him, agile fingers brushing Rory’s hair behind one ear before leaning close and kissing him. Shannon was in his fantasy as well, his body more loose and pliable, wrapped around Rory like a snake. To his surprise, the two men worked together, playing his body like a violin until he exploded in a symphony of moans and pleading murmurs. Remembering the dream when he woke, vividly, filled him with confusion and a desire for more. So, to say he was in a mood when the alarm went off at seven a.m. was an understatement. Pissed off, exhausted, and nerves just this side of raw was more like it. And the Neanderthal he’d been forced to bunk with for the night was the one that decided to pinch that last nerve and push Rory right over the edge.
“Jesus Christ, Rand, were you born in a barn? Raised by wolves? That handle on the side of the toilet has a purpose—fucking use it. And your towel is not going to magically climb up off the floor and wrap itself around that shiny silver rod on the wall.” He was making obscene hand gestures, fingers dancing wildly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “And just for the record, I’m utterly shocked that the game warden didn’t bust down our door last night and shoot you with a tranq dart. If you’d snored any louder, they’d have heard you on the fucking moon.” Stomping into the shoe box disguised as a bathroom, he slammed the door.
