Table of Contents
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What This Book is About...
OLD POISON
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
Also by Josh Lanyon
Copyright
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Happy Birthday, Taylor! Taylor has pretty well recovered from his shooting, but not everyone is happy to see him reach his next birthday. Does a cobra pickled in a bottle of wine means someone cares enough to send the very best?
OLD POISON
Dangerous Ground Series 2
Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
That prickle between his shoulder blades meant he was being watched.
One hand on the mailbox, Taylor glanced around. There was a woman pushing a kid in a stroller down the long, shady street. She was moving in the opposite direction. There was a guy in a parked Chevy reading a newspaper. Old Mrs. Wills was in her garden. She was shading her eyes, staring at him.
Taylor raised his hand in greeting.
She fluttered a hand back in hello.
The guy in the Chevy turned the page of his newspaper, remaining mostly concealed behind the tall pages.
A comfortable, quiet street in a small beach community. Old houses beneath old shade trees. But it was a neighborhood in flux. Old residents dying off, new residents not staying longer than a couple of years.
Taylor pulled the mail out of his box. The usual circulars and catalogs of junk he never bought and didn’t want. And a birthday card. From Will.
Taylor studied the pale green envelope for a long moment. He was aware of a tightness in his chest, a confused rush of emotions. Amusement, sure, but uppermost…a sort of…a feeling he couldn’t begin to describe.
That neat, careful cursive with which Will had spelled out Taylor’s name and address. Not like Will’s usual hand. Not that Will’s usual hand was sloppy; Taylor was the one who had to translate his hieroglyphics for the front-office staff. But there was something painstaking and self-conscious about the writing on the envelope.
There was something else in the mail slot. Taylor pulled out a slip informing him that he had a package in the side locker of the mailbox stand. He unlocked the long cabinet, and sure enough there was a rectangular parcel addressed to him. He tucked it under his arm, slammed the metal door shut, and crossed the street.
The guy in the Chevy remained well buried behind his newspaper.
Taylor cut across the patchy, threadbare lawn of his house, took the three front porch steps in one, and let himself into the house.
He locked the door behind him, looking down at the green envelope. Just the fact that Will had mailed him a birthday card. They’d be seeing each other that night — barring Will getting delayed on his current case — but Will had taken the time to pick a card and mail it. It was so…
It touched Taylor more than he wanted to admit. Of course this was a special birthday. Not one of the “0” birthdays; Taylor was thirty-two years old as of four o’clock that morning. It was special because ten weeks earlier Taylor had been shot in the chest and had nearly died.
It had been very close. The closest he’d ever come to checking out. He was still stuck on desk duty, although — thank Christ — this was the last week of that. He’d passed his fitness exam that very afternoon and Monday he’d be back in the field, partnered with Will again. Life would finally be getting back to normal. The new normal. The normal of him and Will as a…well, couple.
Partners and friends for four years, and lovers for not quite two months. Taylor was still afraid to trust it. It seemed dangerous to be this happy, like it was tempting fate. He couldn’t quite forget that Will hadn’t wanted this change in their relationship, that love had taken him unwilling and off guard.
He tore open the envelope.
It was the usual kind of thing. Sailboats, smooth water, and cloudless blue sky. Happy Birthday to My Sweetheart in sunshine yellow script.
His throat tightened. Hell. He’d never been anyone’s sweetheart before. No one had ever sent him a card like this. Will had even signed the inside Love, Will.
There was a parcel too. A brown cardboard box. The kind of thing wine was shipped in — or good booze. The label was typed. Taylor used his pocketknife to slice through the tape sealing the box shut. Inside was a Styrofoam shell to protect the glass contents. He pried it out, and sure enough it was a bottle. A wine bottle with a yellow seal. He nearly dropped it.
There was a cobra inside the wine bottle.
Black-brown hood flared, fangs bared, the coiled cobra stared blindly through the clear rice wine.
What the fuck?
It was dead, of course. Dead and pickled. Asian snake wine was an authentic Asian beverage supposedly valuable for treating everything from rheumatism to night sweats. It was also supposed to be a natural aphrodisiac with mystical sexual properties, although what the hell was natural about a cobra in a wine bottle?
Feeling slightly queasy, Taylor set the bottle on the kitchen table.
No way had Will sent that. He searched through the box’s packing materials to see if there was a card or a note. Nada.
Weird.
A joke maybe. Probably. He had a few friends at the Bureau of Diplomatic Security who would find this kind of thing amusing. Except it was an expensive joke. These specialty wines weren’t cheap. And most of his pals at the DSS were.
He contemplated the bottle for another second or two, but he had things to get ready before Will arrived. He wanted this to be a very good weekend.
* * * * *
Taylor was not going to be happy.
Will tried to tell himself that Taylor’s happiness was beside the point. Not that it didn’t matter to him, but it couldn’t be Will’s first consideration when it came to work. Taylor was a professional. He needed to understand that this was (a) not Will’s
