For a few seconds Taylor stood there panting; he hadn’t thought he had that much adrenaline left. He mopped his wet forehead with his sleeve.
“I hate camping,” he said softly, just for the record.
* * * * *
He was weaving with exhaustion when he gave in to the need for sleep. Even after he decided to rest, it took him time to find a safe and suitable place. Safe and suitable being relative. Finally he took shelter in a small cavity in the hillside. It wasn’t large or deep enough to be a cave, but that was fine by Taylor. A cave was likely to be already inhabited, and he’d had all the close encounters with local wildlife he could handle for one night. He tucked himself in the little vault made by a couple of precariously balanced boulders, huddling, arms wrapped around his bent knees, head resting on folded arms. The rocks weren’t warm, but they protected him from the wind and the night air, and at least it was relatively dry.
He closed his eyes.
The night seemed alive with sound. Far noisier than the city ever had.
He let himself dream of Will. Only half dream really — and half confused memory. Memories of when they had first been partnered. Nothing dramatic. Not like TV shows where the partners hate each other on sight but then come to like and eventually trust each other. The fact was, he’d liked Will right away. Liked his seriousness, his professionalism. Will was relaxed and experienced, and his calm approach to the job was a good balance for Taylor’s own more…intense work style. He’d liked Will’s sense of humor, and when he’d realized Will was gay…
For the first time ever in DSS he’d felt completely at ease, completely comfortable…understood and appreciated. Up until this week, he couldn’t have conceived of voluntarily seeking another partner.
He tried to picture that: getting used to someone who wasn’t Will. Maybe someone who took his coffee black, who didn’t like overpriced bourbon or dumb action films, who dated girls from the Computer Investigations Branch, and didn’t own a beer-drinking dog or listen to Emmylou Harris. Someone who wasn’t allergic to penicillin or who wasn’t an expert marksman. Someone who might not be there the next time he got his ass into a jam.
He thought of waking up in the hospital with Will sitting right there. His eyes had been bluer than summer skies, and his smile had been sort of quizzical. “Welcome back,” he’d said in that gentle voice he’d used for the first few days after Taylor recovered consciousness. And Taylor had managed a smile because it was Will — despite the fact that he’d never been in so much pain in his entire life.
And all the other times Will had shown up bearing magazines and fruit and CDs — sometimes only managing to squeak in about five minutes before visiting hours were over.
A million memories. A million moments. Will’s laugh, the way his eyes tilted when he was teasing, the way he bit his lip when he was worried, that discreet tattoo of a griffin on his right shoulder — the way his skin had tasted this afternoon. The way his mouth had tasted…
* * * * *
It was still dark when Taylor woke. He was freezing. He was starving. He could hear the high-pitched yapping hysteria of coyotes. They sounded close by. Too close. But he knew enough to know it was unlikely coyotes were going to attack a full-grown man. He pressed the dial of his wristwatch and studied the luminous face. Two-thirty in the morning. Still a couple of hours of darkness. He needed to get moving again.
But as he crawled outside his shelter, he was seized with doubt. Was he making a mistake following Will and his captors? What if he couldn’t catch up with them in time? He had no idea how long they would keep Will alive. Would the smarter move be to go for help? Get off the mountain and get down to the nearest ranger station?
For a moment he was torn. If he got this wrong, it meant Will’s life.
* * * * *
“So what was it? You didn’t like the retirement package?” Will asked conversationally as Orrin settled across from him, rifle across his lap, when they finally stopped for the night.
“Can we have a fire?” Bonnie asked.
“Nope. We don’t want to attract any more goddamn rangers.” Then Orrin nodded at Will as though acknowledging a point scored. “Yeah, it’s always the quiet ones you’ve got to watch. I pegged you for trouble right off the bat.”
Will ignored that. He wasn’t going to be distracted by the pain of remembering Orrin playing God. He couldn’t let himself think about Taylor, couldn’t let himself grieve until he’d done what he needed to do — starting with surviving this night.
“You’re a cop?”
“Deputy sheriff. Used to be.” Orrin watched Bonnie huddling down in her sleeping bag. Just for a moment something softened in his weathered face. Bonnie didn’t fit Will’s idea of a femme fatale, but to each his own.
“Let me guess. The line got blurry watching all those bad guys get away with it year after year,” he mocked.
Orrin shrugged genially. “Something like that. Anyway, it’s not like we robbed a mom and pop store. We hit a casino.”
“And killed two sheriff’s deputies and the pilot of the plane you hijacked.”
“And your partner,” Orrin said evenly.
Will said very quietly, “And my partner.”
For a moment Orrin’s gaze held his. He said softly, “You’re not going to get the chance, son.”
Will smiled — and had the satisfaction of seeing Orrin’s eyes narrow.
“Was it really just a coincidence you were up here?” Bonnie asked suddenly, opening her eyes.
Will turned his head her way. She had a hard, plain face, drab blonde
