Will said calmly, “Yep, MacAllister, that is so.” Even if he had to knock Taylor on his ass to make it so.
“I’m lighter, I’m faster —”
“You’re sure as hell not faster these days.”
Which was true, but not guaranteed to win points. But Will wasn’t interested in winning points; he was interested in keeping Taylor in one piece, whatever it took, and maybe Taylor read that resolve in Will’s eyes because after a pause, he shrugged. Said tersely, “Hey, suit yourself. You always do.”
The injustice of that stung, and although Will had told himself he was not going to lose his temper again, that he could be patient, that Taylor and their partnership was worth working this through — whatever the hell this was and however much work it took — all the same he bit right back, “Christ, that’s rich coming from you.”
And instantly Taylor was cool, his body deceptively relaxed — a fighter poised for action. Oh, yes, Will had seen that loose, easy stance a hundred times. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it.”
Taylor got in front of him. “I don’t want to forget it.”
Un-fucking-believable. In fact, if he didn’t know better he’d have suspected Taylor had been shot in his goddamn head. Who was this stranger who had taken over Taylor’s body?
Will planted both hands on Taylor’s chest and pushed him back a step. “What, are we supposed to have another wrestling match now?”
The physical aggression caught Taylor off guard, and Will pressed his advantage. “You’re self-centered, MacAllister. You do whatever you want whenever you feel like it, and to hell with everybody else. This is a perfect example.”
“This?” Another time and place Taylor’s indignation might have been funny. “I didn’t even want to come on this goddamned trip. I did it for you. And what the hell you wanted out of it beats me since you obviously —” He broke off, and to their mutual horror, for an instant appeared to be choked with emotion.
Anger, Will could deal with. Arrogance, aggression, he knew what to do. This? No.
Before he had time to rethink, he reached out — and just in time stopped himself from pulling Taylor into his arms. He settled for squeezing those rigid shoulders. “Look, Taylor, all I meant was…you don’t always think things through.” He offered a tentative smile. “Come on, I’ve known you three years. We both know your track record. When it comes to relationships you think with your dick and damn the torpedoes. And yes, for the record, I…find you attractive too. You know that. But there’s more at stake here. I don’t want to screw up our friendship or our partnership because we sleep together.”
“Why would it screw anything up?” Taylor was looking at him so seriously. So…earnestly. It cut him up inside. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Taylor. Ever. But Taylor just wouldn’t stay down. He kept getting up and coming back for more. And what the hell was Will supposed to do?
He said, struggling for patience, “It’s already screwing everything up and we haven’t even done it!”
“Why couldn’t we give it a real shot?”
“What are you talking about? Give it a real shot? Give what a real shot?” Will let go of him, and gestured to the scene before them. “Here’s why. Because we’re in the middle of a crime scene and we’re arguing about our goddamned romance.”
He couldn’t stand the look on Taylor’s face, so he turned away. What they needed was a climbing harness but…what the hell. He jumped for the lowest limb, wrapped his legs partway around the thick trunk, and hauled himself up a couple of feet. Blowing out, he reached up for the next branch. He swung himself up, stretched for another tree limb — and began to climb.
At first it was like crawling through undergrowth, but then the branches spread out, and he was able to see what he was doing and move more freely. He had a good head for heights, and the tree had thick, dark, irregular bark, making it easier for his boots to find purchase. The limbs were plentiful. Yellow cones rained down as he swarmed up through the cinnamon-scented branches.
The tree groaned, swaying in the wind. Will looked up, and the feet of the dead parachutist were hanging an arm’s length away.
Pausing to pull the knife from his ankle sheath, he looked down, surprised to see how small and faraway Taylor looked.
“Lightning to the north,” Taylor called, batting away another hurtling cone. And then… “Brandt — maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Now you tell me,” Will muttered. He called back, “Simmer down, buddy boy. It’s under control.”
Knife in hand, he studied the tangle of parachute and parachutist. Wind and weather had reduced the chute to ribbons, and the body wasn’t in much better shape. A tree limb thrust from the hijacker’s waist like a spear; he must have been impaled as he crashed through the branches. Crime really didn’t pay.
His own position wasn’t quite right…
Will transferred the knife to his mouth, and edged around the trunk, feeling cautiously for footholds. It was hard to see… He pulled himself up to another branch, balancing, and edged closer to the sack of rotting clothes, flesh, and bones.
And all the fresh pine scent in the world wasn’t helping…
“That is definitely lightning,” Taylor said from below. He had that irritable sound he got when he was nervous. “You mind not taking all day, Brandt?”
“Yeah, I mind. It’s my vacation; I’ll spend it any damn way I please.”
“Asshole.” But he could hear the unwilling laugh in Taylor’s voice.
Will steeled himself and felt over the dead man’s rags, seeking a wallet or any kind of identification. He didn’t expect to find any, and he wasn’t disappointed. That done, he began to saw with his free hand at the straps of the knapsack. He tried to be careful, but he was in a hurry now, and the clothes and corpse began to come
