Because as much as Will loved Taylor, asmuch as he hated the thought of being separated from him for even aday, yes, he could use a break. Needed a break maybe.
Especially given the situation at home. Homein Oregon, not home in Ventura. Home in Oregon, Will’s sexualorientation was not widely known. In fact, nobody knewexcept for his father. Yeah, that had been an awkward conversation— not that you could exactly call the gruff assertion that he wasnot ever going to be “settling down,” exactly a conversation. Hewasn’t even sure his brother knew he was gay. And sure as hellnobody knew about Taylor.
And Will would have been happy to keep itthat way. Which would be impossible if Taylor chose to ride shotgunon this trip.
He looked at Taylor. Taylor looked back athim. He was smiling faintly, a complicated sort of smile. There wascomplete understanding there, and a little friendly mockery, andsomething else.
What?
What was that emotion lurking in the back ofTaylor’s gaze?
Will stared, and he felt a funny dip in hischest. His heart sank.
That look in Taylor’s eyes…was that thebeginning of disappointment? Maybe…disillusion?
No.
No, he could take Taylor chewing on his lastnerve from now to eternity before he could take one second ofTaylor feeling disappointed or disillusioned with him.
“What? Are you serious? Hell, yeah, I wantyou to come!” Will said it with such conviction, he almost believedit himself.
Chapter Two
“So Gretchen Hartnow works for Glukhov.” Jeeeezus the relief of stretchingout in his own bed. Taylor arched luxuriously and felt his spineunkink for the first time in ten godawful days. Thank God. ThankGod it was over. Even if they had spent almost two weeksworking for a scumbag like Dragomirov for free.
Through the open bathroom door he could hearthe taps running, see Will brushing his teeth. Will scowled at hismirrored reflection, his thoughts seemingly a million miles away.He was bare-chested, his skin tawny and smooth against the paleblue flannel sleep pants. Tawny and smooth where he wasn’t bruisedand contused. Will had been lucky today. They both had. Just a fewinches either way and it could have been all over.
Anxiety, an increasingly common sensation,gnawed at his guts. Or maybe he was getting an ulcer. Except hecouldn’t afford to get an ulcer. Neither of them could afford toget sick or injured. Not without health insurance.
When the hell had they turned into guys whoworried about their health insurance?
Will spat toothpaste into the sink, scoopedup a couple of mouthfuls of water, rinsed. He turned off the taps,scrubbed his face with Taylor’s towel.
Always Taylor’s towel. Never his own.
Taylor sighed.
“You say something?” Will turned the lightout in the bathroom and crossed through the moonlit bedroom to thebed. He was limping a little. Even in the gloom, Taylor couldtell.
He swallowed the things he wanted to say,unproductive things that would not be conducive to a peacefulnight’s rest, saying instead, “I said I wonder how that came about?Gretchen working for Glukhov.”
The mattress dipped as Will climbed intobed. Will eased himself down with a long, heartfelt sigh. Hisshoulder brushed Taylor’s. He tiredly patted Taylor’s thigh. “God,I’m beat.”
“You want a backrub?” Taylor asked. Heprayed Will would say no because he didn’t think he had thestrength to sit up.
“I don’t think I can turn over.”
Taylor snorted. “You want a front rub?”
“I don’t think I can get it up to save mylife.”
“Me neither,” Taylor admitted.
“What?” Will raised his head andpeered into Taylor’s face, breathing minty fresh over him. “Oh,sweetheart! No. Are you sick?” He clumsily felt Taylor’sforehead, and Taylor started to laugh.
“Jackass.”
Will laughed too and dropped back on hispillows. He groaned. “I don’t think there’s a part of my body thatdoesn’t hurt.”
Taylor was silent and then, against hiswill, he started to laugh.
“What?” Will asked, amused.
“You. James Bond. On the roof of that car.”He couldn’t help it. All at once it was funny. Not funny at thetime. But now? He was going to be giggling any second.
Will started to laugh too. “Christ. I musthave been crazy.”
“No argument.”
“What the hell was I thinking?”
“That was your expression. What the hellwas I thinking?”
“It’s the kind of thing you’d do.”
“I wouldn’t miss the dumpster.”
“You might not have missed it. Or you mighthave plowed your head through the lid.”
For a couple of seconds they leaned againsteach other laughing. That was relief, more than anything. Not justthe relief that Will hadn’t been killed or seriously hurt; therelief from the nervous strain of two weeks playing bodyguard tothe kind of dirtball they’d spent most of their law enforcementcareers trying to put away.
“Gretchen Hart,” Will said finally,reminiscently. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all theworld…”
“Yeah. Well, I guess with Bashnakov inprison, she had to find a new mob boss.”
“Neither Glukhov nor Dragomirov are mobbosses.”
“Close enough.”
“Taylor.” Clearly Will didn’t have theenergy to take it further, but felt the point needed to bemade.
“All right,” Taylor said. He didn’t have theenergy to argue either. He and Will were arguing too much thesedays. It was starting to feel like Paris all over again.
He really did not want to think aboutParis.
Will followed his thoughts though, becauseafter several long minutes of silence, he said quietly, “Aboutearlier.”
“Don’t listen to me. I was just pissedoff.”
“Yeah, but it’s the why you’re pissedoff that I need to listen to.”
Taylor sighed. “I don’t know, Will.”
“You do, yeah.”
Taylor moved his head in negation.
“We have to keep talking to each other,Taylor. Even if we think we’re not going to like what the other hasto say.”
“I know that.” But in all fairness, this wasnot something either of them was very good at. Sometimes theirefforts at talking things out only made things worse.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t do anythingwithin your power to protect me?”
Taylor snorted. “From what? Too manycroissants? Paris drivers?”
“Come on, Tay. I’m serious.”
Tay.
