“When I cut off his head, it will be slow.” Eric’s voice was factual, as if it had already happened.
Devon cleared his throat. “That doesn’t track, Fleet Admiral.”
Walt looked at Devon and wondered if the man had brain damage that he would question Eric, who was clearly emotional about the death of Josephine, who, from the sounds of it, had been Eric’s lover.
“Abort, abort,” Franco whispered loudly.
Juliette looked at Devon, then motioned him to continue.
Devon stepped forward. “You have access to, and the ability to command through your membership, every law enforcement agency in Europe. They would be far better equipped to find a killer than you would be. Tracing specialists, forensic psychologists—”
Eric jerked, as if he was surprised or shocked by something Devon had just said.
“—and if what you wanted was to abandon any semblance of justice and murder the man yourself, I’m sure that could have been arranged.”
“I’m being lectured on morals by someone who works for the CIA? Fuck that, you pompous ass.” Eric took a threatening step forward.
Walt, for reasons he would never understand, grabbed Eric to hold him back. His brothers leapt to help.
Franco was his mirror image, though the arm he grabbed was Devon’s. “Devon. Let the man speak. Eric, why didn’t you seek help from the Masters’ Admiralty? Why did you feel like you had to do this on your own?”
Devon opened his mouth, apparently ignoring his husband, but Juliette spoke first.
“Enough!” Everyone fell silent at her command. “Eric is going to explain.”
Was that a command, or was she confident that Eric would open up?
Eric shook off Walt’s hold, but then put a hand on his shoulder, as if to indicate he was calm. Then Eric very obviously tucked his hands into his pockets and relaxed his shoulders.
“I left,” he said after a long moment, “to protect them from me.”
“Protect ‘them’ who?” Walt asked.
“Everyone.” The word was a dark rumble. “The members of my society, the people around me. Hell, all of fucking Europe. When I get angry…”
“Berserker rage,” Langston muttered. It wasn’t the first time Walt had heard Langston use that term in reference to the fleet admiral, Eric’s title within the Masters’ Admiralty.
Eric nodded. “After my wives died, I left for a long time. I had to. Killing Petro wasn’t enough. I was feeling that way again, but last time I felt like this I didn’t have this much power.” There was a bleak sadness to his voice. “You’re right, Devon, I could have turned the full might of the Masters’ Admiralty on finding the man who killed Josephine. And I would have destroyed us to get it done.”
Walt, like the others, was probably thinking through all the grim possibilities, what exactly “destroyed us” might have looked like.
Juliette nodded slowly. “I understand. What do you need from us?”
The tension left the room and everyone’s focus shifted. Now they had something to do: help Eric.
“Ten minutes ago, I would have said nothing.” He pointed at Devon. “But you gave me an idea.”
Devon grimaced.
“And that is?” Juliette patted her husband’s arm.
“I need a forensic psychologist.”
Juliette glanced at Franco, who was the most familiar with the backgrounds of every member of the Trinity Masters.
Franco pressed his fingers against his lips for just a moment, then said, “How would you feel about a criminal psychologist? We have one of those and they’re basically the same thing.”
Eric shook his head. “No, actually I have someone in the Masters’ Admiralty who fits that bill. What I also want is a doctor.”
“A forensic pathologist,” Walt corrected slowly. “If you want someone to examine bodies, or look at existing autopsy records, that’s who you need.”
“No, I need a doctor.” Eric clapped Walt on the shoulder. “Want to come help me hunt a serial killer?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“I’ll go!” Franco grinned.
“No,” Juliette and Devon said in unison.
Juliette frowned. “I find it hard to believe there isn’t a single doctor in your society. As a Trinity Masters’ recruit, Walt isn’t available to you.”
Walt cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. He rarely pulled out the “I’m a doctor/authority figure” voice, but if there was ever a time to do it, it was now. “You don’t get to say where I go.”
Juliette’s expression never changed, never revealed the slightest annoyance, though Walt would bet every last dollar he’d pissed her off every bit as much as Oscar did. “True, but you’re an American citizen. Your work is funded by NIH and NSF grants, and your brothers are members.”
Walt took a breath. “Is that a threat?”
“Yes,” Eric said cheerily.
Juliette shrugged lightly. “No…not unless it needs to be.”
“Let me take him, and I promise not to let him die,” Eric said.
Juliette folded her arms. “No deal.”
“You also don’t get to say where I go,” Walt told Eric. But the truth was he kind of wanted to go with the Viking. Which was surprising after the night he’d spent patching up the man’s tortured victims in Bani Walid. Eric was a walking, talking time bomb, and an intelligent person would put at least a couple countries between himself and that.
Even so, Walt was tempted to say yes to Eric’s offer. Or maybe it was more accurate to say he was intrigued and compelled. He didn’t know who Josephine was, but if the woman had garnered such true loyalty and affection from a man like Eric, it was safe to say she must have been an extraordinary person.
“Shhh, Walt. Mommy and Daddy are talking.” Eric patted him again.
Of the triplets, Walt was the emotional middle. Oscar was quick to anger, but it burned out fast. Langston rarely got angry, but when he did, it was explosive.
When Walt got mad, it wasn’t quite as bad as when Langston did, but it was plenty destructive.
Eric had just pulled the trigger on his temper.
Walt pulled back his arm, ready to sucker punch Eric.
Langston grabbed that arm while Oscar hooked an arm around Walt’s neck.
“I’d prefer we all live,” Langston
