“What?” My entire body stiffens with rage. A man so cruel he drove his son to suicide had the nerve to go to his home?
“Mitch, you’re going to bust a vessel,” Sasha notes. “Calm down.”
Always cool and collected. That’s why she’s such a good Agent. Never cracks under pressure, never lets the job get to her… she’s the ultimate professional.
I, on the other hand, struggle to control the white-hot rage that thrums through my veins. Gavin rests his hand on my back, drawing small circles with his thumb. Somehow, the contact brings me down from homicidal fury to merely livid.
“He came by. I haven’t seen the man in ten years,” Gavin says, his eyes vacant, likely from learning to detach from any emotions he ever had for his father. “He was upset, practically begging me to deny that I’m gay. He said something about the stalker, that ‘he’ll never stop’ if I don’t.”
Gavin’s gaze flicks up to mine and the love I feel for him explodes into a desperate need to protect and defend. My hands are nearly shaking with anger and devotion, wavering between the need to harm his stalker and the need to worship every inch of Gavin’s body.
“He’ll never stop,” Sasha repeats. I reluctantly let my eyes leave Gavin, glancing across the table to my friend. She’s in full FBI mode, the pieces clicking together in that sharp mind.
I allow myself to detach from the case, to think about it objectively. The thought comes to me at the same time as Sasha’s face turns to disgust.
“They’re working together,” she says as I blurt out, “Your dad knows him.”
Gavin looks back and forth between us, confused. “Explain what you just said.”
I nod to my former co-worker, allowing her to take the lead.
Sasha leans over the table, “You father sent the notes, but he knows who the real stalker is. He’s worried for you. As much as he might despise who you are, he doesn’t want you to be physically harmed.”
“I don’t get it,” Gavin admits.
“Gavin, your dad probably sent notes here and there, urging you to stay in the closet. To save him humiliation or whatever his fucked up reasons are for not wanting you out. Somehow, he met someone who could help him out with the threats, maybe not realizing the guy was certifiably psychotic.”
“No,” Gavin shakes his head. “You didn’t see him the other day. He doesn’t want me to be hurt. He might hate me, he won’t ever accept me, but he wouldn’t work with a killer. He was in the Air Force for fuck’s sake. He protected people. He’s a lot of things, but a killer?”
I throw down some money and stand, pulling Gavin to his feet. Sasha grabs her purse. “We’ll see about that,” I growl.
Gavin
Mitch stops his car in front of my dad’s massive house in Holmby Hills, a very affluent part of Los Angeles. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. It’s a huge, pretentious nightmare with columns and sculpted hedges and an air of ‘I’m better than you’ stamped all over it.
“I didn’t grow up here,” I mention again, not wanting Mitch to think I spent my childhood in this hideous display of power. “My mom had better taste.”
“Sasha,” Mitch says to the woman in the passenger seat. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call Van Zandt? As much as I despise Grant Halifax, I don’t want you getting in trouble with the bureau for stepping on any toes. This isn’t your case.”
My eyes dart back and forth between them as I sit in the backseat, my stomach on the verge of turning itself inside out from nerves.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mitch. I’m not letting Grant anywhere near either of you,” she states, leaving no room for arguing.
Mitch exhales in a huff. “Fine.” He snatches the keys from the ignition and gets out of the car.
The bodyguards that followed us step out of their SUV and flank us, keeping watch for any threats.
The walk to the front door seems to take forever, each step bringing me another pang of nausea. I want this to be true so the nightmare can end, yet the thought of my father hating me so much that he’d risk my life… Mitch’s life? It nearly cripples me with rage and darkness, bringing me back to my state of mind on that beach ten years ago, bottle of pills in hand, no hope and no future.
Only this time, I have a future. I have Mitch. I have my band. I have people who care about me. But the most important difference is that I have respect for myself. Something I didn’t have at the young age of seventeen.
Sasha steps forward and rings the bell, a loud, pompous chime announcing our presence.
A housekeeper answers the door. “Can I help you?”
Sasha flicks open her badge, holding it up in the woman’s face. “Sasha Knight, FBI. I spoke with Mr. Walker on the phone. He’s expecting me.”
“Yes,” she concurs. “Mr. Walker mentioned you.” Her eyes glance over Mitch and myself, but she doesn’t ask any more questions. “Come in. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
The housekeeper directs us to a ridiculous sitting room, the walls lined with my father’s accomplishments. Oversized movie posters with Reid Tannen’s face splashed in full color, photos of my dad with various politicians and celebrities framed and displayed to remind folks how much better than you he is, Air Force commendations, letters from studios and presidents, various awards… all of them staring down at us little people who dare to bring our unworthy selves into this sacred space.
“Gavin? What are you doing here?” My dad forgets to hide his shock with his usual layer of hostility, allowing himself to sound human for a change.
“Mr. Walker, I’m Sasha Knight, FBI. We spoke earlier.” Sasha inserts herself in between myself and my father, holding out her hand.
He looks at me a beat longer before turning his gaze on the tiny woman. “Yes, we did.” My dad shakes her hand, his face still crinkled with confusion.
“You,” he growls when he spots Mitch. “You’re the one who told my son to say all of those things in public.”
Mitch’s face turns deep red. He inhales, ready to give my father a piece of his mind. I take his hand and thread our fingers together.
“I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do, Dad.” I let my father see Mitch and me standing as a united front. He will not break us apart. I refuse to let it happen, and Mitch going postal on my dad and getting arrested is the fastest way to ruin us.
I can feel Mitch slowly get his anger under control, his muscles relaxing and his grip loosening. I run my thumb across the back of his hand, letting him know we’re in this together.
“What do you want,” he hisses at Sasha, angry at being deceived.
“Can we sit?” she asks, her professionalism never wavering. When he doesn’t respond, she coaxes him. “We only need a minute of your time.”
“Fine, but I’m very busy,” he grunts. His eyes keep flicking back to me. My dad is a hard man, military through and through. He never shows any emotions except disappointment and anger. Not to me, anyway. Yet every time his eyes land on me, I can see a hint of what was there at my beach house—fear. He’s afraid for me, something I’d never have imagined in a million years.
Sasha takes a seat on a hideous sofa and my dad sits on a chair next to her. Mitch and I sit further down the sectional, keeping some space between my father and us.
“Mr. Walker, I wanted to ask you a few questions about Gavin’s stalker,” she begins, opening up a small notebook.
My dad sputters, caught off guard. “Me? What the hell do I know?”
I’m not even a trained professional and I can see the blatant lie. I know Mitch sees it because his hand clenches around mine, nearly breaking my fingers he squeezes so hard. Ever the professional, Sasha doesn’t flinch.
“You went to your son’s house to warn him about the stalker. You told him that if he admitted he wasn’t gay, that the stalker would cease, but if he didn’t, he was in grave danger,” she challenges.
“I did not!” My dad’s face turns purple with rage, or maybe fear of being caught. He shoots to his feet. �
��I’m very busy. I’d like you to leave now.”
He glances one more time at Mitch and me, his eyes dropping to our entwined hands. Without another word he stalks out of the room.
Mitch yanks his hand from mine, exhaling heavily and tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Fuck,” he snaps. “I want to strangle him until he admits the truth!”
“We’ll get him, Mitch. Make no mistake.” My skin chills at Sasha’s promise, goose bumps forming on my arms. “Let’s go. We have a lot to do.” She pivots on her heels, leaving us to follow.
“I’m kind of afraid of her, Utah,” I mutter as Mitch and I trail Sasha to the car.
“You should be,” he agrees.
Note to self—never piss off Sasha Knight.
* * *
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
Agent Halifax’s angry snarl echoes throughout the open floor plan, sounding more whiney than threatening as he glowers at Mitch.
Before Sasha can explain, I interrupt. “Because it’s my fucking house and I want him here.” I shoot the Agent a withering glare.
“What the fuck ever,” he mutters.
Agent Van Zandt rolls his eyes and I have to hold in a cackle. Mitch said he remembers Alex Van Zandt from the bureau, but never worked with the man closely enough to know much about him. That eye roll says volumes. It means he agrees with us that his partner is a complete fucktard.
We all take seats at the kitchen table, except for Mitch, who leans against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest as he shoots daggers at his ex-partner.
“You said you have information?” Van Zandt asks.
At least someone here is interested in catching this bastard.
“We do, Lex,” Sasha replies. She explains my father’s history and his bizarre behavior both this afternoon and at my house a few days ago.
“That’s not enough to go on,” Halifax sneers.
“Fuck you, Grant. It’s more than you’ve had on other cases and you went in,” Mitch snaps.
“Don’t fucking tell me how to do my job, Hale. You fucking quit because you couldn’t hack it!” My spine tingles at Halifax’s verbal slap at Mitch, anger seeping into every inch of my body.
“I quit because you’re a crazy fucker, Halifax! You’re a sick bastard who’s not fit to catch psychos when you can’t see what’s in the mirror every morning!” Mitch shouts.
Halifax shoves his chair back and it clatters on the tiles. Before Van Zandt or I can react, he’s across the kitchen, ready to pounce on Mitch.
In one lightning fast motion, Mitch pulls his fist back and lands a haymaker on Halifax’s jaw, sending the agent crashing to the floor.
“You’re done, asshole,” Halifax groans. “I’ll have you arrested for that.” He staggers to his feet, using the handle on the cabinet to pull himself up. Halifax wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing a trail of blood across his cheek.
“You will not,” Van Zandt threatens from his seat at the table, his usually docile brown eyes hardened.
“What?” Halifax gapes in shock. “You’re defending him? He hit me!”
Van Zandt stands and steps forward until he’s toe-to-toe with his partner. “I’ve seen how you are, Grant. I’m not a moron. I know what you’ve been doing with Walker here, standing too close, saying fucked up shit. It’s not the first time, either. You’re a twisted bastard.”
“But—”
“I’ve never said anything to IA because I didn’t have witnesses to back me up. I can’t go up against a seasoned agent unless I want my own badge stripped. Now…” He sweeps a hand across the room. “I have witnesses. So shut the fuck up and sit down or I’m calling Mercier right now to have your ass pulled from the case. I’m watching you, asshole. Either this shit stops or you’ll be riding a desk.”
My eyes bulge at Van Zandt’s tirade. I’ve left my seat to stand next to Mitch, resting a hand at the small of his back. He catches my eye and grins. It seems both of us were caught off guard by Van Zandt’s outburst.
Halifax looks freaked out, but grudgingly rights his chair and slides into it, not saying a word. I turn to the freezer and pull out an icepack, tossing it onto the table in front of him.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, pressing the ice to his already bruised jaw.
“Now,” Sasha announces, unruffled as she looks pointedly at each person in the room. “We need a plan.”
Mitch
“Do they hurt?” Gavin asks, gently stroking my bruised knuckles.
I shrug. “It was totally worth it to knock that bastard to the ground.” Gavin grins and I laugh.
“Defending my honor?” I snicker.
I turn and capture his chin with my free hand, brushing a quick kiss across his lips. “Something like that.” Gavin’s blue eyes sparkle with emotions, all swirling around in the flecks of light and dark.
“We should go away,” Gavin announces, changing the subject.
“What?”
“With the tour done, I don’t have many commitments for a while. We’re not recording for another month. C’mon, Utah. Let’s go somewhere relaxing, you and me.” Gavin comes in for another kiss, deeper this time, opening his mouth as our lips meet.
As I sink into his warmth, the thought of going away with Gavin, leaving behind the stress and the media and Grant Halifax, sounds like heaven.
I pull back before I let him distract me with his talented mouth. “Sure. Whatever you want, Gavin. Let’s just catch this guy first.”
As I’m contemplating pressing Gavin down on the couch and ripping off his clothes, my phone rings.
I flip it open, my heart racing when I see the I.D. “Hale.”
“He’s on the move. We’ve been following and have a possible location,” Van Zandt informs me. “I’ll call you when we know more, but we’re in a not so nice area of Anaheim.”
The call ends without pleasantries.
“What?” Gavin is staring at me, his handsome face filled with concern.
“You dad left the house. Van Zandt and Halifax are following him. Looks like we were right about him knowing the stalker or at least being involved. He’s headed for a seedy neighborhood in Anaheim.”
Gavin looks distraught. “He really did it. I can’t believe it. He actually hired someone to threaten me.”
I pull him in close, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It might be something else.”
Gavin jerks free, his face and neck turning red. “Don’t placate me, Mitch. You said it yourself. We’re right. My own father hates me so much that he would rather see me dead than admit that his son is a faggot!”
I hold my hands up in defeat. “Hey, I’m on your side, Gav. I agree with you. You’re dad is a bastard and I’m so sorry he’s done this to you. If they confirm his involvement, we better pray I never see him again. I’ll probably go to jail for beating the shit out of that pathetic, homophobic asshole.”
Gavin slumps back on the couch, the fight drained out of him already. “I’m sorry for lashing out, Mitch. I just don’t get it, why he hates me so much.”
Pulling him closer, I brush a kiss across his tempting mouth. “Sometimes there is no reason, love. People just hate for no reason.”
He huddles against me, putting his head on my chest. Sadness grabs my heart as Gavin comes to terms with such loathing from someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally. It’s a tough pill to swallow and the pain that he’s feeling brings out my primal need to protect and defend.
But there’s nothing I can do to make this better. No words, no actions, no platitudes. Gavin will suffer until he can accept that there doesn’t have to be a reason for his father’s hatred. It just is what it is.
“It took me almost dying for my father to be okay with me,” I murmur into his hair, inhaling his scent and letting it calm down my inner beast.
“I did almost die, Mitch. When I was seventeen and I…” he chokes up. “You saw the report, I’m sure.”
/> My soul cracks for him, for his suffering. “I’d rather hear it from you.”
Gavin shifts in my arms, producing something from his pocket. He holds it out for me to take. “What is this?” I palm the small, heart-shaped rock, turning it over.
“Hawke gave it to me when I was institutionalized,” he admits.
I try not to show the shock I feel at finding out Hawke was a patient with Gavin, but Gavin can sense it. “You didn’t find him on your search, did you.” He chuckles. “No one ever does. His real name is Harold and his family was powerful. I’m sure his uncle made his records disappear.”
“Was?” I ask, unsure if Gavin should be telling me Hawke’s story.
He shrugs. “It’s not my place to tell his story. This rock though?” Gavin points at the stone. “Hawke had it with him in the hospital. He gave it to me when I needed it and I’ve carried it ever since.”
“And all this time I thought you had your hand in your pocket to adjust your cock,” I joke.
Gavin’s eyes go wide for a second before he bursts out laughing. “Fuck off.” He shoves me playfully. Then my phone rings again and our moment of levity is over.
* * *
“Son of a bitch!” Gavin shouts, kicking over a poor, defenseless potted plant on the back deck.
“Gavin, this is good news.” Van Zandt just called to let us know that whomever Gavin’s father went to see wasn’t home. “We have a name, baby. That’s unbelievable. After all this time we know who it is.”
Troy Wolski. Even the name sounds like it belongs to a psycho.
Gavin’s body is strung tight, the tendons in his neck standing out under all of that golden skin. Even through his shirt I can see his muscles tense as they flex with each movement.
“To have it confirmed, Mitch… that my father is an unfeeling asshole.” He rubs both hands down his face. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m over his shit.”
I grab one of his belt loops and tug him over. “Let’s go inside and relax for a while why they run this guy’s info. Sound good?” My tongue licks a path up to his ear and I can feel the goose bumps on his skin when I nip at the edge.