Kick Start (Dangerous Ground 5) Page 4

  “Welcome home, William.” His father’s big, muscular arms closed around him and they embraced briefly but tightly. Will shut his eyes for an instant. That was something you just didn’t outgrow — the pleasure of getting a hug from your dad.

  He smiled over his dad’s shoulder at his brother Grant. The family resemblance was striking between all the Brandts: dark hair, blue eyes, wide shoulders and long legs. Their trademark, his Uncle John used to joke. The trademark of the Brandt men anyway. There weren’t any Brandt daughters. Not in two generations.

  “Hey you,” Will said to Grant. He stepped back from his dad who was smiling that crooked grin that Will knew was the mirror of his own.

  Bill Brandt bellowed, “Roxie, will you knock it off!” before turning to Will once more. “How was your trip?”

  Will didn’t have a chance to answer because Grant was pounding his back in greeting, and Will was trying not to wince as Grant’s affectionate blows landed on his assorted bruises.

  “It’s about time, monsieur!” Grant was laughing. It had been over a year since Will had seen him last. Grant was twenty-five now, a little shorter and a little stockier than his big brother, pumped to physical peak from basic training, but really not so different from the enthusiastic kid Will had helped move into his college dorm what seemed like such a short time ago.

  Will thumped Grant in return. “So it’s true. The Corps will take anybody now!” He turned to Taylor, who had joined them. “This is Taylor.” He added self-consciously, “My partner.” But then it belatedly occurred to him that “partner” could be taken a couple of different ways. They would all be correct, of course. He should have figured out ahead of time how he would make this introduction, but the fact was, he hadn’t wanted to think about it. Had postponed thinking about it.

  His dad put his big, work-roughened hand out to Taylor. “Nice to meet you, Taylor.”

  “Sir,” Taylor said, shaking hands.

  Bill Brand studied Taylor shrewdly for a second or two. His navy eyes crinkled in his tanned face. He smiled. “Call me Bill, son.”

  Will’s heart lifted as his dad’s gaze met his own. Yes, it was okay. His dad knew, understood. He grinned at Taylor, feeling a surge of possessive pride in him. Why wouldn’t his dad approve? MacAllister was everything a prospective father-in-law ought to wish for. Smart, strong, and an excellent shot.

  Taylor offered a half smile in return, looking uncharacteristically serious. Almost grave. Will had been so busy worrying about his father and brother’s reactions, he hadn’t really stopped to consider whether Taylor might find this a little stressful. He wanted to put his arm around him, reassure him, show his solidarity, but not only did he not know how Taylor would feel about being hugged openly — they were sparing in their public demonstrations of affection — his own family wasn’t much for physical gestures of affection either.

  “Taylor? So you were in the marines?” Grant asked, glancing from Will to Taylor.

  “Huh?” Will said. But then memory clicked into place. Hell. Grant was thinking of Bob Taylor. Which was pretty damned disconcerting given that Grant had been a kid when Will and Bob —

  Will’s thoughts broke off as Taylor glanced his way curiously, offering his hand to Grant. “Sorry. Wrong Taylor.”

  “Friend of mine from the Corps,” Will said by way of explanation.

  “Aw. Too bad,” Grant said, Grant not being the most tactful member of the Brandt clan. He shook Taylor’s hand anyway.

  “Taylor’s my partner, you knucklehead,” Will said. This time he meant the other kind of partner. Or maybe he didn’t. Even he wasn’t sure anymore. He just knew he didn’t want Taylor, fresh from the David Bradley debacle, wondering about Bob Taylor.

  “Oh. MacAllister,” Grant said. “The DSS one. Will said you like to fish. I thought you liked deep sea fishing, though.”

  “I like fishing period.”

  Taylor’s amused gaze met Will’s, and Will opened his mouth, but was this the right moment for a dramatic announcement? His father had the rear door of the SUV open and he was handing their fishing poles to Grant who was saying, “You came to the right place for fishing. Best fishing in the state. In the country.”

  Taylor gave a laugh under his breath and went to grab his bag, and Will followed suit.

  They went up the fieldstone walk, everyone talking at once, and even so, their voices sounding small in the vast emptiness of the surrounding silence of trees and mountains and endless sky. The damp air was cold and smelled of distant snow, pine trees and woodsmoke.

  “It’s beautiful,” Taylor said, staring at the snowcapped peaks. “Do you get snow this time of year?”

  “Sometimes. Not usually,” Bill said. “It’s not going to snow in the next day or two.”

  “How did you like San Diego?” Will asked Grant, who had completed his training at Camp Pendleton.

  “I’d have liked it better if you hadn’t been in France.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” Will said, his eyes meeting Taylor’s.

  Taylor gave a derisive shake of his head.

  They walked up the log steps on the east side of the house and trooped inside the enormous front room with its hand-hewn cathedral ceiling. Golden evening poured through the wall of picture windows, bathing the log ceiling rafters and tall fieldstone fireplace in a warm light. Colorful Indian rugs covered the floors. The furniture was comfortable and man-sized. A fire glowed in the fireplace grate and the house smelled of something good cooking. Chili, probably.

  Which always gave Taylor indigestion. Chili and salsa.

  A slender, bald-headed, bearded man sat at the rough-carved dining table. He nodded politely in greeting, his brown eyes watchful.

  “And if anyone asks, that’s your cousin Dennis,” Bill said.

  Will, who knew perfectly well he didn’t have a Cousin Dennis, said, “Is someone liable to ask?”

  His father shrugged. “You never know.”

  “Got it.” Will met Taylor’s gaze. Taylor raised his eyebrows.

  “So,” Bill went on, “we’ve got a full house this weekend. Dennis is in the loft, but we can —”

  “Taylor’s fine with me.”

  “I figured,” Bill said easily. “Supper’s ready. You may as well give Taylor the grand tour, and then we can sit down to eat. Grant, since when do you leave fishing poles in the living room?”

  Grant was making his protests as Will led the way through the open kitchen, past the large downstairs bathroom, which they’d be sharing with Grant, down the hall lined with family photos to his bedroom on the north side of the house.

  The room looked mostly unchanged. The posters and sports pennants were gone along with the school books and scattered dirty clothes. The handmade navy blue quilt was the same one Will had slept beneath growing up.

  “Double bed,” Will said. “It’s a good thing you’re such a little guy.”

  “So funny,” Taylor returned, dropping his bag on the floor beside the bed. “So what’s the deal with Cousin Dennis?”

  Will grimaced. “Occasionally Pop provides a way station for…uh…”

  Taylor’s eyes widened. “For…uh…what? Who? Witness Protection?”

  “Whom. Whom would be, yeah, people entering WITSEC.”

  Taylor stared at him. “Seems a funny thing never to have mentioned before, Brandt.”

  Will shrugged. “It never came up. Anyway, it won’t be for long. Usually overnight. The longest was a week.”

  “Great. So Dennis is a bad guy?”

  “Probably. Generally.”

  Taylor laughed. “Okay. And who’s Bob Taylor?”

  “Just a friend.” Will sighed.

  “Mmhm.” Taylor studied the framed photo of Will’s mother on the dresser. “A friend like David Bradley or a friend like Alice Stone?”

  “Immaterial. Irrelevant.”

  Taylor glanced back at him and raised his eyebrows. “I…see.”

  “You nut.” Will grabbed a fistful
of Taylor’s shirt and hauled him in for a quick but comprehensive kiss.

  When he lifted his mouth from Taylor’s, they were both smiling. Will looked over Taylor’s shoulder in time to see Grant standing in the doorway, Grant’s wide grin fading into a look of horror. His stricken gaze met Will’s and he stepped back into the hall.

  “Whoa.” Will released Taylor so suddenly, Taylor staggered back and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hang on. Grant?”

  “Hell,” Taylor muttered. “That didn’t take long.”

  “Be right back.”

  If Taylor replied, Will missed it. He sprinted down the hall after Grant, catching up to him as Grant’s bedroom door was closing.

  “Hey. Grant.” Will turned the knob and stepped inside Grant’s room. Grant turned like he was at bay. “You need to listen to me.”

  “What the hell, William.” Grant’s face was pale. His eyes still looked stricken. “What the fuck? What. The. Fuck. You were kissing him.”

  “He’s my partner.”

  “I thought you meant you worked together!”

  “We do work together. But we’re also —”

  “But he’s married! He’s wearing a wedding ring.”

  It surprised Will that Grant had noticed. He wasn’t always so observant. “He’s wearing my ring.”

  Grant shook his head, repudiating this. “I don’t believe this. You’re saying you’re a homo? There’s no way!”

  This was going pretty much the way Will had feared any time he’d pictured this scenario. The fact that his father had taken Taylor’s presence so calmly had lulled him into a false sense of security. Grant’s reaction was the normal and expected one. Or at least the expected one.

  Will should have been a lot more careful about kissing Taylor.

  Except…no. Why should he have to be careful about kissing the guy he planned on spending the rest of his life with? No, what he should have done was communicate the real state of affairs before he ever made this trip. Or at least before he dragged Taylor along on such a trip.

  “Hell,” he muttered. “We should have had this talk a long time ago.”

  “What talk? The talk where you tell me you’re a queer? You’re a fag? You’re a goddamned —”

  “Okay,” Will cut in. He kept his voice quiet, but it took effort. “You can cut that shit out now. Yes, I’m gay. You’re going to have to deal with it.”

  “Since when? Since him? Since MacAllister?”

  “Since forever. Taylor doesn’t have anything to do with me being gay.”

  “The hell he doesn’t. He’s your partner, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. But I was gay long be —”

  “That’s bullshit, Will. You aren’t gay. You weren’t gay in high school. You weren’t gay in college. You were going to marry Madonna Agnelli. You should have married her.”

  Will hung onto his patience. “No, I shouldn’t have. Because I am gay. And the reason I stopped dating Madonna was I figured that out. Look, I’m sorry this is such a shock to you, but —”

  “Does Pop know?”

  “Yes.” Will reflected on the last three minutes and revised. “I’m assuming Pop knows.”

  “You assume? I wouldn’t assume, William. This is so…I can’t believe it. This is a goddamned nightmare.”

  Will said wearily, “Grant, I realize this news is a shock, and I guess I didn’t handle breaking it to you right. Okay? But —”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Grant actually put his hands up like he was going to cover his ears. He stopped himself, but clearly it was his desire.

  “Oh for chrissake.”

  “No.” Grant’s chin jutted out defiantly. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t know why you would do this, but I’m not going to be a part of it.”

  “I’m not asking you to be a part of it. I’m asking you to not be an ass about it.”

  Grant glared at him. “I can’t believe you’d bring him here.”

  Will said in warning, “Grant, you can think what you like, but you don’t say one goddamned thing to MacAllister, you got that? Not a word. You’re my brother and I love you. That isn’t going to change, even if you are a jackass. But if you give MacAllister any grief, we’re going to have a serious disagreement.”

  Grant opened his mouth, but changed his mind.

  “Good choice,” Will told him, and walked out.

  “Any regrets about leaving the DSS?” Bill asked, passing the basket of cornbread to Taylor.

  Will winced inwardly, but Taylor caught his eye and winked. “Nah,” Taylor said. “We were ready for a change. This way we get to be our own bosses and take vacation when we need it.”

  “Like now,” Will said.

  “And you boys are working as private eyes or what exactly?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? The ongoing debate between them.

  “Mercenaries?” Cousin Dennis said, showing his first interest in the suppertime conversation. It was easy to forget about Cousin Dennis. He sort of blended into the oak paneling.

  “Global security consultants,” Will said.

  Taylor gave Cousin Dennis a narrow look. “Definitely not mercenaries.” He did not like mercenaries in any way, shape or form. They’d had a few arguments on the topic over the years. Will had friends who’d moved from the military to mercenary work for companies like Blackwater. He saw it as a viable option. Not for himself, but for a certain kind of guy, yeah.

  Taylor, not so much, and Will smiled inwardly at his tone. He caught Grant’s scowl, and his amusement faded. He was stupid not to have foreseen Grant’s reaction to his coming out, but Will hadn’t spent a lot of time with Grant over the last decade. The fact was, he didn’t really know the adult Grant all that well. It was a sad thought.

  “There’s good money in mercenary work,” Cousin Dennis said, showing an unexpected streak of stubbornness.

  “It’s not just about money,” Taylor said.

  “Not that we have anything against money,” Will said cheerfully. He nudged Taylor’s boot under the table.

  Taylor’s mouth quirked but he went back to eating his chili.

  “Nothing wrong with a steady paycheck,” Bill said. “But a man has to be able to look himself in the eye every morning.”

  “What does that mean?” Cousin Dennis said. “You can look at yourself in the mirror or you can look someone in the eye, but how do you look yourself in the eye?”

  “Eat your cornbread and shut up, Cousin Dennis,” Bill said pleasantly, and Taylor laughed.

  “Anybody want another beer?” Will asked, rising.

  “I will,” Cousin Dennis said. Taylor nodded. Will’s father shook his head.

  Grant said suddenly, “Jem Dooley got released from prison last week.”

  “Let’s not ruin a good meal talking about the Dooleys,” Bill said in a tone Will remembered well from his youth.

  “Have you heard from him?” Will asked his father, frowning.

  “Nope. And I don’t expect to.”

  Will had gone to school with Jem Dooley, with all the Dooleys. No-accounts and troublemakers pretty much summed them up. Jem had taken his no-account status to a whole new level when he’d tried to rob a local gas station and ended up killing the owner when the man had opened fire on him. Bill Brandt had been the Columbia County Sheriff at the time, and it had been his job to track Jem to Deer Island and arrest him. It had not endeared the Brandts to the Dooleys. Not that they had ever been neighborly exactly. But after Jem went to prison, it had felt more like the Hatfields and the McCoys. No one had been killed, but it had come close a couple of times.

  Jem had sworn to seek revenge on Bill Brandt once he got out of prison, but he’d had his sentence extended twice for committing assault and battery on fellow inmates, so Will had started thinking Jem would spend his entire life behind bars.

  Will continued his trip out to the kitchen to get the beer. He could hear Cousin Dennis asking, “Who are the Dooleys?”

  He s
ounded like an easterner to Will. Not Jersey. Not New York. Maybe Connecticut? Maryland? Not a tough guy. Definitely not a tough guy. A smart-mouth. A too-smart-for-his-own-good guy. Maybe an accountant or a business owner who’d made the mistake of hooking up with the wrong partner. It happened.

  “A local family with more than their share of bad luck,” Bill said with finality. “Taylor, son, you don’t have to stand on ceremony. Have some more chili.”

  “Here you go.” Will tossed the plastic bottle of Tums to Taylor, who was already in bed and looking very much at home. Taylor popped the lid and shook two tablets out. He grimaced, chewed the orange tablets, and set the bottle on the bedside table.

  “What do you think of Cousin Dennis?” he asked.

  It was nearly midnight and everyone had retired for the evening. In fact, Grant had turned in not long after dinner, claiming he wanted to get an early start fishing the next morning. It was disappointing that Grant was being such an ass, but Will was hopeful once he’d had a little time to think things through, he’d come around.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t.

  Painful to think, but it was possible.

  Will shrugged. “Seems harmless enough. Hopefully the marshals will yank him out of here tomorrow.” He opened the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out a heavy wool Indian print blanket. The blanket smelled of camphor and wood and something he couldn’t quite place but that reminded him of his boyhood. Liniment? His first aftershave?

  “He’s no wise guy, but he’s no innocent bystander either,” Taylor commented.

  “He’s also not our problem.” Will shook out the red zigzagged folds and let the blanket drift down and settle over the bed. “You warm enough?”

  “Sure.”

  “You want a pair of wool socks?”

  “Nah.”

  “It gets cold in this house at night.” Will pulled an extra pair of socks out of his suitcase and dangled them enticingly. “Pop doesn’t run the heater.”

  “Thanks, but they make my feet sweat.”

  Will went around to the side of the bed, pulled the blankets back and slid between the blue flannel sheets. “My, this is cozy.”

  Taylor laughed. At home they shared a king-sized bed, so this was definitely a tighter fit. “If I wasn’t your boyfriend before, I would be now.”