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He took the stairs up. One at a time.The eighth floor was only one level above the offices of Team 7, but it seemed to take an eternity to climb the twenty-two steps to the next floor. He wasn’t in any hurry.
His solitary footsteps made no more than a murmur on the linoleum. His mind wished for a convenient window to leap out of; his pride argued that he wasn’t a coward. And his heart – he wished his heart would keep its opinions to itself.
No such luck.
The Holidays, that over-arching, all-encompassing term used to denote any time of year that calls for general merriment or abundant alcohol consumption, had never been particularly festive or happy, or even enjoyable, for Vin Tanner. This Christmas should have been different. Technically.
This would have been the first Christmas he would spend with his new team, his new family. Thanksgiving had found him actually thankful – for his team, for the friendships he had found there, for their unqualified acceptance and guidance. Having saved Chris Larabee’s life before he was even a part of their team might go a ways to explaining it, but he believed it was more than that. He’d had to.
As difficult as it had been for him to accept in the beginning, he believed he had found true friendship and honesty and bravery in the strange mixture that was Team 7. It had taken the better part of the past six months to let down his guard some and warm up to them. Wilmington was easier than most, in more ways than one, and JD was closest to his own age, and before long they had reintroduced him to his long lost sense of humor. He was in essence one more misfit to add a motley group of renegades and maniacs, and if nothing else, they recognized him as one of their kind. Birds of a feather and all that.
Unfortunately … miserably … sadly … now they knew he wasn’t one of ‘their kind.’
He could still see JD’s young face. So shocked, so confused. Buck had dropped his feet from the desk, leaned forward in his chair, and let out a long, low whistle. Ezra, well, no one could ever tell what Ezra was thinking or feeling. No one ever needed to ask the same of Josiah, but even his fount of counsel and maxim had apparently run dry. Nathan hadn’t been there. Neither had Chris. But he would be here now.
Chris was there, puzzled as to the urgency of the meeting, trying to derive some sort of explanation from the sheepish way Vin entered the office, almost shuffling his feet. Chris couldn’t begin to guess.
Vin slouched low in one of the overstuffed chairs in Orrin Travis’ office and stared at his boots. He could not have looked more dejected or uncomfortable if he had been trying. He wasn’t trying not to. His feet were turned in toward themselves, toes almost touching. Slender hands were folded in his lap and his curly hair fell in loose, tousled locks about his face. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to meet the eyes of the Assistant Director or of his boss and best friend.
Soon to be former both.
He chewed on the inside of his lower lip and said nothing, letting the audio surveillance tape speak for itself. Here it was, his biggest secret, spread wide open in front of the two people from whom it mattered most he keep his secret, and there was nothing he could do about it. How could it be that he could be so screwed over, not once in his life, but twice? Was anyone’s luck that bad?
Apparently, mine is.
How was Vin to know that the attractive man he had met in the bar last weekend was a law enforcement agent? How was he to know that the man was wired, was probably at the bar on a sting operation, maybe hoping to get a confession from some low-life criminal? How was Vin to know that someone among his current or former associates might take this opportunity to exact yet another measure of revenge against him? Retaliation not for any treachery or mistake made in the line of duty, but a bitter reprisal for simply being who he was.
Teach you to let your guard down, Tanner.
He groaned inwardly as his own words replayed themselves over the speakers in Travis’ office. At least he hadn’t used any cheesy lines, but the fact that he had all but propositioned the man, a total stranger, shamed him to the core. And here he sat, listening to it, feeling like a kid caught planting cherry bombs in the high school toilets who has to face the Principal. Except he’d never been to high school. He didn’t know if kids still did that sort of thing.
The audio tape had been mailed not only to Chris, but to Travis. Now it was only a matter of minutes before his career was over, before he would have to clean out his desk and be escorted from the building. Better they fire him or ask him to quit than to have to endure the cat calls, or the taunting, or the downright vicious things fellow officers could do to a teammate who is suddenly outed in their midst. He had put up with that for the last four months he was with the Marshalls. Gay porn on his desk, gay porn on his computer, graffiti on his jeep, nasty phone calls in the middle of the night, and a lot of other things he thought he’d forgotten.
He had endured ever manner of personal degradation in his lifetime, but somehow none hurt as much as seeing the looks of disgust on the faces of his teammates, feeling the loss of trust, recognizing when he was no longer welcome at social gatherings or at his partner’s house for cookouts. Vin was not a social animal on a good day, but he had thought he had found friends among his former team, at least casual ones. It was nothing compared to the deep almost fraternal kinship he had found with Team 7, but the loss had hurt, badly, and now he would have to face it again.
I don’t think I can.
Vin flinched as his mind rehashed the reason why he had finally given in and gone hunting for some company that evening. The reason for his act of desperation, as he saw it, was sitting not ten feet from him, pale-faced and aghast, listening to his humiliation in Dolby digital stereo.
His friendship with Chris Larabee was the most important of his life, the most profound, the most crucial. The value of that friendship alone had been the central reason he had never voiced his attraction to Larabee. Voiced? Hell, had never even hinted at it. The fear of losing that connection would have kept him silent to the grave. Silent, but evidently not celibate. He wasn’t made of stone.
The Team had been enjoying a week of rest after a very long and very stressful investigation that had concluded in a successful bust. They were still doing paperwork. Vin had spent nearly the entire week at Chris’ ranch, the rest of the boys coming and going as they would, until he thought he would go insane at being so near the man. He ached to touch him, physically ached, and that ache had lead him to a bar on Friday hoping to relieve a little steam. It wouldn’t mean anything, he knew that, but it might help keep him from going mad.
Oh God, here comes the punch line. To the joke that has suddenly become his life.
“You looking for some company, or are you just here to enjoy the scenery?” Vin couldn’t even remember that voice, belonging to whatever agent was addressing him, but he could clearly remember his response.
The sound of a shot glass hitting the counter preceded his fateful words. “I’m here tryin’ to forget someone. Lookin’ for someone to help me forget, least for an hour or so.”
“Oh? Boyfriend just break up with you?”
There was a sardonic little chuckle that sounded strangely mechanical mixed with the background music. “Never was a boyfriend. He’s my boss. Can’t ever go there, much as I’d love to.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of the other shoe dropping. Fuck.
There was no hiding it or even denying it now. Not only was Vin Tanner, fag extraordinaire, exposed to the world, but now Chris knew. Chris knows. Vin grimaced behind his hair as his alcohol-fuzzed former self began to elaborate on his previous statement.
“Pretty pathetic, fantasizin’ ‘bout my straight boss, but there it is. He has the most incredible body. Least I sometimes get to work out with him. Poetry in motion.”
“And shower with him afterwards,” the stranger had inquired, not so much a question as a deduction.
Vin had said nothing. There had been plenty of opportunities to stare openly at a naked Chris Larabee, and not once had Vin taken advantage. He wouldn’t even allow himself that much; it would only leave him wanting more. But on tape, silence is consent, and now Vin appeared to be not only a fag but a pervert. Aren’t they one in the same?
“And he doesn’t know?” The man’s voice seemed equally full of pity and satire.
Another snorting chuckle from Vin was the only response. Vin remembered the feelings that had boiled in his gut at that comment. Chris wouldn’t have ever known as long as Vin lived if he had just kept his mouth shut.
“What’s your name?” The kindness of the man’s face Vin recalled. They had both smiled, a little half-heartedly, and Vin had given the man his name. Short for Vincent.
“Well, Vin, short for Vincent, I’d love to be the one to help you out, but I’ve got someone to meet. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
At the time, Vin had wondered at the man’s words, but had figured he was just being kind, wishing Vin luck at working for someone with whom he was secretly, and desperately, in love, but now he knew different.
Whoever the agent had been, he knew Vin, or his friends knew Vin, or knew his name, and it wouldn’t take but a few well-placed questions to learn where Vin Tanner was now and where he was working.
The tape stopped, and there was a deadly silence clogging the air in the room. Vin sank deeper into his chair and waited for an interminable length of time for someone to speak, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him.
Chris’ voice was alarmingly calm, syllables crackling like static. “Do we know who sent the tapes? Or if they were sent to anyone else?”
Not surprising, Vin thought, that Chris would want to know who sent the tapes and to whom. Chris was a task-master of damage control. If the tapes leaked out, the rumor mill would rapidly grind his personal and professional reputation to dust. Everyone would assume that he and Vin were doing it over the desk in Larabee’s office all those nights he worked late. Or worse, that Chris was abusing his power, taking advantage of the new recruit. Faith in the senior agent would be lost; his ability to command a team undermined by gossip and insinuation. Guilt by association.
Less surprising that Chris wasn’t speaking directly to him. Vin reckoned he’d lost that privilege.
Travis cleared his throat and responded evenly, “We don’t know specifically whom. It was delivered, addressed to me, from a Denver post mark, but there is nothing to indicate who sent it.”
“Well. It won’t take too much to find out.” Chris’ voice was even calmer than before. Deadly calm. “Do we have any idea why someone would send it?”
Vin noted the use of the word ‘we,’ as if it was his invitation to join the discussion. He could think of a thousand reasons why. Because fags aren’t welcome was at the top of the list. Because men don’t like learning that the guy they’ve showered with in the gym is an ass-climber. Because nothing in his life had ever been very good for very long, and evidently Karma had just taken her time finding him.
Travis waited a moment before answering quietly, “Not at this time, no.”
Vin could hear the shuffling of papers, and the click of the tape being removed from the machine. He still hadn’t raised his head, unsure of what he might say or do if he dared look at Chris. He could hear the heat boom on in the vents along the wall. There was another long silence, and then the sound of Chris slowly rising from his chair.
“Anyone else hear this besides my Team? Good. It goes no further than this room. No further. I’m going to get to the bottom of this …”
“Larabee …” There was more than a hint of warning in Travis’ voice, but Chris ignored it and barged on.
“When someone messes with one of my Team, they mess with me.” A low growl underlined those words. “I am going to kill this before it even takes a breath of life.” And with that Chris strode from the room.
Vin felt his heart lurch in his chest. He was going to miss him – not the empty dream of him, the restless nights of a desire unfulfilled. In truth, there weren’t too many of those. He knew better than to reach for what he could never have. At its simplest, and most agonizing, Vin was going to miss his best friend.
Thanksgiving had been so wonderful. A first for him. They had eaten fit to burst, laughed until they hurt themselves, and slept in one large, group collage on Larabee’s living room floor. Not a chance in hell they would be doing that again. He was going to miss Ezra’s wry smile, Buck’s goofy grin, JD’s perpetual innocence and cheer. He’d even miss Josiah’s platitudes and Nathan’s mothering.
Touch football in the back yard, which always became tackle. Friday nights at the saloon. Booby traps in his desk. Booby traps in everyone else’s desks. Working the horses.
Vin was going to miss everything. And he wasn’t going to have a chance to even say goodbye.
After a few moments, he found sufficient courage to raise his head. Travis was staring at him wearing a strange, sad expression that bordered on sympathy. Vin decided to make this easy for them. This wasn’t their fault, and they didn’t deserve him getting high and mighty or causing a review panel.
“It won’t take me but a few minutes to clean out my desk, sir.”
Vin’s voice sounded weak and hollow in his ears, the essence of what he was feeling, and the end of his sentence dwindled to a near whisper. He returned to studying the nap of the carpet beneath his feet. It was worn and faded in places from constant traffic, darker in some where furniture had previously been set. Here and there an old coffee stain. A pen cap discarded and forgotten by the foot of the sofa.
“Tanner.”
Vin raised his eyes, but not his head.
“What you do in your own life and your own time is none of my business. It’s none of this company’s business. Don’t ask, don’t tell isn’t just a catch phrase to me.” Travis’ eyes were cold and hard as flint, as he spoke. “This tape isn’t leaving this room. Chris will make sure it never leaves your bull pen, and I know him well enough to know that he isn’t going to kick you off of his team in the light of this … discovery. However,” There was an onerous pause as Travis shifted and leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking and complaining. Somewhere outside a car alarm went off. “You are aware of the policy that prohibits fraternization between superiors and subordinates, are you not?”
Vin nodded mutely.
“Good. Just so we’re clear. I don’t want the dynamic of the team disrupted because of something like this, and I don’t want you or Larabee to jeopardize your careers.”
Vin couldn’t help it; he snorted. “My career, sir? From where I’m sitting there ain’t nothing I could do to jeopardize it worse than what’s already been done here. My career is over. And that’s the least of my worries,” he added, half to himself. The fact that Travis appeared to believe that Chris and Vin might be lovers made him want to laugh out loud. Or cry.
The expression of sympathy reappeared, and Travis folded his burly hands on the top of his desk. It was one of those great pieces of furniture that befitted a powerful and decisive man. Thick mahogany legs and a multitude of drawers, heft and balance all proportioned, crowned with an enormous slab of olive marble.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, son. I’ll let Larabee know. No doubt he’ll turn this building upside down and drive me to distraction trying to figure out who did this.”
“Tell him not to bother.” Vin meant it. “One bee sting ain’t worth hunting down the hornet’s nest. You’re likely to step in it.”
Travis managed a thin smile. Vin was a never ending supply of Texas aphorisms. The former circuit judge rose slowly, levering himself on the padded arms of his chair. “I’d hate to lose you over this, Tanner. Keep in mind that you aren’t the only one who’s been stung. Give things some time to settle.”
Vin nodded. Inwardly, he shook his head. It would take a long, long time for anything to settle. Every time Chris looked at him, he’d hear that tape.
Fuck his career; life as he knew it was over.
He left Travis’ office without another word and walked all nine stories to the basement garage. It wasn’t until he had cranked his engine and driven away from the building that he allowed himself to cry.
Silence enjoyed brief, precipitous sovereignty upon Larabee’s return to the bull pen. Then the air was assaulted with a dozen questions at once, the last of which caused Chris to spin round on his heels.
“You didn’t fire him did you?”
JD had been shocked – shocked, surprised, confused, curious – to learn that someone he thought he knew so well harbored such an enormous secret. Now he was worried. He didn’t like the way Vin had left the office, didn’t like the look on Chris’ face when Travis called the two of them for a private meeting. He hated the niggling feeling that his family might be in the middle of a divorce.
Chris’ steel gaze hardened, hazel eyes narrowing a fraction of an inch, anger crowning his head like a wreath. “Fire him for what exactly, JD? For being a fag?”
The word spoken aloud seemed abruptly harsh and callous, even though JD had used the same adjective a zillion times in his life.
“He doesn’t wear dresses and high heels, kid.” Buck’s flare for the obvious, and the crass, seemed to put the room slightly at ease, if only for a moment.
“I know that, Buck.” JD fidgeted. “I just didn’t want … Vin just looked like he was saying goodbye. He looked like he’d been gut-punched.”
“Well, wouldn’t you if you heard that played to all your closest friends? To your boss?” Chris’s ire was leeching out, being directed at the one person in the room least likely to cope with it. He approached his team with his right forefinger aimed accusatorially JD. “Listen up real good. Any problems caused on this team because of that tape and Vin won’t be the one who gets fired. If I hear one remark, one joke aimed at him, directly or indirectly, behind his back or to his face, and you’ll wish you’d never been born. Do I make myself abundantly clear?” At this point, Chris was about two inches from JD’s face, and the tenor of his voice was more or less as black as his clothing.
JD looked like he might cry, and Buck stepped in.
“Listen pard, that’s not what the kid’s saying. It’s not what any of us is sayin’. He’s just as concerned as we are.” Buck laid a hand on JD’s shoulder and gave Chris a little shove with the other. Larabee was not yet half as mad as he could get, and he was an old hand at dealing with it. Laughing, Buck went on, “Hell, of everyone in this room, I always thought Ezra was gay.”
“I am.”
It was the first thing the undercover agent had said. Effusive, erudite, ever-circumspect Ezra chose two blatant, gaping, mono-syllabic words to reveal his position on the subject. Arms crossed, chin out, his entire demeanor dared anyone in the room to give even the slightest snicker or indication of discomfort.
Buck smiled. Not for humor. He was almost beamingly proud of their inscrutable undercover agent, and what it had taken, what it implied, for him to admit something like that so openly, so readily.
“Well, bully for you, Ezra, but I don’t give a fuck,” Chris replied harshly, swinging back toward his office.
“Gentlemen, I think we’re forgetting something.” A deep, steady voice filled the room. “What is important is not who is and who is not homosexual, nor has it ever been – especially among us I would like to think – but who sent these tapes and why. Why shouldn’t be too difficult to deduce. There are always those who love to hate, to instill hate, to slander and malign. But why Vin, and why now?”
“Thank you, Josiah.” Buck saluted him from the chair he hadn’t left yet that morning. Other than the profiler, Buck appeared the least phased by the news that Vin was gay, but perhaps the most disturbed by the way they’d all come to learn of it. He was glad Chris hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen the horror on Vin’s face, the shame, the disgrace, and the soul-bearing sorrow. That had been the hardest: the realization that Vin expected to be hated, rejected, distrusted and rebuked.
Chris was paused, hand on hip, staring at the floor; all eyes on him, awaiting Caesar’s decree.
“Since we don’t have anything else on the menu this week,” he looked up, sure, somber, “we’re making this our next case. It may turn out to be nothing, just petty spite or nastiness, but it might become something more. I don’t like it, any of it.” He waved a hand in the air as if the entire place stank of betrayal. “Buck, take that envelope down to Trace. I want to know everything that they can find out about it. Epithelials, sweat residue, partial finger prints, where envelope came from, whether a man or a woman wrote on it, what kind of pen they used. Everything.” Buck was out of his seat in an instant and out of the doors before Chris could say another word. “JD, I want you to run analysis on the voice. I want to know of every wire tap on every agent in this building, in case it’s one of our own. I don’t want you to make an issue of it. Be sneaky.” The mellowed expression on his face passed for apology to the young agent, and JD nodded, understanding.
“Josiah, my office. Now.” Larabee turned on his heel again, certain that the tall agent would be right behind him. He was.
“Mr. Larabee,” a voice called, “how might I be of assistance?”
“I don’t know right now, Ez, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Chris tossed it over his shoulder as he shut his door. Once again, silence in the bull pen.
Inside his office, Chris collapsed on the couch and held his head in his hands. Josiah stood with his back turned, looking out at the Denver skyline. A car alarm went off again. Chris wished that whoever it was would just steal the damn thing already.
Rubbing his temples as he spoke, “Well, Josiah, what do I do now?”
“As a friend, Chris, or as a supervising agent?” Or as a potential lover, he wondered. He turned around and leaned against the sill, regarding the team leader with composed professionalism, Chris looking as defeated as he’d ever seen him.
“Shit, Josiah, being his boss is the last of my concerns right now. It was hell up there.” His eyes lifted toward the ceiling. “You should have seen him. I can’t even imagine … What do I say to him?”
“What would you like to say?” A PhD in psychology came in useful from time to time. Josiah recognized that more often than not, people already knew the answers to their questions. They simply had to be led in the right direction. Granted, at times, leading Chris Larabee required a whip and a chair …
“What do I want to say to him?” Chris repeated the question as if it hadn’t crossed his mind. “That nothing’s changed. That I don’t think of him any different.” Although that was a lie. “That he’s still as much a member of the team as ever. That he’s got nothing to be ashamed of. That I’ll kill whoever hurts him. That I’m still his friend.”
“So what’s stopping you? That’s what he needs to hear.”
“But will he hear it? You know him. He’s the most stubborn, cagey, heard-headed … will he believe me?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Goddamnit, Sanchez, quit throwing questions at me.”
“Are you asking for professional advice?”
“Why the fuck else would I have brought you in here!?” Chris huffed a grand sigh and leaned his head against the back of the couch. His skull contained the entire US Marine Drum Corps.
“Advice is a dangerous thing, Chris. I’m not omniscient.”
Josiah settled his large frame on the other end of the cough and steepled his hands before his face. He thought back to Vin’s initial reaction to the tape, to everyone’s reactions. The sharpshooter had shrunk, had visibly recoiled. All the others had initially listened with curious interest, not knowing what to expect, but Vin had known what was on the tape. He had paled, frozen, doubt and dismay highlighting his features, yet made no move to turn it off. He had simply let his replayed words hit him blow by blow. He had resigned mentally and emotionally, and it wouldn’t take a small step for him to resign officially. Josiah doubted he would believe anyone else’s words over those rolling around in his head. At least, not yet. Vin had looked like a man receiving a death sentence, knowing that appeals would be useless.
“I think you can only talk to him when he’s ready to listen. Right now, for the time being, your actions will truly speak louder. You know Vin. He’s wary, downright jumpy on a good day.” Something dawned on Josiah and he hummed. Maybe he was wary out of habit. Maybe he was a good deal more than twice shy. “Maybe it explains why he’s so guarded and distant.”
“What explains?”
The wheels in Josiah’s mind were churning almost audibly, and he hummed again. “Do you suppose this kind of thing has happened to him before? In the Army? What was his team like when he was with the Marshalls?”
Chris shrugged. “I don’t know.” But it was a thought. “I mean, I knew their record. I knew his record. I wanted him and I hired him. They released him, and we never really talked about it. I didn’t know his team personally, and he never mentions them.”
“Then my advice is that you start there. I have a feeling Vin knows where this is coming from, or at least has an idea. But you’ll have to wait a while to plug him for information. The last thing he’s gonna want to do is talk about this with you, of all of us. For his sake, we need to keep this quiet. Personal disgrace is ever a fresh wound. It takes nothing at all to reopen the scabs.”
“You think that Vin is a disgrace!?” Smoke seemed to pour from Chris’ nostrils, his hackles rising in immediate defense of his friend.
“No, Brother Larabee, but you weren’t here earlier. You tell me, how did he look in Travis’ office? Did he look proud to be gay? Likely to join a parade at any moment? I didn’t think so.” Clear blue eyes flashed beneath sandy brows. “You need to consider just how much you want him and how hard you’re gonna be willing to fight to keep him. Cause between fight and flight, we both know which one he’s most likely to choose. Although right now, I’d bet he’s wanting to do a bit of both.”
Chris let the words sink in and nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Josiah patted his friend’s thigh in fraternal support and rose from the sofa. “You might want to find out what’s become of him. See if Travis is done with him.” With that, he left the office and closed the door behind him.
Chris flattened himself on the couch, bending one arm over his eyes, one leg off the side, foot reminding him there was solid ground somewhere even if the room seemed to be spinning.
You need to consider just how much you want him and how hard you’re gonna be willing to fight to keep him.Those words hung long in the air after Josiah left. Just how much Chris wanted him was a frightening thing for him to consider, even though he knew the answer. How hard he’d be willing to fight for him was unquestionable. Everyone knew that answer.
'Cause between fight and flight, we both know which one he’s most likely to choose.
Vin would fight harder than ten men if he thought his teammates were in danger, would fight to the bitter end to help resolve some minor injustice done to his neighbors or friends, but he would never lift a finger to fight for himself. Somewhere in his life, Vin had learned that it was better to accept everything that happened to him as fate, as inevitable. He rode out waves of disappointment that would swamp most people, that would have them whining and bemoaning the unfairness of life. When the moving company lost half of his possessions, when someone stole the stereo out of his jeep, “No use bitching about it,” Vin would say, and shrug it off.
Had life been that hard on him – that he expected everything to go wrong eventually? That he was prepared for inescapable disappointment and so, in a way, couldn’t be easily disappointed?
That was a depressing thought, Chris had to admit. He had always assumed that Vin was just easy-going. An undisturbed spirit. A roll-with-the-punches kind of guy. He’d only known the sharpshooter six months and had yet to see anything really ruffle him. This was a necessary quality on the job – a tranquil inner reserve of patience and calm, a composure of mind and body, a solid pride in his ability to do his job.
A man’s pride in what he can do should be an extension of who he is, not the other way around. Right? Or had Vin always been ashamed of who he was? And where did he learn that lesson? Who was the first bastard to teach him that being gay was less than human?
Now Chris was angry again. He’d readily find every person that had ever made Vin feel he was anything less than extraordinary and happily beat the shit out of them.
Extraordinary? Yeah. And then some.
A familiar warmth suffused him limbs as Chris lay there thinking of the man with the spectacular eyes, elfin smile, young heart and old soul. It was office humor that they were joined a the hip, or separated at birth. JD swore they shared a brain. How strange how happy Chris had been – just friends.
Just. >Yeah right.
There was no modifier that could complement the level of friendship they shared, from the very start. Chris had never seen anything that had even hinted at an invitation. If he’d only known, then maybe …
If’s, would have’s, maybe’s, what if’s – Fuck it.
Up onto his feet, Chris steadied himself against the throbbing between his eyes and opened his door. He needed to talk to Travis.
A few hours later …
“Male. Two men. One of em’s left-handed.” Buck stood propped against Chris’ doorway, a favorite hitching post, announcing his findings. “Regular postal padded envelope. Pilot rolling ball pens. Maxell 90 minute tapes. Fresh. Nothing else ever been recorded on them.”By the wide grin spread across Buck’s face, Chris could tell that there was more, and that Buck was feeling mighty tall. “And …” he asked tiredly, hoping that Wilmington would just get to the bloody point.
“One partial fingerprint. Aside from all of ours.” Buck scratched his chin a moment. “Had we known, we’d have used gloves.” He shrugged his dark eyebrows in unvoiced apology.
“You’d think they’d have used gloves.” Chris was confused by this, but not too much.
“Jeanie is cross-checking the print as we speak.” Buck flipped his head toward the bull pen. “Where’s Junior?”
Chris exhaled slowly. “Travis gave him the rest of the day off. And before you ask, I called. He didn’t answer.” Neither of the two men expected anything different, but it was still worrisome.
“You gonna go over there?” Buck was mildly surprised Chris wasn’t there now, but Chris was looking uncertain, or hesitant, two words Buck would have never used to describe him. “You afraid of what you two’ll get up to all by yourselves?”
“Buck!” Wide hazel eyes focused sharply on the man leaning against the door frame, and Wilmington had to stifle a laugh.
But Chris couldn’t find anything else to say, so Buck supplied it for him. “Thought so.”
“Buck,” Chris was using his exasperated, fatherly tone, “I don’t think he’d really feel comfortable seeing me right now and I don’t know how much I can say to him.”
“Well, pard, saying nothing is worse than saying too little, so if you don’t mind,” and Buck emphasized this to indicate that he didn’t care whether Chris minded, “I’m gonna head over there and make sure he’s comin’ to work tomorrow. Someone needs to. Ezra’s goin’ to get Nathan at the airport and he’ll fill him in, I’m sure. Jeanie knows to call if she finds anything. JD is buried in his computer. I don’t think he’s blinked since I left. I’ll call you later.”
Chris watched Buck sashay out of his office and out the double glass doors toward the elevators. He was right, of course. Someone needed to go over there, but Chris didn’t think he was up to seeing Vin, nor would Vin want to see him, not after what Travis had said.
Vin had been ready to resign, had wanted to resign, had expected to be asked to. Did he think Chris was that much of a bastard? That Chris would fire him over this, wouldn’t still be a friend? He guessed that most men wouldn’t. Law enforcement is unequivocally a boy’s club. Women have a hard enough time infiltrating the ranks; outed homosexuals don’t stand a chance.
Chris thought about Josiah’s comments concerning personal disgrace. He would have to pick the right time and place to talk to Vin, and cornering him in his own home didn’t feel right. He might not even answer his door if someone knocked, and Chris was not about to use his key to break in. Besides, ten to one, as Ezra would say, Vin was somewhere outside away from phones, noise and people, sorting everything out.
For the first time, Chris wanted something bad to happen in the city, something that would require their immediate attention. A bombing, an invasion of gun-smugglers, the world’s largest shipment of illegal cigarettes, something that would draw Vin out of himself and his own personal misery and make him focus on the job. Something that would allow the rest of the team to show the stubborn fool that nothing had changed.
Urgh. Chris groaned at the ceiling tiles. Everything had changed. Now there was possibility in those blue eyes, now there was sensuality in that cocky laugh. All those shared glances, stolen seconds in crowded rooms, communicating more than words. A friendship that had grown into something more, and yet far less than he was now imagining it could be.
Could have been.
Screw that. Chris would be damned if he would let Vin go without at least giving it a shot, a really good, long, hard shot. Again he thought of Josiah’s words. What if this sort of thing had happened before? What if he’d been betrayed before? Christ, what if he’d had a relationship with a previous teammate and it had gone really sour? He needed to know.
Reaching a decision, Chris nodded and shut off his computer. He had a contact in the Marshalls, not in the Dallas office where Vin had worked, but in Denver. It was a start.
“JD, I’m heading out. Josiah, you two look after things while I’m gone. Buck may or may not be back. Ezra won’t be. He’ll take the long way back from the airport, get coffee, blame traffic, and take a long afternoon off.” Chris knew his team too well. “Call me if either of you finds anything. Give Jeanie my cell if she needs it.”
He skipped down the stairs to the basement. He had started taking the stairs with Vin whenever he could. He didn’t like to think that Vin should have to walk all the way up by himself just because he hated elevators. So many things he did, had done in the beginning, to earn the young man’s trust. It had been hard, much harder for the rest of the team, to convince Vin that he was a friend. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that something in Vin’s life had taught him not to trust anyone ever, even the men he worked with every day. Maybe especially the men he worked with.
Anger is nothing if not an efficient motivator, and Chris was highly motivated by the time he reached his truck and started the engine.
Purgatory
Buck spotted Vin’s jeep as he pulled into the parking lot outside the shady, crumbling apartment building. Dogs scampered around a rear corner, barked a challenge, and scampered away again. The cloying scent of an outdoor grill hung in the chill air. Buck climbed the two creaky flights to Vin’s floor, nodding to the people who peered from past chain-fastened doors and stopped outside Vin’s, listening for a moment. He could hear the TV, some old west show he guessed by the dialogue.Knocking brusquely, he waited three milliseconds before taking out his keys, the emergency keys each of them had. It was not unlike him to burst in unannounced. Charming and annoying at the same time. That was Buck.
“Hey Junior, you didn’t hear me knock?”
Vin looked tired, dog tired. Empty beer bottles lined the coffee table just to the rear of fresh ones. “It’d be impossible not to hear ya, Buck. Just figured you’d respect my privacy and leave me the hell alone. Don’t know why I figured that.”
Buck ignored the tone and the implication of the words and walked straight to the couch, helped himself to a beer, and sat down. Taking a long swig, he followed it with a dramatic, “Aaahhhh.” A brief pause, and then, “Ezra’s getting Nathan at the airport. What’re ya watching?”
“What do you want, Buck?” Vin’s voice was weary, beer-coarsened.
“Wanted to know if you were still comin’ to work tomorrow. Wanted to know if you really thought we were such a bunch of assholes that we’d care if you had the hots for Chris. You ain’t the first.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Confusion was chief among the expressions that crossed his face, followed by anger, and then dread. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what that meant.
“Well, pard, in case ya hadn’t noticed, Chris is one damn fine-lookin’ man, and ya ain’t the first man ta think so.” Buck took another long swig. “Hey, I recognize this. This is Rio Bravo isn’t it. I always admired Angie Dickenson,” he said with a dreamy sigh, then belching loudly and pounding his chest.
Vin sat in thoughtful silence, peeling the label off his bottle. Walter Brennan was jabbering amicably at a hung over Dean Martin.
“Ezra came out of the closet.”
“He what?”
Buck grinned. “Just thought you’d like ta know that while you’re here feeling mighty sorry fer yerself, scared of what we might be thinkin’ or doin’, Ezra told all of us that he’s gay. All of us.”
But he didn’t say he was in love with his boss, Vin added silently, raising his bottle to his lips.
“I may be a bastard son of a whore, Junior, and an unrepentant sinner, as Josiah calls me, but I’m not a bigot. Personally,” he continued, after what looked like a second thought, “I just figure it gives me more of a chance with the ladies. I mean, you two’re mighty purty and all, but hairy asses just ain’t my thing.”
Vin choked on his beer, some of it coming out his nose.
Buck grinned wide. Point made. He finished his Corona in three long swallows while Vin wiped his face with his sleeve. Then Buck stood, stretched, burped again, and looked Vin square in the eyes. “You should ask Chris about Steve Allen sometime.” Walking to the half-open door, he threw Vin a casual “see ya tomorrow” and left.
The gentle click of the latch, the receding sound of Buck’s boots, and the enigmatic instruction to ask about a man Vin had never heard of, kept him staring at the door for some time.
Across town …
“Thanks for comin’, Dave.”“Good to see you, Chris.” Hands were shaken, and the two men edged themselves into a corner booth. Two cups of coffee, black. Both men watching the rest of the diner out of life-long habit. Lunch rush hadn’t hit yet so there wasn’t much to watch. “Now what can I do for you? I have a feeling it isn’t a social call.”
Larabee flickered his typical half-grin. “Yeah. Not.” He wasn’t a man who made social calls. “I’ve got a problem, Dave, something I think you can help me with.”
Agent Paquette leaned forward, resting his forearms on the formica table, his shrewd dark eyes reading Chris’ expression and surmising that this was more personal than business. “Is it you, or someone on your team?”
The only other patron in the diner dropped her fork, its rattle dance on the tile floor sounding awfully loud in the small café. She looked embarrassed as she retrieved the errant object, and smiled as the waitress brought her a clean one.
“My team,” Chris said solemnly, returning his attention to his friend. To both men, team were family.
Paquette nodded. Definitely more personal than business, then. He owed Chris, owed him a lot actually, and wasn’t about to say no, even if it might get him in trouble. Whatever this was, the vein in Larabee’s forehead was pulsing. “Kay. Shoot.”
“One of my men used to work for the Marshalls, in the Dallas office, and I need to know if he had … a history there. I need to know the players involved and whether or not he ruffled anybody’s feathers while he was there, maybe right before he transferred.”
“Who’s your man?”
“Tanner.”
Paquette’s eyebrows shot up. “Your sharpshooter? He’s already made a name for himself in Denver, but not for pissing anybody off. When was he with the Marshalls in Dallas?”
“I got him six months ago. He’d been with them for a little over two years.”
“Ok.” The marshal unfolded his long frame and leaned back against the booth, stirring some pink sugar substitute into the bitter swill the diner called coffee. “Would I be out of line asking what this is about?” At Chris’ silence, he rephrased. “What kind of info am I looking for, specifically? We talking official reprimands or stuff that’s off the record?”
“Off the record.”
Paquette pursed his thick lips and nodded slowly. “How deep do you think I’ll need to dig?”
A sip of coffee made Chris wince. It was nasty stuff; reminded him of Vin. Man had never learned to make coffee fit for human consumption. “I don’t know if you’ll need to dig very far, but you’ll need to be friendly about it. Be a good ol’ boy.” He said this with as much disdain as possible, like he was discussing child pornographers. “If you feel you’re on the right scent, tell some interested party that you heard a nasty rumor about Tanner and want to know if it’s true.”
“Is it true?” The look shot his way made Paquette shift uncomfortably in his seat. “I’ve never had the pleasure of working with Tanner, Chris, but if he’s one of yours, then I’d trust his word, and yours, over whatever anyone else says of him.”
Chris looked suddenly sad, sad and pissed off at the same time. “I need you to know that the rumor might be true, but it isn’t nasty. And it isn’t gonna get him fired no matter what you uncover. You either. I just need to know if he has any enemies, had any enemies before he left.”
“Ok. Consider it done. If the players involved aren’t still down there, I’ll let you know where they are.”
“I appreciate your help, Dave.” Chris idly fingered the rim of his coffee cup and looked across the diner at the blonde woman with silverware troubles. She was reading a hefty harlequin novel with a half naked man on the cover.
“You doin’ ok otherwise?” Dave raised his eyebrows again, a little tentatively, infusing his quiet words with an undercurrent of genuine concern. The last time he’d seen him, Larabee was a walking advert for Alcoholics Anonymous and was one step away from being suspended. Having one’s wife and son murdered in front of a man tends to have that effect.
Chris smiled vacantly and scratched at an old stain on their table. “Yeah. Thanks. The worst of that has passed.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. Give Wilmington my best. And tell him that that doesn’t include my daughter. She’s home from school for the holidays.”
They shared a chuckle and shook hands again as they left. Dave said he’d call as soon as he learned anything. The unspoken request that he keep it all off the record was accepted without condition.
After he watched Paquette drive away, Chris sat in his truck outside the diner and let his thoughts roll. He should call Buck and find out if he’d seen Vin. He should call Ezra and tell him to get his ass back to work. He should call JD and remind him to blink once in a while. He really should see Vin. As if on cue, his cell phone rang.
“Larabee.”
“Chris, it’s JD.” As if Chris couldn’t tell. “Jeanie called. Said the print was inconclusive.”
Damn. “Buck call?”
“No. I’ve got a stack of wire taps here. You want me to run them by you now, or are you coming back to the office?” There was an innocent upturn to the end of his question that indicated he was hoping Chris wasn’t coming back, hoping that Chris might go see Vin.
“I’ll be back in an hour or so. JD?”
“Yeah, Chris?” He was still there, after all, but the repeat of his name told him Chris might want him to do something a little ticklish.
“I need you to look at wire taps for the US Marshalls office in Denver. Don’t tell me how you’re doing it and if you need to take off for the rest of the day, do so. Just get in and tell me what you find.”
“Um … Ok. I’ll have to hack in. Travis know?”
“No.” And the way Chris stressed the word let JD know that Travis wouldn’t ever find out if he could help it. If JD were caught hacking into a federal database, both agents knew that Chris would field the responsibility for it. He might lose his job, but he’d never let anything happen to a member of his team. At times, Chris was too damn honorable, even when he was doing something less than ethical, or legal.
“Ok boss. I’ll head out and call you later. I’ll need a while.”
“Just do it.” Chris snapped his phone shut and started the engine. He had one more stop to make before he headed back to the office.
The diner where he’d met Paquette was about twenty minutes from the Blue Flamingo. It was one of the more popular and affluent nightclubs in the district and catered to a mixed clientele – straight and gay. It was favored specifically by neither type and, unlike many Chris could name, was not necessarily the preferred hangout of criminals and low-lifes. No code violations, no illegal shipments of liquor or cigars. It’s clean reputation was probably the reason Vin chose it Friday night. Federal agents tried to steer clear of those establishments that had more shady reputations. Again, guilt by association. It wasn’t good to be seen enjoying oneself in a location which could easily lead to an accusation or supposition of bribery.
Out back, delivery men were loading boxes of liquor onto carts and rolling them in through heavy double doors. A bandana-wearing Latino was enjoying a smoke break, leaning against the blue-painted brickwork. Chris flashed his badge and asked to speak with the manager. After a few curious glances, and some chattered Spanish, he was led into the main room, a two-story dance floor with enormous speakers hanging from the ceiling. The hardwood floor was being polished, the whirring buffer switched off at a signal from the manager.
“Here to inspect the liquor license?” The manager introduced himself as John Larousse, yes like the dictionary. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and clean cut, a shock of brown hair with spiked tips died white. He smiled as Larabee showed him his badge and walked around behind the bar.
“No. Different matter. I need to take a look at your security tapes for last Friday night.”
The manager scowled. “Are we under investigation?”
“Not yet,” came Chris’ terse reply, accompanied by his legendary poisonous glare.
Larousse help up his hands in mock surrender and gestured for Chris to follow him, swinging around the corner of the bar heading toward the back office. “We don’t have the tightest surveillance, so I don’t know how much the tapes will help, but we’ve never had any trouble. I’ve got good bouncers. They tend to discourage mischief.”
The pair of them entered the back room and John stopped in front of a console with a dozen small TV screens stacked on top of one another. “Any specific time frame here? Front door, back room, bar?”
Larabee thought for a second. “Bar.” When did Vin leave the ranch? “Eleven o’clock.”
“Alright.” The tape was fast-forwarded, stopped, forwarded again. “There’s the time stamp. There’s the bar. Mind if I ask what this is about?” The thought that he should have asked for a warrant was creeping over him.
“Blackmail of a federal agent,” Chris lied, though it wasn’t far from the truth though. Vin was all but blackmailed by the information on the audio tape, practically held hostage. “Is there any sound on these?”
“Nope. Just visual. What are we looking for?”
Chris didn’t respond. We had found what he was looking for. There was Vin. Even in grainy black and white the man was handsome. As usual, he was seated at the corner of the bar furthest from the door, nearest an emergency exit, his back angled toward the wall. He commanded a view of the entire floor and didn’t give off any indication that he was eager for company, even though his words on tape had said so. He was approached briefly by a young man, built, showing off an expanse of muscular chest beneath a vaguely transparent black shirt. Tight leather jeans completed an outfit designed to attract as much attention as possible. Vin in his modest flannel shirt, undershirt, and jeans looked so much sexier, without even trying. All strong lines and solid, understated presence. He deflected the attentions of the other man, who laughed ostentatiously, smiled too much, and strutted back onto the dance floor. Vin appeared to sigh and turn his attention back to his drink.
The thought passed Chris’ mind that he didn’t know whether or not Vin had actually found someone that evening. What if he had? Possessive was an understatement where Chris was concerned, and he felt a volatile Molotov cocktail of jealousy and possessiveness stir within him. He hardly had the right to be jealous. Vin wasn’t his; he could do what he wanted. Chris had never given him any reason to think they could be more than friends. Why should it matter if Vin had an active sex life, or any sex life at all?
Chris had never thought about Ezra or Josiah. JD had Casey; Nathan had Rain. Buck had a new woman every week. It wasn’t like any of them to pry into each other’s private lives, but suddenly Vin’s life was no longer so private, and it was very personal.
With a twinge of shame, Chris realized that he wouldn’t care if Vin went home with a woman, but he would feel uncontrollably envious if Vin went home with a man. How hypocritical.
A second man came up to Vin. This one looked promising. He was older, looked less like a club-hopping regular. He had on jeans and a leather jacket. Dark, clean shaven. Vin and the man talked for a little bit, and the man left. The time stamp said 11:30. There was no way to tell for sure.
There was also no way of knowing how long Vin had stayed at the bar, and Chris was not going to watch the entire tape here with the manager.
“I’d like to take this with me.” Chris kept watching as he spoke, watching every person that came within speaking distance of his partner. The bartender was close enough several times to be able to overhear conversation. “And I’d like to speak with whoever was tending bar that night.”
“I’ll let you speak with Sean, but I’ll need a warrant for this tape.” Larousse crossed his arms, assuming as firm a stance as he was capable. The gold hoop earring didn’t help.
Chris turned his glare on, full volume, and pivoted to face the manager. “You usually this busy on Friday nights?” He tapped the monitor with the back of a fingernail. “I might just take it upon myself to exercise my right as an ATF agent and require an inventory of every bottle of liquor and box of cigars you sell. And I might just require that we take that inventory this Friday night. Come to think of it, I’ve still got a lot of friends in Denver PD. I wonder just how strictly you enforce ID regulations before you serve alcohol.”
Half rolling his eyes, Larousse gave in. “Ok, ok. Take the tape. I don’t need any head aches with the ATF.”
“You’re a smart man,” Chris condescended as he stopped the tape and pushed the eject button. He and Ezra would go over it later. If the undercover agent wanted to know how he could help, this was the opportunity. He was a better study of body language and, among his many hidden talents, could read lips remarkably well. “The bartender?”
“Sean will be in around six. I’ll let him know you want to talk to him.”
“Thanks. My appreciation is a good thing to have,” he added, by way of subtle warning. Nearly everything Chris said carried some implied warning or command. The manager got the drift and snickered.
“Yeah. Right. Always glad to be of service, officer.” Larousse was smart enough to know when to pick his battles.
Chris made his way back outside, the whir of the floor buffer fading into the background. He was glad he didn’t have to follow through on his threats to the manager. His team would never forgive him if they had to waste a Friday night checking liquor and cigars. When he closed the door to his truck, he laid the tape in the passenger seat and dialed Ezra.
“Greetings, Mr. Larabee. How might I be of assistance?” This was the second time he’d asked that. Rare that he ever offered to help, if he could avoid it.
“I need you to take a look at something with me. I have the surveillance tape from the club where Vin was Friday. I need your expert opinion.”
Ezra mentally catalogued the tiny compliment and inquired, “Where shall I meet you?”
“Knowing you, you aren’t on the way back to the office, so I’ll drive by your place after work.”
“Shall I extend the invitation to any of our other compatriots?” Ezra wanted to know if he should call Vin.
“No. Not yet.” But specifically not Vin.
“I’ll have a bottle of Johnny Walker Black waiting for you.”
Larabee snorted, “Thanks,” and hung up. Yeah, he was going to need the drink.
Purgatory
Vin needed a distraction. He wasn’t finding it in beer and John Wayne movies. He needed to be too exhausted to think, too tired to feel, so wiped out that all he would be able to do was sleep.Sleep and maybe never wake up.
The fact that Chris hadn’t yet tried to see him or talk to him weighed heavily on his heart and mind. Not surprising, but nonetheless discouraging. Still, he felt better for Buck’s visit. Vin guessed he shouldn’t have assumed that Buck, of all people, would be homophobic. The man made no pretense of being anything he wasn’t, made no secret of the fact that his mother had been a prostitute, that he never knew his father, that he’d been raised in a brothel. If he could be proud of, or at least easy with, the fact that he was a bastard son of a whore, then maybe Vin could learn a little from him. Maybe it was time he stopped being afraid of being who he was. Being afraid of being.
Chris didn’t really know the half of it. Shit happens to everyone. Everybody has baggage. No need to talk about it; Chris knew what he needed to know. Vin had his GED, had been a sniper in the Army, and a member of the Marshalls tactical team. Chris knew he had passed his psych profile, knew his IQ, and knew his stack of official commendations on the job. That was good enough.
As if I could ever be good enough for Chris.
Weakness was not an open topic of discussion. Chris didn’t talk about Sarah and Adam. Josiah didn’t talk about his sister; JD didn’t talk about his mother. Neither, God help him, did Ezra. The only member on the team who had guessed Vin’s dyslexia had been Standish, who helped Vin type his reports. He did it on the sly, knowing without asking that this wasn’t something Vin wanted broadcast around the department.
That made Vin smile. Sure, Ezra often made fun of his stilted vocabulary, but Ezra made fun of everyone’s vocabulary. He corrected everyone’s grammar, even Chris’, and frequently bemoaned the general lack of culture and sophistication among his teammates. Vin had often wondered if he wasn’t gay, even though effeminate was definitely not a description anyone would ascribe to the undercover agent. Odd. Eccentric. Fastidious. But not feminine. As if all queers are dying to be transvestites.
Vin had worked out with Ezra too. The man hid an amazing amount of well-toned muscle beneath his Armani suits. He hid a lot, actually, his ability to hide his secrets as well as everyone else’s highly laudable.
If Ezra felt comfortable announcing his sexual orientation to the rest of the team, then maybe there was hope for Vin. Maybe. Not hope for him and Chris, but perhaps hope that the rug wasn’t completely pulled out from under his feet. Maybe his job could be salvaged. He and Ezra could laugh about it over some single-malt and watch some boring foreign film.
Christ, I need to stop thinking.
Vin grabbed his workout bag and his keys and headed for the gym. Most people wouldn’t be using it at 4 pm on a Monday. He could exercise until he puked and then go home and sleep. He left his cell phone on his coffee table and ignored its little blinking message light.
Whatever it was, it could wait.
The gym in the basement of the ATF building was empty. Vin decided on more cardio than weight-lifting, and began to ruthlessly punish one of the heavy bags attached to the ceiling by bulky chains. The chains rattled against their abuse; the air soon rife with the smell of sweat, and the smacking sound of fists connecting with stuffed leather. It was the end of a working day for most employees, and the sound of cars starting and exiting the garage filtered into Vin’s subconscious. If he was lucky, most people would choose not to end their work day with a workout.
He had never been lucky.
Three agents from another team bustled in, talking in animated fashion about whatever case they were working on. Vin recognized them and they all nodded in acknowledgement of one another. They hit the free weights, posing and flexing in front of the wall of mirrors on the other side of the room, laughing and poking fun at one another.
“You’re getting soft, Jameson.”
“That’s not what your mother said last night.”
There was laughter all around. Vin tried not to pay attention to them, but it was hard to ignore their comments. They weren’t intending any harm, just playing around. Men in a weight room must be macho, after all. Maybe it was Vin’s fairly bleak mood, maybe he was looking to punish himself more than he already was, maybe was just itching to get into a fight. Whatever the reason, he soon found himself slammed up against a locker getting punched repeatedly in the stomach.
It had begun with a typical if not so innocent comment from the smaller of the three agents, Lewis, directed at one of his teammates. “Quit staring at my ass, you fairy.”
“I just can’t help it when you bend over like that,” Allen had replied, affecting a heavy lisp, and resting his weight on one hip, limp-wristed hand bending in the air. “You just look so pretty.”
“Yeah, I always figured you for an cocksucker,” Lewis had joked. Allen swatted him with a towel.
“You two hear about Joe from Team 2?” Jameson asked in between reps. “His son came out of the closet.”
“No!” They other two gasped and shook their heads.
“Yep. Poor bastard doesn’t know what to do. I’m glad none of my family turned out queer. I don’t think I’d ever be able to hug my son again if I learned he took it up the ass. It’s a real shame.”
“Probably runs in the family,” Allen had quipped, and the others had snickered.
It went downhill from there. Vin didn’t know what set him off exactly – the laughter, the callousness, the total insensitivity. Or maybe he just felt the need to stand up for someone he didn’t know, someone he’d never met, someone who had far more guts than he, coming out of the closet to his family and friends regardless of the consequences. One moment, Vin was hitting the heavy bag, the next, he was hitting Jameson.
It went downhill from there.
Suddenly, one of the men was pulled off of Vin and tossed into the opposite lockers by a very large pair of arms belonging to Josiah Sanchez. Everyone stopped. The profiler was a force to be reckoned with.
Addressing the other agents, Josiah calmly inquired, “You want to tell me what’s going on here?”
“Fuck if I should know,” Allen answered, dabbing at a split lip, “Ask you friend there. He just launched himself at us. Damn near broke Jameson’s jaw.” Said agent was rubbing his face and working his jaw to make sure he still could.
Vin was still leaning against the lockers, red-faced and breathing heavily.
“I don’t know, but if I had to guess,” Lewis began with an imprudent sneer, “I’d say he didn’t like us making fun of his kind. You know, men who prefer little boys.”
That comment earned him an unimaginably swift response from the seething sharpshooter, who decked him to the floor with a left cross. Josiah stepped in, once again, restraining Vin in a head lock. “If I need to knock you out, Tanner, I will. Now settle down! All of you.” Josiah only released his hold when Vin seemed to capitulate. “And as for you three, I doubt that I need to remind you of ATF policy against discrimination and sexual harassment in the workplace. Nor should I have to remind you that Tanner works for Chris Larabee. And that, brothers, is a whole world of trouble that you don’t need. So it would definitely be in your best interests to keep your comments to yourselves, because the damage Larabee can inflict isn’t restricted to the physical. A broken jaw would be the least of your problems.”
“Yeah, well that doesn’t give him the right to …”
“No, it doesn’t give him the right to start a fistfight, nor does it give you the right to instigate one verbally. And you really don’t want to pursue this with me.” The look on his face – which would have made Larabee proud – coupled with his substantial size, got his point across.
The other agents seemed to mellow and said nothing further as they gathered their belongings and left, glaring angrily at Vin who stood mutely by the lockers.
After they left, Josiah turned his attention to his young teammate and asked again, “You want to tell me what went on here?”
Vin wiped at his bloody nose with the back of his hand and skulked over to his gym bag. “You heard ‘em.” That seemed to be a sufficient explanation for him.
“Oh,” Josiah said meaningfully, the protracted syllable carrying the full weight of his sarcasm, “So you thought that it would be the smartest thing to attack three men you don’t know because they were making rude comments about homosexuals in general? That would of course be the best way I can think of for you to broadcast your sexual orientation and get it spread around the building like wildfire.”
“I don’t need your one of your sermons, preacher man,” Vin countered irritably.
“Maybe not, but you obviously need someone to tell you to pull your head out of your ass and calm down. And since you ran off earlier, you didn’t give any of us even half a chance to defend ourselves.”
“Defend yourselves?” God, sometimes Vin wished Josiah would just speak plainly. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly where is your anger directed, Vin? Cause normally you’d just shrug off homophobic comments and not pay any attention to the opinions of people you don’t know and don’t care about. Are you mad at them, at yourself, or … are you angry at the rest of us for what you think we might be saying behind your back?”
Damnit to hell, but Josiah was usually right, and that really didn’t help Vin’s mood. Vin wasn’t mad at the guys from the other team, although they were being assholes and probably deserved a good beating. He was angry at Chris, and at the world, at his team for what he thought they were thinking, and most of all at himself for being something he couldn’t help. He seemed to deflate a little and sat down on a bench, undoing his sweaty hair from its tight pony tail.
Josiah adopted a purposefully non-threatening stance and spoke quietly. “None of us gives a damn that you’re gay, Vin. Chris least of all. He’s on the warpath trying to find out who did this to you so give the man some credit. And listen to him when he’s ready to talk. We’re all on your side and will stand by you whatever happens. But starting fights is about the stupidest thing you can do right now.” He exhaled sharply. “Now, I’m gonna work out and you should go put some ice on your face. Larabee sees you like that and he’s gonna go through the roof.”
Anger gone and replaced with empty resignation, Vin nodded. He knew it was stupid, knew it was careless, knew Chris would be angry. One more idiotic thing Vin could add to his personal resume. He knew the only person he had to blame for all of this was himself. He collected his things and left, shoulders slumped, head down.
Josiah went about his routine somberly. One of their own was hurting, and he needed to be shown that he wasn’t alone. He needed to know they cared. He needed Chris.