Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Gabe

Everyone was okay. In fact, they were more than okay. Newt and Sebastian were ecstatic when Frankie and I returned and were equally horrified when I recounted what had happened to me.

I waited a few days to ensure that our location at the safe house hadn't been compromised, but when no one came banging on our door trying to arrest us, or worse, I figured our hiding place was still safe for now.

Only then did I try contacting Lily. She may be the director's secretary—former director's secretary—but she was still one of the only people in the agency I trusted absolutely.

Our conversation had been brief. Apparently, there was chaos among the higher-ups as they scrambled to assign a replacement director. The only thing she was able to give me was a promise to eventually have more information about the situation, and a warning to lay low for a while. The director's death was, unsurprisingly, being blamed on me. My name had jumped to the top of the list of the FBI's most wanted people, and if I showed my face anywhere, an army of FBI agents would probably drop from the sky to arrest me.

Overall, things were not looking good.

I tried not to think about it as I focused on healing while I waited.

For the first time, I could truly sympathize with Sebastian's frustration. While I could still move around freely, my arm was kept in a sling to stabilize my shoulder while it healed, and even that small limitation was driving me up the wall.

"You're lucky," Frankie admonished me when he noticed my agitation over the sling. "The bullet managed to avoid hitting any bones. If it had, you'd be looking at a much longer recovery time."

I knew that. Bullet wounds had been one of the most common injuries I treated when I was in the Army Rangers. I knew everything there was to know about bullet wounds, but that didn't make it any easier whenever I instinctively tried to reach for something with my right arm and found it trapped against my side.

Several weeks passed in this way, caught between frustration and confusion.

Sebastian was able to move around the house with the help of a wheelchair, which had been a whole other adventure to procure, and had thrown himself back into the case of stopping the pedophile ring and finding the missing children.

With nothing better to do, I helped. We moved my makeshift office from the bathroom into the kitchen, resolutely ignoring the glares from Newt and Frankie who would prefer we spend our time resting. Neither of us could sit still any longer, however, and we went over every detail we knew looking for some new thread to follow.

"So, this man, Robert McLeod, is supposedly the one running the pedophile ring," Sebastian reiterated for the thousandth time while pointing at a picture of the man. "A fucking Senator who is able to manipulate the very laws of this country, is the one behind everything. No wonder we were never able to get a strong foothold on this case. Our enemy has literally every advantage. Although, that does make me wonder. If he's got all this money and all this power, why is he relying on the Mariano family for funding?"

I spread the various files and photographs over the table like a collage of crime, trying to piece together a larger picture from all these pieces. "Because he's such a public figure. All that money and power comes at the cost of anonymity. People would notice if he was spending large sums of money on seemingly nothing. We're never going to get anywhere focusing on the leaders of this ring. They're too well protected. Our best bet will be to focus on the underlings."

I moved the picture of Tansie Bell's son to the center of the table. "This boy. We need to focus on this boy. He's an anomaly."

Sebastian picked up the picture, studying it as if he'd never seen it before despite being just as familiar with everything on the table as I was. "What's so odd about him? It fits everything we know about how this pedophile ring works. A disadvantaged mother gives her kid up for adoption, and certain hospital administrators are paid to erase paperwork and make the child disappear from the system. The only odd thing is that Miss Bell happened to run into the kid by accident. Assuming he actually is her son, which we don't know for certain, that still doesn't tell us anything."

"Maybe it does." On my laptop, I brought up a map of the area where Tansie Bell's son was seen. "Why was the boy brought out in public? I could understand if there was a hotel nearby and they were bringing the boy to a... client." Sebastian and I both made a disgusted face. "However, this area is mostly historical buildings where tourists gather to take pictures, along with a bunch of shops and restaurants. If this kid is a victim of a pedophile ring, to them he is basically chattel. He's a product for them to sell, and this doesn't seem like the kind of place worth risking their product by bringing the boy out into the open."

Sebastian turned my laptop around so he could get a better look at the screen. "You think there's something special about this area?"

"I definitely want to go and visit the area myself. Get a look with my own eyes. A map can only tell us so much."

"And that's where I'm going to have to cut you off," Frankie's voice interrupted us. He stood over the table, his shadow falling across the collage. "Neither of you are going anywhere."

Over his shoulder, I could see Newt standing just a few feet away, arms crossed and tapping his foot with a disgruntled expression on his face.

Sebastian must have noticed Newt as well, for he immediately turned placating. "We weren't planning on going anywhere right now ," he said, waving his hands in front of himself like a shield. "We just mean that eventually we want to visit the area."

I re-stacked the pictures into a more orderly layout. "There's nothing stopping me from visiting it right now."

Frankie snatched the picture of Tansie Bell's son from my hand. "Nothing but that hole in your shoulder. You're not going anywhere until you're healed."

I tried to grab the picture back, but he danced out of my reach. "It's been weeks. I'm fine."

"You are better than you were," Frankie agreed. "But that is not the same as fine. Now, go wash up so we can have dinner. Take a break from all this."

He stormed away from the table, taking the picture with him.

I followed after him, hissing under my breath when the sudden movement jolted my arm. Maybe I wasn't as fine as I claimed, but I wasn't about to let anyone know that, and refused to let the pain show on my face.

"This is my job," I said as I followed Frankie into our shared bedroom. "I can't just take a break from it."

"Well, maybe you should. Your job almost got you killed, and your own coworkers are now the ones hunting you down. As if being targeted by a mob-funded pedophile ring isn't bad enough."

Not wanting to let the others hear us arguing, again, I turned to close the bedroom door. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of Newt and Sebastian talking. Based on their body language, Newt was obviously just as upset as Frankie, but somehow the pair managed to discuss their problem without arguing.

How did they do it?

Does being romantically involved make things easier?

Or are they both just that much better at communicating?

Sucking in a deep breath, I closed the door and turned to face Frankie.

"I cannot just give up on my job. That would mean giving up on all the victims who need my help, and I refuse to do that. And unless I have seriously misjudged your character, I don't think you want that either."

The fight instantly drained out of him, and he seemed to sag within his own skin. "No. I don't. I just wish that helping people didn't have to come at the risk of your own safety." He stepped forward until his head rested on my uninjured shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get mad at you. I just... hate everything that is happening right now."

A man putting his head on my shoulder was a request for comfort, right?

I'd never had anyone act so familiarly with me before, not since I was a kid anyway, and I didn't immediately know what to do.

Raising my arm that wasn't trapped in a sling, I stroked a hand over the back of his head.

I immediately knew that was the wrong move. Frankie sprang away from me, clutching the back of his head like I'd struck him. Panic made his eyes glitter in a way that should not have looked so pretty, and I realized I'd seen this expression on his face before.

"Are you injured?"

"What?" Frankie ran both hands through his braids in a self-soothing gesture as he took a deep breath. "No. Everything's fine. What makes you say that?"

"You reacted the same way when I grabbed your hair, back when I was trying to show you some self-defense. Is it something that I'm doing wrong? If I'm hurting you, then I want to know so I don't do it again."

For a moment it looked like Frankie might bolt out of the room, and I was already prepared to face a reality where he locked himself in the RV again. However, rather than run, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes, tipping his head up toward the ceiling like he was praying. Then, when he opened his eyes again, there was a new strength in his expression.

Without saying a word, he grabbed my hand and pressed it against the back of his head, guiding my fingers to bury in his braids until I touched his scalp.

A thick line of knotted scar tissue ran along the back of his head. At first, I wanted to pull back, afraid I would hurt such an obviously sensitive area, but Frankie grabbed my wrist with both hands.

"It's fine. I don't actually feel anything there. You can touch. It won't hurt me."

With his permission, I slowly traced my fingers over the scar. It took the entire length of my hand to cover it, stretching all the way from just behind Frankie's ear to the back of his head. The fact that the scar was so raised meant that the wound had not been easy to stitch together, and the skin had not aligned properly.

A scar like this anywhere on the body would be a big deal, but on the head, it was even more shocking. I could imagine several different wounds that would leave such a scar, and each possibility left me feeling angrier than the last.

It was a struggle, but I managed to keep my voice steady as I spoke. "What happened?"

The wound may be old but the memories of it were obviously still raw as phantom pain flickered in Frankie's eyes.

"Oh, you know. An openly gay black boy living in the American deep south. High school was a treat."

He obviously needed a minute to collect his thoughts, so I guided us both to sit side by side on the bed. Not once did he ask me to remove my hand from his head, and I didn't feel particularly inclined to let go, so I just kept rubbing along the line of the scar as if I could erase it from his skin.

"I told you that I used to be on the track team in high school, right?" Frankie asked when he found his voice again.

I understood social cues enough to understand that he was not looking for an actual answer. It was just a transition into the story he actually wanted to tell. So, I nodded in encouragement for him to keep talking, but stayed silent as I listened.

"I didn't really like running on the track team, but I was good at it, and a sports scholarship was the only way I was going to college. I don't think I ever saw my parents so happy as the day I was told that I'd gotten the scholarship they wanted."

"You were injured because you earned a sports scholarship?"

I shouldn't have spoken. My role in this interaction was to listen, not to interrupt, but the idea was so absurd I couldn't help seeking clarification.

Luckily, Frankie didn't seem to mind the interruption. He merely laughed a sad little chuckle and pressed his head closer into my hand like a dog asking to be petted.

"The scholarship probably didn't help, but it wasn't the main problem. No, the main problem was the high school's locker rooms."

I moved on from gently rubbing his scar to giving him a full head massage. It seemed to calm him down, and he even moaned a little as he continued his story.

"The other boys weren't happy about having to shower and change around me. Most of them just avoided me, but there was this one guy. I'm not going to name him, because he doesn't deserve that recognition, so let's just call him dick-waffle, because I've always liked that insult."

It was certainly a descriptive insult. I could already picture the kind of person Frankie was describing.

Frankie's eyes were closed, and he looked serene as he enjoyed the head massage. The image was such a contrast to what he was saying that it gave me vertigo as I listened to him.

"Dick-waffle would not leave me alone. All through high school he was constantly harassing me, especially in the locker rooms when I couldn't get away from him so easily. Calling me a slut. Accusing me of creeping on the other boys when they were changing. Constantly demanding to know how many guys I'd fucked. I once tried to explain that I was still a virgin at the time, but that was a mistake. It only encouraged him."

The more I heard, the more I hated where this story was going. Considering it ended with Frankie getting injured, I already knew I wouldn't like it, but this was worse than I expected.

"That's sexual harassment. Why didn't any of the adults stop it?"

Frankie opened his eyes just enough to raise an incredulous brow at me. "You grew up privileged didn't you? The teachers and staff at the kind of school I went to did not get paid enough to care. And my parents... well, I wasn't being physically harmed, my grades were still good, and I earned the scholarship they wanted. As far as they were concerned, I just needed to endure it and not rock the boat."

For the first time, I was glad for the sling on my arm. It hid the shaking of my fist. The hand on Frankie's head stayed gentle, but the other hand clenched so tightly in anger that the tips of my fingers were going numb.

Yet, Frankie continued like there was nothing unusual about what he said. "I managed to do what they wanted until the end of my senior year. I was so close to being done. My bags were already packed for college, but I just couldn't take it anymore. He started up his usual harassment in the locker room and I turned it back on him. I got flirty, and pointed out that his obsession with my sex life obviously meant that he wanted to sleep with me."

He laughed again, but I didn't find anything funny.

"Looking back on it now, I probably hit the nail on the head. Internalized homophobia is a bitch. Well, later that day, dick-waffle caught me alone when I was heading home and..." Frankie turned his head, so it pressed against my good shoulder. "He was on the baseball team and he had one hell of a swing."

I couldn't help it. I removed my hand from Frankie's head to instead cup his face and force him to look at me. "He attacked you with a baseball bat just because you flirted with him?"

"Yep," Frankie smiled, even as unshed tears gathered in his eyes. "Cracked my head clean open and left me lying on the pavement."

His words were so upbeat they sounded manic.

"My parents kept me on a tight schedule, so they noticed right away when I didn't come home. It was a good thing they found me so quickly or I would have died. One of the benefits of overprotective parents. My motor functions were really screwed up for a while, and because of that, I lost my scholarship. But I didn't actually like track, anyway, so it was fine. My parents basically gave up on me, but in exchange, I got a really awesome physical therapist. She was a saint and helped me through a really hard time. I even became a physical therapist because of her, so you could say that dick-waffle actually did me a favor."

He was rambling and laughing at the same time as tears dripped from his eyes. I didn't know how to make him stop crying or calm him down, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I kissed him.

It was only meant to be a brief exchange, just enough to stop him from spiraling, but once we started, I couldn't seem to stop.

Just a moment ago I had been thankful for the sling, but now I hated it. With only one functioning arm, I could pull him closer, but I couldn't cradle the back of his head at the same time, as I so desperately wanted.

After a few moments locked together, Frankie seemed to come to his senses and pulled away. He didn't leave the embrace of my arm, but he put distance between his mouth and mine.

"What are you doing?"

I couldn't stop staring at his lips, wet with my saliva, but I forced myself to look him in the eye. "What? You can kiss me when I'm not well, but I can't do the same?"

Those lips parted in a tiny breathless gasp as Frankie gaped at me. "You remember that?"

I just nodded and watched as a bright flush illuminated his dark skin.

He slapped my uninjured shoulder.

"You didn't say anything about it, so I thought you forgot."

"No. I just didn't know what it meant."

Dark eyes glanced down at the lack of space between us and the arm I still had wrapped around him. "So, what does this mean now?"

I hadn't thought about it and didn't actually know what to say. So, I took a risk and spoke the words that were in my mind without hyper-analyzing them. "It means that you're upset, and I don't like it when you're upset. Someone like you deserves to only experience good things, and I want to be the one to give you those good things. Does that make sense?"

"You know..." He considered me for a moment. "It actually does."

Then he wrapped both arms around my neck and pulled me in for another kiss. This time, with both of us participating equally, the embrace was even deeper. He licked at my lips, his tongue beckoning me to come play with him. I was happy to oblige, and the minute my lips parted, his tongue immediately darted inside my mouth like it was determined to make a new home there.

We kissed until we couldn't breathe, then parted just enough to catch our breaths before melding back together. At one point, we lost our balance and tipped over. Frankie ended up lying on his back on the bed with me kneeling over him, but we never broke the kiss. If anything, it only heightened the passion growing between us and I practically crushed Frankie into the mattress as we desperately made out like teenagers.

When I finally pulled back and looked down at Frankie below me, the other man was a mess. With kiss-swollen lips, glazed eyes, and tangled braids that created a halo around him on the bed, he was deserving of a centerfold despite being fully clothed.

It was the first time I could remember that I didn't mind getting a little messy.

Unfortunately, with only one arm for support, I couldn't stay kneeling over him. So, I moved to lie beside him instead. He clung to me and buried his face against my chest, and I was happy to act as his pillow.

"Hey, do me a favor," he said without raising his head, so his vibrating voice tickled me through my shirt.

Now that I was no longer holding myself up, my hand instantly found the back of his head and I started stroking over his braids. "That's a dangerous agreement to make until I know what the favor is."

He finally looked up at me and fisted his hands in my shirt like he was afraid I'd disappear.

"You were right earlier. You can't stop doing your job, and I wouldn't want you to. However, when you go check out the place where Tansie Bell's son was seen, take me with you. I know I may not be as capable of a fighter as you, but I'm not useless. I can still help, and you need some support. You can't do everything alone."

I pressed a quick peck of a kiss to his lips, silencing him.

"All right. You can come."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, really. And don't ever say you're useless. Nothing could be farther from the truth."