Warrior’s Cross

Chapter Eight #2

“I’m going to kill Blake when this is over,” Julian was telling Preston through gritted teeth.

“You should have done that before we moved everything, sir,” Preston responded without missing a beat. “It would have saved us quite a lot of trouble.”

“Smartass,” Julian muttered under his breath. “And stop calling me sir!”

“Of course, sir,” Preston responded with an obvious smile as he walked through the open front door.

“Are you two still bitching?” Blake called out as he moved away from the window. “Bring me my dinner!”

Julian caught up to Preston and dug into one of the bags as the other man held it patiently and tried not to smirk. He pulled out a cheeseburger wrapped in yellow paper, walked into the room where Blake was working, and chucked the burger at him.

Luckily, Blake looked up just in time, and he caught the burger against his chest. “Thank you, Julian,” he drew out as he sat down on a box. “Feeling any better?” he asked pointedly.

“Do I look like I’m feeling better?” Julian demanded. “Do I seem to be in a better mood?” he asked sarcastically. “Preston!” he shouted suddenly. “Give me my fucking nuggets,” he demanded as he turned, only to find Preston standing behind him with a box of chicken in his hand. “Goddamn it,” Julian offered before snatching the box and stalking out of the room with his food.

“I’ll just be taking the others home then, sir,” Preston said to him, and Blake knew the man was trying desperately not to laugh. Julian didn’t respond other than to growl something unsavory as he disappeared deeper into the house.

Blake sighed. He knew exactly what was making it so bad. “I didn’t know, Preston,” he murmured, referring to the young man standing outside with the rest of his remaining volunteer moving company.

“How could you, sir?” Preston asked with a cock of his head.

“I’d have thought that he would have told me ...” Blake’s voice rose toward the end of the sentence. He stopped and shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter. The day’s done, and they both suffered, from what I saw. Spilled milk. Go ahead, Preston. And thanks for your help.”

Preston remained where he was, still managing to look oddly dignified as he held several bags of fast food in his arms. He looked like he was about to say something, but finally he nodded in response and turned to leave.

“Preston?” Blake asked, having caught the other man’s hesitation.

“Yes, sir?” Preston answered as he turned obediently.

Blake frowned. “What were you going to say?”

Preston was silent as he met Blake’s eyes. “Mr. Cross has become quite reckless,” he finally said softly. “I believe sharing the news was the last of his concerns.”

Blake’s eyes went hard. “Reckless,” he stated. “Do you feel he’s... purposely endangering himself?”

Preston pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, sir,” he answered curtly. “Perhaps what I meant to say was he’s not exactly a master of his emotions like he once was. He tends to... throw cheeseburgers.”

“I see.” Blake relaxed a little, and he nodded. “All right. Thank you, Preston.”

“My pleasure, sir,” Preston offered with a little bow, and he turned on his heel and left the room.

Blake sat there thinking as he unwrapped his cheeseburger, and then got up to go find Julian. “Cross! Where’d you go?” he yelled out.

He found Julian sitting at the counter in the kitchen, shoulders slightly hunched as he ate his McNuggets. The man looked so odd eating out of a cardboard box that Blake had to stop and just stare at him for a moment.

When he forced himself to move again, Blake snagged two cold bottles of Coca-Cola out of a cooler and set one on the counter in front of Julian. He waited several minutes, until it was clear Julian wasn’t going to say anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Jules?” he asked.

“What was there to tell?” Julian asked softly, looking up to meet Blake’s eyes.

“Well, how about, ‘Blake, I’m not seeing Cameron anymore, just so you know’,” Blake posed.

“I didn’t know the issue would become a problem,” Julian responded icily.

“It wasn’t.” Blake paused significantly. “For me .”

Julian’s chin jerked slightly, and he moved almost explosively, slamming his hand down on the counter hard enough to rattle the boxes full of kitchen utensils sitting nearby. “What do you want me to say?” he demanded in a loud voice.

Blake was unperturbed by the rare outburst. “If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have asked him to help today,” he said flatly. “I didn’t even know anything was wrong until he told me. And who am I supposed to feel sorry for here, Jules? Did you finally give in and convince yourself he was better off without you?” he asked angrily.

The muscles of Julian’s jaw jumped as he gritted his teeth. “No. He did. Any other questions?”

Blake’s lips tightened, but he knew he’d pushed enough. Even Julian had his limit, and he’d obviously reached it very quickly. “No,” he responded quietly, shaking his head.

Julian continued to look at him unflinchingly, his eyes turning hard and as black as obsidian. It was obvious that he was getting angrier even as he tried to calm himself. “Today was hard for him?” he asked in a low voice.

“I believe so,” Blake answered, resting his elbows on the counter.

“He was... distressed. Wanted to ask about you, I could tell.”

Julian’s eyes unfocused slightly, and he looked away, tapping his finger against the granite countertop. “I thought I’d prefer hearing that answer,” he muttered. He stood and began moving toward a cooler where there were several beers waiting. “I was wrong,” he admitted without looking back at Blake.

Blake frowned. “You want him to be miserable? Or at least, as unhappy as you?”

Julian shook his head. “I want to want him to be miserable,” he clarified dejectedly. “I just can’t bring myself to do it.”

Blake would have laughed, but Julian was so obviously hurting he couldn’t find it in himself to see much humor in it. “What happened, Julian? You both seemed... happy.”

Julian fished a beer out of the cooler and let the lid fall shut, and then he straightened and turned to look at Blake, his eyes full of sadness. “I scared him,” he explained with a helpless shrug. “And he sent me away.”

Blake slumped a bit at the counter. “I’m sorry, Julian,” he said, knowing full well it wouldn’t help. “I really thought—”

“So did I,” Julian whispered as he popped the top off the beer and downed a long drink of it.

“You know, normal people use bottle openers,” Blake pointed out wryly as he looked at the bottle cap Julian had tossed on the counter.

“I have little use for normal people,” Julian responded coldly as he stared at the countertop, not seeing it.

Blake sat silently as Julian continued to drink, keeping him company as the night stretched on.

Tuesdays was about an hour from closing, and filled tables were few and far between. Cameron focused on cleaning up after a party that had stayed late. He stacked plates on his tray and slid glasses carefully onto the rolling cart nearby before glancing out the window.

Spring was in full swing outside, all signs of snow and ice gone.

His mouth quirked. Most people figured that being “up north” meant Chicago had lovely springs and autumns. It did, he supposed, but surrounded by concrete, glass, and asphalt, he figured it might as well be June by now. But once outside when the sun set, a lovely crisp cool breeze would blow in, circulating off the lake, and that seemed to bring the sleepy city back to life.

As Cameron returned his attention to cleaning the table, a man entered the restaurant and looked around quickly as he unwrapped the thin scarf from his neck. He wore a black pea-coat and his dark hair was unruly from the windy night. He stepped up to Keri at the hostess stand and requested a quiet table.

“Preferably in one of the alcoves,” he added in a posh British accent.

Keri led him to a quiet table, leaving the menu and promising quick service. She got Cameron’s attention, and he nodded. He walked back to the service area to wash his hands before heading back out to the table.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Cameron, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight,” he offered pleasantly. He rattled off the night’s special and showed the man the other menus. “Would you like some time?” he asked after he was done.

“No, thank you,” the man answered with a smile as he looked up at Cameron appraisingly. “I’ll take the special and the house wine,” he ordered, relaxed and smiling as he spoke.

Cameron blinked as the casual phrase struck a nerve. “Of course,” he covered with just the slightest hitch. “I’ll get that order in for you right away,” he assured the man before turning to depart.

True to his words, Cameron returned within minutes with a fine crystal glass and a bottle of wine that he deftly opened. He poured a bit into the glass for the man to taste and waited, still musing over how one innocent phrase hit him so hard even after all the time that had passed.

The man tasted the wine and nodded his approval as he set the glass down and looked up at Cameron, measuring him silently.

“Are Tuesdays always this busy?” he asked finally.

“Busy?” Cameron picked up the glass to fill it halfway. “Early, usually. This time of night, not so much. If you want to eat earlier in the evenings, we do accept reservations.”

The man smiled and laughed softly, a surprisingly deep, rich sound. “I always have reservations,” he quipped.

Cameron frowned a bit and looked at the man directly. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before,” he said apologetically.

The man looked up at him and snorted in amusement. “That joke must not translate across the pond,” he said with a slight shrug. “No, I’ve only been in here a few times. Mostly private parties or in the bar for a quick bite,” he added.

Cameron nodded briefly and set down the glass and bottle, though he took another look at the man to be sure. “Enjoy the wine. Your dinner should be out shortly,” he said.

“Thank you,” the man drawled as he watched Cameron’s movements carefully. “Has Mr. Bailey come in tonight?” he asked casually.

Cameron stopped and turned back, his thoughts scurrying quickly.

Bailey. He had heard that name somewhere before, hadn’t he? He couldn’t place it as a customer, though.

“I’m sorry. Can you describe him for me?” he asked politely.

The man looked up at him thoughtfully and then shook his head. “I must have you mistaken for someone else,” he finally concluded in an easy drawl. “Mr. Bailey was well-known to the man I was thinking of. He visited him in hospital a while back.” He narrowed his eyes, and Cameron was struck suddenly by how similar this man’s eyes were to Julian’s. They weren’t even the same color, more a light brown or maybe hazel, but there was the same intelligent, calculating quality to them. “Perhaps you knew him as Julian?” the man said abruptly.

Cameron’s stomach seemed to drop into his toes, and he prayed that his face didn’t betray his physical reaction. He shook his head slowly. “I do know many of the repeat customers,” he murmured, knowing he was a terrible liar. Cameron figured sticking to the truth was the best, if at all possible, but he didn’t know what to think of this man. There was something slightly... hard-edged and predatory about him. “But I’m afraid neither name rings a bell,” he added in the hope that the lie would go undetected.

The man looked up at him with a slight smile still on his lips and he nodded. “My mistake,” he offered smoothly. “Suppose I’ll just have to find him another way,” he said almost happily.

With no verbal acknowledgment required, Cameron turned and walked back to the service area without slowing his pace. When he got out of sight, he leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath.

Even if the man was looking to find Julian, Cameron couldn’t help him. Not now. He didn’t know how to get in touch with him, and he couldn’t have found the house again if his life depended on it. He sighed, pushing away the sudden, familiar pang of loneliness. He was surprised to find that he was slightly jealous as well. The man sitting out there was looking for his ex-lover, and Cameron knew nothing about him now. He closed his eyes, reminding himself yet again that it was no longer his business to know anything about Julian.

He delivered the meal not long after, setting it in front of the man with a minimum of fuss. “Please let me know if you need anything,” Cameron told him softly.

“Oh, I certainly will,” the man murmured in a low drawl, looking up at Cameron and smiling his charming smile.

Cameron suppressed the tiny flash of warmth he felt at someone—a handsome someone—smiling at him like that, despite how the man’s very presence also bothered him. He had purposely avoided anything resembling a relationship since Julian had walked away. It was the first real attention he’d allowed himself to notice in months. That it didn’t feel quite right spooked him.

He lifted the tray and folded the stand against his thigh, trying not to glance again at the man.

“Do you work here every night?” the man asked casually as he spread his napkin in his lap.

Warning bells went off in Cameron’s head. The last time he’d answered questions like these, it had led him to Julian. And as wonderful as that had been, it had ended very badly. “I work a variable schedule,” he answered. “That’s the restaurant business for you,” he added with a shrug. He stepped back to leave.

“Yeah, the restaurant business,” the man echoed thoughtfully. “I hear it’s a killer,” he said slowly as he looked up at Cameron with his odd, sparkling eyes.

Cameron slowly looked up at the man and thought that maybe he now knew how other people felt when faced with Julian: intimidated and frightened by the dull grind of uncertainty and fear in his gut. How could someone be so polite and outwardly pleasant, but still cause that feeling? Was this how Julian operated with other people?

“It can be, sir,” Cameron acknowledged with only the slightest waver in his voice. “Enjoy your meal,” he forced out as he moved away, heading straight for the service area.

“He’s kinda cute,” one of the waitresses commented to him as soon as he stepped into the back. “Cam, why do you get all the hot, lone guys? Are they all gay?” she asked jokingly.

Startled, Cameron looked over at her with wide eyes.

“Something’s off about him, Sylvia,” he said to her.

“What do you mean?” Sylvia asked in confusion as Miri stepped up beside Cameron and peered out the window into the dining room.

Cameron closed his eyes, unable to believe he was saying this. “He kinda scares me.”

Miri and Sylvia both turned around to look at him incredulously.

“That guy?” Sylvia asked in disbelief as she looked back through the blinds. “He hasn’t stopped smiling since he got in here!” she protested.

Cameron nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. He rubbed his arms as if he were cold. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

“What’d he do?” Miri asked him as she stood on her toes and looked out the window again.

Cameron tipped his head and mentally arranged what he wanted to say. “He asked about another customer, but I guess that’s not too out of line.”

“And that scared you?” Miri asked doubtfully.

“Some of the things he said,” Cameron murmured. He sighed and glanced to Miri. “He asked about Julian.”

“What?” Miri asked in disbelief. She frowned and turned to look back at the man again. “Maybe he’s... his brother?” she posed hopefully. “Kinda looks like him.”

Cameron slanted her a sharp look, his jaw set. She shrugged and winced. Cameron rubbed a hand over his eyes. “All right,” he said tiredly. “Go back to work,” he told them with a frown. They both nodded as Sylvia risked one last glance at the man in the dining area.

Cameron allowed himself a moment to openly hurt at the mere thought of Julian, and then he forced himself to get back to work as well. About fifteen minutes later, he made his way out with a water pitcher to freshen the man’s glass.

“I hope your entrée pleased you,” he murmured, having to say something .

“It was very good,” the man answered in a low voice. He was watching Cameron in a way strikingly similar to how Julian had always followed his movements. There was definitely a predatory hint to it.

But while with Julian’s eyes following him Cameron had felt flattered and excited, now he just felt pinned and suffocated.

“Would you like to have dessert tonight?” Cameron asked after filling the water glass, trying to shake the discomfort.

The man smiled crookedly. It gave him a slightly rakish, almost mischievous air. “What are my choices?” he asked in a somewhat suggestive tone.

Cameron’s back stiffened. He knew he wasn’t misreading the man now. “English trifle with caramel, vanilla bean crème br?lée, Dutch chocolate pyramid, or strawberries and cream,” he answered, telling himself to ignore what the man was suggesting.

The man’s lips twitched in amusement. “Maybe another time,” he decided softly. “I wouldn’t want to keep you any later,” he drawled as he nodded at the huge wrought-iron clock in the entryway of the restaurant.

His words struck Cameron just as hard as all his other actions had.

It was almost the same thing Julian had said to him all those months ago.

Glancing toward the clock to dispel the feelings, Cameron saw it was almost eleven. Normally he’d have assured a customer that he could stay as long as he liked. But tonight...

“May I bring you the check?” he asked.

“Please,” the man answered, his speculative eyes never leaving Cameron.

Cameron nodded and left, swallowing hard once he was turned away. This man really gave him a bad feeling. He wished he knew why; and he wished, not for the first time, that he could get in touch with Julian. He wanted that feeling of safety and security he’d experienced in Julian’s arms.

He supposed, if it was a real emergency, he could contact Blake.

But Blake was harder to reach than he had been six weeks ago. He didn’t come to the restaurant anymore. He hadn’t been there since the day he’d moved. He merely called occasionally to check in, never talking for more than a minute or two. Cameron had his number, but he felt stupid, going to all that trouble over a diner who was hitting on him.

Cameron pushed through the service area doors and called up and printed the check, his hands shaking the whole time. He was just being paranoid, he tried to tell himself. He was allowing his experience with Julian to get to him, still suffering from the barely healed wound to his heart. Now Cameron just wanted this man who’d brought up painful memories to go away.

He walked back to the table silently and set down the leather folder. The man immediately slid a credit card on top of it, his eyes on Cameron, who avoided them. Cameron took the folder and headed over to the bar to run the card and print the signature slip.

He wasn’t really paying much attention, but when the confirmation flashed across the computer screen, the man’s name caught his eye.

Arlo Lancaster.

Lancaster.

Cameron swallowed hard. That was the man Miri talked about not too long ago. She’d said Blake warned Julian about him. Now truly upset, Cameron was thankful he’d kept his mouth shut. He’d hurt Julian enough as it was. He didn’t need to be giving out information about him to people he needed to who made him need to “watch his back” as well.

He nearly crumpled the signature slip, but managed to get it into the folder with his trembling fingers. Cameron wanted—needed—to get this man out of the restaurant and call Blake. He took the leather folder over to the table and set it down along with an ink pen before stepping back to wait, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Lancaster signed the slip, leaving a generous tip, one on the level of Julian’s tips. He slid his card back into his wallet and then stood as he replaced his wallet under his jacket. A leather strap was clearly visible under the jacket, as was the hilt of the gun that rested in the holster. He wasn’t a big man, wiry and perhaps the same height as Cameron, but despite his average size Cameron noted Lancaster exuded the same feeling Julian had.

But Lancaster truly scared him.

“Thank you for the dinner, Cameron,” he offered as he readjusted his jacket and smiled.

Cameron went absolutely cold. It was all he could do to manage a polite nod.

Lancaster either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the effect his words and actions had, and he moved past Cameron as he walked toward the door. Cameron had the very terrifying thought that he had just dodged a bullet.

Once Lancaster was out the door, Cameron went to the front office, found Blake’s new number, and called him at home.

“Yes?” Blake answered gruffly on the second ring.

“It’s Cameron,” Cameron said shakily.

“What’s wrong?” Blake asked immediately, though his voice was still calm.

“Arlo Lancaster just had dinner.”

Blake was silent for a long time, so long that Cameron thought the connection might have dropped. Then Blake cleared his throat. “I’m not going to ask why you felt the need to call me,” he finally said. “Don’t worry about it, Cameron,” he ordered, though his voice was kind. “Just be alert walking home tonight.”

“Alert?” Cameron asked in surprise. “You mean he—”

“Don’t leave for another hour. But when you do, go straight home,” Blake said, his tone stern. “And do it quickly when you go. No cabs. Walk like you usually do.”

Cameron stared at the wall and bit his lip. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“Good night, Cameron,” Blake offered gently.

“Good night, Blake.” Cameron hung up the receiver and looked at it for a long time as his mind raced in circles before leaving the office.

Cameron left Tuesdays a little after midnight like Blake had instructed. It was amazing how such a short amount of time with Julian had made Cameron so paranoid. Even here in the city, he’d never been truly afraid, and he felt he was usually a confident man. But not now.

Not in this situation. He was frightened and growing more so by the minute. He’d never been afraid for himself before now. Only for Julian.

He walked out of the building into the warm, slightly stuffy air and started walking home, just like he always did. It wasn’t long before the rustle of soft footsteps accompanied his own.

The first time he noticed, Cameron thought he was hearing things.

Echoes on a quiet night. The second time, he knew. He swallowed hard and stopped at the corner before chancing a look over his shoulder. A slim figure walked along the sidewalk at a casual pace, hands in pockets and head bowed against the warm wind that whipped between the tall buildings on either side of the street.

Cameron looked back at the street and jogged across it. He’d been out at this time of night hundreds of times. And here in the retail-driven city center, there was almost always at least a small amount of traffic on the streets. But for some reason, tonight there was nothing. His heart was beating hard as he started walking again, trying to keep it casual.

The other person—man?—continued on his own path, seemingly oblivious to Cameron’s change of direction until he reached a crosswalk. He looked both ways and then crossed the street, keeping up with Cameron in an alarmingly off-hand manner.

Cameron forced himself to remain calm. Or at least somewhat calm. Not visibly freaking out. His condo was only a block away. But if the man was indeed following him, there was no way Cameron could go there. Not safely. Behind him, his shadow picked up the pace and began to slowly close in on him.

Shivering as his nerves ramped up, a memory of Julian once saying he’d stopped Cameron from being mugged popped into his head. Maybe that was all this was. His hand strayed to his breastbone, touching the necklace hidden under his shirt. Before he could think about it, Cameron stopped and whirled around, determined to see what was coming.

The sidewalk behind him was empty, save for a newspaper rolling slowly across the street.

Cameron stared for a long moment, unnerved, his breathing jerky.

The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. Julian had been able to disappear like that; this man was apparently cut from the same cloth, and Cameron was no longer entertaining thoughts of coincidences or possible muggings. He looked from side to side before slowly turning back to the direction he’d been walking. He walked more slowly, all his senses alert for the slightest hint of the man following him again. The rustle of a newspaper followed him, but he heard no more footsteps.

Letting out a shaky breath, Cameron again debated the wisdom of going home. He wasn’t sure if he was letting the whole mess with Julian get to him. He shook his head and started walking faster again.

He was almost home. If he could just get home behind the locked doors, he knew he’d be able to shake off the odd feelings.

As he made it to the door of his building, a low hissing sound met his ears. “Keep walking,” a muffled voice said from the shadow of a decorative pillar. “Go around the corner and wait. Then come back and get inside.”

Cameron stutter-stepped, but he distantly recognized what was going on, even if it scared the hell out of him. He made himself keep moving, right past his door and up to the corner, forcing himself not to look back. Once out of view he turned and ducked into the darkness.

He took several more steps and stopped, leaning back against the brick wall. He was shaking all over, his breathing coming in tiny gasps as he strained to hear what was going on.

It was Julian. It had to be Julian.

Moments later he could hear the shuffle of feet and what sounded like a hard collision of bodies. “’Scuse me!” someone shouted drunkenly. “Hey! This here’s my side a the road!” the drunk shouted belligerently. It was followed with the scuffling sound of a stumble, as if someone had been shoved.

“God!” he heard a frighteningly familiar British accent exclaim in disgust. “You smell like piss, mate.”

Cameron’s stomach plummeted.

“Piss? I’ll show you piss!” the drunk cackled gleefully.

Moments later there was another muffled exclamation, and when Cameron cautiously peered around the corner at the street he could see Lancaster jogging to the other sidewalk. The man looked back over his shoulder as he walked quickly, and then he stopped and kicked at his shoe as if it had something on it. He looked around at the street ahead, hands fisting at his sides, and Cameron jerked back into the shadowed doorway where he was hiding. He felt choked with fright and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. But he had to see, just in case Lancaster came his way.

“Bugger,” Lancaster muttered as he looked out at the empty street.

He turned and looked back over his shoulder, obviously searching for the drunk who had accosted him, and he shook his head in disgust when he found himself alone on the street. “Jules?” he called out in an almost amused voice. There was no response from the deserted streets.

“That’s a new one. I’ll give you that much,” he said into the silence and then cocked his head to await a response. None came.

Lancaster waited another few breaths, then turned and began to head back the way he’d come, swiftly moving out of sight.

Cameron waited until he couldn’t see the man anymore before he walked cautiously back to the corner and peeked around it down the sidewalk to his building. A man appeared out of the alley along the other side of the building, dressed in tattered layers and holding a nearly empty bottle of liquor. He was looking the other way, making certain the man who’d been following Cameron was out of sight. As Cameron watched, he took a long swig of the bottle in his hand. He straightened and seemed to shake out his shoulders, growing taller and straighter, then he rolled his shoulders and hunched again. Cameron’s first thought was that it was Julian in disguise. It had to be. His heart hammered as he took a step away from the corner.

The bum turned and looked back toward Cameron. He caught sight of Cameron and raised his bottle unsteadily in a silent salute before beginning to shuffle off the other way, weaving drunkenly and struggling clumsily with the fur-lined hat he wore to keep it out of his eyes. As the hat moved, Cameron caught a glimpse of Preston’s shock of blond hair even in the low light of the street-lamps, and his heart sank briefly with a pang of confusing disappointment.

Coming around the corner, Cameron found it hard to breathe. It hadn’t been Preston’s voice that had warned him. And where Preston was, Julian was sure to be close. His hand again moved to his throat where the pendant still hung. It was Julian. Even after what Cameron had said to drive him away, Julian was still protecting him. He looked around the shadows, knowing instinctively that Julian was still there, somewhere, waiting and watching in case there was still danger.

“Julian?” he called softly, just as Lancaster had done. The name echoed through the empty streets until the distant sounds of traffic were once more the only sounds Cameron could hear.

“You can’t protect everyone, sir,” Preston advised in his customary soft, calm voice.

“I should be able to protect the people I care about,” Julian argued as they sat in the massive kitchen of his home, sharing a drink at the kitchen table. “There aren’t many,” he pointed out as he rubbed his tired eyes.

Preston cocked his head, watching silently. It was early June, and they had been holing up for nearly three weeks. They could both smell the end coming; they just didn’t know yet what form it would take.

“Arlo’s not stupid,” Julian continued gruffly. “He’ll figure out how to get to us eventually.”

“Perhaps sitting and waiting isn’t the best way to go about this,” Preston suggested. “Perhaps we should address the issue and move on?”

“Address the issue?” Julian asked bemusedly. “You mean go out and get shot at.”

“It’s always seemed to work in the past,” Preston answered with a wry grin before taking another sip of his whiskey.

Julian breathed in deeply and looked into his glass as if he might find the answer in a bottle of Bushmills.

“If that’s not appealing, perhaps you could retrieve those in danger and bring them here,” Preston went on slowly.

Julian looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

“It is a fine defensive position,” Preston pointed out knowingly.

“Blake would come easily enough. His wife is already in Paris with her mother. But bringing Cameron here would be the equivalent of kidnapping him,” Julian told him dejectedly. “He wants nothing more to do with me, Preston.”

“So leave him be,” Preston responded with a careless shrug.

“What?” Julian asked in surprise.

“He wanted nothing to do with your protection then, why give it to him now?” Preston asked curiously. “We wouldn’t be spread nearly so thin if we left him be.”

Some of the color in Julian’s face drained as he thought about leaving Cameron be, as Preston had suggested. God knew what Arlo would do to him.

“I can’t do that, Preston,” he whispered in a stricken voice. “I’m the reason he’s in danger.”

“If you say so, sir,” Preston agreed amenably as he poured them both more whiskey.

Julian rubbed at the back of his neck as he watched his companion.

He and Preston had been friends and colleagues for more than twenty years. He’d known the man longer and better than anyone else in his life. It was his job to be blunt.

He supposed it was fitting that it had come to this: the two of them sharing their last bottle of whiskey as they came to terms with being cornered.

“I never really liked him, anyway,” Preston muttered as he filled his glass almost to the brim. “Can’t we just kill him and move on?”

“Who?” Julian asked in horror. “Cameron?”

“No, sir,” Preston answered drolly. “Arlo. We could find him easily enough. We know he’s watching the restaurant.”

“Arlo is not the only one who wants me dead. He’s just the spearhead,” Julian pointed out. “If we go after him prematurely, innocent people could be hurt.”

“One innocent in particular, I assume?” Preston drawled as he watched the whiskey in his glass swirl.

“Yes,” Julian answered testily.

“Well. Waiting and watching is getting us very little,” Preston reminded. “Mr. Nichols has become a recluse. We’re in hiding, which I believe I need to point out is not something we do well. This is not the way we’re accustomed to operating, sir, and Lancaster knows it. He’ll know he’s found your weakness simply because he can’t find you.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Julian murmured.

“If you kill the man sent to kill you, especially if that man is Arlo Lancaster, the odds of anyone else being willing to take the job are very slim,” Preston continued reasonably. “It’s my opinion, sir, that Arlo is the only person willing to do it at all. People have wanted to kill you for years, and none have come even close to succeeding. There’s a reason it’s only just now coming.”

Julian looked up at him, his entire body flooding with dread. He knew Preston was right, and he knew what he was about to say. He didn’t try to stop him, though.

“Letting the memory of what Mr. Jacobs was keep you from being what you are will get you killed eventually, sir,” Preston told him in a flat, no-nonsense tone. “He’s not here. He no longer wants to be here. He’s not a part of this unless you make him one. We should meet Lancaster head on and make a dirty mess of it. For old time’s sake, if nothing else,” he said with an arched eyebrow as he continued to swirl his whiskey thoughtfully. “I owe him at least two bullets in the ass,” he muttered under his breath.

“And Cameron?” Julian asked softly.

“Protecting him was a mistake,” Preston ventured regretfully. “I fear we merely drew more of Lancaster’s attention to him.”

Julian tore his eyes away from his glass to look up and meet Preston’s. He wished he could argue, but Preston was rarely wrong when it came to tactical matters.

Preston opened his mouth to continue, but the cell phone at Julian’s elbow began chiming before he could speak. Both men looked down at the phone and then at each other in surprise. Julian could count on one hand the number of people who had that number, and he had made certain it wasn’t easy to track down.

Julian turned his head to watch it ring. The caller ID displayed the number as private, but Julian knew instinctively who it was.

“You may as well answer him, sir,” Preston whispered, his voice low as if the phone would overhear him. “If he knows enough to call when we’re drunk, then we’re in bigger trouble than we thought,” he said before making a sarcastic toast in the air with his glass and taking another sip.

Julian gave a snort and reached for the phone. “Arlo,” he answered in a low voice.

“Hullo, Julian,” Arlo greeted cheerfully. “Nice accent.”

“It gets the job done,” Julian muttered.

“I liked your other one better. I have a proposal,” he said, knowing Julian wasn’t likely to speak again and merely delving right into it. “You see, I’m on a limited budget for this one. The people who hired me want you dead, but they don’t want you dead badly enough to shell out what it actually costs to kill you. Follow?”

“I follow,” Julian assured him. Arlo was supplementing this job with his own money. This was personal for him, and he would get it done no matter the cost. That was both good and bad.

“All this surveilling and whatnot, it’s beginning to bore me. Cameron Jacobs has got to be the most plain, unremarkable man I’ve ever come across,” Arlo said in annoyance. “He’d better be good in bed, Jules, that’s all I’ve got to say. You did an impressive job of hiding Blake Nichols, though, I have to admit. Tell me, Julian, why hide your handler but not your lover?”

Julian gritted his teeth, remaining silent.

“Problems in paradise, hmm? I can solve that for you,” Arlo continued in an amused voice.

“You said you had a proposal,” Julian reminded him, slipping into the accent that came most naturally to him, a lilting gaelscoil Irish.

There was no point in hiding it from Arlo or from anyone else anymore. It was almost a relief to speak it. “Or did you plan to kill me by boring me to death?” he asked in annoyance.

Arlo tutted at him. “Always were the wit, weren’t you? All right, then, my proposal is this: Meet me at Blake’s restaurant at your regular time. Just you. Tell Preston to bugger off somewhere. We’ll settle this like gentlemen.”

Julian was silent, wondering why the idea did actually appeal to him a little. Was he confident he could kill Arlo or was he just ready to die?

“Either you show up Tuesday night, Julian, or Cameron Jacobs doesn’t make it home alive,” Arlo promised softly before ending the call.

Julian closed the cell phone slowly and looked up to meet Preston’s eyes. The man raised one eyebrow and tilted his head knowingly. “The only way to save the one you love is to die for him?” he ventured calmly, his own Irish accent flowing as if he’d never hidden it.

Julian nodded wordlessly, staring at the tabletop.

“It’s very chivalrous, anyway,” Preston commented offhandedly. “Shall I set up a sniper’s nest somewhere devious?” he asked with a hint of anticipation.

“No,” Julian answered softly. He looked up at Preston seriously and leaned forward. “Make me a promise, Preston,” he requested.

“Of course, sir,” Preston responded without hesitation.

“If I’m killed,” Julian murmured, “you have to take care of Smith and Wesson.”

Preston blinked rapidly, pressing his lips together to try to repress any emotion he might have wanted to display at the thought of taking on the care of Julian’s two cats. Finally, he looked down at the table and frowned. “Could I just throw myself into the coffin with you instead?” he asked hopefully.

Julian smiled and shook his head.

“Damn,” Preston muttered as he got up from the table and walked away.