Chapter 9 Escape Routes
Escape Routes
“Gareth?”
“Here.” Gareth turned from arranging his outdoor kitchen. The Bank Holiday weekend had dawned bright and blue-skied and—without discussing it—all four of them had migrated outside to enjoy the spring sunshine.
Daniel had remained on the deck after they’d cleared away the breakfast things, opting to write his history paper sitting in the sun.
Jack was stringing solar twinkle lights over and through the bushes at the back of the garden.
And Nico had spent the morning surrounded by wood, rope, and metal chain, measuring and scribbling without a look around.
Jack had mentioned Nico’s new project, and Gareth had had to stop himself more than once from inquiring about the progress of the escape route. Seeing Nico wave a pad at him scratched that itch without him having to do so.
“What do you need me for?” he questioned.
“A bit of help? Jack said I could ask.”
“And you’ve squeezed him dry already? It’s not even lunchtime.”
Nico flushed, but he didn’t back away from the teasing. “Jack says he only sneaks online, and you were the in-and-out-of-places guy.”
“Don’t let Jack fool you. He was our go-to man for traps. Nobody makes better ones. But it’s not really traps you need right now, is it?”
“No. I’m designing an escape route for us.”
He stopped there until Gareth raised an eyebrow and prompted. “And?”
“Could you look at my design and tell me if it works?”
“Sure.” Gareth pulled a stool from under the counter and pointed at the other one. “Sit. Show-and-tell time.”
Nico spread several mangled sheets in the space between them. “Our turret is a safe space, because we can hide there. But it’s also a vulnerable space, because there’s only one way out.”
“Right.” Gareth bent his head over the drawings and couldn’t hold back a grin.
Nico had remembered the obstacle course Jack had made of his room in Rio’s house.
His drawing showed trip wires and traps on the stairs, plus a bar reinforcing the door into their workroom.
“You’re watching far too much Kakashi,” Gareth said, pleased with himself for remembering the name of the ninja captain with the gravity-defying hair.
“Will you have poisoned needles shooting out of the walls and hot oil pouring from the ceiling?”
“Like in a medieval castle? That would be epic, but I don’t want to destroy our house. Imagine having to clean up all that oil. It must have been gross!”
“Focus, Nico. I’m sure your castle defenders wouldn’t have minded cleaning if it meant they were alive to do it.”
“Yeah. I suppose so. They wouldn’t have poured oil until the enemy was almost inside…” He stared at his notes. “I suppose I could electrify the door, so burglars get a shock when they touch it.”
“And then you knock yourself out because you’re late and you just remembered you didn’t pack your homework.
Besides, this is England. If you’re electrocuting burglars, you’re not using reasonable force.
I remember reading about a guy who electrified his car to stop it being stolen and got in trouble over it. ”
“Oh, really?”
“Google it. Or ask Aidan next time you see him. He’s bound to know.”
“Okay… no electrics. Maybe Jack can make us a trap.”
“I’m sure he can, but traps on the stairs won’t help you escape from a fire. Besides, Jack’s traps only work if you know someone’s coming because you can’t use the room when he’s done setting up. But you’ve got some great ideas here. We can work with those. What’s your objective?”
Nico’s face creased in confusion. “What do you mean? We don’t want to be trapped.”
“If you just want to escape from your bedroom, then why do you need traps on the stairs?”
Nico traced the stairs on his drawings with his fingers. “Stop them from getting to us?”
Gareth waited while Nico worked through possibilities and distilled them into the important one.
“If there’s a fire, we need to escape from our room. A trap on the stairs can stop a burglar, but we’d still be in danger if there are two of them. So… use the traps on the stairs to slow them down to give us time to escape?”
“Okay, that works. The traps on the stairs buy you time. How are you going to escape?”
Nico reached for another set of drawings showing a rope ladder concealed in the windowsill of their bedroom.
Gareth nodded. “That’s a smart solution that will work for a fire. And you’ve put it out of sight, which is excellent. Sensible to have something up your sleeve that nobody knows about.”
“You don’t like it,” Nico said, proving that he was paying attention.
“I like it a lot, but you’re missing something important.” Gareth took the pad and pen and sketched the house and the surrounds. “Imagine you’re the attacker. What would you do? Where would you go? What do you need to look out for?”
“You want me to think like an attacker?”
“Yes,” Gareth agreed, part of his mind flashing back to the past. He’d spent twenty years bent over maps and drawings like this one, and some memories had barbs.
He started when Jack’s hand settled on his shoulder and Jack slid a beer in front of him.
Jack hadn’t been there for all of it, but he had enough of his own ghosts to know where Gareth’s mind had gone.
“What are we doing?” he asked, jostling Gareth half off the stool so he could squeeze one butt cheek onto it.
“I’ve asked Nico to make attack plans.”
“Excellent idea.” Jack turned to Nico. “You started inside, didn’t you?”
Nico looked up from his drawing. “At the bottom of the turret,” he admitted. “But I suppose there are better ways to slow them down than just booby trap the stairs.”
“Earlier ones, certainly. And Nico… do you remember what makes a top-notch hacker?”
“Doing what nobody expects.”
“Don’t forget it.”
Nico went back to his drawing and Gareth wrapped an arm around Jack’s waist to hold him on a stool that wasn’t designed for two grown men.
For a little while, they watched Nico as he added details to Gareth’s drawing: the security cameras, and the motion sensors Jack had put in the garden that alerted them to the visits of foxes and deer.
It didn’t surprise him when Jack began to fidget.
“While Nico is planning mayhem, shall we get that pizza oven going? Breakfast was ages ago.”
Not in the way Jack usually worked, but Gareth nodded and pulled Jack off the stool. Hovering over Nico while he thought wasn’t productive, while having Jack help him in the kitchen might come with some very pleasant benefits.
Jack stretched in the lounger and tilted his head, the better to appreciate the lights he’d woven through the bushes.
He’d never articulated it beyond a single conversation with Rio, but lights were his solace.
More even than lemon-scented sheets, lights soothed and grounded him, whether he felt adrift, furious, scared, or out-of-sorts.
When he’d seen the strings of tiny, twinkling lights around the hot tub in Gareth’s Richmond home, he hadn’t wondered why his own house and back garden were bare.
Instead, he’d stopped at a DIY store on his way home, had bought as many boxes of lights as he could carry on his bike, and had spent a couple of hours draping the walls from his hallway to his den.
It had been inevitable that he’d add them to their new house as soon as he was able. Just as it had been inevitable he’d sit out here and admire them long after everyone else had gone inside.
He should follow them, join Gareth in bed, lose himself in warmth and touch. The idea appealed, but he stayed where he was, unfinished drink in hand and gaze on the lights, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.
His instincts were rarely wrong, and he’d long learned to listen, whether he picked up chatter online, spotted patterns in Baxter’s reports, or sensed vibes of unease from Daniel and Nico. He trusted his instincts, even when he couldn’t decide what to do.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d overreacted to a threat.
Rio had always known when Jack approached that edge, often before Jack had decided to act on the impulse. Gareth, even without the key to Jack’s history, had sensed when situations were about to go off the rails. Gatting hadn’t cared.
Jack knew he came with baggage, but—for once—that baggage had its uses. It helped him understand Nico and Daniel. Helped him answer the questions they threw at him and helped him keep them safe.
And damn it all to hell—he wanted them safe!
He couldn’t erase their memories or quell the nightmares. There’d always be moments when either boy would flinch, and he hated that.
The most valuable gift Rio had ever offered him hadn’t been a home or his protection. Nor had it been books, green apples, hot chocolate, or a key to his room. Nothing tangible had ever made as much of a difference to Jack as having a choice.
And as much as he wanted to take over, build walls and fences and eradicate threats so no part of his small family ever got hurt… he knew he couldn’t do more than stand ready to help.
Jack tossed back the last of his drink and heaved himself out of the lounger. He’d be working on an ulcer if he didn’t rid himself of this frustration.
Fortunately, Gareth was excellent at helping him do just that.
Gareth set his book aside when he heard Jack on the stairs.
A moment later, he saw his suspicions confirmed.
Jack’s shoulders hovered close to his ears as he swished past on his way to the bathroom.
Gareth might not know what went on in Jack’s head, but he could read him well enough to predict when Jack’s mind put his body on the rack.
That Jack came to bed rather than head to his den or stay outside staring at the lights with a drink in hand filled him with warmth.
He listened to the sound of the shower and suppressed an impulse to join Jack under the hot water.
Rushing gained neither information nor cooperation. And he wanted both.
“You have the patience of a saint,” Jack said when he slid beneath the covers and turned on his side.
Gareth pulled him close, wrapped him up, and held him. “You weren’t ready to talk.”
“True. But then I got bored listening to the thoughts rattle in my head.”
“What were they… um… rattling about?”
“Daniel. Nico. That bloody dance coach. That fire didn’t even cross Nico’s mind when I asked him to design an escape route. The way my instincts are on full alert, and I can’t find a speck of anything.”
“Frustration, then.”
“Yeah.”
Not having all the answers would bother Jack. “One thing they taught us at Sandhurst was that the hardest part of our job was to stand back and look unconcerned. None of us got it. Not then.”
“But you did later?”
Gareth huffed a laugh. “Did we just.” He’d learned that while pushing got results, not pushing got better ones. And yes, watching and waiting sucked, but if he cared about outcomes and the people who mattered, he’d wait for years. “I realised that I’d make a lousy gardener.”
Jack heard him. His shoulders softened, and when he shifted closer, Gareth buried a smile in Jack’s damp hair, hearing him just as well. They’d found ways to deal with frustration. Hard and fast worked. Tortuously slow worked even better.
“Remember our first night?” he whispered into the space between them, not caring that his voice got rougher.
“You’re fucking evil,” Jack groaned.
Gareth slid a hand into Jack’s hair, turned his face up, and kissed him.
Jack was right there, mouth open, tongue fighting with Gareth’s.
They sucked the air from each other’s lungs, gave and took, and left each other hot and aching.
Gareth felt the shivers rolling over Jack’s skin, felt Jack’s erection against his hip, and knew however ferocious Jack’s kisses, hard and fast wasn’t what either of them needed.
“Roll over,” he urged. “Get comfortable. And then don’t. Fucking. Move.”
When Jack complied without hesitation, he knew he’d been right. He fished the lube from the drawer, kicked the quilt out of the way, and then wrapped himself around Jack, fitting them together as if they were made for each other.
It would be nothing like their first night, of course. Then, Jack had been so angry he’d been close to losing control. Gareth had shared that rage and he’d been careful of his every move and touch, praying he didn’t miss any of Jack’s scant signals.
They knew each other so much better now.
Well enough for Gareth to tease the sensitive skin behind Jack’s ear with his tongue while giving Jack’s nipples a hard pinch.
He revelled in the full-body shiver that got him, then stroked Jack’s skin in long sweeps from collar bones to hip while nipping at his earlobe.
Jack let him play his games of tease and torment, of nip and caress. He held himself rigid, and only the shivers and his rapid breathing betrayed his enjoyment.
It didn’t last as long as they wanted.
Gareth knew all Jack’s hot buttons, knew where to touch, stroke, bite, or pinch.
He sucked kiss bruises into Jack’s neck, left finger marks on his hips, and kissed every bit of skin he could reach until Jack’s fingers clenched in the sheets, and he shifted in minute increments to accommodate each touch.
His breathing grew into a moan when Gareth returned to the hickey on his neck, and the sound held so much need that Gareth’s insides turned to molten heat, and drawing things out lost all importance.
“You’re a fucking revelation,” he groaned and snagged the lube. Moments later, he had fingers where Jack wanted them, and then nothing else mattered than sending them both into bliss.