Job Hunt (20 page)

Gareth opened his mouth to argue, not surprised when Aidan stopped him.

“Don’t get me wrong, Flynn. I want him here. I want him to become part of the team. But what if….”

“Jack is loyal. I know it.”

“You knew that eight years ago. Now? You don’t have a clue.”

“I’m thinking with my dick. That what I’m hearing?”

Aidan didn’t bat an eyelash at the growl in Gareth’s voice. Fucker was always as steady as a rock, even when Gareth’s temper got the better of him. No doubt that’s why they made such a good team.

“I imagined you think you owe him. That’s not what I’m talking about, anyway. I’ve asked Alex to dig up some background.”

“A right bright idea.” Gareth nodded, sarcasm thick as a blanket. “He goes apeshit when I cancel one of his meetings, and you think he’ll take kindly to us poking around where we’re not wanted?”

“He’ll never know.”

“That’ll be the day.”

Aidan looked deeply offended. “Wash your mouth out. That’s Alex you’re bitching about.”

“You’ve really got it bad, huh?”

“Hello pot, I’m kettle. Have we met?”

Gareth’s rueful chuckle drew an answering grin from the lawyer, one that grew serious a moment later.

“Wanna hear a bit of friendly advice?”

Gareth slumped into his chair. “Ah, why the fuck not? You’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”

Aidan made himself comfortable on the other side of the desk and crossed his legs. “You are out of uniform.”

“What?”

“You,” Aidan repeated, “are out of uniform. Back in the day, you could have rearranged all of Horwood’s schedules, and he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. But that was a long time ago. Give him room,” Aidan counseled. “Introvert, remember? If you force him to fit in, you only exhaust him.”

“And make him resent me, I know.” Gareth sighed. “I hate to see him work all hours just because someone asked for his help, or working with a migraine, just because he’s forgotten to eat. Again.”

“Then surround him with food. He knows how to eat. And while you’re at it, you’d best accept that you’ll never be able to stop him from offering help. That’s who he is.”

Gareth acknowledged that truth with another sigh. “Frazer is just as bad.”

“Nah. Frazer grew up the youngest of a huge family. He’s used to being bossed around and fussed over. Horwood isn’t. He had no family at all growing up from what I’m hearing. He’s independent to a fault and stuck in his own head for too much of the time.”

“I’ve got it, thanks. I’m not that slow.”

“You’re not usually so inept, either,” Aidan said. “I thought I’d better make sure you don’t piss the kid off so much he ups sticks and leaves.”

“Oh, screw you, Conrad. You just want him.”

“Hell yes, I do. But not until we’re sure of his motives. And not until he asks.” The lawyer set his empty cup down and stood. “Now go, and talk to him. I’m sure Frazer knows where he’s hiding.”

T
HE
TRICKLE
of rain down the windshield and the steady movement of the wipers lulled Jack to sleep despite the traffic noise, Gareth’s proximity, and the arousal simmering in his blood. A hint of Gareth’s aftershave drifted on the air, warm and spicy like a secret promise of pleasures to come. Accepting Gareth’s apology—and his invitation to have dinner and talk things out—had required no soul-searching. Leaving the bike at Nancarrow Mining and driving home in Gareth’s Range Rover had been a good call as well.

Getting wet riding home was off the agenda.

“Did you come to an agreement with Lisa?” Gareth’s voice interrupted his languorous musings, and Jack snapped awake.

“She’s running down leads from the club, and we’ll keep an eye on the video feed. I doubt we’ll get a name. Unless we catch him right at it or someone has an axe to grind and shops him, the breakthrough has to come from the boys.”

“And Lisa wants you to drive that since the two won’t talk to anyone else,” Gareth surmised.

“Yep.”

“Are you going to?”

Jack leaned his head against the backrest and closed his eyes. He wanted to get his hands on the bastard who’d imprisoned the boys and killed Ricky. He wanted that so badly he could taste it. But hell would freeze over before he forced Daniel and Nico to relive their ordeal when they were not ready to deal with the fallout. They first needed to feel safe, and both were still a long way from that.

“I’m in your corner, Jack,” Gareth reminded him. “You don’t need to hide.”

Jack grunted, not planning on sharing his thoughts. “I need to take a look at the feed,” he said. “The algorithm isn’t tight enough.”

“Do it while I make dinner. You can use my computer.”

“You’re hilarious.” As far as Jack was concerned, the PC in Gareth’s study was ancient, decrepit, and barely powerful enough to order takeout. “Don’t worry. I brought tools.”

“Don’t you need a face to run facial recog?”

“I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”

“What?”

Jack smirked at the snap in Gareth’s voice. He’d forgotten how much fun he used to have baiting his CO. “Facial recognition needs fairly sophisticated programming. It’s not something you knock up in a couple of hours,” he explained. “I’m just picking patterns. Hair color, face shape, height… that sort of thing.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Too many blonds. Under strobe lights even brown hair can look blond, so I need to narrow it down.”

“Perfectionism, thy name is Horwood.”

“Sure. You look at hundreds of blonds a night and tell me you still remember the face of one man you saw a week ago.”

It was a good thing that the Range Rover was stopped at a traffic light or there would have been carnage.

“
You’re
stripping the feed?”

Jack managed not to roll his eyes. “Along with Baxter and Walshaw,” he agreed. “If you wanna pick a perp out of a video feed you need someone who actually knows what the guy looks like.”

“I know what he looks like.”

“You’re busy.”

“And you’re not? Jesus!”

Jack didn’t bother with a reply. He closed his eyes again and was soon stuck in that twilight zone between awake and asleep while Gareth fought traffic and weather on the way home to Richmond.

S
OFT
JAZZ
drifted through the kitchen, the notes of the saxophone soothing as Gareth chopped and stirred and mentally kicked himself. He had checked on Jack earlier and had found Jack’s laptop propped open on the coffee table, flashing through grainy images at mindboggling speeds while Jack was otherwise occupied.

Arms neatly folded against his chest, he lay curled on his side on the couch, feet still on the floor as if he’d just tipped over sideways and gone to sleep.

The sounds of Gareth moving around the room did not wake him, and that fact alone told Gareth how much Jack had changed. Sleep and Jack Horwood used to have only a nodding acquaintance. Whether in the barracks or in the field, he didn’t sleep unless he was alone or barricaded and the softest noise would find him awake and ready to defend himself.

Finding Jack asleep like this made Gareth feel like a fool. He had seen the outside and had found it as enticing as it had ever been. He’d seen Jack’s eyes, where competence and determination warred with vulnerability and doubt. He’d touched the leather Jack wore around his throat, and he’d ignored the fact that eight years had passed, that even all those years ago Jack had been strong enough to walk away when he felt he needed to.

Gareth had tried to pick up the pieces of their relationship from a point they’d never actually been at. And it had needed Aidan Conrad to point that out.

Gareth set the table before he returned to the lounge, dropped to his knees beside the sofa, and ran fingers through Jack’s hair until the long lashes fluttered, and Jack opened sleep-darkened green eyes.

“You need to eat.”

“I need to sleep.” Jack’s voice was an attractive, husky rumble. “Feed me breakfast?”

Gareth ghosted his lips over Jack’s. “I’m feeding you dinner,” he declared before he leaned in for another soft kiss. “And then we’re gonna talk. That bullshit we’ve been running all week… it’s ludicrous.”

Jack blinked himself awake. He didn’t argue when Gareth rose from his knees and held out a hand to haul him upright. He just rolled off the couch and followed Gareth to the kitchen.

“You really love to cook,” he said, surveying the dinner Gareth had put together while he slept.

“I do. Especially for an appreciative audience,” Gareth agreed. He watched Jack demolish pork chops and green beans, making careful note that the cheese and garlic mash seemed a particular favorite.

“So… talk?” Jack suggested when Gareth topped up their wineglasses, sounding as if he’d rather do anything else. Gareth wasn’t looking forward to this conversation either.

“Eight years have changed things,” he said, not taking his gaze from Jack. “I keep forgetting that we’re different people now, and I think you do too. We’re second-guessing each other and keep getting it wrong. And we don’t need that kind of shit, right?”

“So it bugs you that I’m too focused—”

“I think the term is obsessive.” Gareth grinned at Jack’s flushing cheeks, loving that he’d been the cause of that.

“Okay, fine, so I get a little obsessive when I work. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there isn’t. And I’m happy to give you the space you need to obsess.”

“You are?”

“Provided you look after yourself. Or let me do it.”

“How?”

The suspicious look on Jack’s face came as a surprise. He couldn’t have fucked up matters that badly, could he? He chose his next words with care. “Well… when I think you’re overdoing it, I’ll tell you, and you will listen.” He held up a hand before Jack had his mouth fully open. “I didn’t say you had to stop working. All I said was that I’d tell you. If you feel you want to keep going, that’s your choice. I’m just alerting you to the fact that you’ve maybe lost yourself in your work.”

“Okay?” Jack sounded adorably unsure. “That’s reasonable, I suppose. Anything else?”

“I hate seeing you work with a migraine, just because you’ve forgotten to eat and overdosed on caffeine. So when I put food in front of you, you’ll eat it.”

“I’m not six, Gareth. I can look after myself.”

“I know you can.”

“Then why?”

“Because,” Gareth started. And stopped, caught between history and need.
Take care of your mum while I’m gone.
Was that how it had started? Maybe. For as long as Gareth could remember he’d looked after others, made sure that anyone around him was safe and cared for. A habit he’d cultivated, a need that had been easy to feed given his career choices. Jack just brought all that out in full force.

“Because?” Jack prompted when the silence grew too long.

“It’s something I do,” Gareth explained. “Like you never say no when someone asks for your help.”

Jack’s scowl smoothed out. “Fair enough.”

“So when I put food in front of you, you’ll eat it?”

Jack’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Not if it’s something I hate.”

“Then you tell me, and I’ll get you something else.” Gareth smiled and mentally tipped his hat to Aidan Conrad. “Now you.”

“I know you’re bossy. And I know you get off on it,” Jack said in a serious tone, though the smirk was out in full force. “But I can’t have you making decisions for me.”

“Cancelling your meeting with Rafael Gallant was an error in judgment. I already apologized for that.”

“I know. But it’s important to me. Especially as I can’t always tell you what I’m doing or why. Maybe it’s too much to take on faith.”

“That would be my decision.”

“Yes.”

“But?”

“I’d… maybe I’d want to know.”

Jack’s fingertips traced patterns on the tabletop. He didn’t look up, so he missed Gareth’s smile. “You can’t break protocol,” Gareth argued. “You’re not built that way, and neither am I.”

“I don’t have to break protocol. But if I know it bugs you, I can make allowances for you acting like an ass.”

“As if I ever….”

“Deluded too. Great.”

Gareth loved seeing the wide smile on Jack’s face. His eyes lightened when he smiled, and his long dark lashes added luster to his gaze. Without thought, Gareth reached across the table and smoothed his fingers over Jack’s tattoo. “So I won’t boss you around, and you’ll let me take care of you. Agreed?”

“Sure.”

They touched glasses to seal their accord, and Gareth didn’t believe for a single moment that it would be that easy.

J
ACK
STOOD
in front of the mirror in Gareth’s bedroom and rubbed at his damp hair with a towel. The thin strip of leather around his neck and the towel he’d wrapped around his waist only emphasized the fact that he was otherwise naked. Bathed in the golden glow from the bedside lamp, he was a vision of tan skin and sleek, rippling muscle.

Gareth’s breath caught at the sight. He’d offered Jack the option to sleep in his guest room, but Jack had scoffed at the idea, and Gareth blamed the heat in Jack’s gaze for the short circuit in his brain. Why else, after that comment, would he have let Jack shower alone?

Gareth closed the bathroom door, and their eyes met in the mirror. Jack’s expression was soft around the edges—not a real smile yet, more a wry invitation—and Gareth couldn’t let that go. He stepped into Jack’s space, and his hands slid over shower-warm skin and tight stomach muscles to pull Jack’s back to his chest. They were almost the same height, so it was easy for Gareth to rest his chin on Jack’s shoulder and press their cheeks together. Jack watched him, eyes never leaving the mirror, and Gareth turned his head and ran his lips over the tattoo at Jack’s temple.

“You can’t even tell it’s there,” he murmured, and he heard, felt, and saw Jack huff a laugh.

“Not by touch, no. But I know. Always.”

“Why did you get it?”

“’Cause I was drunk.”

“Not what I asked.” Gareth tightened his arms around Jack’s waist, and his fingertips skimmed the edge of the towel, teasing until Jack squirmed.