Chapter 11
Dillon looked at the storeroom clock for the second time in as many minutes. Eight o’clock, at least another hour before he could see Jamie. It wasn’t that Dillon minded working until closing. He’d done it more times than he could count. Still, Dillon couldn’t remember ever being this anxious to leave before. He wanted to be with Jamie so bad he could taste it. It was a raging need, a burning he couldn’t explain. Like if he didn’t see Jamie soon, Dillon wasn’t gonna make it. God, he had it bad. At least he didn’t have to worry about Jamie, not while Megan was there with him, anyway. Jamie might not be too happy about the situation, but he was safe, and that’s all Dillon could ask for. Megan was a bit outrageous at times, but she had a level head on her shoulders. So did Jamie, for that matter, but he also had a glaring blind spot where Ben was concerned. A blind spot that prompted him to do things he wouldn’t normally do. No, Dillon had done the only thing he could think of by asking Megan to stay with Jamie. He only hoped Jamie wouldn’t be mad at him. He was still thinking about it when Jim Pembroke stuck his head through the stockroom door.
“Dillon, you’ve got a phone call on line four.”
“Thanks Mr. P. I’ll pick up back here.”
As soon as Mr. Pembroke left, Dillon grabbed the receiver of the employee extension, the one located directly underneath the time clock. “Hello?”
“You know, kid, I’m not sure which one has less sense: your boyfriend, or my sister. If you ask me, neither one of ‘em could find his or her way out of a round room with no damn corners.”
The minute he heard Brandon’s voice, Dillon’s heart settled somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. “What happened, Bran?”
“Oh, not much. Well, not unless you count Jamie and Megan being picked up in front of a dead man’s house by the Chicago P.D. A dead man, I might add, who was the prime suspect in an ongoing child pornography / prostitution ring. A dead man who was murdered in cold blood not three feet from his own front door.”
Bran had to be talking about Burke. Jamie and Megan had gone to see Ben’s pimp. Wait a minute. Burke was dead? No. Dillon couldn’t even think about that right now. First he had to know that Jamie and Megan were okay. Dillon sank down onto a nearby stack of plastic packing crates. “They were arrested? Are they okay?”
Dillon could hear Brandon drawing in a deep breath. “They weren’t arrested, though not for lack of trying. They were caught snooping around the deceased’s residence. That was after they crossed enough crime-scene tape and no trespassing signs to wallpaper an entire house. A cop spotted them hanging around the place, and ended up calling the lead detective working the investigation. It just so happens that I know the guy who’s handling the case. He used to work for the force here in Reed, a man by the name of Hank Kilgore. Since the man’s killer is still at large, Detective Kilgore thought a couple of kids snooping around the guy’s house was more than a little bit suspicious. That’s why he hauled them in. Kilgore’s a good guy, and he recognized the Nash name the minute he ran Megan’s I.D. He called me, and asked me to vouch for them both. I managed to convince him that Jamie and Megan had nothing to do with the murder, but I couldn’t very well tell Kilgore what they were really doing at that house because I don’t have a freakin’ clue what the two of them were trying to prove. By the way, did you know that Jamie doesn’t have a driver’s license?”
Dillon nodded, then realized Brandon couldn’t see him over the phone. God, he was rattled, and not just from Brandon’s sudden shift in topic. “I know he doesn’t.”
“Yeah, well, you need to work on that. Not only does a boy his age need to know how to drive, but he doesn’t have any picture I.D. All he had on him was his social security card and a credit card his aunt had given him. Since Sadie Banks was listed as the co-holder of the card, Kilgore very well could have called her. You’re just lucky he called me first and not Sadie. I talked Kilgore out of calling her by telling him I would handle it myself. The point is, Jamie needs I.D. I guess he could get one of those non-driver cards with just his picture and personal information on it, but he really does need to know how to drive.” Brandon paused. “I suppose I could teach him, if he wanted me to.”
Dillon was stunned. “You aren’t mad at him?”
Brandon sighed. “Look, Dillon, I’m not gonna lie and say I’m happy about whatever it is that Jamie’s got going on. Hell, I know he’s hiding something, and this latest caper of his just proves it. I’m also more than a little ticked that Megan got involved in this mess, but I also know my sister, and I know there was no way Jamie could talk her out of sticking her pug-nose into his business. I do know, from what Detective Kilgore told me, that the dead man is none other than Mr. Burke Carpenter, Ben Lewis’s last foster father.”
Dillon closed his eyes. “You know about Burke?”
“I know that the Chicago force has been trying for years to shut the guy down because of suspected sex trafficking involving teenage boys, but I also know that no one’s been able to prove anything. Apparently, Carpenter was well connected enough to keep his fostering program going with only token protest from a handful of concerned citizens. I knew that Burke was Ben’s last foster father because I read Ben’s record from cover to cover when the poor kid was killed. I searched every inch of that report, Dillon. That’s why there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Ben’s death was an accident.” Brandon snorted. “Fat chance of me ever convincing Jamie of that, though. He’s on some bizarre crusade about Ben. Going to visit Barry Sledge in jail was bad enough, but when Jamie starts seeking out professional scumbags like Carpenter, he’s screwing around with things he doesn’t understand. Carpenter was shot six times at point blank range with a three-fifty-seven magnum revolver. The perp used hollow-point bullets that ripped the hell out of the body.”
“What does that have to do with Jamie?”
“Nothing, directly. But here’s the thing. I was a profiler with the F.B.I. before I came back to Reed and ran for sheriff. One of the first things I was taught was to guess a killer’s motivation. The police took thirty-thousand in cash out of Carpenter’s house at the same time as they took the body. That rules out robbery. Given Carpenter’s character, you’d think self-defense could have been a factor, but considering Carpenter was killed on his own front porch with his keys in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, it looks like the shooter lay in wait for him and caught him by surprise on his way home from the store. Not exactly the act of someone fighting for his life. A hired killer would have fired one bullet--two at the most--straight to the head or the heart, just enough to get the job done without the added risk of extra shots to draw attention. That takes care of the professional hit theory and leaves one motive left.”
“What’s that?”
Brandon’s next words made Dillon’s blood run cold. “Revenge. The person who killed Burke was mad as hell. There’s no way he’d have emptied that gun into Carpenter’s body, otherwise. Hell, the first shot probably killed the guy. No, that was rage taking over. And a guy who has enough hatred inside himself to lay in wait for a man and turn him into hamburger on his own doorstep wouldn’t hesitate to take out Jamie and my sister if he thought the two of them were getting even remotely close to finding out who he is.” Brandon’s voice lost all traces of rancor. “The reason I’m telling you all this, Dillon, is because I care about you and Jamie. Even though I haven’t told you anything that isn’t a matter of public record, I wouldn’t waste my breath explaining all this if I didn’t believe there was a real risk involved. I care too much to stand back and let you guys get hurt. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the two of you, same as I would with Megan. I want you and Jamie to have a long and happy life together.” Another pause. “That’s assuming you want to spend the rest of your life with Jamie.”
Dillon had spent the last two years dreaming about nothing else. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wanted Jamie--and nobody but Jamie--from now on. He’d heard more than one person say that eighteen was too young to make that kind of commitment, but Dillon could care less. He knew his own mind and heart better than anyone else ever could. The only feelings Dillon was unsure about were Jamie’s. Did Jamie want him, and nothing but him, till death do them part? After all they’d been through, Dillon was half-afraid to know the answer. He couldn’t bring himself to voice those concerns to Brandon, though, so instead he simply said, “Yes, I do.”
Dillon didn’t see the trap coming until it was sprung. Brandon’s voice was laced with smug satisfaction. “Good. Then you can drive over to Chicago and pick him up yourself. Grab my sister, too, while you’re at it. I’ve already squared things with Detective Kilgore, so nobody’s gonna have to sign a custody release for this one. Seems Jamie and Megan fed him some cock-and-bull story about wanting to know more about Ben’s life before he came to Reed. What ever it was they told him, Kilgore bought it. He’s agreed to let this little incident go as long as Jamie and Megan agree to stay away from his investigation. Yeah, right. Anyway, just swing by the station and I’ll give you directions on how to get to the precinct where they’re being held.”
Damn. “You set me up.”
Brandon snickered. “You can blame Nate for that. It was his idea for you to pick them up.”
Dillon rubbed his forehead. “I’m confused. Why can’t Megan just drive them both back to Reed herself?”
“Because, even though they weren’t officially arrested, Megan’s car was impounded for being illegally parked in front of Carpenter’s house. She doesn’t have the cash on her to bail it out, so I’ll give you the money when you come by to get the directions and we’ll kill two birds with one stone. Actually, I was all set to go over there and get them myself, but Nate felt sure I’d cause a big scene. I swear, my own husband has no faith in me. Since Jamie is your responsibility now, Nate thought sure you’d wanna do it.”
“He was right. I’ll be at your office as soon as I square things with my boss.” Dillon hesitated. “Hey, Bran?”
“If you’re gonna thank me, kid, you might want to save it. Just because I’m not going to pick them up tonight doesn’t mean I don’t have a thing or two to say to Jamie and Megan about this little misadventure of theirs. This isn’t the amateur detective hour, and I’ll be damned if Jamie isn’t gonna get that through his thick skull even if I have to pound it in there.”
Dillon actually smiled. “That, I don’t doubt. But I do want to thank you. For everything.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. Now go get your guy before some sex starved jailbird decides to make Jamie his bitch. Knowing my sister, she’d want to watch.”
Dillon disconnected with that rather disturbing picture in his head. The first thing he did after he got off the phone was seek out Jim Pembroke. He found him up front, talking to one of the pharmacists.
“Hey, Mr. P., can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure, Dillon.” Jim nodded to the pharmacist and motioned Dillon towards his office. “We can talk in here, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yes, sir. That’d be great.” Dillon followed Jim into his office. Once seated, Dillon said, “I hate to do this, Mr. P., but something’s come up. I need to leave.”
Jim leaned across his desk, his dark gray hair ruffled from a night at work, his hazel eyes boring holes into Dillon’s skin. “Is everything all right with you, Dillon?” Before Dillon could speak, Jim held up his hands. “I don’t mean to pry, but you went from never missing a night of work to having to take leave at a moment’s notice. The change in you has me worried.”
The skin on the back of Dillon’s neck began to prickle. He needed this job too bad to lose it now. “Mr. P., are you gonna fire me? I know I’ve taken some extra time off lately, but--”
Jim shook his head. “Calm down, son. I have no intention of firing you. Like I’ve told you before, you’re the best employee I’ve got. I just want you to know, no matter what’s going on in your life, you can talk to me about it.” He paused. “I heard a rumor that you’re no longer living with your folks.”
Dillon swallowed, hard. “No, sir. I’m living with my older brother, Heath.”
Jim nodded. “I understand that young men your age sometimes have problems relating to their folks. Heck, I may be three times older than you are, but I haven’t forgotten what it feels like to be eighteen. The point is, my door is always open for you, Dillon. I’m more than willing to help in any way I can.”
“Thanks, sir. I’ll make up tonight’s time, I swear it.”
“Not necessary. Now, go on. Take care of your business. I’ll see you on Monday night.”
Dillon almost screamed his relief as he left Jim’s office. He’d cleared the first hurdle. Now all he had to do was get to Jamie and Megan. Dillon clocked out and had almost made it to the front door of the shop when he ran headfirst into Heath. Oh great. That was all he needed.
“Heath, what are you doing down here?”
Heath’s face was flushed, and Dillon was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the cold outside. “Did the sheriff get in touch with you?”
Oh, crap. “Yeah, he did.”
“Good. He called the apartment first, looking for you. Thought maybe you had the night off, he said. What’s this about Megan and Jamie being arrested in Chicago?”
“They weren’t arrested, Heath. Just picked up by the police.” Oh, yeah. Like that was so much better.
“Picked up?” Heath’s panic was near-painful to watch. “Is Megan okay?”
Dillon started walking towards the door again. “She’s fine, at least as far as I know. I still don’t know why you won’t just tell her you’re crazy in love with her and be done with it.”
Heath followed. “Never mind about that. Tell me what in the hell Megan is doing in jail.”
“It’ll have to wait. I’m on my way to pick her and Jamie up now.”
Heath was hot on his heels. “You can tell me on the way there. I’m going with you.”
Well fuck a duck on Sunday morning. If Dillon’s night got any worse, he didn’t think he’d survive it. He forced himself to stop the pity party before it reached full swing. Time to fetch his boyfriend out of the slammer. One more trip to a correctional facility for either one of them and he and Jamie would officially be white trash. Dillon slipped into the driver’s seat of his Lumina and waited for Heath to climb in on the other side. It was gonna be a long night.
* * *
Carrying a thick, manila-clad file Jamie assumed must be Burke Carpenter’s, Detective Kilgore came back into the stale office, his coffee-colored skin dripping with sweat despite the frigid air outside. Flipping his waist length braids over his shoulder, Kilgore slapped the file down and took a seat on his side of the rickety, wooden desk, putting him directly across from Jamie. Kilgore had the dark, exotic looks of a tropical swimsuit model, but the expression he wore made Jamie want to run and hide. His amber eyes probed first Jamie, then Megan, who was seated just to Jamie’s right. Finally, Kilgore said. “Damn, it’s hot in here. Stupid furnace malfunctioned again. You sure I can’t get you kids anything to drink? A soda, maybe?”