Whatever. They crossed the hot, sunny, open space to the shelter of the tree, and Bruce laid out the blanket then put the tablecloth on top of it. Lindsey unfolded the chairs, which were the low camp type, and flopped into one.
Bruce knelt on the cloth. “This is perfect.” He sorted through the food—fried chicken, potato salad, green salad, some kind of thing made with artichoke hearts—then pulled out two china plates and started serving a bit of each dish. No red meat. Damn. At full moon, Lindsey’s taste for blood got even stronger. Oh well, he’d live. How many rubber chicken events had he endured for the company? He accepted a plate and started picking at the food.
Bruce poured them both some wine from a bottle of red and handed a glass to Lindsey; then he took his own plate and settled onto the second chair. “Isn’t this great? So relaxing.”
Flies. Ants. Too much sun on one side of the tree and a kind of creepy forest behind. Relaxing like Silence of the Lambs. “Yes, great.”
Bruce pointed with his fork. “You don’t seem quite like yourself today. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, just fine.” Discounting his brain, his cock, and his heart.
“What happened to the boy I saw you with at the polo match? The orphan.”
Lindsey smiled. “He’s become quite a friend, actually. He loves polo, so I’ve arranged for riding lessons for him.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “That’s awfully nice of you.” He chewed. “Do you think it’s wise to get involved with a boy like that?”
Lindsey frowned. “What do you mean ‘boy like that’ and why shouldn’t I help him?”
Bruce’s eyes widened. “I just mean there are so many kids that need help. How can you choose just one?”
“Is the fact that there’s so much need a reason to not help one person?”
“No, no, not at all. It just must be hard to pick one.”
“The universe picked him for me.”
“Yes, I suppose.” He stared down at his plate and toyed with the salad. “What about the guy I’ve seen you with the last couple times? The rough, handsome one? What happened to him?”
God, he didn’t want to talk to Bruce about Seth. “I told you, I was doing a favor for a friend, and now the favor is done.’
Bruce nodded and took a bite. “Umph.” He swallowed. “Mind if I ask what kind of favor?”
Yes, he did mind. But the guy had gone to a lot of trouble to create a nice afternoon. “I was helping out the governor. The man is a policeman. He’s investigating the kidnappings.”
Bruce coughed, slugged down a mouthful of wine, and coughed harder. Lindsey leaned over and patted his back until he finally seemed to catch his breath.
Lindsey shrugged. “I never told you because I know it upsets you to talk about the kidnappings.” That wasn’t the truth, but it sounded good. What the hell.
“But—but, you were smuggling a cop into the center of our community. Passing him off as a friend. Do you think that’s right?”
Lindsey narrowed his eyes. “Do you think it’s right for some member of our community to be kidnapping his supposed friends and holding them for ransom?”
“Do you really think it’s one of us?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
He shuddered visibly. “I try not to think about it at all.”
Lindsey sipped his wine.
“But if he’s investigating the kidnappings, why is your favor done? Have they caught them?”
Lindsey looked at Bruce. “I’m not sure. I believe the officer thought I was more trouble than I was worth to his investigation.” That thought hurt badly.
“Interesting. That certainly explains why you were so mysterious about him.”
“I suppose. I didn’t realize I was mysterious.”
Bruce set his plate and glass aside and leaned back on his elbows. “You certainly had me going. I was so jealous, I would have gladly split the guy’s head open with a brick.”
Lindsey raised an eyebrow. “Rather intense feelings for someone who doesn’t even like to contemplate violence, don’t you think, darling?”
Bruce stared at him. “That’s what you do to me. Not my fault.”
That was a little like men who blamed women because they couldn’t resist them, but he wasn’t going to point that out.
Bruce gazed around the clearing, stared into the forest, and seemed to make some kind of decision. He sat up, crawled over to Lindsey, and kissed him.
Awkward, since Lindsey still held a glass of red wine, but he tried to be compliant. Maybe a kiss was just what he needed.
Bruce muddled around for a minute, and Lindsey pushed him away. “Hold on.” He set down the glass and took hold of Bruce’s face with both hands. “If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it right.” Not that much about this felt right. He slanted his mouth and captured Bruce’s lips, pressing his tongue between them. Bruce moaned. Okay, he’d give this a try.
He pressed his tongue deeper and explored. Wait. Odd smell. Acrid.
There was a sudden sound like thudding boots.
Something black fell over his head, cutting off sight. Two—no, four—hands grabbed his arms. He kicked out with one foot, heard Bruce wail, and struggled to pull his arms free, but no go. “What the fuck!”
He thrashed his head, trying to get the cover off. Two more hands grabbed his feet. He was dragged.
Behind him, Bruce was whimpering and yelling.
“Bruce, are you okay?” He twisted his body and pulled his leg free from one of the hands. He kicked wildly, no idea where or who he was kicking.
“Lindsey!” Bruce sounded panicked. Not good with violence, as he’d said.
“Fight them, Bruce!” He kicked again, striking a body in front of him hard.
Someone screamed, “Shit! Knock this asshole out.”
A hand grabbed his mouth through the cloth. That smell again. Ether. No! He held his breath. But the hand held on, pressed over his nose and mouth… and slowly he felt the blackness creep across his brain.
Chapter Ten
Concentrate! Seth stared at the screen. Lindsey said he’d figured out a connection between the warehouses and that’s how he found the kid. What was the connection?
Pick up the fucking phone and ask him, asshole. He blew out his breath. He’d stood right there and heard Lindsey say that important piece of information, and all he could think about was how hurt he was that Lindsey thought he could do the job better than Seth. His fucking ego and his overactive cock fried every brain cell in his head, and he’d let Lindsey walk away without a single question. Losing it! The polo-playing grandma made him crazy. He hadn’t even remembered he’d said it until this afternoon.
Eat crow, asshole. He picked up the cell and pushed the speed dial. One ring. Two. Three. Voice mail. For one indulgent second, he listened to Lindsey’s musical voice. Okay. He clicked it off. Of course Lindsey wasn’t going to talk to him after the shit he’d said. If he wanted to know the connection, he’d have to send someone else to get it. Unless he could figure it out himself. That would be epic.
He leaned toward the screen and tried again to trace the common thread between the two properties where they’d found the victims. They appeared to be owned by different companies, and when he traced beyond the obvious ownership, things melted into the murk of the Cayman Islands. He’d ask the Feebs. He picked up the phone.