Jumping at Shadows (7 page)

F
ROZEN
rain rattled ominously against the windows, the ice having begun to fall sometime in the early morning hours, and the sound still rose and fell as gusts of wind caught it up and let it go. The weather forecast had been accurate for once, and Eric dreaded the treacherous roads that promised only to get worse as the day wore on. T.J. had already left for work, and though it was doubtful he would stay the whole day, Eric would have preferred it if he hadn’t gone in at all. But even the quickie in the shower when Eric had joined him there failed to convince him to stay home. Perlman Engineering was on the other side of the city, and though Eric had confidence in the Jeep and in his lover’s driving skills, he didn’t trust everyone else on the road. Still, he had had no choice but to send him off with a lingering kiss and a plea to be careful.

Eric wasn’t in any hurry to get out on the road, either, and he decided that putting off his own trip for a quick cleanup of the house would let the roads get clear of the people who still thought they had to get to work on time. Less traffic, less chance for accidents—not that T.J. had listened to that argument. But he needed to stop worrying about his lover and get on with his own day. With the dishwasher loaded, it only took a second to add the soap and turn it on, then move on to the living room to straighten up in there.

A smile he couldn’t resist curved his lips when he saw the ramshackle condition they had left the room in last night. He had forgotten about the plates on the coffee table and would have to settle for rinsing them and waiting for the next load of dishes to be washed. The tube of lube was still open on the coffee table, and the dark green cushions on the couch were still scrunched and scattered and hanging halfway to the floor. Nothing a quick fluffing and straightening wouldn’t take care of, though, at least until they had time to deal with the new stains they had left on the fabric.

Nobody else would probably ever consider a couch a sex toy, but it happened to be one of Eric’s favorites. They had bought this one two years ago when they had both agreed that they had all but worn out the previous one, and remembering the oblivious expression on the face of the salesman when they had asked about durability and stain-resistance made Eric snicker as he pushed the cushions back into shape. It had been expensive, but he couldn’t deny the salesman’s promises had been kept. Even after numerous cleanings and the considerable use they’d made of it, it still looked close enough to new to convince him it had been worth the money.

A glance at his watch told him he had just enough time to get the newspaper from the yard before he had to give in and leave for work. Neither he nor T.J. ever read it in the morning, but Eric had gotten into the habit of bringing it in for whichever one of them got home first. Bringing in the paper and the mail was just about the only time either of them used the front door, since it was the kitchen door that led out to the driveway. All of their friends had taken to coming in through the kitchen door too, as had family on the rare occasions they came to visit. The end result was that any knock at the front was instantly assumed to be a stranger. It was perhaps an odd form of security, but it worked, and neither of them had been forced to talk to roving salesmen, door-to-door politicians, or any of the groups from the various churches in years. It was just as well there weren’t enough children in the neighborhood to make it inconvenient for Halloween trick-or-treaters.

The lock and deadbolt clicked as Eric released them, and he opened the door for the first and probably only time that day. The hinges of the outer storm door squealed when he pushed it open as well. Frozen rain batted him as he stepped outside to the small covered porch—and he stopped short as he nearly stepped on the pale-yellow envelope being quickly buried in ice. It lay almost in the center of the concrete slab, but not far enough from the edge to keep it out of the elements. Ice had already melted and refrozen around it, effectively sealing it to the concrete, and the center was already soggy and wrinkled around the obvious bulge under the paper. Eric knelt curiously to look at it but resisted the natural urge to touch. There was no name or address on the face, and no stamps or postmarks in the corner, so whoever had delivered it had done so personally. He looked up quickly to glance around the area.

It was just light enough to cast the whole neighborhood in a world of gray, and after scanning the road in both directions, he wasn’t surprised to find it empty of both people and cars, save for a few lit and foggy windows indicating he wasn’t the only one awake. He bit back a curse as he dropped his gaze back to the envelope.

He already knew that asking any of
them
if they had seen who delivered the envelope would be completely useless. This neigh-borhood almost prided itself on its ability to mind its own business, and while that made it ideal for his and T.J.’s relationship, it made it hell on eyewitness accounts. The envelope could have been delivered in broad daylight any time since yesterday morning and Eric would bet nobody saw anything. He muttered under his breath about the local neighborhood watch—or lack thereof—as he stood and stepped back inside, letting the outer door close as he made his way to the bathroom. He returned a moment later wearing latex gloves he had retrieved from their first aid kit.

The envelope was heavy and treated to be weather-resistant, but some of the outer paper still shredded as he pried it from the ice. He took his chances that it wasn’t a bomb as he brought it inside to the kitchen table, and he wasn’t surprised to find the bulge was exactly what he thought it was—a rock used to weigh the package down. A second water-resistant envelope was inside the first, and after a cursory glance to tell him it also lacked an address, Eric slit it open with his finger. His blood turned cold when the content revealed itself to be a stack of heavy, coated paper.

They were photographs, clear and in color, and Eric felt his heart racing as he flipped through them, one after another. There was a picture of him locking his truck in the parking lot of the precinct, another of him in the lot of the grocery store, loading bags into the bed of his truck from a cart he was holding still with his foot. There was a photo of him stepping out of Sweet Molasses carrying a boxed caramel apple pie, and one of him leaving the drugstore carrying a bag of toilet paper and lube, the only items he ever bought there.

There were pictures of T.J., too: outside Perlman Engineering, leaving a local sandwich shop, pumping gas at the gas station. Other snapshots showed them together: in daylight at the movie rental outlet, leaving the grocery store with a shopping cart full of bags, and one of them buying hot dogs from a vendor on the corner. There were also pictures of them at night: leaving Main Street Pub, entering a local sports bar, standing in a crowd at the movie theater. Even pictures of them sharing a kiss in a parking lot beneath a lone streetlight, and sharing another across the front seat of the Jeep. And there were others, some recent and some earlier in the year when the weather was warmer.

One photo showed them leaving Sparklers, not long before the bar had closed its doors. A photo taken the same night showed Eric leaning back over the lowered tailgate of his truck, his jeans undone and T.J.’s hand unapologetically inside. T.J.’s face was hidden in the curve of Eric’s neck, and Eric’s hands were tangled in the T-shirt T.J. wore—any photos taken after that would have showed them mostly naked, with Eric on his knees being fucked from behind while the liner on the truck bed left scrapes across their kneecaps. Eric remembered that night; they had both been more than a little drunk by the time they had made it to his truck. It was a wonder that someone from his own department hadn’t seen them and arrested them for indecent exposure—at the very least. Whoever had taken these had been following them, and they had been doing so for some time. And Eric had never even known it.

“Fuck!” he spat out, grabbing the envelope and turning it over, though he knew he wouldn’t find anything incriminating on it. But he didn’t have to. He didn’t need a signature to guess this was from Victor, and he knew the messages he was sending. Victor knew who had ultimately set him up—had probably known before the evidence was presented in court and certainly knew after, and these pictures showed just
how much
he knew—including where he lived, where he worked, and who he was fucking. And more than that, Victor had told him that he could get close.

“Fuck!” he hissed again, letting the envelope and pictures drop to the table as he leaned forward on both hands, fighting to calm both his heartbeat and his racing thoughts. Victor had been following him—following
them
—for God knew how long, and he obviously still was, or someone on his payroll was.
And he had never seen them
—not once, in all of the months he—or she—had been there. Or
they
had been there. It could be a single person or a whole fucking army taking pictures of his life, anytime and anywhere. He grabbed the pictures again and began flipping through them recklessly, looking at the locations, the backgrounds, the weather.

The one in front of Sweet Molasses was recent. The bakery had only opened a few months ago, and he was wearing his jacket. Not the heavy bomber jacket he wore now, but a lighter, all-weather jacket perfect for fall. The picture in front of the hot dog vendor was earlier in the year, both of them wearing sweatshirts but nothing else against the temperature. Early fall? The shot of them pushing the cart in front of the grocery store was around the same time, if the fleece hoodies and layered shirts they wore were any indication. Sparklers, he knew, was late summer, because the night captured on film had been one of their last visits before it closed. The sports bar could have been earlier or later, and so could the sandwich shop. The movie theater….

Eric stopped, staring. Almost a random snapshot, it centered on the two of them as they stepped away from the crowd at the exit, Eric carrying a large popcorn bucket, T.J. holding a paper drink cup. Casual button-downs and jeans didn’t give any indication of the season, though with their sleeves rolled up it was a good guess that it was still warm. It was taken at night, with the movie posters in the background illuminated by lights in their frames. Eric brought the picture closer as he read the poster pictured a little blurrily over T.J.’s shoulder.

Jonah Hex.

Eric cursed again as his hand fell to the table, the other raking through the shorter strands of his hair, heedless of the latex he still wore. That movie had come out in June, and winter was just beginning to blow in November. Five months. Victor had taken this picture five months ago… had known who Eric was five months ago. Had known that he was being targeted
five months ago
.

“Jesus,” Eric breathed, feeling the cold fingers of dread prickle at his skin. Five months ago McKennon had still been undercover, had already infiltrated his inner circle. If Victor knew he was being targeted
then
, then McKennon should never have made it that far. But he had made it….

Shit.

McKennon had gotten in because Victor had
let
him, and Eric felt the dread twisting in his stomach because he already knew why. It wasn’t to buy time, so that he could kill McKennon without an obvious connection. He’d certainly had that opportunity in the months he kept McKennon close. He didn’t mean to use him as a shield, because he had far too many paid cronies who had that in their job description. No. He’d let McKennon in because he knew McKennon wasn’t the one calling the shots. He’d let McKennon in because he wanted to know who McKennon worked for—not the department, the
person
. Looking at the pictures he still held in his hand, it was clear that Victor had found him.

“
Fuck!
”

The pictures dropped again as he used both hands to scrub through his hair in an effort to make himself focus. He should take the pictures to the forensics team at the precinct, though he knew they would learn nothing from them that he didn’t already know right now. Sending out the dogs to drag Victor in would be pointless, since Judge Kenczik had effectively cleared him of his previous crimes, and demanding that Victor be watched would be futile—he was
already
being watched. Bringing the pictures in and convincing the captain and everyone above him that they had come from Victor would be easy but also pointless, as knowing and proving were two entirely different things. All that would do was ensure that the watchdogs the captain assigned to keep Eric safe would just get in his way. And Eric had little doubt that with the strings the Captain had pulled to draw in his team, there would be watchdogs out there somewhere.

His only option was to follow through with what he had started the day before. Get his group—his team: Belinda, Steve, and Jeff—to find something to prove the judge had been bribed or threatened, get a new trial if he couldn’t get the ruling overturned. Change the game by not going after Victor directly. Right now, it was the best chance he had. They just had to be fast.

His heart almost stopped when his eyes scanned the pictures again, freezing on one of the pictures in the middle, the one of T.J. pumping gas into his Jeep. Dear God. Victor knew who T.J. was. His lover, his husband, the partner he had chosen for life—the one person he couldn’t face living his life without and the one person who should have had no part in this.
And Victor knew who he was!

Bone-deep fear swept over him. If Victor wanted to take Eric down, he had found the perfect means to do it. If Victor wanted Eric to panic, he had succeeded.

Eric lunged for the cell phone in his jacket, sending the kitchen chair it had been tossed over rattling to the tiles as he jerked it off the back. T.J. had always teased him about not keeping his cell on his body, while Eric had always answered that the only thing he wanted on his body was T.J. That wayward thought flashed through his mind as his clumsy, stumbling hands pulled the cell phone free. He flicked it open with a jerk of his thumb….