Dillon tried to run, but his father was stronger. Doug had him pinned in place, his arms locking Dillon’s behind his back and rendering Dillon immobile. There was nothing Dillon could do. He waited for the sting of the needle, but it never came. What did come was a loud crash and the splintering of wood as his little league baseball bat cracked against the back of Douglas Carver’s skull. Doug let go of Dillon and sank to the floor.
The minute Jamie brought the bat down on Doug’s head, he dropped it and grabbed Dillon’s hand, pulling him forward with unheard of strength and propelling Dillon out of his stupor and towards the front door. Henderson and Angela were too busy seeing after Doug to try and stop them.
As they raced down the steps, Jamie pulled Dillon’s car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Dillon. Dillon jumped into the driver’s side. Jamie had just climbed in and gotten buckled when Henderson, Doug, and Angela came charging out after them. Dillon gunned the motor of the Lumina and took off in the direction of the sheriff’s station. It wasn’t until he was on the main road that he noticed both he and Jamie were wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans each. Dillon pulled the car onto a side road and changed directions.
“Where . . where are we going?” Jamie was shaking so hard he could barely get the words out.
“I was headed for Bran’s office, but I changed my mind. We’ll try his house, first. With any luck, he’ll be there, and if he’s not, Nate might be.”
Jamie only nodded, hugging himself even though it wasn’t all that cold in the car. The temperature was pretty mild for early April, but Dillon knew Jamie’s chills came from within. After an agonizing silence, Jamie said, “I know how Ben felt.”
Dillon hadn’t expected that one. “What do you mean?”
“The night Ben hit that guy who was roughing up Mitch. I knew how Ben felt the minute I swung that bat at your father’s head. That’s where I got the idea, from Mitch’s story.” Jamie shivered. “I thought I’d killed him until I saw him coming out the door behind Henderson and your mom.” He put his face in his hands. “I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t have a choice. They were gonna take you out of the house, give you that shot.”
Dillon increased the pressure of his foot on the accelerator. “I know, baby. I know. We’ll make this right, Jamie, I swear it.”
Dillon let out the breath he’d been holding the minute he pulled into the driveway and saw the Sheriff-mobile, as Megan always called the government issue S.U.V. Brandon used when he was on duty. Seeing Nate’s car there as well reassured Dillon even more. Unless the two of them were out for a drive in Brandon’s Camaro, there was a good chance they were both home.
Dillon got out first, the pine needles and rocks that lined the driveway pricking his bare feet. He went around to Jamie’s side and helped him out, much like he had the day Jamie found out about Ben’s death and went into shock. God, Dillon hoped Jamie wasn’t going to go through that again. From the look of him, though, it was a real possibility.
Brandon met them at the door, still wearing his uniform. “Get your asses in here. I was just about to go out and look for you.” He surprised them both by enfolding them in his arms. “Do you have an idea how worried I was when I heard the call from your father come over the scanner?”
“Shit. He called the cops on us?”
Brandon pulled them into the house, one arm still wrapped around each of them. “’Fraid so. He called the city cops, naturally, instead of my office. He wants to have Jamie locked up for assault.” Brandon let go long enough to close the door behind them. Seeing the look on Jamie’s face, he pulled him back in close and said, “Relax, kiddo, nobody’s gonna lock you up. The chief of police is giving me time to put this thing together before he even comes to question you.”
Jamie was too shaken to answer, but Dillon said, “Put what thing together? What’s going on? Do we need a lawyer?”
Brandon moved them towards the kitchen. “I’ll tell you all of that in just a minute. First thing we’re gonna do is get the two of you warmed up and settled down. Then you’re gonna tell me every last thing that happened, from the minute your parents walked in the door until the minute Jamie cracked good old Dougie on the back of the head. Damn, I wish I’d seen that.”
Nate met them in the kitchen, directing Dillon and Jamie to have a seat at the kitchen table. Coming back with two steaming mugs, he said, “I wasn’t sure if the two of you would want coffee or hot chocolate, but chocolate is more soothing, so I went with that.” After setting a mug in front of each boy, Nate knelt down beside Jamie’s chair. “How you holding up, buddy? You feeling okay?”
Before Jamie could speak, Brandon came in from the laundry room holding a couple of long sleeved t-shirts. “My shirt will probably fit you, Dillon, but even Nate’s will swallow Jamie alive. Still, they’ll do until I can send someone to your house to pick up some of your stuff. I don’t care if it is the end of April. It’s still too cold outside for the two of you to be running around in nothing but blue jeans. ” He handed the first shirt to Jamie. “You need Dillon to help you with that, slugger?”
Nate groaned. “Real sensitive, Nash.”
But Jamie laughed, the sound more precious to Dillon than anything he owned. If Jamie was laughing, then he probably wasn’t going into shock, thank God. “It’s okay, Nate. I’m fine, just a little shaky.” He reached across the table and took Dillon’s hand. “I guess our little league coach was wrong, huh? I can hit the broad side of a barn.”
Dillon grasped his fingers, and Brandon said, “I guess now would be as good a time as any to tell me what happened. Like I said, Chief Skinner is giving me time to get all this settled, but the sooner we deal with it the better.”
Nate gave them both a pat on the back and then, indicating his scrubs-clad body, said, “I just got home from work, so I’m gonna go upstairs and shower. Sasha’s still penned up in the sun-porch, so you shouldn’t be disturbed.”
Dillon and Jamie both nodded as Nate left, and Brandon walked across the room to one of the far cabinets, taking out a mini-tape recorder and coming back to claim a seat at the table. Placing the recorder in the center, he said, “I’m gonna tape this as we go, so be sure not to leave anything out.”
Dillon went first, going over every detail be could remember, from the opening of the door to his near-injection by Dr. Henderson. Jamie picked up the story then, telling how he heard Dillon arguing with his parents and about Henderson’s promise to have Dillon locked up. He went on to talk about grabbing Dillon’s old bat from the closet. He even told Brandon and the tape recorder about where the idea came from. Brandon only nodded, having gotten the rundown on that story from Mitch late the night before. As soon as Jamie finished, Brandon pressed the stop button and turned to Dillon.
“So you never actually asked your parents to come inside?”
Dillon shook his head. “My mother just sorta barged in when I opened the door. The other two followed her inside.”
Brandon nodded. “Sounds like self-defense to me. Jamie was doing what it took to defend his partner within the confines of his own home. I can’t see any D.A. in his right mind bringing Jamie up on charges for that.”
The word “charges” had Jamie gasping for breath. “Am I going to need a lawyer, Brandon? You never did tell us if we needed one.”
The backdoor swung open just as Jamie was asking the question, and Dillon heard the clattering of high-heels across the floor of the mudroom. A honey-sweet voice said, “Did I hear someone say ‘lawyer?’ Don’t you know that’s a dirty word around most parts?”
Dillon recognized the tiny redhead the minute she came into the kitchen. Alicia Nash Wilton, Brandon’s sister. He’d seen her more than once at the Nash family get-togethers and church dinners Megan had dragged him to. She seemed nice enough, but Dillon knew little about her other than the fact that she was a prosecutor for the D.A.’s office in Chicago. The minute the thought crossed his mind, Dillon’s whole body stiffened. Surely she wasn’t here to file charges against Jamie. No way was he going to let that happen.
Alicia must have seen the look on his face, because she started laughing, the sound so much like Megan’s laughter that Dillon relaxed in spite of himself. “Calm down, Dillon. I was just teasing about ‘lawyer’ being a dirty word.” She gave her brother a kiss on the cheek. “Sheesh. Talk about a tough room.”
Dillon blushed. “Sorry about that. Jamie and I have had a rough evening.”
Alicia nodded. “That’s why I’m here.” She smiled at Jamie. “I heard the question you asked my brother, and the answer is no. You don’t need a lawyer. You’ve got me.”
Despite the fact that he’d only seen Alicia Wilton a few times around town, Jamie found himself trusting the woman. Her manner reminded him of Megan’s, warm and open, not the kind of woman who’d keep secrets or lie to him. Jamie relaxed just a fraction, more than he would have thought possible under the circumstances.
Alicia plopped her briefcase down on the table. “When Brandon called me, he told me that the two of you were in trouble and that Dillon’s father was pressing charges for an alleged assault. Bran was on his way out to look for you, last I heard, and he wanted me to come here and wait until he found you. I’m guessing he did.”
“Actually, these two found me. I was on my way out the door when they showed up here.” Brandon stood up and pulled a chair out for his sister. As soon as she was seated, he walked over to the counter and poured her a mug of coffee. “You still take it black, munchkin?”
Alicia rolled her eyes at her brother, but her comments were for Jamie and Dillon. “I’m almost thirty-years-old, and the big jerk still calls me munchkin.” To Bran, she said, “Unless that’s decaf, you’d better drink it yourself. I’m off caffeine for the next seven-and-a-half months.”
Brandon’s entire face changed. “For the same reason you were off caffeine the last time?”
Alicia nodded. “Yep. Emily’s gonna be a big sister.”
Brandon came back to the table, lifting Alicia out of her chair and into his arms. “Congratulations to all three of you, Miss Emily Jane Big Britches, included.” He stepped back, his expression changing from elation to concern. “Emily’s only eighteen months old. Doesn’t your doctor think it’s a little too soon for you to be getting pregnant, again?”
Alicia laughed as she sat back down. “Some couples don’t wait even that long to start trying. My obstetrician tells me I’m in perfect health, and Garth and I want our kids to be close together. We don’t plan on having a whole brood like Mom and Dad did, either. Two will do rather nicely, I think.”
Bran nodded and sat down beside Alicia. “If the new addition is anything like Emily, two will be a houseful.” He pushed the tape-recorder in Alicia’s direction. “I could talk about my nieces and nephews all night, but Ronald Skinner’s doing me a favor on this one, so we’d better get down to it. Everything the boys told me is on this tape.”
Alicia’s blue eyes widened. “Ronald Skinner, the chief of police?”
“One and the same.”
Alicia reached for the tape recorder. “This I’ve got to hear.”
Jamie reached for Dillon’s hand, worried about how silent he’d been for the last few minutes. Thankfully, Dillon squeezed back, his way of letting Jamie know he was all right.
Alicia started the tape. A couple of times during the re-play, Jamie looked in Dillon’s direction. He looked tired, his beloved face drawn and weary, but he didn’t seem overly upset. Not compared to what they’d been through, anyway. Jamie turned his attention back to Alicia just in time to see her push the stop button on the tape recorder. It wasn’t until he heard the click that Jamie realized Alicia had turned the tape recorder off at the mention of Henderson’s name.
“Henderson? Not Lyle Henderson?”
Dillon shrugged. “I’m not sure. He never gave his first name, and I didn’t want to know, anyway.”
Alicia’s face was sweet sympathy itself. “No, sweetie, I guess you didn’t.”
Brandon said, “Why do you ask?”
“I need to finish listening to the tape before I say anything else, but if this guy is the same Dr. Henderson I think he is, he’s your key to getting Jamie and Dillon off the hook for this so-called assault.” Alicia turned the tape back on, this time taking a steno pad and pen out of her briefcase. Jamie watched as she scribbled notes in a graceful, flowing script that made his own handwriting look like chicken scratches. As soon as the tape finished, Alicia said, “I’ll need confirmation, but I’m almost certain this Henderson is the same guy our office has been investigating for the last two years.” She smiled at Dillon. “You and your little twinkie here may have just given us the evidence we need to make an arrest. At least we can get a warrant to search his office and home.”
Jamie was completely in the dark. “I don’t get it. Am I being arrested for cracking Dillon’s father on the head?”
Alicia tossed her notebook back into the briefcase. “Nope, not if I can help it, and I’m darn sure I can.” She pulled a hot pink cell phone out of the lining of the case, grinning when she saw her brother’s smirk. “What? Even a prosecuting attorney needs to have a little bit of style.” She punched in a series of numbers from memory and then waited. Jamie could hear a click, like someone picking up on the other end. Alicia said, “Bruce? Hi, it’s Al.” Pause. “I’m fine, but I need a favor.” Pause. “Yes, I know I still owe you from the last favor, but this is important. It’s about the Henderson case. I need you to get together everything you’ve got on the guy and meet me at this address.” She rattled off Brandon’s location and then listened again to the man on the other line before saying, “I’m not sure just yet, but I think we may have finally nailed the S.O.B.”
* * *
Not long after the phone call, Nate left, saying he had errands to run. Dillon was pretty sure Nate was leaving to give them some space, which only added to his nervousness. If Nate was leaving his own home so that Brandon and Alicia could handle his and Jamie’s case, this thing had to go way beyond a simple assault charge. Jamie called Aunt Sadie to let her know what was going on. Her thoughts must have echoed Dillon’s, because she gave Jamie a real earful. Brandon took the phone away from Jamie’s ear, talking to her with that commanding air of his and making Sadie promise to stay put until further notice.
Bruce Seaford, Alicia’s friend and special investigator for the D.A.’s office, showed up at Brandon’s place about an hour later, carrying an overfilled, accordion style file folder. Dillon estimated him to be in his thirties, and though he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, he had a pleasant face and a genuine smile that made Dillon feel comfortable around him. But Seaford wasn’t alone. The man who came into the kitchen behind him was the polar opposite of Seaford. He wasn’t smiling, and no one could ever accuse the guy of being merely pleasant.
It wasn’t that the guy was hard on the eyes. In fact, he was handsome to the extreme. His finely chiseled features and honed body could have easily graced the cover of an art magazine under the heading of “perfect specimen.” His hair was the color of honeyed wheat, tousled slightly, but in no way detracting from the total picture. Seaford was wearing casual clothes--a wrinkled flannel shirt and a pair of faded jeans--but his companion was dressed for business, his pants expertly tailored, his shirt crisp and immaculate. Even so, nothing about the second man suggested he was anything other than a regular guy who’d come to help with the investigation. Nothing that is, except his eyes. They were a shade of deep silver that missed nothing, following everyone in the room with eerie perception. Dillon felt chill bumps race along the tops of his arms. Something about the man spoke of a quiet power that even had Jamie fidgeting in his chair.
If Brandon had the same reaction to the guy, he hid it well. He greeted both the new arrivals at the door, calling them by name. He slapped Bruce on the back and shook the other man’s hand with a friendly, though reserved, smile. “Dr. Carson, it’s good to see you again.”
Carson? Wasn’t that the doctor who was helping Ash? The man returned Brandon’s smile. “Please, call me Dex. I’m not here in a professional capacity.” He looked to Dillon and Jamie. “I’m here to help.”
The minute he said it, Dillon started to relax. Maybe it was the confidence in Carson’s voice when he said the word “help.” Or maybe it was the way he looked at them with compassion, but not a trace of pity. Whatever the case, Dillon’s chill bumps faded and the knot in his stomach loosened.
Alicia took over from there, asking the men to take a seat while she filled Dillon and Jamie in. “Let me make formal introductions, and then we’ll get down to business. James Walker and Dillon Carver, I’d like you to meet Bruce Seaford and Dexter Carson. They’re here to help us sort through this mess and get Jamie out of trouble and back home where he belongs.”
“Can I get you guys some coffee?”
Both men nodded a yes to Brandon’s question, declining cream and sugar and thanking him as he placed a mug in front of each of them. He then asked Dillon and Jamie the same question, but neither took him up on it, having barely drunk any of the hot chocolate they’d been given earlier. And besides, he didn’t know about Jamie, but the last thing Dillon needed was to put caffeine on his already raw nerves.
As Brandon reclaimed the place next to his sister, Bruce settled himself into the chair across from Jamie and next to Brandon, leaving Carson to take the seat facing Dillon. “So, what have we got, Al?”
Alicia reached for the tape recorder. “You can hear it for yourselves and then decide.”
For the second time in as many hours, Dillon heard his own words played back to him. The first time he’d listened to the retelling of the story, he’d been scared to death and trying desperately to hide it. Now, though, he was less apprehensive. He was worried about Jamie, sure, and about being locked up in some crazy ward by that wacko, Henderson. But the way Alicia and Brandon had rallied to their defense soothed Dillon. He was starting to feel the first glimmers of hope.
When the tape was done, Bruce reached down beside his chair and grabbed the file folder, placing it on the table. Unclasping the latch, he removed six, eight-by-ten photos from the first compartment and slid them across the table to Dillon. Each one was of a different man, only one of whom Dillon knew. Bruce said, “I need you to look at each picture, Dillon, and tell me if the man who identified himself as Henderson is in there. Take your time.”
Dillon didn’t need to take his time. Just seeing Henderson’s semi-smiling face, even in a photograph, was enough to make his stomach lurch. He slid the pictures--Henderson’s on top--back across the table to Bruce. “That’s him.”
“You sure?”
“Not a doubt in my mind, Mr. Seaford. That’s the guy who tried to give me the shot.”
Jamie seconded Dillon’s vote. “I only saw the guy for a few minutes, but I know it’s him.”
Bruce looked like a kid at Christmas. “What do you think, Al? Is it enough to get a warrant?”
Alicia nodded. “Henderson is a Ph.D., not an M.D., which means he doesn’t have the right to give out meds. We also have Dillon’s statement that Henderson tried to give him an injection. That should at least be enough to get us in the door so we can search his office.”
Jamie said, “I don’t wanna seem dense or anything, but could somebody please tell us what’s going on? What does Henderson have to do with me hitting Dillon’s father over the head with a bat?”
“With the actual assault, nothing. With the case, everything.” Alicia turned her chair enough to clearly see them both down the length of the farmhouse table. “Lyle Henderson is a psychologist from Chicago who prides himself on being able to take gay men and ‘turn’ them straight. That’s what he claims, anyway. Because Henderson is a doctor of theology, and not medicine, he can’t prescribe or administer the type of drugs Dillon heard him tell Douglas Carver were in that syringe. That’s a felony, and should be enough to convince a judge to issue a warrant so we can find what we’re looking for.”
Brandon said, “I get the feeling you aren’t looking to bust this guy just for dispensing without a license. Off the record, what gives?”
Alicia looked to Bruce. “You think it’s okay to give the boys the full story.”
Bruce nodded. “I don’t see why not. They have a right to know, especially since they’re in the middle of all this mess. The way I see it, Dillon’s father involved him the minute he and his wife brought Henderson into their son’s apartment.”
“I agree.” Alicia clasped her hands in front of herself. “Everything I’m about to tell you guys is strictly off the record, meaning basically if you tell anybody I told you, I’ll deny it with my last breath.” She directed her next statement to Dr. Carson. “Can you handle this, Dex?”
“I’m fine, Alicia. I’m here to help any way I can.” Carson seemed calm, but Dillon could see something brewing just below the surface of the man, some inner tension. Whatever it was, it made Dillon shiver.
Alicia didn’t comment. Instead, she went right into the story. “Lyle Henderson subscribes to the old school practice of treating homosexuality as a disease. A mental illness, if you will. He believes that homosexuality can be cured with the right treatments. His treatment of choice is aversion therapy.”
Brandon whistled. “Damn.”
Dillon was lost. “What’s ‘aversion therapy?’”
Carson leaned forward. “Alicia, I’d like to take it from here, if that’s okay.”
“If you’re sure you’re up to it.”
“I am.” Carson stretched his tall, lanky frame and sat back in his chair. “Aversion therapy is the process of using negative reinforcement to turn a person away from a certain behavior or thought process. There are different ways it can be done, but in the case of sexual aversion therapy, doctors generally rely on shock treatments. They show gay and lesbian patients a series of nude or even pornographic pictures. When the patient looks at pictures of the opposite sex, nothing happens. But the minute the patient sees a picture of his or her own gender, electrodes secured to the skin deliver a mild electric shock.”
Alicia shuddered. “Is it just me, or does that sound positively barbaric to anyone else?”
Brandon said, “It’s not just you. Hell, I have a degree in forensic psychology, and I still don’t understand it. Not in the case of homosexuality, anyway. I’ve heard of aversion therapy being mildly successful in some other areas, but never that one.”
“Aversion therapy in general has fallen out of favor with a large section of the psychiatric community for that very reason. It’s simply not as effective as other, more humane treatment methods. And thankfully, most therapists and doctors now view homosexuality as a sexual preference one is born with and has no control over, rather than a disease.” Carson sighed. “Unfortunately, there are still a few holdouts--dinosaurs like Henderson--who think being gay is a mental illness. Some of these guys will do anything to ‘cure’ a patient who’s gay. And I do mean anything.”
Alicia picked up the thread. “That’s where my office comes in. For over two years now, the D.A. in Chicago has been investigating Henderson for the abuse of his patients.”
Jamie scrunched his brows. “I don’t get it. If aversion therapy is used by lots of doctors, then why is Henderson in trouble for doing the same thing?”