~*~
The door to Ian’s office – his private, appointment-only office – swung open without so much as a knock, and Alec filled the threshold, wearing a light sweater and pair of designer jeans that Ian had bought him, his hair dark, and soft, and lovely, his gaze warm behind the lenses of his frameless glasses.
Ian’s stomach dropped. His pulse quickened. He knew his face fell, when he saw the joy dim on his husband’s face. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said into the phone, and hung up rudely, not caring.
“Well,” Alec said, a little stiffly. “It’s good to see you, too.”
Behind him, Ian saw Bruce’s reassuring silhouette, all bulk and brawn. He sat back, and waved Alec in. “No, no, it is. But I said you didn’t need to come by today.”
Alec stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. “And I said, in your own words, ‘bugger that,’ because we haven’t had a lunch date in weeks.” He plopped gracelessly down into the chair opposite Ian’s desk, though that wasn’t quite true, because he was graceful – with his long limbs, and his lithe build, and his pretty, cut-glass features – even when he wasn’t trying to be.
“Darling,” Ian said, holding back a sigh. His hands flexed on his thighs, and he forced them still. He hadn’t been nervous before, but was now, suddenly. Every single time the Lean Dogs got themselves in hot water, he remembered standing outside his other office, the funeral home, while a biker pressed a gun to Alec’s temple. That terror was the sort that he managed to suppress, but never to cure completely. Ghost had called yesterday afternoon, to tell him about the explosion in New York – which had made the national news by midnight. Alec had asked why he was so tense, but he’d set his phone aside and pulled his husband into his arms and not answered.
“Oh no,” Alec said now, going stern. It was precious. “No, you’re hiding something. We agreed not to do that when we got married.” He folded his arms for added effect, jaw setting.
“You’re quite right. We did agree.” Ian let out a slow breath. “Alright, then.”
“Ian.”
“Yes, yes. There’s been some trouble with the club. Their New York chapter was attacked yesterday afternoon.”
Alec’s brows lifted. “Attacked how?”
“An explosion. The news called it a bomb.”
“Shit,” he said, quietly. “Well. Maybe it’s stupid, but I’m going to point out that we’re all the way down in Tennessee.”
“We are.”
His gaze hardened again. “What aren’t you telling me?”
This part stuck in his throat, because he’d kept it back ‘til now, and that wasn’t good. Wasn’t conducive to a healthy relationship. “Ghost believes that the little fiend who was terrorizing the Texas chapter has been here, in Knoxville. He thinks that he was the one who abducted those missing teenagers.” Just hearingmissingandteenagerin the same sentence made his skin crawl, and brought old, ugly memories to the forefront. “That he’s aligned himself with the people who planted the bomb in New York.”
Alec studied him a moment, after he’d spoken. Then stood and moved around the desk.
“I’m perfectly alright,” Ian protested stiffly, though he felt a telltale pressure in his temples, and a heat behind his eyes.
“Of course you are,” Alec said, sweetly, tone soothing now. He perched on the edge of the desk, close – Ian had to adjust the way he was sitting – and reached to trace gentle fingertips along the sharp edge of his jaw.
“Are they taking boys, too?” he asked.
“Only girls, so far as I know.”
“Taking anyone is horrible.” Alec thumbed across his cheek, and Ian was struck by the urge to push him away – and to pull him into his lap. He held still instead. “What can I do?”
Ian sent him a rueful smile. “Well, if you can’t stay clear of my professional life, as I’ve asked, then you can–”
A knock sounded at the door.
Alec dropped his hand to his own thigh, but didn’t move to get off the desk.
When the door opened, Candace stood with an unsteady hand braced on the jamb, wispy hairs coming loose from her tortoiseshell clip as if she’d run here from the elevator, further evidenced by her high color and breathless voice.
Ian sat forward, instantly tense, and rested a hand on Alec’s thigh. Gripped tight, ready for something – ready for anything. “Candace. What is it?”
“A call – there’s a – it’s a–”
“A bomb threat,” Bruce said, appearing behind her, expressionless and efficient as always. He took Candace gently by the waist, picked her up off her feet – she gasped and flailed – and stepped into the room so he could set her down out of the way, coming to rest his huge hands on the edge of the desk. “It was just called in a few moments ago at the front desk. The caller said it was placed overnight, and he has a remote detonator.”
