“Check behind the other paintings and maybe in the closet,” Damon instructed. “Since you’re more mobile. I’ll sit at the desk and check the file cabinet.”
Long minutes ticked by, and neither of them made a sound. Damon diligently sorted through bills and receipts, but he’d already known when he’d found the cabinet unlocked that he wouldn’t find anything useful in here. He huffed out a frustrated breath, and let his eyes track Cain, who had found a cardboard banker box at the bottom of the closet and was determinedly searching through it, as though his father might have absently chucked evidence that could implicate him in a felony into a random box and shoved it in a closet.
Still, the utter absorption on the man’s face and the graceful movement of his fingers were soothing and maybe a little bewitching. Damon had to force himself to look away.
Behind Shaw’s desk was an enormous window that looked out on what had to have been two or three acres of manicured lawns burnished pink-gold in the evening light. It was pretty, but empty… much like the house itself.
Damon’s eyes drifted down to the credenza below the window, where several perfectly-posed family portraits rested. His eyes caught on one of Cain, back when he must have been seven or eight. His dark hair was longer and neatly parted to one side, his deep blue eyes huge and innocent, and Damon had the strongest urge to grab this younger-Cain and take him to safety, far away from Emmett Shaw and his bullshit. He shook his head. There was another of a blonde girl who must have been Cain’s sister, and several more of a young Senator Shaw standing with his wife. But the middle picture caught his attention and held it.
“Cain? What’s this?” he asked.
Cain came toward him, feet hushed on the plush carpet, and paused at his elbow before picking up the frame to look at the picture more closely. “Oh,” he said softly, the single syllable sounding both fond and sad. “These are the Seavers, the McCanns, and my family. You probably recognize most of them. See? The tall, thin one is Bas, and Drew is the one with his arm around his shoulder. They both filled out a lot, huh? The scrawny one there is me,” he chuckled. “And the slightly-less-scrawny one with the cowlicks is Cam. That’s his dad behind him. And my parents. Mrs. Seaver with the blue headband, and then the McCanns, before their divorce. Mrs. McCann was a stunner back then, wasn’t she? And the girls on the stairs trying to look like grownups are my sister Cady and Drew’s sister Amy. They were best friends.”
He sighed and sank back against the desk. “I remember when this picture was taken - the first time we all got together at my parents’ cabin in the Smokies, not long after they bought the place. The first of, like, a hundred times we all vacationed there. My parents gutted the whole cabin and added on a third floor - it’s all modern now. It’s still one of my favorite places in the world, but I liked it better before,” Cain mused.
“Does your family still own the cabin?” Damon asked, his heart racing.
“Oh yeah. But we haven’t been there much since Amy McCann and the Seavers died. It’s just not the same, you know? It was a family place back then, and the Seavers and McCanns were part of our family. My father’s gone maybe three or four times this year for the fishing, and maybe a month ago, the whole family went, along with a couple of my dad’s donors.” He made a sour face. “That was the first time my dad brought strangers there. Though, you know, if anyone officially asked, I’d probably have to lie and say the Stornoviches were old family friends, too, not campaign contributors.” He rolled his eyes, but when he looked up and his gaze met Damon’s, he frowned. “What?”
“Your dad has a secluded cabin that hardly anyone has been to?” Damon asked sharply. “Don’t you think it’s possible whatever evidence he kept could bethere?”
“I… I mean, I guess? Shit.” Cain ran a hand through his hair, tousling the strands to inky spikes, and Damon couldn’t help but cup his hand around the back of the man’s neck, pulling him in for a short kiss.
“What was that for?” Cain asked when Damon pulled back. Cain’s fingers traced the contours of his own lips, like he still felt Damon’s imprinted there.
Good.
“How about because you’re fucking adorable? How about because Ican?”
Cain’s eyes flashed with something Damon couldn’t name, then he lifted himself to his toes and threw his arm around Damon’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss. Damon’s injured leg twitched, but he steadied himself with a hand on the desk and returned the kiss enthusiastically.
He pulled back a second later, and they both smiled.
Christ, they did not have time for this, but Damon wouldn’t do anything to stop it. If the past year and a half had taught him nothing else, it was that life could change on a dime. He’d take his happiness wherever he could find it.
Cain set the photograph precisely back on the credenza, and giving one parting pat to Damon’s abs, he went to put the banker’s box back in the closet.
“Wait,” Damon said, his distracted brain finally catching up to something Cain had said earlier. “Did you say Stornovich?”
“Yeah. Uh, Adam and Ilya, I think. Father and son. They’re in real estate investments, which is not particularly exciting, but whatever.” Cain shrugged as he straightened and dusted his hands off. “They weren’t exactly friendly, but then hardly any of my father’s donors are. With the exception of the Fassbenders.” He grimaced as he joined Damon. “Shit. I really need to call them, and I totally forgot to pick up a charger at the store. The damn thing is back in Boston and I don’t have a spare. Remind me later?”
“Cain,” Damon said, interrupting him with a hand on his arm. “Have you ever heard of SILA?” He could hear that his voice was rougher than ever, with a combination of excitement and worry.
“I don’t think so?”
“It’s a crime syndicate. The word is Russian forpower.”
“Oh! Wait, yeah. This reporter at my dad’s fundraiser did a whole big story on —.” His eyes went wide. “Wait, are you saying—?”
“What I’m saying is that the Stornoviches are a pretty well-known family inside SILA. They were nearly indicted by a grand jury last year, but managed to skate. It’s not hard evidence, but it’s a damn interesting coincidence.”
“Wait, no. These guys weren’t criminals. They were, like, short, portly, balding dudes who liked golf. One was old enough to be my grandfather. No guns, no… leather trench coats.”
Damon raised one eyebrow.
“Whatever. Trench coats seem like a mobster thing to wear. My point is, these dudes were super normal. They looked like bankers… or like what theyare, real estate investors.” His voice was begging Damon to agree, to say that the men Emmett Shaw had invited into his family home hadn’t been criminals, that such a thing was impossible. But they both knew it wasn’t.
“And what would you say your father looks like, Cain?” Damon asked gently.
Cain squeezed his eyes shut, and once again, Damon wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, this time lending him support.
“I remember thinking, back at his fundraiser, that my dad looked like this normal guy who liked to tailgate and eat Cheetos.” His eyes flew open. “Heisthat guy, you know, Damon? God. He used to make model cars with me when I was five or six. We watched football. Though, granted, I wasn’t usually paying attention.” He gasped out something that was a cross between a laugh and a sob. “How can he be a normal person and an evil mastermind at the same time?”
“It’s gonna be okay, baby,” Damon said, pressing his lips to Cain’s hair. In truth, he had no idea if it would be okay, or even whatokaylooked like in this situation. He led Cain out onto the second-floor landing and jerked his head down the hall. “I kind of wanted to see your room while we were here,” he teased, hoping to make Cain crack a smile. “Check out all your soccer trophies or whatever.”
But Cain shook his head. “I don’t have soccer trophies. And there’s not a single thing here that I want to claim as mine,” he whispered. His eyes swam with pain and confusion. “Just… get me out of here, Damon.”
Despite his earlier tease, Damon couldn’t have agreed more. This seemingly innocuous house - the perfect facade hiding a multitude of dirty secrets - chilled him to the bone, and he couldn’t wait to get Cain out of there. He wrapped an arm around Cain’s shoulders, squeezing gently so as not to disturb his injury. He only wished he could shield Cain from the other painful things in his life just as easily.
