Will turned to RSO Stone. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d like to stick with MacAllister while he’s pursuing his hunch.”
Stone looked taken aback. “I’m confused. Normandy was your call, Brandt.”
“I know. But here’s the thing: MacAllister’s got an instinct for crime like nobody I’ve ever known. There might be something to this idea of his.”
“I realize that. That’s why I’ve given him permission to investigate.”
“He doesn’t know the city. He doesn’t speak the language.” Will could see Stone thought he was being an ass, but he plowed ahead. “You said yourself we’ve got more than enough manpower assigned to the D-day ceremony. I think MacAllister could use some backup. Whether he realizes it or not.”
“You’re serious?” Stone’s blue gaze rested on his face for a moment. “You are serious.” He could see her weighing it. “Brandt, I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but seeing that you shouldn’t be here anyway since you haven’t been cleared for duty, if you choose to spend your sick leave tagging along with MacAllister, that’s up to you. Maybe you can keep him from triggering an international incident.”
Will’s smile was lopsided. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“For the record, I think you’re both wrong, but…” Stone shrugged. She had bigger fish to fry.
Will found Taylor in Arthur’s cubicle, surrounded by framed photos of Arthur’s parents and girlfriend. Taylor was on the phone, his voice quiet but urgent.
“I don’t care. Don’t attend the ceremony.” He was silent for a moment. “I know. I know all that.” Another silence. “I know that too. Just…humor me on this. You said you’d steer clear of any places American tourists might go. Well, Normandy counts.” He listened. “Thank you. I’ll let you know.” Then his face changed, and his tone with it. “He’s fine… Yeah… I’ll tell him you were asking… Yeah. Me too.”
Taylor dropped the handset into the cradle and noticed Will standing in the doorway. “Hey.” Face and voice were neutral.
“Hey,” Will returned. Now face-to-face with Taylor, things were a little different. If Taylor’s expression had been any blanker, Will would have been getting the No Internet Connection message. “Tara?”
Taylor nodded.
“So you’re not one hundred percent sure about this idea of yours?”
Taylor’s face tightened. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, no. And I’m not taking a chance with my family.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m not here to argue with you. I just got the okay from Stone. I’m working the art theft angle with you.”
Taylor’s expression came to life then. He looked less thrilled than Will might have expected. “Why would you be? Your theory is —”
There were plenty of things Will could have replied. He cut straight to the chase. “Because we’re partners.”
Taylor’s eyes flickered. “Yeah, only we’re not. Remember?”
“You know what I mean. It doesn’t have anything to do with where we’re posted. We’re a team.”
Taylor looked away. A muscle in his jaw moved. His eyes rose to meet Will’s. “Are we? Where does David Bradley fit in?”
It must have cost him to say that aloud.
In the main room the other agents were making plans for traveling to the coast. Will stepped away from the door. He kept his voice low. “My memory might be shaky on certain points, but I meant what I said in the car. Nobody means more to me than you do. So if I’m going to have to choose who I’m watching over for the next forty-eight hours, I’m watching you.”
Taylor gave him an unblinking look. Then he smiled. It was an odd smile. “That’s because you believe me about the stolen paintings. If you thought the threat to Bradley was —”
“This is going to come as a shock to you, MacAllister, but you’re often wrong. About a lot of things.”
Taylor’s gaze dropped. He shrugged, clearly unconvinced on that point.
Will let it go. This wasn’t the time. When it was all over, they were going to have a serious and uninterrupted talk. As crazy as this whole amnesia thing was, it had allowed him to see their situation from the outside looking in. And what he saw was pretty damned alarming.
Right now they had other things — even if not more important things — to deal with. “So what’s our next move?”
Taylor hesitated. “We’ve got a few hours. Grab some dinner, I guess? Make a plan?”
Now that Will thought about it, he hadn’t eaten since that morning. Maybe that persistent yawning emptiness inside him was just hunger. He nodded agreement.
As they walked down the grand marble staircase on their way out of the embassy, Taylor quickly caught him up on recent events.
“But Hinault did exist,” Will objected. “He lived in Burbank. He was married and owned a business.”
“He existed in the States, yes.”
“Helloco lived forty-something years under a false identity?”
“Yep.”
“With his brother?”
“It kind of looks that way.”
“So Yves and Yves’ wife must have been complicit too.”
“Yes. A regular family affair.”
“How does that help us?”
“I don’t know that it does. It eliminates some of the possibilities, though.”
And it raised some.
Neither of them had much to say on the drive to Will’s place. Taylor had to concentrate on his driving — the Parisian evening traffic was a lot trickier to negotiate — and by then Will was starting to feel all his bumps and bruises. He was very tired. In fact, there was nothing he’d have liked more than to go to bed, pull the covers over his head, and wake up with his reality — whatever it was — restored to him.
He was increasingly impatient with the sensation of groping in the dark for his memories. Amnesia struck him as weak and gutless. He hadn’t chosen it, but he was still angry with himself for giving in to it. The doctors had described his condition as retrograde or declarative memory loss, a kind of posttraumatic amnesia most likely resulting from a combination of shock and head injury, and likely to be mostly temporary.
Already things were starting to come back to Will in unsettling lurches. While he’d been working on his own that afternoon, he’d remembered stocking up on bottles of French beer because Taylor liked trying different beers. He’d remembered buying soft Egyptian cotton sheets for his bed — for Taylor. The memory had dried his mouth, but he’d recognized it for the truth. And he remembered that he had bought a small, expensive possible birthday gift — or possible something else gift — that was currently sitting at the bottom of his underwear drawer. And the memory of that had reached out and grabbed him by the throat, nearly throttling him.
So whether he remembered or not, whether he thought it was a good idea or not, he and Taylor were most definitely romantically involved. He trusted himself enough to know he wouldn’t have made that choice lightly or carelessly. He’d known what he was doing, and that meant he needed to show Taylor he honored that commitment.
As for Taylor… He’d been through hell during the past twenty-four hours. Will had put him through hell. The memory of Taylor’s stricken expression when Will shoved him away wasn’t something Will was going to forget anytime soon, amnesia or no amnesia, and it was one reason he was determined to stick to Taylor like glue. No way was he letting Taylor walk into potential trouble because his mind was distracted or because he simply didn’t care enough to be careful. The very possibility of that sent Will’s heart into thunderous overdrive.
For all his stubborn resilience, sometimes Taylor took things too much to heart.
Still preoccupied with their separate reflections, they reached Will’s apartment and went inside. In unspoken accord, they went downstairs to the kitchen and started to put a meal together. They didn’t speak — didn’t need to — and Will found the familiar rhythm of being together like this soothing. It brought back good memories of winding down after other operations.
As far as Will recalled, they’d never cooked beef bourguignon together, but the old mind meld seemed to be working again. Will cubed the stewing beef while Taylor chopped the vegetables.
“Where do you think the paintings are hidden?” Will asked while the oil heated in the pan.
Taylor didn’t hesitate, so he must have been giving it some thought. “Père Lachaise Cemetery.”
“Because Helloco kept painting it?”
“Because it’s huge and crowded with lots of tombs and crypts and nooks and crannies. Lots of great potential hiding places.” Taylor scraped the vegetables from the cutting board into the heavy skillet. “And, yeah, because Helloco kept painting it. He was obsessed with the place. That’s got to mean something.”
“You really believe the bomb threats were all about setting up this giant diversion so he could retrieve the paintings?”
“I do. I’m guessing Helloco already has buyers lined up because transporting the paintings would be complicated and dangerous.”
“Nothing he ever shied from before.”
Taylor considered that. “True.”
Will poured enough wine and bouillon to cover the meat and vegetables. “Why do you think he came back now?” He covered the pan. The dish would need to simmer about three hours, but that was no problem. Taylor was adamant that they didn’t want to show up at the graveyard until well past closing hours.
“I don’t know. Maybe he needed the money. He must have always intended to at some point. Maybe he knew it was now or never. He’s not getting any younger.” Taylor drank from his bottle of beer. He flicked a drop from his full lower lip, and Will found himself mesmerized by that unconsciously sexy gesture.
“Yeah. Well.” Will filled a glass with water. He’d have preferred wine or, better yet, bourbon, but his brains were scrambled enough. “And our plan is what? We’re going to stroll around the cemetery until we spot Helloco with his trusty spade?”
Taylor laughed. Will’s heart lightened. It felt like it had been a very long time since he’d heard Taylor laugh.
“No. I’ve got a list of the gravesites we need to check out.”
“Aren’t there something like seventy thousand graves?”
“Seventy-something plots. Over three hundred thousand graves.”
“Please tell me you narrowed the list?”
Taylor’s eyes tilted. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his private joke. “Don’t worry. We’re only going to be checking out the graves marked Hinault. ”
* * * * *
Chopin’s grave was alight with flowers and burning candles. Bright moonlight illuminated the downbent head of Music atop the pale pedestal and gilded the composer’s profile within the stone medallion beneath the statue. The profusion of red roses ringing the tomb rustled in an invisible breeze.
“Wait. I think maybe we’re going the wrong way.” Taylor stopped walking. The moonlight also delineated his features as he studied the map he’d purchased from the florist shop outside the walled city of the dead.
Will peered over Taylor’s shoulder. The night air smelled of Taylor’s — actually Will’s — soap, damp earth, and sycamores.
“We have to go back.” Taylor folded the map again.
“Don’t think I’m criticizing, but —”
“We’re not lost.”
“Okay. But if —”
“This way,” Taylor said briskly, turning back the way they had come. Will followed.
Taylor was a little in the lead as they started up two sets of stairs, turned right toward the intersection of small chapels, and turned right again onto avenue Laterale du sud. They took the steps of avenue Transversale #1 briskly, the pound of their boots in perfect time as they moved — straight to a dead end.
Taylor swore.
They stared up at the towering obelisk to the right.
The gravesites at Père Lachaise encompassed everything from simple, unadorned headstones to towering monuments like the obelisk puncturing the heavy canopy of stars above them. There were statues too numerous to count, fenced plots, and even elaborate minichapels dedicated to the memory of a well-known person or family, and all of it crammed together in an architectural hodgepodge. Many of the moss-covered tombs provided perfect hiding places, roughly the size and shape of phone booths, with just enough space for a mourner — or a shooter.
One hundred acres of potential ambush, in Will’s opinion. The cemetery — or park, if you had a taste for the macabre — was enclosed by a massive wall, its maze of dirt and gray cobblestone paths lined with five thousand and more chestnut and sycamore trees. There was no rhyme or reason to the layout as far as Will could see.
A motion to the left, and they both drew their pistols.
A pale cat walked delicately across the top of a headstone and vanished with a flick of its tail.
Both men relaxed. They’d already noted the strange number of cats prowling the grounds.
“Back,” Taylor said tersely.
They retraced their footsteps. Scattered flower petals whispered against the cobblestones, blew like grave dust across the grass. Overhead, the stars glittered in the midnight vault of sky. The same stars that had watched over the cemetery for centuries.
“It seems like you still have feelings for Bradley,” Taylor said suddenly.
Will threw him a quick look, but there was a conspicuous lack of lighting along the avenues and boulevards of Père Lachaise.
Taylor’s tone was neutral. Will kept his tone neutral too. “I like him, sure.”
“It’s got to be more than that. If you can remember being with him but not me.”
“I don’t know why my brain made that jump,” Will said honestly. “I’m sorry for the hurt that caused you. “
“This way.” Taylor turned and headed up a small stone staircase. At the top of the steps was a large urn. The plaque underneath it read HINAULT. Taylor sighed. “What do you think?”
“I still think we’re looking for a tomb or a chapel.”
“Agreed.”
Over the course of the long evening, they had eliminated thirty of the forty-three possible sites labeled Hinault. That still left a busy night ahead of them.
Will said, “On the plus side, this place must have changed a lot in forty-something years. Helloco is probably as lost as we are.”
“Unless he’s on his way to Normandy,” Taylor said darkly.
“No.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“You’ve got good instincts, MacAllister. I’m going with you.”
Taylor huffed a breath — a sure sign he was on edge. Will reached out and hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him close in a rough hug. And God, it felt good — right — to hold Taylor. Even that briefly. Even feeling Taylor’s instant tension and instinctive drawing back.
Will said against his ear, “I don’t know why this happened to us, but we’ll get through it. I swear to you.”
Taylor freed himself, turning his back to Will. Will watched the quick rise and fall of his broad shoulders in the pale moonlight.
Will took mercy on him. “Are you sure the police know we’re here? It feels like we’re the only people in this entire damned labyrinth.”
“They know. Somewhere out there we’re supposed to have some backup.”
“Where to next?”
Taylor turned. “I could tear this list in half and we could split up. We’d cover a lot more ground that way.”
“We don’t do so well on our own.”
Taylor snorted. “Give it a rest, Brandt. I know you’re sorry. I’m not blaming you. Let’s just get through this. Then we’ll see where we are.”
Will nodded. They both stiffened at the distinct sound of a muffled bang drifting through the wall of trees.
“Explosives,” Will identified.
“Where? Where did that come from?”
“North.” Will pointed. They were already running, gaining speed, separating as they headed for the sound and the hint of smoke that still drifted on the night breeze.
Taylor ran like a deer, with a fine disregard for low fences and graves alike. Will tore after him, but he’d never been quite as fast as Taylor and he was slower now, thanks to his assorted injuries. His head pounded with each footfall as he sprinted around the gravestones and statues that seemed to rise in his path like pop-up targets in a training course.
As Taylor pulled farther ahead — vaulting the obstacles Will veered around — Will put on more speed, swearing under his breath. It was like watching Riley jetting after a cat. He’d need fucking wings to catch him.
He watched Taylor scramble over a short wall and disappear. A sudden dread filled him.
The wall was carved with a long row of ornate, smiling skulls.
Memory opened up beneath his feet, and once again Will was in the catacombs feeling the earth tremble, the roar of the ceiling giving way, the screams of the men around him as the lights went out. His final vision: the black and cavernous smile of a yellowed, cracked skull.
And his only thought — his final thought: Taylor.
A distant and unmistakable pop bounced off the limestone and marble. Adrenaline flashed through his veins, and Will hurdled over the low wall of skulls and shot across the wet stretch of grass. His feet thudded on the damp earth.
He crossed another cobblestone walk and faced another city block of tall sepulchers and tombs. The silence was eerie. Where the hell was the cemetery security or the police who were to provide backup?
Heart thundering, Will pulled his weapon. He wound his way through the monuments, sticking closely to cover until he came to a short set of steps leading down to a small crypt. From behind the shed-sized building came the grating scrape of stone on stone.
Will pressed back against the wall, stole a quick look around the corner. His heart stopped.
Taylor lay facedown on the walkway in front of a comparatively plain square of limestone, about the size of a large sofa. An elderly man dressed in black was busily using a crowbar to pry open the face of the tomb.
As Will stared, Taylor stirred and tried to push up. The elderly man turned, made an exasperated sound, and raised his crowbar to bring it down on Taylor’s head.
“Don’t do it.” Will stepped out from behind cover and brought his weapon up.
The man stared at him. He threw the crowbar away. It clanged on the stone and rolled away. The man raised his hands over his head.
Will spared a quick look. “MacAllister?”
Taylor muttered something, sounding reassuringly alive and pissed off.
“Are you okay?” Now there was a silly question. But somehow it was the only one that mattered.
Helloco soundlessly stepped back into the concealing shadows.
“Don’t take another step,” Will warned him, half his attention still on Taylor, who made another clumsy attempt to push up.
Will stepped forward, locking a hand in Taylor’s collar and dragging him out of range of Helloco’s feet or reach. It wasn’t easy to do and still keep his pistol trained on Helloco. Helloco remained still and watchful.
“Come on, MacAllister. Get it together.”
Taylor muttered something that might have been assent or just obscene.
Will kept his gaze on Helloco. The moonlight silhouetted the old man’s aquiline features and the silver of his hair. He never said a word, his black eyes as hollow and unrevealing as any death’s head.
“Turn around. Lock your hands behind your head,” Will ordered.
The old man didn’t move.
“Do it.”
“Shit…” Taylor bit off the rest as he made it to his knees, using one hand to balance and the other to grab for the black wrought iron fencing of a nearby tomb.
Will ignored him, but Helloco either misread him or figured he had one chance and one chance only, because he suddenly snatched at his waistband and brought up a gleaming and efficient-looking Beretta.
Will shot him.
The bang of his SIG Sauer crashed through the forest of stone and iron, reverberating around the monuments and statuary.
It wasn’t possible to miss at that range. Helloco clutched his chest, staggered back, and fell over the tomb. Taylor snapped upright, turning to Will and then the fallen Helloco in shock.
“Jesus.”
“He was armed.” And Taylor had been perfectly positioned to get caught in the crossfire. No way was Will taking chances with that. He stepped around the tomb and looked down. The pistol lay a few inches from Helloco’s outstretched fingers. The center of his chest glistened in a pool of spreading darkness. Helloco’s eyes were wide open. They stared fixedly up at the moon. Will watched him for a few seconds.
“He’s dead?” Taylor leaned on the tomb, peering blearily over. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, he’s dead.”
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
Taylor folded slowly onto the tomb. He rested his head in his hands. His voice was subdued. “I think I tripped.”
Will, trying gently to examine the lump rising out of Taylor’s hairline, paused. “You tripped?”
Taylor’s response was terse.
“You tripped?”
“Shut up, Brandt.”
“You’re like a cat. I’ve never seen you tri —”
“Shut up, Brandt.”
Voices were coming toward them, drifting on the night air. Will tore his gaze from Taylor’s bent head in time to spot the circles of flashlight beams bouncing through the trees.
“Better late than never,” Will muttered.
Taylor raised his head and peered nearsightedly into the gloom. “I don’t see them.”
“They’re on their way. Just relax.”
Yeah. Right. It was like telling a jack-in-the-box to settle down. Taylor clambered to his feet and swayed. Will reached to steady him. “Would you sit still? You could have a concussion for all you know.”
Taylor’s heavy eyes popped open. He leaned forward, studying Will’s face intently. “Wait. Wait…”
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
Taylor’s jaw dropped. He peered closely. “Do I know you? Who are you again?”
Will couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. He grabbed Taylor and pressed a hard, hungry kiss against his startled mouth.
There wasn’t time for more. Within a minute or two the French police had reached them, and the questions began. Will and Taylor were separated and asked to give their individual account of events while the side door of the tomb was dragged open the rest of the way.
Whistles and exclamations followed the discovery of the contents of the tomb. Will and Taylor joined the circle around the opening as a heavy, square bundle wrapped in canvas and rope was lifted out.
Brief discussion followed as to whether they should wait for museum officials. Hell no! seemed to be the same in every language. The canvas was carefully ripped and laid wide to reveal the portrait of a smiling woman in an elaborate powdered wig and the rich robes of a long-ago empire.
Merveilleux! Fantastique!
And Will had to agree.
“You realize now we’re never going to know what it was that brought Helloco out of hiding?” Taylor muttered when they were finally waved off in dismissal. “We’re never going to know why he left Finistère. We’re never going to know if he was having a three-way with his brother’s wife. We’re never going to know —”
Will had a vision of Taylor trying to push to his feet directly in the line of fire between himself and Helloco. He interrupted mildly, “I can live with that.”
He looked back. Taylor had stopped at the fenced monument next to the tomb where Helloco had hidden the five paintings. “What’s up?”
“Look at this.”
Will obligingly walked the few steps back and looked — and then looked more closely.
Beneath the bronze medallion of a man’s profile were four stone placards. One of the placards bore the name Jacques-Louis David.
“Could that be a coincidence?” Taylor couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.
And studying his profile, Will said, “I don’t believe in coincidence.” He added, “Not anymore.”
* * * * *
The Eiffel Tower was gilded in pink-gold sunlight by the time they finished their phone calls.
Will listened to Taylor reassuring his sister with the usual white lies. “No, no one was injured. I mean, besides Helloco. I don’t know why. You know the news; they’ve got to say something, right?”
Will, lying on the bed and staring out the window at the sunrise, rolled his eyes.
“If you want to go ahead and attend the D-day ceremony, sure. No, Will and I have plans.” Taylor looked over his shoulder at Will.
Will nodded.
They had plans all right. Plans Taylor didn’t even know about yet.
“Sound him out,” Stone had said when Will had spoken to her a few minutes earlier. “He’s a little unorthodox, but he’s got imagination. He’d be a good man to have on our team, and we’ve got an opening.”
If nothing else it was vindication for Taylor. He’d gone out on a limb, but in the end he’d been proved right. So now he had another option. They both did.
Stone hadn’t been the first call Will had made. The first call had been to David. Will felt like he owed him that. The last few days probably hadn’t been much easier on David than they had on Taylor.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” David had said, once Will had gotten past the excuse of relating the news about Helloco and the confirmation that the D-day events could proceed as planned. “I’m glad for you both.”
Yeah. Well, that was why Will liked David so much. Why at one time he’d thought it might be him and David.
But as things stood, Will was never going to forget Taylor’s face when Will had inadvertently blurted out, “What about David?” Taylor had looked less hurt getting shot in the chest. Will was going to make that up to him.
So he’d apologized to David, and he got off the phone as soon as possible, and as soon as he disconnected, he’d gone to Taylor, burying his face in Taylor’s hair for a moment. Taylor had looked surprised and wary, but then he’d relaxed, giving Will a friendly little shove and ordering him to call Stone.
Taylor finally said good-bye to his sister. Will held the duvet up, and Taylor slid between the sheets, lithe and brown from the Southern California sun. He moaned his relief as he sank into the pillows.
“We’re officially back on leave,” Will informed him.
“Thank you Jesus.” Taylor closed his eyes and then opened them. “You never said. When exactly did you get your memory back?”
Will rolled onto his side, facing him. He had never been so grateful for a good mattress, clean sheets, and the superior quality of European painkillers.
“Not long after you went bounding off like a stag running from a forest fire.” He carefully brushed the hair from Taylor’s bruised forehead. Taylor winced but didn’t object. “What gets into your brain?”
Taylor’s eyelashes flickered a couple of times and lowered. “Hm?”
Will continued to stroke his hair. “I thought we were a team? Why didn’t you wait for me?”
Taylor sighed but didn’t answer.
“Are you falling asleep?”
“A little…” Taylor’s lashes didn’t stir.
Will smiled faintly. “Well, don’t fall asleep until you hear me out.”
Taylor’s eyes opened at that. “It’s okay, Will. Y —”
“Shut up,” Will said gently.
Taylor shut up.
“I don’t know why my brain selected the memories it did, but I can tell you this much: it wasn’t because I don’t care enough about you. I think maybe it’s the other way around.”
“I don’t care enough about you?”
Will sighed. “How hard did you hit your head tonight? No. I mean maybe I care too much about you.”
Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”
“Pretty much what I was always afraid of from the start. If I ever let go…” Will had to stop.
Taylor pushed up on his elbow. “I don’t understand. What? ”
“It’s not complicated,” Will said finally. “If something happens to you, it’s going to happen to both of us. Because I’m not going to survive losing you. You see what I mean?”
Taylor was silent. Finally he eased back to the pillows. “That. Okay. Fair enough. Same here.”
“I have something for you.”
A smiled flickered across Taylor’s lips. “Are you sure in your weakened condition — or my weakened condition —”
“You’ve got a one-track mind.”
“Like you’re not headed the same direction?” But Will had left the bed and was at his dresser, rifling through his undershorts. Taylor sounded rueful. “Maybe you’re not.”
Will found the small blue velvet box and tossed it to the bed.
Taylor caught it one-handed as he sat up. He stared down at the box. His gaze lifted to Will’s. He looked a little pale. “What’s this?”
Will came back to bed and slid in beside him. “Cuff links. What do you think it is?”
“We never…”
“I know. We should have. We sure as hell should have before I left for Paris. I was going to give it to you for your birthday. But we kept… I don’t know. The time wasn’t right. The thing about Iraq threw me.”
Taylor’s gazed as if fascinated at the small box. A muscle moved in his jaw.
“So here’s the thing.” Will cleared his throat. “I didn’t handle this right the first time, and I’m probably not going to handle it right this time. I don’t want you to take the posting in Iraq. Not because I think something bad will happen to you. Because I think something bad will happen to me. I think we’ll have to wait more years to be together, and we’ve waited long enough already.”
“We were at this point once before, you know?” Taylor was smiling, but something in that little twist of lips hurt Will’s heart.
“I know. I wasn’t expecting…Paris. I let my ambition get in the way of us. That was my mistake. But this…” Will nodded at the blue box. “This is my way of trying to show you that nothing has changed for me. It never will. And I’m tired of waiting. Life is too short. So…”
“So?”
“I meant what I said at dinner the other night. I want to resign. I want you to resign.”
Taylor closed his eyes. “Will…”
“No, listen to me. I’ve thought about this. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, to tell the truth. I want us to go into business together. I want us to start our own global security consulting business. We could do it. You know we could. We’re the best at what we do.”
“That’s enough of a reason to give up both our —”
“We could be partners again. Partners in every way.”
Taylor was silent so long Will’s heart grew cold.
Finally Taylor’s lashes lifted. He studied Will gravely. “Are you sure, Brandt? You sure you know what you’re saying?”
“I know what I’m saying.”
Taylor sat up, knees touching Will’s. He handed the box to Will. Will took it back slowly.
Taylor held out his left hand. It was a man’s hand. Nicely shaped, strong, steady. Understanding dawned in Will. He flipped open the lid of the box. The ring glinted brightly. A plain platinum band — platinum mixed with a small percentage of lead from the bullet that had hit Taylor slightly over a year ago. The bullet that might have ended everything — but somehow had meant a new beginning for them.
Smiling a little self-consciously, Will took Taylor’s hand in his.