Chapter Fourteen

RIDING IN VAUGHAN’S car sends Arthur a decade into the past. He remembers being curled into a rear compartment, smuggled into an embassy in Yerevan like a spare tire. He’d been bleeding then too. “Keep your eyes open, Arthur,” Dom commands.

“Don’t…tell me…what to do.” He holds on to the towel.

“What’s your plan?” asks Kit.

“It’s a tricky situation, isn’t it?” Dom muses. “A man like Jameson has dirt on a lot of people. Tell me, Mr. Sullivan, what did you see tonight?”

“He let Michael go easily. Much easier than I’d expect—I would think Michael has secrets.”

“He’s confident he won’t talk or that he won’t be believed. Or something else is planned,” Dom agrees.

“Basement…had…sets,” Arthur grunts. “Films. But no one…came…saw me…” He grits his teeth.

“Easy, Arthur,” Kit says, turning around in his seat. “There has to be camera footage. I’m sure there were cameras set up—but there must not have been anyone watching.”

“That isn’t abnormal for a private residence, even one such as Jameson’s. There must be storage though. Backups. And something set up for playback. I doubt he’s reckless enough to have it on anything connected to the Internet.”

“He wasn’t surprised to see us come down. He must’ve known what was happening.”

“Was in…office…whole time.”

“Which means he had access to the camera feeds from that room,” Kit says. “There has to be a way to get a warrant for it, right, for evidence of our abduction?”

“The problem is not getting a warrant. The problem is finding the right evidence and then letting it be known.”

“Known?” Kit’s brow furrows.

“If no one knows what Jameson has done, no one will be outraged when he walks free in a month. No one will care if he gets work release five days a week.”

“You want to go public.”

Dangerous. “Too risky,” Arthur grunts. “Enemies…”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Arthur,” Dom says. “When I take down Jameson, I intend to take down them all.”

 

THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS buzz in the hospital room. It is sterile, sour-smelling, and the vinyl upholstery crackles under Kit’s legs as he shifts and watches the nurse change bandages. “You’re a lucky man,” she says.

“Lucky,” Arthur repeats. “I got stabbed.”

“The blade went all the way through to your abdominal cavity, but it avoided any major organs. You’ve experienced significant bleeding, but you didn’t go into shock. You are extremely lucky.”

“Hm,” Arthur grumbles.

“That said, you heard what the doctor told you. Give yourself time to recover. It’s always you tough guys who I end up seeing back here within the week.”

“Tough guys?”

“Whatever you do—CrossFit, Jazzercise, doesn’t matter. None of it until she says you’re okay.”

“Jazzercise?” Arthur repeats.

Kit laughs. “SoulCycle,” he suggests.

“No spin classes allowed.”

“I don’t do spin classes,” Arthur says. The nurse and Kit seem to both find his argument hilarious, so he closes his eyes and breathes in the acrid air.

“You better not be doing anything,” she says. “You’re cute, but I don’t want to see you again, okay?”

“Mm.”

She lifts an eyebrow at him in warning and repositions the hospital gown. “They’ll be moving you up to a private room in a few minutes.”

“No.”

“No?” She narrows her eyes.

“Don’t need a room. I’m going home.”

“You are going to a room, where you will stay overnight.”

“I am not—okay, fine.” She gives him another warning glare and walks away. He turns to Kit. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“Oh no, no, that’s not how this works.”

“All they’re going to do is put me in a bed and tell me to watch bad cable television until tomorrow. I can do that at home.”

“At home, there isn’t a nurse to take care of you if something…comes loose.”

“Comes loose?”

“I don’t know what’s going on in there! Did you know fifty percent of abdominal stabbings result in a perforated intestine? I googled it! I can dress up like a nurse, but I don’t know what to do with a perforated intestine. Here. Drink this.” He holds out the plastic mug of water they’ve left. Arthur sips from the straw before he realizes what he’s doing and stops.

“It wasn’t perforated, and I can hold my own mug,” he grumbles.

“Of course you can.” Kit continues to hold the mug, so Arthur takes another drink.

Another nurse arrives with a wheelchair. “All right, we’re going to move you upstairs,” he says.

Arthur glares at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Come on,” Kit coaxes him.

“I don’t need to stay here. It’s less than an outpatient surgery,” Arthur tells the nurse. “I’ve had worse.”

“The doctor said she wants you observed overnight,” the nurse says.

Arthur sighs and pushes himself off the hospital bed. Pain sears through his side, and he pauses for a moment.

“Arthur…” Kit jumps to his feet beside him. “See?” He leans close.

“That won’t go away overnight,” Arthur argues.

“Then we need to keep you here longer,” Kit says.

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“Well, it’s how I’m choosing to interpret it. Get in the chair.”

“Hmph.”

 

KIT REFUSES TO keep the television on any channel for longer than three minutes. Arthur lifts the curly cord attached to the remote. “I’m going to tie you up with this so you can’t keep changing it.”

“Mmm, what an utterly delightful idea. Want me to lock the door?” Kit already ordered a curry delivered and smuggled it into the room. He shouldered his way onto the bed, not seeming to notice they are far too big for it. He lies on his side and looks Arthur up and down. “I have to say, the calico print is really doing it for me.”

“This isn’t calico, and it’s ridiculous they’re making me wear it.”

“You’d prefer your tattered, bloodied T-shirt, I presume. I mean, watching it be torn off of you was, I admit, one of the more memorable things I’ve experienced this week. I would have personally preferred if it was me tearing it off of you…and that there were fewer knives involved.” He traces a finger along the lapel of the hospital gown. “Few people can pull off this look, but—”

“Behave.”

“Oh, but you don’t really want me to.”

Arthur changes the television channel. “Mm.”

Kit leans in and runs his tongue along Arthur’s earlobe. He whispers, “What’s on PBS?”

“Hm.” Arthur punches in the number. The stirring in his gut drifts lower. He imagines sprawling on his sofa with Kit nestled between his thighs, watching—or not watching—Ken Burns documentaries.

“Oh,” Kit says. “I had…” He giggles. “Is it the ear or the PBS that has you turned on?” He nibbles on the lobe.

“That sounds weird.”

“What?”

“Your saliva, close to my ear.”

“So, it is the PBS.” He runs his hand down Arthur’s leg and hooks a finger beneath the edge of the gown. The TV plays something about Alexander the Great. “I’ve seen this one,” Kit whispers.

Arthur’s cock throbs, and he winces.

“That is not a good expression. Not a pleasurable expression. Sorry.” Kit pulls his hand away. “It’s probably not the best idea, at least for a bit, huh?”

Arthur turns to him. “Maybe.” He kisses him instead. Kit’s hand comes up to his cheek, and his fingertips are cool and soft against his skin. He tastes like the curry they shared, and Arthur knows he tastes the same, and it should be off-putting. He wonders, instead, if it can become something expected. He leans down and runs his mouth along the column of Kit’s throat, and underneath his sweat, he still smells like Arthur’s soap. He presses his lips to Kit’s collarbone and his tongue finds the dip of its curve.

Kit’s skin moves, faintly, with the reverberation of his pleased hum. “I’m letting you work too hard,” he whispers. “You’re going to strain yourself.”

Arthur reaches a hand beneath his shirt—his shirt, still—and feels the goose bumps on his skin. “I like you in my clothes.”

“Good, because I plan on stealing a lot of them.”

“So that’s what you’re after.”

“You caught me.” His lips find Arthur’s again. His fingers tangle in Arthur’s hair, and Arthur deepens the kiss. Kit pushes himself up, leaning across him.

There’s a quick knock at the door, and Arthur opens his eyes as it opens. Kit ignores it.

“Ahem.”

It’s Maurice, and he looks disapproving, if a little fond. Arthur recognizes the look—it’s the you almost died and I’d miss you look.

Kit sighs and leans back.

“I see things aren’t as bad as they led me to believe,” says Maurice.

“Oh no,” Kit argues, “things are bad.”

“It looks cozy.”

“I’m fine. I told them I didn’t need to stay—”

“I told him he needs to do what the doctor says, and she said to stay.”

Maurice nods. “Good.”

“You talked to Pike?” Arthur asks.

“Ward has been taken into custody. He’ll be cooling his heels for a while. Coop handed off the recording, and it’s pretty irrefutable. Unfortunately, nothing in it points to Jameson’s involvement.”

“In the kidnapping,” Kit adds.

Maurice frowns at him. “Right.”

“But he’s done a lot more than, erm, enabling a kidnapping.”

Maurice frowns even more. “Right.”

“So, it connects to a larger pattern of behavior, right? I mean, isn’t it pretty clear? If he sat and just watched that whole ordeal with us calmly from his office.”

“Mm,” Arthur agrees.

“It stands to reason he’s seen something like this go down a time or two before, right?”

“If you’re psychoanalyzing him,” Maurice says. “Irrelevant.”

“That isn’t psychoanalysis,” Kit argues. “I’m not trying to talk him through his past trauma. And I don’t even think psychoanalysis would be effective—I don’t necessarily agree with it as a method, especially in a context like this. Maybe for, like, the people who he trafficked, but you know, he’s the one doing the trafficking, and I feel like that’s probably a sign of some greater—”

“Who are you?” Maurice shakes his head.

“Um. Kit?”

Arthur chuckles, then stops, sucking in air between gritted teeth. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Well, we have Hattie,” Kit says, “plus this addition—even if it isn’t exactly concrete, it happened at his house—and wasn’t there something about a massage parlor?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Maurice says.

“Thanks,” Arthur grumbles.

“It’s the other reason I’m here.”

“Mm.”

“We’ve been keeping track of the massage parlor and analyzing past security footage, especially after Cooper determined it isn’t, well…” He clears his throat.

“Legal?” Kit suggests.

“Right. We think they’re moving girls with the trucks.”

Arthur looks blankly at the television for a moment. “The scale, to require that.”

“They must be bringing people from all over. I’m guessing it serves as a hub.”

“That would be stupid of them,” Arthur says, “to run a trafficking ring so blatantly—they’ve barely hidden it.”

“Stupid or confident?” Kit asks. “And it’s hidden in plain sight.”

“We’ve seen quite a few notable people on security cam footage going in and out,” Maurice adds.

“Fuck,” Arthur mutters.

Kit furrows his brows. “What?”

“If Jameson thinks we’re on to his operation, even in the slightest, he can shut it down.”

Kit shakes his head. “I think he feels invincible because he most likely is. I don’t think he’s going to shut anything down.”

Maurice crosses his arms over his chest. “Do we want to risk it?”

“Dom said he wanted to go public with everything to…force some accountability. I’m guessing he has a contact with someone at the newspaper.”

“If that’s the case, they better be a fast writer.” Maurice frowns. “I’m going to ask Pike to talk to a judge”—he looks at his watch—“today.”

“Oh shit.” Kit taps his pockets as if he’s searching for his phone, then remembers he doesn’t have it. “Um, do you have Therese’s number?”

“Yes.”

“I need to call in to work.”

“I doubt they’re going to even film, given what’s happened,” Arthur says.

“Does she even know? Who would’ve told her?”

“Shit.”

“I’ll call her. This has gone beyond keeping a film set safe.” Maurice taps at his phone screen.

“That reminds me…” Arthur pulls out the guard’s phone. “I still have this.”

Maurice takes it. “I’ll take care of it. You just stay here.”

Kit yawns. “Good plan.”

Arthur looks back at the TV.

 

THE JOURNALIST’S NAME is Vanya Singh, and it makes sense she’s Dom’s choice. She’s known for taking down corruption, or at least exposing it. Arthur learned long ago knowing someone is corrupt is not the same as removing them from office or serving any kind of real justice. Regardless, Arthur has seen her byline on quite a few front-page stories—the kind that are quoted later in all the cable news shows. Singh has been the one to do the work. She shows up shortly after Maurice leaves.

“Dom didn’t waste any time,” Kit murmurs, yawning again. Arthur forces himself the rest of the way awake.

“Sorry to disturb your nap,” says Singh, “but I’m afraid I’m under a bit of a deadline.”

“I imagine so,” Arthur says, watching her take a sip of the hotel’s machine-made coffee and making the same face Kit made an hour earlier. “There’s a Starbucks by the cafeteria.”

“This is fine.” She swallows it, grimaces, and tosses the cup away. “I imagine you know why I’m here.”

“To ask about the kidnapping, I assume.”

Kit shakes his head. “No, you’re here to find out more about Jameson. But I never personally witnessed any trafficking or prostitution…unless you count what’s on camera, which is a funny distinction to make, isn’t it?”

“I’m not concerned about prostitution, as long as it’s consensual. I am concerned about trafficking. But I’m working on a broader view of Jameson’s life—something that will capture the scale of involvement. I’ll keep you anonymous, of course, but if you have information about people who were around, people you saw, it will help.”

“Is this going in the society pages or something?” Arthur asks.

Singh laughs. “No.” She sobers. “It’s just going to be…expansive.”

“Expansive?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

Kit chews on his thumbnail. “I had an iPhone—an early one… I wonder if my old account…”

“You have iCloud?”

“I might have pictures. I think it had iCloud at that point. We need to go to my apartment.” He turns to Arthur. “Um.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He uncovers his legs. Singh’s eyes scan down to his feet, to the little textured socks the hospital makes everyone wear. “I’m fine,” he assures her.

Singh doesn’t look convinced.

“Arthur, just wait. You can stay here, I’ll go fast, and then I’ll be right back.”

“Unless they have someone waiting for you at your apartment.”

“Only Michael would be waiting at my apartment. They have him locked up. Jameson barely knows I exist, except as someone he can turn a profit off of. I’ll be fine.”

“Jameson is one of the wealthiest and most powerful people in this city, and you are a liability to him. I’m not letting you risk this.”

“You’ve been stabbed, Arthur. You can’t fight.”

“Try me.”

“What the hell is going on in here?” The doctor stands in the open doorway behind Singh, hands on her hips.

“Ah, Rachel,” Singh says. “It’s been a while.”

“Are you harassing my patients? I’ll have you removed, Vanya.”

“No, no, they’re helping me with a story.”

She purses her lips. “It’s important,” Arthur says. “It’s very important.”

“What is?”

“We need to go,” Arthur says.

“You know what else is important?” she asks.

“What?”

“Blood. And you lost a lot of it. And you’re at risk of infection.”

“You patched me up.”

She glares at him. “I don’t want to have to do it all over again.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re right. Because you’re staying here. I can have you restrained.”

“Oh, she’s magnificent,” Kit whispers.

“I heard that.”

“It’s true.” Kit licks his lips.

“Easy, Chr—” Arthur stops himself. “Kit.”

Kit’s face flushes as he smiles. He leans close to Arthur’s ear. “I’ll go with her, get my old MacBook, and we’ll come right back.”

Arthur tries to sit up straight, and pain shoots through him. “Stop that,” Rachel—Dr. Hailey—tells him.

“You don’t even have a key to your apartment. And we don’t have a key to my apartment. Is it even locked? Do I still have a door?”

“Oh yeah. I’m going to have to call my super.”

“This is going to be a much larger ordeal than just popping over to your place to pick up an old computer. Fuck.” Arthur scrubs a hand over his face. “I should’ve asked Cooper to go by the apartment and make sure everything—”

“Are you talking about me?”

“Cooper, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“That is uncanny timing,” Kit says.

“I came with the writer. I’ve been standing outside for like ten minutes, waiting for the right moment.”

“Ah.”

“Maurice sent me to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. He knows you well.” He taps out a message on his phone, chuckling. “Oh, and you do have a door. Now. I got it fixed. I have your keys and your phone. And your wallet. Oh, I have yours too,” he tells Kit. “Let’s go.”

“Coop…”

“What?”

“If… Just… Watch your back. This feels…too convenient. Too easy.”

“Arthur, you’re sitting in a hospital bed,” Cooper points out.

“They just let us go last night.”

Cooper chuckles. “Yeah, because Ward is an idiot, and Jameson doesn’t know what we’re planning or what we know. They think we only know about Kit’s stalker. Uh, Ward.” He taps more on his phone. “Aiden bugged the shit out of his house, man.”

“What? Your neighbor?”

Cooper’s cheeks turn pink. “Yeah. He’s…he’s really good at stuff like that.”

Kit actually rubs his hands together. “Oh my God, this is fantastic. Where do you people even come from?” He looks at Singh, eyes wide and bright. “And they’re all like this too. All of them!”

Dr. Hailey glares at them. “Arthur, you’re staying. The rest of you—do something else.” She gestures vaguely with her hand and marches away.