Chapter Nineteen

“I can’t be with someone like Roger,” Nick said quietly. Graves frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “He’s too good for someone like me.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” Graves said dryly. “He is a third son of a nice family; he isn’t exactly royalty. Why on earth would he be too good for you?”

“He’s a decent person,” Nick whispered. He shivered and Graves gave in to the temptation and wrapped both arms around Nick’s shoulders.

“Is this okay?” he said softly. Graves gave him a gentle shake. “I don’t like what you are saying, Nick. I know for a fact you are a decent person.”

Nick froze. He was so stiff that Graves let him go, alarmed at Nick’s obvious distress.

“Graves? Did you have me investigated?” he asked in a small voice. Graves put his hands on Nick’s shoulders and turned him so he could look him in the eye.

“I did, but I did not read the report. I asked my team one question only. Do you want to know what it was?”

Nick’s eyes were huge, the pupils tiny pricks in the blue. He was trembling again, apparently without realizing it.

“I asked if you were a threat to me or mine,” Graves said quietly. “And when they said no, I deleted the file without reading it.”

Nick took in a deep shuddering breath. He turned away again, slowly, lost in thought.

“That is…talk about decent…that is…”

He realized, with dawning alarm, that Nick might start to cry again. He reached out, but Nick drew back, his whole body curling away from the touch. He folded his arms across his chest. All he wanted to was to snatch Nick up and tell him everything was okay. But this was something he was familiar with. He sighed—intimately familiar with.

“One of my original team,” he said softly. “We served in the army together. There were twelve of us. It’s only me and Russ and Bishop now. But this friend, Colin was his name. He couldn’t live with what he had done in the war. He killed himself one night. We all had dinner, watched a match, and then he said good night and went and hung himself in his room. The lot of us were still in the bar downstairs, getting pissed.”

Nick’s head turned a little.

“So you understand that when I saw you standing on that ledge… And now…I am afraid for you. Whatever else I do, I’m a soldier, Nick, and my friends are soldiers, the people around me—all of us. We know about flashbacks, and suicide, and panic attacks. We might be the only people here who do. If you don’t want to talk to me—you don’t have to. You can talk to Bishop, or Charlotte Rook— God knows I’ve cried in her lap often enough.” Nick was listening. Graves sensed it. He wasn’t curled as tightly as he had been.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” he said. Graves shivered. Nick’s voice was deeper, harsh and rasping.

“A couple years ago, I had a shitty day. I was driving home. A guy cut me off. I got mad. I went to cut him off. But I drove him off the road instead. He died. His wife and little boy died too. There were news stories. They were bad. Real bad. No one who knew me came to my trial. I went to prison. Prison was…bad too. But then a Lutheran priest looked out for me. Helped me get parole. But everyone knew me. Everyone hated me. I was ‘the road rage killer.’ The story had been on some talk show. My girlfriend left me. No one would hire me. Or talk to me. I couldn’t go out. People threatened my family. They spit on me, threw things at me. Broke my windows. My own family didn’t want me with them. First, my extended family—they hated me. Said I was disgusting. And then my parents. They got threats. They—they were so ashamed of me.”

Nick’s voice was deadpan. The story came out as if he were reciting something he had read. Graves kept his mouth shut, not wanting to interrupt.

“I lived on the street for a bit— My parole officer made me…made me go live in a shelter. But they kicked me out when they found out who I was. The priest got me the job with his friend who was shipping to Singapore. I thought the other side of the world was far enough. Tonight, I found out that isn’t true.” He looked down at his hands. “I forgot, I guess, what I am, who I am… I thought this new life meant I could be better. But it doesn’t. Roger googled me. A simple google search will turn up everything you want to know about me. You never even had to have some deep investigation done. I’m a murderer. I’m no one that someone like Roger Yeung could ever be seen with. Or know.”

He dashed the tears from his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“I killed them, Graves. I killed those people. That little boy—? His body was smashed up like…like…” He made a crushing gesture with his hands, his long fingers clenching. The movement horrified Graves beyond even the words Nick was saying.

“His mother was barely alive. I tried to save her, but every time I tried to do mouth-to-mouth she would choke up blood into my mouth, and I couldn’t get her airway clear. The dad was just—he was impaled on the steering column—his blood was running down his arm onto the blacktop like a faucet, and there was gasoline everywhere—and it smelled, it smelled— Oh God—”

Now Graves lunged forward, pulling the weeping Nick into his lap, wrapping his arms all the way around him and rocking him steadily against his chest. Nick sobbed and sobbed, babbling about the blood and the way the people he had killed haunted his dreams… Graves let him talk, let him pour it all out. He talked about the loneliness afterward. People spitting on him and refusing to serve him in stores, how his mother received death threats. How his family asked him to stop coming by.

“I was so lonely. I was scared. On parole. People put signs in my building—threats—I had to live on the streets. The news said I got what I deserved. They saw me, digging in the trash, and it was all over the internet, and I wanted to kill myself, but I didn’t know how, and…”

Graves rocked Nick for over an hour, long after he stopped talking, after he stopped crying, even after he was asleep. Graves shifted them over and laid them out, keeping Nick tight in his arms. He barely managed to hook a blanket and hauled it over them. He took a moment to breathe—push away his own memories—his mangled legs—the smell of his own roasted flesh—the time he spent homeless and addicted to opium.

Bishop found me. Kauri found me. I was never alone for long. Oh what a thing to carry alone. At least he is with us now. My God, even Bishop is attached. I’ll tell the horsemen, and we’ll take care of him. Between us. It won’t be Colin again.

Graves lay awake for hours thinking about the whole thing. He wondered how Nick would feel when he woke up, if telling would help or not. It usually did, in his experience.

And of course, there was the little matter of Roger Yeung. Something to be attended to.

I’ll handle that. Energen has been on my list, in any case.

*

He must have drifted off, because when he woke, Nick was standing in the doorway, staring off at the lights, letting in the night air. Graves watched him while reattaching his legs. Even in the barest lights from outside, Nick was beautiful. Straight backed and wide shouldered, his hair sticking in every direction. Graves got up and fetched a glass of water, coming to stand by Nick’s side.

“You can’t be with me,” Nick said without looking at him. “You know that, right? You’re some billionaire head of a shipping empire. The CEO of Scimitar Shipping can’t be with an ex-con, college dropout who murdered a little kid.”

Graves considered this. His free hand came and rubbed the back of Nick’s neck.

“Maybe,” Graves said. “Not that the opinions of others have ever bothered the CEO of Scimitar Shipping.” He hesitated again, letting out a long breath and searching Nick’s eyes. After what he told me. I have to tell him. I have to. He deserved the truth. Consequences be damned. I didn’t tell Mona. That was my mistake there. One of my mistakes.

“But…” Graves said, “the head of Red Sky wouldn’t care about your background. In fact, that would be par for the course for that bastard.” He braced himself, heart pounding.

Nick grunted like someone had punched all the air out of his lungs at once.

“Nelson Graves is the head of Red Sky.” Nick said it slowly, made each word clear. “Oh my God, I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid. Oh my God. Of course, you are.”

“I am,” Graves said. “I hope you understand why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Yeah,” Nick said faintly. He closed his eyes. “I need to sit down again.”

They sat at the table, their faces lit by the lamp over the bar. Graves watched Nick’s face, wondering what he would do.

“It was right there the whole time,” Nick said. “How could I be so stupid?”

Their cards were on the table. For both of them. All laid out. Graves considered Nick’s story. It made so much sense now that he knew.

“When we were ambushed,” Graves said. “It was the crashing. Not the gunshots.”

“The gunshots were scary as hell,” Nick said. “But the flashback wasn’t about that. And you were the target for that hit, weren’t you?”

“I was and I wasn’t. It was for my friend Anatoly, but there was a message to me in there.”

“From who?”

“An old friend.” And damned if he and Louie Tang nearly caught me there. If I hadn’t had Nick and focused on evacuating rather than engaging? Bloody hell.

“Yeah?”

“Nick, now that you know,” Graves said slowly.

“You have to kill me.” Nick said dryly.

Graves snorted.

“No,” he said. “But I will have to take measures to protect you. If any of those alphabet boys at the embassy, or the Chinese, knew you could pick the head of Red Sky out of a lineup?”

“I’m not a snitch!” Nick said, standing up. “I’d never tell!”

Graves smiled sadly up at him. He reached up and took Nick’s hand, pulled him gently back down.

“You wouldn’t, darling, I know. But…they would make you.”

Nick’s face closed tight, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“I know. They called it the Office,” Nick said. “It’s a black site. Somewhere in Sri Lanka. And if I know about it, then you know it’s supposed to be known. Hanging over everything. The less I thought about it the better. But it’s there.”

“I know about it. Protecting you will have to become a priority for us,” Graves said. “It already was, but only because I had…an interest.” He smiled, thinking he wasn’t the only one. The horsemen had been looking out for Nick from the moment they met him. He had won them over effortlessly.

“An interest…” Nick was quiet a moment thinking about it. “Graves? This thing with us… I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why me?”

“What do you mean?” Graves asked.

“Why me? You could have anyone. So why me? Honestly? It’s a little suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Graves said, and this time he gave Nick an incredulous stare. “Are you joking?” His eyes narrowed. “It’s not very funny if you are.”

“I’m not joking,” Nick said. He reached across the table and took Graves’s hand. It was huge, calloused, the inside paler than the outside. The signet he had stolen fleeing his foster father’s house gleamed in the lamplight. He had a scar at the base of his thumb, he couldn’t even remember where from. Big ugly hands. Nick tapped the tip of Graves’s index finger.

“Here’s a list: I’ve never finished college; I’m an ex-con; I’m poor,” He counted off the fingers. “I’m hotheaded, and stupid, and I’m…a mess. So why me?”

Graves was quiet a moment.

“Shall I make a list as well?” he said. “I’ve been asking myself similar questions, though you sell yourself far too short.”

He turned his hand over and took Nick’s gently by the wrist. His other hand came across and cupped Nick’s in his palm. Nick’s hand was strong, with long fingers, but it fit inside Graves’s completely. Graves tapped Nick’s fingers one by one.

“You’re funny. You don’t take my nonsense at all. You’re ridiculously clever and have seen through me since we met—and I’ll tell you frankly that isn’t common. I generally manipulate people quite easily.”

“You’re awful,” Nick said dryly. “The worst—”

“Yes, yes. But I’m not done,” Graves said, tapping impatiently on the same finger. “You’ve been playing me since we met. It would be enraging if you weren’t such a good bloke. Everyone likes you, even Russ, and that is saying something. Bishop is threatening to steal you if I don’t manage to convince you to come with us.”

Nick couldn’t help how happy that made him feel.

“You’re a good man,” he continued, tapping another finger. “A smart, funny, handsome, brave, and yes, decent, man.”

They were quiet for a bit, holding hands across the table.

“Holy shit,” Nick said. “You’re the head of Red Sky. It ain’t that you have some ex-girlfriend in Hong Kong. It’s that you bombed a police station. You’re a terrorist.”

“No,” Graves said. “Terrorists do things for ideals. I am purely a commercial enterprise.”

“That is not better,” Nick muttered.

“You’re still holding my hand,” Graves observed. “Does that mean you aren’t rejecting me outright?”

The question was a gamble. The right answer was, of course, to reject Graves. Of course. Any upright citizen, any decent human being, would reject running off with some crime boss. But Nick was quiet. And so Graves held out hope, the thinnest possible thread of hope.

*

“What, what does it even mean to be with you?” Nick asked. Graves frowned.

“What do you m-m-m-mean?” Bloody stammer. Nervous.

“What is your life even like?”

“Ah,” Graves said. His chance to make the case. That was what Nick was asking, wasn’t it?

So Graves did. Haltingly, unsure how much to reveal, he laid out his life, his days, his time.

“Aside from the ship, I have a c-c-car. No. A h-h-house.” He paused and took a slow breath. “A house in Shan State, in Burma. It’s big, but mostly because a lot of people live there. It’s up on a hill, and there is a village about halfway…damn…r-road. Russ and Charlotte and their boys live in the village, Bishop lives about halfway between us. Tony lives in the b-b-big house we call it. My brother, his wife, mother in law, his daughters, all live there too for now. There is a garden and a pool and lots of children and dogs and chickens and an elephant named Titi that wanders loose.”

He stood and pulled Nick after him, leading them to the couch. Wrapped up together again, Graves sighed and put his face into Nick’s hair.

“Are you okay?” Nick asked.

“Sometimes words fail me,” he muttered. “Please ignore it. H-h-head injury and all that.”

“Anyway, the house is big but I only have three—” He waited for the word to come. “—rooms. Rooms! Four if you count the gym. It’s downstairs by my office. Upstairs is my bedroom and a big open space that serves for everything else. It overlooks the valley and the other hill. You can see the village and the poppy fields. But it’s mostly trees. The verandah is long and w-w-wide, and I usually…table…eat out there. Except when there are monkeys.”

“You’re bullshitting me with these monkeys and Titi, the elephant,” Nick muttered. Graves laughed, Nick’s reaction and thoughts of home easing his mind. The only help for the aphasia was to relax and wait it out. And Nick was listening. He was listening closely.

“Oh you’ll see,” he said. He thought of Titi’s trunk sneaking up to his table to steal a croissant and snorted. “Titi is very real. There are wild elephants, but Titi clearly belonged to someone. We don’t know who. She appeared one day and stayed.”

“You’re serious?” Nick asked. He shook his head. “Jesus Christ and Titi the elephant.” He settled more comfortably in Graves’s arms. Graves practically held his breath. He could almost feel Nick thinking about it.

“Anyway,” he continued. “All that is in Myanmar. I travel a lot; you would come with me. Moscow, Paris, all over Asia, New Zealand. And then the rest of the time I live on my ship.”

“Life of luxury,” Nick said. “It doesn’t sound real.”

“It is rather luxurious,” Graves said, giving Nick a little shake. “Private jets and fancy cars and good food.”

“Now you’re talking,” Nick laughed. “About the food I mean. I don’t care much about the rest.”

“I’d spoil you rotten,” Graves said.

“Until the next freckly ass wanders by.”

“Even after the next freckly ass wanders by. You can ask either of my wives, you know. I take care of my own forever. If you want us to grow old and senile together, it would make me very happy.”

Nick sat up and grinned down at him.

“Really?” he laughed. “You’re Nelson fucking Graves. You won’t make old bones. You’re gonna die in prison somewhere. And what about me then?”

Graves felt like someone had kicked him in the chest. He shuddered and squeezed Nick hard.

“More likely I’ll die on my back in the dust of some street, in a pile of my own brass,” he said. “Men like me don’t make old bones as you say. But you’ll still be taken care of. Offshore accounts and all that.”

“Not my style,” Nick said. “I’d probably be right there in the street with you. I’m that stupid.”

Kicked in the chest again, but in a totally different way. Graves let out a grunt, his heart speeding up. He pushed his face into Nick’s hair, trying to collect himself.

“Nick,” he said. He cleared his throat, wishing his voice wasn’t cracking like that. “Damnit, Nick. You bowl me over. Every time I think I have you pinned.” He cupped Nick’s face in his palms and tilted it up.

“Are you…going to kiss me again?” Nick asked hesitantly.

Graves’s shook his head. Any other night and I’d already be claiming you in my own bed. But tonight?

“I want to,” he said. “But this has been a terrible, difficult night for you. Do you even want to kiss me?”

“I do,” Nick said. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “But I admit I feel like shit.”

“Can I take you to bed?” Graves said. “If I promise to behave?”

Nick gave a weak smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “Whatever behave means for someone like you.”

*

Nick woke and watched sleepily as Graves opened the sliding glass doors on the back of the stateroom, letting in the wet morning air. It was quiet. He barely even remembered getting into bed, just that Graves had pulled the blanket over them and tucked Nick under his chin. There had been a moment of adjusting themselves exactly right, and then Nick had slipped under so smoothly he hadn’t even noticed between one breath and the next.

They ate their breakfast in front of the TV, watching the original Star Wars and arguing about minutia like a couple of nerds. Graves did an excellent Darth Vader impression. He played piano, had a long talk with Jeanne.

“He’s fine, darling, only wants to stay here a bit. I’ll tell him. Of course you do. You’re a good woman.”

Eavesdropping, Nick caught the gist, and when Graves told him Jeanne was still solidly on his side, would welcome him with open arms when he was ready—Nick had to go and take another shower to compose himself.

Now the sun was going down, and he was sunk deep in the couch, as comfortable as could be. He had a good buzz going, thanks to their before-dinner drinks, and he watched Graves play through tired eyes.

“Graves?” he asked. “Why did you buy this boat, instead of a good-class bungalow like Jeanne? He said good-class bungalow in a fussy English accent, which earned him rolled eyes from his friend. Graves turned away from the piano.

“This wretched little thing isn’t my ship,” he said. “I just borrowed it from a friend.”

“Little thing?” Nick protested. “It’s a huge thing! It has its own gym and a hot tub and four bedrooms!”

“I hope to show you my yacht someday,” Graves said, dropping onto the couch next to Nick. He grabbed a tablet off the table. Shifting his body sideways, he put his head in Nick’s lap, holding up the tablet.

“This is Scimitar,” Graves said.

“Oh, Scimitar Shipping,” Nick said.

“Indeed.”

A series of images came up of a huge seagoing yacht, all in black and gray. It had a helicopter parked on its nose. As a point of reference, the helicopter showed that Scimitar was a monster. Graves slid through images, rattling off details.

“She’s the fastest yacht in the ocean. A real black flag deep-ocean cruiser. Armed to the teeth. Malaysian crew—incredible sailors, 136 meters—that’s 450 feet for you Yanks. Three above, three below—decks I mean. Makes this little tub look positively quaint.” The pride in his voice was obvious.

Nick leaned forward and took the tablet. His free hand dropped thoughtlessly onto Graves’s chest, palm down over the bare skin where his shirt was unbuttoned. He felt the man’s body tense but decided to leave his hand where it was. His skin was warm and soft. Nick wasn’t a fool. He knew that things between them were slowly coming to a boil. But he was content to let the small intimacies pile up while he considered what it meant and what he should do.

“So where is this ship, and why don’t you keep her here?” he asked. Graves didn’t say anything for a moment but then cleared his throat and relaxed under Nick’s hand.

“She stays out in neutral—or at least unfrequented—waters,” Graves said. “Like me, she is a bit of a nomad. And she is far too large for this place.”

One of the pictures had Graves in it, at the wheel of the ship, laughing with a young man and a little girl. A single glance was enough to see that the boy was Graves’s son. The resemblance was striking. He even had the same trait of throwing his hand over his eyes as he laughed.

“Are these your kids?” Nick asked. Graves tilted his head to see, which had the effect of moving Nick’s hand across his chest.

“Yes, that is Davy, and my little Fiona there,” he said warmly. “Fifi I call her. She is eight now. And Davy is almost sixteen, God help me.”

“Do you see them a lot?”

“As often as I can,” Graves said. “Their mother and I are still close, but my life is…unpredictable. I have another daughter as well—my oldest. She lives in Sydney. She’s at university there.”

“Does she look like you too?”

“No, thank heavens! She looks like her mother, Jane, a real Aussie surfer girl with sunny hair and freckles. Mathilda’s a ferocious thing. Janey is the same. A lawyer. My lawyer in fact. You’d love her. They’re the best thing that came out of my years in the Army, those girls. “

“It’s nice that you are close to them,” Nick said. He let his palm slide back and forth over Graves’s clavicle. His skin is so soft.

“I love them all very much, including their mothers,” Graves said. He closed his eyes and tilted his neck, pushing into Nick’s hand. “Family is important to me. We speak on the phone and video a lot. I stay involved as much as I can. I keep the ship close enough to fly in when I’m needed.”

“Needed for what?”

Graves barked out a laugh.

“Last time it was that Fifi had organized her little gang into a protection racket for the smaller children. There was a bully of some kind. Anyway Nali, that’s my second wife, thought I should have a word. So I flew in and gave her a stern talking to that I assume accomplished nothing.”

Nick tried to imagine being eight and having Nelson Graves fly in on a helicopter for a stern talking to. The idea of Graves with small children was surprisingly easy to imagine.

“And I pay for everything, of course. Davy called about money for a trip to America the other day. He is an artist and there was a show—” Graves was still talking, clearly one of these fathers who doted on their children.

“All this has explained a mystery to me,” Nick said. “That this isn’t your boat, I mean. Because there are no pictures of your family anywhere. I didn’t want to ask…”

“That is correct. Scimitar is another world. Pictures everywhere. Their artwork, Davy’s sculptures, their rooms full of their things. Toys all over my office. It’s a home.” Graves sighed, shifting his head the other way, inviting Nick to rub the other shoulder, which he did, trailing his fingers through Graves’s chest hair. “This is only a hotel for me.”

Graves was frowning off into the distance. Nick pushed his hand deeper into Graves’s shirt. His palm slid over the wide planes of Graves’s chest, down over his ribs and back up again. He put down the tablet and ran his other hand over Graves’s forehead, feeling the rough stubble on his head. He needs to shave. I wonder why he does it? He used his fingers to smooth the frown off Graves’s brow. Graves smiled, eyes closed.

“Maybe you should grow your hair out,” Nick said softly.

“It covers my tattoos,” Graves said. “And it’s so curly my friend calls me Lamb.”

They were quiet again, and Nick stared out at the city lights and the bay.

“Nick,” Graves said quietly. “This feels good.”

Nick expected more but Graves lay still under his hand, his body loose and relaxed.

“Yeah, it does,” Nick said softly. I’ve got a buzz on, I’m full of dinner, and the rain stopped. He smells good. It’s quiet. Everything is right. I think this might be it.