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A gentle breeze, carrying with it the scent of new-mown fields, caused the candle flames in the center of the dining table to shudder, casting flickering shadows on the three men who faced one another, the remains of their dinner in front of them. Since having to face Maxine and her hate-filled rantings in the Evanston courtroom, Owen had largely kept to himself. He had briefly opened up to Sam, telling him of his fears, only to retreat into himself, leaving both Sam and Lucas feeling powerless to help. Those who didn't know Owen well would not have thought anything was wrong, but those who were close to him knew differently. Today, for whatever reason, Owen had been able to set aside his anxieties, and was behaving like the man Lucas had fallen in love with, on that rainy night, at the airport. Sam looked on, a smile toying with his lips, as Lucas reached across the table and took Owen's hand, linking fingers, while some of Owen's favorite music played softly in the background. 'Ahhh,' Lucas thought to himself, as his lover tightened his fingers and tenderly smiled. 'What wonderful hands . . . so warm . . . so strong. Their touch can make me tingle with anticipation, or, when I'm anxious about something, their strength and warmth can calm me, easing my tense muscles. I wish my touch could do as much for him.' Owen communicated with his hands, as much as he did with his voice, or expressive face and sparkling eyes. They were a part of his personality, just as much as his soft voice and lazy accent, or his laughter. 'I never would have imagined how my world would change, when I brought Owen home with me from the airport that night. By the time we reached my apartment, I knew I was hopelessly, head-over-heels in love.' As if feeling a need to complete a . . . connection, Owen reached out with his other hand, and linked fingers with Sam. 'It's the three of us,' Lucas thought. 'Without Owen, though, Sam would be as lost as I, and without Sam and me, what would Owen be? Whom could he turn to? Would his fears overwhelm him, and, if they did, then what? 'I know some people didn't believe a three-way relationship, like ours, could ever work,' Lucas thought, recalling his mother and father's skeptical expressions, when they learned of the arrangement, 'but I believe the three of us have never been happier.' He grinned to himself. 'Truly,' as the man who was watching him, with amused grey eyes, would say. "Your thoughts?" Owen murmured, slightly tightening his fingers. "I was thinking how lucky I am," Lucas responded, "t'be living with you guys." He looked from Owen to Sam. "Some people go through life never being touched by love, no matter how hard they search. I ask myself what I ever did to love two men at the same time, both of whom love me in return." He shook his head. "I am sooo lucky." "Life is good," Sam added. Owen glanced toward his lifelong friend, his laughing grey eyes taking on an expression which made Lucas want to whimper with expectation. Instead, he watched the silent interplay of the two men, as a slight quirk of the lips, or raised eyebrow, conveyed the depth of their love as well as a quiet happiness. Bailey had once asked Lucas, after watching the by-play, "Does that silent-thing they do with their eyes ever make you feel . . . left out?" Lucas remembered how quickly he answered. "No. It's one way in which they communicate. Owen and I have our own special . . . things, just as Sam and I do. They're different from what Sam and Owen have, but no less special. The three of us are lovers, Bailey. We're not in competition with one another. "I'm pleased they have what they have. When they were younger, and unable to be together, like they are today, those looks served as a caress, a kiss, and the knowledge that both of them were loved." He paused, then met Bailey's gaze. "No . . . I'm not jealous. I'm . . . privileged to be part of their lives." "You have more love in you than most men, Lucas," Bailey had murmured. "That's why they love you. They know you for what you are." Lucas remembered swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat and bowing his head, moved by Bailey's words. "The meal was wonderful, Cowboy," Lucas said, returning to the present. He grinned, and winked. "Great salad, too." Owen's eyes danced with pleasure. "You guys liked it? The meal, I mean?" "Do you notice any leftovers?" Sam lightly laughed. "Except for the salad, of course," he added, flicking a dry look of amusement in Lucas' direction. 'The poor man,' Sam thought, looking at Lucas, in wonder. 'If I hadn't stopped him, he would have made himself sick, doing his best to eat every bit of greenery Owen brought home. 'Sometimes, Lucas tries too hard. He wants so much for Owen to be well; yet he's always afraid he might do something to cause pain. He hasn't realized, yet, that such a thing is an impossible goal. We can't protect Owen from everything. As painful as it's going to be, not only for Owen, but for Lucas and me, Owen has to face his troubles by himself. We can give him support, but we can't do the things which need doing. Only he can do that. 'Hell, that's easy for me to say. If Owen knew what needed doing, I have no doubt he'd do it. He's stronger than he realizes; yet, at the same time, I don't think he realizes how vulnerable he is to the faintest flattery. He's received so few kind words during his life, he doesn't believe he deserves to be treated well. When anyone compliments him, he kind'a stops, and looks around, as if he's not sure who the kind words are for. 'Thankfully, no one has tried to take advantage of his vulnerabilities. That is something I'm always on the lookout for, and, believe me, if I ever saw anyone . . . using . . . Owen's vulnerabilities against him, I would attack.' Sam inwardly smiled, amused by the image of him as a guard dog. "Y'know what they say about salads?" Owen asked, interrupting Sam's thoughts, the light of one of the candles causing his eyes to twinkle. "Noooo . . ." Lucas drawled, "what do they say?" Before Owen could respond, Sam broke in. "I bet whatever it is, it has something to do with getting nekkid and exploring one another's bodies with our tongues. I'm right, aren't I?" He caught Lucas' eye. "I think the blond guy's feeling frisky. Eating veggies always does that to him." "Breathing does that to him," Lucas chuckled. "Not that I'm complaining," he smiled. "In fact, I wouldn't have it any other way. Yep, horny's good. I've never met anyone who could do horny better than the blond guy." "Hmm," Owen frowned. "Well . . . the blond guy wasn't gonna say anything about horny, or tongues, n'all. I was gonna say that all those vegetables were good for a guy, since they have lots'a vitamins n'stuff," he murmured, looking up from beneath slightly lowered lashes. "You were not," Sam grinned, as he urged Owen to stand. "The only time you'd talk about vitamins, is if they were coated in sugar," he added, as he stepped close and tenderly kissed his lover on the lips. "And chocolate icing," Lucas added, moving to stand opposite Sam. When Owen pulled him closer, Lucas rubbed a hand up and down the T-shirt covering his lover's back, then pushed his fingers beneath the waistband of Owen's shorts, and over the bare skin of his buttocks. "Well . . . I got'a admit, all that talk about sex and licking one another's bodies n'stuff was second on my list," Owen responded, with a shiver of excitement in his voice, as he and Sam parted from a passionate kiss. "Damn, but that feels good," he murmured, as he glanced at Lucas. "I'm thinkin' that maybe we should do the dishes later . . . after we play." * * * Micah glanced at the empty beer can, still in his hand. 'When did the sun set?' he asked himself. 'I've been sitting here for hours . . . holding an empty beer can.' He wondered at the realization, then inwardly shrugged. 'Who cares?' he asked himself, as he tiredly rubbed a hand over his forehead, ruffling his hair, then pushed his glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose. 'Grandmother would have worried if she'd seen me sitting here like this,' he told himself. 'She knew what was best for me, even if I was too bull-headed to admit it. "It's a lonely place to be, Sweetheart," she'd once said, "sitting alone at night, wondering why you never let anyone get close." 'If I'd taken her advice, I might not be alone, sitting in a dark room, with an empty beer can in my hand. Is this what I've got to look forward to . . . coming home, eating a sandwich, hauling a six pack of beer into the living room, then collapsing into a chair and drinking until I stop thinking about the missed opportunities. Hell,' he thought, in exasperation, 'I don't even like beer! 'There was that guy, back in college. What was his name . . . Lee . . . Leonard . . . Larry? He did his best to attract my attention, but,' Micah snorted, 'I had better things to do than play around. I joke, all the time, about being in a relationship with at least a dozen men, two of whom found me interesting enough to ask me out a second time, but . . .' Micah sighed. 'That's not something to joke about, so . . . why do I do it? Why didn't I take the initiative? Why do I always leave it to someone else, and then rebuff them whenever they approach me?' Micah set the empty beer can on the table, next to the chair, and wondered if he should get up and turn on the room lights. 'Nah,' he thought, rejecting the idea, 'it's too much trouble. 'I wonder if that attorney-guy, Gene, from the office recommended, has learned anything about that black book of Grandmother's, with all the bank deposits. Where'd that kind of money come from?' Micah's eyes widened, as he was struck by a thought. 'Maybe it was from my father!' As quickly as the thought formed, it was rejected. 'Nah, couldn't be. Grandmother or Grandfather would have said something; though, come to think of it, they never did talk about either of my parents. It was almost as if I was left on their doorstep, wrapped in a tattered blanket, with a scrawled note clutched in my hand. "Take me. I need a home."' Micah smiled. 'Well, at least you haven't lost what little sense of humor you have.' He absently ran an open hand over his chest, then paused, when one of his nipples stiffened. 'So . . . okay . . . in addition to drinking, I can pass the rest of each evening, masturbating.' He heaved himself out of the chair and reached for the cord to close the living room drapes, but paused, remaining invisible in the dark room, as a car drove slowly by. 'Why would someone be driving so slow, and not even have their headlights on?' He shrugged, and pulled the draperies closed, stretched, and headed for bed. 'I sure hope those attorneys will find out something and give me a call back, soon, so I can take care of whatever needs doin', and get back to work.' * * * "Okay, guys," Nathan grumbled, as he, Corey, and Jonah approached the darkened apartment building. "I've kept quiet all evening, but I'd like to hear some sort of explanation for all this mysterious talk about Owen's well-being." When there was no immediate response, he decided to plunge on. "Let me tell you what I know . . . or at least think I know, then you'll be free to fill in the blanks." He turned to Jonah, as they crossed the town's main street. "I don't want to hear any sort of family secrets, or anything, but something's going on with Owen, which causes everyone to sort'a clam-up. I don't wanna say something around him, which is gonna cause trouble, or embarrass anyone, or anything, so . . . here goes. "Ever since I arrived at Riley and Bailey's place, I've heard a lot about Owen. Sometimes, he's all Bailey and Riley can talk about. So, when we were driving cross country, to get here, and they started talking about some of the troubles he's facing, I listened. Until then, I figured this guy was perfect, just one small step below a freakin' god, or something." Jonah's soft snort caused Nathan to briefly pause. "Now, tonight, you guys, plus Bea and Daniel, were all talking around something. I get the feeling those two know less than Bailey and Riley, and certainly way less than you two. I really like Owen. I don't want to inadvertently say or do something which is going to cause him pain, so . . ." he paused, "enlighten me, huh?" Jonah took a deep breath. "Nathan . . . Owen's mind is," he hesitated, searching for the right word, "scarred, by how he was treated by our father. Sometimes, he seems pretty normal, as if he can forget about everything which happened to him. Other times . . . well, he's really bothered." Nathan flicked a glance at Corey, as if for confirmation. "Uh . . . oh." "My brother is still afraid of Pops. I believe he thinks he can still hear the man, and heaven knows what he thinks he's hearing. He's never said anything t'me, but I think he figures it's only a matter of time and he will become just like Pops. It's like he's walking on egg shells, or somethin', just waiting for something awful to happen, to prove him right." Corey silently snorted, and rolled his eyes. "Why a man, as intelligent as Owen, has convinced himself of these things is beyond me." "Not me." Jonah's murmur drew Corey's instant attention. "Y'see, sometimes I feel the same things. It's like I can hear the man. A couple times, out at the greenhouses, I turned around, real quick, 'cause I felt him right behind me, breathing down my neck, ready to grab me and ask why I built the greenhouses on his land. 'Bout scared me half to death. It may sound stupid, but I don't like being alone in those greenhouses, 'cause'a him. I jump at unexpected noises. It's like I hear breathing, or footsteps, or him laughing at me, callin' me names n'stuff." Jonah shook his head, welcoming Corey's comforting arm around his waist. "Just think. If I'm feeling these things, what must Owen be going through? Pops hardly ever touched me. He took out all his anger on Owen, or Mama." "Holy shit," Nathan mumbled. "It's a wonder he can seem as normal as he does. Here I thought Riley and I were the only guys to have it bad." He slowly moved a hand over Jonah's back, conveying both his thanks and understanding of what it took for Jonah to speak of his and his brother's childhood. "Well," he said, looking toward the bed and breakfast, where he had a room. "I guess I should be heading up to bed. Riley and Bailey will prob'ly be getting a room over in Evanston, or something." He moved to hug Jonah, but before he could, Corey spoke. "Why don't you stay with Jonah n'me tonight?" Nathan glanced toward the apartment building which held Jonah and Nathan's apartment, as well as Owen's. "Um . . . thanks guys, but, after learning all this stuff about Owen, I'm not sure I could face him without bursting into tears, or something." Jonah glanced toward the darkened windows of the building. "He and the guys have prob'ly already gone to bed. We can be real quiet, going up the stairs, then close the door." "Y'sure you want me around?" "There's no doubt," he said, as he trailed his fingers over Nathan's cheek, then paused at his mouth. When Nathan began sucking on the two fingers, Jonah smiled. "Good boy," he cooed. * * * Bryant Mitchell struggled to control his shallow breathing, wishing his rapid heartbeat would slow. He was in line at the Atlanta airport, waiting, along with what seemed like half the city, to pass through airport security. 'It won't do,' he told himself, 'to look like a mass murderer.' He took a steadying breath. 'Calm, Bryant. Look calm.' After deciding that he was not going back to report to Gustav about his failure to find Rolf, he'd stopped only long enough to shower, gather a few clothes, then stop at two banks to close his accounts, before heading to the airport. He had no clear-cut idea where he wanted to end up, only that he had to get away, and soon. He stripped off his belt, removed his shoes, and dumped the contents of his pockets into the container, as he stepped through one layer of security. Then, after taking a couple steps, with his belongings following alongside on a conveyor belt, he stepped through another, and was motioned out, by a grim-faced security guard. He was busy reclaiming his possessions and retying his shoes, and failed to notice that the line of people going through security had been halted. Only when he stood and reached for his carry-on bag, and his hand encountered a vise-like grip, did he realize that he would not be leaving Atlanta as he'd planned, and that someone, either Gustav, or the FBI, had intercepted him before he could make his escape. He seemed to deflate, strangely pleased that he would not spend his life on the run. "Alright," he said, sparing the briefest of glances toward the other passengers, all of whom were craning their necks, wondering what the pleasant looking man had done to be escorted away. "Alright," he repeated. "I'll go peacefully," he said, and was led away. * * * "Hoo, boy." Nathan shifted from foot to foot, loosely shaking his hands at his side, as if preparing for a race, as he watched Jonah close the double apartment doors. "I'm not sure why I'm so keyed-up, but geez, sometimes, whenever I get all anxious n'stuff, my brain forgets to tell my lungs to breathe. This is one of those times. "Y'know, whenever I compare myself with you two, I feel about as sexy as a cow on crutches." "Why're you nervous?" Corey murmured, as he appreciatively ran his hands over the slender man's chest, then helped him strip off the brightly patterned Polo. "Jonah and I shouldn't be intimidating you any more. After all, how many times did we feed our jiz to one another the other day?" "You didn't seem too anxious then," Jonah grinned, from nearby, as he stepped out of his underwear and stood before his lover and guest, naked, and quickly becoming hard. Nathan uneasily laughed, unable to take his eyes off of the 'thing' between Jonah's legs. "Yeah, well, one of you always seemed to be laying on top of me, with your tongue in my mouth, and somehow . . ." he grinned, "I just couldn't bring myself to stop doin' what we were doin' long enough to get all anxious n'stuff. Besides, I was hangin' around, hoping to see you guys fuck one another. Y'think I might see that tonight?" he asked, with raised brows, as he stepped out of his shorts and underwear. "I've got a better idea," Corey smiled, as he and Jonah led the now-naked man to the bedroom. "Oh?" Nathan's voice slid upward. "Uh huh. What about if, instead of watching Jonah and me, you fuck us?" "What?!" Nathan nearly shouted. "You? . . . Both of you?" "You are so friggin' sexy," Jonah murmured, nibbling on one of Nathan's earlobes, and ignoring his surprised squawk. "So awesome." They looked into one another's eyes, until Nathan's involuntary whimper caused the corners of Jonah's lips to twitch. "Soooo sexy," Jonah sighed, then kissed and licked a line over the trembling man's neck and chin. Nathan took a deep breath, surrendering himself to the sensations of Jonah squeezing one of his ass cheeks, then groaned with pleasure as he began to suck on two of Corey's fingers. "Y'like?" Corey grinned, as Nathan fumbled a moment, then found his erection. "Easy, Boy," he murmured. "I wanna shoot while you're inside me . . . not now." "F'real?" Nathan managed to say. "Y'really want me to do you . . . both?" "We want you to fuck us," Jonah grinned, then kissed Nathan and held him close, mashing his erection against the whimpering man. "Geez!" Corey wiped a finger over Nathan's drooling dick head. "You're leaking up a storm." He held the sticky finger to Nathan's open mouth. "How d'you like your own stuff?" "Uumm," Nathan's squeak and slight nod was all he could manage before Corey tenderly pinched a nipple, and Nathan's knees began to tremble. "Ah, geez," he groaned, as Corey began teasing the firm nub of a nipple with his teeth, while he tenderly teased Nathan's erection with his fingertips. "Y'ever fucked anyone?" "N . . . no," Nathan managed to answer, flicking a quick glance over his shoulder to where Jonah was busily licking and kissing his butt cheeks. "So Jonah and I are gonna be your first," he smiled, as he hugged Nathan close, pressing his erection against the trembling man's hip. "You're gonna shoot in us more'n once tonight, y'know," he grinned, then nibbled Nathan's ear. "I wanna have a lot of your juice in me," he whispered. "I wanna be filled so full that I won't be able to hold it all. "Same with Jonah," Corey murmured, from where he'd begun to nibble on Nathan's earlobe. "Y'wanna shoot in him? His hole's real, real tight. It feels like he's squeezing out every drop of jiz you've got." 'Ooooh, yeah," Nathan managed to answer, on an exhaled breath, blindly groping until Jonah laid his erection in one hand, while Corey rested his cock on Nathan's other hand. 'I'm glad the guys haven't suggested they fuck me,' he caressed the length of each men's penis. 'These things are weapons. Either one of 'em would split me in two. Corey's isn't as long as Jonah's, but he's so freakin' thick! In comparison to either of 'em, I feel like a little kid,' he thought, as he eagerly began sucking on two of Corey's fingers. "You're really gettin' into this, aren't you?" Jonah asked, nuzzling Nathan's neck, while at the same time Corey raised one of Nathan's arms and had begun to lick his pits. "Bein' with another guy, I mean," Jonah added, "you . . . sexy . . . fucker," he murmured, as he squeezed one of Nathan's ass cheeks. "You're lovin' more'n the closeness, n'touching," Jonah continued, as he slowly thrust his erection through Nathan's grasp. "Trading sperm, like we did last time, was soooo cool. Or, when Corey n'I shot all over you, then gave you a tongue bath . . ." "And you shot without touching yourself, the second my tongue touched your asshole," Corey added, from close by. "Which gave Jonah n'me more stuff to clean up," he grinned, continuing to stimulate Nathan's erection, pausing from time to time to wipe his finger on the end of Nathan's erection, then feeding the man his own pre-cum. "When Corey and I finish with you tonight, your legs are gonna be all rubbery," Jonah murmured, as he hugged Nathan tightly, wedging his erection between Nathan's ass cheeks. "They already are." "Then I think it's time for you to do something with that thing between your legs. Y'say you wanna stick that up a sexy guy's smooth asshole. Well, here you go. It's all yours," Corey grinned, as he climbed onto the bed, on hands and knees, then leaned forward and rested his head on folded arms, exposing his spread cheeks and puckered asshole to the other men. "One of the things you notice about Corey, first-off, is his humility," Jonah murmured, loud enough for Corey to hear. "Is that what he calls it!" Nathan stage-whispered, back. "I was noticing how thick it is. Um . . . You fucked Riley with this?" he asked, as he reached between Corey's legs and stroked the thick penis. "Hmmm." "And, you fuck Corey?" Nathan asked, looking over his shoulder, to Jonah. When Jonah gave him a murmured answer, he merely shook his head in wonder. "Alright . . ." he gulped a swallow. "So . . . what do I do? I mean, what should I do next?" "Whenever Corey's in that position, it means he's ready and raring to go. A slap on the butt is nice to start things off." "Hey!" came the muffled protest. "A gentle slap, okay?" Nathan turned to Jonah, with raised brows. "Then, you just do it? I mean, without as much as a by-your-leave, or anything? Don't'cha need some sort of lube, or something?" "I usually start out by rimming him." Nathan looked closely at Corey's smooth pink butthole, then at Jonah. "F'real? S'everyone like that as much as I did?" "I don't know about everyone, but I do." Corey insisted. "Just do something!" "Feisty, isn't he?" Nathan commented, to no one in particular, as he smeared some of his pre-cum over Corey's muscular opening. "I still think he'll need some sort'a lube, or something . . . y'know . . . to make it easier?" Jonah shook his head. "With most guys, I'd say yes, but, with the amount of pre-cum you produce, plus," Jonah's eyes twinkled, "Corey's a natural-born bottom. He can handle it." "Lots of experience?" Nathan murmured, finally beginning to relax. "I heard that! So . . . stop gabbing and lick my butthole!" "Go ahead," Jonah nodded. "Touch it. He loves to have his butt cheeks massaged, and his hole played with. Just push your tongue in, imagining it squeezing your dick as you slowly push in." "Lemme see you lick it," Nathan ordered, almost as if he was daring Jonah to do it. "Finally!" came the muffled response. "Yessir." Jonah knelt, and immediately pressed his face against the spread cheeks, licking across the hole and burying his tongue in the hot opening. When he pulled back, both his cheeks and Corey's butt cheeks were shiny with spit. "Fuck, I love doing that," he said, as he wiped a hand across his mouth, then slapped Corey's butt with a loud, openhanded smack. "It's almost as good as shooting a load into him." "Really?" Nathan asked, wide-eyed, and openmouthed. He licked his lips. "Your turn." Jonah scrambled aside, and was quickly replaced by Nathan, who, almost as if he was in a trance, rubbed his hand over Corey's wet ass cheeks, toyed with his butthole a moment, then leaned in and licked over the pulsing opening. Corey's groan of pleasure was all Nathan needed to aggressively press his face between the cheeks. He loudly licked, tongued, and groaned, as he wiped his face over the hole, then returned to licking it. "Now, I need t'do you," he said, turning to Jonah, his cheeks wet with spit. He gestured to Corey's side. "On the bed, next to him . . . quick," he ordered, taking charge. Jonah scrambled onto the bed and assumed the same position as Corey. A moment later, Nathan's face was mashed against his spread cheeks. "So good, so good," he repeated, over and over, whenever he backed up to take a breath. He rimmed Jonah for a few minutes, then returned to Corey, while continuing to toy with Jonah's butthole, scrotum, and drooling penis. "Fuck 'im," Jonah murmured, when Nathan backed away from Corey's spit-wet butthole. "You've gotten him all lubed, so slide it in. He can take it." "If he can take yours, he can surely take mine," Nathan murmured, while scrambling to his feet. Corey reached back and spread his ass cheeks. "C'mon, handsome," he urged. "Fill me with your sperm." "Hold it for me," Nathan ordered, glancing to Jonah. Jonah scooted closer and grasped Nathan's penis. 'Beautiful,' he thought, as he caressed its length. It was straight, and just the right length and thickness. 'Just like Owen's,' he thought, comparing Nathan with his brother. Before losing himself in thoughts of his brother, he swiped the standing man's drooling penis over Corey's hole. "C'mon, guys," Corey whimpered. Jonah positioned the cock head at the hole, then looked at Nathan and mouthed the word, "push." Nathan nodded once, then returned his attention to his erection, and began pushing forward, entranced by the sight of Corey's sphincter stretching to admit him. When he finally pushed past the anal ring, he grasped Corey's flanks, and shuddered. "It . . . it's so hot," he murmured, as he pushed the rest of the way inside. "I could learn to love this," he grinned, in Jonah's direction, "but only after I do it to you, too." * * *
* * *
* * * "Hmm . . . What's this?" Micah thought, unfolding the scrap of paper he'd discovered at the bottom of one of his grandmother's drawers. "Gustav Winton, Attorneys At Law." He thought a moment, wondering if he should ask Lance Benham, the Pruitt Attorney, if he had any idea if the name meant anything to him. 'But,' Micah shook his head. 'So far, I don't feel like Mister Benham has given me much information, though I certainly have given him plenty. I've given him everything but DNA samples. Geez, that man can ask questions! 'If I don't find out something after visiting the Gustav Winton firm, I'll see if the name means anything to Lance. Then, I can twist his arm, or something, until he tells me if he's found out anything about the black book and all that money.' * * * "Yep," Nathan announced, to the men surrounding the table in Sally's restaurant. "I'm gay." "What?" Riley's guffaw, as much as the announcement, silenced the conversation. "I've decided," Nathan said, matter-of-factly. "Corey and Jonah converted me. I'm reading all the time about guys being converted. They did it." All eyes turned toward Corey and Jonah. Corey remained frozen, his fork half-way to his mouth. When the morsel of food fell from the fork to his plate, he nervously laughed, and lowered the fork, glancing aside at Jonah, who seemed oblivious to what was happening. "Jonah," he said in an under-voice. "What?" Jonah looked around the table. "He says he's gay. What's the big deal?" "My little brother!" Riley groaned. "Not so little as all that," Jonah mumbled, reaching for another slice of bread. "But, then, how would you know? You've probably never had him fuck you." "You fucked him?" Riley asked, glancing at Nathan, and from side to side, and doing his best not to shout and attract any more attention from the other people in the restaurant than he already had. "He did both Corey n'me," Jonah added. "Pass the butter, please," he asked Owen. Corey squeaked helplessly. "Yep," Nathan grinned, and nodded, seeming very pleased with himself. "They were both awesome." "And . . ." Riley looked toward Bailey . . . "I'm almost afraid to ask this," he said, as the turned back to his brother. "Did they fuck you?" Nathan's smile faded. "No. I wish they could have, but, they were too big. I was hoping to start with someone smaller." All eyes shifted to Owen. "Hey!" * * * "Well . . . where is he?" Gustav Winton's screech caused the secretary to step back, prepared to duck if something were to be thrown. "If he's not at home, or lying in some refrigerator at the morgue, where is he? "I gave him a simple assignment, and wham, the moment he has to work for his living, he disappears. Bryant Mitchell is no better than Branson Elledge. They were both probably in league with one another, no doubt conspiring to take over the firm. Well, I won't have it! Do you hear me, Agnes, I won't have it!" "Yessir," the flustered secretary mumbled, as she edged her way toward the office doorway. "I mean, no sir. I understand . . . you won't have it. What do you want me to do? I've already had one of the office runners check every place we can think of, and he's nowhere to be found." Gustav's eyes took on a calculating look, which frightened Agnes, more than the possibility of being hit by something her boss threw. "He failed me," Gustav seethed. "He couldn't find that bastard Rolf Kaiser, and he couldn't bring himself to come back and face the music. So, he disappears, pretty as you please, and, no doubt, figures that I won't be able to find him. Well . . . he's wrong! I'll find him, alright, and, when I do, do you know what I'm going to do . . . Agnes?" "Um, no sir. I don't want to know. Whatever it is, is between you and him. I have nothing to do with it." She inhaled deeply, as if steeling herself, then turned and left the office and a stupefied man, to throw something at the closed door. 'That does it!' she told herself. 'As soon as I deal with the young man in the waiting room, I'm out of here. That bastard has gone too far. No wonder the firm's losing personnel, with him behaving like that. We're all like rats abandoning a sinking ship, and him. He wants nothing more than to find someone to blame for all his troubles.' Agnes rubbed her clammy hands together, and did her best to smile at the handsome man who had been listening to her boss's tantrum, with wide eyes. "Ma'am?" he asked, standing, as she approached. "M'name's Micah Sutton. I had an appointment with Mister Winton." He lowered his voice. "Was that, by any chance, him?" He watched, as the woman tossed a couple keepsakes into her purse. "If this is a bad time to speak with Mister Winton, I can come back." "No time, is a good time to speak with that man, and today is especially not a good time, as you no doubt heard." She paused, suddenly realizing that she had heard the young man's name before. She tried, in vain, to remember what Gustav had told one of the other attorneys, and couldn't. She was sure, though, that the old man had used the name Micah Sutton. She would have liked to have a few minutes of uninterrupted time to try and recall in what context she'd heard the name, but time was something she didn't have. If she hung around, the old man would, no doubt, come storming out of the office, looking for another victim, and she might not escape unscathed. After a quick glance at Gustav's office door, she scribbled a quick note onto a sheet of the firm's stationery, motioning for the young man to wait a moment. "I QUIT, you bastard," she wrote. "I'm happy to be out of this hell hole, so . . . go eat shit and die!" She signed the note with a flourish, then taped it to Gustav Winton's office door. "There," she said, smiling, as she turned back to the wide-eyed young man. "I would suggest that you and I make a hasty retreat, unless, of course, you're good at ducking." She tilted her head toward the office door. "He likes to throw things as he's screaming, and I've had enough of his shit." "Um, yes, ma'am. But, I was hoping to meet with Mister Winton about a scrap of paper I found in my grandparents' dresser drawer. They've both died, y'see, and I have so many questions. I was hoping he might be able to answer some of them for me." Agnes' eyes widened, the bits and pieces of the conversation she'd overheard, dropping into place. "I'll tell you what I know, Mister Sutton. It's not much; however, it is way more than he would ever tell you. But, like I said, let's get our tails out of here." Micah's eyes shifted from the diminutive woman. "Um, yes, ma'am. I don't think Mister Winton is in a mood to meet with anyone." They both turned toward the plush, wood-paneled lobby, when the secretary motioned for him to wait a moment. She turned toward the few people who were craning their necks to look over their office cubicles, and shouted. "I just quit! When he asks where I've gone, would someone please tell him to go fuck himself? "Now," she said, turning back to Micah, and smiling broadly. "I'm feeling better by the minute. So . . . let's hit the trail, and I'll tell you what little I know." "Um, yes, ma'am," Micah muttered, nervously glancing over his shoulder. He held the door for the woman and followed her to the elevator, once again looking over his shoulder, and not feeling . . . safe . . . until the elevator door slid shut. "Well," the woman heaved a sigh. "That was thoroughly upsetting. I've worked for him for more years than you've been living, and every day I've asked myself why I continue to put up with . . . him and his little games. Well, it's gotten to be too much, what with the police coming in all the time, and the FBI taking our computers, and people leaving the office in droves. Some of them have been so afraid of . . . him . . . that they just disappeared. Pfft! Gone! Adios, amigos!" She grinned, as the elevator door opened. Agnes led him to a couple chairs in the office building's cavernous lobby, and gestured for him to have a seat. "Ma'am?" Micah said. "You said you knew something?" "Not much, young man, other than I have heard your name mentioned a few times, over the years." She held up a hand, as Micah leaned forward, his eyes brightening, questions written on his face. "I don't know why your name was mentioned, or in connection with what, or whom; only that it was mentioned. So, I would surmise that someone who knows you was also, in some way, working with the Winton firm. "The only thing I can suggest would be for you to go to the firm which is responsible for most of our old business. Mister Pruitt, of Pruitt Builders," she paused. "You've heard of him?" "Um, yes, ma'am," Micah muttered, deflating. "Well, he hired the firm I'm recommending, and fired us. That's when his wife disappeared, then his oldest son and daughter were killed in a plane accident, and his two youngest sons disappeared." Agnes shook her head. "Seems to me like entirely too many people are disappearing around here. There's got to be a connection, somewhere." She looked up, realizing that she'd been thinking out loud, and smiled an apology. "I would suggest that you contact these folks. If anyone can help you, they will . . . since they have all of our old records." Agnes fished out a scrap of paper from her purse, and scribbled the name of the Lance Benham firm, and handed it to Micah. "One last bit of advice. You heard what he is like," she said, looking upward, presumably to her old office. "I would strongly urge you not to . . . ever . . . come back, with hat in hand, so to speak, asking for information. You won't get it, even if he had it to give. "Now, before he comes downstairs, in hopes of exacting some sort of vengeance on me, it would be best for us both to leave. Why don't you head over to the Benham Firm. I am going to the authorities. I don't feel safe, especially after calling him names. He won't tolerate insubordination." "Um . . . thank you, ma'am. I apologize if I've caused you any more distress than you're already experiencing." Agnes laughed. "Distress? My boy, yours is the first kind voice I've heard in days. Now, one more bit of advice; then I'm out'a here. Please . . . do not tell anyone . . . who referred you to the Benham Firm. Like I said, I don't feel safe, and I don't want him to realize I've given out any sort of information. He's capable of anything, and like I said, entirely too many people have been disappearing around here. It's just not natural." She shook Micah's hand, then watched, as he walked away, turning once to look over his shoulder and wave. "Good luck, my boy," Agnes murmured, as she watched him leave the building. "You're going to need it."
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