NINETEEN
Something was wrong.
Micah sat up in bed. Sleep cobwebs clouding his mind.
Something was wrong, and he was alone. The television was still set to the classic movie channel. Though the one showing was in color. Time had passed. At least a movie’s worth of time.
Light came through the wide open door. Not bright light. A dim dull wintry light filtered from the atrium. So it was morning, or, at the very least, daytime.
Micah found the remote and turned the television off. Usually when the sound went off in the bedroom the noise from the rest of the apartment would rush in to fill the void. One thing he’d learned in the past week, Kit did not like silence. There was always electronic noise going somewhere in this part of the house. Sometimes Micah had to escape to the kitchen just to hear himself think.
And right now, he could hear a fucking pin drop.
He found his pants on the floor where he’d left them and went into Kit’s bathroom to take a piss. Kit hadn’t been there, at least not recently. His toothbrush was dry. The towel from his shower was still on the floor. Everything was…not right.
Micah smoothed the hair on the back of his neck. Unease rippled through him as he walked from the room and into the small hallway that connected all of the large rooms.
Kit was either in the game room or the atrium. He spent very little time in his bedroom or the small kitchen area. Micah veered left toward the atrium. That was usually Kit’s first stop if he slept in his bed. If he slept in the game room, then he’d still be in the game room.
The computer system in the atrium was dead silent. Nothing buzzed, clicked, whirred, or cheeped. No talking head greeted him. Not even white noise from the electronics could be heard.
The room was dark and as silent as the grave. The snow had stopped at some point in the night but the sky was still dark with storm clouds the palest light barely illuminating the floor in front of the windows. That’s where Micah found him.
He sat silently. His shoulders hunched over, his arms wrapped around his knees, hair loose and hanging over his shoulders to conceal his face. He was nude. He didn’t move. He didn’t indicate that he even knew Micah was in the room. He sat there on the floor, as if he was part of the décor. A statue of purest marble and not a living breathing person.
“Kit?” Micah spoke in a whisper. He didn’t know why. His heart seemed to want to pound out of his chest. He’d felt like this many times. All of which preceded walking into a firefight of some kind, but Kit didn’t reply. He didn’t react at all. He sat curled around himself as if he were in pain.
Micah walked around the desk, past the sitting area, and into the middle of the open floor. He’d paced that area last night until he felt sure he’d worn a hole in the carpet. The room was cold. Much colder than usual. And colder still near the glass.
Micah wrapped his arms around his bare chest and rubbed. “Kit,” he called again. This time louder. And still nothing. He squatted down beside the man and brushed his shoulder gently, hoping to get his attention. “Hey, Kit, it’s cold in here. Why don’t we—?”
Kit reacted horribly to his touch. He twisted around to glare at Micah with eyes that were wild. He bared his teeth and snarled. Not a soundless snarl. But a full on animalistic sound that had Micah putting distance between them. But not as fast as Kit was moving. Crab crawling backward toward the snow covered glass wall as if he were an injured dog.
Micah stayed low to the floor, crouching, with his hands out to show he meant no harm. “Okay, baby, okay. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re cold and scared. I got that. Come on, Kit. Let’s get you someplace warm and I’ll go get some breakfast and maybe a nap.”
Kit launched himself across the floor like a bullet. He growled at Micah as he came racing toward him. The first punch was wild, missing Micah by inches. The next one landed against Micah’s jaw but didn’t have the power that Kit had packed the day before while they sparred.
He was trained. Micah could tell that before he’d ever stepped onto the mat with him. Not combat ready, but if he had to defend himself, Kit was well prepared. This wasn’t Kit.
“Come on, Kit. It’s okay. It’s me. Micah.” Still no recognition in his eyes. Micah ducked another swing and came up under his arm to grab him around his chest. “Beastly. You call me Beastly. Remember me? Come on, baby. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t want to hurt you. Please.”
“Hold him.” Micah damned near jumped out of his skin at the sound of the unfamiliar voice.
Where the fuck? He spun with Kit still only half controlled to face the man’s uncle, Gideon. “Get his hands under control if you can.”
“Where the fuck did you come from?” Micah shouted, as he did exactly as the man ordered. He had one of Kit’s hands twisted behind his back the second one reached for Micah’s hair and he grabbed it but not before Kit ripped some free. “Fuck, Kit. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Just hold him long enough,” Gideon started to say but Kit decided he no longer needed to stand up and dropped like a ton of bricks in Micah’s arms taking Micah with him to the floor. Gideon watched as he wrestled for control, all the while issuing useless advice. Micah had both hands secure. He wrapped his legs around the kicking man to subdue his legs and wrestled him onto his side.
“Whatever you’re going to do, now would be a good time, before he remembers he knows three different forms of martial arts.” Micah struggled to hold onto the enraged man in his arms. Kit tried to head butt him twice before Gideon jabbed him in the arm with a hypodermic needle.
Kit struggled for a few minutes more while Micah held him as best as he could without hurting him. Without warning, Kit went limp in his arms, and Micah rolled onto his back, sweating and spent from trying to hold a raging…Jesus…Kit?
Gideon stood nearby watching them with steely gray eyes. Rochfort and Gibbs right behind him both of them looking exhausted and more than a little upset.
“I was hoping we wouldn’t need to resort to that,” Sam muttered moving closer. He was very unsteady on his feet, his face drawn and pale.
“Yeah about that? What the fuck just happened here?” Micah dragged his arm out from under Kit’s unconscious body and sat up rubbing his jaw.
“Can you carry him?” Sam avoided Micah’s glare and the question as well. “He’s heavy. But we’re on very limited time. That sedative doesn’t last long when he’s like this.”
“Fuckers. Seriously! Someone should have told me what I was fucking walking into when they fucking hired me.” Micah growled and rolled to his knees. “Yeah, I can carry him.”
Kit lay limp in his arms, his face a mask Micah didn’t recognize. He laughed, the idea of the tragedy and comedy masks came to mind. Kit was definitely that. His day face nothing more than a lie.
“Lead on Jeeves.” Micah strained under Kit’s weight, but he had him. “Let’s move. He’s heavy.”
Sam sighed and nodded for Gideon to take the lead. “You know where to go.”
Gideon nodded, and they formed a single line procession to the back of the apartment and into the chamber outside the ballroom. Instead of opening the double doors Micah had discovered the day before, they went to the far end of the hall to an almost concealed door between two oversized paintings.
He followed them into what looked like a small living room with the same furniture as the main house. Gideon kept walking past the sofa to hit a switch on a wood panel. The wall pulled apart to slide into pocket recesses revealing a scene out of every damned sci-fi movie Micah had ever seen.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouted as Sam stepped in front of Gideon to key in the access code to open the glass paned door. “You have a fucking prison set up for him? No wonder the kid is fucked up.”
“Put him on the bed.” Sam at least sounded pained. Gideon was the same emotionless dick Micah had met a week ago. And these were the closest family Kit had.
“Not until someone explains exactly what the hell is going on,” Micah said as Kit groaned. He was waking up. Good.
“We’ll explain, but get him inside first. Just do it Micah. I’ll explain everything.” Sam seemed to deflate as Micah stared him down. He was in pain, that much Micah could see, but not all of it was from his injury.
“Fine,” Micah agreed and walked through the glass wall into a stark, sterile room with a mattress on the floor by the wall, a stainless steel toilet, sink combo like those found in prisons and a single chair that was bolted to the floor. There were no windows or televisions or computers. A table, also bolted to the floor, sat to other side of the room from the bed. It was slanted in the center like an easel. The stacks of blank canvas seemed to be the only things not bolted down. Hell, he didn’t even have a blanket or a pillow on the bed. Just a fucking mattress.
Micah laid him down on the bed and walked away as his eyes fluttered. “Don’t, Micah, leave him there for now.” Sam was at his elbow, his voice sad. “It’s for your protection right now. Just trust me. I wouldn’t hurt him, I swear.”
“You keep him locked up like an animal. How is that not hurting him?”
Sam took his arm and led him through the door. “Come on, Micah. We need to talk.”
Micah followed all the way out to one of the arm chairs and collapsed into the seat. The room was closed, the door sealed, and a new code entered into the security box.
“I should go start lunch while you talk.” Mrs. Gibbs squeezed his shoulder before giving him a sad smile. “Thank you for taking care of him, Micah.” She left them with a glance toward the still form in the glass jail.
Rochfort took the chair beside Micah and sprawled. Micah had never seen him sprawl. He didn’t know the man knew the meaning of the word. Or relax. At all. Gideon on the other hand paced the narrow room, looking more pissed by the second.
“David, will you please sit down.” Sam sighed tiredly.
“How long has he been off his medication?” Gideon, first name David, whirled to face the older man.
Sam sighed again and leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. Micah could tell he was in pain. “A couple months, maybe longer. He’s not exactly a font of information.”
“And you didn’t think you should inform me of this new development?” Gideon raged, his face turning a shade of purple Micah had seen only a couple times in his life.
“It’s not your business,” Sam said calmly not bothering to defer to Gideon in anyway. There was no Sir or Master or whatever Sam usually used when addressing anyone. Micah waited for Gideon to get the point that the butler found him lacking.
“I’m his uncle, of course it’s my business.” Gideon raged on.
“And I’m his legal guardian. His grandfather’s will trumps your barely acknowledged blood tie. I’m the one who has been here since he was released from that…that place you put him in. I’m the one who has cleaned up his life. I’m the reason he has a life.” Sam lifted a single eyebrow and quietly shut Gideon up, for about twenty seconds.
“He is dangerous off his meds. The drugs are the only reason he was allowed to walk out of that institution.”
“Eleven years ago, David. His sentence was served out under house arrest. And you were compensated for the attack. You have no right to interfere now. He’s an adult.”
“An adult who cannot leave his room without freaking out.”
“Because you had him locked away for so long he doesn’t know how to function outside this damned prison.”
“I am not to blame for this.” Gideon spat the words in Sam’s face. Micah stepped up to drag him away before he raised the hand he had curled into a fist.
“Simmer down, Gideon.” Micah pushed him into the chair he’d vacated and took his place pacing.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? You have no place in this.” Gideon turned his rage on Micah. “Are those hickeys on your neck?” He looked from Micah to Sam. His rage turned to accusation. “Isn’t he a bit young for you old man?”
“Wasn’t me who took a shine to him,” Sam said with a smile and a soft chuckle. “Though if I were forty years younger, Kit would have a fight on his hands.”
Micah stopped pacing to stare at the older man. The unapologetic gleam in his gaze when he met Micah’s reaffirmed exactly what he’d heard. Sam Rochfort was gay. And didn’t that just set Gideon off.
“Kit? What the hell does Kit have to do with…?” Gideon pointed a finger toward Sam that moved ever so slowly until he was aiming the thing directly at Micah. “One week, you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants for one damned week. Even after I arranged for you to have whatever you needed to get it out of your system before you shipped off to this godforsaken place.”
“Oh, David, please tell me you didn’t offer up Dallas in some misguided attempt to protect Kit from what, exactly?” Sam deflected Gideon’s ire.
“What the hell has Dallas got to do with this? He was the driver I assigned to show Mr. Beasley around the city…” Gideon went three shades of white. “Dallas isn’t gay.”
“Oh, yes he is. Dallas is one spark away from flaming.” Sam’s smile was so vindictive, even Micah got a kick out of seeing Gideon sputter and turn red. And that’s when it hit him. The resemblance was damned near uncanny.
“Oh my God, he’s your son isn’t he?” Micah was so shocked he didn’t even think to keep his mouth shut. “The driver—Dallas. Was that his name?”
“You fucked my son, and you don’t even have the grace to remember his name?” And Gideon was off and running again. “I guess the lure of money brought you here to seduce my nephew as well?”
“Whoa, hold your damned horses there, Hoss,” Micah shouted over the accusations that were flying like bullets. “I didn’t know he was your son. I’m going to go with maybe even he doesn’t know he’s your son. Neither does Spencer.” Micah looked over to Sam, who nodded at his correct assumption. Micah had to sit down at the absurdity of the whole situation. “I really did step into some fucking…is this some bizarre reality show and I’m the only person without a script? With all the cameras…” He looked up at the ceiling for a hidden camera. “Hi, anyone out there watching… I’m being held hostage against my will for—Yeah, I fucked Dallas. He was so damned eager to show me a good time. I hope like hell you paid him well for his…attentiveness.”
“You son of a bitch.” Gideon rushed him, but Micah stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, and the older man backed down.
“For fuck sake, David. Dallas is twenty-three. He’s an adult. He saw an attractive man and did what any red blooded man would do—he got with him while he had the chance. Same as Kit. Not that he’s red blooded or even aware that he’s gay.”
“Because the old man chose you as his sidepiece doesn’t give you the right to disparage my son.” Gideon was foaming at the mouth now, his finger pointing lethally from Sam back to Micah. “And you keep your hands off my nephew…and my sons…fuck.”
“Remember who the old man left a third of this house to, David. Remember who he trusted his grandson to. Remember your place when you’re here.” Sam spoke softly, but Micah could tell he relished every word he said. Maybe had been waiting years to say exactly what he thought to the man he was forced to endure for Kit’s sake.
“I don’t have to take this from the help,” Gideon spat the words out before turning back to Micah. “And you…you’re fired…get the hell out of here.”
“You can’t fire him, you don’t have that power,” Sam shouted now his face gone rigid in anger.
“I hired him I can damned well fire him.”
“You vetted him, Kit hired him. Kit wanted him here. Kit is the only person who can let Mr. Beasley go. And I’m pretty sure that is no longer an option.”
“If he’s a goddamned fag, I’ll send him someone closer to his age. If he discovered that his dick works then—“
“I’m his age. And don’t you ever call him that. Or Sam. Or me. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? You locked your nephew in a goddamned private prison and talk about sending him out a whore…or…what…what the hell…I don’t even know what to think right now.” Micah had heard the F-word one time too many.
“His money is protected, if that’s what you’re interested in.” Gideon went right to the heart of the matter. “You asked for a million dollar salary. I’m thinking money is a high priority with you.”
“David!” Sam commanded the room now, his voice low, his anger strong. “Leave. Now. Before I have you escorted off the property.”
Gideon opened his mouth to shout another threat, but instead, he turned and damned near marched out of the little sitting room.
Silence reigned for several long minutes. Micah walked over to the glass wall that stood between him and Kit and leaned his forehead on the surface. Kit rolled over onto his side, lying with his back to Micah.
“Come sit down, Micah, I’ve had enough yelling for one day.” Sam’s tired voice filled the silence and Micah turned to lean against the glass to study the older man.
He was bruised and very frail looking, much older than Micah would have thought. “So you and the older Mr. Auberon had a thing?”
“If you call thirty years together “a thing”, then I would say yes. I loved Reggie,” he said, leaning back in the chair as if the years had suddenly caught up with him. “Come, sit, so I don’t have to keep looking up. My head hurts too much to deal with this all right now.”
Micah crossed the room and pulled the arm chair he’d vacated around to face the butler. He sat and leaned with his elbows on his knees to study the pattern in the antique carpet. “I haven’t…you know…he…Kit…I let him lead. He’s still a virgin. In case you were wondering. I know I shouldn’t. But he’s. I’m sorry, Sam. I probably should leave.”
Sam watched him for a long time before he spoke. “That’s your choice, Micah, certainly. You’re not obligated to stay. But I guess you should know that I’ve never seen him take to anyone like he has to you. Kady comes in a close second, but they are more like brother and sister than anything.”
“Because I’m here at a time when he’s vulnerable, maybe. I don’t know Sam, maybe Gideon is right. Not about the money. I threw that number out there for the hell of it. I wanted to see how desperate he was. I don’t need that much money.” Micah’s back itched like fuck and he couldn’t scratch it. His skin seemed to shrink over his body. The room moved around him.
“Let me ask you something. And don’t get pissy with me. It’s just a question.”
Micah looked up to find the old man watching him with keen eyes. “When you put it that way I’m already looking for a reason to take it wrong.”
“True, but I’ve noticed you have a tendency to rush in guns blazing. I didn’t want to get shot.”
“Not carrying anymore, so I think you’re safe.”
“About that? Were you in love with your partner? Is that why you left the Marshals? Because your affair with a married man became public?”
Micah hung his head. Fuck. It kept coming back to Heath and the fucked up relationship between them. “I wouldn’t have spent thirty years waiting for him to divorce his wife for me.” Low blow, he knew, but the question was a punch to the gut.
“The problem with that is, Reggie and I were together before he married Christine. Different time and place, Micah. He had no choice. Neither did Christine. She knew he preferred men. That he preferred me. James was conceived on their honeymoon and their obligation fulfilled. They stayed married because they had no choice in that either. Society dictates and all. But they had separate lives. She had lovers. I think they were friends. I know he grieved her passing.”
That was unexpected. Micah thought of Heath’s wife and how he’d felt when she confronted him. There was never a divorce. Heath had lied to him and to her. And he was dead. Micah was the only one left to shoulder the blame. “I wasn’t in love with him. No. It was sex. Nothing more.”
“But he was married with children. I don’t believe you’re the home wrecker type. It had to hurt somewhere deep inside that cold shell you wear as skin.”
“You’re one to talk about a cold shell,” Micah said, relaxing for the first time since he’d awakened.
“I do try.” Sam grinned at him. “Sometimes just to see how people react. You’ve been fun. All rebel without a clue.”
Micah had to laugh at that. “Yeah, I guess that’s me.”
“Are you in love with my grandson? And yes I do consider him to be my grandson.” Sam threw that question out there, like he was lobbing a hand grenade in an enemy fox hole.
Micah’s skin prickled. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest to ward off the chill. “I don’t know. It’s only been a week, Sam. How in the hell would I know after a week of…lies and assassins and crazy uncles.”
Sam laughed. “I guess that’s a fair assessment of this week. This isn’t normal. And that’s why he’s in there right now. The stress of, well, everything hit him hard. He does this when he can’t cope any longer.”
“And you handle his freak-out by locking him in a cell for your protection I take it.”
Sam sighed again, all humor gone now that the truth was out. “He tried to kill David when he was thirteen. Until then, he’d go sit in a corner and rock. He’s autistic, you do realize.”
“Yeah I got that much.” It was Micah’s turn to sigh. He’d put that little bit together days ago. “What happened at thirteen to set him off? Besides Gideon being a total prick, there had to be something.”
“David decided he knew best and wanted to teach Kit a lesson. Kit went completely crazy and stabbed David with a pair of scissors. He missed his heart by a fraction of an inch. I never knew what set Kit off. Not really. Besides David being a prick I mean.”
“And I take it Gideon pressed attempted murder charges against him?” Micah remembered the files and everything was starting to fall into place. “And the lawyers forced the insanity plea to keep him out of prison?”
“Bingo.” Sam touched his nose. “David didn’t give a shit that Kit was going to one of the worst mental facilities in the country. He wanted revenge against a thirteen year old boy.”
“How did you get him out?” Micah pictured the scars on Kit’s back and tried not to think about how he got those.
“I forced David to visit him, to see what they’d done to him in that place. He’d had a couple of years to get over it I guess. He dropped the charges, but it wasn’t that simple. We had to prove abuse and in the end the judge ordered a new psychiatric evaluation, and this was when the autism was finally diagnosed. He’d been a problem child but no doctor would look past that. His nanny could handle him. No one else could. Not even his parents. Losing all three of them the way we did.” Sam closed his eyes, his face a mask of pain. “He hasn’t been right since. We got him out. That’s all that mattered.”
“But what came out wasn’t Kit.” Micah could figure that out without a case file in front of him.
“Besides the white hair, you mean? No. There was no Kit left after that. He was fifteen years old and he weighed maybe ninety pounds. He didn’t recognize anyone. And if we thought the rage he’d flown into when he went after David was bad, we had another think coming. He destroyed the townhouse in the city, terrorized the staff, and that’s when he wasn’t sitting in a corner with his hands over his head, he’d sit and rock for days on end. He’d have rare moments of lucidity between bouts of rage.”
“So you moved him out here to control him.”
“We did. And limited the staff to those most loyal to the family. David found the best therapists. We went through drugs like water trying to bring him back to the real world. Eventually his dark periods became less frequent. He didn’t go into rages as often. And he began to learn to communicate. The computer helped. David fought me on that too, but once Kit was allowed a computer and the voice compatible keyboard, he became a different person.”
“But he’s not on the drugs anymore.”
“No. He couldn’t function. Not the way he wanted to. He would stop sleeping for days on end. Or sleep around the clock. His brain was foggy all the time. He’d go off the drugs to create a game. And back on. And on and off until he stopped completely. It’s been two years since the last time we used this room. And that time was simply a precaution.”
Micah rubbed his forehead. “This is too much to take in. Why didn’t anyone tell me this before? I get that he’s had a fucked up life. But this…”
“This is the result of the security incidents…and…finally discovering his sexuality. It was coming. I saw that days ago.”
“So this is my fault?”
“No, Micah, this is the fault of whoever took him when he was eight years old and killed his parents and his nanny. This is all part of that. You’re just—”
“Convenient. Yeah, I’ve been that before.”
Sam didn’t reply. He turned sad eyes on the man slowly waking in the little glass prison. “So what are you going to do now that you know?”
“Get a shower. Maybe some food. Go kick the dummy in the ballroom in the head a few times. Wait for the snow to melt so I can pack my shit and get the hell out of here.”
Sam looked disappointed in him but he nodded. “I wouldn’t blame you. I’d leave too if I could.”
Micah couldn’t look him in the eye. “Then who would be here for Kit?”
“That’s the ultimate question isn’t it? Who’s going to be here for Kit when I’m gone? He has no family. At least none that knows they are family. And no one to love him. When I’m gone there’s a good chance…”
“The man will become the monster everyone fears he is.” Micah supplied the answer.
“Exactly,” Sam said with an air of finality.
“Well, fuck,” Micah said, his skin so tight now he couldn’t move if he wanted to. The man on the other side of the glass sat up and looked directly at him, his eyes as dark and soulless as the pit that threatened to drag Micah down into its murky depths. His heart twisted around in his chest when Kit pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his naked body. “Just fuck.”