Chapter One
Rory 2011
Lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling had become the norm for Rory as of late. Five years into his undercover assignment and he was no closer to discovering the identity of the person that had murdered the Langford couple, leaving their young son an orphan. Taylor Langford was no longer the scared child he once was either. At nineteen, he’d started college and was thriving. He had become a fixture in Frank Moore’s life, or Frank had become a fixture in Taylor’s—probably a bit of both.
“Fucking hell,” he swore. “How pissed off are you going to be when you learn the truth about who I am, Frank?”
Trevor Noland, a flight attendant with a bubbly personality, was Rory’s undercover alias—his alter ego—for the past five years. He’d been on the job for a little over a year when his first big assignment came down. He and his partner, Connie Gonzales, and an agent fresh out of the Academy were brought in and briefed on the Langford case, sent in to protect the boy, the cop, and the foster parents—all while keeping their noses to the ground, eyes and ears open for any clue to who’d committed the heinous crime. What they’d learned over the years was a fuck of a lot of nothing. Whoever left Taylor’s parents cold and dead on their bedroom floor was in the wind, leaving behind not one damn clue to his or her identity.
Graduating at the top of his class at Quantico and being one of the youngest and brightest field agents, according to his boss at the Bureau, were accomplishments he was proud of. Hell, it was all he’d ever wanted when he was growing up. One of the first things he’d learned on the job was to never get involved personally with a suspect, witness, or case. Yet all it took was one kiss from Frank Moore to make Rory forget who he was, why he was there. No one had ever made him feel the way Frank did when they were together, and that wasn’t just in bed. But this was his career he was messing with. So when Frank starting dropping hints about them becoming more than just casual fuck buddies, Rory had to bury those feelings and put some distance between them. Did he want more? Yes, he did. But he wasn’t about to throw away his career; he’d worked too fucking hard to get where he was.
One day very soon, he hoped, they’d solve the case and apprehend the murderer. Then Rory could be honest with Frank and he hoped—no, prayed—that Frank would forgive him, and they could take their relationship to the next level. But until then, Rory would have to continue to play the part of Trevor when he wanted Frank to see him, all while doing his job in the background just out of Frank’s sight.
Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, woken up far too early by the beeping of his alarm clock. An hour later, Rory had showered and was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee thick enough to clean rust off a car bumper, when his roommate and assigned partner finally stumbled out of bed. Blair Cummings might be the same age as Rory, twenty-nine, but he didn’t look a day over twenty-one, which was why he’d been assigned to Taylor Langford. Rory did not envy Blair or his part in the investigation, not for one second. While Rory got to traipse all over the globe disguised as a flight attendant, Blair went back to high school and then college, playing the part of one of Taylor’s closest friends, Kian Douglas.
“Jesus, is this coffee or sludge, Landers?” Blair’s nose curled in disgust. He jerked the fridge open and grabbed the almond milk creamer. He poured a healthy amount into his cup, taking another sip and sighing. “Ah, better. So, what’s on your agenda for today?” Blair came around and took the chair across from Rory at the table.
“We have a briefing at the office in Dallas after lunch with the director and Gonzales, and then I’m flying out to Quantico for a couple of weeks by way of New Orleans.” He waggled his eyebrows. Cummings was well aware of the slight detour Rory had taken while shadowing Officer Moore. Every year before heading to Martha’s Vineyard with his father, the Stones, and Taylor, Frank would spend a day or two in New Orleans with Trevor.
Blair whistled low, shaking his head. “You naughty, naughty boy.”
“Whatever.” Rory snorted. “I have to spend three weeks catching up on paperwork and trying to close a few short cases while you get to go off to the Vineyard and soak up the sun.”
Rory knew it was the luck of the draw that he and Agent Gonzales, who worked her assignment as the Stones’ housekeeper, flew back to Virginia every year to work at the FBI headquarters, and Blair got to vacation on the beach.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I was blessed with good genes,” Blair shot back, standing and heading toward the bathroom. “I’ll be ready in fifteen,” he called out as he disappeared down the hallway.
***
Traffic in Dallas was a nightmare. Some asshat had come off the ramp and shot across three lanes on the Dallas Tollway, and Blair had to slam on the brakes right as Rory was taking a drink from his travel mug. The rich, dark liquid, now seeping through the white button-up shirt he wore, was scalding his chest. “Motherfucker!” he shouted, glaring at Blair when he started laughing.
Rory’s day didn’t get any better from there. He and Gonzales were each handed a file on an open investigation into a missing persons case in Tacoma, Washington that was possibly linked to an unsolved murder in Portland, Oregon. “You’ll still be on the NOLA flight, Agent Landers, but instead of spending two days in Louisiana, you’ll be flying out to Washington first thing tomorrow with Agent Gonzales. I can’t stress the importance of this case enough. We need to solve this one—and quickly. Am I clear, Agents?” The director eyed him and Connie over the wire rim of his glasses. The boss was in Dallas to attend the retirement ceremony for an agent that lived locally.
Joseph Stalling took his job as director of one of the most prestigious agencies in the country very seriously. Rory had only ever seen the man smile a handful of times; he often wondered if his boss had any family to speak of as there were no pictures in Stalling’s office back at Quantico. Hell, even the crankiest agents’ desks were adorned with images of beloved pets—if nothing else.
“Of course, sir.” Gonzales stood and tucked the file under her arm. Rory nodded, standing and following her out into the hall. The heels of her shoes clicked on the linoleum, the noise echoing down the length of the long corridor they traveled to the small office they shared with Agent Cummings.
Consuela Gonzales, Connie for short and if you valued your life, was a statuesque woman with dark skin, high cheekbones, and long, black, wavy hair. She was intense and stunning, a tall stick of dynamite, both skilled and determined. She reminded Rory of the actress that played Letty in the Fast and the Furious movies—full of piss and vinegar when challenged but fiercely loyal to those that earned her trust.
Her fingers were on the keyboard before her ass was completely in the chair. “Fantastic!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “Okay, so the body of Mitchell Helms was found in a wooded area of Macleay Park in Portland, Oregon in 2007. He’d been reported missing by his parents in 2005 when he was…Jesus, Rory. He was just sixteen when he went missing. What the fuck is this world coming to?” Gonzales frowned, taking her frustration out on the keyboard in front of her.
Flipping through his copy of the file for the information on the missing person, Rory prayed that the poor kid was still alive, that his body wasn’t out there somewhere waiting for them to find him. Reading through the pages, he discovered why the director was so keen on them quickly solving the case. “Fucking hell, did you see this?” he asked Gonzales, holding the file up and pointing to the picture of a young man with blond hair, blue eyes, and a very familiar last name.
“Son of a bitch.” Connie jerked her file open, flipping to the same page. “Howard Manning Tullor Junior. His grandfather is Judge Tullor?”
Rory nodded.
Judge Howard Tullor presided over the great state of Washington, ruling with an iron fist and a constitution rooted in hatred. He was old and distinguished, but he was also racist and a bigot. “So, we have to assume that his disappearance could lead back to a case his grandfather heard.” Rory fired up his computer and entered the file number into the FBI database, so he could see all the information on the case.
“I agree, but we need to consider every angle here, Landers. Don’t let your hatred for this fucker cloud your judgment,” Connie warned him. He nodded his agreement. Scrolling through the file on his computer, Rory couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between the young man whose body was found in the park and Judge Dickhead’s grandson. Young, blond hair and blue eyes, very pretty and effeminate…the fact that Junior was missing could have absolutely nothing to do with who he was related to and have more to do with the fact that he fit a certain profile.
“Besides, wouldn’t it be just priceless if an openly gay agent with the FBI found and brought home the grandson of the judge that voted against equal rights for the LGBTQ community?” Her maniacal grin should have frightened him but he was on her side, so he was safe. Judge Dickhead? Not so much. The unsub that had killed at least one young man and likely taken another was up shit creek without a paddle as well. Special Agent Connie Gonzales was on the case now, and she didn’t take names or prisoners. She kicked ass with impunity.
“Goddamn, if I weren’t gay, I’d fucking marry you, woman.”
Gonzales snorted. “As if.”