Ethan was gone for the better part of two hours. Jack explored the house, finding nothing that told him who the owner was, apart from the paintings and the piano. Whosever place this was, Jack guessed they painted, played the piano and generally didn’t want the world to intrude on them.
Replace the painting with cars and the piano with reading, and it felt a lot like Ethan, actually.
Jack eventually fed his rumbly stomach, though the butter chicken tasted a bit bland. Perhaps it was the toast, or the lack of company.
The rain had let up by the time Ethan came back in. Finding the towel Jack had left by the door for him, he dried off as well as he could before going upstairs. The shower ran while Jack heated up the last of the leftovers and a plate was waiting for Ethan when he came back down. He stalled at the sight of the food, then sat down to eat. When he was done, Jack leaned across the counter for the plate.
“Jack.” Ethan’s fingers brushed his hand. “Thank you.”
Jack lingered for a moment, soaking up the small contact, then took the plate to the sink. “Are the horses okay?”
“They’re fine. Jones is a little grumpy at not being allowed into the yard, but he’ll get over it.”
“And Smith?”
Ethan snorted. “He’s a lazy sod, that one. Doesn’t particularly care so long as he has his food.”
Desperately wanting to ask how Ethan was, as well, Jack stayed on the topic of the horses. The more Ethan talked about them, the less distant he was. Then Jack prompted him to talk about his cars, and actually paid close attention this time, so he’d be able to ask informed questions and keep the conversation going. The more Ethan relaxed and came back to him, the better Jack felt. By evening, they were talking easily again, even laughing as Ethan read a particularly exciting passage from his latest action book. He even started touching Jack again after dinner.
In bed, Ethan tugged Jack’s pants off and then his own, making his intentions clear. It was a hands-on-the-headboard fuck and excruciatingly glorious. Jack, who hadn’t thought he could come again after the previous day’s efforts, tumbled over first, and very nearly went a second time when Ethan crawled up his body, bringing his hard dick into range of Jack’s mouth.
They slept deeply, wound together.
It rained intermittently the next day and the hike was put off again. Jack helped Ethan see to the hoses and they both ended up soaked when Jones made a bolt for the relative freedom of the yard and refused to go back into his stall. Eventually, Ethan corralled the horse and got him stabled again. Once they were all dry, Jack retreated to a couch with one of Ethan’s books. He barely made it through the first chapter before his eyelids were drooping.
He was woken up by gentle piano music that slowly resolved into the same thirty seconds or so played over and over, slightly different each time. Even as he recognised it as Für Elise, a wrong note was hit, and Ethan muttered, “Blast it,” and started over.
Hauling himself off the couch, Jack wandered over as Ethan repeated the snippet again. “I didn’t know you could play.”
Ethan spared him a pained expression. “Clearly, I can’t.”
Jack sat beside him on the stool. “You’re doing better than I ever did.”
Fingers tumbling across the keys, Ethan quirked an enquiring eyebrow at him.
“Dad plays.” Jack sighed. “Played. He tried to teach me, but I was never that good. Or cared enough to practice. Meera did. She got all the artistic talent in our family.”
“Then we’re a pair. I don’t have the aptitude for it, either. Not like some of—some others.”
Wondering what Ethan had stopped himself from saying, Jack pointed toward the painting on the wall opposite them. “Do you paint, then?”
“I’ve never tried. Nor had a desire to.”
Jack grunted. “So, I guess this really isn’t one of your places.”
That rogue corner of Ethan’s mouth turned up, then went down with Jack’s next words.
“It belongs to one of your associates. The woman I met in Sydney.”
The clues had been lining up since the day before and Jack was pretty sure his conclusion was correct. For a moment, Jack though Ethan was going to run again, but although his shoulders stiffened, he didn’t leave. He did, however, start tinkling once more. The same opening to Für Elise but there was a slight dissonance in the tune now.
“Vietnam’s not that far from Australia she couldn’t come over to help you in a pinch. The predominant colours in the paintings here are the same as the dress she wore that day. She’s met me and, granted, didn’t like me, but I know you wouldn’t betray an associate by bringing someone they knew nothing about to one of their lairs.”
The music cut off. “Jack—”
“It’s okay. I’m not going to betray her, either.” Jack nudged him gently. “You should know that about me by now.”
Ethan stared at him for a moment, then nodded. When he started playing, the notes came easier, smoother, and he shifted so their thighs were pressed together.
The following day dawned clear and the weather forecast promised no rain, so the hike happened. It wasn’t as bad as Jack feared. His pack was substantially less than twenty kilos, the terrain not overly steep for most of the way, and while it was warm and humid it wasn’t hot or oppressive. When they arrived, the two hours of hiking was worth the incredibly spectacular and panoramic expanse of Cao Bằng spread out before them.
So much green, so many different greens draped over horizon to horizon rolling hills, cut through with the snaking brown of the river. Puffy white clouds drifted above it all in a sky of cobalt blue, the sun burning bright and warm. They’d come around to the north face of their mountain and there was absolutely no sign of human habitation. Just pure, perfect nature.
Jack put his pack down and walked to the edge of the small plateau. It ended in an abrupt drop-off and a long, dizzying distance to the canopy of trees far below. Jack drank in the glorious view and felt a sense of déjà vu. He’d never been to Vietnam before, and while he had been to some breathtaking locations, nothing in his memory quite fit this beauty.
The similarity came to him when Ethan stepped up beside him. This was like the desert. Open and vast, it was enough space to get lost in, or to lose himself in. As he stood there, taking in the absolute emptiness of the air, the unhindered view of the sky, the distance of the mountains, Jack felt his worries ease. As if the world had to equilibrate and some of his pain was being absorbed into the openness. Harry would be with him forever, but being here, he thought he would be able to live with him in peace.
“Do you like it?” Ethan asked quietly.
Not yet able to talk, Jack just nodded. He slung an arm around Ethan’s shoulders and pulled him close.
When Jack was ready, they retreated up the plateau and shared a light lunch. Afterward, they explored a little around the plateau, messed around trying to sneak up on each other and inevitably ended up naked in a warm, soft cocoon of ferns between two fallen trees. Picking each other clean of vegetative detritus, they dressed and headed back to the plateau. Ethan scrounged through his pack and pulled out a paperback. He settled against a tree trunk to read while Jack went back to contemplating the view.
There’d been another moment in the ferns when he’d nearly kissed Ethan. They hadn’t even done much by that stage, just stripped and tumbled together into the greenery. A fern frond had ended up stuck somewhere delicate on Ethan’s body and his battle to get it free had left Jack in stitches. Holding the mangled frond high in triumph, Ethan had looked so silly and beautiful the grenade in Jack’s chest had damn near blown out his ribs. Jack would have kissed him then, he knew it, except Ethan had thrown himself on Jack and begun a slow, delicious roll of his hips that wiped Jack’s head clear of every voluntary thought.
He looked over his shoulder at his man, absorbed in his book, his free hand idly flipping a knife, point to handle, handle to point, and wondered why he hadn’t kissed him already. Jack was almost positive he wanted to, and even if he wasn’t ready right then, he knew he would be soon. Possibly very soon. He just needed something . . . more. Though just what that “more” was, he had no idea.
Still perplexed, Jack joined Ethan and pestered him into reading aloud. As per usual, Jack dozed off to the soothing sound of Ethan’s voice, content with his head nestled on a firm thigh and fingers curling through his hair.
Ethan nudged Jack awake a while later. Dark clouds had begun to gather behind the distant mountains, so they packed up their gear and headed back down the trail. The rain was obviously moving in fast because the already dim light within the trees grew darker as they went. By the time they’d come back around to the eastern slope, the light was so low Ethan took his glasses off.
They’d just descended the final steep passage, about half an hour out from the house, when Ethan stopped. His fist came up in a silent signal instantly recognisable. Jack froze and came on alert. Jack hadn’t heard anything unusual but he didn’t doubt Ethan’s skills or senses, either. Very slowly, he sank into a crouch and retrieved the P8 from his waistband. A couple of feet in front, Ethan stood as still as the tree trunks around them.
A prickle of awareness slithered down Jack’s spine a moment before he heard the noise. Voices. Soft and unintelligible, but definitely there.
Jack eased off the safety on the P8, then cocked his head, trying to work out which direction the voices were coming from. Tension coiled in his guts, that pre-game unease he’d learned to trust long ago.
Excruciatingly slow, Ethan lifted one foot and stepped back, putting it down with precise care, completely silent on the rotting detritus of the jungle floor. Another step and he sank down beside Jack. Twisting, he brought his mouth right to Jack’s ear.
“Your two o’clock,” he whispered, barely any sound to the words. “About fifty yards.”
It took a while in the gloom and close vegetation, but Jack found them. Two men, downhill from their position. The trail he and Ethan were on switched back just up ahead and the men were probably on the lower part of the trail. He couldn’t make out too many details, but the shape of them was unmistakable. The bulk of body armour and the distinctive barrels of assault rifles. They certainly weren’t hikers who’d taken a wrong turn.
“Your eleven o’clock. Forty yards.”
Jack found the second pair of men quicker this time. All four were focused away from Jack and Ethan, which gave them some breathing room. Keeping the downhill pair in sight, while Ethan watched those uphill, Jack carefully slipped out of his pack. He pulled a spare mag for the P8 and tucked it into a pocket on his pants. Ethan, likewise, freed himself of his pack and produced his two Desert Eagles. If they had to fight, it was going to sound like they were firing cannons up here.
Leaning in to Ethan, Jack asked, “Military?”
Ethan frowned, as if wondering if that made any difference, but studied the strangers for a long moment. He shook his head. “Mercs.”
Jack had run into some highly effective mercenaries in his time, including those in Valadian’s compound, but they were often just groups of disgruntled men with violent tendencies. Depending on who was paying for them, of course. Considering Ethan’s life, who the fuck knew what sort of nutcase may have sent this lot.
Catching Jack’s attention, Ethan laid out his plan with his hands. Even before he’d finished, Jack pushed his hands aside and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“Need to find out why they’re here. Who sent them.”
Ethan shook his head firmly. “They’re too close to the house as it is. I can’t let it be compromised.”
He’d been willing to give up his lair in Sydney for his madcap plan but, Jack reminded himself, this place wasn’t Ethan’s.
“They might already be at the house,” he reasoned.
And just like that, the warm, approachable man was gone. Ethan Blade was in his place. “I know.” Ethan feeling threatened wasn’t conducive to negotiation.
“I’ll only need ten minutes to find out why they’re here,” Jack whispered back. “That’s all.”
Nothing altered in Ethan’s outward posture, but there was a subtle change to the way he looked at Jack in the wake of his words. It might just have been a trick of the gloomy light, but something in his white eyes softened. Not much, and Jack may have been seeing things, but he was pretty sure of it. With a stiff nod, Ethan agreed.
All of his personal revelations to the side, Jack realised Ethan had had one of his own. No matter how still Ethan went, how closed-down his expression was, how cold his heart got in the moment, he wouldn’t turn on Jack. That last tiny measure of alarm Jack usually felt when Ethan went into killer-mode vanished. The target Ethan had once seen when he looked at Jack was gone.