Dead Run (13 page)

Following the death of Helloco, the rest of Finistère had escaped mostly unscathed but hadn’t survived long without their mastermind. Didier died in a shootout with police. Jacquard had driven his car into a brick wall while attempting to evade capture. Laroche, Besson, and Roland had eventually been tracked down and arrested.

And that was pretty much that. Taylor scratched his nose, considering his notes. Not many leads to pursue. As cold cases went, this one was giving him frostbite.

Outside Will’s cubicle in the embassy DSS office, Taylor could hear the quiet murmur of voices on the phone and the ordinary office equipment sounds. It could have been any DSS office in the world. But then that was the point.

His gaze moved to the framed photo of him and Will on Will’s desk. It had been taken right after they’d won the West Coast Regional competitive shooting championship. An unobjectionable picture of a couple of buddies sharing a moment of triumph.

Maybe deep down Will secretly wished that was what they had remained.

Because Taylor really had trouble believing Will could have forgotten everything between them without some considerable effort. If he didn’t remember, then he didn’t
want
to remember. That was the conclusion Taylor kept coming back to.

Will hadn’t been forced to take this Paris gig. That had been his choice. Knowing it meant the end of their working partnership, he’d still opted for promotion and Paris.

Slow down.

Now he was letting his insecurity and frustration get the better of him. Will loved him. Taylor believed that. He
knew
that.

That didn’t change the fact that they hadn’t stopped arguing from the moment Taylor had landed. And what were they fighting about all the time? Taylor wasn’t sure. Will probably wasn’t any clearer.

Regardless, it didn’t bode well for the future. A future that Will apparently preferred to pretend didn’t exist—

There was a knock on the cubicle doorframe. Taylor glanced up from his dark thoughts.

RSO Stone looked as tired as Taylor felt. “We finally heard back from LAPD. They searched Hinault’s home. They’ve discovered a safe box with five passports in five different names.”

“Passport fraud. Right up our alley.”

“It is. There’s more. Hinault may actually be Yves Helloco.”

“
Yves
Helloco?” Taylor was already scanning his notes, verifying.

Stone said, “You heard right. Yves Helloco. Yann’s brother.”

Taylor sat back in his chair. “I thought the brother was deceased?”

“He is. Or let me put it this way.
One
of the Helloco brothers is deceased. We’re not exactly sure which one yet. The Hinault passport photo matches up to the brother. A couple of the other passport photos appear to be Yann Helloco appropriately aged.”

“There’s no indication that the brother had any criminal background—or showed any sign of political activism.”

“It remains unclear whether Yves willfully participated in passport fraud. It’s possible he was the victim of identity theft perpetrated by his brother.”

“Or…” A crazy thought took hold of Taylor. “Are they sure they know who was living in Burbank?”

Stone’s smile was a shadow of her old one. “Good call, MacAllister. Neighbors identified
both
Helloco brothers as being Yannick Hinault.”

All at once Taylor’s mood improved considerably. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Yes, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The only thing we really know for certain is
one
of these Helloco brothers is deceased and one of them is in Paris.”

“Fingerprints will settle it one way or the other.”

“True, but this isn’t TV. We’re not going to get lab results on the forensic evidence within twenty-four hours, and unfortunately there’s a time element here. The French police just notified us that they received another communiqué from Finistère this morning. Finistère is claiming the explosion in the catacombs was just the beginning and that within forty-eight hours they will make a political statement that the world will never forget—and punctuate it in blood.”

Taylor started to speak, but the phone on Will’s desk rang.

Stone nodded dismissingly. “Go ahead and take that. Find me what you can on the brother. And I mean I need that information yesterday.”

Taylor picked up the phone as she departed. “MacAllister.”

“Does that offer to give me a lift home from the hospital still stand?” Will asked, and Taylor’s heart gave a start of pleasure. Stupid, but there it was.

He answered automatically, “Of course.” Then couldn’t help asking, “What happened to Bradley?”

“It turns out he’s tied up in meetings all day for this anniversary celebration on the sixth.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Is it? I guess I lost a day.”

He’d nearly lost a lot more than a day. “Okay. When are you being released?”

“Actually…I’ve just been sprung.”

“
Now
?”

Will said immediately, “I can always grab a taxi if you can’t get away.”

“No way.” Taylor clicked out of the program he was using and turned off the computer. “I’m on my way.”

* * *

“You must already be driving like a native if you made it this fast,” Will said a short while later as Taylor unlocked the passenger door and ushered him inside. Taylor threw Will’s carryall into the back and jumped in behind the wheel.

Will grunted as he eased himself down in the seat. Taylor spared him a quick look.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Taylor’s mouth twitched at the staunchness of that. Will looked pale, and he was moving slowly, but he seemed pretty much like his normal self. “Yeah? How’s the memory?”

“Still spotty.” Will sounded uncharacteristically grouchy. Amnesia, even partial amnesia, had to be hell for a control freak.

“Maybe being home will help.”

“Maybe.” Will gazed moodily out the window as Taylor maneuvered away from the curbside. “You seem to be keeping busy. I thought I’d s—”

“What?”

“Nothing. What’s the latest?”

Taylor filled him in on Arthur’s progress, which didn’t cheer Will up any, and then he brought up the news that Helloco’s brother had possibly aided him in passport fraud. “Either that or he was a victim of identity theft. I’m leaning toward willing accomplice myself.”

“That’s because you’re naturally devious.”

Taylor curled his lip. Deep down was that really what Will thought?

“It’s a joke.” Will was watching him.

“Sure.”

“It’s a
joke
.”

Taylor obligingly grinned. “Now
I
took it as a compliment.”

Will made a politely disbelieving noise.

“Anyway, Finistère seems to have phoned the national police this morning to warn them that within forty-eight hours they’ll have left the world a political message no one will ever forget.”

“They’re going to close Euro Disney during the peak of tourist season?”

Taylor snorted. “Maybe. The part I don’t follow is Helloco’s brother didn’t display any political awareness according to anything I’ve read so far. I’m not sure why he’d be part of this.”

“People change.”

Taylor had no response to that.

“Maybe he doesn’t realize he’s a party to it.” Will shrugged and then winced.

“I guess that’s possible. Anyway, I’m supposed to focus on investigating Yves Helloco. Stone thinks he’s the key. I think she might be right.”

“What about the girlfriend? Laroche?”

“She was hanging tough last I heard from Bonnet.”

They reached rue du Colisée, and Taylor parked outside the front of the apartment building.

Will went slowly into the house. Taylor grabbed Will’s carryall and then paused to take a look at one of the tires that seemed low. Deciding the tire was fine, he continued inside.

As he entered the living room, he heard one of the floorboards on the stairs to the bedroom squeak.

A vision of the bedroom as he’d left it that morning flashed into his brain.

Shit.

He’d been in a hurry and had intended on straightening up that afternoon before Will got home.

He flew up the stairs two at a time. Will stood in the doorway surveying the room. He glanced over his shoulder as Taylor reached the landing.

“Make yourself at home, MacAllister.” His voice was teasing, but Taylor could see a trace of unease in his eyes.

“Sorry. I meant to tidy up.” He scooted past Will, snatching up the still-damp bath towel lying over the foot of the bed. “I was running late this morning.”

“I see that.” Will took in the coffee cup on the nightstand, the unmade bed, the open suitcase with Taylor’s belongings spilling out. Taylor was fairly neat. There was nothing out of line in any of this for a house guest—unless the guest was using his host’s room as his own. Then it might look like someone was taking a few liberties.

“No problem,” Will said slowly, his gaze returning, as though magnetized, to the rumpled bed.

Despite all the resolutions Taylor had made over the past twelve hours, that was the breaking point. He tossed the towel aside. “Jesus, Will. How the hell can you
not
remember?”

Will watched him warily. “Remember what?”

“
This
.” Taylor crossed the room, locked hands on Will’s shoulders, and pressed his mouth to Will’s.

For a couple of fraught heartbeats, Will did nothing. In fact, he was so still he might not have been breathing.

Then a ripple went through him like someone had thrown a lever. He heaved Taylor off. “What the fuck are you doing?”

It had been a risk. Even so, Will’s furious rejection stunned him. Taylor cried, “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Are you
crazy
?”

Will’s obvious shock, shock verging on horror, sobered Taylor fast. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. But Will…” His voice trailed with all that he wanted to, needed to—and didn’t dare—say.

Will’s colorless face worked. “What are you telling me? You’re telling me that we’re…that we’ve…that you and I…?” Will stared at Taylor’s suitcase, and Taylor followed his gaze to the perfectly blameless tumble of boxers and socks that in this context somehow managed to look sordid.

“You have to remember!” Taylor protested, and despite his very best effort, he was getting angry. Will wasn’t hurting him on purpose, but he
was
hurting him. Again and again, and Taylor was getting good and goddamned sick of it. “If you don’t remember, it’s because you don’t
want
to remember.”

“I don’t remember because it wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it happen.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it would be the worst fucking idea ever. Because we’re partners. Because you’re not someone who—” Will stopped.

Taylor’s face must have given away the things he’d have killed to hide from Will at that second.

“I don’t mean that.” Will spoke quickly. “I mean,
you’re
not interested in settling down. You’ve never been interested in a relationship that lasted longer than a month or so.”

“I’m not the one who—” Taylor swallowed the rest of it. No, he wasn’t going to do that. This was bad enough without recriminations.

Will wasn’t listening. “We agreed a long time ago we’d never risk… We’d never…because of…of this.” He waved roughly at the bedroom window looking out over the rooftops of Paris. “Because of me being stationed here and you heading out for Iraq. It’s a fucking disaster of an idea.”

“You think I’m lying?”

He could see that brought Will up short. Watched the wheels slowly, belatedly turning behind Will’s blue eyes. Will put a hand to his mouth as though checking for damage done to him by Taylor’s kiss. “No,” Will said finally. “You’re not lying. You wouldn’t lie.”

“But?”

Will shook his head like someone surfacing from deep water. “What about David?”

It was like taking a punch to the heart. Not that it wasn’t a reasonable question. Will had come to and found Bradley sitting by his bedside like a devoted suitor. According to his last memories of Bradley, they were still involved, and Taylor knew Will had really liked the other man, that they had been on the verge of getting serious when Taylor had been shot. So it was a fair enough question even though Taylor thought it might kill him.

“I don’t know,” he said when he could find his voice. “I guess that’s something you and Bradley still have to work out.”

He turned away, but Will took the steps needed to grab his shoulder. “No way, buddy boy. You opened this can of worms. You’re not walking out of here now.”

Taylor slid out from under his hold. He cried, “What the hell do you want from me, Will?”

His pain was too raw, too transparent. Will stared at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I need to understand.”

“What is there to understand?”
Jesus fucking Christ
, in a minute he was going to be crying. After this, Iraq would be a Sunday picnic. “I’m telling you the truth. It’s been you and me for over a year, Will. Ever since I got sh—” He stopped.

Will looked paper white, his eyes black. Taylor remembered that Will had nearly died. That Will was supposed to remember on his own. That however hard it was on him, it had to be harder on Will. He struggled for control, for Will’s sake. “I don’t know what to say to you. If you don’t want to believe me, then I guess that’s the answer.”

Will’s expression changed as though he was suddenly seeing Taylor, seeing him clearly for the first time since they’d walked into the bedroom. “I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

Taylor made a sound intended to be a laugh. “Good to know.”

Will was working for control too, trying to meet him halfway, and Taylor tried to take comfort from that, but he couldn’t seem to get past the sick hollowness that had opened up inside him following Will’s instinctive “
What about David
?”

“If we’re together, why am I in Paris and you’re getting ready to ship out to Iraq?”

“Good question,” Taylor said. The steadiness of his voice came as a surprise. “Best question, as a matter of fact.”