Date: Sun, 2 Jan 2005 19:30:23 -0500
From: Jaylovenj@comcast.net
Subject: FOUR BECOMES TWO CHAPS 17 - 18 - 19

Dear Readers:

I am so thrilled to be receiving the response that I have received. You
have humbled this writer with your words of praise, and made me think
with your words of criticism. I owe the upcoming chapter(s) to you,
hoping that what you have inspired, I have been able to convey.

Thank you,

Jay

As always, this author craves feedback. Criticism only makes me a better
writer. Please respond to Jaylovenj@comcast.net. I look forward to
hearing from you.

Four Become Two: Chapter 17

"It was him!" Greg says early one morning a couple days later, waking us
both from deep slumber after a day of shopping and an evening of bliss.
We have been in Wil's place for about two month now.

"It was who?" I ask groggily. "Who are you talking about?"

"One day when I was coming from your office, I bumped into this delivery
person just outside your door. He seemed to be trying to eavesdrop on our
conversation, but as I pressed him as to what he was doing, he said that
he was delivering mail, and was checking to see if you had any.

Seeing as he had a mail cart in front of him, I just assumed that he was
telling the truth, and didn't think anything of it.

Dave, Thomas Reynolds works in your mailroom, your firm's mailroom.
That's where I know him from."

This revelation really snaps me awake, as I sit up and turn on the
bedside lamp. "Greg, are you sure?"

"Just as sure as I am that you and I made love."

"Okay, then. This morning, we have to call Detective Simms. This could be
the lead that he needs."

"I can't go back to sleep--now! I'm too wired. We might catch this guy,
baby. No! We're gonna catch him."

"I know we will, babe. I know we will. I made a decision," I say after a
while. "I'm going back home as soon as the apartment's ready."

"Oh no you're not," Greg says defiantly. "Not until this man is caught.
What makes you think that I'm going to go along with that? No! I'm
putting my foot down. I won't let you put yourself in harm's way."

"Don't you see Greg? We let this man scare us, run us away from our
home."

"Are you sure you weren't hurt in that bombing? If you remember, he sent
a bomb to our home. He tried to kill us. He beat you to a pulp in a
parking garage, and left you for dead. He's still on the loose, and the
police haven't a clue as to where is currently. He seems to want you
DEAD! He said so in the notes he sent. Why are you willing to make
yourself a target? Do you have a death wish?"

"I understand why you're upset, Greg. But think of it this way. We ran,
and the trail went cold. If I am back out in the open, he might try
again, and we could be ready. We could turn the tide against him."

"I should have never called you Superman," Greg mumbles. "That is the
most insane thing I have ever heard," he says, a bit louder this time.
"No, I won't have it, and that's that!" Greg leaps from the bed, and
heads towards the door. His naked, tight backside stares me in the face.
"I'm sleeping in another bed--until you come to your senses. Do you hear
me?" he declares a little loudly before he slams the door and marches
off. I hear the door to another bedroom slam at the opposite end of the
hall. I fall back on the bed, more determined than ever to end this
thing. I tired of this shit--tired of being afraid, and I not going to
take it anymore!

"Thank you for coming, officers," I say as Detectives Simms and Lane
enter the room. "Can I offer you some coffee, a muffin?"

"Yes, thank you," Detective Lane says as we head towards the kitchen.

After getting settled with our refreshments, Greg turns to them, "I've
remembered where I had seen Thomas before."

"And where was that Mr. Jefferson?" Simms asks.

"It was in the building where Dave works." He goes on to relate the story
about how he met Thomas one day outside my door. The detectives were
furiously taking notes and asking questions along the way.

"Do you mind if I use the phone?" Detective Simms asks as Lane continues
with the questions. "Thanks," we hear him say as he hangs up the phone.
"Your firm provided us with a list of the employees and their addresses,"
Simms continues as he sits. "We are crosschecking it now to see if Thomas
is on the list. It's going to take a while. There are a lot of people who
work with your firm."

"Does that mean that you'll soon have Mr. Thomas in custody and this
nightmare will all be over?" Greg asks.

"I don't want you to get your hopes up, Mr. Jefferson," Simms answers.
"We might get lucky, we might not. The answer is probably the latter.
Even if Mr. Thomas is on the list, and we have a correct address, there
is about a zero percent chance that he is even still there.

No, this man has been smart enough to put Mr. Welsh under surveillance,
then strike at him anonymously, and then bring a bomb to your home, and
escape virtually undetected."

"He's right, Greg," I say. "It's just not going to be that simple."

"That's what I mean," he directs to me. "It's not that simple.
Gentlemen," he says to the detectives, "will you please tell this man
that he can not go back to that apartment. It's not safe."

"What are you talking about?"

"He insists on going back to the apartment. For Christ's sake, it's not
even ready yet. Will you please tell him that that is the stupidest thing
you ever heard?"

"He's right, Mr. Welsh," Detective Simms begins. "It wouldn't be too
smart to go back to the apartment just yet, not until we have Thomas in
custody."

"That's right, Sir," Lane interjects. "Right now we don't have the
manpower to give you adequate protection, so you'd basically be on your
own. Almost a perfect target."

"I understand all of that gentlemen, Greg," I defend. "But don't you see?
This is the only way that we're going to flush him out; by having me out
in the open, he might be forced to act. As long as I am in hiding, so
will he be. And you said it Detective Lane, you don't have the manpower
to devote solely to this case. I mean, it's been a year! A year! And we
haven't come close to finding this man.

But, if I'm out there, he might try again. If I give in now, I'm dooming
myself to a life of solitude and fear, and I won't let him have that much
power over me--not any longer," I finish.

"I understand where you're coming from, Mr. Welsh, but..." Detective
Simms begins.

"Just hear me out, gentlemen. I have a plan." I explain the plan that I
come up with, and when I finished, they seemed a little more receptive,
but not totally one hundred percent on board.

"Greg," I say turning to him. "I would never do anything to jeopardize
your safety, so I'm going to ask that you remain here."

"Now I know you're fucking crazy!" Greg says. "If you think I'm going to
let you do this own your own...forget it. We'll face it together."

"But it's me he wants," I argue.

"How do you know that? If this nut's been watching us for the past few
months, then I might be as big a target as you. What makes you think I'm
going to sit here and let you get into God knows what? If you're going,
I'm going, and that's final!"

Greg and I dropped by the building to check on the construction progress.
Each of the men and women working there had to undergo a background
check, as well as a fingerprint check before they were allowed on the
premises. They were each issued a pass that activated the elevator to the
penthouse floor. Security also demanded that they use a secret access
code to get to the top floor.

Since the building was bombed, several tenants had decided to relocate,
which suited me fine. It gave me the opportunity to inhabit one of the
suites on the upper floor, and expand into an upper floor. But it really
wasn't the design that I wanted, so while the crew was busy preparing my
old apartment, another was busy with the new one.

I hadn't discussed the renovation with Greg, and although he was curious,
he never pressed the issue seeing as it is my apartment, so he was
surprised as the elevator rose to the upper floor.

Upon opening, the elevator brought you to the foyer, which had recently
been finished with white Italian marble. Descending two steps, one could
see the panoramic view of the Upper East Side from the story-high
tempered glass. Crews were busy. Some were continuing with the tile
installation in the kitchen and bath; some were working in the four
bedrooms and Master Suite that was part of the layout, and some were busy
sheet rocking the framed arches to the dining room.

"Wow!" Greg said. This place is fantastic. I love the view."

"I'm glad you like it," I say as we make our way over the carpentry
debris heading towards the elevator. "I want you to move in here with me
when it's finished."

For once Greg is speechless. "You what?"

"I want you to move in here with me. I love you, Greg, and I don't want
to live without you. I want to share my life with you...if you'll have
me."

"Are you kidding? I'd love..."

"Mr. Welsh!" Dominick, the construction foreman says, as he approaches
us. "I didn't know you were stopping by today." Dominick is a big guy,
one too many beers and a love of pasta. He stands about five-ten, and has
dark, curly hair.

"Shall I give you a tour? Show you what we've done? The apartment
downstairs is ready, if you'd like to see it. And this one will be ready
in a couple weeks. Having two crews to work on the place really moved it
along."

"Hi Dominick. I want you to meet Mr. Jefferson." He and Greg shake hands.
"We just finished with a mini-tour, and unfortunately, we have another
appointment in a few minutes, but thanks. The work is phenomenal, as
usual, and I'm very pleased with what I've seen. We'll come back one day
this week for the tour. Oh, did a Donna Murphy stop by?"

"Yeah, she did. I met her the first day of construction, and she stopped
by again three weeks ago. I haven't seen her since, though. She did call
for some measurements."

"Measurements?" Greg inquires.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Donna is the interior designer. Having seen your old
place, I knew that you like comfortable, and it was very appealing. So,
Donna is going to design this place with that in mind. I trust her, so I
left the vision to her. I hope you don't mind me stealing from you."

"Mind? I flattered. Just then something clangs in one of the bedrooms.
"We can stop by there, if you'd like, before we go to the hotel, so you
can see her designs, and make any changes that you'd like."

"Thanks, I'd like that. I do need to stop by my office, too. There are
some papers that I must have notarized and some files that I have to pick
up. Okay? And we're staying over?"

"Sure. I don't have a problem with that. And yes, I booked us a room at
the Waldorf for the evening, as well as a conference room for the
interviews. They don't begin until three, and since it's only ten, it'll
give us a chance to do what we have to do, and have some brunch before
they start. I need to call Max Reilly at my office. He is handling some
of my case loads while I'm out."

"We'll see you later, Dominick!" I yell as the elevator arrives.

"Okay, Mr. Welsh," he responds, poking his head from the bedroom door. We
can hear him yell to someone as the doors close.

"He seems like a nice fellow," Greg says.

"Yeah, he is. He's done some work on my parent's summer home on Long
Island. And believe me, my father had him thoroughly investigated as to
his work, habits and quality, before he got the contract," I giggle. "Say
what you want about the old man, but he's meticulous."

"Why do you work?" Greg asks as the elevator descends to the parking
level. "I mean, you don't have too."

"No, I don't. But it gives me something to do, and Dad always made my
brother and I work. We didn't get to laze around all summer; go to the
beaches, travel the world, like so many of our friends did. Oh, we'd
travel, but it was usually aboard one of his ships working when we were
in college. When we were younger, I did work with a landscaper,
construction crew--I even worked as a janitor one summer. I remember Jeff
even working as a pool cleaning boy one summer. He wanted us to learn to
respect money, and no better way to do it was than to earn it yourself.
He even made us buy our own school clothes. Hell, I even paid for my
prom. I didn't have enough for the limo, although one was parked in our
drive, so that is why I was riding with Ronnie that night when Virginia
Waters took my cherry."

"I wish I could have taken your cherry," Greg teases, running his hand
over his crotch as we climb into Wil's navy blue Explorer.

"Oh, but you did," I remind him. Our lips meet, and before we know it, we
are on the back area feeding each other our snake. We did have the
backseat lowered, so we had plenty of room to roll around back there.
Pretty soon, we both were arching our hips, trying to get our balls in
each other's throats as our dick exploded in our mouths. There was no
greater feeling than eating cum as you are cumming.

Greg scoots back around so that we can share a kiss, tasting the essence
of ourselves in each other's mouths. "We have to get going," I say,
breaking the kiss. We pull our pants back on and Greg climbs over onto
the front seat. I can't help but cop a feel of his ass as he presents it
to me.

"Don't start anything you can't finish," he teases as he climbs behind
the steering wheel. "If you keep that up, we may never leave the garage."

"Just remind me where I was--later," I say, climbing into the passenger
seat. We have found in our weeks together that we both love to give, as
well as receive. Our lovemaking has only been by design that one night,
when he proclaimed himself my wife.

We didn't waste much time at our offices. Of course, everyone seemed
happy to see us, and showed their concern over our situation. Soon after,
we were checking into a room at the Waldorf. It wasn't one of their
finest suites, but we wanted the anonymity.

Detectives Simms and Lane came through in fine fashion, and from 3 to 8
p.m., we were busy interviewing over fifty policemen who were willing to
work six hour shifts protecting Greg and I at $500 a day. Out of all of
them, we selected ten candidates, each a master of the martial arts and
able to pluck a fly off a horse's ass without hitting the horse. It's
funny because all of the men chosen were members of their individual
S.W.A.T. teams as well as having a Special Forces background. I felt very
comfortable with our decision.

The suite was bathed in a soft, warm glow as we entered. The plate of
appetizers and bottle of champagne that I had ordered was waiting, and
the maid had turned down the bed. Evident by the display of mints on the
pillows.

"What is all this?" Greg asks, taking in the display.

"Oh, just a little something to help us relax."

"Yeah? Well they look like weapons of seduction to me."

"Most things look like weapons of seduction to you because you're sex
crazed," I answer, moving closer to him.

"I'm sex crazed?" he asks with a smirk. "What about you?"

"We're not talking about me now," I continue, placing a gentle kiss upon
his lips. "We're talking about you." I pull him in tighter, feeling his
soft lips press against mine.

Breaking the kiss, I pull him over to the sofa. I grab the bottle of
champagne and pour some in the two flutes. "Let's talk," I say leaning
back against the cushion. Greg crawls between my outstretched legs, and
leans back.

"I must be in love," he chuckles.

"Why is that?"

"Because I hear music, and I know we didn't turn it on."

"The housekeeper must have done it," I amuse.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" he asks.

"Us!"

"What about us?"

"Where do we go from here, Greg?"

Greg attempts to sit up, but I hold him where he is. "I like you leaning
against me like this. Just talk to me."

"Well," he says, getting comfortable again. "I don't know where we're
going, but I think we're on the right track.

Today, when you asked me to move in with you was the greatest thing that
could have ever happened. I'll admit, I think we've come a long way in a
very short time, and it's taken this long because of my stupidity.

I must also admit that I wasn't too keen on your plan when I first heard
it. I'm still not totally sure, to be honest. But, I trust you to do what
is right. And it's not like we're on our own. Those guys you hired today
will be phenomenal protectors.

I won't lie to you and say everything is hunky-dorry, but I bow to your
judgment. I know you won't do anything to jeopardize yourself or me."

"I'm glad you have this confidence in me, but I'm just as unsure that
this will work as you are. All I know is that I tired, tired of running.
I'm tired of being afraid of someone lurking in the shadows. I want my
life back, and the only way I'm going to get it back is if I take it
back. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah, I can," he says. He sets our glasses upon the coffee table, and
pulls my head downward until our lips meet. The passion begins to rise as
I feel my blood begin to boil, and my cock begin to swell. It doesn't
seem to take much. People speak of aphrodisiacs; Greg is mine.

"You have turned into a sex-hungry freak!" I tease.

"I know, and it's all your fault. Something about you just keeps me hard
all the time." I plant my lips hard upon his. His lips part to accept me,
and I delve inside. His mouth tastes like a sweet peach, so juicy and
succulent. I begin to nibble on his lips as Greg groans in my mouth.

Greg slowly stands, motioning for me to remain seated. He saunters over
to the room's stereo unit, tuning it onto some station that currently has
a danceable beat. I recognize the song as "Love Makin' Music" by Barry
White.

Greg moves to the center of the room, and picking up the downbeat, he
begins to sway his hips, and gyrate his delectable ass. He looks
seductively over his left shoulder as he slowly rolls it.

I didn't even notice that he had unbuttoned his shirt until he slid it
down his arms, and his muscular back comes into view. I can see each
muscle ripple just under the skin as he continues to move to the music. I
rub my hand along the length of my dick as it tents my pants, the
constriction so tight that I have to push my pants below my knees in
order to get some relief.

I grab my throbbing member in my right hand, the pre-cum flowing like a
river providing enough moisture for me to get a good rhythm, and still he
moves. He notices the effect he has upon me, and gets more provocative.

Hooking his thumbs in the waist of his open slacks, he lowers them just
enough to reveal the top of his bubble butt. I let out an audible groan
at the sight. "You see something you like?" he smiles. "Well, you ain't
seen nothing yet!"

He suddenly steps out of his pants, and I see he hasn't any underwear. I
see a flash as he quickly turns his back to me, and slowly bends over
until he is looking at me through his spread legs, his bulbous nut sack
is hanging low, burden with his little swimmers. I can see the trace
outline of his stalk nestled against his stomach.

Greg's pink love ring blows kisses at me. He wets his middle finger, and
pulls it along the crevice of his ass, slowing only when he gets to his
asshole.

I watch as his finger slips through the opening, and a moan of pleasure
escapes Greg's lips. He stands erect as the song ends, heading towards
the bedroom. "You coming?" he calls back.

I hastily stand, forgetting my pants are around my ankle. Of course, I
fall flat on my face, and, of course, this sends Greg into a fit of
hysterics when he sees I'm not injured. I can hear him continue to laugh
as I struggle to get my pants off.

"You're going to pay for laughing at me," I warn, as I move over towards
the bed. My dick decides it wants to lead the way, and despite my
embarrassment over just falling flat on my face, my dick is pointed
directly at Greg. It's like it has a homing device, or something,
embedded within.

"Come here," Greg says, the tone of his voice has suddenly changed. It
startles me. I look into his eyes, and see something I have not seen
before. There is such intense desire and...need! Yes, that's the word.

I feel naked (pardon the pun) as his eyes rake over my body, not seeing
the flesh, but seeing the soul. Seeing his desire changes my own
perspective, as now my senses are heighten to match his own, and I know
that this time will be our first time.

He reaches for me as I climb on the bed, pulling me into his embrace. Our
lips meet, molding themselves together. I can feel his body conform to
mine as every crevice of my body is met by Greg's hot, burning flesh. Our
bodies becoming one. Our stomachs are beginning to drown with the amount
of pre-cum that's leaking from our swollen dicks. "I'm going to cum," I
tell Greg. My soul is on fire!

"Not yet!" he says, as he quickly breaks the seal of our bodies. Grabbing
the base of my dick, he pinches it, causing me to yelp. But it has the
desired effect; I can feel the volcano once again go to the smoldering
state.

"Good," is all Greg says, as he begins to kiss my neck, finding that
sensitive spot just below my left ear. He begins to hum along with some
tune that is playing softly on the radio. All I know is that the
vibrations it is causing is driving me crazy.

I put my hands on his head, gently forcing him lower. I can feel his five
o'clock shadow rub against my sensitized flesh as he moves across my
chest. I moan even louder as his lips wrap themselves around my right
nipple while his fingers begin to play with my left, bringing the already
harden nub to an even harder state. "Oh, Greg," I hiss. My hands are
exploring all of his heated flesh that it can reach, as my head rolls
from side to side.

Greg moves to my other nipple, giving it the same treatment that he did
the right. Then, his scratchy bearded lips kiss their way down the
breastbone, nipping over the rippling muscles of my abdomen, his teeth
pulling at the trail of hair.

His tongue begins lapping up the lake of love juice that has puddle in my
navel. I can feel Greg's hot breath massage my dick as he is ever so
close. "Please Greg, please suck my dick!" I urge, as my hands try to
force his lips onto it. He kisses his way around it, only blowing
hot-cool air in its direction. My hips instinctively try to move it
towards him, but he only kisses his way down further between my
outstretched legs.

My asshole is working overtime as it pulses and spasms. The movement of
my legs exposes it more to the elements. Greg takes a hearty smell, once
again startling me as he growls. He dives at it, latching his lips to its
pouting lips.

"Oh God, Greg," I howl. "Eat me!" I say, as I hook my arms behind my
knees, pulling my legs to my chest. My own voice surprises me.

Greg dives in with abandonment. I grab my legs behind my knees, giving
him more access as his massive hands push the cheeks further apart.

"You're so open," Greg pants. "Are you trying to tell me something?" I
moan in reply.

His tongue just snakes inside, working its way easily past the opening as
his teeth nip at the outer ring of flesh.

"Greg," I pant, my heart pounding the inside of my chest, "FUCK ME!" I
command.

"Yeah, it's time," he agrees. He places my legs on his broad shoulders.
Grabbing the lube from the bedside table, he puts a generous amount on my
ass hole, and along the inside of the passage. His fingers rub against my
joy button as he slicks me up for his entry.

"Oh...oh, now. FUCK ME NOW!" Greg doesn't need any further encouragement.
He positions the head of his magnificent tool at the entrance to my
hungry hole, and begins to gently push inside. I lock my ankles around
his waist, and pull him deeply inside, embedding his gigantic tool deep
inside of me. He holds still, giving me the opportunity to adjust.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" he says, as his wiry pubic hair grates my ass cheeks.
"You are so tight."

"Make love to me, baby," I say, recovering from the sudden intrusion.
Such a delicious feeling envelopes me as Greg leans over, trapping my
pulsating cock against his hairy stomach. His hard shaft is lying against
my prostate, and as he begins to create the age-old dance of love-making,
I feel the passion bubble as my nuts heave forth the voluminous load that
it had been storing. Cum leaps forth from the swollen head as Greg
continues to spew forth from me.

"That's right, cum for me," he challenges. He smashes his lips against
me, pushing the cum that had splashed against my lips with the glob that
had landed on his. We taste my offering as he develops a rhythm of making
love to me.

Even after the intense explosion, I remained hard, and a fierce battle
begins as we make love to each other. It seems as if every fiber of my
being is now situated in my ass, and around that wonderful fuck stick of
Greg's.

His arms encircle my back, drawing me closer to him, melding our bodies
together. Our hips become automatic as we climb higher and higher up the
ladder of release. "Do it! Fuck me, Greg! Oh!" I pant.

His thrusts increase as his dick begins to swell inside of me. Each
thrust is stroking the button deep inside of me. I can feel myself
reaching the threshold once again. "YES! YES!"

"I'm almost there!" Greg shouts. "Oh, baby, I'm almost there!

Now, Dave. NOW!" He begins to fill me with his love. The feel of his
throbbing, heaving organ sends me over the top, and I begin to once again
drench us with my own offering. I feel so sensitized as our
sweat-drenched skin slides against one another. I tighten my legs tighter
around Greg's waist as he remains embedded deep inside of me.

Yielding to the pressure of his orgasm, Greg collapses against me,
staying so until his dick escapes the clutches of my hungry hole.

He rolls over onto his back, pulling me with him. "Oh, wow!" he says.
"You get better all the time."

"You, too," I answer.

"Do you know how deeply I love you?"

"Just as deeply as I love you. I do love you, you know?"

"If I didn't," he chuckles, "I do now." He presses his lips to mine
again.

And with the feel of his lips to mine, I fall asleep, in his arms, secure
in his love.


Four Become Two: Chapter 18

"...Alright, detective, we'll be there," I hear Greg say as I exit the
shower. I had awaken ahead of him. Poor baby! He had expended so much
energy last night that he didn't realize that I had watched him sleep for
about a half hour before giving in to the pressure of my morning wood.

Smelling like sex, I had decided to shower off the activity of the
previous night. "Umm, you look good enough to eat," Greg says as I enter
the bedroom, "but that was Detective Lane on the line. He and Detective
Simms want to meet with us in about an hour."

"Yuck! You smell like a cheap whore," I giggle, as Greg moves towards me.

"It's all your fault!" he counters. "If you hadn't taken advantage of me
last night, I'd still be the perfect gentleman, able to look my sainted
mother in the eyes."

He chuckles as he heads into the bathroom. Soon I hear the water running,
leaving me with my thoughts.

"That reminds me," I say, as he comes back into the room, drying his
hair, his dick swinging between his legs, "I want you to meet my
parents."

"I've already met your parents," Greg says, "when you were in the
hospital. It was a brief meeting, but nonetheless..."

"Yeah, but you didn't introduce yourself, I'm sure, as my significant
other."

"Am I your significant other?" Greg asks.

"Hey, mister, after last night, I'm not letting you get away."

"That's good, because I feel the same about you. I want you to become a
permanent part of my life, if you'll have me. As a matter-of-fact, I'd
like to make this a more formal arrangement."

"If I'll have you? I have had you, and you were good!" I tease. "Now,
come on. The detectives are waiting. We'll talk about it later. I
promise."

We head downstairs, and out into the bright New York sunshine. "Let's
walk," I suggest to Greg. "The caf where you said we were meeting is
only for blocks away."

"Okay!"

The city is teeming with people as we make our way along Broadway, so we
slung our canvass rucksacks over our shoulders, and made our way down the
avenue. The crowds got thicker as we approached West 46th Street. The
light turned red as we got there, forcing us to stop as traffic crossed
our path.

The moment it changed, the crowd started moving. I felt someone bump me
from behind, hard, making me stumble forward slightly. "Jerk!" I yelled,
as Greg caught me, keeping me from falling. The culprit, obviously some
delivery person (I could tell by the package in his hand and the uniform
that he was wearing) just kept going, oblivious to what he had done.

We made a right on 45th Street, heading towards 8th Avenue. Just before
the corner, we came to the place where we were to meet the detectives.

Going inside, we spotted the two men seated at a booth in the corner. We
headed towards them, with Greg leading the way.

"Thank you for meeting us here, gentlemen," Detective Simms begins. "The
cook here makes the best omelets this side of the Hudson.

We remove our backpacks. In doing so, we hear a clang. Looking down, we
are surprised to see an eight-inch hunting knife on the floor near my
feet.

"Baby! You're bleeding," Greg gasps, as he turns me towards him. A small
patch of blood has soaked through my shirt. Detective Lane grabs my bag,
noticing the tear.

"You've been stabbed. Come on. Let's get you to the hospital." We rush
out of the eatery, jumping into the unmarked car of the detectives, and
begin speeding down the road. Sirens wail from the car as we reach the
intersection, and Detective Lane, who's driving, turns right.

"Bellevue (Hospital) is the closest," he says. Greg is in hysterics as we
meander our way through the traffic. We reach there in record time,
considering it is New York and I am ushered onto a gurney and wheeled
inside Emergency.

"You'll have to wait here, sir," I hear someone say.

"Not on your life!" That's Greg's voice. I get just a glimpse of him as
the doctors and nurses swarm around me.

"Mr. Welsh? I'm Doctor Fielding. You're a lucky man. This'll just require
a couple of stitches, and we're going to give you a Tetanus shot. Would
you like a local?"

"Yeah, please Doc," I respond. He sets about the task of sewing me up
before sending me out. Greg reaches into my bag and pulls out the shirt I
was wearing yesterday. It has a hole going through it.

"At least it doesn't have blood," he says, smiling sheepishly.

"Are you okay?" I ask. "You were pretty torn up on the ride over.

"I should be asking you that," he says, looking into my eyes. "I'm sorry
about all that. I panicked. I thought I was going to lose you."

"Hey, it's going to take more than a wound closed with five stitches to
get rid of me," I grin.

"I was just so scared..."

"Don't be," I say, pulling him into my arms. We are still in an embrace
when Detective Lane pokes his head in.

"Ahem!" he coughs, making his presence known. "Mr. Welsh, we have a few
questions we'd like to ask. Are you okay to travel to the squad room?"

"Yeah. Let's go." The mood is somber as we head back to the 102nd.

"We got the knife that stabbed you over to Ballistics, checking for
prints," Detective Simms begins. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"I don't know. We were walking along, enjoying the city. We reached the
diner, and the next thing I know, that knife falls to the floor."

"You didn't have any confrontations with anyone along the way?"

"No. Like I said, Greg and I didn't have any unusual occurrences..."

"Well, there was that delivery man..." Greg interjects.

"What delivery man?" Detective Simms inquires.

"Oh, just some rude jerk who almost knocked me down as we were crossing
46th Street. Greg had to catch me to keep me from falling."

"That's when it happened," Detective Lane says. "What can you tell me
about him?"

"We didn't see his face," Greg continues. He had a package in his hands,
and he just brushed against Dave as he raced across the street. I don't
think he even knew he had pushed Dave. He didn't even stop or slow his
pace."

"Can you describe what he was wearing?" Detective Lane continues, making
notes on his pad.

"He was wearing a brown delivery outfit, like the one's UPS wears, but I
don't think he was with them. The color was a little off," I say.

"Did he have any distinguishing features?"

"He had a tattoo!" Greg speaks. "I didn't get a good look at it, because
of the angle, but I noticed the coloring on his right forearm. It was
kinda large. Looked like it might have been a snake of some kind."

"That's good, Mr. Jefferson."

Just then, there is a knock on the Interview Room door. Lane answers,
returning shortly with a folder. "We have the ballistics' report," he
says. "The fingerprints on the knife belong to Reynolds. Somehow, in this
vast city, he found you, Mr. Welsh."

"But how?" Greg asks.

"That--that's the $64,000 question," Simms answers. "That's the
question."

"Did you tell anyone about coming back to the city yesterday?"

"Well," I begin, "I called my office. There were some things I needed to
take care of," Greg says. "And I called Annette, my ex-girlfriend. I
still have some things that I need to get from her. She has them in
storage in Queens since she moved her practice to Houston."

"I talked to the foreman on the construction sight in my building. But
I'm sure he isn't responsible. And the two of you," I finish.

"Thank you for your vote of confidence," Simms chuckles. "We're gonna
have to interview the others. Now, will you give us a list of the people
you came in contact with yesterday."

Five hours after walking into the police station, we were ready to leave.
The detectives dropped us back at the Waldorf, and we made our way to our
room.

"I'm hungry," Greg says.

"Yeah, me too. What'd you say we order in tonight. I don't really feel
like going downstairs tonight."

"Sounds good." We exit at our floor, and Greg slides the key in the lock.
He picks up a note that apparently was slipped under our door.

It's just a matter of time

is all the note says. A chill runs up my spine as I look at the note.

"I'm calling the detectives."

"You lay down," Greg commands, after the detectives leave "I'm going to
order us a couple of burgers from Room Service. Better yet, I'm going to
run down to the place around the corner and pick them up myself. If
Reynolds was able to slide a note under our door, I wouldn't put it past
him to tamper with the food. I'll be right back."

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Why would anyone want to kill me?"

"He's sick, Dave. I don't know why, but he'll have to get through me to
get to you. I promise." He kisses me on the lips, a bit more passionate
than the mood requires. I snake my hand up his legs, giving his basket a
hearty squeeze. "Not just yet, young man. First we eat, then we have
dessert." He stands and heads towards the door. "Be right back. I love
you."

"I love you, too. Hurry back!"

I must have dozed off while waiting for Greg. I look at my watch. Two
hours! Where did he go for these burgers? Connecticut?

"Oh," I groan aloud. Even though the wound wasn't a deep one, it was
still painful, now that I know that it's there. I swear, I really think
that a person could sever a leg, and unless they saw it, they'd never
feel the pain.

I move to the bathroom to drain some of the last fluid that I drank, and
as usual, the phone rings. Quickly zipping, I reach for the one on the
bathroom wall.

"Hello?" I say.

"You sound so calm. I was sure you'd be in a panic by now," the voice on
the other end says.

"Excuse me? I think you've reached the wrong number."

"If you hang up that phone, I'll kill him." The words were icy, showing
no sign of emotion. I immediately have thoughts of Greg.

"Who--who--is this?" I ask again.

"That's better. I glad you are behaving like a sane person now. I have
the distinct impression that you know exactly who this is, so I'm only
going to say what I have to say--once."

"Is--is this Reynolds?" I ask, hoping against hope, that I am wrong.

"Give the man, oh, excuse me, give the fag a cigar."

"Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?"

"You are incredulous!" he says. "How can you even..." the sound of a fire
truck leaving interrupts his speech. "How can you even fix your lips to
say something like that? Just know this, I've got your pretty boyfriend.
Must say that you know how to pick'em. He does have a mighty pretty ass."

"You leave him alone or..."

"Or you'll what, fagboy? Why don't you try to find us?" Another loud
noise roars by. "Let's see...are we in Manhattan? Brooklyn? Staten
Island? New Jersey? Maybe Connecticut. Yeah, maybe we're in the Bronx?
Have you found us yet? Is that you climbing the stairs, fagboy? Are you
going to burst in here and save your fuck toy?"

"Can I speak to him?"

"Not right now, he's all tied up! I always wanted to say that corny
shit," he laughs.

"Then how do I know you have him?"

"BECAUSE I SAID SO, MUTHERFUCKER!" he screams. "Here, say something,
bitch!"

I hear Greg moan in pain. "Dave? Help..."

"That's enough! Did you hear his voice?" he asks, bringing the phone back
to his ear.

"Okay, okay, I get it. What do you want?"

"Oh, now you want to offer me something? Well, suppose I don't want
anything? Suppose I just want you to suffer?"

"Well, you got your wish. Now just tell me what you want so that we can
end this nightmare. I promise, you can go your way, and we'll go ours.
Never to meet again. I'll give you anything, just don't hurt him. He
didn't do anything to you, so, please don't hurt him."

"Are you through? I like the begging. We'll try it again. Later." He
hangs up the phone.

"Hello? Hello? Reynolds? REYNOLDS! Speak to me, damn it!" I hear the dial
tone. What am I going to do? He has Greg!

I called Detective Simms the minute I hung up. For some strange reason, I
felt that Reynolds wouldn't object. In fact, I had the mindset that he'd
want it. I was correct. Detective Simms informed me that they had
received a phone call from Reynolds himself informing them that I had
need of their services. So, it wasn't long before the police had invaded
the Waldorf and made their way to my room.

"Mr. Welsh, you've got to calm down. We can't understand what you're
saying. You're rambling."

"What the fuck do you want from me, Detective. He's got Greg! And I don't
see you doing a fucking thing to get him back."

"Mr. Welsh, I understand that you're distressed, really I do. But if you
talk to me like that again, I'll be forced to kick your ass. Do we
understand each other?" Simms threatened.

"Yes, Detective, I understand, and I apologize for my outburst, but I
will warn you that my ass will not be so easy to kick. Do we understand
each other?"

"Okay, let's get back to the situation at hand," Lane interjects.

"Did Reynolds give you any indication as to where he was holding Mr.
Jefferson?"

"No."

"Did you hear any background noises that could identify the area?"

"No, I didn't."

"Did you hear any sign of Mr. Jefferson?" Simms asks.

"Yeah, he called out for me, but the voice was muffled," I answer.

"Then how do you know that he even has Mr. Jefferson? Maybe this is all a
hoax, and Mr. Jefferson will come walking through that door at any
moment."

"For one thing, De-tect-ive," I say, a certain amount of venom etching
its way to my voice, "Greg has been gone for over three hours now. He
went to get burgers, and unless the burger joint he went to is in D.C.,
he should be back by now.

Then there's the phone call. It was on my private number, my cell. Only
the two of you and Greg has that number. We just got it a couple months
ago, after the bombing, remember?"

"You know, I've taken about as much lip off of you as I'm going to take
today. One more word, and I'll..."

"You know something, Simms, if you want a piece of me, bring it on. Your
ass would be just the punching bag that I need."

"Well, anytime..."

"Guys, this isn't accomplishing anything. Let's just settle down. And
Bob, this is not the professional way to handle this. Why don't you go
see what the other guys found out with the canvass? Okay?"

"You know, that old fart is really starting to get on my last nerve.
What's his problem anyhow?"

"You know how these older guys are. Can't accept anything that might not
be what they consider--normal, if you get my meaning," Lane answers.

"Oh, so you mean to tell me he just figured out that Greg and I are
together?" I laugh. "Oh, this is rich. I have a homophobic detective
trying to catch the psycho who's been taunting me all these months,
almost killed me, stabbed me, and now has kidnapped my lover. Is that
what you're telling me? How about you, Lane? Do you have a problem with
my sexuality, because if you do, just tell me. I'm sure we can find
someone else, somewhat more tolerant, to take over the case."

"No, I don't have a problem, Mr. Welsh--David. Can you keep a secret? I'm
gay, too, so I understand where you're coming from. Bob's okay, it's just
that he's never sucked a dick before, or at least he won't admit that he
has, and he's following the minority who thinks with their asshole
instead of their brains," he laughs. "I want you to try something for me,
lean back and get comfortable."

"Oh, Detective, I didn't know you cared." The mood has definitely
lightened.

"Cut it out, wise-ass. This may help us find Greg. Now, lean back and
close your eyes. I want you to remember your phone call with Reynolds.
Play it back frame by frame. Tune in to the background noises. Tell me
what you hear? Anything unusual or distinctive?"

I do as he asks, replaying my conversation with Reynolds in my head.
"Fire truck, I hear a fire truck's siren, like it's leaving the fire
house, and a train, an L-Train. It's passing in the background. I
remember because he had to repeat himself a couple of times."

"That's good. Now we have something."

"What? What do we have?"

"A possible location," he says, moving over to the phone.

"Mr. Welsh, I, ah, I, ah, I want to apologize for the way I behaved,"
Detective Simms begins as he re-enters the suite. "That was very
unprofessional of me. I have some issues that I need to confront, and I
allowed those issues to temporarily blind me to my duty. I ask that you
please accept my apology."

"We both said some things that we shouldn't have, Detective. I, too, am
sorry for the way I behaved. My only excuse is that I am under tremendous
stress just now, and you were convenient. I hope we can continue to work
together. We have to save Greg."

"Yes, we have to save Mr. Jefferson."

Why is it that time drags when you're anxious? I guess I am as anxious as
I've ever been waiting for some word of Greg. Detective Simms and I have
amended our relationship, somewhat. At least the shouting and the verbal
volleys have stopped.

3 a.m. came and went, followed eventually by 4 a.m. "This waiting is
driving me nuts," I remark, to no one in particular. I stare at the
phone. Why won't you ring? I think to myself. I pick up my cell and am
staring at the face when it sounds, causing me to drop it. Unavailable
number.

"Yes," I say.

"Is that any way to answer a phone? Now, try it again. Use the manners
your mama taught you."

"Reynolds? Is Greg okay?" The detectives are at my side.

"Do what I said, now, or I'm gonna hang up!"

"Okay, okay. Hello. This is Dave. May I help you?"

"That's better. To answer your question, your boyfriend is great. Having
the time of his life. Hungry fucker though."

"What are you talking about, Reynolds?"

"Call me Thomas, after all, we do share the same boyfriend. He has a
talented mouth, doesn't he? I just love the way his lips wrapped around
`Little T'," he laughs.

"You leave him alone," I yell, "or I'll..."

"You'll what? I kicked your ass once, I'll kill you the next time."

"What do you want, Reynolds? What are you asking for Greg?"

"Is he worth a million dollars?"

"Where am I supposed to get a million dollars?"

"Oh, let's see? You could ask your daddy for it. Yeah, ask your rich
daddy to give you the money to save your fuck toy."

"Tell me when and where," I demand.

"Not so fast. That was just a `suppose'. Five million sounds better, by
3 p.m. today. I have tickets to a play this evening, and I can't be late
to the theatre," he laughs.

"That's not much time..."

"Do it, or you can use the money to give Greg a nice funeral. I would
really miss his mouth, though. But..."

"Okay," I say, resigned to my plight.

"I'll call you back with the details."

"Wherever we meet, I expect Greg to be there, or you won't get one red
cent!"

"Don't try to give me orders! I'm running the show, not you!"

"If you want the money, Greg had better be there. He's all I care about."

"Let me think about that. Greg will be there, you will be there, I will
be there, and the cops will be there. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, it will be just you and me. No cops. Just us. And some answers as to
why you'd want to do this to me--to us. If it's just about the
money--now--why are you afraid of a cripple with a cane, and a gash in
his side?"

"Why should I believe you?"

"Why should I believe you?" Just then, there's a knock on the bedroom
door.

"Mr. Welsh, we think we have a lead..."

"I'll be right there, Detective Lane."

"I'll call you around twoish with the details, then. And you'd better be
alone, or Greg will be in pieces. Oh yeah, make the money non-sequential
small bills in a black canvass backpack."

"You got my word on it! Oh, and Reynolds, don't fuck with me. If you hurt
him, I will hunt you down, if it takes me forever, and make you wish that
your father had never fucked your mother. Do I make myself clear?"

"Hah!" he says, before disconnecting.

"That was good, Mr. Welsh," Detective Lane says, "making him think you
were having a one-on-one. He didn't have any idea that we were listening.
Let's try to keep it that way. Now when he calls back, we'll have to
stall in order to get our people into place. Maybe an hour, if we can get
it."

"I'll do what I can, Bryan, and after all this time, I'm Dave. But, and I
want to be clear on this, I will not jeopardize Greg in any way."

"You have to trust us to do our job, Mr...Dave," he says. "We will not
let any harm come to him, but you've got to help us."

"I do trust you, Bryan...Bob, but you have to understand that I know the
track record of the police--and the FBI when it comes to these
situations. I love Greg, and I know that the emotional side of me reacts.
And because I do love him, I'm not going to let anything happen to him,
not without putting up a fight. I'll die for him, and I will kill for
him. And if you get in my way..."

"Don't worry, Dave. We're on your side."

I call my banker. It was easy securing the money, just as Reynolds had
requested, non-sequential, small bills. Five million is a lot of cash,
and it required two black canvass bags to contain it.

"Why hasn't he called?" I ask, to no one in particular. It is now about
twenty minutes passed the hour of two, and we are still waiting for
Reynolds to call.

"He just a few minutes past his deadline."

"Did you park you car away from here. If he's watching this place, I
don't want him seeing your car."

"Don't worry. I have my personal vehicle," Simms says. "It won't be
recognized. It's parked..." The ringing of my cell phone interrupts him.
"Be cool," he encourages.

"Were you worried I wouldn't call?"

"Not really," I reply. "You may be arrogant, but you're also greedy."

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

"No. But would you appreciate me just rolling over?"

Reynolds chuckles. "I guess not. Well, here's what you're going to do.
You're going to go to Port Authority and take a bus to the Hoboken PATH
(Port Authority Trans-Hudson commuter) station. Take the PATH train to
Newark's Penn Station. Go to the phone booth on the main level, third
from the right. You have ninety minutes." He hangs up.

I grab the bags of money, and within ten minutes, the Detectives are
whisking me towards the Port Authority bus terminal.. Detective Lane
wanted to drive me to Newark, but Simms and I both agreed that I was
probably going to be watched. They are planning on being in Newark when I
get there.

I have to hurry to make the train. I wanted to sprint, but I was afraid I
was being watched. I would have to change trains at the second stop in
order to get the train to Newark. I check my watch. Providence is with
me. I have almost an hour left.

Finally, the train pulls in, and I climb aboard. It is surprisingly empty
for this time of evening. There are only four other riders in the car. As
we approach Journal Square, the riders get up in order to depart, and I
think to myself that unless someone else gets aboard, I'll be the only
passenger to Newark. Eerie!

The doors open, and the last fellow off drops a note in my lap. "I was
paid to give this to you."

"How did you know it was supposed to be me?"

"Your picture," he says, showing me a newspaper clipping. I am so stunned
that I am left speechless.

Get off at the Harrison stop was the message. Not Newark. I grab my cell
to call the detectives, but ended up getting voice mail. I tried a couple
more times before the train reached Harrison, still getting the voice
mail. I had been leaving messages. I just hope that they got one of them.

"I've got a car over here. Let's go," this dirty, crumpled man says to me
as I stand at the curb. I could feel something poke me in the side. I
assumed it was a gun or a knife.

"Reynolds? Where's Greg?"

"What? No nice to see you. How you doing?" he laughs. "Oh, leave your
cane here. Can't have you with any weapons. We made our way to his car,
an old, beat up Chevy, pea green in color. He made me toss my bags in the
trunk.

"Remember, I can shoot you just as easily with one hand while I drive
with the other." Smart, he heads out of Harrison, onto NJ Route 280.
Soon, I find myself heading north on the Garden State Parkway."

"I guess those detectives are wondering what happened to you."

"What do you mean?"

"In Newark. I know they were going to meet you there."

My cell begins to ring. Reynolds looks at me, and smirks. "Wonder who
that could be?"

"I should answer it," I try.

"If you do, I'll kill you right here."

"Why? Why are you doing this to us? Greg and me? What have we ever done
to you?" He turns on to NJ Route 3 East, heading back towards New York.

"Enjoying the ride?" he asks, totally ignoring my question. We exit Route
3, onto some local road. "I have a storage place out here. It's amazing
some of the stuff I've collected. I'm sure you'll like it."

We stop on the far side of the complex, a very desolate area. "Get out,"
he says, brandishing a small caliber weapon. I comply. "Now, strip! Leave
your clothes in the car." I take off my clothes. "Nice," he says, looking
at my dick. "No wonder that boy loves you. You put that thing in his
ass?"

"Why? You like what you see?"

"Fuck you! Get moving!"

Number 307, I remember, committing this place to memory. "Greg," I say,
as we enter the dark unit.

"'Round behind there," Reynolds motions. I move around some neatly
stacked boxes to see a naked, bound, and blindfolded Greg sitting on some
blankets in a corner. The floor is not even concrete, but dirt. I hobble
over to him.

"Greg, are you alright?" I ask, removing his blindfold. I can see the
fear in his eyes, as the tears develop. "It's alright, baby. I'm going to
have you out of here soon, I promise."

"Oh, how touching." I remove the gag from Greg's mouth. "That's enough!"
Reynolds shouts. "Now, leave him alone."

"I'm so sorry. He came out of nowhere. Caught me on the elevator..."

"Shut up!" Reynolds shouts again.

"Why? Why did you do this?" I plead.

"You want to know why? Okay, I guess you deserve that much before you
die," Reynolds snarls.

"You remember Shelia, don't you? The beautiful lady you threw away so you
can stick your dick in this faggot's ass."

"What about Shelia?"

"Let's just say that `hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'."

"You mean?"

"Yeah, she's paying me handsomely to get some revenge. Seems you left her
heartbroken...and mad. Mad enough that she even convinced that girlfriend
of hers to...let say, ease an ache I was carrying around inside my pants.

Imagine my surprise when she contacted me. At first, she just wanted me
to teach you a lesson, rough you up a bit. So, I followed you, hoping to
catch you alone. I even took a job in your firm's mailroom, just to find
out your comings and goings.

What a stroke of luck it was that this pansy-ass wanted to talk to you.
You didn't even notice me in the bar, even when I sat in the booth next
to yours. Imagine my surprise when I heard what you two were talking
about.

You were so arrogant. So angry with him. I knew you two weren't going to
make up, so I staked out your car in the garage, and well, the rest is
history.

But you," he says, pointing at Greg, "you gave yourself away the way you
acted at the hospital, sobbing like a little bitch. That's when Shelia
knew. She knew that you two were sleeping together. It made her blood
boil. She was the one that was supposed to nurse you back to health.
That's how much she loved you. That's when the contract changed.

That bomb should have gotten you, the both of you. You're some damn lucky
fuckers. But it didn't. Then you disappeared. I was almost at wits end. I
staked out your place, hoping that you would come back to get some
clothes or something. Then you showed up.

Fucking had me going all over town that day until you settled into the
Waldorf. What a stroke of luck that you two decided to walk that morning.
Fucking knife didn't go in far enough. I couldn't really get the right
angle, working in a crowd like that.

Then, Mr. Swishiepants gave me another opportunity, and here we are. But,
don't worry, after I finish with you, I'll go back to Houston and take
care of those two broads and your brats. Then you'll all be one big,
happy family again."

"What are you talking about?" Greg questions.

"That's right, you don't know. Seems fucking those two broads must have
gotten good at least once. Your bitch," he says, pointing at me, "had
your brat. And the cunt you were fucking," he looks at Greg, "had some
little rug rat a couple months later. Now, who wants to die first. I have
a lot of money to spend, and I want to get started. Get out of these old
rags, get myself--presentable for a man of my means," he laughs.

"Look, you got your money. I don't care about that," I try to reason.
"Just take it, and go."

"And leave a job unfinished? My mother taught me better than that. Okay!
I'll decide. Stand up," he says to me. "I'll do your boyfriend first.
That way, you can watch him die. Then I'll give you a thrill before I
kill you," he says, rubbing his crotch.

I dig my fingers into the dirt floor, scooping up some in the process,
and in one quick move, as I stand, I hurl it into Reynolds' face, totally
catching him off guard.

"You mother..." He gets off one shot, before I grab his hand holding the
gun. He turns slightly, and I plant my elbow across the bridge of his
nose, hearing the bones crunch. He yells, as blood begins to spurt.

This gives me the chance I need, and I bring his arm across my knee,
hearing the bone snap. Getting behind him, I grab him in a Half Nelson
with my arm across his windpipe, severing the air. After a brief
struggle, he crumples in my arms and onto the floor.

I notice some duct tape on one of the boxes, and rolling him onto his
back, quickly bind his hands and feet. When he is secure, I move over,
releasing Greg from his bonds.

I hug him to me. "I thought I'd never see you again..." Greg begins.

"Shush, it's alright. You're okay now. I would never let anything happen
to you."

"I was so scared. He...he said he was going to kill us..." he sobs.

"He's not going to hurt anyone ever again," I say, looking at the
stirring figure of Reynolds. I kick the gun over towards Greg as I stand.
"Don't touch it, sweetheart. It's got his prints on it."

"Wha...what are you going to do with him? Call the police?"

"Not until we have some fun. But first, help me load these boxes around
him so he can't move." We stack boxes around a groggy Reynolds. "Now, we
have a little trip to go on. Hope you don't mind if I use your car,
Reynolds."

"What are you doing, baby?"

I open the trunk of the car, and looking into the bags, retrieve a pair
of jeans, sneakers and shirt for Greg. "Thought you might could use
these."

I quickly dress, then get behind the wheel of the car. I drive to the
nearest service mart (a gas station/store) and I get a couple of sodas
and some snacks for Greg. Getting back in the car, I hand him the bag of
food. "Thanks. Guess this is far from the burger that we were going to
have. Did you call the police?"

"Not just yet. Mr. Reynolds needs to learn a lesson about being a
captive--first."

"Dave, what are you planning? Give me your phone," he demands, "I'll
call. Let's just get this over with."

"Nah, not yet, baby."

"Please, Dave..."

"Greg, I've got to do this."

"You've got to do what?"

"This," I say, holding a couple of condoms up. "One for you, and one for
me. We can't get fucked over like this, and not get satisfaction of our
own."

"Dave, we can't do this. We've got to call the police. We'll get
satisfaction when we see him go to jail."

"What about Shelia? What about Annette? What about our children that they
put in danger. He was going to kill them when he finished with us."

"You want to do the same thing to them?"

"No. I've got other plans for them." We arrive back at the storage
facility.

"Untie me, faggot," Reynolds barks as we open the gate and slip inside.
That causes me to laugh. "What are you laughing about? I'm going to kill
you."

"Oh, not just yet. We have a little something else in mind for you."

"Not me," Greg says, "I don't want any part of it."

"Greg?"

"No! I'm waiting in the car." He storms out.

"Looks like there's trouble in paradise," Reynolds smirks.

He kicks at me as I approach him. I plant my foot in his stomach. "Try
that again, and I'll smash your nuts" I say to Reynolds. I reach down and
open his pants.

"What'ya doing, faggot?" he asks, trying to control his fear, but it's
evident in his voice.

I unzip my pants, and pull out my dick, stroking it until it gets hard.

"No!" he shouts, as I rip his underwear from his body. "NO!" he screams.

I stare at him. What a pathetic creature. He must be all of five inches,
hard, and I begin to laugh. "Damn! My little nephew had more than that
when he was born!" I run to the door, still laughing, finally getting
Greg's attention.

He's by my side in a flash. "What is it? What is it?"

"Come here, baby, you've...you've got to see this!"

He comes in, and I point. "That's what he wanted me to suck? That's not
even a mouthful," he laughs.

"Come on. Let's call Simms and Lane. I think they could use a good laugh
too."

Lane answers my call on the first ring, and within minutes, the local
police are there. When they inquired as to why Reynolds' pants were down,
I lied and said that he had me bound when we got there, and was going to
take advantage of us before he killed us. Luckily, I was able to free
myself at that moment, and that's how I overcame him. While he was
pulling his pants down.

One of the officers remarked that even had he gotten to do what he was
planning to do, it wouldn't have hurt. That made us all laugh, as
Reynolds was taken away. He was swearing and totally making a fool of
himself as the officers added the charge of attempted rape to his many
crimes.

Simms and Lane made it onto the scene as the locals were taking Reynolds
out, catching the remark of the officer. They laughed too when they got a
look at Reynolds' equipment. Simms informed the ranking detective that
the DA would be filing extradition papers to take the prisoner off their
hands.

I remembered the ransom money in the back of Reynolds' car, and retrieved
it. There was a little discussion as to who would get possession. But in
the end, it was agreed, that I would take it with me.

After having Greg checked out at Meadowlands Hospital, we headed back to
Wil's place. It seemed like weeks since we had been there. I drew Greg a
bath in Wil's large Jacuzzi tub, complete with champagne bubbles, and
helped him get in.

"Come in with me," he asks. I strip, and climb in the tub with him. I
spread my legs, and he sits between them, with me holding him from
behind. "This feels so good," he says, kissing my arm. "Thank you."

"For what?" I ask.

"For coming for me, for being willing to pay the ransom for me, for
loving me."

"That's the phrase. I love you, Greg, and no amount of money is too much
for you. Don't you understand, you're a part of me. When you weren't
here, part of me was missing, too. I don't think I could go on living
without you."

"I thought I was never going to see you again."

"I had no doubt."

"Really?"

"Really." I give him a kiss, feeling his passion begin to rise. I reach
between his legs, grasping his sex. "Let's get out of here, and go to our
bed. I want to feel you inside me."

We gently scrub Reynolds and our troubles, at least for the moment, and
retire to bed. There, Greg and I went to a new plateau in lovemaking.

As Greg lay peacefully in my arms, my mind was busy. Busy with thoughts
of what Reynolds had said. Shelia had my baby, and never once let me
know? And that cunt Annette. I knew she couldn't be trusted. That's why I
never liked the bitch!

They tried to have us killed. Killed! By some psycho. They hurt my Greg,
and I can't forgive that--ever.

No, neither one of them deserves to have children. They would raise them
up to be the same selfish, unforgiving, and closed-minded people they
were. And if I have anything to do with it, they won't.


Four Become Two: Chapter 19

Very little sleep was had that night, not because we spent it making
love, but because of the experiences we both had endured. Quite a few
times before daylight, I found myself holding a sobbing Greg, and
likewise. I know that we both needed to talk about this, to clear the
air, to dispel the suspicions and the worry, but how do you find the
words?

So, it was with great relief when we received a call from Detective
Simms, asking us to meet him at the station.

We quickly showered, and hastily made our way out of Wil's house. We
weren't coming back. I had made arrangements for a cleaning crew to come
to the house, as well as have a brand new Ford Escalade parked in his
garage. We had long ago replaced the comforter that Greg had damaged on
our first night here, although he insists that it was entirely my fault.

We loaded our things in Wil's '96 Dodge Caravan, and I pulled out of the
garage for the last time, heading back towards the George Washington
Bridge, and Manhattan. We reasoned we had better pick up something to
eat, not knowing how long we'd be at the police station, so we stopped by
McDonald's. It wasn't crepes, but the sausage and egg biscuits that we
had were filling.

We said very little on the journey, and soon I was pulling up in front of
the 103rd Precinct.

"Dave? Do you think we'll have to face Reynolds when we go in there?"

"I don't think so, not yet, at least. I think he is still in jail in New
Jersey."

"Dave? Were you...you know?"

"What?"

"Were you going to...fuck him yesterday? I mean, you bought the condoms."

"I will not lie to you. The thought did cross my mind. But, I don't think
I could have really gone through with doing that, no matter how much I
hate Reynolds."

"Do you mind telling me what made you think of doing it?"

"Greg, I saw the way he had treated you, and I guess that made me see
red. Made me want to hurt him, humiliate him as he had humiliated you."

"But don't you see? If anyone was going to get revenge, it should have
been me!"

"I see that now, babe, and I saw it then. That's what made me stop. The
goodness you have in you."

"I have goodness in me?"

"Yeah. Just look at how patient you've been with me. Look at how you've
taken care of me, when I couldn't take care of myself..."

"I'm not the one that's good, Dave. You are. You forgave me, and you've
trusted me with your heart, once again. That's goodness. And it was that
goodness that I believe kept you from hurting Reynolds. And that's why I
love you."

"I love you, too," I reply. "Now, we'd better get inside. Simms is
probably going ape-shit!" I chuckle.

"Not before you give me a kiss." I move closer to him, cupping his face
with my left hand as I move in to claim my prize. Our lips fit perfectly
together, and I love the way Greg's feel when pressed against mine.

"If we keep this up," I pant, as the air in the van get thick, I will
have to ravish you right here in this van, right here in front of a
police station."

"So?"

"So? You're too loud!" We climb out of the van and head inside.

"Dave--Greg--we were just coming out to get you," Simms says, "thought I
might have to get the hose," he whispers, a hint of a smile playing on
his lips. Greg blushes at that statement.

"Rob, I do believe you are trying to get me to like you," I tease. We all
laugh at Rob's expression, and he ushers us through a door into another
wing of the building, down to the Bias Crime Unit. He leads us to his
office door, and he and Lane follow us inside.

"This is the situation. Reynolds is going to be charged with kidnapping,
attempted murder, first degree assault, extortion, and anything else that
the DA can think to charge him. Right now, he's looking at 205 years, so
he'll never be a menace to you or society again. He's fighting
extradition, but that is only a formality for the Public Defender to
practice."

"You don't know what a relief that is, Rob. We want to thank you, both of
you, for all you've done."

"Forget it. You actually did it all. You caught him. I didn't know you
had recovered that much from your injuries."

"Well, it was really luck. But I have been practicing my Karate, and I
saw an opportunity."

"Well, it paid off. You broke Reynolds' wrist and his arm in two places.
He's going to feel the effects of that beating for a long time."

"Dave," Detective Lane says, voice sort of muted. "The bug we placed on
you worked very well. It's satellite sensitive, and we were able to
record the confession. But we did get other conversations on that tape.
We're glad you didn't go through with your..."

"Revenge," Greg interjects.

"Yeah, your revenge. We also got the confession about your ex-girlfriend,
Miss Daniels. We can file charges against her of conspiracy, conspiracy
to commit, etc., but unfortunately it boils down to a he said/she said
situation. There is really nothing that we could charge her with and make
it stick."

"That doesn't make sense," Greg says. "You got a confession from
Reynolds..."

"What he is saying Greg is true," I tell him. "Shelia, although we know
she is involved, has no link to Reynolds other than what he has said.
You're a lawyer. You know this."

"But she's going to get away with what she's done to you--to me--to us!"

"I don't think so, my dear Gregory. She's not going to get away!"

"What do you mean," Detective Lane asks.

"What I've decided to do, thus far, is go to visit my ex, Detective. I
believe she is in Houston."

"We have her location. As a matter-of-fact, Rob and I are leaving later
today to talk to her. We've managed to keep a news blackout on this
story, for now, in order to buy us some time. And we've been monitoring
Reynolds' phone calls. Nothing went to her. Only to his lawyer."

"Could his lawyer have forewarned her?"

"No. He is an officer of the courts, and must abide by certain rules of
ethnics, as you well know."

"Well, being a very astute attorney herself, Shelia knows just how to
skirt the law. I have seen her do things in a courtroom that would never
be allowed except for the way she has presented them."

"So," Greg asks, "does that mean she's above the law?"

"In this case, yes. There is just not enough tangible evidence to link
her to this, but all of us here are certain that Reynolds' confession was
genuine. She was involved."

"Well, what are you going to do, Dave, or do I dare ask?" Bob inquires

"Would you gentlemen like a ride to Houston?" I ask. "Greg and I are
flying there this afternoon."

"We are?" asks a surprised Greg.

"No time like the present, and giving them a ride will save the taxpayers
some money."

"That's mighty nice of you. What time?" Lane asks.

"Let's see, it's eleven now. How about three? Teterboro Airport, Apex
Terminal."

"We'll be there. Thanks again."

"Come here, you," I say to Greg as we enter the suite in our hotel. We
had a good laugh when we pulled the van into the underground garage. It
was then that we saw that we had Wil's other car here as well.

"We've got to return them," Greg says. "What will Wil and his family
drive?

"Okay, I'll send back the van, but I'm keeping the Explorer. He got an
Escalade out of the deal," I pout. "Besides, the Explorer has a
comfortable back cargo area, if I remember."

"Slut! I'm in love with a slut."

"And you love it!"

"Yeah, I do. Now I think I'll take a shower. Care to join me?"

"You know I'd love nothing more, baby, but I have some phone calls to
make. If I finish before you, I promise I'll join you."

"Okay, but I'm not going to become a prune for you."

"Good, I don't want a prude anyway." He laughs as he goes into the
bathroom.

"On behalf of the city of New York, I want to thank you again, Dave. Our
captain informed us that we would be riding in cargo, so this is a
treat," Bryan laughs.

"Yeah, if he had his way," Bob interjects, he'd have us going by car.

We met them in the Polo Lounge at Teterboro Airport, and soon boarded my
customized Gulfstream II 12-passenger jet.

"So this is how the other half lives," remarks Greg as we climb aboard.

"Greg, you are part of the other half," I tell him, looking him in the
eyes. "Whatever is mine is yours."

"You don't keep this here, do you?" Simms asks.

"No, she actually lives in Manassas, Virginia."

"Well, she is absolutely beautiful. What can you tell me about her."

"If you'll allow me, Sir." The captain of the vessel, Scott Harding, and
his co-pilot, John Green, come out of the cockpit. "This aircraft has a
maximum range of 6750 nautical miles, which means it can fly from here to
Munich before landing. The average cruising altitude is 38,000 feet,
although her maximum is 51k. And she's fast. She can get close to Mach 1
at Mach .852.

She's equipped with champagne leather bucket seats and two love seats
with accommodations for up to twelve passengers. The cabinetry is all
solid mahogany, and you're standing on pure wool carpeting.

She has, for your comfort an aft stateroom with a queen-sized bed, a
complete bath, including shower, a galley with countertop cooking, a
surround sound entertainment system, multiple flat-panel video monitors,
satellite telephones, and DIRECTV. Just like being at home," he laughs.

I introduce Scott and John to my guests, and emphasized Greg to be
someone of importance. They welcome us aboard, and soon we are exploding
off the runway, and into the clear New Jersey sky. What a perfect day for
flying.

"Dave, we would like to question Miss Daniels before you see her.
Reynolds was once her client, that's how she came to know him. We'll use
his arrest, and the subsequent connection to you as a basis to the
meeting."

"That's fine, Bob, as long as I get a crack at her. Just do me a favor
and say that you are investigating my death. Let's try to catch her off
guard. Maybe she'll slip up."

All too soon, Scott announces that we are making our descent into Bush
Intercontinental Airport. "I've booked us rooms at the Sheraton,
Brookhollow."

"That's out of our budget, Dave," Bryan says.

"Nonsense, Bryan, this is on me. After all the BS that you went through,
it's the least I can do, since I can't outright offer you compensation.
It's my way of saying thank you. Besides, I've already booked the rooms,
and if you don't use them, I will still have to pay for them."

"Well, thank you."

"What time are you meeting with Shelia?" I inquire, directing my question
to the detectives as we exit the limo.

"One o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

"Good, that'll give me time to buy a suit. Can't very well meet Shelia
wearing shorts and a tee, can I?"

"Hi," I say to the desk person. "We have rooms reserved under the
Paradise Cruise Line account?"

"Yes, Mr. Welsh, we were able to get you rooms on the same floor. We
didn't have three individual rooms, but we have a two-bedroom suite, and
a one-bedroom suite in the same wing. We hope that`s not inconvenient."

"No, that actually works out fine. We'll give Mr. Simms and Mr. Lane the
two-bedroom, and we'll take the other." I sign the paperwork, giving her
my company card. I don't want anything to clue Shelia as to what is about
to happen. Who knows if she hasn't a friend working here?

The suites were absolutely beautiful. After settling in, the detectives
took Greg and I out to a nice dinner. Simms insisted on buying a round of
drinks, which was not covered by their expense account. He was really
going all out trying to become friendly, and I gave him credit for it.

After a pleasant meal, Greg and I decided to turn in. They understood,
saying that they were going to try to get a little shut-eye themselves. I
didn't tell them that Greg and I had other plans. I guess they kind of
figured it out for themselves as they both wore shit-eating grins.

"Come here," Greg says, once we get back in the suite. Our lips meet,
slowly conforming to one another. Greg's hands begin to move along my
back, eliciting a moan from our sealed lips.

"You taste so good," Greg says to me. "I want you to make mad, passionate
love to me tonight. I need you so bad."

"I need you too, but, first," I answer, taking his hand and leading him
towards the bedroom, we are going to take a nice, hot shower where I am
going to wash your body as you wash mine."

I begin to remove his shirt, kissing his exposed flesh as
button-by-button is released. I slip it down his massive arms as my
tongue traces a wet path across his right shoulder. I release the buckle
of his belt, and unfasten his slacks, and they slide to the floor.

"That's obscene," I laugh, looking at the way Greg's swollen dick is
tenting his underwear.

"That's the effect you have on me," he responds, his voice husky with
passion as he kicks off the bundle gathered around his feet.

I can't help but admire the physique that is in front of me as my eyes
roam over his body. From his sculpted chest to those hard, crushing
thighs and legs, his body is covered with wiry hair. Greg has a perfect
V-shape torso as his shoulders taper to his waist, and then flares out
again at the swell of his hips that join onto strong, muscular legs.

Greg reaches out and wipes the drool off the corner of my mouth, snapping
me out of my daze. "I feel so vulnerable, and so desirable, when you look
at me that way," he softly says.

I tear at my clothing, until I too am standing before him in just my
boxers. "Damn, you are one fine hunk of man. Why do you want me?" I
search his face, looking to see if this is a joke. I see nothing but
sincerity in his eyes.

"Because I love you," I answer. Greg just sighs, and moves into my arms.
I can feel the heat of his body as he presses against mine, the hair on
his chest exciting my nipples.

"I don't know what I love more," Greg sighs into my ear, "you in my arms
or me in yours." I pull him tighter to me, and he crushes me in a bear
hug.

Breaking our embrace, I take his hand and lead him into the bathroom.
Being a premiere suite, the tub is niche out of one corner, and extends
in an 8-foot arc from the wall. Enclosed on three sides by wall, it has a
glass entrance. "This thing is big enough for six people," Greg remarks.

"Just gives us more room," I say as I turn on the water and adjust it to
the proper temperature.

"Oh, that feels so good," Greg continues. I've lathered a washcloth and
begun to wash him down, running the cloth and my hands over his expansive
chest. His furry body catches the suds, and they glisten like pearls
against his skin.

I run my fingers over his nipples, and he moans his approval as I grasp
the hard nubs, bringing them to alertness.

I slide the rag over his muscular arms, taking time to pay homage to his
bulging biceps. I take each finger and gently wash it, sliding the soapy
rag into the web.

Adding more soap, I move the rag over his torso, letting it glide across
the rippling stomach muscles, and down into his pubic bush. Taking my
fingers, I wash his hairy groin as if I'm shampooing his hair. His hard
dick slaps against his belly as I start to manipulate those low-hanging
baby factories, tugging on them gently so that I can wash the wrinkled
skin.

Greg is going crazy at this point with the need for me to touch his dick,
and he begins to beg. "Take my dick, please, baby, just squeeze it once.

I wanted to touch him, to feel the hardness of him and his heat, but I
knew that this shower was only the prelude to our night of making love.
So, I ignored his pleas. The hardest thing, next to his dick, that I ever
had to do.

I moved the cloth down, rubbing the soapy rag over his strong thighs and
legs, runner's legs, watching the soap swirl through the hair covering
them.

He reached lower, grabbing me, and jerking me until I stood. He planted
his lips firmly against mine, thrusting his tongue deep into my throat.
The boy was definitely trying to stimulate my tonsils. It was so erotic
the way his soapy body was melding with mine, igniting my already
inflamed and overworked sensitive skin.

Greg wrenched the washcloth from my hand, and quickly soaped me up. I
almost laughed as he moved almost in supersonic speed over my flesh,
washing me quickly, but thoroughly. He was like a man possessed as he
pushed me under the water to rinse, and then dove in himself.

He grabbed a towel from the bar, and quickly dried me, then ordering me
to the bed as he half-dried himself. Before I could blink, he was beside
me, pulling me into his arms once again, our lips meeting, and our
tongues battling.

A deep moan of pleasure reached my ears, not knowing if it was him or I.
My dick was painfully hard and was spewing pre-cum at the rate of water
being released from a dam.

I begin to kiss my way down Greg's body as his hands are stroking any
patch of flesh they could reach. I plant my lips around his left nipple,
feeling his quicken heartbeat reverberate into my lips. Greg crushes my
head to his chest, scratching my lips against his fur.

I manage to move further down his body, as it undulates beneath me.
Without fanfare, I swoop his cock between my lips, and suck him in down
to his pubes. Greg screams from the intensity of his passion and thrust
his hips, firmly seating himself in my throat.

I manage to swallow, creating a rippling sensation along the length of
his dick. Greg thrusts even harder as I feel him swell. Every vein very
pronounced along my tongue and in my esophagus. I can feel his cockhead
swell deep in my throat and pulsate, as torrent after torrent of his warm
baby pudding is propelled into my gullet to rest in my belly. An almost
inhuman choke escapes from his mouth as he pours himself into me.

I slide back towards the head, savoring the flavor of his nectar as my
mouth quickly fills. Greg, his body glistening with sweat, begins to
quiver as the conditioned air meets his hot flesh. Is it my imagination
as small pockets of steam emit from his flesh. His hairy thighs, which
have locked me into place, finally slide from my shoulders. I nurse his
cock like a newborn on a teat until he pulls me off. His softening, red
dick slowly deflating.

"That--was--incredible!" he pants, as the air once again tries to inflate
his lungs. "You keep taking me," he gulps, "to places I didn't know
existed." He once again kisses me. There isn't the urgency that his kiss
possessed as before.

Again, his hands roam my body until they reach my own throbbing rod. Just
his touch has me close, and I gently ease his hand off my dick.

When I feel he is recovered, to some extent, I once again move to his
groin area, cleaning up what has been released since he pulled me off. I
continue my trek south, licking him, smelling him. My fingers rub over
his proffered asshole as I once again toss his legs over my shoulders.

"Mmm," Greg moans, as I suction one of his enormous balls between my
lips. I also plunge my finger deep into the depths of him as he grinds
his ass against my hand. I pull my finger from his ass, and milk some of
my own pre-cum from my fingers, transfer it to his opening asshole,
feeling it give way as I reinsert not one, but two, stretching him
further.

"Yes," Greg hisses. Soon, those two fingers are sliding completely into
him, and I spread him further by adding a third. I let my middle
fingernail scrape across this prostrate. His dick is once again a column
of steel as I work over that button.

"Fuck me, Dave. Fuck me now." Needing no further invitation, I place the
head of my dick at the opening to his ass, and gently apply pressure.
Greg's body seems to relax as his hole seemed to open up and invite me
in.

I pause, with just the head seated inside of him. "Deeper, deeper!" is
Greg's plea as I wait there, more for my own control.

With teeth grinding, I warn him that this is not going to be quick and to
be patient. His answer is to lock his legs behind me and thrust his hips
skyward, firmly planting the rest of me deep within his bowels. "Now,
MOVE!" he ordered. "Fuck my ass like it's the last ass you're ever going
to fuck!"

Taken aback, I see that I'm no longer in control of this episode as Greg
squeezes me hard. I begin to pull out slowly and re-enter, setting up a
steady pace. Greg's cock is leaking profusely onto his stomach as I begin
to ride his ass.

"Oh yeah, That's it!" Greg encourages. "Fuck me like the dime-store whore
you want me to be." I force his legs open and bend them back until his
knees are touching his shoulders as I begin to take control of his
vacuuming hole. I look down to my plunging dick, seeing Greg stretched
around my fat shaft, his ass lips pouting and swollen as it milks me.

"This is so good," I say to him. "I don't ever want to stop!"

"Don't stop baby. Pound that ass," Greg mumbles, his head rolling from
side-to-side.

Sweat is pouring from my body, to only mix with Greg's as our grunts and
moans increase in rhythm and crescendo.

"I'm gonna cum again," Greg pants. "Cum with me! Cum with me!"

I can feel the familiar tingling in the pit of my groin as I watch Greg's
swollen nuts rise into his body. My own nuts must be nonexistent by now
as they are no longer slapping against his ass. I feel myself begin to
swell, the skin stretching taut.

"I'm gonna explode!" I yell. "Now!" As the first spurt leaves my dick, I
feel Greg's asshole clamp around my dick, sealing our flesh together as
his own dick begins to rocket his own emission from his open slit.

I can feel me filling Greg with my seed, as a volley accompanies every
volley from him. It's as if I am shooting through his cock.

I can no longer support my weight, and collapses onto Greg. He just folds
me into his arms, wrapping his legs around my waist.

"That--was the--most--intense..." I mumble into his neck. I muster up
enough strength to roll onto my side, pulling Greg into my embrace, both
of us sucking in enough oxygen to deplete the other citizens of Houston a
supply.

Finally, our breathing returns to semi-normal. "I love you," I tell Greg,
planting a kiss upon his lips.

"I love you too," he says, kissing me again. We lay there, secure in each
other's arms, my fingers trailing through the stickiness on his chest. I
bring it to my lips, tasting Greg, before I grab another fingerful to and
depositing it between Greg's lips.

"You taste so good," I say, as we share his flavor once again as our lips
and tongues join. "I do believe we need another shower after that
workout."

"If we keep this up, there'll be no need to go to the gym." I take his
hand, and we kiss our way into the shower.

"...Yeah, Rich has it already set up. You have a ten o'clock tomorrow.
Just plant the bug, and I'll take care of the rest. When this is over,
you can expect a huge bonus...Yeah, Rich messaged me earlier that
everything else is in place, and at the proper time, the right people
will be notified."

"Dave? Dave?" a groggy voice calls from the bedroom, interrupting my
phone call, "Where are you?"

"I'll be right there babe!" I yell. "Look, I've gotta go. Remember, 10
a.m. You take care of this, and I'll take care of the rest. And, there'll
be a generous bonus for you."

I click off my phone, and hide it among the towels. I had just put my
toothbrush in my mouth when Greg walked into the bathroom. "Were you
talking to someone?" he asks.

"No, no," I say, "just blowing off a little steam, talking to the mirror.
Did you have another bad dream?"

"Yeah, and when I reached for you, you weren't..."

"I'm sorry. Come on. Let's go back to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a big
day." I look at the clock on the bedside table. 1:56 a.m. Eight hours
until Operation Get Baby Back goes into effect. That sounds so
espionage-like, doesn't it?