Page 9 of Equalizer (Sharps & Springfield #2)

Chapter 9

Calvin

C alvin woke slowly with a pounding head, tied to a chair in a warehouse. While there were a lot of storage buildings in Chicago, Calvin bet that this was the location Owen, Winston, and he had ridden past not long ago.

Bins, crates, and shipping containers lined the walls, stacked atop each other. The space felt vast and cold, but most of it lay shrouded in shadows. A few overheads and work lights illuminated the immediate area around Calvin, and he was glad he hadn’t come around in the pitch dark.

This has to be Humphries’s lab. Shit. How did I get here?

He remembered going to the library, a quick errand while Owen took care of other business. Calvin had gone back to the stacks to find a book. He sensed someone nearby and reached for his gun, knowing he was in trouble, but then felt a needle slide into his skin, and everything went dark.

How long have I been out? Do Owen and Winston know I’m missing yet?

A chill went through him. Am I a hostage—or a sacrifice?

“You’re awake. Good. I was beginning to think they gave you too large a dose. What would be the fun in that?” Dr. Jeremiah Humphries looked up from where he stood over an operating table, gowned and masked for surgery.

A man lay strapped to the table, and a severed hand sat on a small cart next to Humphries.

“You’ve been so interested in my work—I thought you should see it in action before you make a contribution,” Humphries continued.

Contribution. He’s going to kill me and take the parts he needs. I could be dead and harvested before Owen knows anything’s gone wrong.

“You should be grateful—very few people get a front-row seat to my work. It’s proprietary, after all,” Humphries went on, seemingly unperturbed by Calvin’s lack of response. “In fact, I think you may have even known the donor in this case. That annoying security chief from the Wild West show. He couldn’t take a hint to back off.”

Steven? Oh, God. That’s going to wreck Owen.

And when he finds out I’ve been taken? I might not get rescued, but I’ll definitely be avenged. He won’t leave anything standing.

Shit. I thought we’d have more time together. Calvin’s fear and anger turned to sorrow.

“I have a process for selecting donors,” Humphries continued. “There needs to be a general compatibility in body size and type, skin tone, age, and gender. The part needs to be fresh, so the death should be recent—the more so, the better.”

The man on the table was still breathing, naked except for a sheet.

“When I first started, I scavenged the only bodies I could get—from vagrants and drifters. They usually weren’t in the best health, and that made the operations riskier than usual,” Humphries monologued. “But I made do. Most went well. There were some complications, but that’s how science advances.”

Calvin wondered how many of the early patients survived and decided he didn’t want to know.

“I refined the process,” Humphries continued. “But the real breakthrough came from matching donors to recipients. No longer depending on chance or making do with the best available. Once I started selecting a good fit, the results improved.”

Calvin held his tongue. There was no point in antagonizing Humphries when Calvin had no means of escape and no certainty of rescue.

I might find out everything we wanted to know and not be able to tell Owen. I’ll have died in vain.

“You’re just the right fit for my next patient,” Humphries said. “Close to the same height and build, similar musculature and coloring. There will always be a scar, of course, but on wrists and ankles, that’s easy to hide. It won’t be an exact match, but you’d be surprised how few people are truly observant.”

“Ever considering going legitimate—and soliciting voluntary contributions from the families of accident victims or the healthy dead?” Calvin asked. As uncomfortable as the idea of patching a living body back together with pieces from corpses made him, the real crimes lay in murder and in violating the bodies without consent.

“The authorities and the Church have played merry hell with doctors transplanting thyroids,” Humphries said as he worked to reattach the hand on his sleeping patient. “I can’t imagine them supporting a more visible replacement. Even if the family agreed—which would be surprising—the process to get approval would take years. Decades. And in the meantime, people who need help do without.”

Yeah, you’re a real philanthropist , Calvin thought. Humphries was no doubt well paid for his efforts and risks, and without approval from the authorities, rich mobsters and criminals were the beneficiaries because they could afford his price and weren’t concerned about the ethics.

“Why Steven—the guy from the Wild West show?” Calvin tested the ropes binding him and found them too tight to slip, so he knew his best bet was to keep Humphries talking to buy time.

“He was in excellent health, a good match for age and build,” the resurrectionist said. “And the fact that he was acquainted with you and your partner sealed the deal. I don’t allow people to get in my way.”

Calvin looked around; his training kicked in, even though he probably wouldn’t survive to report his observations. Humphries had set up one part of the huge, empty space with lights and equipment for a mobile surgical unit, similar to what the military used. Most of the old warehouse was dark and unused, cluttered with boxes and stacks of wood except for supply bins of materials for Humphries’s work.

Since Calvin didn’t see any indication of living quarters, he guessed the doctor had found somewhere else for lodging.

The building had electricity, which was still uncommon. That powered the lights, but even more importantly, it fed the big metal box that Calvin guessed was the special electrical generator Humphries used to revivify his monstrosities.

A huge knot of wires ran from a spot in the outer wall into the machine and more straggled from the front of the equipment, where Calvin supposed Humphries connected his patient to bring the limb back to life.

His captors had peeled off Calvin’s gloves. When his skin touched the chair or rope, images of past prisoners…sacrifices…flashed in his mind, and he felt glimmers of their pain and fear. He knew he had to push through the horror if he was going to have any chance of saving himself.

“The surgery itself is tedious.” Humphries seemed unable to avoid playing to an audience, even a captive one. “There’s magic involved, and electricity, but if the part isn’t reconnected well, it won’t get blood, and the person won’t be able to feel it. Magic helps with that and preservation, but it’s much more than just sewing the skin together and hoping for the best.”

He wants to be hailed as a medical genius and be famous and accepted. I bet it galls him to have to hide in a warehouse and serve criminals instead of rich patients.

“How long do they last? The parts you stitch on?” Calvin couldn’t help being curious.

“That depends,” Humphries replied. “My earlier efforts were a learning curve, and I refined my technique. Having good source materials makes a big difference.”

Source materials. Stolen parts from people’s bodies.

“It also depends on the age and health of the recipient as well as that of the donor,” he went on. “But if all the aspects are positive, the attachment can last for quite some time. The oldest ones still functioning are over a year old. I don’t know yet what the outer limit is.”

The donor dies and the limb is only good for a year, maybe a little more. The recipient could have lived reasonably well as an amputee without requiring a murder. Seems like a bad bargain.

“I can guess what you’re thinking—too high a price for too short a time,” Humphries guessed his unspoken judgment. “The people who get another year or more of having a working hand or foot don’t think so. This world isn’t kind to people who can’t do for themselves.”

“When the limb fails, what then?” His agent training couldn’t pass up the chance to learn more, even though he suspected Humphries’s willingness to brag came from his certainty that Calvin wouldn’t leave alive.

“I’m working on that,” Humphries said. “The trick is to remove the new part before it goes septic and infection kills the recipient. But as the reattachment process and the magic supporting it become more sophisticated, I’m confident we can overcome that issue. Maybe even have a part last for the rest of the recipient’s lifespan.”

Technically, if the new part goes bad and kills the person, it did last for the rest of the recipient’s lifespan. The span is just shorter than advertised.

“What’s in it for your witch?” Calvin ignored the throbbing pain in his head. He hated being drugged, although he allowed that it was probably better than being hit over the head.

“All the usual things,” Humphries replied. “Money. Notoriety. Access to rich, grateful patrons. Bragging rights. It’s certainly not something that just any witch could do.”

“You’ve got a tame necromancer?”

“Hardly. Avery is a colleague, an equal partner. He’s a visionary who sees how magic and medicine can work together.” Humphries’s passionate tone was a shift from his earlier clinical coolness. “Right now, medicine and magic stand divided by prejudice on both sides. Can you imagine the possibilities if that barrier was broken down? Accredited doctors who are also skilled witches, practicing their full abilities in the open, without fear of being persecuted.”

Because witch doctors have such a good reputation.

“Being the pet of the Conti Family isn’t big enough for you?” Calvin figured he had little to lose by keeping Humphries talking since it forestalled his death and gave Owen the ghost of a chance to come to his rescue.

Humphries laughed. “Luca Conti doesn’t have the balls to be my patron. That hag who runs his coven has all kinds of Catholic compunctions about bringing what was dead back to life. Rich, isn’t it, considering Easter?”

“So who? Someone looking to knock the Contis down a peg? The Russo-Lombardi faction?” he guessed, remembering the conversation with Louisa the previous night.

“The world is changing, and people who can’t change with it will be left behind.” Humphries had continued to stitch his patient as he talked. The man remained unconscious, but Calvin saw his chest continue to rise and fall. “The Russos aren’t afraid to seize an advantage and use it to their favor. They’ll be the top of the Chicago Mob, and I’ll make sure their soldiers are nearly unkillable.”

Nice fantasy and probably made a great pitch to your patron. Delivering on it could be a real bitch.

Calvin shifted on his chair. His bonds didn’t give him much leeway, but the slight movement was enough to let him know that the thin saw blade hidden in the waistband of his pants was still there. He thought he could work it loose with his fingers. He just needed time to cut through the ropes to free himself before Humphries made him the next project.

I’ll give escaping my best shot, but the odds are slim. And if Humphries’s witch shows up, I’m out of luck.

I wonder if Owen has realized yet that I’ve been taken? And if he does, will he rush in half-cocked to rescue me and play into Humphries’s plans?

They had come so far, learning to trust and letting down long-held barriers. Both of them had old scars that healed slowly, damage from the past, but they had brought out the best in each other. Their relationship was still new, but their bond was already surprisingly intense.

Owen will blame himself for my death and Steven’s. It’s not his fault, but he’ll never believe that. Will he quit the service? Can Winston stay with him, or will he be reassigned?

Calvin thought back to leaving the train car that morning, glad they had kissed and traded endearments. At least Owen knows I love him, and I hope he knows I’d never leave him if I had a choice. We haven’t had nearly enough time together, but I’ve tried to tell him how much he means to me. I wanted a lifetime. It doesn’t look like we’re going to get that. I’m sorry, Owen.

If we got lucky, we could have eventually retired together or done something less risky. Other agents manage. We can’t marry, but we could make our own vows, pledge the rest of our lives together.

Looks like the rest of my life is going to be far too short.

Calvin swallowed hard, steeling his nerves and keeping his face impassive, determined not to show any weakness or fear. He wouldn’t give Humphries that win, even though inside he felt cold with terror.

How does he intend to kill me? Probably depends on what parts he wants to take. I imagine a bullet to the head would be too kind. To the heart? Or maybe slitting my throat? Does it matter how much blood I lose before he cuts off whatever pieces he wants?

The thought of Owen finding him like that, not just dead but mutilated, filled Calvin with remorse. I shouldn’t have gone to the library without backup, knowing what was going on. Should have waited for Winston or Owen.

I took precautions. Humphries just got the drop on me. And now Owen pays a price as well.

Calvin didn’t doubt that his death would bring out a darker side of Owen that he had glimpsed, an obsessive determination that would stop at nothing to achieve its objective. Reined in, that ability made Owen a brilliant agent. But bent on revenge, Owen was likely to break rules, cross lines, and sacrifice himself to atone for Calvin’s death.

Killing me is likely to destroy both of us. I wouldn’t be any better if the roles were reversed.

Humphries had stopped talking, intent on finishing his work. Calvin maneuvered so that his fingers could reach the spot in his waistband that hid the saw blade. Escaping was a long shot, but Calvin intended to go down fighting.

“You get to see the best part.” Humphries sounded excited as he pushed his patient’s gurney toward the large metal box.

“Where’s your witch? Shouldn’t he be here?” Calvin couldn’t help being curious. He worked at the saw blade and then twitched his fingers to begin the slow job of fraying his ropes.

“The magic was done before you woke up. Don’t worry—he’ll be back when it’s time to preserve your parts. Hands and feet bring a premium,” Humphries gloated. Calvin repressed a shudder.

“Here’s where science changes the world.” Humphries attached wires linking the big box to the patient’s newly sewn-on hand.

“Behold!” He threw a lever, and the box lit up, whirring and beeping as it came to life. Electricity crackled around nodes at the top like a deadly halo. Calvin could feel a charge in the air, even at a distance, like the air before a thunderstorm.

The whole contraption whined, and then the man’s hand began to twitch and jump, coming off the gurney and several inches into the air. The patient, until now drugged senseless, opened his eyes and screamed, and his body arched against the restraints.

Calvin sawed faster. The blade slipped, and blood slicked his fingers. He tightened his grip and ignored the pain.

I don’t have to cut through all of the ropes. Just enough to wiggle free.

There are plenty of knives on the table. Any of them should do nicely. The witch isn’t here, and Humphries is only human.

I might not succeed but attacking beats waiting to be killed.

The smell of ozone and burnt flesh filled the workshop, and Calvin fought the urge to gag. The patient, eyes wide and chest heaving, gripped the gurney white-knuckled with his original hand. He looked pale and terrified, but the fingers of the new hand twitched, and Humphries clapped with exultation.

“Another success!” Humphries celebrated.

Calvin felt the rope give, and he struggled with all his might. One loop snapped, and the rest fell to the ground. He launched himself out of his chair, ignoring the pounding in his head, and dove at Humphries.

Humphries recoiled, bumping the gurney and sending it rolling. It hit a crack in the cement floor and toppled, which snapped the restraints and dumped the patient onto the floor. The man lay still and did not try to crawl away.

Gunfire sounded outside the warehouse, barely audible above the whine of the generator. He hadn’t seen any guards, and now Calvin guessed they had been watching the street to avoid interruptions.

Owen. He’s come to rescue me—and I sure hope he’s got backup. I’ve just got to play for time.

Calvin grabbed a scalpel from the cart, tamping down his gift to ignore the graphic images the item raised in his mind. He brandished it at Humphries, who stared at him wide-eyed as if he couldn’t grasp how suddenly his advantage had disappeared.

Humphries ran at Calvin with a knife, and Calvin dodged, slashing his stolen scalpel across the doctor’s face. Humphries screamed and staggered. Calvin shoved him with the implement cart and sent him flying back against the machine. Humphries threw his arms wide with the impact and snagged his lab coat on the generator’s big lever.

The massive generator threw up a shower of flame and sparks. Humphries, caught on the lever, shuddered and twisted like the side of beef in the galvanism exhibition as the voltage surged through his body. Fire shot from the machine, setting Humphries alight and catching in the trash that lay piled against the walls. Humphries screamed as the flames rose, engulfing him and burning him alive.

The piles of trash and stacked wooden boxes caught quickly. Billowing smoke filled the warehouse with a choking haze that burned in Calvin’s lungs.

“Calvin! Calvin!” Owen’s voice came from the direction of the doorway.

“Over here!” Calvin dropped to his hands and knees to keep his head below the smoke. He crawled toward the fallen patient, fearing the worst.

He rolled the man over, and the arm with the stitched-on hand flopped to the side. Calvin checked for breath and heartbeat but found neither.

“Calvin!” Owen fell to his knees beside him. “Thank God. You’re alive.”

“We’ve got to get out of here before the smoke gets worse,” Calvin replied. “Humphries and his patient are dead.” He pointed toward the charred corpse that still hung from the generator, which was now engulfed in flames

Owen pulled him to his feet and grabbed him by the arm. They hunched low, running toward the door. Whatever was in the heaps of wood and paper burned fast, creating a thick, stinking cloud that made them cough and stung their eyes.

Owen led the way, throwing the door open and hauling Calvin outside.

They heaved for breath, sucking in the cold air and wiping away tears.

“Owen! Calvin!” Arabella hurried to meet them. “Is Humphries dead?”

“Yes. That was his headquarters,” Calvin told her. “He’s got a necromancer helping him.”

“He had one, you mean,” she replied with a smug smile. “We trapped him when he left the warehouse. Maria Bianchi wrung out a confession before she killed him. He won’t be helping anyone take over Humphries’s role, and after today, I doubt any other ambitious witches will be looking to take the job if someone is stupid enough to try to take Humphries’s place. Get out of here. I’ll make sure the whole place burns to the ground.” Arabella waved her hand.

Calvin glimpsed Louisa and several men he assumed were Pinkertons holding a periphery around the warehouse. The gunfire hadn’t come closer, but it sounded like a pitched battle was underway just a few blocks away.

“Pearl and her gang are keeping the Russo guards busy,” Owen told him. “We’re going to try to go around them and keep our heads down. Don’t get shot.”

When they rounded the corner, shots pinged in the brick wall near them. Owen dragged Calvin into a doorway.

“You got him?” Pearl shouted over her shoulder as she reloaded, barely pausing before shooting again. She glanced from Owen to Calvin. “Get out of here. We’ll handle the goons.”

They were barely another street away when an explosion shook the ground, and they turned to see a fireball where the warehouse had been. Calvin felt certain that Arabella would ensure that nothing remained of Humphries’s equipment or his work.

“Winston took a contingent of witches to Humphries’s house,” Owen told him. “He’ll make sure that no papers or files survive.”

“How did you find me?” Calvin couldn’t stave off another coughing fit. Owen rubbed his back.

“I’ll tell you everything later,” Owen promised. The wail of sirens sounded, growing louder. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to explain any of this to the cops.”

By the time the fire engines and police wagons thundered past them, the gunfire had ended. Calvin knew that the witches would have vanished into the shadows and that the Pinkertons as well as the mobsters and Pearl’s gang would be long gone.

A carriage rolled up beside them, and the driver lowered her hood so they could recognize Louisa. “Get in.”

They climbed aboard, and she snapped the reins, setting them off at a brisk pace. Two men Calvin didn’t recognize were already inside.

“Pinkertons,” Owen said. “Louisa’s people.” He turned to the two agents. “Thanks for the assist.”

The younger of the two men grinned. “There’s never a dull moment. Glad we could be of help. Whoever hired the warehouse guards did a lousy job. They folded as soon as we showed up in force.”

“Probably weren’t getting hazard pay worth the risk,” Owen said. “Better than fighting tooth and nail to the last man.”

The younger Pinkerton looked at Calvin. “You the guy who got kidnapped? Your partner called out everything except the cavalry to rescue you.”

“Thank you,” Calvin said. The smoke had made his throat sore and roughened his voice. “Did any of your people get hurt?”

“Nah. The guards didn’t have the belly for a real fight,” the older detective replied. “We trussed them up and left them for the cops. I don’t imagine they’re upstanding citizens.”

Once the dust settled, Calvin figured they would hear Pearl’s side of the fight with the Russos, either from Louisa or Pearl herself. He wondered how Maria Bianchi’s standoff with the other covens had gone and whether tonight would tip the balance of the Mob wars between the Conti family and the Russos, but at the moment, he was too exhausted to care.

Squashed into the carriage, Calvin’s knee bumped Owen’s, providing needed comfort. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but not until they were safe in the Pullman car, in the privacy of Winston’s wardings.

After we shower. I can still smell the smoke and charred flesh. I hope we’ve got menthol rub.

“I’ll be in touch,” Louisa called to them when she stopped the carriage at the train station.

“Thanks for the lift,” Owen replied.

“Thanks for a fun night,” she said with a jaunty mock salute.

The carriage waited until they were inside the Pullman car before it drew away. Winston hurried to greet them.

“Oh, thank the gods. You’re alive.” He appraised them for injuries.

“Have any luck at Humphries’s apartment?” Owen asked Winston as he guided Calvin out of the foyer and toward the bathroom.

“The wardings were easily broken, and apparently he never thought anyone would search for his notes and materials,” Winston said with a sniff of judgment. “We sent all his papers up in flames, took the things we couldn’t burn so we could destroy them in a safe place, and did a powerful cleansing ritual.”

“He won’t be going back,” Owen said. “Calvin killed him.”

“Serves him right.” Winston’s tone was pure steel.

Now that the crisis was over and he wasn’t dead, Calvin felt the adrenaline fade as the events of the day hit hard. “Shower—and tea.”

“The water is already boiling. I’ll have tea ready in a trice,” Winston replied.

“I bet Calvin’s got a roaring headache too, between the knock-out drug and the smoke,” Owen told Winston.

“I have just the thing for it,” Winston replied. “Clean up. I put fresh clothing for both of you in your rooms already. I’ll have something to eat fixed by the time you’re done.”

Calvin let Owen steer him to the bathroom and strip off his clothes, which were stained with smoke and blood.

“I’ll burn them,” Owen promised as he added his soiled clothing to the pile. “Let’s get you clean.”

Calvin allowed Owen to maneuver him, glad not to have to think. He figured that shock was finally setting in, considering his close call. His head no longer throbbed, but Calvin feared it might come back at full strength if he moved wrong.

Owen pressed up against him, skin to skin. The hot water sprayed over them, and Calvin felt his shoulders relax just a bit.

“Let me get your face first.” Owen’s voice, calm and careful, sounded like he was talking to a spooked animal. He wet a cloth and gently wiped it over Calvin’s forehead, then down over his eyes and cheeks, washing away the sweat and grit.

“Better?”

Calvin nodded. Now that he was safe, he felt close to tears and didn’t want to break down.

“Shh. It’s okay, whatever you need,” Owen said in a voice just above a whisper. “Cry, rant, scream. I’m here.”

“You came for me.” Calvin could barely hear his words above the water.

“Of course I did. Hell itself couldn’t stop me.”

Calvin’s breath hitched. Owen pressed a kiss to his neck. Then he soaped up his hands and began to lather Calvin’s shoulders and chest, working his way down his arms and noting where the rope had abraded and the hidden saw had cut his fingers.

“I’ll take care of those when we dry off. Let me make sure they’re clean.”

Owen washed Calvin’s back and buttocks, then down both legs before rising to clean his groin, gentle but not sexual. Grateful as Calvin was to be home safely with his lover, sex was the furthest thing from his mind right now.

“Time for everything later,” Owen murmured as if guessing his thoughts. “We can have glad-you’re-alive sex in the morning. No rush.”

There were so many questions Calvin wanted to ask, but the hot water and clean scent of soap drove them all from his mind. His body responded to Owen’s care, working its own version of touch magic.

Owen took his time washing Calvin’s hair, massaging his scalp before rinsing under the water. “There. Just like new,” he said with a strained smile. Calvin could see the toll the day had taken in Owen’s eyes and knew they needed to talk about Steven, although he couldn’t muster the courage just yet.

Owen shut off the water and reached for a towel, gently drying Calvin first. He patiently held out Calvin’s clothing and helped him dress, then hurried into his fresh outfit.

“You should eat.”

“Not hungry.”

Owen looked at him fondly. “I know. But you need to heal and that takes energy. I’m sure Winston has something that you can stomach, even if it’s just tea and crackers.”

Calvin knew Owen was right, although his stomach balked at the thought of food after everything he had seen.

Winston had left a pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of crackers with sliced cheese in the parlor, guessing correctly that sitting at the dining table seemed too much right now. A glass of water and some willow bark sat next to the food.

“Stay close.” Calvin reached for Owen’s hand.

“Oh, I swore I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” Owen’s tone told Calvin that he was only partly joking. Then again, it was the second instance in their short time working together that Calvin had been kidnapped, so he figured Owen came by his opinion honestly.

I wouldn’t want Owen to be the one in danger, but I don’t want to make a habit of getting nabbed.

Owen joined him in nibbling the light refreshments, and Calvin figured that his partner was equally shaken and grief-stricken.

“I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” Owen broke the silence. “I know, we’re secret agents, and the library isn’t usually high risk, but look what happened.”

“It should have been safe.”

“But it wasn’t. I almost lost you,” Owen replied in a choked voice.

“I didn’t see anything dodgy when I got to the library.” Calvin’s voice sounded numb even to his own ears. “I went back to the stacks for a reference book, and that’s when they got me. Some sort of injection. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in the warehouse tied to a chair.”

“When I got to the library, they said you had felt unwell, and your friends helped you to a carriage,” Owen picked up the story. “I knew then Humphries had you. I am so, so sorry.”

“You know…about Steven?” Calvin murmured.

Owen caught his breath and blinked a couple of times before he nodded. “Yes. By the time I got there, the police were already on site. I heard the details from Harry, one of the helpers at the show. When they said he was missing a hand and a foot—” Owen choked on the words and shook his head. “That’s when I knew it was Humphries. And if he killed Steven, he’d come after us.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Owen bowed his head, and when he looked up, he had regained control. “Steven was a companion at a time when I was very alone. We were never in love, but he was kind and got me through a tough patch. I’ll always be grateful. He was trying to do the right thing, following up on a lead. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

“I know.”

“And then, when you went missing, I sort of lost my mind,” Owen confessed. “Winston and Arabella stopped me from charging in, but it was a near thing. I was so afraid that by the time we rallied the troops and attacked, it would be too late, and you’d be…gone.”

“I’m glad you came when you did. It was a close call. Too close. If I hadn’t managed to cut the rope?—”

“But you did,” Owen said stubbornly. “You got loose and killed Humphries, even after everything.”

“Killing him was accidental,” Calvin admitted. “Lucky break.”

Owen shook his head. “You saw a chance and took it. Takes a damn good agent to do that after being drugged.” He frowned. “How’s your head? Those drugs are awful stuff.”

“Getting better,” Calvin replied. “The willow bark will help.”

Once the food was gone, Calvin leaned against Owen, who wrapped his arms around him tightly. He knew Owen was trying to be strong for him despite his own fear and grief.

They sat in silence for a while. Calvin was content to listen to Owen’s breathing and feel his heartbeat. Owen kept running a hand up and down Calvin’s upper arm as if to assure himself that Calvin was solid and real.

“All I could think was that you and I hadn’t had enough time,” Calvin finally said without looking up. “We’d only just found each other. I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you. I know…we haven’t talked about the future a lot…but in my mind, I saw us growing old together, as close to married as folks like us can be. Forever.”

He blushed at the admission. “Maybe it’s silly?—”

“Not at all,” Owen jumped in. “I’ve thought about it too. Just wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“You. I want you,” Calvin said, stubbornly defiant. “Come hell or high water.”

“Then I’m yours.” Owen pressed a kiss to Calvin’s temple. “Forever.”

Calvin took his hand, threading their fingers together. “Forever.”