Page 155 of Shrapnel

“When he comes home…he won’t be the same, will he?” Owen asked darkly.

Grant stopped chewing, staring ahead. “Maybe not.”

He set the food down. Owen didn’t think he could eat anymore. He turned to face Grant, absently rubbing his cast. “How do I know what he’ll need?”

Owen might be scared, but he wasn’t going to flinch. Not again. Not when Jamie needed him most. He would take Jamie in whatever form he gave.

“You won’t,” Grant said after a moment, coolly assessing Owen in that polite yet unnerving way he had. “He probably won’t, either.”

He bundled up his aluminum foil wrapping, tossing it back into the bag. “There were times I would ask, and Kurt would lash out at me. Not because he was angry at me, but because he was frustrated he didn’t understand what he needed.” His eyebrows wrinkled in thought. “Being with someone who is struggling is an exercise in frustration. Every day is something new. Some days Kurt would cling to me with this insatiably need for physical contact. Others he would jump if I so much as sneezed.”

Owen couldn’t imagine that. Grant always seemed so in control. So aware of himself and others. How did he handle not knowing? How did he and Kurt get through it? Jamie had finally begun to trust Owen. He told him things that even Elijah didn’t know. Would any of that mean anything?

“It’s a minefield. You won’t get out unscathed.”

Owen swallowed. “How do you do it?”

Grant’s smile quirked, eyes softening. “Because I love him. I love him the way he is, explosions and all.” Running his fingers through his hair, he sat up. “There’s good in the bad. You just have to find it.”

Because I love him.

Owen was dumbstruck. Did he love Jamie? He must. What else could describe his single-minded focus? The need to find him, to hold him. It wasn’t even a need to fix him. Jamie wasn’t broken. He was just…Jamie. And Owen missed him. He missed his shrewd insight, the stupid jokes, his baffling strength, and the way he made Owen feel. Like there was nothing else in the world but the two of them.

His computer dinged, wrestling Owen from his thoughts. Knocking the trash away from the keyboard he sat up.

“We got a match,” Owen mumbled.

“On Dominic?”

“No.” Owen pulled up a picture of the man with him. In the video outside of Jamie’s apartment they could only see half his face as it dipped in and out of frame, but apparently it was enough.

“Ian Leander.” A military file appeared on his screen. It was sanitized, huge swaths of information redacted or missing. Owen was used to it. The military loved to pretend that their records were important.

“Medically discharged from the Army. There isn’t much on his military record, but he does have an arrest record.” Owen brought the three separate instances up. “Assault and battery, criminal larceny, and one charge of illegal possession of a firearm. None of them stuck, and he disappeared before his court dates.”

“Jamie was held up by a wanted criminal,” Grant mused. “That should make things easier. His prints should be in the system.”

“From the military, yes. But so far, no hits. He’s not exactly the FBI’s most wanted.” Before Grant could ask, he looked into who posted bail. “Same corporations that posted Mateo’s bail posted his all three times.”

“Was he ever arrested with anyone?” Jackson’s voice was rough with sleep. Grant had forced him to get checked out, and the duct tape had been replaced with a hospital grace eye patch. According to a very intimidated doctor, he would be fine after some rest and meds.

“Uh, those records would be separate. Hold on.” Owen shrunk down behind his monitor, typing and clicking until he found what he was looking for.

A mug shot of a man with thick bandages pulled over his eyes loaded onto his screen. His hair was a different color and shorter, but it was undoubtedly Dominic.

Owen inhaled sharply. “An alias.”

“Search that name—”

“Already on it,” Owen snapped, redoing all his searches. The information poured in.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Holy shit, holy shit. Dominic Renard also goes by Allan Espinoza. As Espinoza, he has quite a few arrests. Going back to—Jesus he must have been like sixteen here?”

A new photo appeared. Dominic was young, his face gaunt but with the chubby remnants of youth. The really surprising thing was his eyes. They were intact. Almond shaped and the color of dark chocolate, he was a handsome man with delicate features. In another life, he could have been a model with his thick lashes and pouty lips.

“Arrested for facilitating prostitution. Upon his arrest they found Heroin on him. He was charged with intent to distribute. Bailed out by…” Owen went cold. “By a Luc Renard.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard that name before. He’s a minor player down south.”