The Broken Road
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!
Chapter Twenty-Five
After putting his hands behind his head in a deceptively lazy pose, Dan leaned back and watched his friend through half-closed lids, seriously amused by the ever-moving sight before him. Jim hadn't done a thing all afternoon except pace from one end of the large living room to the other. Occasionally he'd take a short break and sit down on one of the many pieces of comfortable furniture in the room but then he'd immediately pop right back up, as if he didn't have the capacity to remain still for more than two seconds. He was also constantly checking his cell. A new text was being chirped around every twenty-three minutes or so it seemed to Dan when he attempted to average out the time in his mind. Each and every single text was from Trixie, letting Jim where she was, what she was doing and that she was okay. One lip curved upward while he took a long, leisurely sip from the bottle of beer he was currently nursing before he geared up to take a shot at his obviously frazzled friend. "Good God, Jim," he complained loudly, allowing his exasperation to show. "You have seriously got to find something better to do with yourself. I'm getting exhausted just watching you. What are you on now? Your tenth or eleventh mile?"
The voice drenched in playful sarcasm halted him in mid-stride. Groaning, Jim flopped down on the closest piece of furniture, the sectional, and dropped his head in his hands, an ironic carbon copy of the self-same position Trixie had often found herself in during their teenage years. He ran his hands through his hair, making the ends stick out, before letting out a loud sigh. In a low voice, he admitted to the carpet, "Dan, give me a break here. This day is taking forever to get over with."
"That's because you're not doing anything," Dan pointed out helpfully, lips threatening to twitch and dark eyes gleaming with barely concealed amusement. It wasn't often that Jim Frayne showed himself to unnerved. It would have been entertaining under any circumstances but because Trixie was the driving force behind it only sweetened the deal for Dan. The only way it could get any better was if he had someone to share it with. After settling back against the soft cushions of the recliner, he added, "Pacing isn't going to make it go by any faster, you know. It's only going to wear out a path in the carpet. The hotel management will probably make you buy a new one."
Jim growled through clenched lips and followed it up with a toss of a throw pillow. "Shut up," was his intellectual reply.
"Nice throw there, Ace." Dan easily swatted away the decorative pillow. It landed harmlessly on the thick carpeting. His hands went out, palms up. "No need to take out your frustrations on me. I'm simply calling 'em as I see 'em." Finally finding a way to enjoy the afternoon, a sly little grin lighting up his face, he silently pondered the best way to poke a little more fun at his friend's expense. For once, the possibilities were endless. It was merely a matter of choosing the best course. He angled his head to the side, ready to consider his next avenue. A little chime that was becoming all too familiar interrupted his thoughts. He imagined he'd hear it in his sleep; he was hearing it that often during the day.
Jim fumbled for the cell. Trying to forget that Dan was in the same room, he picked it up off the table. Swiftly, he called up the newest message. Eyes turning a piercing green, he skimmed it while his face immediately softened at the message it contained. A low sigh of relief blew past his lips. Once again, he was reassured that she was safe.
Dan watched it all, idly wondering the whole time if Jim realized how much his expression gave away. It was painfully obvious how much he still cared for Trixie. It was there in the softness in his eyes, the slight smile on his face, the sudden relaxation in his posture. Yep. There was no doubt about it. James Winthrop Frayne II was definitely toast. Again. Just as he'd been all those years ago. And, Dan thought with a single upraised eyebrow, he couldn't have picked a better girl. Now if only the two didn't manage to mangle it once again. He had hope that they wouldn't but…this was Jim and Trixie he was thinking about right now. Anything was possible between these two. When Jim didn't offer to share the contents of the newest message, merely continued to look down at it as if he was attempting to memorize the words or maybe make some kind of a telepathic connection through the cellular device to the blonde beauty, Dan swallowed a sigh and prepared to drag it out of him. "So," he began, as curious about Trixie's whereabouts as Jim had just been. "Where's Hollywood now?"
Jim didn't look up. He quickly typed in his usual response to Trixie, hit send, and put his cell back on the coffee table where it could be in full view for the next time it chimed. "She's finally finished with the spa. They're back in the limo and on their way to the salon right now."
"First a spa, then a salon." Dan tucked back a strand of hair that kept falling into his face. First thing he was doing when he was back in NYC was make an appointment to see his barber. The longer length of his hair was practically killing him. After finishing the last of his beer, the only one he was allowing himself for the day, he sauntered over to the bar and grabbed two bottles of water. "Poor Trix. She must be about ready to pull out her hair by now."
When Dan tossed him a bottle of water, Jim caught it and nodded his thanks. Then he saw the clock and frowned. "Hell, Dan, it's already four-thirty. She's been with Ginny Young for over three hours now," he noted with some surprise.
"And I'm surviving the most boring day ever, hanging out here watching you wait for each and every single one of Trix's texts." The room filled with deep chuckles when Jim started to flush. "You know, you could take me up on my offer and listen in on Trixie. I have the capability right here." He waved his own cell through the air. "Remember? It was updated last night so I could eavesdrop on your meeting at the penthouse."
Jim gave an immediate negative shake of his head. While the thought of eavesdropping in on Trixie's day was appealing, he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to invade her privacy…unless it was deemed necessary by the CDA. For security reasons. So far, it hadn't been. The whole day appeared to be on the up and up. Each text from Trixie confirmed it.
"Suit yourself." Dan slipped it into his back pocket. Leaning negligently against the bar, he glanced skyward and released a long, pent-up groan of full boredom. "There's got to be something more interesting to do here though. I'm not sure how much more I can take of this room. I mean, come on, Jim. This is Vegas! And all I've done this afternoon is watch you pine after Trixie. Real fun, let me tell you."
"Glad to hear you say that!" Max called out cheerfully from the threshold between their suites, brandishing a fresh pack of cards through the air. "I figured you two could use some livening up right about now."
Jim glared accusingly at the secret agent. In his mind, the man should be part of the back-up time following Trixie, not hanging out in their suite, watching over them. He'd rather Trixie have all the protection she could possibly need. Practically sneering at the man, he declared in an unfriendly tone, "I still find it hard to believe that you stayed behind."
Max lifted his shoulders, not taking offense. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd want someone watching over his Joss if situations were reversed. He'd want the best for his wife. He couldn't fault Jim for wanting the same for his girl. "There wasn't much I could do about it, Frayne. Belden made it perfectly clear before she left that I wasn't wanted or needed on this expedition of hers." Much to his chagrin but he chose not to share that little tidbit. "Since it was the only request she's made this whole mission that I could actually grant, I decided not to fight it. She wanted me to stay here."
"You mean she wanted you to guard us," Dan pointed out, more than a little stung. In his mind, they didn't need protection. Why should they need it? They weren't even allowed to leave the suite. They were stuck. In complete agreement with Jim, he narrowed his dark eyes at the man and muttered hotly under his breath, "Like we need a freakin' babysitter."
The two weren't thinking anything he hadn't already thought. "You'll have to take up your complaints with Belden when she gets back," he said, more than willing to push their complaints in the direction of the person who should hear them. "She's the one who insisted I stay behind."
"Why did she do that?" Jim looked around the quiet, peaceful room before adding sarcastically, "We're not exactly involved in a hotbed of activity right now, you know."
Having been in more heart-pounding, hair-raising situations that he could count, Max settled for another simple shrug. He didn't point out that in his line of work situations could change dramatically on the flip of a dime; most often when one least expected it to. And Belden would be seriously ticked off if something happened to either one of her friends. For that reason alone he wasn't taking any chances. He was staying put…and so were his two charges. Ignoring the various waves of annoyance coming his way, he held up the cards again and invited them, "Care to join me?"
"What do you have in mind?" Interested, Dan pushed himself off the bar and sauntered into the center of the room. He remembered the night before very well. His palms started to itch to feel the smoothness of the cards again. The clink of money would be even better. He'd played well but hadn't allowed the true depth of his abilities to show, in hopes that he'd be able to take on one or both CDA agents again. Today would be a different story.
"I'm up for anything." Max rocked back on his heels, eyeing the other gentlemen carefully, taking stock of their varying abilities. Frayne, he already knew, was most definitely not a player. Average was almost too high of a description for him. Mangan, on the other hand…He was a different sort altogether. Crafty. Intuitive. An excellent bluffer. Yeah, he'd love to have the chance to play against him again. He'd be a good challenge.
"I always enjoy a good round of poker." Considering, Dan rubbed his chin before hooking a thumb towards the only redheaded male in the room. "Unfortunately, one of us in this room just happens to not be a very good addition to the poker table. To put it plainly, he sucks and we all know it. Do you think maybe we should try Gin Rummy instead? Or how about a walloping good game of War or Go Fish or maybe even Memory? You know, something more suited to the playing level of a preschooler?"
Jim's toss was much harder this time. His aim was even better. The pillow hit Dan squarely in the stomach. The loud 'oomph' made him smile. Slightly. "I'll play your damn game," he grumbled lowly. "You can deal me in."
Making himself at home, Max strode behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of water. Alcohol wouldn't do, not when he was on the job. Surveillance. Protection. Baby-sitting. He wasn't exactly certain what the exact term was for his current job but he damn well wasn't going to be found lacking should something come up. Besides, he'd much rather have his wits about him for the upcoming game. "Here?"
"Here's okay but the dining room's even better. It's got a good solid table. Lots of room to spread out." Following Max's lead, Dan grabbed a bottle, snagged a few snack bags for good measure, and led the way out of the living room, a cheerful bounce to his step. "You sure you don't want to try a game that's more your speed?" he shot back over his shoulder to Jim, just to aggravate. "I hear Hearts is super challenging."
Jim answer was an ugly growl before he stalked over to retrieve his own bottle of water. Alone in the room, he sent one last look at the closed front door. He couldn't wait until Trixie came back through it. Until then, it seemed like he was destined to spend the rest of the afternoon sandwiched between the resident card sharks of the East and the West Coast. At least playing would serve as a distraction for him, if nothing else. He didn't have any higher aspirations. As much as it galled his pride, Dan's description about his card playing was unfortunately right on the money.
Once the others were seated around the large dining room table, Max didn't waste a moment before taking charge. Not wanting to give the DEA agent the chance, he expertly shuffled the cards, doing a few extra tricks to show off just for the hell of it, and then started doling them out. He wasn't going to take it easy on either of his opponents. Judging from the glint in the dark eyes across the table, he correctly inferred that neither was Mangan. Frayne was a different story altogether. The man may have been occupying a seat at the table but his heart obviously wasn't in the game. "All right, boys. Let's see what we've got here," he said through a grin and studied his cards through with a half-smile on his face, ready for some fun.
The game made the rest of the afternoon fly by. It was fast and furious, with Dan and Max alternating between the role of winner, and Jim always finishing last. But Dan finally succeeded in getting the better of Max. Frustrated when Dan successfully won for the fifth time in a row, Max tossed down his cards in disgust. Fun was not the adjective he'd use to describe the game now, nor was it the meaning behind the series of curse words that rolled effortlessly off his tongue. "Damn it, Mangan. You're with the wrong agency," he grouched as Dan pulled an impressive pile of winnings towards him. Winnings, Max noted, that Jim hadn't offered much up n. Frayne never anted up, never called a bluff, didn't seem to truly care about the outcome of any hand. Time and again he'd thrown away the good start of a flush or a set of pairs. In fact, he was generally out after the second set of cards was distributed.
"Well, well, well." Dan's smirk was sly and satisfied. Because he enjoyed poking fun at other's expense, especially when that other person was an equally accomplished card player, he took his time and began carefully stacking the folded bills and assorted change into nice neat piles. Going a step further, he rubbed his hands together and winked lavishly. "Gentlemen, would you both care to look at my loot? Pretty, isn't it?"
"You look like the freakin' bank of England," Max complained ill-naturedly through slitted eyes. It wasn't so much the fact that he was losing. Well, not completely. No, it was the principle of the thing. No one should be that dominant. It made him wonder if Mangan had pulled the wool over his eyes last night during their first round of play. When Dan chuckled again, he realized that his suspicions were one hundred percent correct. "It's your turn to deal," he said in a voice that sounded sulky to his own ears.
Jim, who was merely going through the motions and didn't so much as make an attempt to try to win any of the hands, jumped when his cell let out its latest series of musical chimes. A large freckled hand nearly knocked over an array of water bottles, empty and half-full, in his haste to answer it. Game forgotten, the same smile played over his lips while he quickly perused the latest text with an intensity that was nearly tangible.
In the middle of shuffling the cards for the next hand of play, Dan paused to stare in amazement at his friend. Transparent. He'd never expected to use that word to describe the man sitting next to him. Jim used to excel at keeping his feelings hidden. The cards fell back to the table, forgotten for the moment. "Good Lord, Jim," he complained loudly, unwilling to let the golden opportunity to tease his friend slip by. "Get it together here. You're not a teenager anymore. I thought you were well beyond the mooning stage."
Hating to be caught doing just that, despising the fact that Dan had to point it out, and loudly, too, Jim looked up sharply from his phone while a brilliant red flooded his face. Emerald green eyes slid towards the other man who completed their trio before he inquired casually, "You must have made some serious connections over the years, am I right?"
"Hmm. Yes, I have. What do you have in mind?" Interested, Max leaned back and eyed the other man curiously.
"I've got this problem." Jim carefully laid his cell back on the table and cocked his head towards Dan. "You see, I've got this extremely…irritating friend. You know the kind, right? Shows up when he's not invited, can't keep a secret, thinks he's really funny when he's just being downright annoying, plays one seriously mean game of poker. You know, that kind of a friend."
Max rubbed his chin. "Hmm. I think I've had some experience with the type of person you're describing here." He ignored the sputtering man who'd just thrown an entire pack of cards on the table in a show of scandalized outrage. "Tell me, Frayne. What are your thoughts?"
"I'm thinking…relocation. Yeah. Relocation has a nice ring to it right about now." Jim gamely swallowed back a chuckle when Dan emitted a sound that could only be termed a snarl. "In fact, I hear New York is great in the summertime. There's nothing quite like being in the City during a sweltering heat wave."
Startled by the suggestion from the generally quiet man, Max let out a loud laugh, inwardly amused. It seemed the old adage was right. Still waters really did run deep. No wonder Belden was crazy about him. He served as an excellent balance to her impulsivity. Max leaned across the table and said, totally deadpanned, "Hey, Frayne. Relocation is doable. It'll take a few phone calls but give me ten minutes. I've got the means to get him there."
"If you two idiots would just shut the hell up, we could start the next round." Dan aimed a killer glare at the other two, choosing to ignore the combined barks of laughter coming his way. It always sucked when one of his friends got the better of him. And it always surprised him when Jim was the one who managed to do it. It didn't happen often. "Although I'm beginning to think I should throw it," he grumbled lowly under his breath.
Once again, Max noted the large stack of winnings in front of Dan. It was double the amount of his. And Frayne….Max flinched when he saw how little the man had left. "We wouldn't want to influence your decision," he said playfully. "You do what you think is right."
Another round of laughter was cut short by a sharp knock on the door. Jim shot out of his seat and hurried from the room before the other two even had a chance to move. While he warily approached the door, Dan and Max chose to stay in the hallway, out of the line of sight but close enough to offer immediate help should it be needed. Taking a deep breath, curious about what he'd view on the other side; Jim looked through the peephole and frowned. The sight only increased his wariness. Narrowing his eyes, he slid open the door but did not invite the man inside. His tone wasn't exactly inviting as he demanded, "What are you doing here?"
Mr. Young's butler stood in the hallway, a cool, disdainful look on his face. It took an effort but he forced his lips to curve upwards. It should have been pleasant but it wasn't. He didn't take offense at the rudeness of the man before him. His employer had already prepped him for it. He pointed to the garment bag draped over his arm and said stiffly, "I have a special delivery for you."
Jim ignored the long black bag. Going against the good manners his mother had instilled in him from the time he was old enough to understand, he made no move to invite the man into the suite. "I don't want it," he replied, curt and to the point.
"Be that as it may," the butler continued, having been told that a negative would most likely be the response from the younger man. "You are going to have to accept it. My employers simply won't take no for an answer. Mr. and Mrs. Young were very insistent on having me delivering this to you and on you accepting it. I cannot leave your presence until you do."
"Again, I don't want it," Jim repeated more forcefully. He started to close the door and suggested, "You can take it back to the penthouse with you."
A shiny black shoe stopped the door from closing in his face. "No, I simply cannot take it back to the penthouse with me," the butler disagreed, looking as cool and unruffled as ever. "It is my order to deliver this to you. As I've already informed you, I am not leaving here until you accept it, Mr. Hart. I am not allowed to. As unfortunate as it sounds, it is a requirement of my job." His tone spoke of how distasteful he found this particular chore.
Jim had never engaged in a stare down with a butler before. The stoic man stood before him, in his starch black and white uniform, a determined gleam to his eyes and narrow, thin lips turned down at the corners. However he felt about the Youngs, he had to admit that they picked a formidable man to stand sentinel over their front door. It took a good solid two minutes before he unbent enough to ask in a frustrated snarl, "What is in the bag?"
"I believe it is your attire for this evening." Sensing the younger man was finally weakening, he offered the bag over once again and tried not to gloat.
Jim swallowed a sigh. Although he hated to admit defeat, he accepted the bag. His face said it all. Lines of discontent settled on his forehead while he glanced up at the ceiling. There was no way he was going to verbally thank the man for it. In his mind, taking the damn bag was enough. He couldn't call up any desire to look inside it.
The butler didn't expect any gratitude. He nodded once and pressed a business card into Jim's free hand. "All the pertinent information you would require is here. Should you have any questions, you will need to contact my employer." With that, he pivoted on his shiny black shoes and strode away without another word, grateful to have his distasteful little errand taken care of. Now he could get back to the penthouse, where he'd much rather be. Coming into contact with the upstarts who sometimes frequented his front door was never a favorite chore of his.
"What a butler," Jim whispered under his breath as he closed the front door. "Harrison could teach him a thing or two on how to do his job." Then he forgot about the unfriendly man and turned over the card in his hand. It was for a restaurant, one he recognized as an extremely expensive one. Florence. A time was scrawled at the bottom of it. "Looks like we're having Italian tonight," he noted dryly, tapping the time. 8:30.
"What do you have there?" Dan called out from the hallway, having found the whole scenario interesting.
"Apparently it is my attire for the night," Jim repeated, trying not to cringe at the thought. After slipping the card into his back pocket, he focused on the garment bag in his hands. The glare he gave the black bag should have reduced it into a pile of smoky gray ashes. "Mr. Young's butler delivered it to me."
Having already completed a scan of the bag the second Jim had opened the door, Max announced, "There's no need to worry. It's completely safe and harmless."
"Your attire, huh?" Dan scratched a hand over his chin and considered all the possibilities. He gave Max a slight shove and said in a loud stage whisper, "I don't know about you but I want to see what's inside. I think my good friend here would look awesome in an Elvis costume. Black, I think, with lots and lots of rhinestones, in all the colors of the rainbow. With his red hair and green eyes he'd be certain to pull it off!"
Jim chose to ignore the low chortles of masculine laughter filling the room. Flushing, he zipped down the bag and starred in puzzlement at its contents. Inside was a normal black and white tuxedo, cut exceedingly well. While he did not normally follow fashion, he immediately recognized the label. He should. It matched the one hanging in his closet back at his apartment, the one his mother had insisted he needed to own for attending the various society affairs required by their company. It was the only reason he knew the designer. "A tux?" he wondered aloud, flabbergasted.
Max stopped laughing long enough to take a closer look. "Oh, yeah. It's definitely a tuxedo, Frayne. I think we can safely assume that tonight's dinner is going to be a black tie affair."
"Great. Just great." His voice carried as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Jim placed the bag back on the recliner, his frown deepening. Having dinner with the Youngs was bad enough. Having to dress up for it in an outfit they provided for him only made it worse. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. Trixie was the only bright light he had. She would be right by his side, through it all, and he would be right next to her. It was the only thing that made the thought of an entire evening with the Youngs possible.
"Better you than me," Dan sang out merrily, unable to get over the idea of Jim having to voluntarily wear a tuxedo. Dressing up in fancy duds was next to the bottom on his list of things to do. In his mind, it ran neck in neck with doing the mountain of laundry that never seemed to go away or washing the pan he'd used to broil steaks in and forgotten about until a week and a half later. "The last time I wore one of those penguin suits was for Brian and Honey's wedding. I have no desire to sport one of them again anytime soon." He emphasized his point with an exaggerated shudder.
Max slowly let his chuckles die down, surprised that he was having such an enjoyable time with Belden's friends. "Well, as much fun as discussing your wardrobe is, I think resuming our game would be much better. I seem to recall that it was Mangan's turn to deal." He started towards the door, sent one long searching glance back over his shoulder. "Anyone else coming?"
Without regret, Jim declined the offer with a negative shake of his head and a small wry chuckle. "It won't make much of a difference if I sit this round out or not. You two can start without me. Maybe I'll rejoin you later." He waited until the others left the room before studying the tuxedo once more and what it meant. If he was supposed to dress up, then that meant Trixie was, too. Eyebrows lifted while he pondered what she was going to be wearing. Probably something from the exclusive dress shop she was visiting with Ginny Young right at this moment. Wearing the tuxedo wasn't going to be so bad, not if he got to do it for Trixie. Unaware that a full smile had bloomed across his face, he detoured towards the bedroom for a quick shower, willing to miss a few hands of a game he was certain he was going to lose. He'd rather prepare himself for the evening ahead, no matter what surprises it may bring.