CSI: Ghost: Chapter 13
A/N: I just want to say thanks for all the wonderful reviews you guys are leaving me. It always makes my day when I get them, and I'm especially glad you all think this story is worth the wait. Thanks guys and enjoy the update!
Geoff was back at Slick's estate, though this time he'd brought his own car out of comfort and the ease with which he could operate it in tight situations. He parked it two streets away, out of the eyesight of Slick's guards. He walked quickly toward the estate, his favorite guns hidden in his trench coat and spare bullets and magazines tucked away into his pocket next to his car keys. When he reached the high, wrought iron fence, he leaped up, grabbed hold, and swung himself over the top to land on his feet. He began running, dodging the moonlight, hiding behind bushes whenever possible. This wasn't going to be easy. He knew he'd have to resort to another weapon he'd brought with him, one he hardly ever used unless he had to. Reaching under his coat he pulled out a blackened blade that didn't glint in the light and betray his position.
He found the first guard several yards down the fence line. Sneaking up behind him he reached around, covered his mouth with his gloved hand and sliced his throat. The man crumpled to the ground, falling out of his grasp nice and quiet. Geoff smiled and continued on, his first intended major target the guard shack at the entrance to the estate. Every few yards he sliced another guard's throat and let them fall to the green earth, now turning the deep, dark, horrid red of death.
When he reached the shack, he held back, hidden behind another bush while he surveyed it. A guard came out just a few moments later, speaking into an ear piece, evidently trying to get hold of a guard Geoff Baker had already dispatched to the fiery ovens of hell. This guard had stupidly left the door ajar as the assassin leaped from the bush and sliced him down before he'd even realized what was happening.
Inside the shack he dispatched the only other guard before he set all the monitors on blank spaces in the yard, so the dead guards wouldn't be found until it was too late. He slipped out of the shack and continued around the perimeter of the estate, slicing each guard he came across. He knew by the end of the night he'd have to burn his clothes, to get the evidence as far away from him as possible, the same as he'd done with the map after he'd memorized it.
Once he'd come nearly full circle he found the guard's house. He let himself in with a keycard from one of the many guards he'd killed. Inside, he found a bunk house with a few beds, a locker room with showers, and a kitchen, stock piled with food. It looked as if the guards didn't have their own beds, so while one was up and working, another was sleeping in the same bed the first slept in while the second worked. All the bunks were full, everyone was asleep. He dispatched them quick enough, thinking how lucky they were to be in dream land, not knowing what was happening to them. There was no time to get scared, or be surprised, and no time to feel pain. In the kitchen, he found two guards chatting together about the recent football game while one of them heated up a pot of pasta and the other kept an eye on the monitors in front of him, on the yard outside. Geoff laughed, knowing the guard had missed something crucial going on outside. He sliced them, and fixed those monitors as well. It was apparent that Slick didn't care about his employees too well, for them to live like this. And with the monitors in the kitchen, they were never far from work.
Once the perimeter was clear he made his way towards the back door of the mansion which sat regally in the center of the lawn. Using the keycard he'd stolen earlier he let himself in. He found another guard just inside the doorway, who held a surprised look on his face when he saw Geoff. He made for a poor guard as he stood frozen to the spot, unable to call for backup or apprehend the intruder. Geoff smiled his sweet smile and gave the man a cheery hello before killing him.
He knew exactly where Slick Willson's office was, where his bedroom was, and he intended to save those places for last. He wanted every guard gone first and dispatching the rest wasn't too hard. The man he'd killed on his coffee run had actually done a pretty good job drawing out the mansion and placing every guard in it.
When he was sure he was alone with the crime boss he made his way to the man's private chambers. The boss was sound asleep in bed and Geoff grinned at the sight of the vulnerable man who had no clue just how vulnerable he was, even with all of the guards surrounding him. Instead of dispatching him quick, Geoff had other plans. He found the bathroom and washed off his knife before putting it back underneath his coat and pulling out a pair of handcuffs.
Over by the bed he took the pillow case off the pillow Slick wasn't using and carefully slipped it over the man's head while he slept. He then proceeded to slap him in the face, to wake him up. Slick grunted, and shook his head, sitting up. Geoff wanted to laugh at the sight of the boss in red silk pajamas as sheets fell away from his body.
He was glad the man seemed to like wrought iron a lot. It made him that much easier to handcuff to the bed as Geoff pushed him against it in a rough manner.
"What the hell's going on?" Slick asked, in confusion, trying to clear his head from sleep and get the pillowcase off at the same time. Geoff climbed up onto the bed and kneed him in the chest as he handcuffed him.
"Oh, nothing really. Just a little killing," the assassin commented.
"Do... do I know you?"
"Oh, maybe. We met at dinner, at Tony's."
There was a sharp intake of breath behind the sheet.
"You!"
"Yeah, me. Look, Tony wants to be number one. That's why he put you on his hit list. But I'm here just because you're scum. You're a crime boss, dealing in bad things, not caring if you kill an innocent person, all perfect in your hiding place up here. The rest of the world is starving, dying, sick, and you're here, only caring about yourself. Did you really think you needed that many guards to protect you, while millions of people die, unprotected every year? Hell, you needed more guards than you had. Or, should I say you needed better guards than you had."
"Steve! Steve! Get in here! Now!"
"I'm sorry. But Steve won't be joining us. Now tell me, was he the one standing right outside the door to your private quarters? Ah, yeah, probably. Well, he's still out there. But he's not standing."
Geoff sighed and watched the helpless man for a few minutes.
"I need a cigarette," he said, reaching into his other pocket and pulling out his pack, only to realize how low he was. He'd have to get more soon. He lit up and sucked on the nicotine thankful for it's soothing nature. "You know, it's a sad thing. I came up here with all these weapons and didn't get a chance to use any of them. My knife turned out to be the best. Nice and quiet. You didn't even know what was going on, did you? I thought not. But it's ok. I promise to end my speech soon. You're filthy scum and that's why you need to die. But wait... before you go, there's something I need you to do. You're a rich man. And you're not gonna need that money once you're dead. Why don't you donate it to a few charities, huh? Some homeless shelters perhaps? AIDS research? GLSEN? Oh, you wouldn't know what that is, would you? What about combating hunger in Africa? Tell me, Slick, where's your checkbook?"
Slick was stuttering when he opened his mouth to speak, "In...i... in... my...m... my... d... des... desk... dra... drawer... left... s... side... t... top..."
"You're not so slick without your troops to save you anymore, huh? I'll be right back."
Geoff left for his office and found the check book. Along with it, he gathered a notebook, pen, several envelopes and some stamps. He set them on the bed next to Slick before heading back to his office and turning on the computer. Online, he found the addresses of several charities and jotted them down on a piece of scrap paper. He went back to Slick and set the notebook and pen on his lap before climbing back onto the bed and perching himself on the headboard above Slick's head. He uncuffed him and thrust his revolver to the back of his head.
"Now, Mr. Willson, you're not going to try anything. You can't try anything. I've got a gun to your head and no one's going to come to your rescue tonight. No one. Got that?"
"Y... ye... yes.."
"Good. I'm going to take this pillow case off your head and you're not to look at me. One peek and you're dead. Got it?"
"Y... yes..."
Geoff took the case off. "I'm going to instruct you what to write and you're going to write it. Pick up the pen." Slick did as he was told. "'In the event of my death...' go on, write it! 'In the event of my death.'" Slick began writing, his hand trembling, almost making his words hard to decipher. "'I, Slick Willson, wish to leave the remainder of my assets to the following charities: Pine Hill, the homeless shelter on Dent Street in Las Vegas, Nevada; GLSEN, the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network; and World Food, the organization brining food to poor countries around the world. I hope these organizations can use the money for purposes of good, better than I ever could.' New paragraph, Slick. 'As for my body, I am not fit for a proper burial and no one would show up anyway." Slick struggled to keep up, his hand still trembling. "Therefore, I wish to be cremated and my remains thrown out in the daily trash, as that's all I've become, killing those who get in my way just to get what I want when others are suffering in the world. I know nothing can help me escape my destiny of hell because that's what I deserve. I've thought about this for awhile and know that my death can only be a good thing for the rest of the world. I hope my money can help make it a better place, where my person could not.' Now sign it. Good. How much money do you have all together, bad boy?"
Slick thought about it a moment and came up with a large figure somewhere in the millions.
"Good lord, Slick. Well, do the math, divide that by three and write out each check, please."
Once the checks were written out to the three organizations he'd chosen for the crime boss, he had him fill out each envelope, complete with his own return address, and made him lick each stamp and envelope. He slid the pillow case over Slick's head and handcuffed him back to the bed before moving himself to crouch in front of him.
"You're time is over Slick. Do you understand that?"
The boss nodded his head.
"Good. Have fun in hell, buddy, and tell The Devil I said hi when you get there."
Geoff took his spent cigarette out of his mouth and put it out on Slick's bare chest peeking out from his silk pajama top. The crime boss screamed in pain. Geoff only laughed.
"You thought that was painful, wait till you get a load of my gun in your head."
He aimed the gun between the man's eyes through the pillow case, and pulled the trigger.
Nick was in the layout room with Catherine and Warrick, going over the evidence they'd pulled from the dead man behind the tree when Catherine asked about Greg.
"So, where is your other half tonight? I didn't see you come in together."
"Hopefully he's getting some much needed rest."
"I'm surprised you managed to get him to take time off."
"Me too."
"How's he doing?"
Nick looked up at his friends, involuntarily bitting his bottom lip. "I'm still worried, but I think he's doing better. He said he thought he could get some sleep, so that's progress, I guess. Even if it is small. But no matter what, I'm gonna worry about him until I'm sure he's ok."
"Hey, it's understandable, Nicky," Catherine said. "I do the same thing with Lindsey all the time when she's sick. It's all you can do for your loved ones sometimes."
"Yeah, I know. It just hurts when he won't talk to me to tell me what's wrong. Even if it's just him not feeling well."
Nick's cell phone rang.
"Stokes."
"Hi, Nick. We've got the biggest 419 I've ever seen," Brass's harried voice came over the line. "I was just going to talk to Slick Willson to see why his guys are dropping like flies, and... Nicky, it looks bad. You're gonna need the whole team here."
"Alright, you're at his estate?"
"Yeah."
"We'll be over ASAP."
Nick hung up. He wasn't happy about this, mainly because of the promise he'd made to Greg. He had to call him in. If the scene was as bad as Brass made it out to seem, perhaps he'd better have Griss call in swing too.
"What's going on?" Warrick asked.
"New scene. And huge, according to Brass. I'm gonna have to call in Greg."
Nick sighed and hit the first speed dial on his phone. It rang and rang and rang, but no one picked up. He ended the call with a confused look on his face, wondering why Greg hadn't picked up. Usually, even when he was sound asleep it woke him up and he was always quick to answer, to rush to work. He tried the house phone, but still got no answer.
"Guys, my other half is sound asleep so much I'm not waking him up. I'm gonna have to get him in person. You mind starting at the scene without us? And call Griss, tell him we might need swing shift on this too."
"You got it. We'll see you there."
Though Nick was glad Greg had managed to finish his dinner in bed the night before, he had to admit a deep worry was creeping into him since he'd tried to call Greg again on his way home and still hadn't reached him. All the lights were off in the house when he entered. He flipped on the kitchen lights and made his way down the hall towards their bedroom where he'd last left Greg. When he pushed the door open and poked his head in, a smile crept across his face.
Greg was sound asleep in bed, his cell phone was on his night stand, lit up to tell him he'd missed a few calls. He'd probably put it on vibrate, Nick surmised, entering the room and climbing onto bed, kneeling over him. He gently kissed him, as he brushed his brown hair out of his face, keeping their lips locked together until Greg's eyes fluttered open. He smiled down at the beautiful man below him.
"I'm glad you were finally able to get some sleep," he murmered.
"Make love to me, Nicky. Right now. I need you, like I've never needed you before. Please!"
To say Nick was surprised was an understatement. He stared at Greg, unsure what to say, while consciously aware of the pleading in his lover's eyes. For awhile now, they'd hardly talked, hadn't even slept in the same bed, and now all of a sudden Greg wanted to be closer than ever? He sighed. It sounded so good too. Way too good. And Greg was reaching up, wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him down on top of him, kissing him deeply, trying to tease his mouth open. He hated the thought of having to let him go, especially with that deep, pleading look in his beautiful brown eyes, begging him.
"G," Nick finally pulled away. "G, we can't. Not now. I need you at work."
This time it was Greg's turn to look stunned and it looked like his mind was reeling from the idea of not having sex right away.
"You do?"
"I do. Huge scene just came up. I tried to call you, but you weren't answering your cell or the house phone so I came to wake you up in person."
"Awww. Thanks Nicky."
"And I promise, without a doubt, you'll get what you wished for as soon as we get home."
"I will? Because I need you right now, Nicky."
"I already said I promised, G. And you know I don't go back on a promise."
Nick leaned down and gave him another sweet kiss. His own mind was spinning from this sudden mood change from Greg, though he decided he'd do best to enjoy it while it lasted with everything else going on lately.
"Come on, time to get up and go to work."
"Oh, Nicky!" Greg whined for the first time in a long time. "I can't! I've got this problem."
"You're gonna have to deal with that one on your own. Sorry."
Greg growled his hatred for Nick as his husband got off the bed and went to the doorway. Nick saw him reach under the covers.
"And, I forgot to mention Ecklie will be in, in just a moment to watch you."
Greg's eyes bugged open and he stopped all movement.
"I hate you Nick. I really do."
Nick just laughed. "I'll be waiting in the kitchen for you so hurry up."
At Slick's estate the team had gathered and stared in awe at the carnage that lay before them.
"The cops just barely finished clearing the place before you showed up," Warrick clarified. "That's why we haven't started processing the scene yet."
Nick gave them directions, splitting them up. He gave Catherine and Warrick the outside while he kept Greg close to him inside the mansion. He remembered all too well the last crime scene Greg had been on when he'd collapsed and he didn't want that to happen again. He kept a close eye on his husband while they worked.
When they finally reached the private quarters of the crime boss Nick viewed the office while Greg went into the bedroom and over to the bathroom first, before he viewed the dead body. When Nick was satisfied there was no evidence in the office, he moved to the bedroom.
A faint cigarette stench filled the air and he had to wave his hand in front of his face. Whoever had been smoking had done it recently and he hadn't seen evidence anywhere else in the mansion that Slick was a smoker himself. Nor his guards.
"Greg! I smell cigarette smoke!"
"I'm not that dumb, Nick!" Greg called back before exiting the bathroom and meeting Nick over the dead body.
"Right, you're not," Nick conceded when he saw the fresh burn on the man's chest.
Greg pried a letter out of Slick's dead hand, unmoving with rigor mortis, and read it out loud to Nick. "So, what do you think, suicide attempt? Seems odd for this guy to have such a change of heart like that so suddenly."
"Can't be a suicide. Why would he cover his face... unless he didn't want the world to see him dead, his face deformed by the bullet. But still, he couldn't reach around like that easily to cap himself between the eyes. And the way the rest of this place looks, I think someone came in here and did him in, after eliminating all the guards."
"Well, he could have paid a guard to do all this and kill him too. That would explain the reason there's no gun here."
"Yeah, if he was too coward to take his own life. Still sounds odd though. And look at the marks on his wrists. He was tied up for this."
"You guys got anything?" Warrick asked a few hours later when the four of them finally met up again.
"Yeah, Slick Willson's deader than a doornail complete with a suicide note and checks to send the rest of his money to some charities."
"Woah, really? That's way more than we got."
"Yeah."
"Well, look, let's head back to the lab with what we've got for evidence so far and let Swing shift pick up anything else we may have missed."
"Cool. You get anything else good?"
"Actually... we did," Greg said with a grin. "It doesn't look like Slick smokes but whoever capped him was smoking. Left a butt behind too."
"WHAT?! I thought you said he committed suicide."
"He wrote the letter, but we're doubting it was real."
"Ok, ok. What else?"
"Possible surveillance tapes. They weren't trained on his private sections of the house, but they're on all the entrances so they must have picked up something, someone entering at some point who shouldn't have."
"Nice work, Greg! Let's hope this finally leads us to someone! Maybe the answer to all these cases lately."
"G, Archie," Nick greeted as he entered the AV/Tech lab. "What'd you page me for?"
"I think we may have caught the guy on tape."
Nick looked at both men. "You serious?"
"Yeah, the way the time line goes, it has to be him. Look," Greg pointed toward the screen where Archie had paused the tape.
Nick could see a man, in a long black trench coat, wearing black gloves and a black baseball hat in the doorway of an entrance to the mansion. A dead body appeared to be at his feet. Oddly enough, he caught something else on the man. A long heavy silver chain ran around his neck and lay hidden under his trench coat.
"He's wearing jewelry," Nick commented. "Guys don't usually wear jewelry like that unless it means something." He thought about the silver band on his left ring finger and the man standing next to him. "And when it does mean something, they usually wear it everyday." He thought for a moment. "I know it's not much to go on, but print out a picture of him and send it to Brass, see what we can get from it. This is our best lead so far!"
Greg was in the locker room finally changing out of the sweat soaked shirt he'd worn to the crime scene when Warrick popped his head in. When the older CSI saw he was alone he stepped into the room and made sure the door was shut before walking over to him. Greg suddenly felt on edge the way Warrick was looking at him like he was in trouble and it reminded him of his earlier days as a CSI, when he'd been the newbie who didn't know anything, who'd screwed up more times than he could count.
"What's up, Warrick?" he asked, pushing the past from his mind. "You get anything new on the case?"
He finished buttoning up his shirt and closed his locker as Warrick came closer, almost towering over him.
"No, I don't have anything new on the case. I wanted to talk to you."
"Shoot." Greg was a little nervous but did his best to act as cool as a cucumber.
"I need you to promise me you're not gonna hurt my best friend."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you and Nick. He loves you a lot. He loves you so much that it would break his heart if you let something tear your relationship apart."
"Where is this coming from? I don't understand. Why would I do something like that?"
Now Greg was backed up against the lockers feeling entirely intimidated, and confused. After all, Nick was the only person he felt he could trust completely. Not even Warrick or Catherine, or even his boss, rated that high on his trust scale. So why did Warrick think he would intentionally ruin that?
"You're worrying him, Greg. You should know he worries easily and when things bother him, they really get to him, they eat him up. Come on, you've been married to him for five years! You didn't know that?!"
Warrick looked pissed off, and Greg wanted nothing other than to escape the room as fast as possible, but the only way out was blocked. A twinge came to his stomach, and while it wasn't bad enough to make him wince or double over, it still hurt. He knew he had to talk this through with his friend. He had to calm Warrick's fears, otherwise this would never get resolved.
"Of course I know that, Warrick. But I love him too, and I wouldn't dare do anything to break us up, you have to know that too! You have no idea how much he means to me, how much he holds me together. I can't bear the thought of losing him! And I really don't know why we're having this conversation."
The queasiness he'd had for the past few days grew steadily worse just then, as he himself began to worry about what Warrick was getting at.
"Because, he's worried about you, a lot. I heard from him that the doctor said you were fine. But I know it's more than you not feeling good. I can tell something's going on. And if something does happen, and I find out you're behind it, I'm gonna come and beat your ass, you hear me?"
Don't hang your head, so the wise man said
Or boy you'll soon be dead
You better run, run Manuela-uela run,
They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun
You better run, run Manuela-uela run.
The words to the song he'd heard in the Denali came back to haunt Greg. Warrick was supposed to be on his side, yet he was threatening him. Was that, technically, someone shooting him in the back with his own gun? Maybe the gun wasn't real... but still...
Warrick continued, "I'm just looking out for him, that's all. You and I, we're friends too, I would be yelling at him instead, if your roles were reversed. But their not. I just want you to know that since you two got together, you've both been the happiest I've ever seen you, and I just don't want that to go away. Please promise me it won't?"
Realization hit Greg like a brick to the head.
"You're still thinking about Tina, aren't you?"
Warrick sighed as he stopped towering and leaned against the next locker.
"Yeah, I suppose I am. I just... I see something good between you two, something Tina and I didn't have. And I don't want your relationship to turn out like ours did."
Greg calmed down considerably. "Don't worry, I won't let it. I promise. I would never hurt Nick on purpose. If I did, I think I'd have to kill myself."
There was a slight grin playing on Greg's lips, and soon Warrick was smiling too.
"I'm sorry, I don't know why I was so worried."
"Forget about it. Come on, we've got evidence to process."
"This case isn't helping anything. Getting a heavy dose of stress here..."
As the two CSIs left the locker room Greg thought back on their conversation. He'd been freaking out, but it was because Warrick was going to beat his ass for hurting Nick, not because he was at work talking with a coworker about his home life. Apparently, sometimes he surprised even himself. However, maybe the queasiness and the twinges were taking over the freaking out of his lives colliding together, helping him to keep his mind on other, more important things. Maybe.
Telling Warrick he'd meet him in the layout room, he made a quick detour to the bathroom where he locked himself in a stall. With his hands wrapped around his stomach, his forehead against the cool material of the wall, he waited out the queasiness that had come back with a vengeance at his last thoughts, along with the twinges of pain.
Geoff strolled the streets with his usual wad of hundreds tucked into his pocket. He'd already been to see Tim Frave, gave him a cup of his favorite coffee, a few crisp hundreds to get him through the week, and an hour of his time so he could tell him that war story he'd been meaning to tell him.
The story, as it turned out, was about one of his secret missions, but Tim had been so secretive about it, that Geoff could hardly understand what he was talking about. Instead of asking questions, knowing that the actual story wouldn't get spilled until Tim left the world, and also knowing that Tim figured he knew all about secret missions and espionage, he just nodded his head and managed to laugh in the right places. He'd been doing this for awhile, he knew the drill with Tim.
Now, he was walking back toward his car, passing out hundreds to anyone he'd missed earlier. He was looking forward to a nice long hot shower when he got home...
"LVPD! Stop where you are! We need to talk to you!"
The voice sounded familiar. He kept walking, unsure if the person was talking to him, also unsure if he wanted to meet them face to face, to figure out who they were and why they sounded familiar.
"LVPD! Stop!"
This time he did stop. They wanted him. He turned to see who had spoken and felt a tremble slide down his body through his spine. CSI Nick Stokes and LVPD Captain Jim Brass were walking steadily towards him. He recognized them from the news on tv about his crime scenes, and from the actual scenes themselves, watching the CSI process the trace evidence he'd left behind. But he couldn't get caught. If they caught him, Tony would disown him. Maybe even sell him to another crime boss in another city real cheap, give him another new name, and not tell his new boss that he'd been caught by the police. He couldn't let that happen. He didn't want to be sold again.
Briefly, he thought about the ring on the chain around his neck, safely tucked under his shirt and wished he could have the life associated with it. Though he couldn't remember what it was anymore, he knew it was something calm and peaceful. No one died and no one had to run from the police. Everyone was happy with the ring. If only there was someone he could trust. But in his field, there was no one. No one at all. All of his troubles were his own to bear. Not even a therapist could help him deal with life.
He turned and ran, rather than face them. He was a professional assassin, trained to disappear. And disappear, he would. Without a trace. Behind him, he heard two pairs of feet chasing after him, with the Captain panting something into his radio. He knew Nick was as fit as an athlete. He knew he was a good runner. But that hadn't been on the news. How he knew that... he wasn't sure. What he was sure of, was that he had to get away. He would have to take the long route back to his car, and an even longer route back to his apartment.
Don't hang your head, so the wise man said
Or boy you'll soon be dead
You better run, run Manuela-uela run.
Boy, were those lyrics ever true now. Run, he had to run. And it looked like he'd lost his informant at the lab. Someone must have ratted him out. Perhaps the same someone who'd sent him the song. He wanted to sit down and debate the issue. Figure out who'd done it, and kill their ass, but he had other, more important things to do.
He tore around the corner, thankful for the lead he'd gained. Up ahead he saw Tim's head shoot up from the radio he was bent over, listening to.
"Tim! Cover me!" he called, just loud enough for Tim to hear as he passed by and ducked down another ally. He paused to catch his breath and heard Nick stop, panting heavily. He didn't hear Brass with him.
Nick asked Tim if he'd seen a fleeing man run past, and if so, where he'd run to, but the bum said he'd been carefully listening to the radio, because someone was going to be sending him a message. He was sure of it. The government wasn't finished with his services after all. Geoff heard Nick sigh in frustration, as he hurried down the ally and back toward his car, not waiting around to see where the CSI would look for him next, or if he would wait for Brass to catch up. Professional hit men didn't wait around to get caught.
As he approached the beautiful sports car, he kept an eye out for anyone watching him or the car. When he didn't see anyone he got in and quickly drove away.
Approaching his apartment building after nearly an hour of aimless driving, he passed it a few times to make sure no one was parked out front, that the cops hadn't found out where he'd lived too. It was already apparent they didn't know his name, since the Captain hadn't used it, but one couldn't be too sure of anything these days.
He carefully parked his car in its special hiding spot and went inside to grab that much wanted, and now needed, shower.
Nick moved in the darkness that was their bedroom, slowly, methodically, sweetly filling him, placing gentle kisses wherever he could reach, making sure he didn't miss an inch of his husband's skin.
Greg needed this, needed this so bad he could feel his heart breaking with it. Feeling Nick make love to him like he hadn't in months made him wonder how he could have let things reach the point of almost separation, the point where Warrick had to step in and yell at him. He was glad Warrick had put sense into his thick head. Nick was everything to him and to lose that...to lose this...the love of his life...
"Babe, what's wrong? Does it hurt? Did I do something wrong?"
Nick had slowed to a stop, hovering above Greg, looking down on him with concern and love.
Greg, unsure why he was asking these things, only looked up at his lover with confusion.
"You're crying, hun," Nick whispered. "Please tell me what's wrong."
He blinked and realized Nick was right as his husband blurred in front of him and a few tears ran down his face to gather on the pillow behind his head.
"I'm sorry, I just love you so much," he managed to get out without choking on his words. "You have no idea how happy you're making me. You're so perfect..."
He tried to brush the tears away, but Nick moved his hands and gently kissed the salty drops from his cheeks before continuing his sexual ministrations. For the first time in a long time he felt relaxed and neither twinges of pain or queasiness plagued him.
"I love you too," Nick whispered. "More than you'll ever know."
And he knew that this was what heaven was, and he began to pray that he wouldn't ever have to leave.
A/N: Just so you're aware Pine Hill and World Food were made up off the top of my head. GLSEN was not. GLSEN is the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network, which envisions a future in which every child learns to respect and accept all people, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity/expression. If you want more information on this organization, their website is www(dot)glsen(dot)org.
The following chapters have been cut by content and not by length, so some may be a lot longer than you're used to, like this one, and others may be shorter. It really came down to what happens, and how I felt it was best to cut it. So, don't shoot me if you don't like the future chapter lengths. I'm not sorry for possible cliff hangers either. This is where things heat up immeasurably, as we're seriously nearing the end of the story. Shocked? Yup, you bet you're gonna be shocked. LOL.
With this chapter, it took a lot more time to edit than the others and I feel like I could keep editing it over and over and over again and still not be satisfied. There has to be a stopping spot, and this is it. Hopefully, there are no mistakes, and it reads well.
Only True Love asked a few chapters ago what my inspiration was for this story. Since then the list has grown and I thought I might share it with the rest of you incase you're interested. So, here's a list of everything I can think of that's helped give me inspiration to write Ghost so far (this list still might grow):
-the movie War with Jet Li, original inspiration for an assassin story
-two Dean Koontz books I've read recently: Sole Survivor andFear Nothing, though not in a direct way except that in both, things were not as they originally seemed.
-the song "Manuela Run" by Toto because it fits the story so well
-Benton Fraser from the tv show Due South because he was always overly friendly with his neighbors, the same as Geoff is.
-my love of angst, and sweet love
-and my love of The Love, of course