Vince wasn't too surprised that it been over an hour since he had asked Henri to escort Justin to the rear private dining room for Lane's much-anticipated reunion with the artist who had apparently so captured his fancy. At his friend's request, Vince had instructed Henri to provide the couple with the expensive champagne Lane had arranged for, but not to intrude on their privacy any further. Lane had indicated he would page Vince when they were ready to order their dinner.
He was surprised, though, when he looked up from the blueprints he was studying in the lobby and noticed his friend now cradling the young artist, who apparently was unconscious, in his arms.
"Lane! What happened? Is he all right?" he asked his friend, concerned. He had actually grown fond of Justin in the short time they had interacted, and admired the blond's creativity and talent.
Appearing somewhat embarrassed, Lane advised his friend, "I'm afraid our young friend here apparently had a little too much alcohol for his own good," he explained, smiling sheepishly. "He passed out after around the third drink. I'm going to carry him down to my boat where he can be comfortable and let him sleep it off for a while. He's obviously in no condition to fly back to Pittsburgh right now, wouldn't you agree?"
That made sense; however, Vince had to admit to himself that the intense, almost desperate look he thought he saw reflected in his friend's eyes was somehow disturbing; it was as if Lane were somehow daring him to object. For a few brief seconds, he felt some apprehension about agreeing to Lane's decision, but he finally decided that Lane knew the blond better than he did and would never do anything to harm the man he was so entranced by.
"Yeah," he finally answered his friend. "I guess that would be best. Let me know when Justin feels better and I'll see that my limo driver takes him back to the airport for his flight back. I know he was anxious to return."
For an instant, Vince thought he noticed disdain showing on the other man's face before he quickly recovered. "Of course. I'll call you on my cell phone as soon as Justin feels better. I'm sure he'll be awake in no time." Nodding at his friend as a goodbye, he waited impatiently for Vince to open the entrance doors, firmly holding the lithe body of the younger man in his arms.
Still having some reservations about his friend's actions, Vince quietly followed Lane out through the entrance, watching him as he stopped a few yards away and bent down for a few seconds to kiss the forehead of the lifeless, blond head. He continued to observe Lane as his friend picked up his pace a bit faster and walked determinedly down to the nearby marina where he had his large boat moored. He watched as Lane and the young man disappeared into the expensive maroon and white yacht.
As he was standing outside, his attention was temporarily diverted by his chief landscaper approaching him to provide an update on the outside enhancements to the restaurant. Approximately ten minutes later, as he was wrapping up his conversation with the employee, Vince glanced up toward the marina as he heard the distinctive sound of a motor starting. He was startled to notice that the yacht now pulling out of the marina was LANE'S. What the hell? What are you UP to, my friend?
Carl glanced over at his flying companion, extreme worry and desperation plainly written all over the other's face. Brian had provided as much information as he could about the sportswear tycoon, but unfortunately his information was mainly limited to the man's business dealings. Brian had never had much inclination to get to know the man better personally, at least once he had found out how fascinated the man was with his partner.
The object of his scrutiny was presently drumming his fingers idly on his knees, his whole body unable to stop fidgeting. The trip from Pittsburgh to Lancaster was relatively brief by jet, but to Brian it felt like a lifetime. All kinds of desperate thoughts were running through his mind. His stomach churned as the thought of something happening to Justin. Hang on, Sunshine, hang on, he silently pleaded. He had already instructed Cynthia by phone to arrange for someone to meet them by the private aircraft hangar at the Lancaster airport to take them immediately to the Chez Laurent. He only wished he could have persuaded Carl to contact the Lancaster Police to assist them, but Carl had (albeit diplomatically) explained that unless they were sure Justin was actually being put in some type of danger, he could not enlist their help. What a fucking, idiotic policy! They have to wait until Justin is HURT before they can do something?
His thoughts were interrupted just then by Will's voice over the intercom. "Mr. Kinney, I've been cleared for approach into the airport. We should be landing momentarily."
Brian sighed in relief; now they could at least finally find out what was going on. As he and Carl buckled their seatbelts, he only hoped somehow his instincts were wrong and his partner was okay.
As he reclined on the king-sized bed in his master cabin, Lane continued to stare brazenly at the beautiful man now lying still next to him. He had expressly instructed the captain and steward that he was NOT to be disturbed under any circumstances. The two men had been under his employ for several years, and were experts at exhibiting the utmost in discretion. Fortunately, also, the wooden blinds in his cabin provided the extra privacy he craved, now that he was finally alone with his Angel.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured, reaching down to stroke the soft, shiny blond hair. He traced his fingers over the soft, full lips. As he lay on his side, his left elbow supporting his body, he couldn't help bending down to kiss the lips firmly. "I can't wait until you wake up, Angel, so I can feel your lips kissing me back. Until then, though, I have a special surprise for you."
He rose briefly to turn toward the nearby dresser, reaching for a small, light blue box sitting on top. Returning to the younger man's side, he opened the box up to retrieve the small, 24-carat gold angel charm nestled inside.
"I saw this at Tiffany's, Angel, and I had to buy it for you," he murmured throatily. Lane has noticed soon after he met Justin that the artist wore a nipple ring on the right side of his body; he could see the imprint of it through the blond's sweater he had worn the night they had flown to New York City to visit the Museum of Modern Art. Now, he would get the chance to see the adornment up close.
Hands trembling with excitement, he reached down to eagerly hold in turn each slender arm as he gently pulled on the sleeves to partially remove the v-necked tee shirt from his body; then, he gingerly lifted Justin's head up to finish removing it entirely. He openly admired the lithe, pale abdomen hungrily, now ornamented clearly by the gleaming, gold-colored nipple ring. He couldn't resist running his hand down the length of the artists' sternum, caressing the flat, pale, smooth flesh. "So beautiful," he repeated softly.
Reaching down to detach the gold-colored ring from Justin's right nipple, he ran his fingers over the pink-hued nub, groaning with the yearning to be closer to him. He licked his lips as he thought of the two of them making love; he could hardly contain his growing desire for the other man.
Sighing softly in barely-restrained yearning, he grasped the charm and hung the small treasure on the circle-shaped object, appreciating the way it caught the light from the softly-lit lamp nearby. Gently holding down Justin's breast, he carefully reattached the nipple ring to its original position, moving slightly back to admire the additional ornamentation. "You truly do look like an Angel now," he crooned. "Perfect." He continued to caress Justin's forehead, arms, nipples, and chest, desperately yearning for more intimate contact. He did not know how much longer he could wait for the blond to awaken; his desire for the other man was so strong. But he knew how much more meaningful and intense it would be if he could wait. He wanted to feel the other man's arms around him, his lips kissing him, licking him, his tongue dueling with his. "Wake up soon, Angel," he encouraged the other man. "It's time for us to get to know each other better." Sighing loudly in barely-controlled frustration, he finally lay down on his side, his free arm continuing to stroke the other man's bare upper body as he admired the slender profile and pondered whether to remove the rest of the blond's clothing.
Brian burst out of the car the moment it stopped in front of the Chez Laurent, barely registering Carl following behind him at a distance, trying hard to stay in step with him. The brunet didn't even bother to acknowledge the worker standing by the front entrance; he simply yanked on the right hand knob and entered the restaurant at nearly a run.
Spotting a man in the lobby who appeared to be an authoritative figure by the looks of the uniformed construction workers grouped around him, he rushed up to the man without preamble and demanded, "Where's Justin?"
Vince turned at the abrupt interruption to observe a tall, dark-haired man clearly in a state of agitation. "Excuse me?" he asked, somewhat startled by the brusqueness this stranger was displaying.
"Are you Comisar?" he asked impatiently, as Carl hurried up to Brian's side.
"Yeah, that's right," the other man said, somewhat irritated. "Who the hell are you?"
Carl spoke up before Brian had a chance to answer. "I'm Carl Horvath, a detective with the Pittsburgh Police Department. This is Brian Kinney," he said, displaying his badge and motioning to the ad exec bouncing impatiently on his feet next to him. "We're looking for Justin Taylor. We were told he was here with you."
Vince frowned. "You're with the police? What's going on?"
"Will you FUCKING answer the question?!" Brian screamed. "WHERE IS JUSTIN? Tell me now before I twist your fucking head off!" He suddenly lunged at the startled man, Carl just barely able to deflect the younger man's arms before he succeeded in wrapping them around the other man's neck.
"Brian!" he admonished the desperate man. "This isn't helping Justin!" Turning to the restaurateur, he commanded him in a no-nonsense tone, "Answer the question. Where is he?"
Stammering, Vince sputtered, "He, he's not here. Lane said he had too much to drink and needed to sleep it off," he explained.
"What are you talking about?" Brian demanded. "He was with PRESCOTT?"
Vince was inexplicably filled with dread as he averted his eyes from the other man's intense glare, explaining, "Yeah, Lane and I are old friends. He asked me to set up a lunch date with Justin in one of my private dining rooms earlier. But he came out to the lobby carrying Justin after about an hour and told me he had had too much to drink. He said he was going to let him sleep it off down on his yacht."
"His yacht? Where is it?" Brian demanded, unable to keep quiet.
"It was down at the marina – right behind the restaurant here," Vince advised the two men.
Brian started to rush out of the restaurant to head down to the marina, but suddenly realized the other man's use of the past tense. "What do you mean, WAS?" he asked, holding his breath.
His heart almost stopped as Vince admitted, "I thought Lane was acting a little strangely when he was explaining about Justin. I don't know – I've known Lane a long time and something just didn't seem quite right with him. So I don't know why, but I followed Lane outside and watched him carry Justin onto his yacht. One of my landscaping people came up to me just then to discuss some of the outside changes, so I stayed where I was for about 10 minutes longer. Just as I was about to come back in, I heard a motor start up and looked down at the marina. I saw Lane's yacht leaving," he said, afraid to look at the brunet. He didn't quite understand his relationship to Justin, but he could clearly tell the young artist meant a great deal to him.
"Oh, God!" Brian uttered miserably.
Carl grasped his friend's sleeve to try and calm him. "How long ago did Prescott leave with him?" he asked Vince.
"About an hour ago, I'd say."
"Let's go, Carl," Brian urged the other man, trying to pull him toward the front doors. Just before he allowed himself to be led outside, however, Carl thought of two more important questions he needed to ask the other man. "Comisar? What does his yacht look like? And does it have a name?"
Vince answered, "It's mainly white, with maroon on top. It's a Regency 50-foot yacht. And you want to hear something strange? Up until recently, the yacht was called the No Sweat. But about a year ago, for some reason Lane rechristened it. He renamed it The Blond Angel. I never did figure out why….until now, I guess," he said, his response laden with regret. He watched as Kinney and Horvath turned and rushed out of the restaurant toward the marina. Lane, he lamented, what have you done?