Cliff's Edge (8 page)

“I got offered Six,” he confided.

Ty straightened. “Yeah? Did you already pass the board?” Ty asked, referring to the intensive screening every candidate endured as part of the assignment process before starting training for the DEVGRU.

“Nah…haven’t given them an answer yet. I have…” He looked at his Luminox dive watch. “Seventy-two more hours before I need to tell the old man.”

“Gonna take it?”

“I don’t know. I suppose it sorta depends on Snides…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m thinking about asking the skipper to reconsider his decision to have Cliff retire. Obviously there’s a need for shooters on Six, and Snides and I are one of the best two-man strike teams around. If I could—”

Ty was shaking his head. “You know that’s not possible, Ryan. He told you what happened—right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look, Cliff is more ready to retire than you think he is—but just say he did stay in, nobody’s going to put the two of you together on any mission.”

“What the fuck? Why would you say that?” Ryan’s temper spiked. Ty didn’t even know him, not really. What the hell did Ty know about how he and Cliff worked together?

Ty blinked at him, and suddenly Ryan felt like he was under a microscope. After a long moment of study, Ty sighed. “You’re too emotionally attached, Rhino.”

“Emotionally attached?”

“Okay, call it love, then. If I were in charge of a mission and the two of you were on my team, I’d avoid putting you in harm’s way together because your judgment might be impaired by a need to protect Cliff—and vice versa.”

“What the—
Love?
” Rather than repeat the WTF words, Ryan took a different tack. “We’re brothers—like any team members would be—but mission always comes first.”

Shaking his head, Ty disagreed. “Maybe once…not anymore. How long’s it been since the two of you were assigned together?”

“Five years, but—”

“I bet command was talking about it even then…probably assumed you were lovers on the down low from DADT before it got rescinded.”

Ryan started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. “Shit, Ty…people have been talking about us for ages.” His smile remained in place as he thought of Mad Max calling them an old married couple.

“There’s a major problem with that theory. I’m straight. Hell, I even have an ex-wife to prove it.” He grinned and shook his head at how off base Ty was.

“I didn’t know you were married—that doesn’t work out for a lot of special forces…” Ty said. “Were you and Cliff friends then?”

“Sure. It wasn’t long after BUDs training.”

“How’d your ex feel about Cliff?”

Ryan snorted. “She was jealous as hell of all the time we spent—” He shook his head. “Oh no—nice try, cook boy. That is not why we got divorced and it wasn’t that kind of jealousy. I was too young and stupid to know better. I was just looking for someplace… Something…” He stopped sputtering for a minute, wondering if he even knew what he’d been looking for all those years ago.

“You’re twisting my words, Ty. I’m not gay,” he said quietly.

“Does the label matter? Look…” Ty paused and stared at his coffee cup for a long moment, then looked at Ryan. “I’ve known I was gay my whole life, but hid it for a variety of reasons…but being gay didn’t stop me from having sex with women. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Kinsey Scale. Sure some people are only drawn to partners of the same sex. Others are completely heterosexual. But most people fall somewhere between the two extremes.”

Ty turned away to retrieve the glass carafe, filled both cups with coffee, then continued. “My point—which seems to be taking a long time to make—maybe you’re not gay or straight, but bisexual. There’s nothing to say you aren’t genuinely attracted to women, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be attracted to—or fall in love with—a man. With Cliff.”

“You think I’m in love with Cliff?” Ryan asked and wondered if Ty noticed the breathy quality of his voice. Surely that was just because of the odd misconception Ty had. Wasn’t it?

Ty shrugged his big shoulders. “I don’t know…maybe. I’d say you spend an unusual amount of time preoccupied with thoughts of him, for someone you claim is just a friend. Even a best friend. You were certainly pretty close to a panic by the time you tracked Cliff here. And you’d been CONUS—what? All of twenty-four hours?”

Ryan caught himself about to nod, then shook his head instead. “I don’t see myself that way…”

“That way? What way is that? Some preconceived notion of how a gay man is supposed to act? Let me tell you what I saw last night. I saw two men who obviously care a great deal about each other. The two of you were joined at the hip, clearly happy to be reunited after your tour of duty. Neither of you hesitated to touch the other on the arm, the back, the thigh…and your gaze was glued to his backside whenever he walked across the room. You brought each other food and drinks without needing to ask what the other wanted—hell, you finished each other’s sentences half the time and had the silent conversation thingy going on with your eyes. You two acted like more of a couple than many of the couples in the room.”

“We’ve been told that before,” Ryan admitted.

Ty laughed. “No doubt. The thing is, you’re more free with the touching than he is. Cliff is…careful. I imagine he’s gotten used to remaining hands off—a lot of gay men in the military are that way. It keeps things a lot less complicated when you don’t send mixed signals. Hell, you’d probably have to make a pretty big first move—like maybe a two-by-four over the head—just to convince him you’re serious.”

“But I don’t—” He rubbed his chin, trying to figure where the hell he’d been going with that thought. Listening to Ty’s rapid delivery observations and taking it all in was like trying to swallow water from a fire hose. He was spilling a lot more than he could absorb at this moment.

“It’s something to think about,” Ty said with a shrug. “I guess I’d tell you not to take too long, though. You need to let the Navy know what you’re going to do—and Cliff needs to move forward with the rest of his life. With or without you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean…and where is Cliff this morning, anyway?”

Shaking his head, Ty clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Don’t you tell each other anything? What the hell did you do last night after the Super Bowl?”

With a casual shrug of his shoulder, Ryan leaned back and curved his mouth up on one side. There was no way he’d tell Ty what he and Cliff had done last night. He still hadn’t decided how he felt about it, and now, given Ty’s assertion that he and Cliff had feelings beyond friendship…

“Didn’t do a thing except crash. I was pretty wiped after the travel and the margaritas. Why?”

“Oh man…you might be trained to withstand hours of enemy interrogation, but you’re shitty at evading someone who has a pretty good idea of the truth.”

Frowning, Ryan raised his cup and sipped his coffee. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Listen, I’ve got to get back. Where did you say Cliff was working today?”

Laughter spilled out and Ty had a hard time getting his words out between chuckles. “Cliff went back to San Diego—”

Ryan straightened and set his cup on the counter with a thunk. “What the—”

“Chill. He had to meet the detective on the shooting case this morning and tomorrow he’s finishing his retirement paperwork. He’ll be back by dinnertime tomorrow night. It’s a funny thing, but Cliff had almost the same reaction as you when I asked him what you two did last night.” Ty walked to the refrigerator and removed packets of lunchmeat and a couple of storage containers and tossed them onto the counter then retrieved a cardboard box from the walk-in pantry. He started filling the box with what looked to be a very promising assortment of goodies. “I’m not going to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong—”

Ryan snorted. “Too fucking late for that. Honestly, Ty, I appreciate what you’re saying, I just don’t know if I can…well, you’ve given me a shitload to think about.”

“Here, take this,” he said, sliding it across the counter toward Ryan. “Cliff has all that health food crap in the fridge. I figure you can use real nourishment. Of course you’re welcome here any time. As far as what to do about Cliff?” Ty grinned. “Google free gay porn—you’ll figure it out.”

“Master Chief Snyder? I’m Kam Wagner. Nice to meet you. Thanks for agreeing to look at more photos,” the man said, flashing an ID card and a bright smile as they briefly shook hands. Kam gestured for Cliff to follow him through the electronically secured door, and they walked along the fluorescent-lighted bowels of the thirty-year-old San Diego Police Headquarters building.

Kam moved with quiet confidence, his strides long, each step rolling him up on his toes so he almost bounced as they passed through the long hallway. When they entered an open bullpen of desks and detectives, several pairs of eyes followed their progress. He exchanged a look with Detective Kingston—the man who’d interviewed him on his previous visit to the SDPD. The detective’s mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile as he glanced from Cliff to Kam and back again.
Huh. Wonder what that’s about?

Ignoring the looks, Kam led the way to one of several glass-fronted offices that lined the back wall and gestured unsmilingly for Cliff to step inside. The impersonal space was a step up from the interrogation room with the two-way glass where Kingston had taken him to look at the mug books shortly after the shootings.

Closing the door, probably to give a small illusion of privacy, Kam looked up at Cliff. “Sorry about that. Nothing like taking you through a parade of gawkers to put you at your ease, huh?”

Wagner’s voice held a hint of sarcasm, and he figured this was the round of good cop, since Kingston’s homophobic attitude had clearly put him on the side of bad cop—and not in a good way.

Several notebooks were stacked on one end of the oval conference table, so without waiting to be asked, Cliff squeezed his way around Kam and rested his hand on the tall-back office chair. He gazed out through the windows at the sea of desks, catching more curious gazes. After a moment he turned to study Detective Wagner. Probably standing at five-ten in his boots, the man’s face was smooth, unlined, with no trace of a beard. His dark brown hair was worn long, the loose curls just touching his shoulders. The sleeves of his olive green Henley were pushed up to reveal smooth forearms, his jeans were worn long enough to fray where they caught on the heel of his heavy boots.

“Jesus,” Cliff blurted. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

“My mommy even let me stay up to watch the game with all the grown-ups last night,” Kam said. His grin said he appreciated rather than resented the comment. “I’m blessed with some good genes. This”
—
he pointed to his face
—
“allowed me to work undercover with youth gangs a helluva long time. I’m just a little too long in the tooth for that now, but I don’t mind. It gets pretty fucking old hanging out with a bunch of delinquent teenagers.”

“Gangs, huh? Someone is finally admitting it’s a gang-involved crime now? I tried to tell that to Kingston last week.”

“Have a seat, Master Chief,” Kam invited as he moved around the table to take a chair next to Cliff, so they could both sit with their backs to a wall.

“Call me Cliff. No need for titles. I’m on terminal leave, waiting until my retirement becomes official at the end of the month.”

Kam’s eyes narrowed and he looked Cliff full in the face. The younger man’s scrutiny made him hyper-aware of how he must look. With his salt-and-pepper hair, two-day beard, and bags under his eyes the size of plums from too little sleep followed by a five-hour drive, he probably looked a decade older than his forty years.

“I’ll call you by your name if you like, but my dad retired from the Navy, and taught me a lot about respect. As he used to say before he passed, once a chief, always a chief. You made it to the top of the enlisted ranks, and as one of the elite, so don’t let this”—his gaze dropped to the books, then swept the outer office where most of the detectives had gone back to minding their own duties—“single incident diminish your accomplishments.”

Definitely the good cop.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Cliff said, rather than responding to the pep-talk, as he sat and rested his forearms on the table. “So it’s confirmed? The shooting and robbery were gang-related?”

“That’s the working theory. Look, let’s get this out of the way first. I’m familiar with the reports, I saw the crime scene photos, I know what Hard Labour was, and I don’t give a shit. Can we be clear on that, before we do anything else?”

“If you say so. Where do you want me to start?”

With an ill-disguised snort of amusement, Kam pointed to the book on the top. For the next thirty minutes, neither of them spoke as Cliff dutifully scanned each page of photos. The assortment of photos differed from the mug books Detective Kingston showed him the day following the shootings. Those had been younger men and many of the faces black. These books were primarily Hispanic, the men ranging in age from late teens to mid-thirties. Which was closer to the age he’d estimated the older man to be.

On the bottom corner of the third page of his third book, he found a face that looked familiar. Mentally noting the location, he decided to finish the book, then return to the photo.

“Spot something?” Kam asked. The man was a good observer.

“Maybe.” He tapped his finger on the photo and turned the book toward Wagner. “This one looks…similar. Like your buddy over there pointed out”—he tilted his head in Kingston’s direction—“I wasn’t in a position to have an unobstructed view. It’s never going to be enough to hold up in court—”

Detective Wagner’s face went blank as he stared through the office window. David Kingston leaned a hip against his desk, his gaze on the two of them, his mouth running to the apparent amusement of the two men standing next to him.

Finally, Kam dragged his attention back to Cliff. “Detective Kingston’s not working this case anymore, I am. As for testifying? That’s too far down the road for either of us to worry about. Right now, we just want to find that first thread…the one loose end that will unravel the whole case. Know what I mean?”