Warrior's Cross (18 page)

Julian raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. “Scrooge,” he accused softly.

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Blake turned up his nose. “Christmas is my kind of holiday.

Valentine’s? I’m running out of creative jewelry to buy, you know?” he said defensively. “And the goddamned violinists are giving me a migraine,” he went on grumpily. “Unfortunately, I make enough money on a single holiday to carry me through at least a month, if not more.”

“Yeah,” Julian murmured. “Me too.” He sighed as he looked away. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t worked on a holiday. Holidays made people careless; they thought everyone took a break. Julian found a tiny, perverse bit of pleasure in proving them wrong.

Blake sniffed and sprawled back in his chair. “However,
you
have a reason to like holidays now, don’t you?” he murmured, his twinkling eyes belying the disgruntled face. “Someone to spend them with?”

Julian looked back at Blake carefully and grunted at him. “I’m going to steal him away from you,” he threatened under his breath, an impossible promise, he knew, even as he joked about it.

Blake actually chuckled. “He’d probably go too,” he allowed.

A smile flickered across Julian’s lips, but he didn’t say anything in response. “Do I need to give you a rose, as well?” he finally teased.

“That would go over well,” Blake said, leaning forward. “About as well as you getting down on your knees here in the restaurant to declare your undying devotion to my best waiter.”

Julian glared at his friend in warning. “He’s been talking, has he?”

he asked softly.

“Just to me,” Blake admitted. “You really shook him up with that, you know? I wasn’t sure he was taking it that well.”

Julian narrowed his eyes and then looked away. He’d wondered that himself at the time. Cameron had been really surprised. He hadn’t taken it as the lighthearted joke it was meant to be.

Blake tipped his head to one side, the teasing light fading from his eyes and his tone. When he spoke, his voice was low and serious.

“Why did you tell him that, Julian? Trying to get him into bed?”

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“You know me better than that,” Julian chastised sharply, his focus snapping back to Blake.

Blake raised an eyebrow in question. “Don’t fuck around with him if you’re not serious, Julian. He’s too good a man to deserve what’ll happen if you have to dump him and take off. You know how realistic that scenario is.”

Julian looked back at him with a momentary surge of anger, an emotion that seeped out of his black eyes almost immediately. He looked down at the table sadly. He couldn’t be mad at Blake for pointing out what was simple reality. He knew better than to think he could have Cameron in his life without it causing problems, but…

Julian frowned. He’d lost his appetite along with his good mood.

“Julian, come on. Don’t give me that kicked puppy look. I’m just looking out for both of you. You
can
make it work. Lord knows, if anybody deserves some happiness, it’s you. Just… be careful. Please,”

Blake implored quietly.

Julian pressed his lips together tightly and looked back up at Blake. “I don’t think I’ll be eating tonight,” he murmured. “Can you get Cameron for me? I’d like to say hello before I go.”

Blake frowned. “Cameron’s not here.”

Julian didn’t even twitch in response. He merely looked at Blake without blinking for a moment. “Where is he?” he asked softly, searching his memory to find if Cameron had mentioned anything unusual the last time they were together.

“He’s at home, I assume. He called in sick all weekend and today,”

Blake said. “When was the last time you saw him? Didn’t you know he was sick?”

“Friday afternoon,” Julian answered hoarsely. “He was fine.” He stared at Blake intently and asked, “Are you sure he’s sick?” His pulse began to pick up as a nameless dread stirred in his gut.

“I sort of thought maybe he was shacked up with you somewhere and just didn’t want to tell me,” Blake admitted. He looked up to see Miri approaching with a bottle of wine. “Miri, have you heard from Cameron?”

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“Not since Sunday morning,” she answered as she pulled out a corkscrew. “He called and left me a message, asked me to pick up his dogs.” She glanced up at Blake and then over to Julian. “Why?”

“Did you see him?” Julian demanded of her. Now his mind was starting to conjure scenarios he really, truly didn’t want to imagine Cameron being involved in.

Miri looked to Blake in concern, but answered Julian. “No, he wasn’t there when I stopped by. I just took the dogs and left.”

“He was too sick to care for his dogs, but he went out?” Julian asked in a low voice.

“He didn’t sound well on the phone,” Miri said with a shrug. “He sounded exhausted, and his voice was hoarse. I figured he went to the doctor or the drugstore or something. He left the door unlocked for me.”

Julian looked away from her to stare at the linen tablecloth. His mind raced, trying to remember how Cameron had been the previous Friday and fighting down the panic that leading his life could create.

Had someone found out about Cameron? Was he hurt?

Blake looked at Julian hard for a moment. “Thank you, Miri. I’ll pour the wine,” he said pleasantly.

She left the bottle and went off to another table after casting another curious glance Julian’s way.

“You think he’s not sick?” Blake asked.

“I think I need to go,” Julian answered as he stood abruptly, unable to sit still any longer.

Blake stayed seated casually, but he watched Julian with a sincere worry in his eyes. “Call me,” he requested simply.

But Julian was already moving calmly toward the door. He kept his head down, but stayed alert to his surroundings as he went. If anyone followed him, he would know it. He waited until he was outside the building before he broke into a run.

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EVEN as fit as he was, he found himself out of breath when he reached Cameron’s building, darting in through the entryway as a woman exited. Sprinting up the stairs didn’t help, and by the time he found himself at Cameron’s door he was fighting back the very real urge to panic. He banged on the door as calmly as he was able.

There was no answer.

Julian waited three breaths and then banged again, looking up and down the hallway carefully.

Still no answer.

He dug in his pocket for the small leather case he always kept with him. He opened it hastily and extracted two small utensils from the lock-pick set before remembering he actually had a key. He shoved the set back in his pocket and searched for the key with a quiet curse. After a brief moment of fumbling, he had the door unlocked, and he pushed it open carefully, practically vibrating with the urge to throw caution out the window and storm into the apartment.

But Julian was nothing if not cautious. He drew his gun.

He carefully surveyed the interior before entering. The main room was lit with only one lamp, and the kitchen was dark. The large space was very obviously empty. It was odd walking into Cameron’s apartment without being barraged by little white fluffy things. And it was cold. Very cold.

A survey of the room showed that all the windows were shut. But the window near the fire escape in the bedroom wasn’t. It was open a few inches, letting in the frigid winter air. Julian’s blood ran just as cold, and he moved through the apartment with even more care, searching the shadows for anything untoward before he closed and locked the window.

The bedroom was dark and empty except for a little spill of light coming from the bathroom door in the corner. The room behind the screens was heavily shadowed, what with the blinds drawn and the fireplace cold. Clothes lay scattered messily across the floor rather than neatly tucked away as usual, and pillows and quilts sagged off the end and sides of the mussed, empty bed. All that was very unlike the Warrior’s Cross 125

normally tidy Cameron. Julian headed for the light, investigating quickly as he moved toward the bathroom.

“Cameron!” Julian finally called out as he pushed open the bathroom door.

His lover sat on the floor, crumpled against the wall, a fever-flushed cheek pressed against the decorative tile. Each breath rattled as he pulled in air and caught on a thick rasp as he exhaled. There were several prescription bottles on the counter, a couple knocked over into the sink, along with an open bottle of codeine cough syrup and a sticky spoon.

“Jesus,” Julian breathed as he lunged toward the man and took his face in his hands. An odd mixture of intense relief and increased worry struck Julian hard. “Cameron?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?” he asked as his cold hands burned where they met Cameron’s skin.

Cameron gave a weak whimper and blindly leaned against the cool skin that touched his cheeks.

“Did you take all this medicine?” Julian asked as he set his gun on the tile floor and reached into his jacket to grab his phone.

Dragging his bloodshot eyes open, Cameron looked around dazedly, drawn from his fevered sleep by the voice. “Julian?” His voice was mangled and hoarse, and the words came out broken. “You’re here?”

“I was worried,” Julian answered as he dialed the phone. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he told Cameron firmly.

“Doctor said I’m sick,” Cameron rasped weakly, slumping against the wall. “Gave me medicine.”

“Your doctor should be shot,” Julian spat angrily. He held the phone to his ear and spoke Cameron’s address curtly before hanging up. “Come on,” he urged as he tried to help Cameron to his feet.

“Where’re we going? I’m too tired,” Cameron protested

helplessly. “Can’t breathe.”

“Hospital,” Julian murmured.

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Cameron wavered for a moment before he moved. He was part-way up when his breath caught, starting a terrible coughing fit, and his legs gave out under him as he tried to clear his lungs and throat. Julian caught him and held him as the coughs wracked his body. Once the fit ebbed, Julian hefted him up into his arms, carrying him out of the bathroom.

Although Cameron was smaller, it still wasn’t easy for Julian to carry him out of the apartment and down the stairs. Julian was certain it was adrenaline that made it possible; he could feel it coursing through him as he moved. While it would have been easier, a fireman’s carry would surely have made Cameron’s condition worse, and Julian couldn’t bear the thought of tossing Cameron over his shoulder like that.

When the sharp cold outside struck them, Cameron flinched in his arms and tried to suck in a breath, moaning aloud. The chill against his hot skin must have been painful, because he started shivering violently, and Julian wanted nothing more than to hold him close and keep him warm.

A sleek black Lexus pulled up in front of the building just as they exited, and Julian carried Cameron to it. A thin, light-haired man jumped out of the driver’s door and hurried to help him.

“Closest hospital, Preston,” Julian ordered quietly as they struggled to get Cameron into the back-seat quickly. The driver nodded and hurried back to slip behind the steering wheel. Julian shut the back door and pulled Cameron to him, cradling his head in his lap and struggling to get out of his heavy coat so he could cover Cameron with it.

Cameron opened his glazed eyes again. “Julian?” he asked, like he didn’t remember that they’d just spoken a few minutes ago. He stopped to fight his way through a couple breaths. “Is it Tuesday?”

“It is,” Julian answered gently.

“Couldn’t call,” Cameron rasped as his head lolled in Julian’s lap.

“No number.”

Julian’s apology was an agonized whisper.

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One of Cameron’s hands crept up to press lightly against Julian’s chest, and he lapsed back into a fitful doze.

Julian covered him with his coat and rubbed at his shoulders as the car whipped through the city at worrying speeds. He paid it no mind.

Preston was a professional. The only thing Julian worried about was Cameron.

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IT WAS quiet in the hospital room now that the doctors and nurses had come and gone. Tucked into the bed, Cameron looked pale and even smaller than usual with the oxygen tube set in his nose and the IV in his arm. He was out cold, drugged to the gills—both to counteract the drugs he’d been given by the Convenient Care doctor and to treat what was really wrong.

Pneumonia, the doctors said, and a really bad case of it.

X-rays confirmed the fluid filling Cameron’s lungs, and it had worried the doctors enough that he had been admitted immediately.

They’d even considered a breathing tube. Now, with Cameron settled, Julian paced restlessly in the hospital room, his overcoat and scarf trailing behind him like a supervillain’s cape as he prowled.

Long minutes passed before a nurse came in to check Cameron’s vitals again. She paused just inside the door, surprised to see the dark-clad man there. “Hello?”

“How is he?” Julian asked in a voice barely above a whisper.