Golden Dancer (22 page)

Mac stood and walked behind Daniel’s chair, reaching down and gently massaging his neck. “The police won’t find him any faster, and if they do show up, who knows what those guys will do to Trelain.”

Daniel’s eyes showed too much white. Mac reached down and circled his neck. “No, no, I don’t mean that. I’m just saying this is the better way. We’ll find him, and we’ll get him back.”

“If we don’t have a solid lead by tomorrow noon, I’m going to the police.”

Mac hugged tighter, “Okay. Now, call and get the plane ready.”

* * *

Well bloody shit, this was uncomfortable as hell. Trelain looked around the plain, wood-floored room with the one high window. Some kind of warehouse building. Rocking on the wooden chair, he pulled at the ties holding his wrists together behind his back.
Wap
. His head snapped back from a smack on the skull by some bloody fucking nerd-looking guy with long hair and glasses.

“Back off, pretty boy. If you get loose, where the hell do you think you’d go? It’s two stories up, and the doors are locked six ways with special security.”

“Then take these bloody restraints off. Why tie me if I can’t get away?” Trelain twisted again and got another smack.

“Because the boss told us to tie you, that’s why.”

“Who the fuck is the boss? Why the hell am I here? You can’t think that no one is going to notice that I’m missing for very long?”

“No, we feel sure someone will notice you’re missing.” He giggled inanely. “But it’s not likely to be very public, since your ballet company thinks you’re off fucking some billionaire, so no one’s going to be very concerned now, are they?”

Shit. That was the truth. The ballet company would think he was with Daniel, and Daniel would think he was still finishing up at the company. “So you’re looking for ransom?”

“Of a sort.”

A weirdly high, heavily accented voice came from behind Trelain. “Shut your mouth. You talk too much.”

Okay, that would be the meanest-looking son of a whore Trelain had ever seen. The bloke called Rutger was so scary he was a cliché, but Trelain didn’t feel inclined to laugh. He looked like one of those self-haters who detested fags and, just to prove it, would have to fuck Trelain until he bled. He nearly retched thinking of it… Had to be a way out of this fucking hole before that big bastard worked himself up enough to justify his own cruelty.

He glanced around. What the nerd said seemed true. Though it was dark now, earlier the tiny sliver of a window showed only sky beyond, suggesting they were high. Only the nerd and the big blond German had come in and out so far, and they seemed to go through an elaborate ritual to accomplish it. Shit. There had to be a way. “May I go to the toilet?”

The nerd started to stand from his wooden chair like the one Trelain sat on, but the voice from behind stopped him. “I will take him.”

Bloody hell. Not his intention, that.

The big man came around and roughly pulled him to his feet. A push sent him toward the closed bathroom door. Trelain made some show of stumbling though, in truth, he could have balanced on a swinging rope over the Grand Canyon. The German opened the door.

Trelain looked over his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to undo my hands? I can hardly hold my penis in my mouth.”

For a moment, the German’s unguarded expression conveyed exactly whose mouth he’d want to put that penis in. Trelain shivered. But the man did untie the restraints.

Trelain unzipped his jeans, then glanced up at the man. “Would you bloody well mind stepping outside or turning around or something?”

The thin lips curved slightly. “Yes, I would very much mind. Get on with it.”

Trelain pulled out his cock and made the mistake of glancing up at the German. The huge man’s eyes were riveted on his dick while a tip of tongue wet his lips. Fuck!

Trelain looked down and breathed deeply, trying to produce a stream of urine from a now very bashful bladder. Intense focus produced a respectable flow. He cleaned off, zipped up, and washed his hands while trying to look around. Like in the outside room, the bathroom wall had a high, narrow window that one would assume would not accommodate a man’s body. Of course, that would be an ordinary man’s body.

* * *

Mac’s cell phone rang. One of the many benefits of a private jet. He’d already called Woo and told her he needed some time and that he was abandoning the Terrebone story. She’d been amazingly philosophical.

“No good leads from that German cat, huh, Mac Mac?”

When he said no and that he’d lost his taste for the story, he could practically see her shrug. “Always said it was Neverland, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did, Woo, and I’m sorry I wasted so much time on the story.”

“Hey, that ballet dancer story is the biggest thing we ever had from a readership point of view, baby. Didn’t matter if somebody likes ballet or not, that golden guy with no clothes is the biggest heart-stopper of all time. You can’t believe how many new subscribers we got.”

Mac had to put a hand on his chest to hold back the pain in his heart. “I’m glad, Woo. I’ll try to make this up to you.”

“Hey, no problemo, kiddo. Let me know when you’re ready to come back. And if you got any more of those dancer pictures, I’ll buy everything the photographer took.”

“I’ll see. Thanks, Woo.”

There were reasons why he loved that crazy-like-a-fox woman.

He looked at his phone screen. Shit, it was Devin calling. Should he wait? He glanced up to see Daniel engrossed in his own conversation. Okay, hell. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, Mac, long time no hear. What’s going on?”

“Sorry I’ve been so quiet. I’ve had, uh, a lot going on. I’m on my way to New York.”

“What? You mean right now? I called your cell.”

“Yeah. It’s a private jet. Long story.”

“I’ve got time, Son.”

“Oh, it’s…” Suddenly, some kind of dam cracked. “I’m on my way to New York to try and help Trelain. He’s in trouble.”

“What? You mean Trelain Medveyev?”

“You know any others?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. What kind of trouble? How can I help?”

“It’s serious. I can’t talk about it yet, but I will tell you when I can. For now, please don’t tell anyone but maybe Mom. I’m not kidding. It could make matters worse.”

“Drugs? Women?”

“Not drugs and, of course, not women. Hell, Dad. Promise me.”

“I promise.” There was a pause. “Why is it you getting him out of trouble? I didn’t realize you were such good friends.”

Mac sighed. “You don’t want to know, so don’t ask.”

There was a longer pause. Mac could feel the tension. “So you are good friends?”

“Yes, we’re lovers.” No response. “I said you didn’t want to know. If you decide to deal with the fact that your son is gay, give me a call sometime when the man I love is not in trouble.”

“Mac. Wait. I dealt with the fact that you were likely gay a long time ago. When you never acknowledged it or talked to me and your mother, I thought maybe I was wrong.”

“What the fuck? Don’t give me that. I never heard anything from you except how crappy it was that people thought you were homosexual when you had a wife and kid.”

There was a sigh. “Yeah, that’s true. I was and am very sensitive about it. I had a lover before I met your mom. His name was Gavin. I loved him deeply, and he died. I thought I’d never love anyone again until I met your mother and discovered I was bisexual, or at least, I was for her. She knew about Gavin, but I never wanted her to think she was second place in my heart, even though she came into my life second. I’ve been completely faithful to her all these years, and it pisses me off that people would call our wonderful marriage a sham and make her feel like she wasn’t enough to hold me. So yeah, I resent being called gay when I so clearly have a happy heterosexual relationship and family. And I don’t think that men should be forced out of dance because they aren’t gay.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m really sorry I gave you the impression I disliked homosexuality, Mac. Had Gavin not died, I would be living in a gay relationship today.”

“And why did you assume I’d come talk to you about being gay?”

“I remember the way you looked at Paavo when you were a boy. I saw you struggling with relationships with girls. But you never came to us, so I just assumed you’d made your own way.”

“No…” To his chagrin the word cracked.

“You mean you’re just discovering you’re gay?” Devin sounded genuinely horrified.

“Yes.”

“Trelain?”

“Yes, and Daniel.”

“What? Who?”

“It’s too hard to explain now, and I’m too frantic about Trelain. There are three of us. That’s all I can tell you right now. Just don’t ask.” His voice rose, and he breathed hard.

“Okay, Son. Okay. I just want you to be happy. That’s what I’ve always wanted. I want to help in any way I can. Please, tell me how Trelain is when you can. We love him too. And we want to meet, uh, Daniel, is it?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Mac. Just the way you are, as some song or other goes.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead and Mac stared at the phone. Twenty-seven years of assumptions, misconceptions, fear, denial, self-doubt, and misery. He looked up, and Daniel leaned over him.

“Just caught the end of what I think was a very interesting discussion. Your dad?”

He nodded.

“You told him?”

“That I’m gay and in love with two men, yeah.”

“Okay, that must have made his day.”

Mac felt stunned. “I imagine.”

“But he wasn’t surprised you’re gay, was he?”

Mac stared into the deep blues. “No. Did you hear?”

“No, but your dad is around gay men all the time. He had to have suspected.”

“Said I never talked about it, so he figured I’d worked it out.” And the dam that had cracked earlier broke. He felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest, and he couldn’t breathe. “I don’t know if I can take all this.”

Suddenly he had a lap full of very large man. “Okay, my turn in the upper buffalo position.” Daniel’s arms went around him. “It’s okay, baby. One thing at a time, one day at a time. All these pieces are part of the same puzzle. Soon, you’ll barely be able to see the cracks. We just have to find Trelain first.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Crap. He had to stop shaking. Mac rang the bell of the sedate townhouse. Early-morning sun shone through the branches of the trees that lined the best-of-the-best New York street. Von Berg had said morning, and Mac was taking full advantage to get here at shortly after the crack of dawn. He had to find something to go on before Daniel decided to go confess to the police.

The door opened, held by a stiff, slightly scary, Germanic-looking butler. “Can I help you?” At least he didn’t say, “You rang?”

“Mac MacAllister to see Mr. Von Berg.”

The butler glanced pointedly at his watch. “He is expecting you?”

“Yes. He invited me.”

“Very good, sir.” Clearly it wasn’t. “Herr Von Berg is finishing his breakfast, but I shall tell him you are here.” He ushered him into a beautiful, low-key entry hall hung with several old masters. Clearly a different aesthetic than Daniel. Interesting that they both valued the
Dancer
. The butler left him, and he perused the paintings while trying to control his hyperventilation. He had to learn something. Dear God, they wouldn’t hurt Trelain, would they? Daniel hadn’t told him everything about the ransom call. It was deadly serious. He was shocked to realize if they did hurt Trelain, he could imagine killing Von Berg.

“Mr. Von Berg will see you now.”

Mac knew he jumped at the voice, but tried to look calm as he turned and followed the butler up a flight of wide stairs to the main floor of the house and into what Mac figured would be called a morning room or breakfast room. Von Berg rose from a traditional round table set with an array of breakfast foods.

“MacKenzie, good to meet you personally. Please, join me. How do you take your coffee?”

Mac forced a smile. “Black, please.”

The German sat again, his medium-height, medium-build frame giving no hint as to the ruthless man Mac knew him to be. Von Berg poured the coffee himself and handed it to Mac, who sat opposite him. The sun poured in from eastern-facing windows onto floral-print chairs and drapes, mocking Mac’s dark mood. The gray-haired German sat back, folding his hands over a slightly rounded belly. “So, what do you have for me that is sufficient to get me to, uh, continue my investigation?”

Mac thought he’d like to wrap his hands around the old man’s neck and squeeze until he revealed where Trelain was being held. “I found out a detail that I think will give me a preponderance of evidence sufficient to write my story. I’m very excited and think you will be too.” He pulled the photograph from his backpack. “I have discovered that a man named Chaim ben Harrari has made claims that his family owns the statue and that it was stolen during World War Two. Of course, he claims that your father stole it. Amazing. Anyway, I’m sure you know all this. But what you don’t know”—he placed the photo in front of Von Berg with a flourish—“is that ben Harrari has a connection with Daniel Terrebone. My theory is that ben Harrari hired Terrebone to steal the
Dancer
, and Terrebone, out of boredom and love of adventure, did it. Of course, I won’t make such a claim in my story. I’ll let people draw their own conclusions.”

Von Berg stared at the photo for several seconds. “Interesting, Mr. MacAllister. Of course, I know about ben Harrari’s outrageous, opportunistic claims, hoping to trade upon the sympathy people have for the so-called holocaust survivors.” Mac suppressed a shiver. It didn’t help his state of anxiety to be reminded just how insane Von Berg was. The man continued to stare at the photo fixedly. “And ben Harrari will get his hands on the
Dancer
when pigs fly.”

“Excuse me?”

The German glanced up as if just remembering Mac was there. “His claims are ridiculous, but the connection with Terrebone is very interesting. Congratulations, Mac. Well done.”

Mac smiled as if basking in the man’s admiration, but his heart beat like a hammer. “Thank you, sir. So, do you think this could prompt you to continue looking for the statue? I would hate to see the whole incident just dissolve and your family lose such a cherished possession. If I write the story, it could give you an in to file a lawsuit, or at least begin a police investigation.” As if the old bastard would let the police within fifty miles of this case. Mac retrieved the photo, which Von Berg seemed to relinquish with reluctance.