Grand Union Hunt

Compromises

Gareth lifted the casserole dish off the stove and set it to cool on the rack. Gusts of wind drove raindrops against the kitchen window, the uncoordinated splatter masking the soft taps coming from the monitor on the sideboard. Jack had installed the feeds months ago to alert them when Nico or Daniel had nightmares, but the fancy tech suite more than one purpose.

Gareth used it to keep an ear on the activity in Jack’s den.

Talking to Jack when he was in the middle of a search was pointless. He was more receptive in the quiet phases in between. Gareth waited until the rattle of fingers on keyboard stilled before he poured a large mug of coffee and piled a plate with lemon and cinnamon shortbread.

Jack wasn’t alone in his den. Winston snuggled into one corner of the sofa, a shadowy curl of fur in the dim light. Blackout shades covered the windows, keeping reflections from the seven screens Jack had arranged in three tiers. The desk light illuminated the notepad in Jack’s lap, while Jack yawned and stretched in his fancy chair, his neck cracking when he turned his head from side to side.

“Sounds like you’re ready for a break.” Gareth set the mug and the shortbread on the corner of Jack’s desk, not surprised when Jack blinked up at him a little owlishly. The glow from the screens ghosted over Jack’s face, highlighting dark eyes, darker brows, and a layer of scruff—and Gareth’s mind took him back to the desert and their shared deployment.

The memory came in a jumble of fragments: Fierce cold. A lack of water. Jack cross-legged on the ground with his head over a keyboard, squinting to make out the data on the screen. And all of them unshaven, dusty, and ragged like a bunch of bandits.

He shook his head to dislodge the images and focussed on the man in front of him. “You realise you’ve been stuck up here since yesterday morning, yes?”

Jack blinked. “I hadn’t, no. What is it now?”

“Wednesday. Just after one.”

“Right.” Jack sipped the coffee, his attention still on the four active screens. “Baxter asked me for help. We’re tracking this gang, and it’s trickier than we expected.” He snagged a finger of cinnamon shortbread and took a bite. “Their offline security was so sloppy, we thought it’d be a quick job. But they’ve taken far more care to protect their online assets.”

“So online is where you’ll find the gold dust.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

Gareth wanted to offer dinner and suggest a few hours or a night’s worth of sleep, but Jack wouldn’t appreciate it. When he hunted, he stuck to his screens until he’d snagged his target or—at the very least—found a substantial lead. Gareth had learned that the hard way, but in the wake of their first big fight, they’d reached a compromise. “We agreed I’d tell you when I feel you’re getting lost in the chase.”

Jack reached for Gareth’s hand and dragged him close enough to rest his head against Gareth’s stomach. “And I promised to listen.”

Gareth ran his fingers through dark hair, lank and dishevelled from Jack tugging at it. “You are listening, but you won’t stop working just yet, will you?”

“There are children in the mix.”

Gareth’s heart sank. Trafficking cases involving children were the worst. They challenged Jack on every level, professional and personal. “That sounds bad.”

Jack tapped keys until lines of text scrolled across one of his screens. “I’ve found a thread to pull on. I’ll give it a couple more hours. If I get nothing, I’ll break for a nap.”

“Right. Two hours.” Gareth stepped out of Jack’s hold, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. “Don’t think I won’t check on you.”

Jack’s smile drooped at the edges, but it was a smile. “I’m banking on that. I could do with a bowl of whatever you’re cooking. It smells heavenly.”

“Chilli beef stew.”

“Definitely.” Jack shoved another shortbread finger into his mouth.

The sugar and caffeine did their work, and Jack’s fingers resumed their dance on the keyboard. “Two hours,” Gareth reminded him, and returned to the kitchen, marvelling at the power of compromises.

***

With Jack otherwise occupied, the food shopping fell to Gareth. Not that he minded. They ordered their staples online, keeping the weekly shop for fresh food and treats. Gareth had simplified the task further by limiting himself to the greengrocer and Rachel’s deli, where both Daniel and Nico worked the late afternoon shift.

He found Nico at the large table in the backroom, preparing the schedule for the next day’s deliveries, while Daniel finished ringing up the last customers, and got the cash ready to take to the bank.

“Where’s Rachel?”

Nico looked up. “We told her to go home. She couldn’t concentrate on anything and was too upset to talk to customers.”

Gareth waited, but Nico had nothing to add. “Are you going to tell me why? Or is it a secret?”

“Rachel has a friend who makes cakes,” Daniel called from the store. “Mrs Harmon has a stall at the farmers’ market and caters parties. Things like that.”

“And?”

“The police arrested her, saying she’s selling drugs.”

Gareth chewed on that while he watched Nico and Daniel close the deli. They’d done it before, with and without Rachel present, and it gave Gareth a thrill that his friend trusted her business to the two boys. Ten minutes later, Daniel crossed the road to deposit the excess cash in the bank’s night safe. It was rarely a lot, seeing that most people paid by card or came into the deli to collect the food they’d ordered online. But Rachel had made rules for her business and Daniel followed them.

“Tell me again what Rachel said,” Gareth ordered as they battled the afternoon traffic out of Richmond and towards their home in Kingston Hill. “What actually happened?”

“The police arrested Rachel’s friend,” Nico said. “Which is ludicrous. I mean, she must be sixty and looks like a TV granny. But people got sick after eating the cupcakes she sold at the market. Or hyper.”

“And that brings the police rather than food standards? Why?”

“Dunno. Rachel said they took everything from her friend’s kitchen. Even the dishes and spoons.”

Gareth wished Jack wasn’t asleep or—more likely—back to chasing traffickers. He knew more about street drugs than Gareth ever would and could have made sense of Nico’s vague comments. He watched the boys in the rearview mirror, hoping for more information, but the two seemed at a loss.

“It isn’t just Rachel who’s upset, is it?”

Daniel leaned against Nico, seeking comfort. “Mrs Harmon must be so frightened. Imagine being arrested and put in jail when you’ve done nothing wrong. How do you even prove that someone isn’t a drug dealer? Do you think Jack could—”

“Jack’s helping Clive.”

“Is that why he’s not been sleeping?”

“Yes. We need to leave him alone until he’s done.”

“But that takes days! Can’t we do anything?”

Gareth didn’t like the note of panic in Daniel’s voice. “Speculating and worrying won’t do us any good. Let me talk to Aidan and find out how we can help. We can discuss options over dinner tomorrow night. That okay?”

Being presented with a plan of action eased Nico’s and Daniel’s anxiety. They didn’t share random events of their day as they did on other drives home, but they stopped clinging to each other for comfort. Gareth took that as a win.