Chapter 2

The past year had seen them visit Massachusetts to attend the same-sex wedding of their friends Pete and Billy. Sam hoped—one day—he and Zack would also tie the knot. Part of him had hoped Zack would propose during their visit. But it was okay when he didn’t. Sam knew Zack loved him, because every day in some way or other Zack would tell or show him just how much he was loved.

A quick straightening of the salad forks, and everything was ready. All Sam needed now was the guest of honor, who should…The phone in the kitchen began to ring.

Sam approached it, glanced at the caller ID and swore. Picking up, he growled, “Zack, tonight’s our anniversary. You better not be calling to say you—”

“Beth’s gone into labor,” Zack interrupted.

“What?” The rest of Sam’s protests died on his lips.

“I’ve tried to get hold of Pete and Billy, but their cell phones just go to voicemail, and Pete’s secretary doesn’t know where he is.”

Sam heard Zack being paged.

“Listen, angel, I have to go. Can you drive around and see if you can get a hold of the fathers-to-be? Otherwise they’ll miss the birth, and—”

“Sure, babe. You just make sure Beth and the little one stay safe.”

“Do my best.”

The two men exchanged ’I love yous’ and hung up. Sam turned off the stove, grabbed a light jacket and was out the door.

* * * *

Pulling down the driveway, Sam wondered where to try first. Pete’s secretary usually kept him on a short leash during working hours, so it wasn’t likely he was on lawyer-type business. As the owner of a small construction company, Billy was less predictable in his habits. Sam thought he’d give their cell phones a try himself, but just as they had for Zack, the calls went straight to voicemail. Sam didn’t bother leaving messages. He next tried their home phone, but after six rings he got their usually cute but now irritating message on their answering machine. Sam was beginning to loathe message-taking equipment.

Slowing at the approach to a crossroads, he got an idea. The last time they’d met up, Billy had been moaning about his current job. He was converting a small, abandoned factory into high-end apartments. The job was too big for him and the couple of guys he employed, so he’d been advertising for temporary unskilled labor. However, most of those he’d interviewed didn’t seem interested, especially when Billy, who was always open about his sexuality, told them they’d be working for a gay boss.

Going on the hunch he’d find Billy and probably Pete, too, at the construction site, Sam switched on his right turn signal and made a last-minute lane adjustment, a maneuver his lieutenant would chew his ass out over if he knew. But Sam hoped no one would tell him. However, this being a small town, he very much feared someone was already reaching for the phone to call the station. How he wished he’d taken his police cruiser home the previous day. A quick flash of the lights and a short burst of the siren would have his path cleared in seconds.

Sam’s pickup bounced down the rutted track that marked the only access to the long-forgotten factory, another of Billy’s gripes. Who—Sam had asked when Billy had first mentioned his latest building project—would want to live so far from anything?

“That’s the point. Your upwardly mobile businessman with his trophy wife and two point five kids wants to recapture the rural idyll after a day slaving over a hot computer terminal.”

“Or a hot secretary,” Zack had unhelpfully added.

One final bone-jarring jolt, a turn to the right, and Sam had arrived. Sure enough, there, in the make-shift parking lot, stood a sober and conservative black BMW, and, alongside it, a practical, if mud-splattered, green truck. But what of their owners? Shutting off the engine, Sam couldn’t hear the usual construction site sounds. However, he realized it was past the time when work would have stopped for the day.

Putting his head around the open door of the site trailer, he saw five plastic chairs, one of which was lying on its side. An air-conditioner droned in the window. This irritated Sam, as the machine’s labors were fruitless, because the last person to leave hadn’t closed the door. The far corner of the trailer was strewn with waste paper from the overflowing basket. Another corner held a coffee maker, surrounded by a collection of mugs. A scattering of architectural blueprints lay on a low table in the center of the room. But of Pete or Billy, there was no sign.

Sighing, Sam closed the trailer door and went in search of his friends. Not sure if it was safe to enter the factory without a hard hat—Billy would chew out anyone not properly attired in safety gear—Sam returned to the trailer. Finding a spare hat under one of the chairs, he put it on, and resumed his mission.