Union Atlantic Page 0,91

Jason with you? Is he in the hotel?"

Nate realized he was being offered an escape route. If he could rope Jason into the story somehow and then get to him before his father did, he might save himself. But he couldn't put the pieces together quickly enough.

"Actually ... I know Mr. Fanning. From Finden."

"From Finden? I see."

He glanced at his watch, as if recalculating the odds on a particularly complicated bet. Nate understood that he wouldn't be asked to explain himself any further, and that this was probably a bad thing. "Well," Mr. Holland said, "I need to see Doug. So if he drops by, maybe you could tell him I'm downstairs."

He was already back through the door when he turned, as if halted by the belated awareness that their acquaintance required some parting pleasantry. "Anyhow," he said, "say hello to your parents for me."

AS THE CAR came to a stop in front of the hotel, Doug's phone rang.

"Are you in the building yet?" Holland asked.

"Yeah, I'm here. Are we closing the deal with Taconic?"

There was a pause and it sounded as if Jeffrey were holding his hand over the receiver. "So, yeah," he said. "Good that you're here. Just sit tight, another forty-five minutes, an hour maybe. I just have to go over a few more things with the lawyers and then we'll all meet in the ballroom."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. The deal's fine. I just want you close at the end, that's all."

A liveried bellhop opened the car door and Doug passed through the revolving glass into the lobby. Beyond the elevator bank, to the right of the front desk, two heavyset white guys in navy-blue wind-breakers were talking quietly to the hotel manager. They had wires in their ears and walkie-talkies on their belts. They weren't secret service and they didn't look private. FBI, maybe. Definitely federal.

Doug considered walking back onto the sidewalk and hailing a cab. But if they were here for him, how far would he get? Not today or tomorrow, but next week or next month? He would need time to arrange things, on his terms.

As soon as he entered the room upstairs, Nate came up off the bed, all eagerness and alarm.

"I kept trying your phone," he said. "I didn't know where you were."

Doug tossed his briefcase on the couch and crossed to the window. Nothing unusual down on the street. No squad cars or agents. He regretted now having let Nate come here but when he'd told him he would be staying in the city for a while, he'd practically begged. He had arrived with a suitcase and a bag of books, as if they were on vacation together.

As a practical matter, Nate had been expendable as soon as he'd delivered the files back in July. And yet in the months since they had spent as much time together as ever. Doug had kept telling himself that getting off helped him sleep. That Nate was just experimenting, and he was just killing time. But the more he used the boy's body, the more frustrated he'd become.

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"Why? Is something the matter?"

The collar of his faded blue polo was tucked under on one side and his hair, as usual, was a mess.

"What did you do?" Doug said, sliding his thumb down Nate's smooth cheek. "Shave?"

"Yeah. You think I'm too scruffy. It's my Ritz-Carlton look."

He took hold of Doug's hand and guided it down to his hip. "You look good in that suit," he said, stepping in close, their faces just a few inches apart.

His gall rising, Doug turned Nate around and pushed him forward onto the bed.

"After this," he said, "you're leaving. You understand?"

When Nate had removed his shirt and jeans, he rolled onto his back.

"What are you doing?"

"I never get to look at you," Nate said.

Doug grabbed him by the backs of the knees and pressed his thighs to his chest, bending him open. Holding him down like that, he fiddled with his own belt and trousers, amazed and repulsed by the endlessness of the boy's need. He spit in his hand and entered him with a single jab. Nate winced, his eyes watering, but Doug kept going. This was the thing - why he had kept him around. To tackle a male body, one like his own boyish self, to push it and get at it, his dick and this fucking just a means to the end. To fuck weakness, to pummel it.

Even as he seemed about to