A Shot of Courage

By Lou Sylvre

After too much time apart from his lover and sub, Brian Harrison is thinking kink, a cowboy hat, and one more marriage proposal. When Jackie Vasquez finally says “yes” to a wedding, he also says, “why wait?” But their vows and the toasts to the happy couple have hardly faded when a phone call reminds them that trouble still awaits.

Despite his best intentions, Brian broke the law in his efforts to stop a powerful criminal from harming those he loves. He could go to prison, or he could risk his life going undercover to help bring one of Europe’s most nefarious citizens to justice. Friends and smart thinking can help him do the right thing. But only love can supply the courage he and Jackie need to prevail against schemes and guns and, if they’re lucky, stay alive to enjoy a honeymoon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jul 30, 2020

Lou Sylvre

LOU SYLVRE hails from southern California but now lives and writes on the rainy side of Washington State. Her personal assistant is Boudreau, a large cat who never outgrew his kitten meow. She loves her family, her friends, the felines Boudreau, Nibbles and The Lady George, a little dog named Joe, and (in random order) coffee, chocolate, sunshine, and wild roses, among other things.

Book preview

Macbeth

Chapter One

One year ago, US Embassy at Copenhagen

Special Agent Jesse Douglas peered at the image he’d just blown up on his monitor. He’d been sifting through dozens of shots of Roscoe Lieb, an employee at the US embassy in Copenhagen, where Jesse also worked handling special investigations as part of the Diplomatic Security Service. Special investigations usually meant things that don’t fit anybody else’s brief, but can’t be ignored. The case involving Lieb was no different.

It had landed on Jesse’s desk after an initial inquiry into the appearance that Lieb was living beyond his evident means. He was a first line supervisor in a unit that employed both Americans and Danes, their primary function to approve business dealings with Danish companies providing for the daily needs of the embassy. Toilet paper purchases, that sort of thing. He had no notable investments, had inherited nothing, and his yearly salary would be around seventy thousand dollars. Nothing to sneeze at, but not enough to buy the upscale condo he lived in near the embassy and the vacation home he had in Malta, or a BMW and a Cadillac. Etcetera.

The initial investigation, conducted under a protocol that would not alert Lieb he was being checked, had turned up no evidence of the wrongdoing by which it was assumed he was making bank.

Yet the problem didn’t go away. Suspicions had been, as usual in such cases, that his extra funds flowed from selling information -- not spying, just dabbling in black-market trading.

And when Lieb suddenly resigned his post, giving no explanation and not appearing for his exit interview, a search had been ordered. Took a while though, because of all the stuff they had to do first: request letter, warning letter, ten extra days for compliance had ended. When the search finally went forward, it was so cursory as to be comic. The initial investigation team had closed the case at that point, their final report saying, in so many words, that Lieb was gone and their hands were tied. But seniors in the security office reviewed all case closures, and in this case they declined to agree.

Instead of sending it back, they sent it to Jesse.

His brow furrowed, now, as he sat back in his chair and picked up his ever-present mug of hot tea, considering. The idea that Lieb sold information had never made sense. He was a minor nobody in the State Department’s hierarchy. He’d never held a high-level security clearance, and he didn’t have any high-level friends, either. What secrets could he possibly be selling?

Jesse set his cup down without having taken a drink and used his mouse to flip back through a few images. There was video too. Jesse had seen it, but he ignored it now. He often found still photos more revealing than footage, where the emphasis was on motion. He segregated four photos and displayed them foursquare in his monitor.

Each photo showed Fritsjof Westergaard somewhere in the photo with Lieb. Westergaard was a high-rolling, low-life Dane known to have his hands in everybody and everything, caught but never held. Jesse’s lip curled as he contemplated Lieb’s involvement with him. Westergaard ranked as one of the most disgusting individuals he’d run across in his entire State Department career, spanning twenty years and three continents. Two of the photos seemed to accidentally include Lieb in a celebrity-gossip type image of Lieb with famous names in famous places: one at Zen, a now defunct, exclusive and world famous nightclub; one with an apparently intoxicated Westergaard leering in the foreground aboard what appeared to be a yacht.

But two of the images had a different flavor and featured high-end vehicles -- a commodity Westergaard was known to move illegally across the water. If Jesse’s suspicions were right, that wasn’t the worst of his trafficking crimes, but Westergaard wasn’t the crime he was trying to solve at this particular moment.

Maybe he could make it so, though.

One of that pair of photos showed both men walking toward a sports car with several other expensive vehicles lined up behind it in the lane of traffic. Jesse couldn’t place the palm trees and hot sun in Denmark -- or anywhere in the EU that he knew of -- but Lieb hadn’t notified anyone he’d left the country recently. The remaining photo was the most intriguing, wholly due to the expression on Lieb’s face as he eyed Westergaard. Smug. Westergaard was looking off into the distance, a grim frown on his face, while Lieb eyed him from the side, looking like a jackal with a wounded rabbit at bay. What could make a nobody like Lieb smug about his relationship with someone like Westergaard?

Blackmail?

If that was it, Lieb would likely have a hell of an awakening at some point. One of the things that kept Westergaard out of prison, if one could believe the rumors, was his consummate skill as a blackmailer. If Lieb thought he’d caught a rabbit, maybe what he really had was a snake.

Almost certainly.

So, Jesse decided, sitting back in his desk chair and taking a hefty swig of cooling tea, this case likely hinged on just how it happened that Lieb came to feel smug about such a widely renowned -- and feared -- narcissistic sociopath as Westergaard. An odd question, but Jesse intended to find the answer.

And he pretty much always succeeded in doing as he intended.

* * *

Present Day

After his late flight to Sea Tac and a two hour drive -- including an awkward conversation with Luki and a rough ferry ride over a choppy Puget Sound -- it was two in the morning before Jackie arrived at the Vasquez-James home near Port Clifton.

The day had been long and trying for him, and worse for Brian. Jackie wouldn’t have called home before bed if he’d thought Brian was there. After the high emotions of their morning discussion, the looming plans they made for Brian to confess all to Luki, their trip into the tunnels of hidden Los Angeles to find the homeless woman named Esi, and Brian’s fight with that gun-toting asshole, Lieb, he deserved a night of uninterrupted sleep. But Brian got arrested after that fight, and Jackie thought he’d still be in jail. He called just to comfort himself with Brian’s voice on the recording before he sought his own pillow.

But Brian answered on the first ring. Confused at first, Jackie finally said, Oh, you’re there.

They both laughed and for Jackie’s exhausted spirit, it was like rain on a desert.

They let me walk, Brian said. No charges. No explanation.

Jackie said, Whatever their reason, I’m sorry if I woke you up. I’m glad you’re home, though. Bet Marley’s glad too.

Oh, you know Marley. He’s tolerating me, but he misses you, and he let me know he thinks your absence is my fault. Damn cat.

Jackie laughed. He loves you.

Yeah, sure. Anybody else you know?

Me. I love you too.

Thanks. That’s what I was fishing for.

Jackie lay down on his bed, which was cloud-comfy, and sighed. A quiet interlude followed and he almost fell asleep. Then they both spoke at the same time.

I wish you’d been able to come with me, Jackie said.

Brian spoke of practical things, though. Tomorrow’s your appointment in Seattle?

Yeah. Sonny’ll take me.

You need to get some sleep, love. That’s exciting stuff, getting a new leg! Something not everybody gets to do!

I know, and I’m excited. But since you did answer the phone --

Hanky-panky? Brian laughed. I might be too tired, but we could give it a shot.

Jackie rolled his eyes but only Bear, who’d come in for a goodnight belly-rub, saw it. No, Brian. I’m definitely too tired. Maybe do some solo-pankying if you want. You can tell me about it tomorrow.

Brian said nothing, and Jackie started to worry Brian had taken him seriously. Then Brian pretended to snore.

Jackie laughed. But as I started to say, since you answered the phone, we have to talk about Thanksgiving.

We do?

Luki didn’t talk about anything else the whole drive home. You know he loves making his feast. He expects us.

Um… okay?

Brian, it’s next week.

Oh shit, I hadn’t even thought about it.

Me neither, but listen. I got to thinking. Why don’t you wait? I mean, I know you want to get everything off your chest, tell Luki about investigating the Espen-Vintner stuff, and all, but…

You think it would be better to tell him in person.

"Yeah. I do. And after his whole big T-day feast thing? You know it’s gonna turn out flawless. He’ll be stoked, in a good mood."

And then I’ll ruin it. He --

And maybe I’m selfish, but I’d like a chance to enjoy the time, your company, my family, before things get all gloomy.

Okay. I… I don’t know what to expect with Vintner after the fight with Lieb. I suppose if I’m gone, it’ll be okay. I’ll fly up Wednesday.

Not here. Thanksgiving’s at Josh and Ruthie’s in Boulder. Josh couldn’t get enough time off work. Jude’s booking your flight, and the hotel where Sonny wants to stay. No room at Josh’s.

* * *

The Hotel Boulderado, which looked like it belonged in Texas to his untrained eye, seemed to Brian a very fine place for a cowboy to meet up with his lover and sub after a long time apart.

He’d been in an unusually playful mood ever since he boarded the plane for his flight to Boulder. Somehow this whole Thanksgiving visit in Colorado seemed like a chance to step out of his troubles and enjoy life -- even though he’d have to face his troubles while he was there, have that conversation with Luki about the hellacious mess he’d got himself into with Vintner.

His flight had come into Denver around eight at night, and while he waited for the ground shuttle to Boulder, he did a little shopping, just for fun.

Now, as he stepped onto the landing of the hotel’s fourth floor, the sound of his brand new cowboy bootheels clicking on the tiles broadened his smile. He gave the dozen red roses he carried a sniff, and put on his cowboy hat.

When he got to the door, he double-checked the number, and then instead of using his key-card, he knocked. He heard Jackie shuffling toward the door after a minute, but -- good for him -- he didn’t open it.

Who is it?

Brian thought about giving some cryptic answer, but he didn’t want to seem scary, and he did want Jackie to open the door. So he said, It’s Brian, and then slouched against the doorframe, cowboy hat cocked over one eye.

Jackie opened it, obviously started to say something, but went quiet, a surprised and puzzled smile on his face.

Brian didn’t move. He’d never been to Texas, but he hoped his twang sounded more Texan than hilarious. I hear a cowboy might be able to find a good time at this here establishment.

Jackie placed his cane and took a hop back from the door. He wasn’t wearing his prosthetic, his hair was wet and dark, his skin a little steamy -- apparently freshly showered. Jackie wore a navy tank that stopped at his hip bones, and silky briefs, the same color, that stopped an inch or so lower down. After Brian’s cowboy question, he ran his free hand over his clothes, a gesture that made him seem suddenly shy. He bit his lip, then stepped smoothly into character. Well, he said in a convincing breathy drawl, some cowboys can.

Brian came in and closed the door. Just because you have a better Texas drawl than me, my good man, that don’t mean you can just have your way. I ain’t gonna do none of what you’re hopin’ for until you tell me the sexiest, safest words you know.

Yellow, Sir. My words, are yellow and red, and I’m more’n happy to give ‘em to you.

Brian did the best he could to stay in character, but he couldn’t help a smile. Use ‘em, he said. Any time you think you ought to. Startin’ now.

He stepped into the room and set his bags down, hung the do-not-disturb placard, and closed and locked the door. When he looked around, he liked what he saw. The décor was perfect for his half-planned scene. The big floral gold-flecked wallpaper, the deep red, velvet curtains hung over scalloped sheers, the scroll-framed mirror -- it all looked like an upstairs room at the local saloon in an old western movie.

Tidy in here. He put his large bag near the wardrobe and placed the roses and duffel on top of the dresser. Am I your first cowboy tonight?

A smile played over Jackie’s lips. Sir, my honest word, I ain’t had another cowboy since the first time you come to see me.

You’re mine, then?

Yes, Sir.

Brian unzipped his small bag to reveal a coil of gold-dyed silk rope and the riding crop he’d picked up at the western store along with his hat and boots. Some lube, some arnica gel, and a soft throw blanket was visible too, but there was something else important in there, buried with all the whatnot in the bottom. After he opened it to reveal the toys, he looked at Jackie.

Eyeful?

Sir, Jackie answered, but his eyes were begging.

Brian sat in the wine-red armchair, brought the matching ottoman close, to the side, then stuck his legs out where they’d be in Jackie’s reach. Take off my boots.

Jackie obeyed after managing to get seated on the ottoman with a fair amount of grace. In an interesting and challenging twist, he kept his eyes up and locked on Brian’s most of the time. Brian almost scolded, but then he realized he hadn’t told Jackie to keep them down. Also, it was kind of sexy.

Trying to maintain the drawl, Brian said, You got all cleaned up, devil boy. Why?

Jackie finished with Brian’s boots, then answered. I was hoping you’d come see me tonight, Sir.

Brian stood up. His dick had been half hard since he knocked on the door, now it filled up and begged for freedom. He stared Jackie in the eye as he unzipped, letting his cock push out of his briefs. He rolled the underwear down until the tip was clear, already shiny with precum. It was one of Jackie’s favorite things about sex -- both the sight and the taste of a cock ready to do some fucking.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to look angry and suspicious. Right now you’d better clean up some of this -- he waved at his dick --while I figure out whether you’ve done something you shouldn’t have done to summon me to your door.

The ottoman put Jackie’s mouth at the right height for Brian’s cock. Brian took a step closer and watched as Jackie’s tongue and then his lips did the work of obeying Brian’s command.

"Look how hard you made me, devil boy. I’m