A message popped up on his screen to the far left. He chuckled when he saw it was Officer Mason with another technical crisis. Free decided to go to Mason’s desk, since he wanted a refill on his tea. The break room on the top floor had the best selections. Free smirked and grabbed his coffee mug. He locked their office, then detoured to Mason’s desk. An elderly man sat in one of the chairs in front of him with a worn straw hat braced on his knee and resting his right hand on a cane.

  “Hey Free.” Mason smiled at him when he approached. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

  Free shook his head. “It’s no problem. You know that. So, what’s going on?”

  “This nice man has been real patient. I’ve taken his entire statement and then I went to print and my device is missing. Now I can’t find the damn file to reopen it,” Mason griped, belligerently moving his mouse back and forth across the pad with no purpose at all.

  Free stilled his hand. “Inch over a bit.”

  Free was working in Mason’s computer when he felt the old man’s eyes on him. “Are you a cop?”

  “No. I’m in admin.”

  “Oh.” The man looked dejected.

  “But, no worries. Officer Mason is an amazing cop and I’m sure he can help you,” Free tried to assure him.

  “Well, I want to,” Mason sighed. “But I told Mr. Walker that the best way to catch vandals is to catch them in the act.”

  “Hell, I don’t know when them fools is coming on my property. It’s random times. My boy and I been trying our damnedest to catch ’em and scare ’em, but they too sneaky.” Mr. Walker tightened his fist on his cane. “I ain’t gone have no crops or animals left when those idiots finish.”

  “Crops and animals?” Free paused typing on the keyboard, “Do you live here in Atlanta?”

  “I do. My boy and I are from Texas. We own Walker’s Farm Ranch just north of Highway 74 and the I-75 interchange. Got us a beautiful seventy-five acres out there. Lots of crops, actually did good this spring. My boy just opened our place up for business and it’s taken off.”

  Free gave Mr. Walker his full attention now. It was something about his southern accent and the pride he showed when he talked about his son and his property. Free loved that. The ranch talk reminded him of someone. “So you have a fully functioning farm with animals and horses and bales of hay…all that?” Free clarified. He was starting to get a crazy idea.

  The old man laughed, his bushy gray beard shaking as he did. “With a red barn and all.”

  Free sucked in a sharp breath and the old man gave him a curious look. “Like barns do ya? Wouldn’t think it with that fancy accent of yours.”

  “And you’d be right. But my um…” Free paused, wondering if he should say it. Screw it. “My boyfriend grew up on ranch in Lubbock, Texas.”

  Mason’s brows rose, but Mr. Walker didn’t miss a second. “Well bring ‘em on by. Let him take a look at our operation. You say he from Lubbock. What parts?”

  Free nodded enthusiastically. He was glad the guy didn’t flinch at the word boyfriend. “I’m not sure exactly where but, yeah, it’s a pretty big farm there. Like, two thousand acres.”

  The man sat up higher, startling Free and Mason both. “Two thousand! Goddamn, boy. I might know ‘em cuz that ain’t no dang’on farm that’s a ranch. Who’s his poppa?”

  “My boyfriend’s last name is Hart, and I’m pretty sure his father’s name—”

  “I knew it!” Mr. Walker stamped his cane on the floor. “Well I’ll be dipped in buttermilk and stirred around. It really is a small world. You talkin’ bout the damn Hart Hope Ranch. One of the biggest ranches in not only Lubbock, but all of Texas. There ain’t many ranchers that don’t know them. I tell you. We weren’t neighbors, my land was over six hours away in La Vernia. Big Bull and I left Texas last year after the flooding wiped us out.” A touch of sadness reached Mr. Walker’s strong voice. “You can bring him by anytime.”

  “We have some down days in a couple weeks. What was it you were needing police help with, catching vandals, yes? Maybe we can work out something, Mr. Walker.” Free was getting more and more excited at his insane idea. “Best way to catch anyone these days is on film.”

  Mason joined back in, having been polite enough to let Free go on about nothing that had to do with police work. “I told him if he could set up a better surveillance system then—”

  “My boy said we ain’t got the money to install a new security system that’ll cover that far along the property,” Mr. Walker stressed.

  Free hurried to calm him. “No worries. This isn’t gonna cost you a thing.”

  Mason’s confused expression quickly transformed into an energetic one. “Oh man. Mr. Walker if this guy is willing to help, then let me tell you, those guys are as good as caught. Freeman is the best there is with computers. He can do anything. He can even get into the—”

  “Okay, Mason. Thank you. I think he gets it,” Free urged, giving Mason the eye.

  “Actually, I don’t.” The older man looked cute, making that bewildered face while watching the exchange between him and Mason as if he were observing a ping-pong match.

  “Mason, the report is back up and I sent it to the right printer. Remember, they’re on a different network now. Go ahead and process that and you’re finished, yes?” Free asked.

  “Um. Yeah. I’m sorry, Mr. Walker but this really is all I can do. If you get some proof, then please let us know and we’ll get some arrests made. But for right now, I strongly suggest you accept Mr. Freeman’s help.” Mason urged.

  Mr. Walker struggled to his feet, quickly waving off Free’s offered hand. He only came to Free’s shoulder and his body was compact but still wiry for his age. He righted himself with his cane and turned to Mason, “Thank you for your time, son. I appreciate what you did.” Mr. Walker’s smile was genuine and warm.

  It really did remind Free of someone special to him.

  “See, but you did. While you may not have been able to assist me all the way. You were smart enough to call on your brother for help. If you hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t have met the person who could assist me the rest of the way. I sure appreciate it. You did say this guy was the best, right?” Mr. Walker laughed, pointing at Free.

  “I did and I’m not yanking your chain.” Mason accepted the vigorous shake. “Good luck, Mr. Walker.”

  “Little Bull.” The man hobbled away. He dragged his right foot a little when he first stood, but ended up moving a bit faster after he was almost to the exit doors.

  “So, Mr. Walker. I can come by and take a look at your ranch and get you a top-of-the-line surveillance system set up for you, and it won’t cost you a thing.” Free opened the door for him and ushered him out into the warm Atlanta sun.

  “Why would you do that? For free?” Mr. Walker stopped at the entrance to the parking lot. Free wondered if he’d driven there.

  “Because I’d like to bring my boyfriend with me and maybe we can visit for a couple of days. He talks about ranching when he was young and how much he loved it. If he hadn’t made it as a cop, he’d probably still be there. He doesn’t get to go home much because of work… I think maybe he’d like the change of scenery.”

  “I bet.” Mr. Walker started ambling again. “Okay. Sure. The nearest hotel to us is about twenty minutes, but we got bunk rooms and more than enough room in the main house with me and my boy. If you and your steady are cops then I trust y’all won’t do anything criminal.”

  We’ll probably be spending most of the time in your barn doing lots of criminal things…to each other. Free struggled not to get aroused at the prospect. “I’m sure we’ll get the details ironed out on where we’ll stay. Officer Mason has all of your information in his report. I’ll look everything over and pull up some satellite images of your land and see the best way to get you wired-in and online.”

  Mr. Walker held up his palm. “Whoa. You ain’t talkin’ my language no mo’. But whatever you jus’ said, it sounded legit.”

  “Oh, trust me. I’m legit, Mr. Walker.”

  “I done told ya. Call me Lil Bull, or just Walker.” Walker shook his head, laughing at a joke in his own head. “I ain’t never been Mr. Walker. That was my granddaddy.”

  Free nodded, “And your dad was Big Bull, I presume.”

  “He wishes. Nuttin’ was big ’bout him but his mouth. My poppa was even shorter than me.”

  Free laughed. “So, no Big Bull.”

  “Of course there is. I been talking about my boy the whole time. He’s owner and operator of the ranch. A big ole’ boy. Don’t know where he got it.” Mr. Walker surveyed the visitor’s lot. “He was parked right there, but…oh, there he is.”

  Free followed the old man’s line of sight. He couldn’t believe the behemoth of a man leaning against the hood of an old Ford pickup. He looked like the all-American cowboy, complete with the dusty boots. At least six-four, Big Bull was thick and stocky, stretching his blue flannel shirt with the cut-off sleeves to its capacity. His jeans were threadbare in the most important places. Bloody hell. He couldn’t see the man’s face, since his head was cast down while he stared at his phone screen with a worn, black cowboy hat sitting low on his forehead. It was precisely the type of man Free would’ve avoided or walked in the other direction from. But not now. He wasn’t gonna approach him because Big Bull appeared a bit rough around the edges, but he wasn’t afraid.

  Mr. Walker faced him. “I look forward to your call, Officer Freeman.”

  “Oh no. No, no. Just Len. You can call me, Len.” Free said, still staring at Big Bull, who was now staring back.

  “Need some help, Pop?” Big Bull’s deep voice carried across the street, his affection for his father evident as he started to head in his direction when he stepped shakily off the curb.

  “You just stay right there and hold your horses, Bull, I’m comin’.” Walker glanced over his shoulder at Free, “Call anytime.”

  “You’ll be hearing from me soon.” Free hurried back inside, eager to get a start on his plan. Hart had told him that God was gonna be shutting down the office for a few days next week, and Hart was considering going for a long ride. That would be perfect. He couldn’t wait to surprise him. And possibly see Hart’s big, sexy ass atop a horse.

  Free was light on his feet on his way to the elevators. He wanted to see Hart. It was close to quitting time, and he was curious to know if his boyfriend wanted to eat out tonight instead of ordering in. If he hadn’t had a difficult day. Free pushed the button for the elevators, his mind going a mile on minute on the type of security system he was going to build for Mr. Walker. It was sort of his specialty. Watching out for, and catching bad guys.

  He took his cell out of his pocket and started pulling up restaurants close to Hart’s house. See if the big guy wants Chinese tonight. Free felt so high he didn’t notice that Officer Vasquez was standing directly behind. Free stepped onto the elevator and turned to push the button for the top level, Vasquez was there—with his thick chest stretching his uniform top—to prevent him from getting off. Free gritted his teeth, inching over to the far-most corner. There were four other goddamn elevators in the lobby and Vasquez always got on the same one as him.

  The officer’s smile was vulturine as the doors closed slowly behind him. “Lennox Freeman. Surprise, running into you here…alone.”

  Free

  Free peeked at the camera in the corner of the elevator, fiddling with his smart watch. Someone had to be watching. Shit, what if they’re not paying attention. Free exhaled, hoping he’d keyed in the correct sequence on his watch. There was no way Vasquez would be stupid enough to mess with him in a monitored elevator in a police station. Highly unlikely. Free suddenly realized his chest wasn’t tight, and his breathing was steady. He glanced over at the officer who was leaning against the other panel, facing him with his arms folded over his chest and his feet shoulder-width apart. As if he was ready for combat.

  “What the hell are you looking at?” Vasquez barked suddenly, making Free jump. He sneered, “Fuckin’ punk.”

  Free wasn’t scared at all, he was angry. And he was sick of men—grown ass men—getting off on tormenting others. They weren’t in the schoolyard anymore. But, sometimes bullying went deeper than that, and he was met with a person as screwed-up as Vasquez whose brain had never fully developed. Free could put a stop to all of this—he just had to find his balls. Your boyfriend’s a SWAT captain…have some balls.

  Free turned slowly and faced Vasquez, leaning casually against the back wall and responded in the best way he could, “Fuck you.”

  Vasquez took a step forward. “S’cuse me?”

  “You heard me. I didn’t stutter.” Free was surprised at how even his voice sounded.

  “Well look who’s trying to have a damn spine all of a sudden? Probably because of the camera, but did you know that Murano—the officer on duty supposedly watching right now—doesn’t give a shit. If he’s not engrossed in his magazine.”

  Free shrugged. “Not really concerned.”

  “You should be.” Vasquez inched closer, his meaty fists clenching at his sides.

  Free felt little to nothing. No shortness of breath, no paralysis in his joints, nothing. That was the way bullies kept their power—by preying on their victim’s fear. He refused to stay afraid. There came a point where he needed to stop running. He’d found something special here in Atlanta and he wasn’t letting anyone run him away from it…again. If Free could escape his father and a major London crime family, then this little motherfucker in front of him should be a piece of cake. Free breathed evenly and remembered who his friends were. He smirked, “But, I’m not.”

  “Maybe it’s time I stopped talkin’.” Vasquez glanced up as the elevator began to slow toward the top level. He was in Free’s face as they stood eye-to-eye, and never once did Free cower away. “I will make it my life’s mission to take all of you down. Fuck police work. My only job is tanking your careers the same way you screwed with mine.”

  Free stared at him as if he was bored, and that seemed to piss his bully off even more. Perfect. Keep right on talking, you fuckin’ wanker.

  Vasquez pointed a thick finger in his face. “I’m not one you want to fuck with. I don’t care if I have to make up something, I’ll take all you dick-sucking bastards down one-by-one. You’re already grounded, so now seems like the perfect time to start.” A vein bulged in the center of Vasquez’s forehead while he hurled his best shots.

  “You’re right.” Free stood to his full height, his voice stern and confident. “It’s about time we stopped talkin’. You want a war with me, then lets fuckin’ go. How you wanna start, huh? Small? You better not, because I’m coming out guns blazing.”

  Vasquez stood there confused, his mouth parted but no words coming out.

  “I think I’ll start with suspending your driver’s license.” Free snickered at Vasquez’s puzzled expression. “No. Revoking.” He pulled his mini tablet from his breast pocket and quickly hit a few keys. The elevator doors opened half way. “I’m not finished with you. Close.” The doors stopped suddenly as if they now operated at Free’s command.

  Free typed another sequence and the doors closed and opened again. “Stop,” Free said and the doors paused three-quarters way open. “Close.” The doors shut again. The car was quiet, as if the motor had been shut off.

  Vasquez retreated a couple of steps, his chest heaving.

  “Then, you’re gonna think this is my worst blow, but’s actually not.” Free eliminated the space Vasquez had made between them, homing in on his hesitation. “Next, I’m gonna add your name to the Sex Offender Registry. Did you know there’s HOAs, neighborhood watches and property management companies that watch those lists like hawks? Do you rent or own, Vasquez? Don’t answer that, I’ll know in a few moments. Those people live miserably. Neighbors harass them…watch their every move and stare at them like they’re…disgusting people. So unfair.”

  “None of that will stick. I’m a cop,” Vasquez gritted. His voice had definitely lost some of its bravado.

  “Yeah. I know. But, damn that’s a lot of bloody red tape to go through to fix it, don’t you think…only for it to happen all over again the following week. I mean it’s so hard to explain those wonky computer errors, yes?” Free gave Vasquez his most devilish grin. “How you liking my offensive strategy so far? I also have a helluva defense as well. How will you strike? Come on. We’re sharing.”

  Vasquez growled in Free’s face then reared back and punched the side of the elevator next to his head. The fake wood paneling split, the crack loud enough to make him flinch and duck his head from the flying particles. Free moved to the other side, watching Vasquez carefully. He was huffing through his teeth, while he squeezed his scarred fist.

  Free tilted his head to the side in contemplation. Amazing. He still wasn’t afraid. “Not an extremely effective strike, but, okay…my turn to fire back.”

  Vasquez was panicking. All Free kept hearing in his mind now was, ‘finish him, finish him!’ Sticking up for himself was exhilarating. He glided his fingers across his tablet screen. The elevator started to descend to the first floor. “Stop,” Free said, and the car jerked to a halt. It wasn’t necessary to speak the command, but it appeared cooler and he liked the effect it was having on his tormentor.

  “Enough. Let me off.” Vasquez seemed nervous… as if he realized he was no longer in control—a bully’s worst nightmare.

  Free ordered the doors to open and when Vasquez moved to get off, Free made them close again. Then it was his turn to laugh darkly. Gotcha asshole.

  “I will knock you on your ass. This is kidnapping,” Vasquez argued weakly.

  “You thought I was done? I’m just getting started. After you’ve spent countless hours in DMV and the federal clerk’s office explaining you’re not the sick pedophile their system says you are, I think I’ll hit you where it really hurts…the finances.” Free rolled his eyes in exasperation “And bank errors are always so damn hard to clear up. I mean, they freeze accounts and it takes weeks sometimes for them to figure out what the hell happened.”

 

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