Connected (Bureau #12)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

T wo days of driving had worked their way into Owen’s muscles, making everything feel stiff and tight. He’d really hoped for a hotel with a gym, but upon arriving in Copper Springs, he’d discovered that things were worse than he’d remembered. The old Miners Hotel downtown stood empty, a derelict brick shell among a handful of struggling businesses. Over by the highway, nothing remained of the Rest-Eze Inn except weedy patches of concrete. That left the Copper Motel, and he’d been to ghouls’ dens that were more inviting.

And of course a thunderstorm was barreling in. After two decades on the West Coast, he’d forgotten how menacing the sky could become.

So he’d been thankful when Tenrael was able to find him a temporary rental, and even more thankful when it turned out to be a comfortable little house, spotlessly clean and tastefully decorated. Even better when the owner had brought him a tasty home-cooked dinner. Owen didn’t care that the guy was price-gouging; the Bureau could afford it.

The only thing missing was access to some exercise equipment, and due to the weather, he couldn’t even go for a run. He was sore and restless and generally pissed off at the world, and he hadn’t brought any weed because cannabis was illegal in Wyoming. Sure, if pressed he could flash his federal ID, threaten to make a few phone calls, and get the local boys in blue to stand down. But he wasn’t in the mood for the hassle.

Why the fuck couldn’t people get stoned in Copper Springs? The poor bastards stuck in this shithole needed all the escape they could get.

Scowling, he washed his dishes and then sent a text to Gale.

Do you have any beer or booze? I’ll pay for it.

The reply came swiftly.

Sorry, no. And the stores are closed. I have iced tea and OJ if you want.

Owen huffed. Just great.

Never mind. Thanks.

He clomped over to the couch and collapsed into it, lacking the energy to turn on the TV or dick around on his phone.

Not long after he’d joined the Bureau, after it had sunk in that neither Townsend nor anyone else there gave a shit that he was gay, he spent a lot of his free time in clubs and bars. Later he used hookup apps. But now he was too old—and too tired—for that shit, so he usually worked out or watched TV. And here in Copper Springs, he couldn’t do one of those things and wasn’t in the mood for the other, which left him with… himself.

And thoughts about his host. What kind of name was Keaton Gale, and what the hell was he doing in Copper Springs? Owen couldn’t imagine what this town had to offer a man like that. Gale was roughly Owen’s age, had a general air of nervous energy, and was physically… delicate wasn’t the right word, but close. He was short and slender, with long dark hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. Although a lot of his face was hidden, his eyes were bright blue and alert, as if they didn’t miss much. And they were familiar.

Owen was sure that he knew Gale from somewhere.

Maybe the two of them had hooked up at one point. Gale claimed he didn’t know Owen, but the event could have been forgettable. Gale could have had so many anonymous fucks that his partners were just a vague blur. Hell, maybe that was how he ended up in Copper Springs—fleeing to the spot least likely to offer opportunities for that kind of thing.

But no, Owen was fairly certain he’d never had sex with Gale, because if he had, Owen would remember. Maybe not the act itself, necessarily, but certainly being close to him. Touching that taut body. Trying to make some of the wariness fade from those hunted-animal eyes.

Then realization hit.

“Shit!”

Owen stood up so fast that the couch crashed against the wall, and he stampeded to the door and then outside. Barefoot, with marble-size hail pelting him like a punishment from the gods, he rushed across sodden grass to the big house, pounded up the porch stairs, and banged his fist on the door.

It opened a few moments later, his host wide-eyed and tense.

“You’re Criss Tempest!” Owen bellowed.

After a beat or two, Gale—no, Tempest—sighed, and his shoulders sagged a little.

“I guess you’d better come in.”

The interior of Tempest’s house wasn’t relevant to the matter at hand, but Owen scanned it anyway, a habit born from two decades of caution. The foyer had a large wooden hall tree, likely antique. Same for the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Ahead, a glass-paned door was open, displaying a stairway and hall; to the right was a parlor that looked as if it had been falling apart for decades. The remains of shelving hung on the walls, along with water-mottled wallpaper and badly damaged wainscoting. The fireplace was just a gaping hole with no surround or mantel, and a few of the windows were boarded up.

“I haven’t gotten to that room yet.” Tempest sounded defensive. “Come this way.”

He led Owen to the room on the left, a smaller parlor that had been nicely restored and in which contemporary furniture somehow looked appropriate. He gestured at a loveseat and took an armchair for himself.

They sat and stared at each other for what felt like a long time, and through their silence, the storm roared outside.

“We might lose power,” Tempest finally said. “If we do, I’ve got a flashlight and a battery lantern you can use.”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you are?”

Another sigh. “I did. I’m Keaton Gale—it’s my legal name. Keaton after Buster, and Gale after Dorothy.”

“Gale has the same meaning as Tempest.”

“Yeah, well that wasn’t the name I was born with either. My birth certificate says Christopher Morris, but nobody’s called me that since I was six.” He sat back in the chair with his arms crossed.

“What game are you playing at?”

“Nothing. Jesus, you’re the one who contacted me, remember?”

That was accurate; and it took a little wind out of Owen’s sails, but not much. This situation was hinky as hell. Tenrael must have known who he was sending Owen to, but then, what was his motive—or, more likely, the chief’s motive—and why hadn’t they told him what was going on? He was tempted to call HQ right then and there, except in his anger and shock he’d left his phone in the guest house.

“What the fuck are you doing in Copper Springs?” There. That was a good first question. No way this was a coincidence.

“I needed somewhere quiet, without many people, but not quite hermit-in-a-cabin remote. And also cheap. Copper Springs fit the bill.”

“There are hundreds of towns—thousands, more likely—that meet those criteria. Why are you in my hometown?”

Gale winced and shifted in his seat. There was something oddly childlike about him despite his graying beard, and it wasn’t just his size. Maybe the way he fidgeted. Finally, not meeting Owen’s gaze, he spoke. “You mentioned it, back when we first met. I’d never heard of it, but for some reason it stuck in my mind. A bunch of years later, when I was looking for a place to land, it felt right.”

“That doesn’t make any?—”

“You were really fucking wholesome, okay? Big and handsome and so goddamn earnest. Going on about saving lives and being a part of a team. I guess I figured—well, it was stupid, but I figured that any place that had produced such a… Richie Cunningham… would be what I needed.”

Owen squinted at him, somewhat bewildered. Had Owen ever been as fresh-faced and innocent as Gale claimed? Had Gale just called him handsome? And who the hell was Richie Cunningham?

“I escaped this shithole as soon as I could. I wouldn’t ever advise anyone to move here.”

“Well, it worked out fine for me.”

“But how did you?—”

A sudden loud beep startled them both. Gale, who recovered first, pulled a phone from his jeans pocket and frowned. “Shit. I guess we better get into the basement.” He stood and gave Owen an impatient look.

“I don’t hear a tornado siren.”

“The sound doesn’t carry well to this part of town—not well enough to hear over the storm, at any rate.”

That made some sense. Owen had grown up a few miles outside of town, and they hadn’t heard the sirens at the ranch either. Now, cell phone alerts were helpful—as long as the storm didn’t take out the cell towers.

He followed Gale through a dining room and kitchen, both of which were in good condition, and down the stairs to the basement. He wished he were wearing shoes, but surprisingly, there was a finished room near the bottom of the stairs, complete with old furniture, a bookshelf stuffed with paperbacks, and a half bath. A couple of large flashlights sat on a side table.

“You rent this out too?” Owen sank onto a couch that looked a lot like the one his parents owned when he was a kid. It had the same somewhat scratchy plaid upholstery.

“Nope.” For a moment, Gale seemed to consider sitting on one of the wooden chairs, but then sat on the couch, as far from Owen as he could manage.

Although Owen still had a host of questions, he didn’t say anything, and neither did Gale. The sounds of the storm were muted down here. Somewhere, water dripped slowly, which made Owen wonder whether basement flooding was a problem here. His parents’ basement used to take on water during the worst storms, and then they’d have to use the sump pump. When he was very young, one of his brothers told him that the sump led directly to hell, and for a long time after that, Owen had been afraid of it.

Stupid kid. He hadn’t had a fucking clue about the world’s real horrors.

Gale spoke first. “Are you still with the Bureau?”

“Yeah.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

That elicited a humorless laugh. “ I happened to me. My life is a cliché straight out of E! True Hollywood . You know the story: child actor grows up and has a hard time finding adult roles. Everyone wants that chirpy twerp Sasho Pandev, not me. When I did get jobs, I screwed them up because I was always wasted. I got arrested a couple of times. Bounced in and out of rehab. Some of my money got stolen by people I trusted, and the rest I threw away on drugs and stupidity. I kept thinking I had hit rock bottom, and then I’d fall some more. Then I woke up one day, broke and sick and sliding toward middle age, and I remembered a squeaky-clean cop who was from a town in Wyoming. You can tell your boss he was absolutely right about me.”

Owen shook his head. “He’s dead. And he was always right. It was fucking annoying. And I’m not squeaky-clean.”

“You were. But as a certain man once said, what the hell happened to you?”

“The Bureau.”

That wasn’t entirely fair. It wasn’t the Bureau itself that had hardened him but rather the things he’d been exposed to by being an agent. The deaths he’d witnessed—and caused. The abominations he’d seen various creatures commit against humans, and worse, the abominations he’d seen humans commit. That flight on a dragon had suggested that the world was filled with wonder, and maybe it was, but it was filled with horror too.

He and Gale were both quiet again, but Owen realized that he felt a little better than before. As if talking to Gale, however succinctly, lightened his burdens.

“Can you tell me why you’re in Copper Springs, Agent Clark? Or is it top secret?”

Owen’s instinct was to scowl and clam up, but Gale had asked the question with the hint of a smile. And dammit, he was still attractive all these years later, and he’d been pretty damn decent today. And who knew, maybe he’d have some helpful information.

“The Bureau has some reports of something weird going on around the coal tipple. Ghosts, maybe. I’m here to investigate.”

“Yeah, and do what? Destroy them? If there are any ghosts out there, they’re not hurting anyone. Why can’t you just leave them be?”

Surprised at Gale’s reaction, Owen looked at him quizzically and tried to come up with a reasonable response. The coal tipple—a large structure used to sort coal and load it onto trains—hadn’t been used since the 1950s, when the railroads stopped using steam locomotives. The mine had closed then too, sending Copper Springs into its first cycle of decline. The old work area was surrounded by a chain link fence and generally ignored, although some high school kids used to park nearby to smoke, drink, and fuck. For all Owen knew, maybe they still did.

But ghostly activity wouldn’t normally be a worry in a site like that, and if it was a problem, the Bureau had ghost specialists—and Owen wasn’t one of them. The whole assignment was undoubtedly just a pretense that forced him to return to Copper Springs. He had no idea why the chief gave a shit about whether Owen contacted his brother, but apparently he was serious about it.

And Gale didn’t need to know all of that shit.

“If ghosts and other spectral entities aren’t causing problems, Bureau policy is to not interfere with them. I guess I’m here to make sure they’re not causing problems.”

“Just following orders, huh?” Gale’s tone was disparaging.

“That’s what I do. The chief gives me an assignment and I do it.”

For a moment it looked as if Gale was going to argue, but then he sighed and leaned back against the couch cushions as though he were exhausted. He spoke quietly. “Ghosts almost never want to hurt living people. They’re just confused and… and sad. They—” He stopped suddenly and looked down at the floor.

“Do you see dead people? Is that why Townsend wanted you?” The ability to sense ghosts was valuable to the Bureau, but also rare. Owen knew of only a handful of agents who’d possessed that skill.

But Gale shook his head. “I don’t see dead people.”

Owen could sense that he was hiding something, although he didn’t know what. And to be fair, Owen had his own secrets. Whatever Townsend had seen in this man didn’t matter, seeing as the old chief was dead.

Mirroring his host, Owen leaned back and then closed his eyes. It had been a long drive and he was tired. If the house hadn’t been creaking overhead from the storm, he would have returned to his rented room and gone to sleep. But despite the comfortable couch, he couldn’t fall asleep here, with Gale very present beside him.

“Did you leave Copper Springs to become a Bureau agent?” Gale asked after a time.

“When I left here I’d never heard of the Bureau.”

“So why’d you leave?”

Owen snorted. “You think the charms of this place would be so hard to walk away from?”

“I don’t mind it here. Like I said, it’s quiet. Do you really love LA?”

“It’s okay.” Owen had lived in other places over the years, usually for short periods, moving as the Bureau saw fit. He’d spent a year in Seattle and six months each in Sacramento and Portland. They’d been okay, but he hadn’t minded when he was moved back to LA. Location had never been important to him.

Now Gale seemed intrigued, angling his body to face Owen and cocking his head. “If you didn’t leave for the Bureau and you didn’t leave because you love LA, then why?”

“Because I was queer,” Owen snapped. He hadn’t meant to say that, but somehow Gale seemed to be pulling admissions from him.

“So am I, but nobody here seems to care.”

Huh. Gale liked men—that was interesting. Owen frowned at him anyway. “Maybe nobody cares now, but they sure as hell did in the nineties. Being gay in Wyoming in the nineties could get you killed. And if your parents found out you were gay a few weeks after you graduated high school, it could get you kicked out of their house and disowned.”

Fuck. He really hadn’t meant to say that, and if Gale looked at him with pity, Owen was going to lose his shit. Instead, Gale nodded as if he’d suddenly understood something. “No wonder you’re so pissed off about having to do a gig here.”

“I’m always pissed off.”

The corners of Gale’s mouth twitched. And, well… it was sort of funny. Owen was being sort of drama queeny, which was ironic given that Gale was the actor. Former actor. Who, from the sound of things, had traveled a pretty rough road too. Owen needed to stop behaving as if he were the only person to whom shitty things happened. God knows he’d seen plenty of people who had it way worse than he did.

“I don’t talk to my parents either,” said Gale after a while.

“Are they homophobes too?”

“Nah, they don’t care who I sleep with. But you know how I said some of my money was stolen? Well, they did that. Hell, I didn’t even want to be an actor—that was all Mom’s idea. But she funneled away most of my earnings, and Dad and his third wife got their claws on most of the rest, and they were all a bunch of narcissistic drunks who didn’t give a shit about me anyway, and….” He gave a wry smile. “Hooray for loving families, huh?”

“Booyah.”

“You know the stupid thing? Every now and then I do hear from dear old Dad, and he’s always got some kind of sob story, and I always write him a check even though I live pretty close to the bone nowadays. Then he goes away for a while. Why do I keep writing the damn checks?”

Probably for the same reason that Owen was going to get in touch with his brother before leaving town. Sometimes family was a fishhook that got into your skin, and leaving it there was less painful than tearing it out.

Time to change the subject. “So now you make a living renting out a room?”

“Sort of. As you might have guessed, Copper Springs isn’t exactly a tourism hot spot. It brings some income, though.”

“Especially when you price-gouge your guests.”

Gale gave a surprised laugh. “Was that a joke, Agent Clark?”

“Owen. I’m off duty.”

“I did kind of overcharge. I’ll refund half.”

“Don’t bother. The Bureau can afford it. Besides, you gave me dinner and a tornado shelter.”

“Speaking of which….” Gale glanced at his phone. “Looks as if the warning has expired. We can go back upstairs without worrying about being carried away to Oz.” He stood.

“You are a Gale.”

“That’s true, but call me Keaton. Come on. I have ice cream in the freezer.”