The Walls Of Troy Part 10

I followed Johnson's directions, and paused outside the closed study door. Voices came from the other side-sports commentators, from the sound of it.

I tapped a knuckle on the door.

A moment later, it opened. The man standing on the other side was definitely Admiral Dalton, but he'd dressed down for the evening. A plain white golf s.h.i.+rt. Blue jeans. He'd have pa.s.sed for an average Joe if not for the severe haircut and the intense what-the-f.u.c.k-do-you-want? glare.

I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir. But I'd like to talk to you. About your son."

His eyebrows rose, and some of the hostility in his expression vanished. Without a word, he stood aside and gestured for me to come in, but didn't invite me to sit.

He picked up the remote off the armrest of his chair and switched off the baseball game. The remote made a quiet click as he set it back down, and my heart was pounding when he faced me. "What's this about, MA1?"

I swallowed. "Sir, given the circ.u.mstances of my duties, I need some more information. About why I'm-"

"Your LPO and the rest of the security detail can fill you in."

"They've given me all they can, sir. This is... I think you'd be a better source."

He folded his arms and leaned against his desk. "All right."

"Has there..." I hesitated. "In the briefing, I was given to understand that the concern is about general hara.s.sment for Troy being gay. But is-"

"Has something happened?" He stood straighter. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing." I put up my hands and gestured for him to relax. "But I need to know if anything else has happened." I lowered my hands and folded them in front of me. "In the past. Is there more to this than what I've been told so far, sir?"

His lips tightened. "Why would we withhold that information? I'm trying to protect my son, not play games."

"I'm not making accusations, sir. All I want to do is protect him too. But I...I get the feeling there's more going on."

"Such as?"

I s.h.i.+fted my weight. "I'm... Well, to be perfectly blunt, I'm concerned that Troy is less worried about being hara.s.sed and more worried about being in actual danger."

Dalton swallowed. "Danger from...what, exactly?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm here." I paused. "With all due respect, sir, is this why you specifically asked Commander Ricks for a gay MA?"

The admiral's eyes got bigger. "He told you about that?"

"He told me he wanted me to take a particular set of orders. He said if I put in for them, he'd call the detailer and personally make sure I was given the billet. Given your son's circ.u.mstances, I'm starting to wonder if it was you who asked for someone specific, not Commander Ricks, and not for any professional reasons."

We locked eyes. Anyone of my pay grade knew d.a.m.n well I was on thin ice having this conversation with someone of his pay grade.

But then Dalton sighed. "Look, my son has taken enough flak over the years for who and what he is. I only wanted to make sure he didn't get any from someone who'd be glued to his side."

"Is that the only reason?"

He tightened his arms across his chest and inclined his head. "What are you driving at, MA1?"

"Call it a gut feeling. One minute, your son seems to resent my presence, and the next, he's practically begging me not to be more than an arm's length away." And every once in a while, he's... I cleared my throat. "It just seems like something has him rattled, and-"

"Wouldn't you be rattled if someone left threatening messages on your winds.h.i.+eld?"

"Of course, sir. But..." I also know what it's like to be scared like that, and it took more than a nasty note to do it. "The bottom line is, if there's more to this, I'll be more effective if I know what it is. I've tried to get answers out of him, but he clams up almost immediately."

Silence set in, just like it so often did between me and Troy.

After a moment, though, Dalton exhaled. "All right, MA1."

My chest tightened. f.u.c.k, I hated being right sometimes.

He moistened his lips. "I'm only telling you any of this because I'm counting on you more than anyone else on the security detail to make sure Troy is safe." His expression hardened. "Nothing we talk about leaves this room. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

He pushed himself away from the desk and started pacing across the thick carpet. "To be quite honest, I'm not sure about the hara.s.sment. Or the notes. I know my son, after all, and I know his handwriting."

My stomach clenched. "So you think they're fake?"

"I don't know. I really don't." He stopped pacing and turned to me. "But that doesn't mean he's safe."

"I don't...I don't understand, sir."

He held my gaze, and my G.o.d, there was no doubt he was Troy's father. Now I could see where Troy got that carved-in-ice exterior, and how he managed to let that exterior slip sometimes, revealing the uncertainty beneath.

"The truth is, I don't know what's happening when he goes to school. What I do know is..." His eyes lost focus. He s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably, and then started pacing again. "MA1, you don't get to where I am in the Navy without making a few enemies along the way. I've been..." He sighed. "There have been threats. Blackmail. Extortion attempts." He met my eyes. "Some not too subtle implications that it would be a shame if something were to happen to my son."

My blood turned cold. "Oh s.h.i.+t."

"More to the point, there are individuals who didn't appreciate my support of repealing DADT, giving benefits to same-s.e.x spouses, things of that nature." He took a deep breath. "There weren't any direct threats toward me or Troy, but a captain with a gay son was told that all it would take is an allegation that her son was a child molester and-"

"Are you serious?"

He nodded. "I trust Troy and his judgment, and I know he's no monster. But with a bodyguard with him at all times..."

Something sank in my chest. "There's always a witness and an alibi."

Dalton nodded. "Exactly." He pressed his lips together and s.h.i.+fted his weight. "I don't think the cowards making those threats have any intention of making good on them, but it seemed prudent to take precautions. When Troy claimed there were people making threats on campus, I couldn't ignore it, even if it is a bid for attention on his part. And maybe it is. I don't know. But..." He looked at me again, and the desperation in his eyes echoed what I'd seen in Troy's a few times. "He's my son, Iskander."

"Understood, sir," I whispered. I s.h.i.+fted my weight. "Have you, uh..."

He tilted his head. "Have I what?"

I swallowed. "Have you ever noticed any signs of PTSD in your son?"

"PTSD?" The admiral straightened. "No, of course not." He arched his eyebrow, exactly the way Troy always did, minus the row of piercings. "Why?"

I took a deep breath. "Because I have." I explained what had happened the very first day, and at the festival, and those momentary panics he had since then.

When I'd finished, Dalton's eyes were wide. "So you think there is a real danger."

"I don't know, sir. I don't know if it's real, if it's in his head-" I cringed, expecting him to lash out at me for suggesting any of this was in Troy's mind. When nothing happened, I went on, "All I know is Troy is genuinely scared of something."

"My G.o.d." Dalton rubbed a hand over his face. "I was hoping it was in his mind."

"Do you think we're dealing with the people who tried to blackmail you?"

"It's possible, but..." His eyes lost focus again. "Now that you mention it, Troy has behaved a bit strangely the last few months. I thought he was just moody, like he was when he was a teenager, but he's been...withdrawn. Doesn't leave the house much. When he's home, he never leaves that dog's side."

"So I've noticed."

Dalton leaned against his desk again. "Maybe a bodyguard isn't the right approach. Maybe I should have Troy see a therapist."

That was a switch, considering how Max had thought Dalton would react to the mere suggestion.

"Maybe." I clasped my hands behind my back. "But I think he'd feel safest-and probably be safest-if I continued to work as his bodyguard."

"Yes, yes, of course. Even if it turns out my son has some..." He sighed. "Some psychological issues, I can't be completely certain that he's not being threatened. And, well, if he's not, but he believes he is, then he'll feel vulnerable without you."

I nodded. "Agreed. And, um, one more thing, sir."

His eyebrow rose.

"I can't be with Troy all the time." I straightened a bit. "Once he's been evaluated by a professional, and a.s.suming he is of sound mind, I'd like to teach him a few things so he can protect himself when he's on his own."

"Protect himself how?"

"I'd like to teach him to shoot."

He stiffened. "He won't be twenty-one for a few months. He can't carry a concealed weapon."

"Understood, sir. But I think under the circ.u.mstances, he should at least know how. When he's of age, it's up to him whether or not he wants to carry, but at least he'll have the skill."

The admiral swallowed. "All right. Do whatever you think is necessary."

"Will do, sir."

"Dismissed."

I started to go and almost made it to the door.

"MA1."

I turned around. "Yes, sir?"

He pushed his shoulders back and held my gaze. "The other members of my security detail haven't been terribly convinced that my son needs to be protected."

I stood a little straighter. "It's not my place to make that decision, sir. I'm only asking questions so I can do my job better."

"I know. Thank you, MA1."

Chapter Eight.

I hadn't even pulled out of the driveway the next morning before Troy turned to me and asked, "Do you think I'm delusional?"

I d.a.m.n near hit the brakes. "Delusion-what?"

"Cut the c.r.a.p," he growled. "I saw you leaving my dad's office last night, and not ten minutes later, he called me in to talk about sending me to a therapist."

G.o.ddammit.

I exhaled and busied myself turning on my signal and pulling out onto the main road. "I was concerned about you."

"So you talked to him? Instead of me?"

"I tried to talk to you," I snapped.

Troy jumped.

"Sorry." I sighed and glanced at him. "Look, I..." Oh h.e.l.l, this wasn't going to work while I was driving. I pulled over to the curb and put the car in park so I could look him in the eye. "Troy, I don't think you're crazy." I struggled not to put a rea.s.suring hand on his arm. "I don't think that at all."

"Then why the h.e.l.l does my father suddenly want to send me to a shrink?"

"Honestly? Because I think you have PTSD."

"PT-" Troy blinked, drawing back a little as the hostility in his posture changed to confusion. And something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Wariness, maybe? "Why the h.e.l.l would I have PTSD?"

"You tell me."

His eyes narrowed, and the hostility was back in full force. "And by that you mean tell my therapist, right?"

"Troy, for G.o.d's sake, stop and think for a second. Just f.u.c.king think. What do I possibly have to gain by suggesting you have PTSD, or agreeing with your father that a psychological evaluation would be a good idea? Really. What do I have to gain?"

"I don't...I don't know. I really don't." He moistened his lips and s.h.i.+fted in the pa.s.senger seat. "All I know is, you're the only one besides my father who's been able to look me in the eye and tell me you're taking this seriously. I'm just... I guess I'm afraid of finding out you both really think I'm out of my mind."

"I don't think you're out of your mind."

He rubbed the back of his neck with both hands and sighed. "Everyone thinks I'm crazy. No one's out and said it, but come on, I'm not stupid either. I've seen the way Fowler and the other guys look at each other when they think I'm not looking." Lifting his head and lowering his hands, he met my eyes. "Honest to G.o.d, Iskander, I am not crazy."

Without thinking, I took his hand and squeezed it. "I don't think you are. I swear I don't. I just think..." I swallowed hard. "I just think something has happened to you, and maybe someone else is more equipped to help you with that."