Playing for Keeps

Hello, one and all! I've been a reader for a quite some time now, however this is the first story I've written for Nifty. There are a lot of truly great writers on this site, I only hope I can live up to the high standards they've put forth. Ok, now I have a little warning to get out of the way: Yep, it's still dark. But remember, it's important to the plot, but it is not the sole plot! Not even close! So consider it like a prologue, and bare with me, I promise it gets a lot more intriguing as we go on. Remember things aren't always what they seem! WINK

Disclaimer: This story is a complete work of fiction. It implies nothing about the sexual orientation, beliefs, thoughts or actions of the real members of NSync. While it is not a "pure sex" story, if you are under 18 or offended by male/male relationships, please go away.

A quick personal note to a GREAT friend of mine and a very talented writer: HA HA Evan! I beat ya!

By the way, if you haven't checked out the story Justin's Dark Angel, I HIGHLY recommend it. It's a very suspenseful story with a unique plot. It's incredible. Check it out! You won't be disappointed!

Thanks for all the positive feedback! I was overwhelmed and undeserving, Thank You!

Anyway, any and all feedback is welcome! I'd love to hear what you think. Send it to Justme@astound.net. Now on with the story!

Playing for Keeps

Chapter 2

Justin's eyes popped opened suddenly and instinctively glanced at the glowing neon numbers alongside his bed. Burying his head deep inside the pillow he found clutched in his arms, he let out a muffled groan. Officially morning began hours ago, but by the sheer darkness in the room, sunrise was still a good hour away. Had he even fallen back to sleep yet? The first time he looked, it was a little after midnight. He blamed the heat, kicked off the covers and went over the new dance moves they'd been working on in his head.

Then around two thirty, he'd awoke in a wave of nausea and dark, image-shifting dreams. He'd spent a moment in the bathroom splashing cold water on his face, breathing deeply and swallowing hard. The dreams were distorted, murky and fading quickly. He was glad. Some things are best not remembered. He wondered if the dreams caused his upset stomach. He hoped it was the double pepperoni pizza he'd shared with Joey for dinner. Either way, two Rolaids and a glass of water later, he crawled back into bed. This time, even with the heat, he wanted to be covered up. Hidden.

Now, though the time on the clock indicated he must have dozed off, his body said differently. He was sure only minutes had passed. I wish I could remember sleeping. I bet it felt good. Laying there, wide awake and motionless, his eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. Listening to JC snore softly from the bed across the room, he accepted the fact that sleep would no longer come. Officially he was awake.

Swinging both legs over the side of the bed, Justin quietly sat up. Placing the pillow across his lap, he ran his hands over his face, triggering a yawn of gigantic proportion. Maybe if he took a shower, it would be easier. Easier to what? Wake up? Face the day? Face himself? He wasn't sure he liked that question. He knew he wouldn't like the answer. Lifting himself off the bed, he moved easily through the dark and into the bathroom attached to his and JC's room. That was probably the only benefit to sharing a room; they got the one with the private bath.

Justin shut himself in the bathroom before turning on the light. JC was a heavy sleeper, but he wanted to be extra careful not to wake him. Grabbing the towel hanging on the hook beside the tub, he quickly threw it over the shower door. The move itself appeared casual enough, but to Justin it was a ritual. Turn on the light and toss the towel over the narrow mirror on the shower door. Long ago he discovered how well the beach towels worked. They were just large enough to cover the entire mirror. He became so good at doing it, he almost forgot the reason behind it himself. With the mirror covered, he got undressed.

Climbing into the shower, he turned on the water.

"Ahhhh!" He gasped as the initial stream of cold water shocked his skin. Eyes wide, he cursed himself. Why don't I turn the water on BEFORE getting in? Holding his hands out in front of him, he blocked the onslaught of water, until it began to run warm. Then hot. Turning his back to the falling water, his muscles relaxed involuntarily, absorbing the heat. With his eyes closed, he stood there motionless, hands at his sides. The pulsating water massaged the back of his neck. Then pooling into a stream, it flowed along the smooth crevasse of his spine, finally caressing his buttocks as it slipped into obscurity down the drain. It was the heat against his buttocks that brought the uninvited memory back into his head. Something he swore he'd forgotten.

Standing in Gabe's shower. Pain. Extreme pain; as if his body ripped in half. Tears and blood…so much blood.

Justin snapped his eyes open, forcing the images from his head. He grabbed at the soap, clutching it firmly within his hands. Looking at the green and white striped object, he shook his head. What a waste. No matter how many times he stood here, no matter how hard he scrubbed, he'd never get clean. But for now, it was the closed thing to a savior he could find. Building up a sizeable lather to use as a buffer; he could hardly stand to touch his own skin; he worked the bubbles over each body part. He wasn't trying to be gentle. His strokes were forceful, determined, vigorous. Almost punishing.

JC rolled over in his bed. Although he couldn't identify it, something woke him up. A noise. Like someone yelled? As the fuzziness in his head cleared, he heard the distinct sound of rain. No…wait. He rubbed his eyes and struggled to push himself up onto one arm. With each hard blink, the room cleared some, finally coming to a dim focus. No, it wasn't rain, it was the shower running. Sure enough, JC could see a narrow column of light shining from under the bathroom door. Glancing at Justin's bed, he found it empty.

What the hell? Again?

Exhausted, JC's head fell backward, collapsing onto his pillow. Concentrating as hard as the early hour would allow, he tried to remember. Didn't Justin take a shower right before going to bed? And if he remembered right, wasn't Justin's head wet when they left for lunch yesterday. Yeah…he'd watched Justin wiping away small beads of water as they dripping down his temple. At first, JC thought he was just sweating, but then he noticed the tiny wet ringlets of hair. For most people, it wouldn't even be note worthy. But for Justin it was truly out of character. In all the years he'd known him, Justin always showered at night.

Three showers in less than twenty-four hours. Damn that boy needs a hobby

It was with that thought still reverberating in his head that JC succumbed to sleep once again.

Stepping out of the shower fifteen minutes later, Justin wrapped a towel low around his waist. With a single finger, he hesitantly pushed aside a corner of the beach towel still slumped across the mirror. Working in a circular motion, he cleared away a small patch of fog with his fingertips. His skin was red and tender; a byproduct of the heat and intense scouring. At least that would fade by the time he got dressed. It was the one inch mark on his hip where the desk dug into him, and the five bruises under his right upper arm that would linger. A lasting imprint of Gabe's grip, a testament to his anger, a hateful souvenir. Holding his arm above his head, Justin examined each tender discoloration. Two days and still dark purple. By the end of the week they would fade to a light yellow-green and finally disappear altogether. The predictable course of healing. He scoffed aloud at the thought.

Nothing in my life is predictable anymore. Certainly not healing.

At least these are easy to hide. Even for Orlando, the weather was abnormally hot. Still, it was early February so no one would question him wearing a light weight, long sleeved shirt. The marks were up high enough under his arm to be covered by a t-shirt, but they had a dance rehearsal later today and with all that jumping around, it was better to be extra cautious.

Quietly returning to his room, Justin scavenged for something to wear. The earliest glints of morning sun could be seen pushing their way through the blinds. He tried to move as quickly as possible without waking JC. Although he was fairly certain that even if JC stirred, from his vantage point there was no way he'd see the vile marks scarring his body. He grabbed the first thing he could find, and slipped it on. Nylon running pants and a long sleeved jersey. Then grabbing a pair of socks, he slipped out of his room barefoot. As the door clicked shut behind him, he heard JC flip over and mumble something about getting a hobby. Justin shook his head, giggling to himself.

Sitting down on the top step to put on his socks, he had a perfect view of the kitchen below. Except for the small bouquet of left over balloons tied to a kitchen stool and a stack of birthday cards lying on the counter, all signs of his party were gone. He'd spent most of yesterday afternoon helping his mom clean up the mess. The kitchen and backyard took the most time, but all the guys pitched in. Well, all except Lance.

Justin lifted each foot slowly, anticipating the same tenderness in his hips and back that plagued him yesterday. But he was surprised by the relative ease in which his joints now moved. Maybe dancing today won't be so bad ? With that, a single hateful thought jumped into his head. Thank god Lance gets the worst of it. It popped in there without warning and immediately he was overcome with guilt. He was truly ashamed of himself. More than anything , he wished he could take it back.

**Oh, God that's not what I meant. Lance. Poor Lance. I'm sorry... I didn't mean it. Really. **

Images of the way Lance looked in the car two days ago ran through his mind. His stomach turned painfully at the thought of it.

He'd left Gabe's office in a flurry of hate. Pure hatred. But mostly it was aimed at himself. He hated his fear. He hated his weakness. He hated feeling ashamed. He hated having to go home and smile through the rest of this horrible day. And he hated that he let it happen again. He was to blame.

Standing silent in the empty hall, Justin's emotions rushed to the surface. With each step toward the outside, toward freedom, he felt that door inside his head open up. He'd locked a part of himself inside it for protection, for safety, but it never lasted very long. Eventually, that door opened up, almost against his will and he had to come out. He had to feel for real. Sometimes it was almost unbearable.

Stepping out into the sunlight, Justin blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. He had to be careful, stray fans could be anywhere, and he was not about to let them see him like this. Remembering the extra pair of sunglasses he kept inside the front pocket of his pullover jacket, he quickly put them on. Then he looked across the street at his car.

Lance was nowhere in site. Strange. Gabe always let him leave first.

Thinking the dark sunglasses may be blocking his view, he lowered them slightly and peered over the top as he continued walking toward the vehicle. Still no Lance. Justin stopped. His heart pounding. He can't still be inside, can he? No. It was finished. Gabe was at his desk. Confused, Justin spun around slowly, his eyes locking on the front door. There was no way he could go back in there, even if his feet would move. What was he supposed to do, knock on Gabe's door and ask for Lance? Yeah, right. Not going to happen.

Shit. Now what?

Looking at the car, then back toward the office, Justin debated his options. Maybe he'd just wait in the car for a few minutes…Lance couldn't be that far behind him, could he?

Digging for the keys buried deep in his pocket, he headed for the car. Crossing the street, he moved toward the driver's side door. It would be unlocked, he knew that, he always left it unlocked. Reaching for the handle, Justin again looked over the top of the car at the office door. Still no Lance. Resigning to the fact that he'd have to wait, Justin opened his door.

Immediately the sour smell of bile and stomach acid assaulted his senses. And that's when he saw him. Lance was lying on his side across the back seat. He was facing the rear of the car, completely motionless, eyes open but staring blankly into space. If he was aware of Justin's presence, he didn't acknowledge it. He was wearing the sweatshirt he'd worn earlier, but the t- shirt he had on underneath it was now bunched up in his right hand.

As his initial shock changed to panic, Justin rushed into the car and leaned over the front seat. "Lance?"

Silence. Lance didn't move, but Justin saw his jaw tighten. That small motion worked to ease Justin's worst fears.

"Lance, are you okay?"

Again silence.

"Come on Lance, please say something… Your scaring me." The sour vomit smell was starting to overwhelm him and he fought hard not to gag.

"I want to go." Lance's deep voice trembled, and for the first time Justin noticed he was crying. "I want to go home."

He watched stunned; not knowing what to do. Lance rarely cried.

Justin reached out to comfort him, but pulled back tentatively, seeing Lance flinch at the motion, "Oh god, he hurt you again, didn't he?"

Lance said nothing, but he closed his eyes forcing out a small flood of tears. Inhaling deeply, he fought to compose himself. Except for the occasional sniffle, and a few deep breaths, the car was completely silent. Justin leaned his forehead against the seat in front of him and dug his hands into the upholstery; waiting. Waiting for a response he knew would never come. It was a silent pact between them. They never officially discussed it, but both boys understood the rule: Don't talk about the details, not even to each other. Saying it out loud gave it permanency; made it too real.

As-a-matter-of-fact it was only by sheer accident that Justin discovered how differently Gabe treated Lance. He'd mistakenly walked in on him changing after a concert. Lance tried to cover himself, but not before he'd seen the large red welts across the back of his thighs. It was something Justin would never forget. Before he could even confront him about it, Lance simply looked away and said, "Sometimes Gabe gets mad." Then he threw on a shirt and walked out of the room, leaving Justin standing there dumbfounded. He'd experienced Gabe's temper himself but never anything like that. Later when they were alone he tried to talk to Lance about it, but he quickly got cut off. "Just leave it alone, Justin, please. I can handle it." His voice was firm, but his expression softened at the worried look on Justin's face. Sighing, he reluctantly tried to consol his younger band mate. "It doesn't happen all the time, J. If I just…well, I try not to make him mad, that's all. Now can we drop it, please." And that's what Justin did, he dropped it. But he kept a watchful eye on Lance. He knew what to look for and unfortunately he also knew when. He'd seen the tenderness in Lance's movements as he tried to baby one body part or another; watched him cringe when he thought no one was looking; and bite his lip when he was forced to act normal around the rest of the guys. And it happened more often than Lance let on. Of that Justin was certain.

Feeling the car rock slightly, Justin pick his head up and watched in agony as his friend struggled to sit up.

Lance rolled from his side to his stomach, then up onto his knees. His movements were labored, slow and painful. Justin could tell he was trying to avoid putting any undo pressure on his back. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Lance gently lowered himself into a sitting position. At one point he let out a small gasp as he fought against the pain that clearly racked his lower body. For the first time, Justin had a clear view of his face. His green eyes were on fire; so red with tears they almost looked bloody. His normally pale complexion was now tear streaked and marred with red blotches. But it was the swollen area under his left eye that made Justin's heart sink. That punishment was going to leave a mark, even if only temporarily.

"Oh man, Lance…" This time he whispered his friends name, as though any loud noise would only serve to hurt him further.

Avoiding Justin's stare, he gazed out the window. Remaining that way, he searched for the resolved to tell Justin what happened. "He used this wooden…" Lance's voice cracked, the words barely audible, "He forced me to…" He pressed his lips together tightly, yet a small whimper escaped as he fought against the memory. With one hand wrapped tight around his t- shirt, the other fidgeted restlessly with the lock on the car door beside him. Although he was sure Lance had no idea he was even doing it, the rhythmic sound of the lock going up and down seemed almost deafening to Justin.

"Shhh. Don't say anything. It's okay. I'll take you home. It's going to be okay." Sitting himself behind the wheel, he repeated the words in his head. "It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay." Maybe if he keep saying it, somehow it would come true. Fear well up inside him. How was he supposed to make this better? Lance was the one who always took care of him. Lance reassured him. Lance was the strong one. Lance stayed in control… Lance was hurt and shaking uncontrollably in the backseat.

Now what? Dammit. Why did I tell Gabe he was with me?

Although he didn't remember dropping them, he found the keys lying beside him on the seat and started the car.

Relieved that Justin wouldn't push any further, Lance wiped the tears from his cheeks with the palm of his free hand. The car lurched forward, forcing Lance's low back into the seat. He winced silently. Turning to lean against his side instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing each knotted and fatigued muscle. He went through them one by one in his mind, starting with the easiest; his toes. It was a trick he learned when he was young, it kept his mind busy and helped block out his parents' fighting. Now it served to block out other painful memories.

Twenty five very quiet minutes later, Justin pulled in front of Lance's apartment building and turned off the car. Ever since Diane Bass moved back to Mississippi, Lance lived alone.

"I got sick." The words pierced thru the silence, startling Justin. He thought Lance had fallen asleep.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Lance holding up the crumpled t-shirt for him to see. "What?"

"After I did …what he told me…After it was over, I got sick. I really tried to hold it in, but he pushed me and I lost control." There was a long pause, but Justin said nothing. Lance needed to do this at his own pace. Sitting perfectly still, Justin used the mirror and watched Lance as he looked warily at the shirt in his hands. "Gabe got angry." He shuttered at a memory Justin was not invited to share. "Really angry…and then he made me use my shirt to clean it up."

Justin lean his head against the steering wheel. That explained the strong vomit smell. "That bastard." He said it mostly to himself, but it was loud enough for Lance to hear. With that Lance could hold back no longer. His body shook violently as the sobbing overtook him. Justin just let him cry.

He hadn't seen Lance since he'd brought him home that night. But he called late yesterday morning and spoke to JC. As far as everyone else was concerned, Lance was sick. According to J.C. it was a case of the stomach flu. But Justin knew better. Standing up, he walked quietly down the stairs and ventured into the kitchen.

Hopefully Lance is well enough to be at rehearsal today. Maybe I should call him or better yet, go see him. Yeah, that's what he would do. If he didn't hear from Lance by lunch, then he would go over and check on him.

Strictly out of habit, Justin poured himself a bowl of cereal. Sitting down at the table alone, he stared into the bowl in front of him. He wasn't really all that hungry.

"Hey, Jellybean. Your up early again."

He jumped at the soft voice behind him, but quickly relaxed as he felt the familiar soft kiss tickle the top of his head. "Mom…I'm eighteen now you know. You can stop calling me Jellybean anytime." He acted annoyed, but in reality he liked how special and innocent that nickname made him feel.

"I don't care if your forty, I'll still be your mother and you'll still be my Jellybean. So deal with it kiddo." On the outside he rolled his eyes. On the inside he was smiling. She grabbed a bagel out the bread box and sat down across from him at the table.

"So you want to tell me why your up so early?" He could feel her eyes judging in his every move; using her 'mom powers' to read his expressions.

"No reason," he shrugged. Keeping his face hidden, he stared into the bowl of Captain Crunch as if hypnotized by the ripples his spoon made. "I just felt like getting up early." He took a spoonful of the cereal into his mouth, but had to force himself to swallow it.

"Uh huh. And what about yesterday? Since when do you get up at five in the morning? Even if it is to shoot some baskets?" So she'd heard him out there.

He looked up and grinned at her, "Busted, huh?"

"Big time!" Her lips smiled, but her worried eyes bore deep into his own. "Hey, are you feeling alright?" She leaned into him and placed her small warm hand on his forehead, then gently slid it down across his cheek. It was such a mom thing to do. Instantly he was five again and he was safe. He wanted desperately to lean into it, but instead he pulled away.

"Yeah mom, I fine. Really. I think I'm just wound up about having this vacation time. You know how it is; don't want to waist even one minute of it!" He flashed her that famous Justin Timberlake smile, full of charm and sincerity. Then turning away from her glare, he stood and placed the uneaten bowl of cereal in the sink.

"Well, there's no fever. But still, I think you should take it easy. You haven't been yourself since your birthday. And now with Lance feeling under the weather…" She trailed off. "I hope it wasn't from something he ate at the party. Oh my god, the bean dip!" She spun around to face him as if she just had a major epiphany.

If it wasn't for the sick truth, that statement alone would have brought him to his knees in hysterics. As it was, he shook his head and smirked, "No mom. I don't think the bean dip was Lance's problem. It didn't do wonders for anyone sitting close to Joey yesterday, but that's a whole different deal."

She laughed. He loved her laugh, it was soft and shy; much like his own. He missed her so much now. It was ironic really. When Nsync was first starting out, she traveled with him everywhere and he hated it. She was like a noose around his neck, holding him back, treating him like a child. He needed her approval for everything and it didn't seem fair. J.C., Joey and Chris never had to ask their moms for permission. He couldn't wait until he was old enough to travel alone. And now…now that he was, he would give just about anything to have her back with him, at his side, protecting him. Everything got so messed up when she left. That's when Gabe changed. That's when things got…well…bad. Really bad.

"You sure no one else has complained or mentioned feeling ill?" She was still stuck on that dip.

"Mom, I'm positive. I think Lance has been fighting something for a while now. I guess it just caught up with him." He surprised himself with how close to the truth that really was.

"Well I just hope he'll be able to make it to your practice tonight. I'd really like to see all of you dance once before I leave for Europe."

The statement caught Justin of guard. "What?! Your leaving? When?" His heart literally fell into his stomach. He was looking forward to spending at least part of his vacation with her. He even turned down an invitation to visit his best friend Jonathan in Tennessee. Being with her was much more important to him.

Confused, she stood and moved to the center island that separated the kitchen from the dining area. Facing him, she reach for his hand across the counter top. "Honey, I already talked to you about this, remember?"

"No." The word was filled with disappointment. He felt her softly squeeze his hand.

"Sure you do. It was right after you came back from signing those papers at Gabe's office. I had just hung up with him…"

"You talked to Gabe?" Justin was shocked. Nothing she was saying sounded familiar to him, of course he'd had other things on his mind that night. "WHEN did you talk to him?"

"The night of your party." She was puzzled by his reaction. "Justin, I told you this already! He called me right after you boys left his office. It was really nice of him, he wanted to apologize for keeping you away from your party for so long. Anyway, you know Gabe…once you get him started he won't stop…He was giving me a hard time about looking too young to have a fully grown son! God love him, he's sweet, but he's such a liar!"

"Yeah." She was teasing. He was not.

"So anyway, that's when he told me about sending the girls to Europe to lay down a some demo tracks." The girls. That was how she referred to the new pop group, Mayflower. He still remembered how excited she was when Gabe asked her to work with him in promoting them. After all the hard work she put into Nsync, Gabe said she was a natural in the business. He offered to train her, teach her the tricks of the trade, and even help her establish her own promotion company. She'd start out working with him and one of his "talents." In this case the four girl singing sensation, Mayflower. If that went well, she would take over complete creative control. It would still be under his name, but all the decisions would be hers. Finally, when and if the time came, he would help her find her own new "discovery" and set her loose.

It was a great opportunity. But it meant that she would no longer be able to travel with Nsync. That alone caused her to hesitate in accepting his offer. Justin was only seventeen. She always planned on staying with him until he was an adult. But as Gabe stressed to her, this was an opportunity too good to pass up. He was very persistent and so enthusiastic! Besides, he reassured her that Justin would be well taken care of, if need be, he'd watch over him personally. And frankly, Justin seemed more than eager to see her go! So, with little debate, she'd accepted the offer.

Justin was excited for her. She'd dedicated her whole life to him and it wasn't always easy. As a single parent for much of his life, with no formal education past high school, hard times were plenty. At least back in Tennessee, there were a lot of friends and relatives available to help out when things got tight. And things did. Even though he was very young at the time, he remembered more than one supper, when he was the only one eating. She would sit next to him, sipping tea and telling him stories filled with castles and dragons. Hanging on her every word, he ate absentmindedly, forgetting that the food in front of him was not one of his favorites. She could make a story so exciting that even cooked carrots went down with ease.

Then one day when he was eight, Justin decided he wanted to be an actor. It seemed without so much as a second thought, she left her whole life behind, and they moved to Florida. Now they were alone. Working two jobs, she ran Justin to every audition in the area, made sure he did his homework and still told him a story every night before going to bed. As far as his memory was concerned, she never slept. And she always smiled. At least in front of him.

But one time he did hear her cry. She was talking to grandma on the phone, and although he only heard part of the discussion, he was old enough to get the gist of it: She was lonely. She was tired. She was scared. At some point in the conversation Grandma must of asked her to come back home, because the words Justin heard next stuck in his heart to this day.

"No mom, I'm staying right here. This is what Justin wants, and I would sacrifice everything to make him happy. I may have made some mistakes in my life, but I'll be damned if he's going to pay for them. He's my life, my joy, my reason for being. He comes first. Everything I do, I do for him."

And that's exactly what she did. She sacrificed her dreams, for his. She sat back and watched him soar, never trying to steal the spotlight, never pushing him, always telling him that if it wasn't fun anymore, it was okay to quit. Even after all she'd done to make it happen for him, she would let him quit on the spot if that made him happy.

So now that it was her turn to shine, he couldn't be prouder of her. She WAS good at it, and she deserved to be happy. He would never deny her that.

And that was how Gabe Huxley got him.

Gabe waited until his mom was excited in her new life, filled with confidence and blissfully happy, then he threaten to take it all away. ALL of it: Nsync, his mother's new career, and everything they'd worked for their whole lives. And he had the power to do it too; unless Justin did whatever he said. What choice did he have? She'd sacrificed her life for him, now it was his turn. She was his life, his joy, his reason for being too. And what about J.C., Chris, Joey and Lance? There was no way he was going to be responsible for pulling their dreams out from under them. He loved them too much. By now they were his family too.

Feeling his mother hug him suddenly, Justin snapped back to the present. He realized he'd spaced out half of what his mom was now telling him.

"…I love you, honey. It will only be for a couple of weeks, we'll still have a good week together when I get back. And you never know, this could run so smooth over there, I'll be back early! You know I would never leave if there was any other choice, but Gabe's already got it all set up." She pulled back out of the hug and smiling, looked into his eyes for reassurance. "You do understand how important this is to me, right Jellybean."

He smiled at the twinkle exploding in her eyes. "Yeah, it's okay mom. I guess I just forgot you told me. Sorry." Then suddenly a horrible thought crossed his mind. "Hey, you said Gabe set this up, right?"

"Well yeah, he IS the one in charge. At least for the time being!" Her confidence was overwhelming. Justin knew she was going to go far, she'd finally found her niche.

"So he's going with you, right? I mean he's not staying here in Orlando." In an attempt to appear nonchalant about the subject, Justin went to the refrigerator , took out the orange juice and poured himself a glass.

"Pour me a glass too, would you?" She glanced at the clock on the microwave. "Oh, I better hurry! I guess I'll have to take it with me upstairs and drink it while I'm getting ready for work." She grabbed the glass he held out for her, and moved toward the stairs.

"Mom? Is Gabe going with you?" He was more forceful this time, almost demanding.

Without looking back at him, she called over her shoulder, "I guess I don't really know…I don't think he ever said. But I can ask him today if you'd like." Reaching the top step, she stopped, turned around and peered down at him. Her soft smile fell on his face, "Does it really matter to you?"

"No. I guess not." He lied. "Hey Mom?"

"Yes honey?"

"Thanks." His voice was soft and earnest. It held a sadness she wasn't expecting.

Taken aback, she studied his face and smiled slightly, confused. "For what?"

He said, " For the great party." He meant, "For sacrificing so much of yourself."

"Hey, you know…anything for my Jellybean. I just wish you could have spent more time there." With that she turned and walked down the hall into her bedroom.

"Yeah, me too."

The olive green 1984 station wagon complete with the original wood paneling, sputtered gracelessly up to the iron gated-entry of the long private driveway. A security camera turned above him, tracking his every move. Pulling to a stop along side a single intercom speaker, he bent forward and manually rolled down the window. No fancy electronic doo dads on this classic. He bought the car four years ago; right after the divorce. She got the Jeep, the house, most of his savings and his collection of shot glasses from 49 of the 50 states. There were 50 at one time, but she'd thrown Arizona at him the night she caught him with the waitress from the local truck stop. He got the pool table, most of his clothes and a cat he didn't even remember owning. With no money in his pocket, this car seemed the perfect choice. She was sturdy, dependable and still had all her original parts. Unlike his ex-wife. Even if she was cheap, he loved this car. Again, unlike his ex-wife.

Suddenly, without any prompting, the speaker came alive. "May I help you?" The voice was proper; spoken by a true gentleman. He pictured an Englishman although no real accent could be heard, dressed in the traditional black and white butler garb. White gloves and all.

Taking a final drag off his cigarette, he flicked it casually into one of the manicured shrubs that flanked each side of the driveway. A manila envelope lay next to him on the car seat. Glancing quickly at the name scrawled across it, he leaned out the window, "I'm here to see a Mr. Callaway."

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Callaway?"

"He's expecting me."

"And your name sir?"

"Tell him Mr. Smith is here with the package he ordered." Again he picked up the envelope, this time showing it to the camera above him. A cocky, half-hearted smile crossed his lips.

Without another word, the gate in front of him opened smoothly. The car backfired in protest as he threw it into gear and eased slowly up the driveway. Initially, he refused this job. They were just kids for christ sake. Sure famous kids, but still…this Callaway dude didn't seem to walk the straight and narrow. It made him nervous. He wasn't looking to cause trouble. But the money was irresistible, fifteen thousand dollars for two days work, tops. Who could refuse that? And now as he ground the brakes to a stop in front of the main entrance, he laughed at his own stupid morality. Turns out these boys aren't as clean cut as they appear. Anyone who participates in that kind of behavior deserves what they get. Hell if I was doing the boss, I'd be famous too.

Of course he'd heard of the group Nsync even before his initial phone conversation with this Callaway guy. He didn't have any kids of his own; the one thing in his marriage he'd actually done right, but his sister's girl was infatuated with the group. Possessed really. Walking into her room was like walking into a modern day shrine: Books, buttons, stickers, a row of video tapes marked Nsync Appearances, and posters were everywhere. My god the posters! There wasn't a spot on any of the four walls that didn't have one of these kids' faces on it. She was a seventeen year old young woman acting like a twelve year old girl. Hmmm….He may just have to burst her bubble a bit; let her in on their dirty little secret. Filing that thought in his head, he tucked the envelop safely under one arm and slammed the car door shut. Taking a deep breath, he buttoned the top button of his shirt and straightened his tie. As he brushed away the few crumbles left over from lunch, he ran through the plan one more time in his head: Just hand over the package, get the cash and wash your hands of the whole deal.

Simple enough.

"Sir?" The voice was familiar, yet it started him momentarily. Most of the afternoon had been spent in silence, concentrating on the pile of paperwork in front of him. Signing his name until his hand spasmed. Next time he left the country, he was going to invest in one of those rubber stamps with his official signature on it. Okay probably not, but it was damn tempting. Opening and closing his right hand in an effort to work out the cramp, he used his left to punch the intercom button in front of him.

"Yes, Hillman?"

"There's a Mr. Smith here to see you. I believe the package has arrived as well."

"It's about damn time. Give me five minutes, then show him in." Pushing the pile of papers aside, Callaway moved from behind the small cluttered office table located at the back of his study. Stopping briefly at the fully stocked liquor cabinet, he ignored the alcohol completely, instead choosing to fill a fine crystal goblet with sparkling mineral water. After taking a small sip, he returned the glass to the bar, then spun around to face his desk. It was a large, ornately hand-carved marble and boxwood masterpiece; a souvenir from his trip to Italy four years earlier. He positioned it majestically along the far wall opposite the door. An impressive focal point. He had a motto: When in doubt, walk softly and sit behind a big desk. This one always seemed to do the trick. Before he had a chance to move behind it, a firm knock echoed from the other side of the door.

"Come."

Hillman entered first followed closely by a rather non-descript, short, rosy cheeked man of about forty five. He was pretty much the way he'd pictured him, except this man had a full head of hair; slightly greasy, but it appeared to be his own.

"May I present Mr…"

"R.J. R.J. Smith." The rosy cheeked man ignored the formality and jumped ahead of the introductions, rushing past Hillman he extended his hand in greeting.

Hillman stared dumbfounded at the brash maneuver.

"Thank you Hillman. I'll take it from here." Callaway tossed him a quick, understanding smile then waited until he dismissed himself from the room.

Returning his attention to the man in front of him, he graciously extend his own hand, "It's nice to finally meet you face to face Mr…ah...Smith?" Without loosening his grip, he looked at him questioningly, "I thought it was Odeck?"

"Sometimes it's Odeck, sometimes it's Smith. Sometimes I don't remember. But it's always R.J." His smile was large, boisterous and genuine.

Callaway stared at the private eye with cold, examining eyes. Yes, the voice was the same as the one on the phone. Releasing his grip, he forced a large smile across his face. He hoped to match the intensity and flair shown by Mr. R.J. Smith. He knew he'd never match it's genuineness.

"I see." He motioned to the man to take the seat in front of the desk. Picking up his own glass, he gestured toward the bar, "Can I offer you something Mr. Smith?"

"Uh…no…no thank you. And it's R.J." He sank deeply into the chair and fidgeted nervously as he waited for his host to take his place behind the desk.

Slowly lowering himself into his chair, Callaway again mentally 'patted in own back.' A year ago, he decided to have two inches cut off the guest chair legs. He got the idea after watching an old gangster movie late one night. This, along with the raised platform holding the desk, put him a good six inches higher than the man across the from him. Looking down on a visitor always made them uncomfortable; made them squirm just a bit. Basically it intensified his home field advantage. In any situation, he enjoyed it.

With the pleasantries out of the way, Callaway turned serious, " I believe you have something for me?"

R.J. jumped to attention and grabbed at the envelop still under his arm. He'd half forgotten it was there. "Yep, it's all here. It was exactly as you said it would be. Couldn't have gone any smoother." He shook his head and laughed slightly remembering how simple it was to get these pictures. "You know, I was impressed that you knew exactly when those boys would be there. But what really throws me is how you knew the windows would be left open. You had all the information. I still don't see what you needed me for?"

Callaway ignored the man's question completely and held out his hand. "The envelop please Mr. Smith." It wasn't a question.

Handing it over, again he reiterated, "It's R.J."

Callaway took the envelop and set it down on the desk without opening it. "I was expecting this yesterday Mr. Smith." His voice was cold and accusing, his dark eyes pierced through the private detective.

R.J. wiggled uneasily under this man's stare. "Well…uh… it's not like I could just run to the local Photo-Mat to get these developed, you know. I needed to call in a few favors; used a guy down on Pritt Street. He runs a small adult 'modeling' agency out of his basement, if you know what I mean. But don't worry, the quality's good."

Callaway's facial expression never changed. His eyes held steadfast and stone cold on the man across from him. "Pritt Street you say?"

"Ah huh." R.J.'s eyes widened suddenly, realizing what Callaway was getting at, "Hey, hey, you don't have to worry about this guy! He's with me, I've used him before and there ain't no way he'd ever talk. The little bastard's got too much to lose, if you get my drift. Besides he don't even know these kids…not his type…he don't do guys or pop music for that matter."

Callaway glanced quickly at the golden envelop in front of him, then returning his glare to the fidgety R.J. Smith who sat before him. He purposely softened his features and extended a broad smile in his direction. R.J. relaxed visibly and returned the smile, falsely believing a bond had been forged between them.

"Well, that's that then." Callaway stood up suddenly. R.J. awkwardly followed his lead shocked by the abrupt ending to the conversation. "When you return to your car, you'll find an envelop similar to this one on the front passenger seat. Inside is the payment we discussed." He moved toward R.J. and escorted him to the door.

Confused and taken off guard, R.J. looked back toward the desk, " Aren't you even going to look at the merchandise?"

"I trust that even you are not stupid enough to come here with less than exactly what I ordered." And with that he shut the door on Mr. R.J. Odeck Smith Whatever, and let out a deep, mind clearing sigh. Fucking bumbling idiot

Once again he sat behind his desk, and stared at the manila package lying there. He picked it up tentatively, as if just touching the envelop itself may cause him great bodily harm. Carefully he opened it up. Closing his eyes, he reached in and removed the contents. Placing the photos face down on his lap, he let a deep breath escape his lips before he opened his eyes. Except for the hardness in his lips, not a single trace of emotion was visible on his face as one by one he examined each photo. Two blonds entering a building. A half naked kid on his knees. A boy bent over a desk. A older man holding a paddle ready to strike. The anguished facial expression of pain. Twelve, black and white photos in all. Moving back to one with a particularly good view of the tall older gentleman, Callaway ran a finger across the man's smirking face. Callaway sat transfixed, almost unable to breath; for him, time stood still. Finally, he blinked hard to break his concentration. Then he hit a button on the intercom before him. "Steade?"

"Steade here." A deep, husky voice rang out instantly; almost as if expecting the call.

"Has Mr. Smith left the property?"

"The video shows him just exiting now."

"Good. I want you follow him. Give it a few days. If he does anything suspicious, talks to anyone in a hushed tone, whispers anything remotely close to my name, drives by my home, or so much as looks in this direction of town; take him out. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Callaway could hear the smile behind the voice.

"Oh, and one more thing. There's a back alley porn shop on Pritt Street I'd like to see closed. Think you can handle that for me?"

"It would be my pleasure. Trying to clean up the neighborhood, boss?" Again Steade smirked at his own question.

Smiling along with him, Callaway looked back at the man in the picture, "Yeah, something like that."

Okay, originally I planned to include a lot more information in this chapter, but realized it would get way to long and take quite a bit longer to post. Since I've had a lot of requests for this chapter, I didn't want to keep you waiting, so I decided to break it in two. Hopefully Chapter 3 will be out without to much delay! Thanks for reading!