Just the thought made Ronan grin. Every time Finn bitched about the pain-in-the-assedness of teenagers, Ronan told him to talk to the hand. Been there, done that, bro, and welcome to the club. Finn’s partner, Michael, was a good guy, so Ronan didn’t worry about Finn anymore. Sure, he still had bad dreams about the night they’d almost been too late finding Finn during the undercover job. He’d wake up in a cold sweat with visions of Finn’s naked and bloody body in the grip of the leader of the pedophile ring they busted. On those days, it was doubly great to slip on his ratty clothes and hit the pavement.
Maybe it was kind of pathetic that he wanted to immerse himself in the community he’d missed out on as a student. He didn’t care. It wasn’t as if he was hanging out at frat parties or anything. He just liked the vibrancy of the location, and it wasn’t as if at the age of twenty-six, he was some lecherous aging guy ogling the co-eds. He wasn’t even into his age group. He liked slightly older women, seasoned ones who knew what they were doing and not necessarily looking for forever. Having spent much of his young adulthood being too much of an adult, he liked to play it easy and loose.
Ronan pushed his speed because he needed to burn off the stress already building within him. Normally, he loved his job and couldn’t wait to get the day started. This one, however, could turn out to be a bitch. He was getting a new partner. He’d known it was going to happen as soon as Vicki told him she was pregnant. Only four months into her pregnancy, and she’d been put on bed rest. Twins, Christ Jesus. She and her husband would have their hands full. He couldn’t begrudge her the need, of course, but they’d been partners for less than a year. As the older, more experienced detective, she’d been his mentor. Her steady and methodical manner had worked wonders at curbing his impulsiveness. Now, who knew what kind of cop he’d be paired with? He couldn’t even think of anyone in the department that was currently solo. Maybe they’d give him a rookie detective. Then he’d be the senior man, and he wasn’t so sure he was ready for that.
Shit, he’d rather have the twins. He’d rather be the one to
give birth
to the twins.
As his feet pounded the pavement and the sweat dripped into his eyes, he willed his mind to shut off. Worrying about things never helped. He’d just have to wait and see. He put in a burst of speed as he ran up the front stoop of the duplex he rented. A nice cool shower before heading into work would slap him more awake. Iced coffee on the way to the station was also a must. He needed to be on his toes today in particular.
Throwing himself into the shower stall, he leaned into the stream and sighed with the pleasure of it. His cock sprang up, much like Pavlov’s dog. Living on his own meant he could spend as much time in the bathroom as he wanted and jerk off whenever he felt the urge. His morning showers had turned into play time given the dry spell he was going through date-wise. He pumped some body wash into his palm and clasped his dick. He teased himself with long, slow strokes that made him groan. With his other hand, he rolled his balls. The rhythm his hands danced to was automatic. He knew just how to coax his pleasure to climb at a steady pace.
No hurry, no one else to please or worry about. Just him squeezing his cock on the upstroke and sliding his thumb through his slit. He tugged his sack away from his body, grunting at the small bite of pain. They tightened in his grip, signaling his climax was near. He picked up the pace, jerking his dick hard and fast. As the first rope of cum shot out, he clasped more firmly with both hands and pulled himself through the orgasm. He gasped into the spray, choking on the water entering his mouth. When his knees threatened to buckle, he released his balls and braced his palm against the wall.
He stood panting for long minutes, until his brain kicked back into gear. He needed to get going so that he could meet his new partner. Now that he was a relaxed as he was ever going to get, it shouldn’t be too bad. How much of a douche could his new partner be?
****
Diego Nieves parked his Harley in the precinct employee parking lot and debated whether he needed to bring his helmet in with him. Then he remembered the chance of being arrested never stopped anyone from committing a crime, and he tucked it under his arm. Man, Boston was as steamy as New York this time of year. Somehow, he expected it to be cooler because it was a little farther north and Boston Harbor wasn’t as far inland as New York’s, at least it seemed that way to him. Whatever, it was fucking ninety degrees with seventy percent humidity. He’d taken the risk of wearing just his suit on the bike and no leathers. If he’d gone down, the doctors would have been piecing his skin back in strips. Fortunately he was used to riding in the City, the real one. Boston drivers had nothing he hadn’t seen before.
He entered the building and was grateful to get a blast of cool air. He flashed his credentials to the desk sergeant, a badge so shiny new it practically blinded him. The guy, an older man whose face was probably as red as it was all year round, gave it a quick look before buzzing him through. Diego nodded in thanks, a brief smile on his lips. He wanted this to be a good transfer, smooth, a new start. He was ready for it. Whether Boston was ready for a new cop, and a Puerto Rican one at that, remained to be seen.
If you ain’t Irish, you’re nothing up there.
His former partner, Julio, had been adamant about that, although he’d been keen on Diego staying in New York, so what he said had to be taken with a grain of salt. It seemed too nineteenth century to believe the Irish had a lock on the Boston police force. On the other hand, a lot of the name badges he saw as he walked down the halls of the precinct sounded Irish enough. He’d also wrangled the name of his new partner out of the lieutenant, and damned if it wasn’t a guy named Callaghan. Ronan Callaghan. Of course he’d done an Internet search on the guy. Pure Boston cop royalty with a murdered father in the mix. He really hoped he was wrong, but his gut told him his new partner wasn’t going to be to his liking.
His mother would say he was borrowing trouble. He tried not to dwell on his concerns as he found his way to the locker room and stowed his helmet. Taking a detour to the bathroom, he relieved himself and wet down his hair. He straightened his tie as well, because he took pride in his looks. He wanted to make a good showing for his new lieutenant if not his partner. Okay, and now he was just stalling. He forced himself out of the sanctuary of tile and quiet and headed to the bull pen.
Please, Jesus, don’t let his new partner be a douche.
Lieutenant Fuller seemed like a decent guy. As they waited for Diego’s new partner to arrive, they sat in the lieutenant’s office and chatted about Boston. His boss was obviously trying to put the new man at ease and give him pointers about getting around the area. So far, Diego had noted that he had to walk the Freedom Trail, but not to be discouraged if he crapped out somewhere around the Old North Church. Everybody did. Then there was the Aquarium, the Science Museum, and the Museum of Fine Arts, all of which sounded like places he’d go if he had kids or an appreciation for serious art. Neither of which he did. Fenway Park would be a great idea, if Diego wasn’t a Yankee’s fan. Sadly, from the lieutenant’s point of view, he was.
The lieutenant was starting to branch out into Salem and Plimoth Plantation when Diego’s partner finally showed up. To be fair, the guy wasn’t late. Diego had a habit of always being early. He stood to greet Ronan Callaghan as they were introduced. As they shook hands, they sized each other up. Diego was taking Ronan’s measure and could tell by the look in the other man’s eye, he was doing the same. It rankled that the Boston man was a few inches taller, but while Puerto Rico had many things to recommend it, growing tall people was not one of them. On the other hand, Diego packed more muscle. Callaghan had that long, lean look to him, whereas Diego had played high school football.
“Have a seat, Callaghan,” the lieutenant said. “I know having your partner go out so suddenly is disconcerting, but the timing is great in that Nieves here needs one.”
Diego gave Ronan a sharp look. “What happened?” He hadn’t heard of an officer going down.
Ronan gave him a wry grin. “Twins.”
“Excuse me?”
“Vicki and her husband have been trying for a while to have a baby, and just their luck, it’s twins. She’s on bed rest.”
“Oh. Well, please tell her congratulations from me, and I’ll pray to Saint Margaret for her safe delivery.”
Ronan narrowed his eyes. “I thought Gerard was the patron saint for pregnant women.”
Diego shrugged. “Some say that, but my mother says that makes zero sense. Margaret was a woman and a virgin. She’s a better saint for the job.”
“A
virgin
is a better saint for the job?”
“Gerard was supposedly a virgin, too.”
Ronan looked like he was ready for a Catholic throw down. A loud throat-clearing from the lieutenant cut him off.
“Gentlemen, if we are done with the religious instruction…? I’m sure we all wish Detective Sergeant Villas well in her pregnancy. In the meantime, you’re going to be partnered. Do you have any active cases, Callaghan?”
“No, sir. We’d just wrapped one up when she started feeling bad.”
“Fine, go help Nieves get settled in at Villas’ desk for now and find something useful to do until you catch another case. Given the way this summer is going, that should be in about thirty seconds. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“Oh, and Callaghan?” the lieutenant called out a second later. “Nieves is primary as he’s more senior even if he did get his experience in New York.”
Ronan hesitated a second, casting a glance at Diego. His expression was unreadable. “Yes, sir,” he finally said and walked out.
Diego let Ronan lead the way across the bull pen. He found himself looking at a messy desk. Ronan plopped down in the chair at the desk opposite his. It was equally messy. The guy picked up a large iced coffee and slurped on the bright orange straw sticking out of it.
Diego sat gingerly at his new desk and surveyed the paper and other detritus strewn over the surface. “I thought you said you’d cleared all of your cases.”
Ronan looked at him over his straw. “We did. Vicki likes to hang onto stuff that doesn’t have to go into the file. You know, background info, research, shit like that. Plus she’s a squirrel and never throws anything away.”
Eyeing what looked like stuff you’d find in Happy Meals, Diego understood exactly what his new partner was saying. “What am I supposed to do with all of this?”
Ronan shrugged. “Stuff it in a box. I’ll take it to her house, and she can sort through it. It will give her something to do while lying around. She’s already going crazy. Hates daytime television.”
“I don’t suppose as her former partner you’d like to…” He made a sweeping gesture at the desk and gave Ronan a hopeful look.
Ronan grinned back at him. “Not a chance. I have my own crap to deal with.”
That was certainly true. “How do you stand working with all that heaped up?”
Ronan only shrugged and went back to sipping his drink. There was no chance to push the issue. A uniform came up and handed Ronan a slip of paper. His partner’s laid-back demeanor didn’t change, but he stood up. “We’ve got a DB. I drive.”
Diego stood up, too, his nerves jangling at the idea of going out into the field. He ruthlessly shut down the feelings. If he couldn’t handle taking a case, then he was done being a cop. Besides, this was new territory. The whole point of moving to Boston was to take his therapist’s advice to change up his environment, to change up his thought patterns. “Fine by me, Callaghan. I didn’t think you’d want to ride bitch on my bike anyway.”
As soon as he used the crude expression, he regretted it. His mother would have slapped him up the back of his head for being so disrespectful. He was letting his worry about his partner looking down on him put him in a defensive position. That was a stupid way to start their relationship and his new job. Not wanting to compound the problem, however, he didn’t back track on his comment.
Ronan looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You have a bike? What kind?”
“Harley.” He didn’t add the “of course” although it was implied in his tone.
“Nice.”
Okay, so points for him. He’d managed to impress his partner over his choice of ride. Juvenile to be sure. He’d take them anyway.
Ronan’s car was a fairly nondescript, mid-sized standard issue coated in a fine layer of dust. The inside looked like the mobile version of Ronan’s desk. Diego gingerly slid in and buckled his belt even as he kicked a fast food bag away. Ronan did the same and started the car, all while still sipping his coffee. Of course, the cup holders between them were jammed with change and crumpled napkins, but still.
“You want me to hold that for you?” While it was the last thing he wanted to do, it beat crashing.
“Naw, I’m good.”
Ronan peeled out of the lot, working the steering wheel as if he was on a Sunday drive. The streets of Boston had earned their reputation, although as a New Yorker, Diego sneered inwardly at the idea it was the worst traffic in the country. Ronan hit the siren and maneuvered around the other vehicles with a skill Diego had to admire even putting aside the fact that it was done one-handed.
“Where are we going, exactly?” Diego asked, resisting the urge to cling to the dashboard.
“To the river, by the Hatch Shell.”
New as he was to Boston, Diego understood that the river was the Charles and the Hatch Shell was the outdoor venue for concerts, most especially by the Boston Pops Orchestra on the Fourth. He decided not to ask any more questions and let his partner concentrate on not crashing.
The crime scene was easy to spot. A couple of marked cars and an ambulance were already parked on the side of Storrow Drive, a roadway too narrow and congested for parking. Traffic had started to back up even though it wasn’t rush hour. A beleaguered uniform directed harried drivers away from the blockage. Diego got out on legs slightly shaky due to the ride over and those damn nerves of his. He took what he hoped was a subtly big breath and let it out slowly.