Authors: P. A. Brown
“Then don’t talk—” David reached for him. “Don’t
you wanna take me to bed?”
“Jesus, David. What’s got into you? Aren’t you
investigating me for this homicide?” What kind of trouble was David going to be
in for this? Hell, what kind of trouble was
he
going to be in?
“Not anymore. Cleared you. Wrong person...”
Chris’s jaw dropped. “What? Since when?”
“S’afternoon. You were in Salt-Salt-Utah. You were
in Utah when Jay was sliced.”
“Utah? That conference?” A wave of dizziness swept
through him. “Jesus, I almost didn’t go,” he whispered. “I hate those things.”
“Good thing for you. Perfect alibi. Got the wrong
guy...Not even your fingerprints...Martinez still wants you, though. Had a
fight over that. My own partner...God, if he knew...”
“Knew what, David?” Chris wanted to laugh aloud
and jump up and down. He was off the hook. Then it clicked. “Martinez doesn’t
know you’re gay, does he, David?”
David grimaced. “God, I hate that word.” He
twisted around to look up at Chris and tried to leer again. “But I like you.
Want to fuck? I want to fuck you.”
“Let’s get you home, okay?” Chris tried to wrestle
him up, but it was like lifting a two-hundred-pound sack of sand. He couldn’t
control the heavier man and David wouldn’t do a thing to help. Every time Chris
got near him David groped his crotch. It didn’t help that Chris had a raging
boner and David knew it.
Chris rocked back on his heels. “You have to go
home, David. You’re going to hate yourself in the morning if you don’t.”
“Wanted you to know. Not a suspect anymore.”
“Thank you, David. I appreciate that, you have no
idea... but really, you have to go—”
“Sleep with me, Chris.”
“If you weren’t drunk, I’d be glad to, David.”
Chris stroked his head, feeling the crisp hair curl under his fingers. “But
you’d hate me in the morning. I’d hate me in the morning.”
“You probably think I’m some boring
stick-in-the-mud rule follower.”
What could Chris say? David was a stickler for the
rules. He wore his dress shirts buttoned up tight and never let his guard down.
Chris wouldn’t necessarily say he was boring, but—
David cracked a yawn. He blinked at Chris. “I
think I had too much.”
“Yeah, I think so,” Chris said gently. “You’re
going to feel like shit tomorrow.”
“Sleep with me, Chris. I can’t stop thinking about
you. Ever since you kissed me. Even when I was supposed to think of you as a
suspect...”
“Not tonight—get some sleep now, okay, big guy?”
Chris thought he was going to argue some more, but
his body went limp. Chris wrestled him under the covers, pulling the duvet up
to his shoulders. He gave the slumbering man a light kiss on the cheek. Already
his soft snores filled the bedroom.
Chris padded back downstairs to his office, where
he pulled out the small futon bed he kept for out-of-town guests. He grabbed a
blanket and a set of sheets from the linen closet and crawled under the covers
around two o’clock in the morning.
He wished he wasn’t so damned noble. David might
be a stick in the mud, but he was turning out to be one of the most complex men
Chris had ever known. He was also sexy in a way Chris couldn’t begin to
explain. He just knew he wanted to go upstairs and crawl in beside him and find
out what being fucked by David Laine would be like.
A small sound woke him. He looked up, blinking, to
find David standing in the doorway staring down at him with flat, unreadable
eyes. He was dressed again; even from the doorway Chris could smell the reek of
alcohol coming off his clothes.
“How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?” Chris sat up, glad he had
decided to wear pajamas last night. Normally he slept naked, but that hadn’t
seemed like a good idea with a drunk and overly amorous David in the house.
“If I remembered, would I ask?”
“You came banging on my door last night.”
“What time was that?”
“Around one o’clock.”
“My car’s not in the driveway.”
“I don’t know how you got here.” Chris shrugged.
“You never said.”
Suspicion darkened David’s face. “Why didn’t you
just send me home? There’s money in my wallet. You could have paid a cab.”
Chris bristled. “I tried to get you out of here.
You refused to go. I had no choice but to put you to bed.” Chris untangled
himself from the futon and stood. “Look, I’m going to make coffee. We can
continue this discussion in the kitchen.”
David put his hand on Chris’s arm. “What happened
last night, Chris?”
Chris snatched his arm away. “You mean did I take
advantage of you? Fuck you, David.”
Before he could respond, Chris shoved by him and
stormed into the kitchen, where he banged around refilling the kettle and
grinding coffee until his anger subsided.
David appeared in the kitchen doorway. He looked
tired.
“I’m sorry, Chris,” he said. “That was uncalled
for.”
“What’s this about a fight with Martinez?”
“I told you that? Sorry, that was just stupid.”
“You said I wasn’t a suspect anymore, but Martinez
didn’t want to let it go. Is it because I’m gay?”
David winced. He rubbed his head. “Yeah, well
Martinez has some problems with that.”
“Martinez is a narrow-minded bigot.” Big news
there. David already knew that. He’s the guy who had to live with it. Chris
banged around in the cupboard, producing two mugs for his efforts. “Where did
you go last night?”
“Some bar up in La Canada. Country and western
place. I don’t remember leaving. Next thing, I’m waking up in your bed,
practically naked.”
“If you’d had your way, you’d have been completely
naked. And I’d have been there with you.”
David blushed scarlet.
“Do me a big favor,” Chris said. “Next time you
come over, do it sober. Then I won’t have to say no. I don’t want to say no. I
don’t think you do either. Where does that leave us, David?”
“Maybe we need to talk.”
“That sounds like a good start—”
“Is that coffee ready?” David rubbed his forehead
again. “I could really use some.”
Chris poured him a mug. He sighed when he took his
first sip. “Now I remember why I don’t do that.”
“Go on benders?”
“Right. Was I really bad?”
“Blotto. Totally and completely blotto. I’ve
rarely seen anyone that stinking—”
“Okay, I get the picture.” David set his mug down
and looked around the kitchen. “Where’s your phone? I have to call a cab.”
“Let me give you a ride. I still got my rental.
It’s the least I can do after compromising you.”
“Compromising—” His eyes narrowed. “According to
you, we didn’t do anything.”
“I can fix that soon enough.” Chris moved closer,
grasped David’s powerful arms, and drew him down until their mouths touched.
“How about this?”
The passion that had burst between them the first
time was still there, untamed. David tasted of coffee and mint; he had clearly
taken advantage of Chris’s mouthwash before he came downstairs. Chris groaned
when David’s hands moved down to his ass and pressed their growing erections
together, proving the lust was not one-sided.
Chris murmured against his throat, “You sure you
can’t stay? I could make you breakfast. Wash your clothes for you. Take you to
bed and ravish you.”
David broke away, laughing shakily. “In that
order?”
“Any order you like.”
“This is getting too complicated.”
“David—”
“I can’t, Chris. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“Is it your partner?”
“It’s everything. It’s who I am.”
“I don’t think I like who you are very much.”
“Sometimes neither do I.”
Chris stared at him for several seconds. David
looked away.
“Fine,” Chris sighed. “Come on, let’s go find your
wheels. Jesus, I hope you can remember where this place is.”
“A country western bar in La Canada?” He shook his
head. “This should be fun.”
Wednesday,
11:30 am, Baptiste Way, La Canada, Los Angeles
It took them nearly two hours to
track down the bar, a tiny, nondescript cinder-block building tucked behind a
dirt parking lot near Foothill. The parking lot was half-concealed by a pair of
massive Sycamores which hid the cars from the street. It barely looked
inhabited, but when they pulled into the lot at two minutes after ten, two
Latino guys came out of the building. One of them carried two cases of empties
out to a blue pickup.
“They here last night?” Chris asked as they
watched the two dump the empties and head back, presumably for more.
“
I
barely remember being here last night,”
David said.
“This your car?”
Chris strolled around the ’56 Chevy Two-Ten sport
coupe David was struggling to restore. On his salary it was a project destined
to take years. But Chris seemed to see beyond the damaged body and faded paint.
“Wow, haven’t seen one of these in years. Where’d
you find it? And what happened to that horrible Ford?”
“That’s an LAPD car. I bought this from a guy in
Palmdale two years ago.”
“Beautiful. Hard to find parts?”
“There are places.” David shrugged. “You into
classics?”
“Go to all the shows. Unfortunately I’m
mechanically challenged. I figure I’m doing pretty good to pump my own gas.”
David laughed and unlocked the door. He reached in
and popped the hood. They peered inside. “I did a complete rebuild of the
carburetor,” David said, pointing out the piece. The manifold’s new, too.”
Chris leaned in; their shoulders brushed and David
could smell him. A pulse beat in his head. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
But he didn’t move away.
“I go to all the shows, too,” he said. “When I
can.”
“Yeah? Which ones?”
Their eyes met. “Palm Springs. San Diego once. The
L.A. shows, of course.”
Chris swallowed. “Palm Springs is nice.” This was
insane. Standing in the middle of a dusty parking lot in broad daylight and all
David wanted to do was kiss this man. Where had all his discipline gone? All
his hardwon resolve?
Chris’s phone rang. David jerked back. He slammed
the hood down and retreated to the open door and got in the car.
“Des, how’s it going—” Even from where he sat,
David could hear Chris’s friend. Chris tried to break in but Des wasn’t letting
up.
“I’ll try—” Des’s voice dropped and Chris hunched
over the phone, straining to hear. Beginning to look worried.
“Des—” Chris stared at his cell. With a low curse
he shut it off and met David’s gaze.
“Trouble?” David asked. Chris started to shake his
head, then stopped. “Kyle’s disappeared.”
“Kyle—oh, right. Des’s friend. What do you mean,
disappeared?”
“He called me the other night from Santa Monica.
He thought someone was following him.” Chris shrugged, an uneasy gesture. “I
told him I’d come get him but when I got there I couldn’t find him.”
“When was this?”
“Yesterday.” Chris bent down, leaning his elbows
on the window’s lip. “Do me a favor?”
Warily David met his eyes. “What?”
“Can you do anything for him?” Chris held up his
hand, palm out. “We already filed a report with the Santa Monica Police, but I
could tell they were giving us the brush-off.”
David opened his mouth to say something, but Chris
didn’t give him a chance. “Kyle had no reason to run away. And he was being followed.
Des is worried.”
“Chris, I don’t know—”
“Just run one of your checks, can you?”
“You mean check the morgues? The hospitals?”
Chris winced and looked away. When he looked back
his face was pale but stoic. “Yes. If that’s what it takes.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks,” Chris said quietly. He smiled. “Let’s
hope I’m wasting your time.”
“Sure.”
Chris patted the side of the Chevy. “You’ll have
to take me for a ride sometime.”
“Ah, sure.” David settled both hands on the worn
steering wheel. “We can do that.”
“Have dinner with me tonight, David.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Hell, he
knew it wasn’t. Could he really spend the evening with this guy and keep it
safe?
“Dinner, David. What’s the harm in that?”
David looked at him like he was crazy. He should
know just being in the same room raised thoughts that David had long ago
forsworn. He squeezed the wheel in his big hands.
“Okay,” he said, knowing it was a big mistake, but
beginning to feel like a moth in front of a brilliant flame. “Dinner.”
“Hermosa Beach,” Chris said. His fingers caressed
the ivory door panel. “You can drive. Pick me up at my place, six?”
“Six, sure.” David slammed the door shut with a
solid
thunk
. He rolled the window down and propped his elbow on the lip.
“Tonight then.” He drove off the lot in a plume of dust.
“Brilliant,” David muttered. “Absolutely
brilliant.”
His cell phone rang.
It was Martinez. “I got a positive ID on our first
John Doe. Meet me at the station in thirty minutes.”
Traffic was heavy leaving Verdugo; he saw the
flashing lights of the California Works Department ahead of him. Heat shivered
off the stalled traffic and blacktop. He wasn’t getting anywhere in thirty
minutes. The work crew stood around looking into a hole they had made in the
ground, while their machinery stood by idle.
Nobody was moving in the torpid heat.
David calculated how long it would take to get
home and have a quick shower and change his clothes.
“Make it ninety minutes. I’m stuck in traffic.”
“Ninety then.” Martinez clicked off.
In his rear view he saw Chris two cars behind him
in the left lane. All his windows were rolled up and even from here he looked
cool and unruffled in his air-conditioned car. A guy who had it all.
Who was David kidding? He did have it all, and
then some. Of what interest would a closeted cop at least ten years his senior
be to a man like that?