Authors: Z. A. Maxfield
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #LGBT WWII-era Historical
“Get in the car, damn it.” Ben got Calhoun up and shoved him into the passenger
seat. His skin felt so hot, he must have been burning up all night. He wasn’t even
talking sense anymore.
“I don’t know why I did it,” he whimpered again before Ben closed the door.
Ben got into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. The rain, if anything,
had gotten worse. He could barely see past the hood of the car.
“If I take you to Receiving, someone there can fix you up.”
Calhoun said nothing. He stared blankly out the window at the rain as Ben drove
down the center of the street because the gutters had turned into narrow, churning
rivers.
For a mile, two miles, silence stretched between them. Calhoun finally lit up his
cigarette, exhaling a shaky breath before breaking the silence. “You aren’t going to tell
anyone how I got that bite.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You don’t want anyone looking too deeply into your
friendship
with the victim, do
you?”
“Let’s just say for a second that’s true. You’d be a damned sight safer if you kept
your thoughts to yourself.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Ben didn’t reply. His heart was still twisted into an ugly knot around revenge and
seeing to it that Calhoun never had the opportunity to hurt anyone again.
Calhoun heaved an unhappy sigh. “Can we at least stop so I can get a cup of coffee?
You owe me.”
Ben glanced at him. He was hard to read. Was it a trick? “How do you figure?”
“We’re partners. You owe me at least that.”
Ben considered it. Yeah.
Maybe
. Coffee… It would give him time to think. To plan, if
it came to that. To ascertain just how big a threat Jim Calhoun was going to be and what
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he could do about it. Because there was no way he could let this slide. He
would
keep
his family safe, no matter what it took.
Now that his heart and not just his body had turned to ice, he could use a cup of
coffee himself.
* * * *
because of his renewed enthusiasm for work. He wasn’t fooling anyone. He left Ed in
the living room and practically ran to the office, and when he got there, he answered
breathlessly.
“Hello?” Only then did he remember to answer the call properly. “Rafe Colman
speaking.”
“Hey, Rafe? Ben.” Hardly necessary. By now Rafe could recognize Ben’s voice if he
uttered just one syllable. “How’s your place holding up?”
“Still dry inside, mostly. There’s some flooding in the yard. Ed’s roof is leaking into
his dining room, but it’s not bad, and he’s here spending the evening with me. We’re
playing two-handed bridge. He cheats.”
“I heard that,” Ed called from the living room.
“Maybe sometime after the holiday, I’ll get up there and fix his roof.”
“Sure,” said Rafe. “I'll help if I can.”
“I guess I just wanted to check in.” Ben sounded exhausted. He spoke in a flat
monotone, like he was delivering lines from a play. Rafe’s heart gave a wobble when he
realized how much he depended on what he heard in Ben’s voice.
“Is something wrong?”
“I checked on my mother. The old place is holding up well, but a neighbor lost a
tree and the garage it came down on.”
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Ben hadn’t answered his question, and he sounded…distant.
Does that mean it’s
nothing? Or so bad you can’t even talk about it. What’s wrong? You sound dead inside
. “Lucky
it wasn’t the garage where you live.”
“We’ll be seeing a lot of that. The ground gets saturated, and the wind knocks the
trees over. I’ve been called out for downed trees and power lines, car wrecks, power
outages, and a roof cave-in. Some of the houses they built on slopes in the canyon look
unstable as hell. There’s lots of erosion damage and mudslides that fortunately aren’t
my problem.”
“That’s awful.”
Are you eroding? Is it the storm wearing away the shine I always see in
you? Leaching away the warmth I usually hear in your voice?
“That’s rain in LA for you. Flower Street will be a river by morning, and I’ll bet you
a dollar some joker will be out there in a canoe and get his picture in the paper.”
“How long is this supposed to last?”
You’re scaring me. When can you come home? I
need you. I need to hold you. I want to feel your skin against mine and breathe in the air that
leaves your lungs.
“It’s a massive storm. We’re getting word that parts of northern California are
underwater. People have died. It’s a damned disaster.”
“It’s always either dry or coming down in buckets here.”
I want to open myself to you
so completely I disappear.
I want to hold you inside me.
“It always has to rain a year’s worth at once. I’m working a double, maybe more.
Don’t know when I’ll get back.”
“I understand. Are you all right?”
Please tell me you’re okay. Please tell me we’ll be all
right.
“It’s nuts out here.”
“Be careful.”
I need you.
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“I will. I plan to come to your place after mass on—” There was a sound in the
background, breaking glass. “
Christ
.”
“Ben? What was that?”
“Gotta go. I’ll call soon.”
“
Ben
!” The line went dead.
From where Ben stood at the payphone, he’d heard the sound of glass breaking and
saw Calhoun stand up. Ben started toward him just in time to see him leave the coffee
shop. He followed Calhoun, searching the street, trying to guess what made him take
off like that—without a word, without backup, without calling anything in on the radio.
Calhoun had been reckless before, and he’d been drinking more than usual lately, but
he wasn’t stupid—or maybe he was, but he’d never been stupid on the job before.
Calhoun must have seen something or someone, because he waded into the deep
flowing gutter, crossing the street diagonally in the direction of an appliance store. Ben
followed, wincing when the frigid water swirled around his ankles and soaked his
trousers again. Damn Calhoun. What was he doing?
Visibility was poor, but when Ben got closer, it was obvious the plate glass store
window was broken. Dark shapes moved in the shadows. Ben shot a quick glance up
and down the street but saw nothing. No cars, no trucks. He couldn’t go back to the car
to radio for backup unless he was willing to leave his partner—a man who had
apparently abandoned common sense completely. Not wanting to draw attention to
himself or Calhoun, he sped up to intercept his partner before he did anything stupid.
On pure instinct, he drew his weapon, holding it down but at the ready. One man
left out the back way, carrying something bulky. A second was still inside.
Christ, was Calhoun just charging in? Was he going to try to confront these punks
directly?
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“Stop what you’re doing right now.” At Calhoun’s bellicose shout, the second man
took off running out the back of the store. Calhoun went after him, and Ben followed.
Through the open alley door, he could see a van parked with the engine running.
Its head and taillights illuminated clouds of steam and exhaust billowing close to the
ground. One man sat behind the wheel and another, rain-soaked and grim, stood in the
back and loaded the stolen goods. The man they chased had barely cleared the door. He
had no time to warn them.
“Police. You’re under arrest, stop right there.” Calhoun reached for his weapon.
Before Calhoun’s weapon cleared his holster, the man he was chasing turned on him,
gun drawn.
Calhoun froze. Everyone froze.
Ben stood in the shadows, still inside the door where the gunman probably couldn’t
see him. A terrible calm overcame him, and he lifted his weapon.
“
Police
. Drop your weapon.” Ben took aim.
The
pop
of the man’s revolver and then the discharge of Ben’s own seemed almost
anticlimactic, muffled by the storm. The van took off, the back still open, allowing loose
boxes to fall out when it skidded onto the street. The man who had been loading the
boxes ran after it to jump in, to no avail. After a shout from Ben, he fell to the sidewalk
with his hands above his head and begged for mercy.
Rain drummed on the buildings. It poured in sheets off the eaves. It spattered onto
the streets and rushed in gullies toward an overfull drainage system, eddying red
around the bodies of two dying men.
“
Calhoun
.” Ben raced over and knelt at his partner’s side with the idea of putting
pressure on his wound.
There’s so much blood
. “Hang on.”
“You bastard.”
Calhoun’s dying words
. “You…fag fucking bastard…”
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Chapter Seventeen
December 23, 1955
Ben used his key to get into Rafe’s place but stopped in the service porch since his
clothes were soaked through. He hung his oilskin on a hook by the door, put his gun
and belt up in the cupboard over the sink, and dropped his wet clothes to the floor
without even giving them a second thought. He was exhausted—dead tired and frozen
to the very marrow of his bones. Only the knowledge he was free to make his way into
Rafe’s bed
at last
and the warm welcome he knew he’d find there kept him going.
Naked, he crept past the kitchen, into the living room, and down the hall. The door
was open, inviting. Rafe lay on his back, his cast arm propped on a pillow. Mooki
bounded out of her basket, dancing around his feet until he picked her up and cuddled
her. Thank God, she was getting better. He put her back into her basket and petted her
some more.
Mooki’s tiny greeting yip must have woken Rafe because he rose, seemingly
startled from sleep. Once he caught sight of Ben, he settled back against the pillows
with a sigh and a pleased smile. “Hello.”
The warmth of that one word was nearly Ben’s undoing. “Hi.”
Rafe lifted the bedclothes so he could climb in. “
Komm her
.”
Ben headed for Rafe, wanting nothing more than warmth and closeness. He slid
between the sheets and pressed himself against Rafe’s pajama-clad body. Rafe was
moist with the damp sweat of sleep and so warm Ben scrabbled beneath the layer of
fabric and undershirt to press his cold hands flat against Rafe’s skin.
“
Ben
,” Rafe gasped and tried to get away. “Nein…your hands are cold.”
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The dam that held Ben’s desire in check burst as soon as he touched Rafe’s skin.
“Please.” Ben already had his hands on the buttons of Rafe’s pajama shirt, but finding
them too cold to manipulate the tiny mother of pearl buttons, he pulled it off over
Rafe’s head. “Please,
please
.”
Shocked by Ben’s desperation, Rafe welcomed more of the cold touch with light
laughter. “Ja, Geliebter. All right.
Yes
.”
Ben helped rid him of his undershirt, and together they worked on the drawstring
of his pants. Rafe lifted his hips so Ben could sweep them down and off onto the floor,
and finally, they were naked, breathless, cocooned in the warmth of Rafe’s bed in the
deeply shadowed darkness of a cloud-covered night.
Rain still poured down everywhere. Light from the street illuminated the drops that
hit the window and ran down, causing odd, moving patterns on the walls.
Ben wound himself around Rafe, tangling their legs, wrapping his arms across
Rafe’s torso. He squeezed out all the space between them until they were almost one
body, one entity, breathing each other’s air, tasting each other’s sweat and skin. They
kissed. They nipped and licked and bit. Ben pushed his tongue into Rafe’s mouth,
invading him, exploring him, and Rafe kissed him back, clinging to his shoulder with
one hand and softening for him, opening to him, until Ben pulled back and looked
down.
“Please.”
You must know what I’m asking for. Please, please.
Rafe’s lashes lowered. “Anything.”
“Turn, all right?” Ben moved off him and guided Rafe’s body, turning him away so
he could spoon up behind. “Do you have hand cream?”
“Yes.” Rafe opened the drawer of his nightstand and got out a pump-top bottle of
hand lotion.
Ben caught his eye and gave a comical lift of his brows. “I see.”
Rafe turned his face away. “I have dry hands.”
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“And soft too. You must use this an awful lot,” Ben teased gently. He nudged up
right against Rafe’s back, letting his erection bob in the crease of Rafe’s buttocks, and he
pumped out a couple blobs of cream onto his hand. “We’re going to take this slow,