All he said now was, “Nine years ago I was just a stupid kid, Eliot. And I didn’t know how to deal with anything but what
I
was feeling and experiencing. Your parents refused to let me see you in the hospital. They said you had to focus on your treatment without any distraction and they were moving you far away. And I thought maybe I was the reason you had done—well, I thought maybe it was better for you back then if you weren’t around me.
“Then last night I ran into you in that club and I—I just wanted to come see you, I guess, to see if you’re okay,” he finished lamely, looking down at his hands.
“Sometimes I like going to that club,” Eliot said. “I like the attention, and when I need sex, it’s an easy way to get it.” He shrugged. “I don’t care about the money, though it’s fun to get it off those desperate fools. Makes me feel superior.”
“What about relationships, El? Your mom said—” He broke off, giving himself a vicious mental kick. Eliot stopped pacing and looked down at him.
“So you’ve been talking to the great Dr. Devlin?” he asked in a sardonic tone. “I bet she gave you a fucking earful about her crazy, fucked-up son. I’m an embarrassment to her and my father, who left one day and I haven’t seen him since.”
Loren felt it was best to be honest. “Yes, I did go to see her. And I got some answers to stuff that I needed to have answered for my own peace of mind. But she said you’d had a few relationships, and I’m just wondering why you’d be dancing in a club to get sex. That’s all.” Jesus, he sounded like a fucking idiot. He was so out of his depth here, and he hated that feeling.
Eliot threw himself down on the bench next to Loren with a grunt. “Well, I lived with this girl for like a year—I don’t know. I remember some of it, and some of it I don’t. But the bottom line is that when I started taking my meds and I wasn’t party-all-night, fuck-like-a-stallion Eliot anymore, she pretty much lost interest.”
“Is that why you then
stopped
taking the meds?”
“Yeah, probably. Like I said, I don’t remember. But when I’m manic, everybody loves me, wants to be around me. Then I met this guy, and he was as crazy as I was. We did some shit, man.” Eliot shook his head. “Crazy shit just for the thrill of it. Broke into places, stole and raced cars, sometimes wrecking them. It’s amazing we didn’t kill ourselves while taking a bunch of innocent people with us.
“One time we flew to New York City on the spur of the moment just to go to this club we’d heard about, ended up trashing our hotel suite with a party that turned into an orgy.”
Loren closed his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.
“We both got arrested, and the guy flipped out in the holding tank, started bashing his own head against the wall until he knocked himself unconscious. They took him away, and I never saw him again. Dr. Devlin bailed me out and paid for the hotel damages so they’d drop the charges against me, brought me back here and had me committed.
“Finally there was the guy who played the saint, trying to ‘save’ me, who then became the biggest fucking martyr alive when he realized that I am always going to be a fucked-up mess who will make your life hell.”
“Jesus, El,” Loren whispered, unable to process these images of the boy he’d loved so much. “I want to be a friend to you, but I don’t know how anymore.” He reached over and took Eliot’s hand in his. “Tell me how to be your friend.”
Eliot smiled, lacing his fingers with Loren’s and giving them a gentle squeeze. “You’re already doing it, Loren. You came to find me, and now you’re sitting here, listening without judgment. That’s what I always loved about you, the way you just accepted me for who I am. And being with you now, it’s like no time has passed at all.”
“I’ve got a few hours yet before I have to go to work, El. And I’m all yours.”
LOREN SPENT
the rest of the day with Eliot until it was time to leave for the station. He hadn’t had any sleep in over thirty-six hours, but as a cop, it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to, and he could deal with it. It had been a strange but interesting day as he got to know Eliot again, at least on a superficial level, watching with a sort of wonder as he navigated his own unique little world.
They had dinner at a small hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant Loren would never have set foot in if it were left up to him, but he ended up with the best plate of steak fajitas he had ever eaten in his life. Eliot didn’t eat much, just nibbled on some chips and salsa, and took a few grudging bites of Loren’s Spanish rice when Loren insisted.
“I’m just not hungry,” Eliot said flatly, washing the rice down with his Corona and lime. Loren tried to get him to stick to just water, but didn’t feel he had the right to protest when Eliot ordered a beer; he ended up having three.
Now as they walked back toward Eliot’s apartment, Eliot casually took his arm, plastering himself to Loren’s side, making Loren hyperaware of the movement of his lithe body alongside his. Loren hadn’t had any alcohol with dinner, knowing he had to go to work, but his head swam as if he’d had ten beers. It was dusk, the night was warm and sultry, and Eliot exuded sensuality. Suddenly all Loren could think about was the feel of Eliot on his lap at that club, writhing half-naked atop him—
When they reached Eliot’s front door, Loren detached his arm gently and said, “I had such a good time with you today, Eliot. I’ll be busy for a little while with work stuff, but can I call you on my next day off?”
Eliot leaned back against his front door, looking up at Loren with those green eyes, eyes that had gone dreamy soft.
“Mmm,” he murmured, reaching out with one hand and toying with the hem of Loren’s T-shirt, his knuckles perilously close to Loren’s crotch. Loren swallowed hard, trying to resist the pull. Then Eliot was in his arms, sliding his hands up Loren’s chest to tangle in his hair. “Yes, call me,” he breathed, “but kiss me good-bye first.”
Loren didn’t resist as Eliot pulled his head down. One kiss, what could it hurt? Then Eliot’s hot mouth touched his, and Loren was lost. It wasn’t a voracious kiss, which Loren might have been able to resist, but a coaxing one, teasing and almost playful, Eliot dancing his tongue along Loren’s lower lip before darting it inside his mouth.
Eliot wrapped his arms around Loren’s neck, and Loren pulled him closer until Eliot was plastered against him from chest to knee. Eliot broke the kiss and started planting little nibbles along Loren’s jaw, and Loren tilted his head back, giving Eliot access to his throat and the sensitive skin there.
Eliot mouthed his neck hotly, and when he sucked on the hollow of Loren’s throat, Loren’s control snapped and he pulled Eliot to him, lifting him clear off of his feet as he sought Eliot’s mouth once more with his. Now the kiss was hungry, consuming as they ate at each other’s lips, their breathing becoming rough, Loren fully and painfully erect in his jeans.
Loren broke the kiss and set Eliot away with reluctance, running the back of his hand over his mouth and turning to brace his arms against the wall, taking deep breaths. Eliot pressed up against his back, sliding his hands under Loren’s shirt.
“No, El,” Loren said softly, catching Eliot’s hands in his and lacing their fingers together. “I have to go to work, and this just isn’t a good idea right now.”
Eliot hummed, and nuzzled his face between Loren’s shoulder blades. “Mmmm. You smell so good, just like you always did. Sandalwood.”
Loren turned in Eliot’s arms, and cupped his face in his hands. “You remember that? I’ve been using this same body wash since we were kids.”
Eliot turned his head and kissed Loren’s palm. “You’ve always smelled so good to me,” he whispered. “I could pick you out of any crowd.”
Loren smiled and ran his hand over Eliot’s cropped hair. “I used to watch for the blue streaks,” he teased. “Or listen for the laughter. You always made people laugh, El, made them smile.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of Eliot’s nose. “I really gotta go to work now, though. Call you as soon as I can, okay?”
Eliot nodded, and the sight of his yearning face weakened Loren’s resolve. Firming his lips, Loren took Eliot’s keys and unlocked his door for him, watched him go inside, and shut the door before turning on his heel and hurrying away before he changed his mind.
“SMITH, WANNA
get with the program?”
Loren’s ATF handler, Agent “Jabber” Jablonski, pointed at him.
“Mini gauntlet,” he ordered, and Loren shoved wistful thoughts of Eliot aside as Jabber and two other agents ran him through a modified version of a full gauntlet, grilling him relentlessly about his undercover persona, trying to trip him up with names, dates, scenarios.
Loren had to be on his toes and think fast, and he slumped with relief as Jabber at last gave him a thumbs-up.
“Okay,” Jabber said with satisfaction. “You and Slats are going in tomorrow first thing, old warehouse in South Phoenix. Guy you’re meeting is a paranoid motherfucker, so you can’t be wired. We’ll be close, though, on a nearby roof. If things go to shit, we can be there in under a minute.”
Loren nodded, and the team spent the next hour or so going over the plan. Loren was to meet Slats at a Waffle House right off the interstate and follow him to a meeting Slats’s drug contact had set up with
his
boss, a low-level player in one of the fed-targeted Mexican cartels. It wasn’t a high-profile meeting, but Loren knew this was how the game was played—knock the bricks out from the foundation, and eventually the whole building would fall. All of it was important work.
“How far do you trust Slats?” Jabber asked, chewing on the end of his pen.
Loren shrugged. “About as far as I can piss,” he admitted. “But what choice do we have?”
“I got the info dump you sent up from him,” Jabber continued. “If it checks out and we end up going tactical on the motherfuckers, you wanna ride along?”
“Hell yeah, I do,” Loren said with feeling. A chance to ride along on a major takedown with the feds?
Hell to the fuckin’ yeah.
Loren felt elation spread through him, and he gave a mental fist pump.
“Okay, Smitty, if you wanna go grab a couple hours’ sleep, do it now. Waffle House at 9:00 a.m.”
Loren nodded and headed off to a couch in one of the deserted offices, settling his big body on it as comfortably as he could. He didn’t sleep, though, his thoughts turning once more to Eliot. Like he told Rebecca earlier, he’d given up hope long ago of ever seeing Eliot again. The times he
had
thought about him, Loren had prayed that wherever he was, he was safe and happy.
Knowing he hadn’t been caused a sharp pain to knife through him, and he sat up on the couch, abandoning his attempt at rest. While Eliot was struggling, Loren graduated high school, went to college, then to the police academy. He joined the police force to work with his dad and older brothers, his childhood dream come true.
He also met Kai, who became the single most important man in Loren’s life after Eliot. He and Kai had about as much history as he and Eliot did, and Loren loved him with all his heart and always would. Kai was with someone else now, and Loren wished nothing but the best for the two of them.
He lay back down and stared at the ceiling for what remained of his rest time, brooding. He finally got up and took a long hot shower in the squad locker room, dressing in a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt before throwing on a button-up shirt over the top to hide his shoulder harness and Glock. Since he knew the cartel thugs would search him, it was impossible for him to wear a wire or a bulletproof vest, but no self-respecting criminal would show up to a meet without a gun.
He drank a cup of strong black coffee before heading out in his fed-supplied truck, a big late-model pickup with dummy plates that supported his undercover persona. Slats showed up not long after that on his Harley, jerking his head for Loren to follow him in his truck, and they headed off down the interstate toward an old rundown part of town. Instead of taking the exit Loren knew led to the warehouse where they agreed to meet, Slats veered off two exits too early and hung a right, heading into what appeared to be a residential neighborhood. Loren was alarmed, but followed. He fingered the call button on his cell phone, dialing Jabber, activating the speaker function and leaving the phone down on the seat so as not to make it obvious he was calling anyone.
“Change of plans, boss,” he murmured, not knowing who was watching as he and Slats drove slowly down a street lined by old houses with sagging carports and unkempt yards. He rattled off the current cross streets for Jabber, and then hung up fast as Slats pulled his bike in front of a squat brick house with a broken chain-link fence surrounding the front yard.
Slats sauntered up to Loren’s driver’s side window, leaning in on his elbows when Loren powered it down.
“What the fuck, man?” Loren hissed. “We don’t do stops off the grid on a job like this!”
Slats shrugged. “Got a call from Ordoñez a few minutes ago, right before I pulled up to the fuckin’ Waffle House. He gave me this address, said we needed to stop here first.”
Loren was about to call him a stupid son of a bitch, when suddenly a hulking man appeared next to Slats at the window and jammed a gun into his neck.
“
Hola
, amigos,” he said, grinning a toothy smile at Loren. “Please to come inside and talk for a minute.”
Slats’s eyes grew wide and terrified, and he started to gasp for air.
Hold it together, asshole
, Loren begged silently. He was positive this was some sort of “mud check,” a test of fortitude the cartel was going to put them through to see if they could “hold their mud.” If they were hiding anything, this would be the time when they’d blow it. The best thing to do—the
only
thing to do—was to see it through, let it play out.
Loren opened the door and started to slide from the truck, and the thug waved his free hand at the phone on the bench seat.
“But first your gun, and then your phone,
por favor
.”