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…I approached the patrol car just past the wrecked vehicle and spotted a man in the backseat. I trotted up to the car and froze, my hand resting on the butt of the semi-automatic on my hip, and looked at him through the window of the cruiser. His hands had been cuffed behind his back and he leaned forward, resting his head on the back of the driver’s seat. Light brown hair, almost wild and unkempt, haloed his head and his lips moved as if he were mumbling. He didn’t have a shirt on. This couldn’t be the same man. I looked around the scene again, but all I spotted were uniforms and medics. He turned his head to look at me. His eyes were blue pools of hurt. Sadness, dismay, and fear swam in them, too, but mostly hurt. He was the most beautiful man I think I’d ever seen. Beautiful, fragile, but sensual. In that instant, I knew he was gay. I stood there staring at him and then tried to make sense of the scene. This had to be the man on the phone because there was no one else present. He’d called for help and now he sat in the back of a cruiser, like he’d been arrested. What the hell was going on? Our gazes locked through the window. His eyebrows furrowed, his head tilted, and I could hear him thinking, Huh, a Chinese cop. He licked his full lips and grimaced at the taste of blood running from the corner of his mouth. Then he lowered his head against the back of the seat again and closed his eyes. I swallowed hard, fighting the insane urge to open the door and drag him out of there…
ALSO BY LYNN LORENZ The Avalon Patrol: The Road To Avea David’s Dilemma My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys
NO GOOD DEED BY LYNN LORENZ
AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com
NO GOOD DEED AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2009 by Lynn Lorenz ISBN 978-1-60272-625-3 Cover Art © 2009 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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CHAPTER 1 I’ve had to endure a lot of smart-ass comments about being a Chinese cowboy cop, or my personal favorite, an Oriental cowboy cop, as if I were a style of furniture or a rug. But that’s nothing compared to the grief I get over my name—Daniel Chan—and that I’m captain of the Riceland, Texas Police Department. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked if I was related to Charlie Chan, that famous Chinese detective of old B movie fame, I could have retired early. It’s probably one of the reasons I never became a detective. Trust me…I hate that stale joke more than gun control. Of course, the shit about my name would be nothing compared to what I’d get if it were common knowledge I was gay. I can say that word now. Gay. Time was, I’d said I was straight and believed 1
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it. So had my wife. Then times, being what they are, changed, and I’d claimed to be bisexual. Females by necessity, males by preference, I’ve straddled the barbed wire fence of sexuality, so to speak, for most of my adult life. Recently I’ve had to choose which side to stand on and, after over twenty years of having my ass scratched by that wire, it feels good to get off it, get free and, I suppose, get proud, but in my line of work, not too loud. Of course, my road to sexual truth wasn’t smooth, paved, or lined with gold. More like a switchback filled with potholes, pitfalls, and pain. *
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I sat in my pick-up truck parked in the parking lot at Clancy’s Bar and Grill and watched the front door as people entered and left. Old habit, staking out a place before I went in. Not like I hadn’t been in Clancy’s every Saturday night for the last ten years. Looking down at myself, I figured I looked okay. Not too welldressed. Not too scruffy. My faded blue jeans didn’t have any holes and my size twelve brown Tony Lamas boots looked broken in, not worn out. Black T-shirt neatly tucked into my jeans and a long-sleeved khaki shirt over it. Perfect cowboy attire for a Saturday night. I’d been very careful about picking out what I wore. Yeah, men aren’t supposed to worry about their clothes, but I wanted to look good, not that there’d be anyone else but me in the bar who was gay. Riceland might have had some gays and a few lesbians, but they didn’t hang out here or at the other two bars in town. We know who we are, but for our mutual protection, we keep it on the down low and deep in the closet. 2
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Time to go in. Leaning over, I locked my gun in the glove box of the Ford F-150 and got out. At most bars in Texas, there’s a sign reminding you to “Check your gun at the door,” and Clancy’s Bar and Grill was no exception. Oh, you can carry concealed, but they still asked you not to. That was okay because I knew where the owner kept the shotguns. Clancy’s is my favorite bar, partly because it’s cop-free and mostly because the owner and bartender, Jeff Strauss, happens to be my best friend. Some people find it hard to imagine a cop being best friends with a biker, but Jeff was a high school teacher before he decided to quit teaching, buy a Harley, move to Riceland and open Clancy’s. We’ve been friends for almost ten years. I stopped him on a routine speeding ticket when he was new in town and had just bought the bar. We started talking on the side of the road and have been best friends ever since. Of course, Jeff tells me his biker friends can’t believe his best friend is Chinese and a police captain. I trust him not to mention my sexual preferences. I opened the door and stepped inside, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. John Fogarty’s gravel voice singing about being stuck in Lodi blared on the ancient jukebox filled with rock and roll, but it had some great country classics tossed in as well. I think that’s a Texas state law. There was the usual smoke, but the smell of stale beer was absent, replaced by the mouth-watering smell of frying onions on the grill. Behind the bar was a small kitchen where you could get some of the best burgers and nachos around. On Friday nights, they fired up the barbeque pit outside and served a decent steak and baked potato for ten bucks. 3
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Like Toby Keith says, I love this bar. Jeff looked up as I opened the door and waved me over with his dishrag, then flicked it back onto his shoulder. He tossed out a coaster, poured a lime and tonic, and placed the drink in front of my usual spot at the end of the bar. Next to it sat a chessboard with the game we’d started a couple of nights ago still set up. “How’s it hanging, Dan?” Jeff asked as he leaned on the bar and sipped a draft beer, then licked the foam off his blond moustache. “To the left. Any new action?” I grinned at my friend, who just shook his shaved head. “Where the hell do you think you are, boy, Houston?” “Just asking.” I shrugged and pulled on my drink. At the chessboard, he made his move, then wandered down to the other end to serve another patron. Scanning the chessboard, I thought about my next move and whether I was hungry enough for a burger. I’d had a late lunch so I decided on just some nachos, no onions or jalapenos, in case I got lucky. Jeff came back, and I placed my order. “Nachos, meat, no onions, no peppers!” Jeff shouted through the opening behind the bar. The cook, Carlos, nodded his head to signal he got the order and waved his spatula at me. I saluted back and took another sip. The door opened. Jeff looked up and grinned. “Look what just walked in. Lawd have mercy!” “Who?” I didn’t turn around to look, but glanced up at the mirror behind the row of liquor bottles. Two women stood in the door and scanned the room, then made their way to a table. The tall one wore dark slacks, a light blue sweater, and her blonde hair hung in loose waves to mid-back. She looked good 4
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enough to eat and I could see Jeff’s mouth watering. Mine wasn’t too dry either. She was my type, if I had a female type. I checked out the other woman, a platinum blonde with what they call around here “big hair.” If you like your women a little on the trashy side, this was the girl for you. She wore a very short, tight knit dress, which accented tits a man could smother in and round hips he could hold on to. I could see the outline of her thong. God, you gotta love those thongs. It crossed my slow-moving mind that she might be a working girl. Not many of the upstanding, righteous, Christian women around here would wear an outfit like that. Not out in public anyway. Riceland had its problems, but prostitution wasn’t one of them. Maybe I’d been all wrong about the ladies being ladies. How did I not spot them? Too long off the vice beat, for damn sure. But maybe I was wrong. Jeff returned from serving the drinks. “No move yet?” “No, not yet. Guess I’ll just eat my nachos and go home, Jeff.” I stared at the chessboard, finally moved a knight, and took one of Jeff’s pawns. “Good move.” Whether he said it about the game or my plans was unclear. The nachos arrived and I half-heartedly started to eat. Jeff came by and grabbed a chip or two between serving the guy at the end of the bar and filling orders from the pool players. I was scraping the bottom of the plate for the last bit of cheese when the woman in the tight dress sidled up next to me. “Got a light?” She leaned in, held her cigarette to glossy purple full lips, and waited. Her perfume wafted to my eager nostrils as I inhaled. There’s nothing like the scent of cheap perfume on a 5
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woman. “Don’t smoke, sorry.” I shrugged and continued looking straight ahead, trying not to encourage her. If it had been the other woman, she’d have been harder to resist. “Well, dang, you look like a cop to me. Are you a cop?” Her east Texas twang was cute. I had no idea how she’d made me. I didn’t answer, just let her ramble on. “See, I could tell right away you were an okay guy, even for a cop. One who wouldn’t bother a working girl once we had an understanding, right?” She leaned her hip against me, put her hand on my leg, and squeezed. “I’m a cop, that’s right, and I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me.” I looked at her face—pretty, but not so young. Maybe late twenties; still a lot younger than my forty-two years. She moved her hand slowly toward my crotch. “Don’t,” I warned and put my hand over hers. It was small, warm, and soft. “You do me a favor, and I do you”—she paused as her tongue passed over her lips suggestively—“a favor. Just between friends, no money required.” “I don’t do badge pussy, honey, so go back to your table.” Good thing I’m a strong man. It’s not that I don’t fuck women, I do, but men turn me on more. Of course, it’d been a hell of a long time since I’d been with a woman or a man. Or anyone but my own hand. However, my alarms went off. Something didn’t feel right. What were a couple of hookers doing in this small town neighborhood bar anyway? She pulled her hand away and pouted at me. “Don’t know what 6
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you’re missing. I could suck you dry.” Her warm breath tickled my ear. Then she turned on her three-inch fuck-me heels and headed back to the table, her ass jiggling all the way, as I watched in the mirror. “Jeff, come here,” I said. Jeff nodded, casually walked over, wiping down a beer mug in his hand. “Those two are hookers, and they know I’m a cop, yet they’re hitting on me. I know I’m cute, in a Jet Li sort of way, but something’s not right. Know anything about that? Seen them before?” I continued to watch the women in the mirror. “Hookers? No shit? And you’re more like Jackie Chan.” He scratched his chin. “Never seen them before tonight.” He leaned on the bar. “Well, well, well. What are a couple of hard-working girls doing here in beautiful downtown Riceland? They must’ve gotten lost on their way from Austin to Houston.” Jeff took another sip of his beer. “Took a wrong turn?” I guessed. “Picked the wrong fork?” he replied. “Oh, the choices we make on the road of life. It’s so sad.” We shook our heads. “If I had known there were loose women in Riceland, I would have been here sooner.” Jeff grinned wolfishly. “But you got here as soon as you could,” I finished the quote and grinned back. “Still…think I could interest one of them in a ride?” “On your Harley or on you?” “First my bike, then she could ride me on my bike.” His eyes lit up and the words “pussy hound” sprung to my mind. “That depends. How much money do you have?” 7
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“On me? Maybe fifty.” He leaned on the bar, watching the women. “Well, if she takes a good look at you, she may ask for more money,” I warned. “Good thing it’s dark in here.” Jeff nodded his head in agreement. Jeff was a good-looking young guy and kept his sixfoot, three-inch body in shape by lifting weights, something I never could get into. His stomach gave the phrase “six-pack” its meaning. Hell, I’d do him, but he’s completely on the straight and narrow and I wouldn’t do anything to fuck up our friendship. And besides, he’d want to top, and I’m not a bottom. “What are two hookers doing at my favorite bar, hitting on me? It stinks like day-old road kill.” I finished my drink and stood. I threw a twenty on the bar for the food and drink. “We’ll finish the game another night, okay?” “Sure, Dan, I can wait until then to beat you. Watch out on your way home.” Jeff nodded as he scooped up the twenty, and I headed to the door. Out in the parking lot, I stopped, looked around and spotted the white van at the end of the lot, non-descript, no windows, screaming “cop” from fifty feet. I can smell dead skunk just as well as the next guy. Who’d be after me? Just me, or any cop? Someone must be bored and have nothing else to do but troll for officers taking free pussy or paying for it. Walking to the pickup, I hit the unlock button on my remote, slid in, retrieved my Glock from the glove compartment and placed it on the seat beside me. Didn’t think I’d need it; just force of habit. Not waiting around to see what was going on, I backed up, pulled out of the lot, and made my way home. 8
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I live on the east side of Riceland, past the water tower that proudly proclaims our standing in the high school football championships. The Riceland Raiders had some great years from 2000 to 2004, but recently were in a slump the coach swore we’d climb out of soon. If you keep on heading east, past a large parcel of land that was once slated to be a subdivision called The Terraces, you’ll get to my house. The Terraces was started in the boom of the late seventies, but since location is everything, and Riceland sat just a little too far away from Houston, it failed before it even got started. They’d only built a few model homes and all that’s left are the paved streets and a few street signs. We patrol it heavily, since it’s a great spot for our innocent Riceland youth to get into trouble. Lots of places to party, do drugs, and have sex. You know, be a teenager. With the sprawl of urban growth heading our way, I thought the property would be picked up, but it still sits abandoned. I don’t mind. Less neighbors and less traffic. My house is just past The Terraces, on one-and-a-half acres, but I have city water and a small barn out back. Built from good Texas limestone, with a nice-sized porch across the front, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s paid for. I got home, parked. Other than the porch light, the house was dark. Home sweet home. I sighed, got out of the truck and went inside. After undressing and taking my shower, I stretched out on my bed buck naked, my mind working on why the hookers and why at my bar. I couldn’t remember anything about a sting being set up, and as captain, that’s something I’d know about. 9
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Unless it came from higher up. And there’s no one higher up except Chief of Police Tasket, my boss. And there’s only the mayor over him. Which led me back to one question… Was someone targeting me? And if they were, why? What the hell had I done? See, I’m three years short of my twenty-five years and have no plans to screw that up. Not over a couple of twenty-dollar whores and a free fuck. Even that lack of judgment could be swept under the rug, unless the hooker had drugs and when the bust came down, I could be left holding the shit. I may be stupid, but I’m not dumb. Hookers they could overlook, but drugs, no way. I just couldn’t figure it out. So I circled my wagon back to, Who hates me that much or am I just being paranoid? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, right? There was nothing to be done about it right now. So I pulled out a magazine I’d bought the last time I’d been in Houston. April’s man of the month was a pretty boy-man with pouty lips, a hairless body, and bed-tousled dark hair. How long since I’d had sex with someone? Shit, there’s only one answer to that question. Too fucking long. My last hook-up was about a year ago. Way too young for me, but goddamn, the sex was great. I’d been proud I could keep up with him, but after a few times, he lost his taste for Chinese and stopped taking my calls. He would have worn me out anyway. But like they say, what a way to go. 10
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I’ve never been in a long-term relationship, not even when I was married. I’ve dated, hooked up, and picked up—both men and women—but never had the urge to settle down with one person. None of them seemed right. Now I lay in my bed with a throbbing hard-on, kicking myself for having passed up an opportunity for a free blowjob from a pro, whether male or female. I looked down at the centerfold, tossed the magazine on the bed, and picked up my handy bottle of self-love gel. What the hell, might as well take care of the one thing I could wrap my hands around. I spread some gel on my hand, closed my eyes, and thought about the young man in the magazine.
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CHAPTER 2 All that week I’d been casually asking around the station if hookers had approached any of the other officers at a bar, but if they had, no one admitted to it. Made me proud our men weren’t taking the bait, and I’m sure it frustrated whoever was behind the sting. At the station, the talk in the men’s locker room fell into three categories: work, sports, and sex. I took my time that week changing into my civvies, listening to the younger guys talk shop, football, and pussy. Pussy being the number one topic of discussion. They talked about getting it, not getting it, how to make it purr, and lots of other bullshit men talk about in locker rooms all over the world. I was getting tired of listening about sex…well, no, not really. 12
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Maybe when I’m dead. About the fourth day, I struck pay dirt. One of the older men, a sergeant, had been bragging about a woman who’d picked him up at the Ice House, one of the other bars in Riceland. He was positive his animal magnetism had attracted her. I figured she’d probably spotted him as a cop a mile away, just like she spotted me. Of course, at the Ice House, it wouldn’t be hard to spot a cop, since that’s who made up most of their clientele. The sergeant hinted at getting a blowjob in the back seat of his car. In my mind, I pictured Miss Texas Twang as his girl, not the other lady, figuring she was too classy for him. Had he paid for sex or had she offered it for free? And if someone had been watching, why hadn’t the sergeant been picked up? Married with three kids, he’d been damn lucky they didn’t bust him. If I warned him, would the powers that be know I was onto their game? My concern for my fellow cop out-weighed my selfpreservation. I tapped him on the shoulder as he walked out to the parking lot to get into his cruiser and start his patrol. “Friendly warning, Sergeant. You didn’t hear it from me, but if I were you, I’d stay away from wild women for a while. I hear someone may be watching, if you know what I mean.” I leaned on the door of the cruiser and kicked the gravel with the toe of my black Justin boots. “No shit, Captain? Thanks for the warning. I don’t usually fool around, but I’m going through a rough patch at home. You know how it is.” Yeah, I knew. “Spread the word among the men, okay?” “Will do.” The sergeant looked as if he were running the 13
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encounter by in his mind. “You know, at the time, I wondered why she was interested in me with lots of other guys around. Just let my dick do the thinking, that’s all.” The sergeant held out his hand, and I shook it. I wanted to ask him what she looked like, but I bit my tongue. Best not to know; it didn’t matter anyway. I went back to my office, sat down in the swivel chair and leaned back to think. I wasn’t a singled-out target. They were looking for any calf that strayed. For now, I decided to let it go. As captain, I had plenty of work running the patrols and dealing with those citizens high enough up to warrant my attention. That would be most of the prominent business people, members of city council, their wives, and their kids. Fixing traffic tickets, discreetly pulling them out of bars, and handling domestic disputes for the important people of Riceland were some of the services I handled for the chief. On our force, I’m second to the chief. There was no deputy chief due to the miniscule department budget. I had three lieutenants, five sergeants, two detectives, and about twenty officers to worry about across three shifts. Between the Waller County deputies and our department, we cover a large area and like the deputies, we’re stretched thin as asphalt. I hate it, but after twenty-two years of departmental politics, I’ve learned to go with the flow. With only three years left, rocking the boat was not what I’m about and righteous indignation wasn’t something I could afford. I never thought I’d be this old, either. Figured I’d have bought it by now at the end of my own gun or some perp’s gun. Where the hell was my life going? I took a deep breath and blew it out, just like one of my shrinks had taught me. Let it go. 14
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Like me, most of our officers had worked for Houston P.D. and drifted over to Riceland’s department. There was a lot less crime and fewer drugs, which meant less chance of getting yourself killed by some gangbanger at a traffic stop. Unlike me, most of my officers had families. Riceland was a great place to raise kids, with good schools, good people, small town values. The kind of town where you knew most of the people on your beat by name, if not by sight. I was married once, a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. I’d just finished college, with a degree in finance, ready to take my father’s place according to his plan. My plans? Well, I didn’t really have a plan; just knew I wanted to be a cop. My parents had invited me for lunch and then informed me I would be getting married. They were fourth-generation Chinese Americans, totally assimilated, so it shocked the hell out of me that they had arranged for me to marry a Chinese girl from Hong Kong. Hell, they didn’t even speak Chinese. “Danny,” my mother said, “it’s time. You’re twenty-four. No more running around. Your father and I married right after college and had you two years later.” She sat there, beautiful, elegant, her hair done by the most prestigious hair salon in Houston, dressed in the latest designer clothes, telling her son about his arranged marriage. I felt as if I were in a foreign movie with really good lip syncing. “Dan, she’s a beautiful girl,” Dad assured me. “Twenty years old. The Wons are good people. I’ve done business with them for years. They want the best for their daughter and want her to be an American.” “But, Dad, I don’t even know her. I don’t want to get married. 15
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What if I refuse?” I was pissed as hell they thought they could rule my life and stubborn in my youth. Still can be when backed into a corner. “Dan, she’ll be here in a few days. Just meet her. Then we’ll talk.” He’d been sure once I saw her there wouldn’t be any argument. Now, it wasn’t like I had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. I didn’t. I’d done what most people now call “experimenting with gender issues” in college. Up to that point, I’d been in some deep denial about which side of the fence I sat on, and there was no way in hell I was going to force that issue with myself or with my father. “No, I have plans. I’m going to be a cop. I have my application in at the academy.” “No, you’re going to run the downtown stores. With the fourth one just opening, I need you there. It’s good money, son. You can’t afford a wife and family on a policeman’s salary, can you?” I remember how calm his voice had been; how he’d used that same persuasive tone when I was a little kid asking for something he thought was unreasonable. It really grated on me, and I dug in my heels and kicked like a calf on the end of a rope. “I’m an adult, Dad. You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I have plans for my life and they don’t involve getting married or working in the business.” I slammed the door as I left my parents’ River Oaks house, furious they still thought they could run my life. Terrified I’d blurt out the real reason and finally admit it to myself and to them. My mom begged me. I refused. She cried. I broke down and agreed to meet my future mail order bride. Mai was beautiful, petite, delicate, a real China doll. Not at all my type, I realize now. For one thing, she was Chinese, and I never 16
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date within my ethnicity; for another, she didn’t have a dick and I do date within my gender. She was also educated, spoke excellent English, and used to the finer things. I wanted to make my parents happy. I’d been a good son. A good, straight, son. I agreed to marry her on the condition I’d be a cop. It was a business deal. Cut and dry. All spelled out. She got what she wanted, an American husband; my parents got what they wanted, a married son; and I got what I wanted, a career in law enforcement. Once I’d joined the academy, Mai realized she hadn’t married the man she’d been told about, the rich son of a prominent Houston businessman soon to take over and reap the riches of the business. She was stuck with a poor rookie cop who could barely make ends meet, and who she didn’t particularly like. After two months, I moved into the study and slept on the couch. That’s when what little sex we’d been having dried up. Not that I’d fallen for her. I hadn’t. And I never forced myself on her. Ever. Just the times when I asked, feeling obligated, and she agreed, doing her duty, became less and less frequent, until I stopped asking and she looked relieved. I knew it was over. My father met me for lunch one day about four months after the wedding. “Mai’s complained to her father.” He looked sick. “What is it this time?” She complained about a lot of things, like not enough money to spend, the small apartment we lived in, and my long hours. She never complained we weren’t having sex. And truthfully, neither was I. That was the first time I’d battled depression. Her constantly complaining I hadn’t provided enough wore me down. I doubted 17
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my decision to be a cop, the one thing in my life I’d truly loved. I became depressed thinking I’d have to go back to my father on my knees begging to be let back into the business just to make everyone but myself happy. “You and your career choice. Her father called me. He wants her back.” “Well, Dad,” I said in my usual deadpan, “did you keep her receipt?” It’s one of the only times in my adult life my father almost hit me. I hadn’t realized how close to the truth I’d been with that smart-ass remark. “He’s asking for a divorce.” His lips were tight and bloodless. I thought he was going to have a stroke right there in the restaurant. “So, I’ll give her one.” I shrugged. I hadn’t wanted to be married in the first place. We weren’t in love and hadn’t had kids, so it would be easy to walk away. I wanted out. She wanted out. What was the big deal? “You don’t understand. This is going to cost me a lot of money.” He twisted his napkin in his hands. “Divorces are cheap, Dad.” I still didn’t understand what he was getting at. “She wasn’t cheap, you stupid son-of-a-bitch!” Dad threw down his napkin and stormed out. Stunned, I finally twigged to the fact he’d bought my wife and a lot of money had changed hands. And there had to have been some sort of contract between the two businessmen. And that breaking a contract costs. After the divorce, Mai returned to Hong Kong. I repaid every cent my dad had paid to the Wons, but it took me almost fifteen years. It’s not easy saving twenty-five thousand dollars on a small 18
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town cop’s salary. Like I said, she wasn’t cheap. That had been one rough year. My parents had been furious at me for shaming them in the eyes of the Wons, who cut their business ties with my dad. Mom refused to speak to me for a long time. I mailed them the checks like clockwork; they never acknowledged them, but they cashed them like clockwork. My struggle with depression deepened. That was the first time I almost ate my gun. At twenty-four, I’d trashed my life. I was miserable. Nothing in my life was right. My marriage, despite being a sham, was over, my family estranged, and it showed at work. I’d fallen into a deep hole I needed to get out of before it was too late. My therapist, provided by Houston P.D., suggested I take control of my life. So I left Houston P.D. and signed up with Riceland. I don’t think that was what the department had in mind. It was a good move for me. Adjusting to a new city and dealing with being the only Chinese-American cop on a small town force kept me occupied. Moving quickly through the ranks, I received a promotion to captain five years ago. The pay is good, and it’s mostly a desk job. I didn’t come this far alive to be killed a few months before I retire. Hell, twenty years later and it still hurts to think about Mai. Not losing the love of my life because she was far from that. I’ve never really been in love with anyone; I’ve stayed aloof. But it had been my first taste of failure, of living a half-lie, and not being good enough. I’d lied to myself and my family about my sexuality and had to live with the collateral damage. But not being good enough for my parents had been the worst part. I guess you could call it losing face. I’d never really understood that term until then. 19
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I was still a young man, but in Riceland, there weren’t too many women interested in me and even fewer men, so I knew going in my love life was going to start looking like the Sahara. I’m not saying I met with a lot of prejudice. People were nice, but cool at first. I looked different, but acted more American than Chinese. Off-duty I dressed like a cowboy, and instead of a broken accent, I had a deep Texas drawl. I was college-educated and I think to some degree the uniform helped ease my way to a comfortable acceptance. The few women who I dated early on were mostly just taking me out for a test drive, kicking the tires, but not looking to buy. And that was fine with me. I didn’t want them to sign papers and drive me off the lot; just wanted someone to work my stick, so to speak. Christ, when I start to think of all the ways I’ve fucked up, all the people I’ve hurt and disappointed, the loss of my parents’ respect, well, the depression threatens to take me. I do what most men who don’t drink do—I throw myself into my work. Shaking off the growing darkness like a hound shakes off water, I reached for the nearest stack of papers on my desk. I had to verify and total time reports and overtime and then reconcile them against the allotted weekly hours given to each shift. Hopefully, it would all even out and I wouldn’t find myself standing in front of the chief again explaining the overruns.
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CHAPTER 3 I sat on my stool at Clancy’s and sipped lime and tonic. The chess game had been dragging on, mostly because we’ve played so often we know each other’s strategies. Jeff came over and made a move, taking my queen. It was check. “Good move. How’d I miss that one?” I leaned back, surveying the board. “Preoccupied, I’d say. What’s up? You seem off tonight. Not slipping into another depression, are you? I don’t want to have to break into your house again, Dan.” He sounded worried. I owed Jeff a lot, over the years. “No, I’ve been wondering about those two hookers. They’ve been in a few other bars targeting cops from what I’ve heard. But 21
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no one’s been busted. What are they’re waiting for?” I shook my head. “Maybe the fish are all too small, and they’re waiting for someone bigger?” Jeff wiped the bar with his rag and moved down the counter to fill an order. I thought about it some more, and when Jeff came back, I continued from where I left off. “Bigger than me?” I grinned, looked down at my package, and Jeff rolled his eyes. “Why give out freebies? In a prostitution sting, you just offer sex, and when the john pulls out the money, you bust him. And those girls were the real thing.” “Wouldn’t you just use your policewomen as bait?” “Nah, they aren’t near pretty enough to attract any customers.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Maybe they’re setting up for something bigger? And what I can’t figure out is who’s running this operation?” “Can’t you cops smell each other, like dogs?” Jeff grinned and waved to a group of people who’d just entered the bar. “Usually, but I think dogs smell better. Maybe they’re filming it to use later. But, blackmail? Police blackmailing police? Doesn’t make any sense.” I shook my head. Something was missing and I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Maybe it’s a new television reality show, Cops Meets Girls Gone Bad.” He wiped the counter with the rag. “Nah, it’s been done.” “The mayor?” Jeff knew that of all the recent mayors, I disliked the current His Honor, Mayor Bill Dalton, most of all. There was something about the man I just didn’t like. Politicians are not my favorite species. I hate politics, whether departmental, city, or federal. Elections were rolling around this year, and I had no plans on voting. In fact, I haven’t voted in years. 22
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“Maybe,” I said, and took another sip. “You know, he brought in a campaign manager from out of town? Dalton’s been looking for a big issue to hang his hat on and make a big stand. He’s my bet,” Jeff added. He moved off to take an order, and I wondered if he was right. I’d heard about the new campaign manager, Michael St. Romaine, a hot shot from Dallas. If he was so hot, what the hell was he doing here in Riceland? We’re not exactly a major city. Could the mayor afford someone like him? Still, if you’re looking at moving into the big house in Austin, could you afford not to hire the best? I was stewing over that when I glanced into the mirror and blinked. My stomach rose up to choke me. The classy hooker had returned, sitting at a table against the wall, smoking. Watching me, watching her. She stood, picked up her drink, and walked toward me. I watched her every step of the way, trying to keep my dick under control. Damn. That hadn’t happened in a long time. She slipped onto the next barstool. “Hi,” she said, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “I thought I told you and your friend to make yourselves scarce.” I was pissed. I didn’t like not being obeyed. She shrugged. She’d dressed nice, conservative, not flashy at all. Another light blue top that matched her eyes, knee-length straight skirt. Her long blonde hair had been pulled into a twist on the back of her head. Simple gold hoops in her ears. She looked good, very classy. “I’m glad you shot her down. Kept you out of trouble is my guess.” She finished her drink and ran her finger in circles around the rim. “Right, you have my best interest at heart.” I emptied my glass 23
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and waved to Jeff for another. “What are you drinking?” “Scotch.” Jeff poured her a drink, set me up with my usual, and then moved away to give us privacy. “No, really, I like you. I’d like to see you. Preferably naked.” She smiled at me again. Her teeth were very white and her eyes were ice blue. Her perfume was so light I could barely catch it, but it was unusual and probably expensive. I did the math about what she might cost me for an hour, much less a night, figuring she was priced a lot higher than her friend. “Baby, I’d need to take a second job to afford you.” I shook my head. “It’s not business, it’s personal.” She put her hand on my thigh. I felt my jeans tighten. Just call me Pavlov, drooling at the bell. “Like I told your friend, I don’t do badge pussy. And I don’t get involved with whores.” Or women, most of the time. I stared at her in the mirror. Her smile dissolved and she looked down at her drink. I felt like a prick for hurting her, but what did she expect from a cop? “No involvement…you don’t even have to know my name,” she whispered as she leaned in and flicked my earlobe with her tongue. My prick jerked and told me to shut the fuck up and go with it. I wanted her. And she knew it. And it had been ages since I’d been laid. I argued with myself, Why not this once? If I took her home and no money changed hands, I could swear I thought she was just a pick-up and that I didn’t know she was a professional. Besides, I might learn something about the sting. Who was I trying to bullshit? I wanted to get laid and I didn’t 24
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care by whom. I wanted to feel a beautiful body beneath me. I wanted to feel someone’s hand on my prick besides my own. I let her slide her hand to my crotch. Sitting on the stool without moving, I enjoyed the way she rubbed me, shifted in my seat, and spread my legs wider. Leaning against me, she stroked my cock through my jeans, her fingers promising more to come. I tossed the arguments back and forth, but since most of the blood in my body was nowhere near my brain, I forgot what I’d asked myself. She whispered, her breath teasing my ear, “Let’s get out of here. Are you ready?” “Baby, if I was anymore ready, I’d be done.” I slid off the stool and tossed some money on the bar. Jeff caught my eye, his eyebrow raised in question. I nodded and headed for the door, with the woman beside me. *
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I woke in the morning, rolled over and looked at the enticing woman lying next to me. I still didn’t know her name. Didn’t want to know it. And she didn’t offer it, either. She’d been good, a real professional. She’d knelt in front of me while I sat in my recliner with my jeans around my ankles and gave me a blowjob. Her hands were strong, constantly moving, and her mouth knew just what to do. Her soft lips surrounded my cock with warmth and her tongue teased its head until I couldn’t help but shoot my load. She swallowed my spunk like a pro, and when she came up for air, I was dry, limp and begging her for more. On the street, she would cost at least a hundred, even more for a fuck. 25
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Later, she suggested I handcuff her to the bed while I fucked her. She said she enjoyed it. You’d think, being a cop, I’d have done that before, but I hadn’t. The idea of having total control over her, of her surrendering to everything I wanted to do really turned me on. And I had wanted to do a lot, not knowing how long it’d be before the next time I got laid. I’d like to say I made her come, but I don’t like lying, especially to myself. She’d told me not to bother, though, so I didn’t. I’d like to say it was a beautiful experience and that we made glorious love, but I’d be lying again because we just fucked. I wasn’t looking for love, and she was a hooker. I may be stupid, but I’m not dumb enough to fall for a hooker. Lying on my side, I stroked one of her surgically enhanced breasts as she slept. She’d let down her hair at some point during the night and now it lay tangled on the pillow. A strand fell over her face. I brushed it behind her ear, and she reached under the sheet for my semi-hard cock. At her firm touch, I lay back and breathed deeply, feeling myself growing rigid again under her practiced fingers. “Ride me,” I whispered. She took a condom off the diminishing stack on the bedside table, slipped it on me, and climbed on top. It was one of my favorite positions. I watched as she slid up and down my shaft, enjoying the way she moved, the way she caressed her breasts, how she fingered her clit, and the little noises of pleasure she made. It was all a show, each move designed to drive a man to his limit, and I knew it. She rode me until I exploded inside her. Hell, if I’d known her name, I’d have called it out. As I watched her get dressed, I strapped on my watch and checked the time. I was on-duty at two, so I had plenty of time to 26
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shower, shave and dress, even have lunch. After slipping on her shoes, she sat on the bed and primly kissed my cheek. “Don’t get up. I can let myself out.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail and twisted a band around it. “I’m guessing I won’t see you again.” She lit a cigarette and took a drag. “No, and I don’t want to see you in my bar again, either.” I paused, reached out and grabbed her wrist, but didn’t hurt her. “Who are you and your friend working for?” She smiled and shook her head as she pulled her hand free. “Tell your men to keep their pants zipped, Dan.” “Why no busts? Are my men going to be in the movies?” I released her. “You’re a sharp boy, so you figure it out.” “Why? Are they looking for something in particular? Someone?” “Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?” She unlocked the handcuffs still dangling from the back of my bed and put them in her purse. “Yeah, I’m a cop. It’s in my nature.” She paused, considering what she’d tell me. Maybe I should have questioned her when I had her handcuffed to the bed. That thought started me off down a new road of fantasy. “If you wanted to clean house, where would you start?” she continued, snapping me back to reality. “Go on,” I said. “They say if there’s a problem, go right to the top.” “The top?” Chief Tasket. So someone wanted to get rid of him. He’s appointed by the mayor. What the mayor gives, he can take away. But only with good reason. And a hell of a lot of proof. Like videos of your officers with hookers. Large scale impropriety. 27
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“Thanks. For everything. You were great.” I stood and pulled on a pair of sweats. “Not bad yourself.” She pulled out a card and put it on the table next to the bed. “In case you change your mind, you’ll know how to reach me.” I glanced at it without picking it up. Bayou City Escorts and a phone number. No names. She walked to the door and I opened it for her. “Stay away from hookers, Dan, and find yourself someone nice.” “I’ll put that on my to-do list, right after picking up the dry cleaning,” I drawled. I closed the door and went to the kitchen, poured a glass of orange juice and downed it in one long pull. After rinsing out the glass and putting it on the drain board, I headed to the bathroom to take a shower and get dressed for work. Stopping by the bed, I looked at the card again. I should have torn it up, should have thrown it away, but instead I left it there.
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CHAPTER 4 Several days had gone by, and I’d discreetly passed the word about the men staying on their best behavior. I guess it wasn’t politically correct, but I didn’t bother warning off the few female officers in our department. Although, if I thought about it, there may have been one or two…but I really thought the hookers were going after just the men. There had been no busts, but then I didn’t expect there to be any. How much money was being spent on this escapade? It probably takes a lot to set up a major sex scandal. I’d been rehashing it one night and getting nowhere. I got the bright idea to get some more answers from my original source, and that would require my making a phone call. “Bayou City Escorts.” I recognized her breathy voice instantly. 29
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So did my prick. “It’s Dan. From Riceland.” “Hello, Dan from Riceland. How can I be of service?” “I need information. About the little job you were working here in town.” “Talk is cheap. Information will cost you now. Like sex.” Her voice hardened. “Put it on my tab.” “No tabs. It’s a cash and carry business.” “Do you take VISA?” “I’ll extend you credit, just this once. What do you want to know?” She sighed. I’d worn her down with my clever banter. “Who set it up?” “That information is not available at this time.” Her tone told me to I’d get nowhere. “What is happening? Word on the street is the project is over. That true?” “True enough.” “Was it a success?” “A dismal failure, in fact.” “Not because of you, that’s for sure.” “It’s never because of me.” She paused. “But, as I understand, it may be because of you.” “Hmm, I’m flattered.” “Don’t be.” She sounded irritated. “You should be worried.” “What, me worry? But it sounds like you’re upset with me. And I thought we were such good friends.” “As long as you’re paying.” “That’s what I thought. Thanks for the freebie.” I hung up. Tasket was safe, and I was glad to help him anyway I could. 30
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He’d been my chief for almost seven years and he was the one who’d pushed for my captaincy. I considered him a friend and I owed him. The chief had never mentioned the sting, and I’d wondered if he knew or had been in the dark. You’re always the last one to know, they say. Sometimes I’d like to find those “they” people and shake their hands. Other times, I’d like to kick them in the ass. *
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My shifts were spent getting briefs from my lieutenant and sergeants, reading manpower reports and making payroll numbers balance. It was business as usual until the chief got a phone call later that week from the Waller County Sheriff concerning an alleged meth lab in the far north part of the city limits that things around the office began to heat up. The chief called me into his office to brief me. When I arrived, there was a sheriff’s deputy already seated. He stood when I entered the room. “Captain Chan, this is Chief Deputy Sheriff Haas. We’re going to have a little joint venture with his department, and I want you to be our department’s liaison.” I sat down after shaking Haas’ hand. He was a tall man, thin, around thirty-five or forty, with close-cropped blond hair and ice blue eyes. He didn’t make the usual Charlie Chan joke, so he was already way ahead with me. “This sounds interesting,” I said. Maybe I’d see some action. I was surprised at my growing excitement. Hell, I wasn’t completely dead after all. “Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the trailer at the north end of 31
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FM 245. We’ve suspected it’s being used as a meth lab for some time. We’d like to shut it down permanently.” “We’d like nothing better. How can we be of assistance?” Letting him take the lead was only proper since he’d brought the idea to us. “Well, I figured we could all start doing surveillance and then work together on the bust once we have all our ducks in a row.” He handed me a folder. “This is our folder on the perps, their activity, and known clients. It’s a start, but we’ll need more.” I looked over the report. It was well written, thorough in its scope and content. He’d done a fine job, and I knew I’d like working with him. “I’ll let you two gentlemen make the plans. Just keep me informed, Chan.” Chief Tasket stood, signaling the meeting was over, and we took our cues and left. “Let’s go to my office and we can do some preliminary planning,” I suggested. “Great. But let’s do it over dinner, my treat.” He smiled again. For a moment, I wondered if he was gay and asking for more than just dinner and discussion, but one look at his ring finger said he was married. There was no way in hell I’d make a move anyway without more evidence than a dinner invitation because here in Texas a man, even a law man, could end up with his ass kicked if he were wrong about it. “Sounds good. It’s just about dinner time.” I just hoped he wouldn’t suggest Chinese. “Mexican sound good?” he asked. “Lead on, Chief Deputy.” We ate at Maria’s Cantina, discussed our options, like when 32
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and how many men it’d take for the bust. We finished with coffee and went our separate ways. *
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All three shifts of both county sheriffs and Riceland P.D. had been driving past the trailer and taking pictures of the people going in and out, the cars parked there, getting the lay of the land, building our case and our evidence for a warrant. Once we got enough data for the judge, we called our team together and went over our plans. We scheduled the raid at midday; it was the quietest time at the trailer. High activity was during the late evenings and we’d be less likely to have to deal with customers or innocent by-standers. I chose a mix of experienced men and women to work with the county sheriff’s deputies for the assault. About five deputies and five of my officers, armed with shotguns and semi-assault rifles and dressed in body armor had been assembled. The doublewide trailer sat at the end of a dirt road, hidden by scrub oaks and brush. Haas and I had moved up from where we were stationed behind our vehicles, out of sight halfway down the road, co-coordinating the assault on our radios. We ran, crouched over, up to the closest truck parked in the front yard. Secrecy and silence was of utmost importance, and the men moved into position around the trailer, some at the back door, some at the front and the rest would hang back to pick up any stragglers. The guard dogs, two mean looking pit bulls, had been taken care of with meat laced with a sedative. Animal control would take them into custody later. There was an ambulance standing by down the road, just in case. If one of our people was hit, having medical 33
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aid as close as possible would be absolutely critical. I’ll be the first to admit most cops are addicted to adrenaline and I’m no exception. It took me back to my days riding patrol. I’d get a call, flip on the lights and siren, and head for the scene, not knowing what I’d find there. In the heat of the Texas day, my body tensed, sweat poured from my armpits and across my back under my body armor as I waited for the signal. God, I loved it. There was nothing like the moment before all hell breaks loose and you catapult yourself into the fray. The hardest part is to remember to keep breathing. At times like this, I realize how much I miss doing patrol work. Riding a desk is fine, but patrolling was the reason I joined up in the first place. Foolishly, I wanted to prove something to my men and myself. I’m lucky I wasn’t killed. We watched the trailer for about thirty minutes, then I gave the signal to go in. Sergeant Miles Davenport of Riceland P.D. led the charge, kicking in the door and diving inside. He was a small man, but powerful. Usually, the chances are good for the first man in to get shot. His size helped, since he didn’t make a large target framed in the doorway. There were three men with semi-automatic rifles inside the trailer and we took them by surprise. Davenport wasn’t injured. However, one of the next men through the door took a bullet in the leg. He went down just inside the doorway and had to be dragged out while the gun battle raged. One of the deputies dragged him down the steps before returning to the fight. One minute I was safely stationed behind the truck in the front yard and the next I was pulling our wounded man to safety by the back of his Kevlar vest. Bullets flew, peppering the truck, and 34
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windows shattered. People screamed and yelled, all followed by a few moments of eerie silence. I heard our men radio the all-clear from inside the trailer. Someone called for the EMS guys. Haas and I, along with some of the non-wounded, started to do triage. We didn’t expect there to be so many hurt, even though most of the injuries weren’t life threatening. Flying glass from the windows had hit the officers stationed outside the trailer, but because the trailer was raised and our men outside were lying on the ground, the bullets that tore through the thin siding flew over their heads. The officers inside the trailer were hit by shattering glass from the lab equipment, most of it glass jars. If it hadn’t been for the body armor they were wearing it could have been worse. Most of the wounds were superficial and on legs, arms, and heads. From the destroyed trailer, the stench of the chemicals permeated the air around us. Some of the men inside the trailer had to be treated for inhalation problems. We were lucky the place didn’t blow sky high. Haas and I stood in the front yard surveying the wreckage. The bodies of the three thugs were still inside waiting for the forensic unit, and we had the operators of the lab in handcuffs. When the shooting started, one of them dove out a rear window and had been apprehended by our men, the other had been found crouching behind a couch in a back room whimpering in terror. There were half a dozen men and women laying all over the yard receiving various stages of medical aid and a few throwing up from the chemicals. “Shit, it looks like a battlefield,” Haas whispered to me, his face paler than usual. “I never served,” I replied, tying a bandage around one of my 35
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men’s arms. “Gulf War,” was all he said, then walked over to one of his deputies and followed him inside the trailer. I finished with the triage and followed Haas. What I saw inside the trailer could only be described as carnage. What a semiautomatic rifle can do to a human body is horrific. One of the men didn’t have a face, and another man’s arm was hanging off. Blood was everywhere, glass, the choking odor of the chemicals, and the underlying stench of shit and urine. I burned the scene into my mind, cursed, and then turned around and left. As I climbed down the steps and surveyed our wounded, I thought of the old joke where the father looks at his son who’s sporting a broken nose, black eye, and torn clothes. The kid says, “Yeah, but you should see the other guy.” Well, the other guys were dead, and we were all alive, with only a few black eyes to show for it. We’d netted close to quarter of a million in meth and its chemical components. It had been one of the biggest busts in the area. The next day, the chief personally dropped by my office to congratulate my men and me on a job well done. I filled him in on the condition of the officers hurt in the raid. That afternoon, I visited two of my men in the hospital, the one shot in the leg, and the other cut by flying glass when the windows had been shot out. He’d needed stitches in his scalp and had lost a lot of blood, since head wounds bleed profusely. The other injured men, all Haas’ deputies, had gone home after spending a night in the emergency room being treated. They were all heroes, as far as I was concerned. The chief could pin on the medals. I’d be happy to show my appreciation with a few quiet 36
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words, a pat on the back and a written letter of commendation slipped into their files. Over the next day or two, the excitement of the operation lessened and it was back to the usual daily routine. That’s how it is in my line of work. Cops are all really just manic-depressives. We live for the adrenaline highs and endure the lows until the next rush. Maybe that’s why so many of us drink. I don’t drink, though, and never have. Maybe I’d be better off if I did drink. Instead, I internalize everything, often sinking into depression. Maybe if I drank, I’d be too drunk to notice how depressed I was. It was just a theory of mine. I’d never tested it. Immersing myself in my work, I made sure all the reports and paperwork on the raid were in order. They had to be compiled, together with the sheriff’s reports, since it was a joint operation. Two agencies, four times the paperwork. Taking almost a full week to put the report together, I personally took it down the hall to the chief’s office after I’d faxed a copy to Chief Deputy Sheriff Haas. I knocked on the door. “Chief?” “Come in, Captain Chan. Got that paperwork?” Chief of Police Oliver Tasket sat with his feet propped up on the desk, smoking a small cigar and reading last month’s Guns and Ammo magazine. His Stetson hung on a six-point antler rack mounted on the wall to the left of his desk. Professional portraits of his wife and their two sons, both in college at Texas A & M, sat on his desk. I approached and handed the report across the desk to the chief. He put the magazine in a drawer, picked up the report and skimmed over it. “Good job. Chief Deputy Sheriff Haas did a good job, too. 37
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How are the men?” “Everyone is home now and healing.” “It was a good bust. Made us look real good for a Podunk country town. We took a lot of meth off the street that would’ve made it to Houston and Austin.” Chief Tasket blew a large cloud of smoke out and sat up. “Arrange a date for the commendation ceremony and put it on my schedule with Beth. Tell her to include the mayor. He’ll like that.” Beth was our secretary. She rode herd on the chief, kept him in line and showing up for all the appointments and appearances he had to make. Beth was his wife’s niece and six months pregnant. Tasket’s wife, Darlene, had given the choice her stamp of approval. Tasket was no fool to employ a married female relative and a pregnant one to boot. “Sure thing, Chief.” I paused, waiting to be asked to stay. “Sit down, Dan. What’s on your mind?” Tasket leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desktop. “Sir, did you know about the prostitution sting that was being run here in town? Targeting cops?” Tasket took a long drag on the cigar and then slowly blew out the smoke. “Not at first. Got wind of it later. Didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.” His gaze held mine, and I didn’t see a trace of deceit. Never have. Tasket is a straight shooter and a fair man. “I figured maybe it was the mayor.” He didn’t blink. “You didn’t get involved, did you?” “No, sir. My mother told me to stay away from that kind of trouble, Chief.” I grinned. “How about you?” 38
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Tasket shot back, “Hell, you’ve met my wife Darlene. She’s the one person I’m truly scared of. She shoots better than most of my men, and the day we got married she had ‘Property of Darlene’ tattooed on my prick.” The grin spread across his face. He paused. “Dan, thanks for keeping our men clean.” He must have heard about my warning the men. “It made our department look real good.” “Yes, sir.” I stood. “I also heard you got lucky the other night. Heard she was a real looker.” Tasket knew about the woman. And if he knew, who else knew? Genetics allowed me to look inscrutable, but inside I was cursing up a storm, mostly at myself. “Just a lady I met in a bar.” I shrugged. That was my story and I was sticking to it. “Think you’ll be seeing her again?” Tasket puffed on his cigar. “No, sir. She wasn’t really my type.” If he only knew what my type was, he’d be shocked. But I wasn’t going there. Don’t ask, don’t tell works for me. Tasket pursed his lips as he watched me. “Good.” I left the office feeling as if I had just been scolded by the principal. So, they’d watched me after all and it had gotten back to Tasket. I wondered if they had pictures of us leaving the bar together. I wondered if she’d set me up, after all. And I wondered whether she’d been worth the risk. She’d been good, but I had been stupid to do it. No, not stupid, stupid and dumb. I sat down in my chair and went over the duty roster for the next month. 39
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*
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“Saw on the news about the bust, Dan. Good work.” Jeff poured my drink and handed it to me. “Thanks, it was fun.” I snorted. “Sheriff’s men were good to work with. No major injuries. The good guys won. You can sleep at night now.” I raised my glass in a salute. “Another commendation for the wall?” “Yeah, I guess.” I hated getting those, but Tasket liked giving them, so up on my office wall they went. He checks them out every time he comes in my office. No one could say Mrs. Chan’s little boy doesn’t know how to kiss ass. “I’m lucky I wasn’t killed.” “What happened to ‘I’m not going to do anything stupid, like get killed before I retire’?” Like a good friend, he threw my own words back at me. I didn’t expect anything less from him. “I can’t help it. I love the rush.” I shrugged. “Speaking of rushes, was she good?” Jeff grinned at me and sipped his drink. “Order me a burger, all the way, and onion rings.” I ignored the question. “Sure.” Jeff leaned over the counter opening to the grill and ordered. When he turned around, I was staring at the chessboard. We’d started a new game that evening and Jeff had opened. “Come on, partner. I want details. Did she clean out your pipes? Make a man out of you? Put hair on that smooth chest of yours?” Jeff grinned. “I’m a cowboy, and we don’t kiss and tell. It’s in the code. There’s an oath you have to take. Spit in your palm and pinky swear. That sort of thing.” 40
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“Cowboy, my ass. Did she ride you bareback? I’ll just bet she was sweet.” He looked wistful. “She was professional.” I threw him a bone. “Is she coming around again?” Jeff waved to someone coming in the door. “I told her I didn’t want to ever see her in here again.” I shrugged. “Damn, you’re cold. Woman treats you fine and this is how you repay her?” “She was a whore, Jeff. I’m a cop. They don’t go together.” I sipped my drink, then slumped in my seat and ran my hand through my hair. “They knew I’d gone with her. They were watching. I’m just fucking lucky no money changed hands.” Even I couldn’t believe my stupidity. “No shit? How do you know?” Jeff’s eyes were wide in surprise. “The chief mentioned it to me in passing.” I rubbed my eyes with my fingers, massaging away the headache I’d ended the day with. “Shit…” The word turned into a low whistle. “Yeah, shit. Adios, pension plan.” I took a sip from my drink. Carlos placed my burger and rings on the counter and hit the bell. “Order up!” “Here, eat…you’ll feel better,” Jeff advised, sounding very much like my mother, who believed every problem could be made better with food. “Right, eating always makes me feel less stupid.” I picked up the burger and took a big bite, chewing it slow. It really was the best burger around. Maybe Jeff and my mother were right because I started to feel better. 41
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“Hey, man, sometimes when Nature calls, you have to answer. It’s only polite,” Jeff said. “Yeah, I noticed how polite you are.” “Every chance I get. And I always say ‘Thank you, ma’am, can I have another?’” I bit into one of the rings. Jeff snatched one off my plate and popped it into his mouth. We concentrated on the chess game in silence while I ate. I’d taken my last bite, using a paper napkin to wipe off my mouth, when Jeff asked, “When are you going to settle down, Dan?” I nearly choked. “You mean, like you?” Always answer a question you don’t want to answer with a question. I happened to know Jeff had several women around the area he dated, but no one woman in particular. I had no one. Not in the area, not out of the area. “No, I mean, find a good woman or a man or whatever you’re into these days, and retire to that little piece of Hill Country on the Guadalupe River like you’re always talking about. Fishing. Maybe travel. Didn’t you want to go to China, see your roots?” “It’d be nice. Got to find someone first. I looked it up on the Inter-net. It’s a long, drawn-out process. There’s lots of paperwork to fill out. In triplicate. You know how I hate paperwork. Classes to take, licenses to obtain. Expensive, too.” I shook my head and ate another onion ring. Jeff laughed and nodded. “Why don’t you settle down?” I asked him. It was his turn to squirm. “No woman in her right mind would have me, and if she did, I’d always wonder what the hell was wrong with her!” It was an old joke between us, but Jeff pounded the bar laughing anyway. 42
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“Besides, I have a thing, remember?” “That’s right. The woman you meet twice a year on the motorcycle trip you take to Big Bend National Park.” I nodded. “She can ride my bitch seat anytime. I love her, Dan, but so does her husband. She promised me last time she was going to leave him and ride with me on a permanent basis.” “You believe that?” “I do, yes, sir, I surely do. One day, that door’ll open and she’ll walk in. Then it’s her and me and my Harley.” Jeff smiled with a far-off look in his eyes. I guess every man had to have a dream, something to make him get up in the morning. What’s my dream? Why do I get up every morning?
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CHAPTER 5 It was a slow afternoon the day my life changed and I had to climb down off that fence. Like it does so many times, it was not a change I’d planned, but that didn’t stop it. I was in my office at Riceland P.D. working on my usual stack of never-ending paperwork. The dispatcher’s calls ran on the two-way radio in my office. Most of the time it was turned down, but lately I’d felt the need to be nearer the action than an Excel spreadsheet. A call came in that sounded interesting. I continued working the numbers and kept one ear on the exchange. As I listened, I had no idea how interesting this would become and how deeply I would get sucked into it. The emergency operator had determined the location, whose jurisdiction it fell into and had called the Riceland Police 44
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Department. Our dispatch answered and patched in the call. Now, both the dispatcher and the operator were on the line with a caller. “I need help.” A man’s breathless voice came over the line. “Is there an emergency?” the dispatcher asked. “Yes, I’m on a rural road and there is a person trying to run me off! He won’t go around and he’s hitting my bumper. I’m afraid I’ll lose control and wind up in the ditch.” “Sir, where are you, exactly?” “On the shortcut between Riceland and 290 heading north. I don’t know what it’s called. Can you send someone right away?” For the first time, I heard the fear in his voice. “I’m sending someone right now,” the other woman said, and I heard her speaking into another microphone, distant, filled with static, calling for the nearest unit to respond and sending a unit to the scene. “Shit! He hit me again. Please hurry!” “Sir, a patrol car will be there in just a few minutes.” “Thank you.” The man’s breath blew into the phone. A few moments went by before he spoke again. “The bastard did it again. What the hell does he want?” His voice cracked like a boy going through puberty. I paused for a moment, wondering myself. Drugs perhaps, or it could be a jilted lover, or a jealous girlfriend or wife. That’s the way my cop mind works. It usually boils down to either sex or drugs and it’s usually someone you know. I tried to put an identity to the raised voice. He sounded like he was in his early thirties and trying hard not to panic, that much I could tell. I heard the sound of gunfire, glass breaking, the man’s startled curse. I bolted to attention, then grabbed my Stetson and slid it on. I pulled on my department issue black jacket and headed toward 45
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the slick-top Crown Victoria waiting in the parking lot. I knew I had sergeants to handle calls so there really was no need for me to go, but there I was, heading to the scene. I don’t think I could have explained it, either. Something in that man’s voice told me to get off my ass and go to him. It was as if he were talking to me. Lights spinning, siren screaming, I raced down Main Street until I reached the intersection of FM149, the road that cut through the rice fields to S.H. 290 and turned onto it. I had one ear tuned to the radio, listening for his voice. It had been quiet for too long. I called in to dispatch. “What’s the ETA on the cruiser?” My stomach was a tight knot of dread and my hands sweated on the steering wheel. “He just called in. He’s reached the scene and is out of the car, Captain.” I was at least ten minutes out, and I knew there were other units in the area that would arrive before me. The back roads weren’t set up for high speeds. In fact, in some spots if you didn’t slow down you’d wind up in the deep ditches that ran alongside the roads. The radio was quiet, and my stomach rolled with each silent minute. A panicked voice I recognized as the caller shouted, “I need an ambulance! Officer down! We need help! Oh, God, officer down!” My foot pressed harder on the accelerator. Every officer’s adrenaline must have red lined with those words “officer down.” I know mine did. The dispatcher confirmed the call for the ambulance. It would come from 290, where Riceland Memorial was located, and they’d get there before I would. What the hell was going on? Someone had shot the officer who responded to the call? Shit. What about the caller? What was he 46
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doing calling for help on our radio? There was some chatter, but I wasn’t listening to it as I drove too fast and took too many chances on the curves. At last, up ahead, the strobe of blue and red lights marked the scene. When I pulled up and parked I could see the EMTs working on one of our officers lying on the ground in the middle of the bridge that spanned the creek. My first duty was to see to my wounded man. The medics ran tubing into his arm and called his stats into the hospital. One of the paramedics gave me a thumbs up, indicating he’d be all right. I recognized him. Donald Hagan. One of our patrol officers, he’d been with the department almost ten years. Wife. Two kids. Fuck. I turned my attention to what was going on around me. Two other patrol cars had arrived at the scene before I did and they were blocking both ends of the bridge. A late model Volvo station wagon had parked on the side of the road at the near end of the bridge. Walking toward where the uniforms had gathered, I took in the scene. Hagan’s patrol car was parked behind the Volvo, trouble lights still spinning. The Volvo’s driver’s side rear window glass had shattered all over the back seat. I looked inside and spotted a worn black leather jacket on the passenger seat. The rear of the wagon was filled with flats of colorful plants. I moved on toward the wrecked car at the other end of the bridge, then stopped. What I didn’t see was the man who’d called this in. I was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined his voice when I approached the patrol car just past the wrecked vehicle and spotted a man in the backseat. 47
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I trotted up to the car and froze, my hand resting on the butt of the semi-automatic on my hip, and looked at him through the window of the cruiser. His hands had been cuffed behind his back and he leaned forward, resting his head on the back of the driver’s seat. Light brown hair, almost wild and unkempt, haloed his head and his lips moved as if he were mumbling. He didn’t have a shirt on. This couldn’t be the same man. I looked around the scene again, but all I spotted were uniforms and medics. He turned his head to look at me. His eyes were blue pools of hurt. Sadness, dismay, and fear swam in them, too, but mostly hurt. He was the most beautiful man I think I’d ever seen. Beautiful, fragile, but sensual. In that instant, I knew he was gay. I stood there staring at him and then tried to make sense of the scene. This had to be the man on the phone because there was no one else present. He’d called for help and now he sat in the back of a cruiser, like he’d been arrested. What the hell was going on? Our gazes locked through the window. His eyebrows furrowed, his head tilted, and I could hear him thinking, Huh, a Chinese cop. He licked his full lips and grimaced at the taste of blood running from the corner of his mouth. Then he lowered his head against the back of the seat again and closed his eyes. I swallowed hard, fighting the insane urge to open the door and drag him out of there. Instead, I continued to where my officers stood in a tight, tense group. “Sergeant Lopez, what’s going on?” I demanded. “Captain Chan, we have the suspect in custody, and a dead man 48
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here. We marked the casings. He must’ve shot both of them. A trap, that’s my guess.” The sergeant looked tense as he spoke. “Both of them?” I looked back in time to see the car with the man inside reverse and pull away, lights on and siren blaring, heading back to the Riceland police station. “Yes, sir. Hagan’s gun has been fired twice and it looks like the dead man fired his weapon also.” I thought about that statement, seeing the problems with it immediately. Lopez was a real hot dog, a little too eager for my taste, but he’d made sergeant under the captain before me. He’d also made his thoughts about gays in the military and the police force more than clear in the station’s locker room. I wasn’t thrilled about him at a personal level, but overall he was a good cop. “Did you call out Homicide? And the crime scene unit?” I asked. The CSU fell under the coroner’s department, not mine. “Yes, sir. On their way. Called the coroner, too. Meat wagon is coming.” The young officer rocked on his feet as he reported to me. I could see he was still flying on the rush of the call. Our local funeral home would come out to pick up the body and transport it to the hospital, where the city’s morgue and the coroner’s office were located. “Where is his shirt, Lopez?” I scratched my chin, feeling some light stubble and thought to myself I’d have to shave tomorrow. “His shirt, sir? What about it?” The sergeant cocked his head to the side. I lowered my voice. “He wasn’t wearing a shirt. There’s a jacket on the front seat of his car and the rear is filled with flowers. That’s odd, don’t you think, for a man who planned to ambush a cop?” Could Lopez be that dumb or that bigoted? “I guess.” He shrugged. “You never know what these druggies 49
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will do. He fought like a tiger before I got the cuffs on him. He was babbling and stuttering so badly I couldn’t understand a word. My guess is meth.” He gave me a sharp nod as if that were enough evidence. “He doesn’t look like a druggie. He looks like a man who’s witnessed an officer being shot and a man killed,” I said, about to point out a few of the problems I saw with his bone-head theory, when I heard my name being called. “Captain Chan!” One of the paramedics was waving at me. “Come see this. I think your guys might want it. We sure as hell don’t.” I trotted over to the medic kneeling next to Hagan and pointing at the ground. A bloody lump of fabric lay on the concrete. “What is it?” “Well, it was being used by the officer to stop the bleeding before he passed out. Found it when we started to work on Hagan, but I don’t think it belongs to him.” I squatted down and pulled a pen from my pocket. I pushed the fabric around trying to unfold it. Hints of bright yellow showed as I worked. I sat back on my heels as I finished spreading it out and grunted. His shirt. It had been a sunny yellow. On the pocket over the chest a rainbow had been embroidered. Now only part of it showed colors, the rest mottled with dark red blood. I recognized the symbol, but didn’t mention anything. It would be up to my detectives to deal with it and what it might or might not mean to the case. “Bring me a large evidence bag, Officer Morton.” Morton was the second man on the scene; a good man, and steady as a rock. I pulled on a pair of latex gloves as I waited for him to bring the bag. 50
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After putting the bloody shirt in the bag, I zipped it shut and handed it back to Morton. “Make sure that gets to the crime scene boys. We’re going to need it.” I pulled off the gloves, walked over to the Crown Vic, popped the trunk, and tossed them into a garbage bag next to my body armor vest. Next, I went to the dead man, lying on his back, arms flung out. Two bullet holes, one in his upper chest, the other centered over his heart. His eyes were open and the expression on his face told me his death came as a surprise to him. He looked to be under twenty, but not less than seventeen. A semi-automatic, black and chrome, lay about a foot from his right hand. I just couldn’t make it fit. A gay man buying flowers and a juvie with a badass gun ambush a cop? The two of them in cahoots? Lopez was wrong, in more ways than one. Something was missing, and I knew the shirt was a key. If the juvie shot Hagen and the gay guy was in on it, why was Hagan using the suspect’s shirt to staunch his bleeding? Because Hagan wasn’t using it? The detectives and the CSU guys arrived about that time. I stood, greeted them and happily turned the scene over to them. Things were under control, so I went back to the gurney where Hagan was now strapped on, and checked on him. They were about to put him in the back of the ambulance. He was out, his face hidden behind the respirator mask, an IV drip hooked into his arm. The EMTs had cut away his uniform shirt and removed his Kevlar vest. The bullet had torn into his shoulder and the spot where the arm met his chest sported a thick bandage, blood soaking through it. I wondered if he’d ever be able to use that arm again. But at 51
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least he was alive. I took Hagan’s good hand and squeezed it. “You’re going to be all right, Don.” I let him go, and they loaded him in. I stared at the blood on my hand from where I’d touched him. The ambulance drove off and was soon replaced by a sleek black van from the Riceland Mortuary. The man driving parked, opened the rear doors, leaned against the side of the van and lit a cigarette. He knew the drill. As soon as the CSU guys were done, he’d put the stiff in a body bag, load him into the back, and take him to the morgue for the autopsy that would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt he had been killed by a bullet to the heart. I headed back to my car. Leaning against the Crown Vic, I pulled out a towel and wiped off my hand as I watched the crime scene guys work. They didn’t need me in the way. Both cars were being dusted and gone over and the young female tech, one of our newest hires, took the photos. Things were winding down, but still something was bugging me. How does a flower-buying gay man become a gun-wielding cop shooter? Officer Morton had been assigned to drive Hagan’s cruiser back to the station. He got in the car, and then a moment later climbed out and trotted over to me. Morton’s tall and thin, with dark brown hair and eyes that don’t miss much and take in more than he spills out. “Captain, something you should see.” I followed him to the car. “What’s up?” “We’re in luck, sir. Don must’ve started his video just as he was making the stop. It’s still running, see?” He pointed to one of the latest video cameras the cruisers were being outfitted with. Not all of them were installed yet, so we were lucky Hagan had been 52
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driving one of them. “Pull out the tape and hand it to me. I want to look at this ASAP.” I held out my hand and took it from him. “Good work, Officer.” “Sure, Captain.” Morton closed the door and pulled away. I hustled over to my car, got in, and radioed that I was on my way back. Tossing the tape on the seat next to me, I backed up, turned the car around, and headed to the station.
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CHAPTER 6 “Beth, get me the TV and VCR stand. I need to look at a tape.” I went into my office and sat at the desk. What a fucking mess. I hated having a cop hurt on my watch. Pulling open my left hand drawer, I yanked out a large bottle of antacid tablets, popped two, and chewed slowly. A few minutes later, Beth came in pushing the cart with a 19-inch color TV on the top shelf and a VCR on the second shelf. “I thought you’d like to know, Officer Hagan is in surgery now.” “Thanks, Beth. I’ll go by to see him when he’s out of recovery.” I walked into the common room and found Morton filling out some papers. Lopez was still at the scene and no doubt would be 54
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busy writing his report and dealing with the detectives. I wouldn’t expect him back until later. “Come in here. I want you to watch this tape with me.” Morton stood and brought the coffee he’d been sipping with him. “I ran the man through the system, Captain, and he’s clean. Not even a traffic ticket. Name’s Mark Montgomery and he lives right here in Riceland. The dead guy is Jimmy Ray Ridge…has a juvie rap sheet a mile long. Of most recent note, he’s been picked up for selling meth.” “Perfect.” Just as I thought, a law-abiding citizen and a drug dealing hoodlum whose lives just happened to cross on a lonely back road. “Want a cup, Captain?” He held up his own cup. “No, thanks. I’m at my limit.” I slid the tape into the VCR and picked up the remote. The TV came on and the tape started. It was a previous traffic stop. I grunted. Hagan had been good about using the video. Some of the other guys weren’t so diligent. I fast forwarded it with the remote and found the place where Hagan had started the tape as he pulled up to Montgomery’s Volvo. “Here it is.” I sat in my leather swivel chair and the officer perched on the edge of my desk to watch. Don got out of his car, approached the Volvo, and leaned in to speak to the man through the passenger side front window, then he trotted toward the wreck. On the opposite side of the car, Montgomery opened his door and struggled to get out. Slipped on the muddy slope, but finally, clinging to the car, he made it to the road. It was hard to tell his age from the quality of the camera, but from what I’d seen, I figured he was in his mid- to late-thirties, 55
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about five-ten, slender, but muscled. His jeans weren’t tight, but you could still make out the shape of his butt in them. Nice ass. The yellow T-shirt’s long sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows. Waving his arms, he headed toward the officer on the bridge. Hagan turned toward him and was shot. Montgomery ran to him and knelt as Hagan rolled on the ground in pain. I closed my eyes for a second, teeth gritted. Montgomery looked around, as if for someone, then he started to help Hagan. Hagan tried to get up, but Montgomery held him back. Hagan lay on the cement. Montgomery hugged himself, eyes closed, and rocked back and forth as if trying to decide what to do, or to calm himself, I couldn’t tell which. Then he pulled his shirt over his head, folded it up, and used it to stop the bleeding. It looked like they were talking. Montgomery shook his head. In the distance, a man came into view, trying to climb up the side of the ditch. He slipped and slid, then pulled himself onto the bridge. That was our dead juvie. “Look, there’s a gun in his hand.” Morton pointed at the screen. “Hagan’s talking to him. Look, he’s got his hand on Montgomery’s arm.” “He’s got Hagan’s gun!” Morton stood up. “Shit.” I reversed the tape, hit play, and focused on the interaction of the cop and the juvie in the background. I was sure Hagan was telling the guy he’d have to pop the shooter. Montgomery was shaking his head, probably refusing, and then he pulled the gun out of Hagan’s holster. I froze the tape. “Why’d Don do that?” Morton asked. “He’s not supposed to 56
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give up his weapon.” “Did you see his arm? It was useless is my guess. He figured Montgomery would have to shoot the guy if they both were going to make it.” “I’m right-handed. I don’t know if I could shoot with my left.” Morton looked down at his left hand as he considered his chances. “I guess that was the only choice.” I started the tape. In the background, the shooter was pretty far away, but you could tell his was talking, yelling, and waving his gun around. Then he leveled the weapon at Montgomery. Montgomery straightened with both hands on Hagan’s gun. The first shot went off, hitting the attacker, but not stopping him. He kept advancing, but Montgomery fired again, and the guy hit his knees and went down. Montgomery sat back and put down the gun next to him. After checking on Hagan, he went back to applying pressure to the wound. Every few minutes, he’d wipe Hagan’s forehead with his hand, or check his neck for a pulse, all the while rocking and talking. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to Hagen or himself. Almost ten minutes went by before the second patrol car appeared on the screen behind the wrecked car. The officer got out and headed toward the scene at a lope, his hand on his holstered gun. “That’s not me, it’s Bernie. Sergeant Lopez, Captain.” Lopez fell on Montgomery, picked him up, and slammed him to the ground. “Fuck.” I looked away, not wanting to see. I knew exactly how the adrenaline pumped in those situations. The sergeant had jumped to conclusions and he wasn’t being too picky about how he treated Montgomery. I bet he’d never been treated like that before. 57
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He tried desperately to escape Lopez, flailing and yelling. He tried to crawl away from him, but Lopez put him in a restraining hold and finally got his knee in Montgomery’s back to hold him down. Lopez twisted Montgomery’s arms around his back and cuffed him. “Here I am, sir.” Morton pointed to the screen, as he came into range of the camera. “Lopez said Montgomery admitted he’d shot Hagan.” “What exactly did Lopez say to you?” I stopped the tape. “I think he said, ‘He said he shot him.’” “He meant the perp, for Christ sake, not the officer.” I started thinking about the endless legal possibilities a good lawyer could raise with this tape. It cleared Montgomery, but, man, it fucked Lopez. And when the officer was fucked, so was the department. I started the tape again. Lopez jerked Montgomery to his feet and led him away to the waiting patrol car. “We put him in Barra’s car, sir.” “Nicely?” “No, sir, sorry. Lopez wasn’t too careful. He hit his head going in.” Morton shook his head. “We didn’t know.” It was a feeble excuse, and a good lawyer would have a field day. I could see the headlines now…“Riceland Cops Beat Hero.” “Fuck.” This time I swore out loud, stopped the tape, and hit rewind. “The chief will need to see this. Legal, too. We look like pigs, and he’s a real-life hero.” I paused. “Where is he?” Morton hesitated. “What?” I picked up something on the man’s face. “You’re not going to like this, sir. We really fucked up.” “Where is he?” I felt the acid churning in my stomach, 58
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completely wiping out any benefits of the two antacids I’d just taken. “In one of the interrogation rooms.” “He’s not been processed?” What were the men thinking? “No, sir, we… Patrolman Barra thought he could wait. For the detectives.” He paused. “Everyone thought he’d shot Hagan.” His voice became soft. “Barra left him cuffed.” “Fuck!” I jumped up and headed to the back of the station where interrogation was located. I found the room with Barra standing outside the door. “Captain!” He pushed off the wall where he’d been leaning. “Is he in there?” “Yes, sir, he’s been doing a lot of yelling, asking to use the phone, but I’ve been putting him off. Fucking fag can get a lawyer later.” He laughed, but when he looked at my expression, he stopped. “Fag?” My chest heaved, and I must have been blowing steam out my ears because Barra shrank back against the wall. “Never use that word again, understand me?” Barra nodded. “I don’t care what he did, no one should be treated this way. It’s not our procedure, Officer Barra, is it?” “No, sir.” I took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside the small cinder block room. Montgomery sat at the table, his head on the tabletop facing away from me. With obvious effort, he raised himself up and looked at me. “I saw you before, on the bridge.” His voice was soft and deep and would have been sexy in another context, but I knew it was probably hoarse from the yelling. Still, it hit me, somewhere in the 59
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solar plexus, and I found it hard to breathe. Up close he was younger than I had first thought, maybe just thirty-two or three. He had high cheekbones and the most incredible blue eyes I’d ever seen. There was a scrape on his cheek and on his chin and dried blood on his throat. His bare chest was sculpted, but not overly so. A soft line of brown hair trailed down his chest to disappear below the waistband of his jeans. A small brown birthmark sat just above the flat dark nipple on his left side. My gaze stuck on it for a moment, fascinated, then I cleared my throat and shifted my gaze to his face. “Mr. Montgomery, I’m Captain Daniel Chan, and I can’t say how I sorry I am for the way you’ve been treated. It’s all been a terrible misunderstanding.” I reached toward him and tried to help him stand, but he shied away like a frightened animal. I showed him the key to the cuffs, and he stood and turned his back to me. I used the key, opened the cuffs, then tossed them on the table. He grimaced as he tried to bring his arms around to the front, but they were so stiff and sore it was an effort to move them. Finally, he just held his arms at his sides and looked down at his wrists. They weren’t bleeding, but they were red. “I’d like you to follow me.” I stepped back, giving him space, and gestured with my hand to the open door. “The officers made a mistake. You’re not being held.” Something told me to tread easy with this man. There was an aura of pain around him, as if he’d been hurt before. Wounded. “You don’t think I shot the officer?” His voice told me he didn’t believe me. “No, I know you didn’t. Please, let’s go.” “Where are we going?” He sniffed and licked his parched lips. 60
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“To my office. We’ll get you cleaned up, get you some water, and we’ll get everything straightened out.” He nodded and followed me down the corridor. There was a marked absence of officers. Somehow, they’d found out what had happened and now they were doing damage control and making themselves scarce. By the time he reached my office, his wariness and disbelief had been replaced by anger. Although he tried to control it, I could feel it radiating off him. “Please, take a seat, Mr. Montgomery.” I smiled, trying to get on his good side. It was probably the side Lopez hadn’t slammed into the pavement. He sat stiffly in the chair, glaring at me. “Would you like to call someone?” I pushed the phone toward him. “There isn’t anyone. Can I get some water?” He unclenched his fists and laid his hands flat on his thighs. “Sure.” I went to the door, opened it, and called for Beth to bring in a bottle. “My men told me you were asking to use the phone.” “Well…I know my rights. I should’ve been allowed one call,” he shot back. “Yes, technically, but the law doesn’t actually state a time frame for your call.” I tried to salvage some shred of dignity for my men. “Oh? What does the law say about how long a person can be left in handcuffs, Captain?” “Normally, you should’ve been processed sooner, I’ll admit. But, technically—” He interrupted me, “Well, I’d like to ‘technically’ call my lawyer.” 61
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Check. His smile was tight, but his blue eyes blazed. My move. “I’d hoped that wouldn’t be necessary, Mr. Montgomery. Let’s just say the department would rather not be involved in any legal entanglements due to this unfortunate incident. We already have one man gravely injured. It would be a shame to ruin anyone else’s career.” Check. It was a low blow, and I felt awful about using guilt on him, making it sound as if it had been his fault some stranger decided to attack him or he was responsible for Hagan’s injury. He sat back and looked at me, considering what I hoped would be a reasonable position. “I’ll just bet you wouldn’t like to get involved with a lawyer. The news media either.” He let the threat hang in the air. He was tougher than I gave him credit for. “No, that wouldn’t be my choice of outcomes. Again, what can we do for you?” I spread my hands out on the table. “Nothing.” His chin jerked upward. “Nothing, Mr. Montgomery? Are you sure?” I wondered what he meant. “Yes, nothing.” His eyes met mine. “Could you explain to me exactly what you mean?” I needed to be sure before I made a huge mistake, costing the department money or its reputation. There was a soft knock on the door and Beth opened it. “Here’s your water, Captain.” I stood and took it from her, then shut the door. I broke the seal on the top and put it in front of Montgomery. He picked it up, draining half the bottle before putting it down. I watched him drink, his throat as it moved, as if it was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen. 62
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It was certainly one of the most beautiful. He licked his lips. “Officer Hagan was, as you said, injured trying to help me, even if it was his job.” He smiled tightly at me. Check again. He wiped his hand on his cheek, held out his fingers and stared at the blood. Hagan hadn’t been the only one injured. “However, it wasn’t my job to…do what I did.” The last part was followed by a long sigh. “Yes, Officer Hagan was injured in the line of duty, and he’ll be recognized for his bravery. Still, I realize there were two heroes on the bridge today.” His gaze darted away as he checked out one of my diplomas on the wall. He frowned and shook his head. “For me, the only hero out there was Officer Hagan. That’s all I want anyone to know.” His gaze rested finally on his hands as his shoulders slumped. “I just want to go home now, Captain Chan. I want to go home and try to forget what I did.” His voice was so soft now, I could barely hear him. He shook his head. “I don’t want a lawyer or to talk to the media. I’d just as soon no one knew about what happened.” His hopeful gaze flicked up to mine and held it. Game over. I wondered if the right side had won. “Of course. I’ll take you home myself. Let’s get you cleaned up first. Just wait for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” I stood and went down the hall to the locker room. I found a towel and a washcloth. After soaking the cloth in warm water, I grabbed a little soap and worked up a soft lather. Wrapping it in the towel, I headed to my locker, quickly dialed the combination, and pulled out a plain white T-shirt hanging from a hook. Then I stopped at Beth’s desk and asked that Mr. Montgomery’s belongings, including his cell phone, to be brought to me. 63
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I came back in. He was on his feet, reading my diplomas and awards. My bachelor’s degree in Finance from University of Texas at Austin, my Houston police academy diploma, several commendations and a few pictures of me with local dignitaries seemed to interest him. I didn’t know what to say, so I babbled a bit. “My family wanted me to take over the family business, but I wanted to be a cop.” He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “Do they know you’re gay, Captain Chan?” He tilted his head. “I’m not gay.” Technically. “Oh. Right.” He didn’t believe me for an instant. Seems I wasn’t the only one with gaydar. I handed him the soapy towel. “You can use the mirror here.” I closed the door and pointed to the full length mirror attached to the back of the door. “Do you use this often?” He raised an eyebrow at me, barely hiding a smile. “The captain before me had it put on the door and I never got around to taking it off,” I explained, but it seemed vain even to me to have a mirror. He didn’t say a word, just took the cloth from me, but winced and dropped the damp cloth on the floor. I bent to pick it up. “Ow, that hurts like a bitch!” He shook his hands, but that must have hurt also. He glared at me, his eyes blaming me for his pain. I’d give anything to have been able to fix it. “It’s from the handcuffs. It’ll stop soon, but until the circulation comes back, it’ll be pretty uncomfortable.” I’m terrible at apologizing—I knew it, and I wasn’t any better this time—but I was going to try really hard to make the best of this situation. 64
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I approached him, holding up the cloth. “Here, let me do it, Mark. Can I call you Mark?” “Yes.” He nodded, still glaring at me as I took his chin in my hand. He jerked away like a wild animal, nostrils flaring, trying to hold still, but quivering with fear and ready to bolt at the slightest movement. “Sorry, I don’t like being touched.” He spoke quietly, but he raised his chin to me. Trying again, without touching him, I began to wipe the dirt and blood gently away from the scrape on his forehead. He flinched, but this time he didn’t move away. I could feel his warm breath on my hand. His forehead came level to my chin. He was the perfect height for me to tuck into my body, to keep safe. Bad, bad, bad idea. As I worked the towel over the scrape, I couldn’t help but glance at his bare chest. He looked up and caught me. I glanced away; but he didn’t say anything. Silently, he studied my face as I worked, concentrating on the next scrape on his cheek. When that one was clean, I wiped off the blood on his neck. The cloth ended up covered in dirt and blood, but at last his face was clean. Not really wanting to, I stepped away from him. I could smell the gun’s cordite in his hair and what must have been his shampoo, some flowery fragrance. I love how a man smells, his musk and his sweat, and I’m always amazed at how it affects me. My dick had certainly woken up and taken notice of the heat coming off the smaller body next to mine. They say, whoever “they” are, that scent is the one sense that illicits the most powerful emotions and physical reactions. Right now, I was putting that theory into practice. Our gazes met again, and I saw a flare of awareness in his eyes. 65
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He cleared his throat gently. “How does it look?” “Like clean scrapes now.” I smiled. “I was going for just that look,” he shot back. “It looks good on you.” He blushed and right then, I knew I wanted him. And I knew that wasn’t good. Not at all. The best thing to do for both of us was to walk away from this. It was a train wreck just waiting to happen, with the main casualty being me and the derailment of my career. “Can I go now?” “I’m sure you don’t want to go out dressed like this. I brought you a shirt to wear.” I held out the shirt to him. “Thanks.” He turned his back to me, a pointless touch of modesty. There was a bruise on the smooth pale skin of his back, probably from where Lopez had put his knee to hold him down. As he tried to raise his arms, he stopped. A gasp caught in his throat, the shirt scrunched halfway up on his arms, and he reluctantly turned back to me. “I can’t seem to lift my arms up. My shoulders are locked.” “Let me help.” I stepped forward again and helped ease him into the shirt. Luckily, it was way too big for him and easy to get on, so I didn’t hurt him too much. “You don’t have to be so damn nice to me, Captain Chan. Your department has nothing to worry about. My word is good.” His heated gaze stabbed me as his chin jutted forward. He may have been hurt and angry, but he was also brave and honorable. He didn’t deserve to be treated like he’d been. We had a lot to make up for. “Can I speak frankly, Mark?” He nodded. “I’m truly ashamed of the way you were treated, but I don’t 66
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want to see a good man’s career jeopardized, either. However, I do feel a sense of responsibility to you. You saved my officer’s life, and I’m incredibly grateful. So you see, I’m torn.” I tried to smile. His eyelids shuttered, he swayed, and I jumped forward to catch him before he collapsed. “Oh, God…” He moaned. “I k-k-killed…” he stuttered. I held him gently against me. I knew the agony of living with knowing you’d killed another human being. He laid his head on my chest and shuddered, his arms hanging straight at his sides. I knew he would probably never get the image of the man he’d killed out of his mind. I cursed Hagan for putting a civilian in this position. It was hard enough to face when you’re a cop, trained for it, and have a built-in support group to help you get through it. Alone, you don’t stand a chance. I held him with one hand and with the other lifted his chin once again. It seemed we’d gotten past the no touching rule. “I want you to say this out loud, Mark.” My gaze caught his and held it. “If I hadn’t killed that man, he would have killed the officer and me.” His breath caught in a gulp and he nodded. “If I hadn’t…k-k-killed that man…” His voice faded. “Keep going,” I ordered. “He would have…k-k-killed the officer and…me.” So much pain in those beautiful eyes. “That’s right. It was self-defense; we have it all on tape. You’ll be cleared.” The door opened and a young officer stepped in the room. “His belongings, like you asked, sir.” His mouth opened and he stared at us locked in that embrace. I cleared my throat, stepped away from Mark, and jerked my head at the table. He put the 67
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plastic bag down and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Shit. Before the end of the day, I’d have more to contend with than one of my men beating up the man who saved Hagan’s life. “Can I go? I just want to go home.” Mark had found his voice again and he pulled away from me, wiping his eyes the sleeve of the T-shirt. “Yes, for now. We impounded your car as evidence. You’ll get it back after we’ve finished with it.” “I can arrange for a rental with my insurance agency once I’m home. Maybe tomorrow, though, I could get my plants from the back of my car? Surely you don’t need them?” He paused, his head cocked to the side, biting his bottom lip. “No, I don’t need them. I have lots of plants.” Mark groaned at my weak attempt at humor. I like that in a guy. “I’ll make sure you get them.” He gave me a quick smile of thanks that lit his face for a moment. I opened the door; he followed me through the station. At Beth’s desk, I stopped. “I’m driving Mr. Montgomery home. I’ll be back later.” She nodded, tight-lipped. I’d seen that look on her before and it meant she had plenty of questions and she was dying to ask them. I wasn’t ready for the fifth degree just yet. The answers I kept coming up with I really didn’t like. He gave me directions to his house. It was in the heart of downtown Riceland, where all the streets had names of trees. We rode in silence at first, me driving and him staring out the window, twisting his hands together on his lap. I headed down Main Street, in the opposite direction from my house. We passed the town square lined with several little antique 68
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shops, the Main Street Diner, and several boutique shops. Then, past Oak, Maple, and Cherry, to Elm, where he signaled for me to turn right. We continued down the street for several blocks. “I never met a Chinese cop before.” He a slow grin crossed his face, but I caught it and smiled back at him despite my knowledge any encouragement was bad. “I understand they’re not so uncommon in China.” He smiled at my joke, and I was ridiculously pleased I’d amused him. “Like I said, my parents wanted me to run the family business, but I wanted to be a cop. I guess I watched too many cop shows when I was little.” I shrugged. “What’s the business?” “They own a string of dry cleaners in Houston. Daylight Cleaners.” “I’ve used them before. Were they very disappointed?” “Yeah, it took them over twenty years, but they’re over it now.” “How long have you been a policeman?” Mark continued to question me. “Almost twenty-five years.” I caught his quick smile. I wanted him to keep smiling. For a few minutes, he was quiet. Probably doing the math and figuring out I was way too old for him. “You don’t have an accent.” “You don’t count my Texan drawl? I’m mighty proud of it.” “It’s a very good drawl, Captain Chan.” “My parents are fourth-generation Texans. We can trace our family to the late 1880s.” I grinned. “They don’t speak Chinese. We’re pretty acculturated. You should see them on Go Texan Day for the Houston Livestock and Rodeo. They’ve had box seats for as long as I can remember.” 69
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“I didn’t mean to be rude…” Mark blushed. “You weren’t. Just curious,” I assured him. He glanced out the window and then turned back to me. I was sure he checked out my ring finger. “Are you married?” he asked. “Divorced.” Yep, he was checking me out. Guess the age difference didn’t scare him off. Slow down. Don’t get too excited. “Was your divorce a casualty of your job?” “Yes, my wife wanted to be married to a rich dry cleaner, not a cop. Eventually, she married the right man.” I shrugged, seeing no need to tell him my family bought me a wife. “Do you have any kids?” “No, we never had kids. We weren’t married long enough.” “Did you want children?” “At one time, when I was young and foolish.” “And now that you’re older?” “No way.” Mark looked sideways at me while I drove. “Sorry if I’m being too personal. I guess I’m just nervous and need to talk.” “It’s all right. I don’t mind—” I tried to sound casual. Still gazing out the window, he interrupted me. “Do you arrest people a lot?” “No, I used to, but not anymore. I work mostly on budgets, schedules, and manage the officers. In the office, not on the street.” “Oh…” He paused. “Do you miss being on the street? Driving the car, flashing the lights, running the siren?” That killer smile was back as he teased me. “That was the best part,” I said wistfully. “Nowadays, I’m glad I’m in the office. Less dangerous for a man of my age.” 70
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“You’re not so old,” he said quietly. If that’s true, why do I wake up every day feeling so damn old? We pulled up to the house and parked. “Come in please, Captain Chan, and I’ll change and let you have your shirt back.” Mark opened the door and got out. I nodded and followed him. The white, one-story, wood-sided house was not big, but not small either. The shutters and trim were painted dark green. There were four wide steps leading up to a porch on the front, painted grey, with a swing hanging from the rafters. Lots of hanging baskets of ferns between the columns. The garden beds around the front of the house were bare, the earth looking freshly turned. He unlocked the door and motioned me inside. We stepped into a large living area, with beautiful wood floors and trim. I liked the way he’d decorated, calm and modern. I don’t know what I’d expected. The earth colors on the walls and the furniture were masculine and appealed to me. Leaving me standing just inside the front door, Mark disappeared down a hall and then returned a few minutes later. He was wearing a navy T-shirt with grey sweats. He handed me the shirt. “Sorry I didn’t wash it, but I thought you’d like it back now. I don’t know if I’ll see you again.” It was almost a question. Mark looked up at me, his blue eyes locked on mine for a moment. “That’s fine.” I reached out and took his chin in my hand to look at the scrapes. He didn’t move away from me this time. “Make sure you put something on those scrapes, Mark.” I stepped in closer, knowing it was a mistake. Mark nodded and placed a hand lightly on my chest. I pulled him to me and held him tight. His body trembled, his head buried in my chest. 71
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I stroked my hand over his back, feeling the muscles under the thin cotton shirt, and whispered, “It’ll be all right. You did well, Mark. You were very brave. I don’t know if anyone else could’ve done what you did. Promise me you’ll find someone to talk to about this.” I set him away from me. “I’ll give you the name of one of the people we use for our men when there’s a shooting.” “That’s okay, I have someone.” I wondered if he meant he was already seeing a shrink or if he knew of someone. Mark ran his fingers through his hair. “Can I call you later, just to check on you?” I asked as he opened the door for me to leave. “Sure.” He tried to smile, but those blue eyes were killing me. I didn’t want to leave; I wanted to stay, make it all better, any way he needed. But I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t let it. The door shut behind me.
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CHAPTER 7 I’ve heard it said no good deed goes unpunished. Well, you could have proved it earlier that day by Mark Montgomery and later that same day by yours truly. When I returned to the station, there was a note taped to my door to see the Chief. Immediately. Underscored. In red pen. He must have arrived at the department during my drive to Mark’s. I grabbed the videotape and headed to his office. “Chan! Get in here and shut the door.” Tasket’s voice told me he was pissed as hell and hungry to chew some ass. I was betting he’d like some Chinese. “Chief.” I shut the door and stood before his desk, waiting. “Captain Chan, do you like working here?” “Frequently.” Good-bye thirty years. 73
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“Doesn’t seem like it.” He leaned back in his chair, the cigar gripped between two white bloodless lips and looked me up and down. On the desk, a Field & Stream magazine lay open on an article about Guadalupe bass. Maybe I’d ask to borrow it after this was over. “Sorry, sir, I’ll try harder to look happier.” He drew so hard on the cigar and blew out puffs of smoke I wondered when the Indians were going to arrive. “Where’s the guy?” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully so I could understand him. I started to say, “What guy?” but Tasket put his hand on the Berretta at his hip and gave me a look that said don’t even try it. “I took him home, sir.” He dropped his hand, and I exhaled. “You took him home,” he repeated. Obviously, I was still having trouble understanding him. “Yes, I took him home.” I spoke slowly to show I understood him. My hand holding the tape was sweating, and for a second I thought I might drop it. “What the hell’s going on around here, Chan? First, I hear this Montgomery has shot one of my men, I rush in here on my day off and now I find we’ve let him go. And that my captain had this man in a lip lock.” His eyebrows went up in question. “I don’t like having my men shot, Darlene doesn’t like being interrupted on my day off and I don’t know what the hell to say about you kissing suspected killers.” Ah, shit. “First, no one likes that Hagan got shot. Especially me. Second, the men on the scene thought Montgomery shot Hagan, but Officer Morton found the video in Hagan’s cruiser had recorded the whole 74
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incident. Seems Montgomery saved both his life and Hagan’s by shooting the perp. Twice.” “Then why was he arrested?” “Technically, he was never arrested.” “Why was he taken into custody?” “The first man, Sergeant Lopez, jumped to conclusions, sir. When he arrived on the scene, he assumed Montgomery had done the shooting. After I watched the tape, we discovered the truth.” “And third?” Tasket prompted me. “I never kissed him, sir. He’d become upset. About killing the perp. He sort of collapsed, and I caught him before he hit the floor.” I prayed that was enough to keep Tasket happy. Tasket continued to stare at me, then he leaned back and ran his hand over his face. He finger-massaged his eyes. Pulling open a drawer, he pulled out a bottle of pain reliever and popped two into his mouth and dry swallowed them. “Captain, do you still have the tape?” “Right here, sir.” I held it out to him. “I was going to show it to you and to legal as soon as I got back.” “From taking Montgomery home.” “Yes, sir. He just lives on the other side of town. It didn’t take any time at all.” “I’m glad we could be of assistance.” “It does say on the side of the car, ‘To protect and serve.’” “Glad you’re paying attention, Chan.” “Thank you, sir. He was pretty mad about the way he was treated.” “Why was he mad?” “He had been”—I searched for an appropriate word—“manhandled by Lopez, cuffed and left in the interrogation room for 75
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almost three hours, and not allowed to make a phone call or have his wounds, which our officers inflicted, tended. The men were waiting for the detectives to get back to question him, but they were still at the crime scene. No one had even read him the Miranda.” “Shit.” I could see Tasket adding up all the bad press in his head and weighing it…with his job, mine and the officers’ hanging in the balance. “Let’s watch that video, Dan.” He picked up his phone and hit a button. “Beth, get Hastings in legal to come to Captain Chan’s office, ASAP.” After Tasket followed me back to my office, he settled in my chair behind my desk and leaned back, I cued up the tape and we waited for Hastings to arrive. Tasket didn’t mention the alleged kiss, and I thanked whatever God watched out for dumb cops. Art Hastings is a good guy, for a lawyer. He’s a small man with red hair flecked with gray, sharp blue eyes, and he dressed oldfashioned, always in chinos, a white shirt and a bow tie. His Texas drawl was soft, but somehow he never sounded like a redneck. He had the softest looking hands I’d ever seen. His picture was always in the society section of the Riceland Reporter, attending a myriad of social functions, benefits and speaking engagements. I’d always figured he was gay. I’d never asked, and he never told. He wasn’t my type and, besides, I thought he had something going on with the guy who ran the local garden center. “Chief Tasket, Captain Chan.” Art nodded to both of us, sat in a chair I’d pulled in from the main office area and crossed his legs. “Let’s see the damage.” He waved his hand toward the television. We watched the tape mostly in silence, except for the muttered curses of Tasket as he watched Mark being man-handled. When it was over, I switched it off and stood back, facing the two men. 76
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“Holy shit, gentlemen.” Art shook his head. “There’s more.” I didn’t want to say what I was going to say, but everyone in the room needed to know. My first duty was to the station and its men. Art raised an eyebrow. “Mark Montgomery is gay.” I met Art’s gaze, but he didn’t even flinch. I didn’t dare look at Tasket, but I could feel his stare heating my back. “And this is relevant because?” “Lopez made a comment to me about ‘the fag.’” Art winced and then sighed. “Where is this Mark Montgomery right now?” he asked quietly. That was one thing about Art. He never raised his voice. The man has great control. “I drove him home about an hour ago.” I explained how we’d treated him while in our care to Art, and he listened with his hands together and eyes closed as if praying. Probably for our sorry asses if this went to court. When I finished, he opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, we have two options.” He held up one perfectly manicured finger. “One, we conduct an official above-board inquiry into the shootings and recommend to the grand jury that it was self-defense and that no charges be brought against Mr. Montgomery. Hopefully, most of the scrutiny will be on what happened during the actual attack and not his ill treatment while in our hands and definitely not on his treatment as a gay man. We minimize the damage by keeping that as low-key as possible to reduce the media circus. Keep everything on the up-and-up, absolutely no cover-ups, but we don’t need to advertise our bad behavior. “Second”—his second finger came up—“we do nothing and try 77
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to sweep it all under the rug.” Tasket looked hopeful. “I must warn you that, in this case, a mere breath of what happened can explode into a full-fledged media-based investigation, which no one wants. And if Montgomery brings in a lawyer and files suit, which he’d win, I can’t even begin to count the damage it would cause to this department.” He didn’t have to add “and yourselves.” “What’s your recommendation, Art?” Tasket leaned forward in my chair, running his hand through his hair. I have to say one thing for the chief; if he trusts you, he listens. “Option one. Take the high road, do everything by the book and take your lumps.” Art stood and held out his hand. “I’ll take the tape and make a copy for the city attorney. Will you notify your men about what’s coming? Forward me a copy of all the reports. I suggest you give Lopez something more than a slap on the wrist—say, suspension without pay until this is over. A letter in his file. Show good faith that we punish our own. That sort of thing.” He pulled the door shut behind him as he left. Tasket swiveled around in my chair and faced the wall while he was thinking. “I want you to bring Mr. Montgomery back in tomorrow and let the detectives take a statement from him, strictly as an eyewitness. You seem to have established a rapport with him.” He turned back and eyed me, with a small upturn of one side of his mouth. “Keep him happy, Captain. Whatever it takes, make sure he doesn’t have any reason to call a lawyer or the media yelling about us violating his civil rights. “If we can contain him, do the investigation and make it to the grand jury without having this fuck-up explode in our faces, we’ll be home free. You write up the letter for Lopez and put him on leave, Captain. I’m going to the mayor and inform him about the 78
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whole thing, assure him everything will be fine and take my lumps.” “Yes, sir.” Nothing I like better than cleaning up someone else’s crap. It’s why they pay me the big bucks and I have fancy stars on my shoulder. Lopez deserved more, as far as I was concerned, but a good dressing down would do him fine, and hitting a man in the pocketbook was always a good way of bringing home a lesson. He was lucky he wasn’t being fired. If Mark had raised a stink, they would have sacrificed him as sure as the sun comes up in the morning. I was glad I wasn’t in Tasket’s shoes, facing the mayor. “Anything else, Chief?” “I’m counting on you to git-er-done, Captain Chan.” Tasket rose and went back to his office, leaving my chair free at last for me. I sat down, opened the drawer and popped two more antacids. I had already decided not to hit Clancy’s tonight, but leave early and go to the hospital and check on Hagan. What a day. Another few like this one and my hair will turn grey. I had gotten off well, a lot better than I thought I would when Tasket first called me in. Lopez was getting better than he deserved, and the department would survive. The mayor would chew out the Chief, he’d chew me out, and I’d chew out Lopez. It’s true. Shit does flow downhill. *
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The clock on my bedside table said ten after eleven. I’d been home for about an hour, during which I’d eaten a sandwich and showered. It had been rough at the hospital. Hagan’s wife was a mess, but the doctor said the surgeon had done an excellent job, 79
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and they expected him to get most of the mobility in his arm back with a lot of physical therapy, of course. But he was lucky he was alive. I crawled into bed and lay back on the pillows. I picked up the Bayou Escorts business card and looked at it. Tempting and good for temporary relief, but not really permanently satisfying. Besides, I’ve never paid for sex, if you don’t count my wife, and I told myself I wasn’t starting now. Instead, I put it back down, picked up the phone, punched in directory assistance and asked for Mark Montgomery’s number. It was unlisted. I thought about pulling rank on the operator, but decided to get up and look in my notebook. I usually put it and the rest of the stuff from my pockets, like my keys, in a tray near the front door. I keep my gun on the bedside table and hang my holster on a chair in the kitchen. Padding down the hall in nothing but my boxers, I swung past the kitchen and picked up a bottle of juice. I had guzzled half of it by the time I got back to the bedroom with his number. He answered on the third ring. “Hello?” He still sounded hoarse. “Hello, Mark? It’s Daniel Chan. Captain Chan, from Riceland P.D.” “Oh, yes, hello. How are you?” He sounded pleased to hear from me. “I’m fine. I was calling to check on you, like I said I would.” Hoping that would count for something. “Am I calling too late?” “No, it’s all right. I was still up.” His voice tapered off. “Did you find someone to talk to?” “Yes. I have a doctor I see regularly. I’m seeing her on Monday.” “Having trouble sleeping?” 80
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“Yes, how did you know?” “Been there, myself. It’s going to be rough for a while, you know.” “Oh. You killed someone.” It wasn’t a question. “Yes, in the line of duty.” I hated to admit it, and hated to think about it. “How’d you deal with it, Daniel?” He said my whole name, not just the shortened version. I liked that. My mother calls me Daniel when she is mad at me, but Mark caressed my name. “Talking about it. Knowing there wasn’t anything I could’ve done differently.” I blew out a breath of air, feeling my own frustration, my own regret. “I can’t tell you how many times I replayed it in my mind. If I’d done the right thing, was there any other way it could have gone down. It’ll eat you alive if you let it, Mark. Don’t get into second guessing and what ifs.” “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He paused, then inhaled. “I was actually thinking about it, running it over in my mind, and I don’t think there was any way it could have come out differently, except for Officer Hagan and me dead.” “Good.” I paused. “I need you to come back in to the station tomorrow so you can be interviewed by the detectives, Mark. It’s strictly a formality, but they need your statement. They’ll be taking one from Hagan as soon as he’s able to give one.” “Oh, okay. What time?” “How about two P.M.?” “Will you be there?” He sounded hopeful. He shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be, for so many reasons. Our ages, for one. He was involved in the shooting of one of my officers, for two. I was still working on three and four, but in time I was sure I’d come up with something. 81
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“I’m on duty, but I won’t be in the room with you. That’s the detective’s job.” “You’re just the delivery man?” The sarcasm in his voice was clear over the phone line. “That and other things. Do you need a ride?” I remembered his car was still in the impound lot. “Yes, I do. I won’t get the rental until later in the afternoon. Will it look funny, you bringing me in? Is delivery a normal part of your duty or do I pay extra for pick-up?” He was sharp. I enjoyed sparring with him. Too bad. “Part of my responsibility, yes. Also, just part of me. No charge for the pick-up, it’s on the house. I’ll be there at one-forty-five.” There was a long silence and then he sighed. “Mark?” More than I heard it, I felt him fading away. “Sorry, Daniel, I was drifting. I took a pill about twenty minutes ago. Guess it’s kicking in.” “What kind of pill?” I hoped I didn’t let the panic in my voice show. He couldn’t possibly be thinking along those lines, could he? Then I thought back to the condition I was in after my shooting. Maybe he was. “Don’t worry. I take these when I feel a panic attack coming. They relax me. I call them my ‘don’t give a shit’ pills, ’cause that’s how they make me feel…and they make me sleepy.” I could hear his steady breathing on the other end of the line. “Like now.” “I wanted to say, again, how sorry I am about how you were treated. I’m sure you’ve never been treated that way before. It must have been very upsetting.” I was talking just to hear him speak, trying to wring a little more conversation from him before he fell asleep. Grabbing what I could, so to speak. “Don’t worry; I’ve been beaten by the best.” His voice sounded 82
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very groggy, his speech a little slurred, and I sat up in bed, not sure about what I’d just heard. My curiosity got the better of me. “By who?” “Ex-boyfriend,” he murmured, drifting farther away. “He beat you?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Like a champ. Yessir, he was a real man, beating me up.” His voice blurred again, but his tone was sarcastic. He was fading fast. I wanted him to keep talking, so I could know more. Things I knew he’d never tell me if he were wide awake. “Where is he now?” I felt a prickle on my skin. “Huntsville, doing the last three years of his twelve, the bastard. I hope he rots in there.” He sounded a little more alert now, but pissed. “What is his name?” “Jeff ‘The Bastard’ Granger. That’s his official title.” He giggled, sighed again and I knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Daniel?” he whispered. “I wish you were here, holding me.” I thought my heart would stop and all my resolve crumbled. “So do I.” It was the truth. I wanted to hold him so bad it hurt. “But it’s no good, Daniel. I’m no good. All broken and I can’t be fixed. Do us both a favor. Stay away from me. It’ll hurt a lot less in the long run.” At some level, he must have realized our mutual attraction. It also seemed he had his own set of reasons why this would be a bad idea, as if we needed any more. “Mark, hang up the phone now.” I had intruded enough. “’Kay.” A long moment later, I heard the click, then the dial tone. I lay back in bed and shook my head. It had been wrong of me to take advantage of him like that, to probe his background. What did I think I was looking for? What did I find? I retrieved my 83
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notebook and started scribbling. I knew he’d been with that prince of a guy, Jeff Granger, and that he’d beaten Mark. Domestic abuse wasn’t just the domain of men and women; there was plenty of abuse between gay couples, too. I made a note to run Granger through NCRD, the national criminal research database, as soon as I could. Something bothered me; simple domestic violence wouldn’t get you twelve years. No, that took some real nasty work. Something so bad it had broken Mark. Not on the outside, but deep inside, where the worst scars don’t show. I promised myself to find out what happened. I wanted to rescue him. Just like a cop…got to be the fucking hero. I wouldn’t listen to his warning about staying away from him. I wanted him. At some point in all my crazy reasoning that had become clear. How to get him and keep him? I had no clue. I’d never really had a long-term relationship and I wasn’t really sure that’s what either of us wanted. And this probably wasn’t the right way to do it, either. What is it with me that I’m such an idiot about matters of the heart? If Mark had simply said, “Let’s fuck,” I could deal with that. But no, he had to tell me he was broken, had to look at me with those blue eyes filled with hurt, sadness and hope. Shit. I was a goner.
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CHAPTER 8 Mark smiled when he opened the front door, but when he saw the flats of flowers and his roses from the back of his car, he positively beamed. I’d stopped at the impound lot and picked them up. Now, they sat on the porch just to the side of his steps and out of the sun. “Oh, that’s wonderful! It’ll give me something to do later today. Remind me to leave you a big tip.” “The management does not allow tipping. I’m on salary.” He pulled the door shut, locked it and we left. We drove to the station with very little talking, just the usual stuff people talk about to fill up uncomfortable silence. He asked about the patrol car, what things were, how to turn on the siren and lights. I asked about his gardening. We talked about the weather. 85
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Neither of us did much looking at each other, as if we were both too scared to risk a glance. I know I was. I wondered how much of last night’s phone call he remembered, but I didn’t want to bring it up. Since he wasn’t talking about it either, I let it go. No need to step into it with both feet when I could safely sit on my barbed wire fence. At the department, I introduced him to the two detectives assigned to the case. Detective William Fry and Detective Jorge Vargas were two of the best men around and we were lucky to have them in a department as small as ours. They’d been at the crime scene yesterday, gone over the evidence, seen the video, and had been to the hospital earlier this morning to interview Hagan. Vargas tried to lead Mark by the elbow, but he pulled away and followed behind him. Clearly, he didn’t want them to touch him. I wondered if he would let me touch him again. My mind wandered to the glimpse of his back and chest and that tempting little birthmark before I was pulled back in to reality. The door of the interrogation room closed me out and I thought about going back to my desk. I had no idea how long this would take and I had lots of work waiting in my in-box, but instead I slipped into the adjoining room to watch through the two-way glass. I leaned against the wall next to the window and flipped on the intercom so I could listen. Vargas put out a tape recorder and announced who was present, the time and what they were there for. He told Mark this was merely a routine interview of a witness to the shooting of Officer Hagan. “Okay, Mr. Montgomery, tell us in your own words what happened,” Vargas said. “I knew the shortcut was around there somewhere. I was in the 86
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left-hand lane of old Highway 290 and looking for that small sign that says Riceland, with an arrow pointing left. You know the one? I had taken it just last month when I had to go to Hempstead, so I knew it existed. It just wasn’t where I thought it was. I’ve only lived in Riceland for a couple of months, so I don’t know my way around the back roads yet. “I slowed the Volvo down and pulled into the emergency lane to let the traffic go by; everyone is so rude nowadays. There’s no road courtesy.” “You were alone?” Vargas asked. “Yes, I’d gone out to the little country garden center I’d discovered last spring. It’s one of the reasons I moved here. Well, not a reason really, but I’d passed through town and liked it, so when I decided to move I chose Riceland. Anyway, I bought some rose starts in buckets and a few flats of spring plants, some blue bonnets and some alyssum in different colors. For my front yard. I love gardening; it’s a way of de-stressing.” He sat very upright with his hands clasped in front of him, twisting a small silver ring on his right hand. He hadn’t worn it yesterday. “You were taking the turn-off…” Vargas reminded him. “Right. I never noticed the car. I guess I was too busy thinking.” “About?” Fry chimed in, sounding interested. “Stuff. My life, the universe, gardens.” He shrugged. “Go on, Mr. Montgomery,” Vargas encouraged him and shot a look at Fry. Fry shrugged. “The car was almost behind me when I heard the horn. That’s the first time I noticed him. It made me jump in my seat I was so deep in thought. I looked back in the rearview mirror, but I couldn’t make out the person because the windows were heavily 87
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tinted. But whoever it was didn’t take his hand off the horn. “I didn’t know what he wanted. There wasn’t any room on that road for me to pull over, so I rolled down my window, and motioned for the driver to go around. I slowed and pulled as far over as I could. You know that road. There’s just some grass and a huge ditch on either side. I was worried if I pulled too far over I’d get stuck in the grass or go into the ditch. “The car started to pass me, but when it came up to the back of my bumper it hit me. It was sort of a gentle nudge, but it scared the hell out of me.” Both detectives nodded and made noises showing they could understand that. “I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. I told them what was happening and where I was and they said they’d send someone right away to help. “He bumped me a few more times, maybe three. Each time harder than the last. I was getting really scared. The road was deserted. No houses, no cars. “I was looking back at the car, when it suddenly veered and started to pull up beside me. I tried to speed up, but his car had more pickup than my old Volvo. He pulled up next to me and the passenger window rolled down. That’s when I saw the gun.” Mark took a deep breath and exhaled. “What did you do then?” Vargas asked. “I just jammed the accelerator to the floor and lurched ahead. In the next second, the back passenger window blew out. It happened so fast. One second nothing, and wham there was glass flying everywhere.” He stopped and took a sip of the bottled water they had given him. 88
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“I guess it was just a reaction, but I slammed on the brakes and the car shot past me. I kept searching for any signs of police lights. I kept thinking that the cop should be there anytime now. The guy slammed on his brakes, put his car in reverse and headed toward me. Like we were playing chicken? Like I’d just let him ram me. “So I put it in drive and shot forward, going around him just before he was going to smash into my front. I tried to put as much distance between us as I could, but the Volvo isn’t in the best of condition.” He stared up at the ceiling. “I suppose I should get a new car.” “Okay, so you avoided him…then what?” Vargas put him back on track. “I saw the old bridge over the little creek up ahead and I decided I needed to do something fast. The bridge is narrow, with no leeway on either side. You’ve seen it. It’s sort of pretty the way the rice fields give way to large oak trees on both banks of the stream. It looks like the stream cuts across the fields for miles in both directions. I suppose it was built back in the days of the WPA, with the bricks and stones.” Vargas cleared his throat, “Yes, very nice. What happened then?” He moved Mark back in line, without breaking his chain of thought. That was very important in an interview. The person needs to feel relaxed so the flow of the narrative is smooth. “When he got next to me and we were almost at the bridge, I took a deep breath, and jerked my wheel hard to the left and smashed into the car, forcing it off the road. He tried to regain control and put it back on the road, but the wheels were stuck in the soft ground. When he jerked the wheel hard, the car veered across the two lanes. I guess he overcompensated on the skid and veered back toward the bridge. I knew it was too late. I heard the 89
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squealing of the tires and the car hit the concrete side with a huge crash. When I looked back the front of the car was crumpled and steam was pouring out from under the hood.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I pulled over and stopped on the other side of the bridge to wait for the police. “I was shaking so badly I couldn’t let go of the steering wheel. I was so scared. I realized I was going to hyperventilate if I wasn’t careful. Just then, I saw the lights of the patrol car flashing. I checked myself out to make sure I wasn’t hurt. I felt lightheaded and dizzy, like I might pass out. I can’t tell you how relieved I felt to see Officer Hagan.” He looked down at his hands. “I thought I was rescued.” “Mr. Montgomery, have you ever seen Jimmy Ray Ridge before?” “Is that…was that his name?” He shook his head. “No, never.” “Not in town, driving around, anywhere?” “No, why?” “Well, we want to establish that this wasn’t anything personal between the two of you.” “Personal? He looked pretty young to me. How would I know him?” “This is also a routine question, but Mr. Ridge was, as far as we can tell, a known meth addict and dealer. What do you know about meth?” His brows scrunched together and he leaned forward. “Meth? Isn’t that a drug, like cocaine or heroin?” “Yes.” “I’m not into drugs. I don’t even drink. Are you thinking somehow I knew this man and he was trying to kill me on purpose, that it wasn’t just a random incident of ‘road rage’?” 90
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“We have to be sure of all our facts, Mr. Montgomery.” He folded his arms and looked irritated. “I don’t do drugs and I didn’t know that young man.” “Never mind. What next?” Fry interrupted. “So the car crashed, the officer pulled up to your car. Then what happened?” Vargas tried to regain the momentum of his narrative. “The officer got out and ran to my car. He asked me if I was all right, and I told him I was fine. He headed toward the other car. I realized he didn’t know the man had a gun, so I tried to get out and tell him. Maybe if I had gotten to him sooner things would be different, but I couldn’t get my seatbelt off. When I did get out of the car, I slipped on the grass and then started to follow him across the bridge. “Officer Hagen reached the car and looked inside. He searched it for a few seconds, looking around the car. I guess he was looking for the driver. I was on the bridge calling to the officer, but he didn’t answer me. I wanted to tell him about the gun. To warn him.” Mark hugged himself, as if he were cold. He took another sip of the water. “I was too late. A moment later, the bullet hit him. He spun around from the impact and hit the pavement. I think I shouted at him. I remember running toward him.” “You didn’t think to run away, go back to your car and drive off?” Fry leaned forward his eyes intent on Mark’s face. “Well, no! Of course not.” He shook his head, wide-eyed. “Weren’t you afraid of being shot?” Fry asked this time. “I don’t think I was thinking about myself being shot.” He paused. “I wonder if I had left…” He let that hang. “When I reached him, blood was running from his shoulder and 91
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he had one hand over the wound. I knelt next to him; the blood was seeping between his fingers. There was blood all over the right side of his chest and arm, and blood on the ground under him.” He shivered. “He said, ‘I can’t move my arm. You have to call for help.’ He was in a lot of pain and very agitated. I began to stand to go for help, but he caught my arm. He told me to use the radio on his shoulder and call for help on it. He closed his eyes then and his body shook. I was terrified he was going to die. “I leaned over him and looked at the device clipped to his shoulder. I’ve seen them used on TV shows; they just push a button and talk into it. So I leaned over him and pushed the button and yelled, ‘I need help…officer down. Now! Send an ambulance!’ “By that time he was lying very still. I was afraid he’d passed out, so I shook him and his eyes opened. He told me, ‘It hurts…I’m cold.’ It seemed like the pool of blood he was lying in was getting bigger.” Mark looked around at his interviewers. “You’re doing a great job, Mr. Montgomery, just great. Then what happened?” “I started to stand up, but he stopped me. He asked, ‘Where’s the bastard who shot me?’” Mark didn’t stumble over the expletive. “I told him I didn’t know. That I hoped he was running away. I realized I needed to stop the bleeding quickly and that he was becoming shocky. “I sat back down and pulled my shirt off over my head. My jacket was still on the seat in the Volvo, so I folded my shirt into a pad, unbuttoned his shirt, slipped it under where his hand was and applied pressure. It hurt him a lot, but his eyes were open and fixed 92
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on me. He seemed to be hanging in there pretty well.” He took a big breath, held it and then let it out slowly. “We heard his voice. Jimmy Ridge. Calling to us.” “What did he say exactly?” Fry leaned forward. Mark closed his eyes, remembering. “‘Here, piggy, piggy!’ We both were scared then. He began ranting, saying things like ‘I’m coming for you, too, motherfucker,’ and ‘You wrecked my ride.’ He yelled he was going to kill us both.” “Officer Hagen pulled me down and told me he couldn’t shoot, said he was right-handed and his arm was useless. He told me to take his gun.” “Officer Hagan instructed you to take his gun? It wasn’t your idea?” “Right. He told me. I didn’t want to do it. I told him no. I told him to use his left hand. He said, ‘I can’t use the other hand. I can’t shoot worth shit with my left hand. It’s all bloody and I can’t get a firm grip. I’ll never hit him.’ I kept telling him no, I didn’t know how to shoot a gun. I couldn’t do it. “‘You have to, or he’ll kill us both.’ he told me.” He paused and took another drink of water, then he continued. “I looked up and could see the man just reaching the end of the bridge, trying to scramble up onto the roadway. I knew he’d be to us soon and it’d be too late. So I thought, Here’s my chance. I always said I’d die before I’d let anyone hurt me again.” The detectives looked at each other, probably wondering what he meant by that. But they didn’t ask him to clarify the statement and let him continue. “I took the gun from his holster and he told me what to do. It was heavy and barely fit in my hand. He told me how to hold it and 93
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how I had to aim at his body, not his head. “Ridge called out to us again. He said, ‘You’re going to pay for busting my car before you die, fucker! But the cop, he’s gonna get his right now. One shot to the head, and you get to watch.’” Mark shivered and clasped his hands to keep them from fidgeting. “Hagan was watching the man coming closer, and he asked me if I had the gun ready and to do exactly as he told me to. Squeeze the trigger. Fire twice, to be sure. He watched Ridge, and said, ‘Get ready. And don’t close your eyes.’ I think he was waiting for the guy to raise his gun first because when he did, he told me to shoot.” “Officer Hagan told you when to shoot? Right?” Vargas wanted this to be very clear. “Yes, he told me when to shoot. I wouldn’t have known. So I raised the gun, but Ridge just laughed and told me, ‘You got a gun, motherfucker? I got one, too!’ And he pointed the gun at us. “It took me a second or so to run down the instructions because I wanted to make sure I did it right. Hagan kept saying, ‘Shoot him! Shoot him!’” Mark’s eyes teared up, making his blue eyes even more liquid. He bit his bottom lip and twisted the ring around his finger. Clearly, he was upset over the memory, but he took another deep breath and slowly let it out. “I squeezed the trigger and kept my eyes open. I wish I’d closed them.” He looked off into space, at a point where the ceiling and wall met. “Nothing happened…he just stood there. He yelled, ‘That the best you got, fucker?’ I could see where the bullet had hit him because there was blood. I wondered why he didn’t fall down. I remembered Hagan said to shoot twice, so I took a breath, aimed and pulled the trigger again.” 94
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He put his face in his hands as he scrubbed them up and down, as if trying to rub away the memory. “He sort of collapsed. He just lay there…twitching…and then he was still.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I said, ‘Officer, it’s over,’ but Hagan had fainted. I thought he might have died, so I checked his pulse at the neck and reapplied pressure to the bandage. There wasn’t as much blood now, but I tried to keep up the pressure. “Next thing I know, the other cop showed up. He ran up to me, shouting, ‘Get down on the ground! Now! On the ground!’ I looked around and wondered who in the world he was talking to. I didn’t think he meant me. If I had, I’d have gotten on the ground.” He reached out as if to touch Vargas, but then pulled his hand back. “I tried to tell him I’d shot Ridge, but he was on me so fast I couldn’t finish my sentence. He picked me up by the waistband of my jeans and slammed my face into the ground. I sort of lost it. I was kicking, screaming at him to let me go, not to hurt me, and trying to get away from him. I had this uncontrollable urge to flee.” He cleared his throat. “I get that way ever since…well, for a long time. I don’t like being touched or…hurt.” Mark shrugged. “Anyway, the officer knelt with his knee in my back and pulled my hands behind me and put the handcuffs on.” Another sip of water. He licked his lips and took another sip. Detective Vargas looked across at Fry. I was sure he didn’t want to hear this, but they’d seen the tape, so they knew what was coming. Still, it was hard to take, especially from this gentle, fragile man. “I told him, ‘Don’t hurt me, please! I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt me.’” Fry asked, “What did he do then?” 95
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“He kept pressing his knee into my back. Yelling at me to, ‘Shut the fuck up!’ I tried to get him off. I know I shouldn’t have resisted, but I couldn’t help myself. It’s like a panic attack, and I just have to get away.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I think he wanted to shoot me. He kept putting his hand on his gun.” He looked up at Fry as if for understanding. Fry nodded at him, and Mark continued. “Another officer arrived and called for an ambulance. He helped the first man pull me to my feet. The first cop told the second cop, ‘He shot Don. Let’s put him in the car.’” As the memory of his treatment unfolded, Mark had stopped referring to the men as officers. Now they were cops. I wondered if the detectives had picked up on it, too. “They took me to the car parked across the lane and pushed me into the backseat. The side of my head hit the door jam and I saw stars. He yelled at me to lift my legs in and then slammed the door.” He reached up and rubbed the bump. “Did they read you your rights?” Fry asked. “No, he just threw me in the car and slammed the door.” He shook his head. “That’s about it. I sat in the car for a while, until they brought me to the station. The officer put me in a small room and left me. I was still handcuffed. No one would answer the door. I asked repeatedly to use the phone. I think I put my head down on the table and fell asleep. The next thing I remember was Captain Chan coming in the room.” Vargas and Fry glanced at each other. I didn’t know why, but my hackles went up. “You know Captain Chan?” Fry asked. Interested in what he had to say and why Fry had asked about me, I straightened. 96
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“Well, no, I never met him before I saw him at the accident, while I was in the car. He stared at me for a while. He must’ve thought I was crazy, with my hair all messed up, my face scraped and wearing only my jeans.” He smiled self-consciously. “At the station, he let me out of the handcuffs and helped me to clean up. Then he took me home.” He left out the embrace we’d shared and gave a short, sanitized version of our moment together. “That’s all?” Vargas asked as if he didn’t believe Mark. “Yes, that’s all.” Another look passed between the two men. “Nothing else happened when you were alone with Captain Chan?” Fry sounded surprised, or maybe unbelieving. “No, what do you mean?” Fry cleared his throat. “Are you gay, Mr. Montgomery?” Oh, shit. I didn’t like the direction this was headed. Mark’s face changed, hardened a bit. “I am. Why do you ask?” I held my breath, my hands tightening into fists at the prospect of being outted. “Did Captain Chan make advances toward you or try to take advantage of your situation?” Fry seemed to be in charge of this part of the interrogation. I’ve known Bill Fry for a long time, and it shook me to hear those accusations. How could he work with me for so many years and think I’d force myself on someone, man or woman? Mark sat back, mouth open, then he shook his head. “No, not at all. In fact, he was very kind and considerate.” “Mr. Montgomery, we have an eyewitness that claims at one point Chan had his arms around you and you seemed to be trying to pull away from him. You can tell us the truth; we won’t let him hurt you.” Vargas’s voice had taken on a persuasive tone, but to 97
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me it sounded smarmy, condescending almost. “Oh, that.” He exhaled. “It wasn’t like that at all. I guess it had finally hit me, what I had done, the shooting…and I sort of collapsed all over him. He was kind enough to let me fall apart on his shoulder. He told me I wasn’t to blame. That if I hadn’t used the gun, both Hagan and I would be dead.” Mark frowned. Both Fry and Vargas looked relieved at his answer, but they weren’t half as relieved as I. I owed Mark a thank you. “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery. You’ve been very helpful, and the department wishes to give you their thanks for what you did yesterday.” Vargas stood and offered his hand. Mark stood, too, and shook both men’s hands. While they were finishing, I headed back to my office. I knew when Mark was done he’d find me so I could take him home. In the meantime, I had some work to do. Sometime during the interview, the chief had arrived at the station. I heard Beth talking to him on the phone and giving him his messages. She took good care of him and didn’t mind getting him his coffee just the way he liked it. When Beth felt generous, she would offer to get mine, but that wasn’t often. I never ask her, either. I started working on vacation schedules and thinking about taking some time off myself. I could use some time away, and if I didn’t use it, I’d lose it. My own personal piece of heaven on the Guadalupe was calling to me. And besides, maybe being out of town for all of this was best. I was casting a line into the Guadalupe when I heard Chief Tasket clearing his throat. I looked up from the computer where I’d been staring intently at my screen saver of that exact spot and motioned him in, trying not to look like I was just caught 98
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daydreaming. “Mind somewhere else, Chan?” “Just thinking about the shooting, sir.” Good recovery. “I understand fishing on the Guadalupe is good this time of year.” He grinned at me. “Detectives finish up with Mr. Montgomery?” “Just now, I think. He’s been in there since two.” I didn’t mention I had watched. “Vargas and Fry are very thorough. Fine detectives.” He looked at me. “You worried about something?” “Just hoping there are no mistakes, Chief. We need to be careful about how we handle him.” “Especially after you did such a fine job settling him down?” He lifted his eyebrows at me. “No, it’s just that he’s in a very delicate state.” “Delicate state? Is he pregnant?” Now both his eyebrows came up, but his eyes were laughing. “No, no, I meant, he’s in a delicate mental state. Chief, he shot and killed a man. Even if he was a cop, we’d have his ass in the shrink’s office as soon as possible, but he’s a civilian, not trained for this possibility.” I shook my head at the image. “He needs to be treated with kid gloves.” “I agree, Chan. The dees know what they are doing. They’ve been briefed. Don’t worry. They won’t mess up all the good work you did getting him under control. Excellent job of damage control, by the way. I don’t know what you did or promised him”—he let that hang—“but whatever it is he wants, give it to him. We’re counting on you to take care of him, keep him away from the press and the lawyers.” I heard a faint intake of breath and looked past the chief to my 99
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doorway. Mark stood in it and, by the look on his face, I could guess how much of our conversation he had heard. I didn’t have to guess he wasn’t happy about it. His mouth and eyes frowned at me, disappointment weeping from them, then he spun on his heels and strode away. “Mark, wait! Shit!” I jumped to my feet, hitting my thigh on the desk. “Damn it!” Tasket’s eyebrows shot up again. I was getting tired of seeing that look on his face. I’m sure my reaction must have been clear to the chief because he let out a soft, “Oh” of realization, then a, “Goddamn son of a bitch.” So much for being inscrutable and staying safely in the closet. I rushed from around my desk and started to head after Mark. Tasket’s, “We need to talk, Chan,” followed me down the hall. That was a conversation I didn’t want to have. At all. Trotting down the steps of the station, I looked up and down the street trying to spot Mark. He’d taken off walking toward his house. It would be a walk of several miles, not impossible, but I sure didn’t want him leaving like that. “Mark! Stop!” I called after him as I ran. His hands clenched in fists as his brisk steps took him farther away. Pissed off radiated from all over his body. “Mark! Please, let me explain! It’s not how it looked.” Did anyone ever redeem themselves with that line? Amazingly, however, he stopped in his tracks and waited for me to catch up. He turned to face me. Breathing hard and promising myself to start jogging, I was very careful not to touch him. I’d gotten the message he didn’t like to be touched. And there I was standing in front of him, just over 100
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six feet tall, one hundred and eighty-five pounds, with a semiautomatic on my hip and blocking his way. It would intimidate anyone. Well, it used to. “I’m sorry you heard that. The chief doesn’t understand.” Although, now I think he does, perhaps more than I wanted him to, but fuck it. I’d deal with Tasket later. “What doesn’t he understand? It sounded like you were just following orders and he was thrilled with your performance.” His jaw set as he turned blazing blue eyes on me. “You had me fooled last night. You deserve a raise.” I opened my mouth to tell him my salary was capped, but closed it. He needed honesty, not humor. “Okay, I’ll admit in the beginning I was trying to save the department’s name. Look, Mark, I really care about how you were treated and how you’re coping with this…this…” I struggled in frustration. “Shit.” He blinked, still frowning, but not as hard. I took it as a sign to continue. “I never meant to trick you into doing something you weren’t comfortable with. Hell, if you want to go to the press, go. If you want to talk to a lawyer, do it. I won’t try to stop you. The chief’s first concern is the department.” I paused. “I’m concerned about you.” “Daniel.” His shoulders slumped. “Look, I told you last night, there can be no us. I’m not up to it. I believe you when you say you’re concerned about me. I do. But you don’t understand. I’m not capable of having a relationship with anyone right now. Maybe never.” He bit his bottom lip and waited. “I don’t know what’s happening between us, but I do know we’re both interested.” I could see in his eyes he felt it, too, this 101
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inexplicable pull toward each other. He shook his head. Taking a step backward, he turned and prepared to leave. “Mark, please. Just tell me. Are you attracted to me?” I swallowed a huge lump in my throat. One way or the other, I had to know. He paused, his back to me, and nodded once. I wanted to jump up and down, but I had an image to uphold. “Then please, I’d like to try.” “Try what? I don’t do casual sex. In fact, I haven’t done sex since Jeff. Haven’t dated since then. So, what do you want from me?” He ran his hand through his hair. “I want a chance with you. I’m not the king of dating or relationships either. I suck at them, but I’ve never been as attracted to anyone as I am to you.” “It’s a mistake. You’ll get hurt.” He shook his head, although his blue eyes held a glimmer of hope. “Talk to your shrink about it. See what he says.” I grasped at any straw I could think of right then. “My doctor is a woman. What if she says no? Will you go away and leave me alone?” I couldn’t see his face, but I was too afraid to move around him, so I continued to talk to the back of his head. “Yes, if that’s what she says, and it’s what you want.” His fists unclenched as he turned to face me. “Drive me home, Daniel.” I let out my breath and tried a smile, praying like hell I looked like Jet Li, not Jackie Chan. He stepped up to me. His warm fingers caressed the creases in the corner of my eye; some people call them crow’s feet, but I like 102
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laugh lines much better. It was gentle and soothing, and I didn’t want him to stop. “I like your eyes. They are so very brown.” He dropped his hand and started walking back to the station. I fell into step next to him as we walked to my car.
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CHAPTER 9 I sat on the barstool at Clancy’s and sipped what was left of my drink. Jeff was pouring a couple of drafts for the guys at the pool tables. Our game was progressing slowly, as usual, and I was in a terrible mood. I had left Mark at his house, still mad, but willing to speak to his shrink about us. He said he’d call me with a decision. For my part, I’d decided Mark was probably right and it would probably turn out badly for me and I’d find myself alone again. I could feel myself slipping into a depression over losing a romance that hadn’t even started. “Are you ready to talk?” Jeff appeared in front of me. “Nothing to talk about.” My tone was more grumpy than sulky, I hoped. 104
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“Nothing, huh? Doesn’t seem like nothing. Spill it, Dan. It’s me, Jeff, your best friend.” His earnest voice lured me in and I gave up trying to shut out the world. “I met this guy. An incredible guy. And fell in love with him. In a day. I think.” “Wow! The bigger they are, the faster they fall.” He chuckled. “That’s great, isn’t it? Why are you so down? He’s already taken?” “No, but there is a problem.” I proceeded to tell Jeff about Mark, how we met and where we wound up. By the end of the story, he was shaking his head. “Dan, you have the worst luck in the love department. First you’re straight, then you’re bi, and now you’re gay.” He snorted. “What are you going to do?” “Well, I promised I’d leave him alone if his shrink said to forget it.” “And if the doctor gives the go ahead? What will you do then?” “I guess we start dating. Or seeing each other. I don’t know. Whatever Mark wants to do as long as I get to be with him.” I shrugged, still not daring to hope. “Dating? Like going out to dinner at the diner on Main Street? Catching a movie at the local Cineplex? Holding hands? Kissing on the front porch? Where the hell do you think you are, buddy? Montrose?” Jeff shook his head at me. “I know. Riceland isn’t exactly the center of the gay universe.” “Damn straight.” He grinned at his unintentional joke. “That was a good one, huh?” “Yeah. And you weren’t even trying.” I nodded. “I know where I am. And I think I’m going to find out who I am, if Mark says yes.” “Fuck. You know what you’re risking, don’t you?” 105
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“I know. Tasket already suspects. He wants to “talk.” I made the air quotes with my fingers. “You know that’s not good.” “You can’t be fired for being gay.” “No, but my life can be made miserable.” “Tasket would do that?” “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Guess I’ll find out.” “Well, don’t blow it until Mark says yes. No need to come out of the closet without a good reason, unless it’s what you want to do.” “I know. Funny thing is I never really thought I was in the closet, you know. Sure, I’m attracted to men, but I date women. Hell, I’ve been married.” I shrugged. “But there’s something about this guy, Jeff.” “So, it’s really love? I hope it works out for you. I surely do. I also hope you don’t get your heart or your ass kicked.” He refilled my drink and moved his knight, taking my rook. “I don’t know if it’s love. I do know I want him. Want to protect him and hold him and…” Jeez, was I blushing? The heat on my face felt like it. I glanced in the mirror over the bar. Yep. Blushing. Shit. Jeff raised his eyebrows and leaned closer. “And? You want to fuck him, don’t you?” He slapped me with the towel hanging over his shoulder. “Don’t you?” “Oh, yeah.” I nodded. Shit, I wanted to do everything I could to Mark, but chances of that happening were slim and none. “Yeehaw! Ride ’em, cowboy!” Jeff swung his towel around his head, pretending he was on a bucking bronco, dancing around behind the bar. A few of the patrons looked our way. “Cut it out, Jeff.” I rolled my eyes. He laughed, stopped, and put the towel down. 106
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“What if he says no?” he asked. “If it’s a no, I’m taking some vacation time, heading up to the Guadalupe to lick my wounds. So if you don’t see me for a while, you know where I’ll be.” I didn’t finish my drink, just stood and put a ten on the bar. “But what if you get lucky and spend all that time in bed with him?” He leaned on the bar and rapped on the wood. “Well, you won’t see me then, either.” I let a quick grin cross my face and headed home. *
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Monday dragged by, then Tuesday. By Wednesday, I was ready to pack my tent and head to the Hill Country. No word from Mark, no phone call, nothing. I figured he was trying to think of a nice way to say Get lost; Thanks, but no thanks; Hasta la vista, baby. I was sitting at my desk, flipping through my notebook searching for an address I had written down when I came upon the notes I took that night on the phone with Mark. Jeff Granger. Ex-boyfriend, currently a convict; official title, the Bastard. I moved to my computer, clicked on the NCRD icon and entered what little info I had into the database and let it search. Within a few minutes, I had results. Jeffrey Mark Granger, 25, of Houston, Texas, arrested on March 4, 1999 for attempted murder of his partner, Allen Forester. Allen? Not Mark? Sentenced to twelve years in Huntsville on a reduced charge of attempted manslaughter. His records indicated he had a juvenile 107
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record also, but it was sealed. I wondered if Mark knew about that. Or was it Allen? I sat back in my chair. It didn’t make sense. Who was Allen Forester? Who was Mark Montgomery? I looked through the rest of the data, including Granger’s mug shot. He was good looking. Even with the best efforts of the police photographer, who manages to make everyone look like they’re having the worse day of their lives, Jeff Granger looked good. He had blue eyes, blond hair and a crooked smile. Charming, almost. I found the case number, jotted it down and sent the report to the printer. I picked up the phone and called my old contact with Houston P.D., Lieutenant Dave Rapper. Dave and I went back a long way, and I knew I could count on him to help me out. I set up a time to meet him later that day at Houston P.D. downtown, where they house the evidence vault. He told me he’d have the case file pulled and waiting for me when I got there. Dave was true to his word. We shook hands at the door to the evidence room. He had reserved a small room for my use. Waiting inside on the table was a large box, marked with the case number. “Want to stay while I go through this?” I asked. “No, I can’t, Dan. Got some reports to write. Not all of us made it to captain, remember?” He laughed as he teased me. He was a lieutenant in patrol division. Nothing shabby about that. “I had to move to Riceland to make it this far. You could move there, too, but might be harder for you though, not being Chinese. We always need good men.” I tried my bit to recruit him, but he just laughed and closed the door. I sat, opened the box and started to sort the contents. Physical evidence in one pile, photographs in another. Medical reports, reports by the officers first on the scene. Transcripts of the 108
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911 call. Starting at the beginning, I picked the 911 call. It was only two pages, mostly the questions and answers of the dispatcher. The call had come in around five in the morning. The dispatcher testified he’d heard nothing clearly except a soft moaning. After about ten minutes, it stopped. He sent a unit to investigate. He heard nothing more until one of the officers picked up the phone at the scene spoke to him. Next were the reports of the officers. They arrived at approximately five-fifteen A.M. and found the door to the house ajar. Entering, they identified themselves with no answer. Doing a sweep of the rooms, they quickly found the victim in what seemed to be the main bedroom. He was unconscious, stretched out on the bed, face down, and naked. The bed was covered in blood and it was evident he had been beaten severely. After determining the victim was still alive, they called for an ambulance and took pictures. It would be necessary to know exactly how they’d found him later. They did a preliminary evidence search, found bloody footprints around the bed, and a broken piece of wood, what they guessed had done most of the damage. The phone, still clutched in the man’s hand when they entered, had to be pried loose to speak to the dispatcher. Both officers mentioned how the viciousness of the assault bothered them. When the ambulance arrived, EMTs checked his vitals, wrapped a brace around his neck, strapped him to a backboard and took him out. Life Flight transported the victim to Hermann Hospital. The Crime Scene Unit had matched the footprints to those of a pair of boots with traces of blood on the soles left in the closet. It looked like someone had taken clothes; several dresser drawers 109
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were empty and about half the closet had empty hangers. The techs found traces of blood in the bathroom, on the floor, and on a towel. Granger had taken a shower and changed his clothes before leaving, while Mark/Allen lay dying on the bed. I sat back and rubbed my temples. Damn. This just couldn’t be right. What kind of bastard beats half to death the man he’s supposed to love, then calmly packs and leaves? I continued reading, but it was getting harder. It was determined the perp had beaten the victim and left him for dead, cleaned out his clothes and belongings and fled. After searching through the victim’s papers, they found the name of the boyfriend, where he worked and identified the car he was probably driving. They put out an APB on him, wanted for questioning, but the CSU guys had estimated the beating took place at least three hours prior to Mark/Allen being found. Three hours is a lot of time to get lost in, especially in a town as big as Houston, with two major airports, bus stations and trains, not to mention all the major highways leading to different parts of the country. I sat back and wiped the perspiration from my face. I hadn’t realized how tense I had become going over this. Had this happened to Mark or to Allen? I needed to see the photographs to make a positive id. I held my breath as I pulled out the officers’ photos. My stomach turned as I looked at the body on the bloody bed, despite seeing blood before. But this might be Mark’s blood, might be his body. He was face down, and he had much longer dark brown hair. His body was perfect, his legs well built, yet slender, like a runner’s. I couldn’t tell from the photos if it was Mark. Then I came to the pictures of him after the paramedics turned him over. 110
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My heart stopped. Mark’s face, what was left of it, looked back at me. The left side was mottled with dark bruises; both eyes were blackened and swollen shut. There were red thumbprints clearly visible on his neck; Granger had tried to strangle him at one point. Bruises showed dark and angry all over his body, especially in his abdominal region. Blood covered him from his head to his waist and had soaked into the bedding. Both arms had been broken, probably defensive wounds. No wonder the bastard had gotten twelve years. It would have been easy to prove attempted murder. But without Mark’s testimony, they really didn’t have the evidence to arrest Granger. After they had picked him up at a cheap hotel near San Antonio, he denied being there. Said he had left days before the attack and been just driving around, thinking about their relationship. The detectives didn’t believe any of Granger’s stories, and finally, using Mark’s testimony, they arrested and charged him with attempted murder. I searched through the papers and found Mark’s testimony, dated March 15th, almost two weeks after the attack. The investigating officer had taken it in the hospital once Mark had been able to speak. After the surgeries to rebuild his face and having his jaw wired shut, talking wasn’t easy. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and started to read his testimony. Mark had been sleeping. Jeff had been out drinking and came in late. He’d been doing that a lot, ever since Mark had told him he wanted to break up. He hadn’t taken the news well. He turned on the light and started yelling at Mark, calling him a slut, accusing him of sleeping with other men. 111
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Christ. I closed my eyes. All that blood. I didn’t want to know this, did I? Mark tried to reason with him, even pleaded with him. It wasn’t true. There wasn’t anyone else. Other than college and work, Mark spent all his time with Granger, so when could he have done it? Granger wasn’t satisfied. It just made him madder. Granger slapped him several times and started choking him, telling him to confess. When he didn’t, he let go of Mark’s throat, and started to punch Mark in the face. Started to hit him in the stomach, saying if Mark couldn’t be with him, he couldn’t be with anyone. After he finally let Mark go, Granger left the room and returned with a long piece of wood. Mark had tried to get away and hide in the bathroom, but Granger broke down the door and dragged him back to the bed, where he proceeded to hit Mark with the wood like it was baseball bat. Mark said he remembered feeling his jaw shatter, but nothing after that. Nothing until he woke up days later in the hospital. Granger had shattered Mark’s jaw, broken both of Mark’s forearms, his cheek and nose. He’d also sustained three broken ribs on one side, two cracked on the other, and a fractured tibia. Granger had done everything but kill Mark. He had survived on pure willpower alone, I guess. I put down the papers and realized my face was wet. I wiped the tears from my eyes with the sleeve of my uniform, folded my arms and put my head down. That photo of Mark, covered in blood, his face barely recognizable, his body twisted and bruised, had burned into my mind. Broken, he’d said. All broken and couldn’t be fixed. Why did I go out on that call? Why didn’t I just stay at my desk where I 112
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belonged? Why did I have to fall in love with him? Because I needed him, and he needed me. That was the one thing I was sure of. I had no clue how to get past this atrocity, how to take down the walls he’d built to protect himself. Maybe this was too much for me to deal with. Definitely too much for Mark to handle. I had to ask myself, did I have the right to ask that of him? If he felt safe and protected, who was I to change that? If that’s what he needed to survive, I should let him keep his walls. I placed all the evidence back in the box and carried it back to the clerk. I signed it back in, showing him my badge and identification and left. *
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It had been almost a week with no phone call. I had given up hoping he would call and tried to write it off as for the best. I lay in bed, not able to sleep, tossing and turning. The darkness seemed to grow all around me as I sank into a depression. I replayed the failures of my life, of which there were plenty. Seems I never go over my successes at these times; guess that’s why it’s called depression. I sat up and switched on the lamp. Looked at my gun. I knew it was loaded, knew what it tasted like in my mouth, had felt the cold steel against my teeth. I knew it would just take a second, just a squeeze, and it would all be over. Yeah, I told myself, all over the walls, the bed, and the floor. How long would it take for someone to notice I hadn’t shown up for work? Who would find my body? I hoped it wouldn’t be Jeff. I wondered if Mark would grieve for me. I wondered if it 113
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would confirm to my parents I was the failure they’d always said I was. I looked at the gun again. It was matte black, a Glock 23. It had always felt good in my hand; my grip was always sure. I’d passed the sharpshooter test. Of course, you don’t need to be a sharpshooter when the barrel is in your mouth or against your temple. My eyes traveled to the card. Bayou City Escorts. No names. I closed my eyes and told myself to forget it. It would be a stupid thing to do and dangerous. The sting was over, I argued with myself, so no harm there. I told myself a fuck is better than a bullet, right? But pay for it? Had it come to that? I swore I’d never pay for sex after the fiasco with my wife Mai. Even though while we were together I never knew my father had paid for her, afterward, I looked back on every moment we spent together as bought. I wondered for years if she’d faked every sigh, every moan, everything. It ruined what little memories I had of her and left a bad taste in my mouth. Mark. If he found out, what would he say? Probably nothing because he wouldn’t care. I told myself I was not an animal, so I could control my urges, delay gratification, postpone pleasure. Been doing it for years. However, I’d seen Mark, and he’d awakened long forgotten desires inside me that I’d kept buried. I wanted to be with someone and I remembered how good she’d made me feel. I could stand to feel good, even if it was only for a little while. Even if I had to pay for it. 114
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Not a word from Mark in almost a week. As far as I was concerned, I was as good as dumped. I was beginning to get mad; pissed at him for leaving me hanging. The truth was it hurt. I had put myself out there, and he hurt me and I hated that feeling. Hated feeling vulnerable. Out of control. A failure, again. Christ, I argued with myself, it wasn’t like I was cheating on him, so why did it feel that way? If he never called, would I still feel that way in a month, three months? Probably. There were no strings attached to me yet. I fought against the bit, telling myself I was still my own man and could do as I pleased. So what if I had to pay? She was worth it. I picked up the phone and dialed her number. “Bayou City Escorts. May I help you?” “It’s Dan, from Riceland.” “I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again. You’re out of credit, so this better be business.” She cut right to the chase. “Business.” I didn’t want her as my girlfriend, and she didn’t want me as anything more than a paying customer. “My business is your pleasure. There or here?” I didn’t want her coming to my house again. “Your place.” “When?” “Tonight.” “I’ll be free at midnight.” She gave me directions to her apartment located in far north Houston, about thirty minutes away from Riceland at this time of night. “I’ll be there.” I stood and pulled on some jeans and a shirt. I opened my dresser, felt under the piles of underwear, pulled out my back-up piece, a small-of-the-back baby Glock in its holster, put it on and wore the shirt over it. Houston could be rough, and I 115
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wasn’t familiar with the neighborhood. I had about an hour before I had to be there. I made up my mind to only spend one hour with her and head straight back. This time, she was going to cost me some money, so I checked my wallet. I’d have to stop at the ATM and pull out at least a hundred. She was that good, and I wasn’t expecting her to give me the discount rate. I got in my pick-up and headed toward Houston. *
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I arrived about thirty minutes ahead of time. I entered the parking lot and found her building. Very upscale, very expensive. High-dollar vehicles filled the parking lot. I locked my gun in the glove box; there was no need of it here. I sat in my Ford F-150, of which there were very few in the lot, and watched her door, waiting for midnight to roll around. They weren’t really apartments, but two-story townhouses. I wondered if she rented or owned. Either way, I could tell they cost a lot of money. Her door opened and a man came out. He was dressed in a nice suit, but had a baseball hat on, covering most of his face. He walked briskly down the sidewalk and got into a dark Mercedes. A moment later, it came to life, backed up and pulled away. Now serving number 23. I felt a pang of jealousy. I told myself she was just a whore, and I was just one of many customers. I couldn’t deny I was attracted to this beautiful woman. I guess she appealed to my baser self. Perhaps if she hadn’t been a hooker… I knocked on the door at exactly midnight, and she answered, 116
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dressed for business in a black full-length negligee. It had a robe of the same fabric—silk I think—with an ebony fur trimmed hem. I had no doubt it was real mink. The black set off the paleness of her skin, her hair was down, and she wore make-up that highlighted the blue of her eyes. She let me in and shut the door behind me. “What can I do to you?” she asked, her hand on her hip, poised and waiting. “What will a hundred get me?” “For you, I’ll let you pick. Fuck or suck.” She walked over to a glass-and-chrome bar cart and poured herself a scotch. I could see it was well stocked, and below it, beer was chilling in a bucket. She didn’t offer me a drink, but then she knew I didn’t drink. Crazy thoughts ran through my head. If I fucked her, it would be like cheating on Mark. But you can’t cheat on what you don’t have. If I just got a blowjob, I’d feel better, release my tension, keep it strictly business. Not much touching, no naked bodies, no passionate kissing. I knew who I wanted to make love to, but he wasn’t an option. “Suck.” She nodded, downed her drink, and led me to the couch. It was plush velvet, a deep burgundy, and I figured it cost close to three grand. Everything in the place looked expensive. I wondered if someone kept her in all this style or if business was just good. She slowly unbuttoned my shirt and ran the tips of her fingers across my nipples, and my pants tightened. She licked my nipples, and my pants tightened again. “Just a blowjob,” I reminded her as she unzipped my jeans. “Nothing with me is ‘just.’” She reached down and stroked me. Instantly, I was Pavlov, completely erect and drooling. After tugging on my jeans, I slid them to the floor, and she pushed me 117
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onto the couch. She placed a pillow on the floor, one of those large square ones, knelt down, pulled my hips toward her, and spread my legs apart. She ran her fingers over my stomach, traveled lower, and played in the hair at the base of my shaft. She teased me, making me want her, then leaned over and picked up a bottle of love oil and massaged a few drops into her hands. Then she got down to business, using her hand to stroke me. Her grip was firm, but her hands were soft as they glided over my cock. Must have been all that oil. I leaned back and enjoyed it for a while, but I had paid for her mouth, not her hand. “Suck me,” I ordered, but she just smiled at me. My dick throbbed and I swallowed hard. “Make me,” she dared, her lips challenging me. I wanted those lips on me because I knew what they could do. After spending one night with her, she knew what I wanted and how I liked it. At that moment, she was worth every dollar I was paying her. I put my hands in her hair and roughly brought her face to within inches of my cock. Her hand continued to stroke me as I watched. “Lick me, bitch,” I whispered. “That’s right. I’m your bitch.” Damn right, as long as the money lasts. She resisted a little, but I pulled her closer. I watched as she opened her mouth, her pink tongue making its way around the head of my cock in a long, slow lick that made me shudder. Finally, she took me in her wet heat, bringing me right to the edge. She slacked off, repeating that climb again and again until I was begging her and Jesus to release me. 118
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Fifteen minutes later, I lay back against the couch, spent. She got off the floor and sat beside me as she readjusted her nightie. I stood, buttoned my shirt, and zipped up my pants. Suddenly, I felt terrible. I had taken the easy way out and paid for sex. I had never done that before. How I would live with myself? I’m an honest cop and proud of it. I guess I should change that to I was an honest cop. At that moment, all I could think of was how was I going to tell Mark what I had done? I loved Mark, whether I was with him or not. I pulled five twenties from my wallet, laid them on the table, and headed for the door. “Same time next week?” Her parting shot scored a direct hit as I opened the door. I’m a weak, stupid old man. “Yeah.” I slammed the door behind me. My sexual tension had vanished, along with my self-respect. I could have done that myself at home, and my right hand doesn’t need to be paid a hundred bucks. I struggled with the guilt and disappointment in myself. Trying to validate what I’d done, I ran over the excuses in my head. If the hooker hadn’t been so damn good, it would have been easy to walk away. If Mark had called, I wouldn’t have been here. If I wasn’t such a pathetic, weak son-of-a-bitch. Bingo. I tried all the cop-outs, but none of them was the truth. I had needed some kind of connection, wanting it to be Mark. Instead, I took the low road just to keep from pulling the trigger. Maybe I was better off dead. I wondered if, in the end, this was all my life amounted to. 119
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On the drive home, I decided I would never tell Mark about the hooker. Then I laughed at myself. I’d never have Mark. No need to tell. I needed to stop thinking about Mark, but I didn’t know how. Feeling more depressed than ever and knowing I’d be back there again next week, I pulled off my clothes, crawled into bed, and fell asleep. *
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It must have been a day for unexpected visitors. Beth was at my office door. “Captain Chan, Mr. St. Romaine is here to see you.” I looked up from the spreadsheet of vacation time and struggled to remember that name. It came to me in one sinking moment, the mayor’s new campaign manager. “Show him in,” I said, but he was already in the doorway, not bothering to wait. “Chan.” He closed the door behind Beth. It’s never a good sign when someone closes the door to your office. It usually means they have something to tell you that you don’t want anyone to hear. St. Romaine was well built, good-looking, tan, and broad-shouldered. He had dark hair, with silver showing at his temples. He looked, smelled and acted like a snake. “Mr. St. Romaine.” I extended my hand, but he merely looked at it as if I’d washed it in pig shit. I sat, folded my hands on my desk, and waited for him to start talking. “I was told you were Chinese.” He took a seat and crossed his legs. “So was I.” I watched him. “Captain Chan, I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.” 120
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“Looking to get a ticket fixed?” He glanced around the room, then stood and walked over to my diploma on the wall. “University of Texas? Good school. What’s a finance grad doing working as a police officer?” “Fighting white collar crime?” I shrugged. “Means you’re smarter than the average cop. No advanced degree? Does that mean you don’t have any ambition?” “Ambition? Depends on what you’re talking about.” “To go higher. Attain more.” He paced around my office. “More what?” “More status, more money, more of the good life.” “I have a good life, make enough money for me and I’ve never seen the appeal of status. I couldn’t stand all the photographers and parties.” “I’d like to offer you more.” “More what? Photographers?” I could tell I was getting to him because he ignored my clever retorts. “You’re smart. You figured out what was going on with the hookers, warned the other men on the force, and screwed up my plans.” He was counting off on his fingers. On the last item, his hand clenched into a fist. “Oh. Sorry.” I shrugged and looked inscrutable. “You might be forgiven, if you play your cards right, Chan.” “Don’t play cards much. I prefer chess.” His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “Have you ever thought about being chief of police?” He sat in the chair again. “No. I mostly think about fishing.” “Well, there might be an opening for chief in the future.” “I’ll be retired by then.” “Maybe it happens before then. How many years do you have 121
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left?” He sounded like we were old friends, shooting the breeze. “Three.” “If the position came up, would you be interested?” “Only the mayor can make that offer, if I’m not mistaken. It’s an appointed position.” “Well, that’s true, but he has to have a list of candidates and listen to his advisors. You could make the short list.” “Do you think Chief Tasket might recommend me?” I grinned hopefully. “I’m thinking the chief might not be around.” He was getting irritated. “Really? I schedule the vacations, and I wasn’t aware he was planning on going anywhere.” We sat and stared at each other. St. Romaine finally broke the silence by trying a different tact. “Did you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t interfered?” “Tasket might be gone, along with the reputations and marriages of a lot of our men.” I didn’t want that to happen; it would cripple the force. Hell, I might have to patrol again. “Peripheral damage.” He waved his hand in the air. “Even so. We just got those men trained. I’d hate to have to train some new ones. The paperwork alone would keep me busy for months.” St. Romaine ignored me and continued. “Had you thought about who might have replaced Tasket?” “No, but I’ll bet you have.” “It could’ve been you.” Did he think I was stupider than I looked? I laughed and shook my head. “Really? I was pretty sure you were unaware of my existence until recently.” 122
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He paused. “If you came to my attention, it was your own fault.” “It usually is.” I stood, signaling him it was time to break up this party. “Is that all?” “Would you take it, if I offered it to you?” “No. I’m retiring in three years to go fishing. And I have no ambitions, remember?” St. Romaine stood and locked eyes with me. “I expect you not to interfere with me again, Chan. Things could become very difficult for you. You wouldn’t want to lose your retirement, would you?” “Are you threatening me, Mr. St. Romaine?” “No, of course not, just a friendly piece of advice. It’s still legal to give a friend advice, isn’t it?” “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend. Excuse me, but I have work to do.” I sat and went back to my work, leaving him standing there. He took the hint and left, shutting the door behind him with a hard bang. Why the hell had he bothered to talk to me? Why did he offer me the position? In addition, could he really deliver it? I didn’t like being threatened—never have—and I especially didn’t like having my pension threatened. Around here, those are fighting words. I tossed back and forth over whether or not to tell Tasket. Then I got up and went to his office. “Chief? Got a minute?” He had his feet up on his desk, reading this month’s Fishing World magazine. He put the magazine down, but kept his feet up. “Sure, Captain. I heard you had a visitor.” Tasket didn’t miss much, and it helped Beth was there to keep him informed. 123
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“Yes, sir. Sorry, I don’t usually keep such bad company.” I shrugged, and he grinned back. “I won’t hold it against you.” “Thanks.” I sat, and he leaned back, his cigar clenched between his teeth, waiting. “I feel I have to tell you, Mr. St. Romaine offered me your job.” “Did he?” Tasket looked amused. “Did you take it?” “No, sir, I said I was all set to retire, and that I had no ambitions.” “True enough. Once a man has it in his head to retire, it’s hard to change his mind.” He grinned. “It was tempting, though. Then I thought about all the time I’d have to spend reading magazines and smoking cigars.” “Takes years of practice.” He nodded solemnly. “I promised my parents a long time ago I wouldn’t smoke.” “You’re a good man, Chan.” “I don’t think he likes me, Chief. I messed up things for him. Ruined his plans, he said.” I shook my head in mock sorrow. “I don’t think he likes me, either.” “We could start a club,” I suggested. “Can we have matching jackets?” Tasket looked hopeful. “Of course,” I assured him. I stood to leave. “Dan, watch your back. He’s not a nice guy.” Tasket looked about as worried as I’ve ever seen him. “He’ll try to hurt you, if he can.” “I understand. Hopefully, I can stay away from him.” “Hopefully.” Tasket blew out smoke from between his lips and picked up the magazine he was looking at before I came in. 124
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*
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There had been no call from Mark. There was no use trying to keep my hopes up; it was over before it had begun. I felt more depressed than ever and even called in sick. Beth called later that morning from the station to check on me, but I assured her it was just a stomach bug. She told me to keep it to myself and not come back until it was gone. I told her I had no idea how long it would take to feel better. That much was the truth. That night I waited in my pick-up outside her townhouse and watched two men leave. Two men at the same time? Kinky. I wondered if one of them paid to watch or if they were doing a ménage. Fifteen minutes later, I knocked on her door. She opened the door and let me in. Her outfit was red silk, the kind of thing that cinched in her waist and pushed up her breasts. The matching bottom was nothing more than a triangle of red silk that barely covered her muff. She wore red three-inch heels with no backs, the kind that they call “fuck me” shoes. I wanted to. “Good evening, Dan.” She smiled and poured herself a scotch. “What’s your pleasure?” “You, sucking me.” I walked over to her, took the drink out of her hand, and led her up the stairs to the bedroom. A king-size brass bed, the kind with stiles, stood against the far wall. Great for tying someone up. The sheets were black silk, a gen-u-wine whore’s bed. I kicked off my shoes and wasted no time getting naked. She climbed onto the bed and lay back against a small mountain of cushions. I straddled her belly. I had decided on the way over, I’d have her suck me, but I wanted to do it differently. I was paying for it, 125
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so I might as well have it my way. She took me in hand and started stroking me. I touched the swell of her breasts above the bra, fondling them, just to get myself hot, but stopped there. No kissing. No fucking. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered, “That’s cheating on Mark. Keep it out of anyone else. Save it for him.” It’s amazing what you can talk yourself into believing. She worked my cock with her hand while I watched. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, wanted her sucking me so bad, I moved forward, and she took me in her mouth. My eyes closed, as I concentrated on how good it felt to slide back and forth over her soft, full lips. I held onto the headboard and thrust slowly. I wanted this to last, to get my money’s worth. I looked down and watched her suck me, which is always a turn-on. Her hands held my ass and pulled me in tight with each stroke. I closed my eyes, my thrusts increasing in speed and power, making her take me deep into her throat. She kept up with me, letting me slide over her lips. No teeth; it was all tongue and lips with her. I lost control, my orgasm built and without care for her, I thrust so hard and fast her head hit the headboard. Like the pro she was, she never stopped, just kept taking me. She reached around and slipped her finger in my backdoor. As if she knew just what it would take, she pressed against my prostate, setting me off. As I looked down, I shuddered as she swallowed my jism, gulping it down as it rhythmically shot into her mouth. “Christ, you suck dick good.” I moaned as the last of the tremors ran through my body, along with one last thrust, then I pulled out. “Don’t you forget it, either.” She smiled up at me. It was all 126
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teeth and never reached her eyes. Yeah, she was a pro. “One more time?” I pulled her top down roughly, exposing her breasts. Her nipples were pink and hard. Lowering my mouth to one, I pulled it into my mouth, flicked it with my tongue, and caressed the other breast with my hand. “As long as you’re paying, baby,” she whispered. *
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I was making up schedules and blocking off the four days at the end of the month I had decided to take to go up to the Hill Country. I needed some time to think, time to put some distance between Mark and me. The grand jury would be convening that week, and they certainly didn’t need me to be there. Beth buzzed me. “Captain, there’s a woman out here who wants to see you.” My heart beat faster at the thought it could be the hooker, and what she could possibly be doing here. “Says her name is Doctor Sarah Cohen.” “Send her in.” I tried not to show my relief or confusion. Beth brought the woman to my door and showed her in. She was tall, blonde, and dressed in a business suit. For a moment, I thought she might be a lawyer, but Beth had said doctor. “Dr. Cohen? I’m Captain Daniel Chan. How can I help you?” I offered her a seat and she took it. She checked out my office over the tops of her glasses, then settled her steel hard gaze on me. “Captain Chan, you don’t know me, but I’ve heard all about you. I am Mark Montgomery’s psychiatrist.” Oh. That Dr. Cohen. 127
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“I understood he was seeing someone. I had mentioned he should talk to someone immediately after the shooting.” I sat at my desk, hands clasped, waiting for this to unfold. Had Mark sent a messenger to tell me to get lost? It was too late. I was about as lost as a person could be. “Yes, I got a call from him the next day and we set up an appointment. I have seen him every day since then. It was necessary to get the entire story. We had a lot of issues to work through.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a very friendly smile. “I’m glad he’s getting some help.” I tried smiling to see if she would respond. Surprisingly, she smiled back. “I want to thank you for what you said to him. It was exactly the right thing to say, even if it wasn’t true.” “It is true. If he hadn’t picked up that gun, he and Officer Hagan would be dead. We have it all on tape. The man was high on meth, and we have no doubt his intention was to kill both of them.” She seemed to visibly relax, relieved to hear the truth from someone other than Mark. “Good. That’s good. There’ll be no charges?” “No, I expect that the district attorney will recommend selfdefense.” “Good. I’m glad, and Mark will be relieved. Now, about you.” She raised her eyebrows and gave me the once-over. I cleared my throat and began, “In case he didn’t tell you, I guess I should. I became…emotionally attached to Mark in a very short time.” I didn’t know how to explain what happened because I wasn’t sure myself. “I had no idea about his previous problems.” “Are you saying you’ve changed your mind and no longer feel that emotional attachment?” Her eyebrows shot up in question. 128
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“No, if anything, my feelings have become deeper.” I paused and took a deep breath. “I must tell you I did some research into his ex-boyfriend Jeff Granger and went over the case. I know what happened to him that night.” “Good, then you aren’t going into this blind.” Into this? My heart beat faster. “I don’t quite understand why you’re here, Dr. Cohen. Can you elaborate?” She sat back and looked me up and down. “Mark wishes to pursue a relationship with you and asked my professional opinion. I’ve worked with him for almost ten years, Captain Chan. You must realize I couldn’t just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without meeting you and sounding you out.” “I guess.” I shrugged. “I have the grave responsibility of balancing Mark’s mental state with what could be very harmful for him, or what could be the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for.” She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “Early on in Mark’s case, he tried several times, unsuccessfully, to establish sexual relationships with various men. They were very frustrating for him. The body was willing, but the mind wasn’t. Each time, when the moment of truth came, he was hit by a major panic attack and had to get away from the man. At times like these, he feels trapped and the essential ‘flight or fight’ response takes over. “Mark has issues with trust, safety, and vulnerability. It’s almost painful for him to be touched by a man. He doesn’t feel safe in the presence of men. He feels completely vulnerable. As you can imagine, this makes sex with a man very difficult. So when he told me he let you hold him and touch him, I was completely shocked.” 129
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“I want only what’s best for Mark.” “Even if it isn’t you?” Her gaze bore into me. All I could think of were the photos of a beaten, near dead Mark. “Yes, even if it isn’t me. He’s been hurt enough, and I have no intention of doing anything to add to that pain.” She tapped her fingernail against the arm of the chair and then shook her head. “I don’t get it. You’re a cop with a gun. A male authority figure with a phallic symbol of power. You should’ve terrified him, Captain. Yet, he was drawn to you, clung to you even. It amazes me. Mark is incredibly complicated, yet also very simple to understand. Jeff Granger was Mark’s boyfriend. His lover. His partner. The one person in the world he loved and trusted the most betrayed him and beat him nearly to death. That’s not an easy thing to get past.” “I get that. He’s been traumatized.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I guess you don’t believe in love at first sight?” “I do. It’s the only explanation for Mark’s behavior.” “We both felt it, Doctor. I can’t explain it, either.” “Are you gay?” Her head tilted as she observed me. I hesitated, thinking my answer through. I slept with women, had been married, but I’d fucked men, too. “No, I’m bisexual.” “Ah. I see. If you see Mark, there can be only Mark. No one else, especially not a woman. And taking on a monogamous relationship with a gay man means…” Her eyebrows rose, waiting for me to finish her sentence. I know where she was going. “I have to choose.” “Right. If you’re in a gay relationship, you’re gay. No one will see it as anything else. Can you handle that?” She waved her hand 130
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to encompass my office. “It’s a small town.” “I know and I can handle it.” I nodded, not sure if I believed what I was saying. “What do you want from me?” “If I determine that this relationship would not be good for him, you don’t stand a chance in hell of getting anywhere near him again, understand?” Her stare told me to believe it, and I did. “Yes.” “And if I give him the go-ahead to pursue this relationship, one of the things I’ll insist upon is that you come to see me also. Either with him or alone. I’d prefer alone.” “Become your client?” I’d talked to lots of shrinks in my time, so this would be nothing new. “All right.” “If you two do become involved, you must listen to me carefully. You must do everything he tells you to do. If he says stop, you stop. If he says jump, you ask how high? Let him lead, don’t push him and, for God’s sake, never, ever force him into anything. He needs to feel in control of the situation. If you can’t handle that, you need to say so up front.” “I want to do what’s best for him, like I said before. I’ll do exactly what he says, Dr. Cohen.” “If he seems apprehensive, back off. Let him initiate sex.” I blinked, my face burning as I realized what she was saying. “I assume you want to have sex with him?” She looked at me over her glasses. I cleared my throat and nodded. Oh, God, yes. The doctor watched me, smiling, and continued, “During sex, if it gets that far—and I have to warn you, it may not—you must never restrain him. Not his arms, legs, his body, nothing, unless he tells you to. No rough sex, either. Also, try to keep the gun out of his sight. I understand you carry it for your job, but when you’re 131
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around him during your off times, keep it hidden. You’ll be less intimidating.” Shit. Was it a coincidence she was describing the kind of sex I’d been having lately? Sex where I’d been in control. I’m sure if I talked to the good doctor about it she’d tell me it was a classic reaction to feeling out of control. I was agreeing not to do that with Mark. But sex wasn’t what I wanted with Mark. That’s why I had seen a hooker. I wanted to make love to Mark. Worship him. I wanted to be tender, and wanted tenderness in return. Wanted someone to come home to every day, to share what was left of my life. I wanted love. With a man. With Mark. “Of course, Doctor. No rough stuff, no gun, no bondage.” I grinned. “Good. I’ll tell him he can call you. The rest is up to you and him.” Dr. Cohen stood and held out her hand. “Thank you.” We shook hands and she started to leave. At the door, she turned back and said, “If this works, if you can open Mark up, it would be… Well, let’s just say I’d be forever grateful. I care deeply for Mark, Captain Chan. And if I didn’t think you were completely honest about your feelings for him, I’d cut you out of his life in a heartbeat.”
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CHAPTER 10 Mark called me at eleven the next evening. I’d been home for about thirty minutes. He must have remembered my hours from the last time I called. “Daniel? It’s Mark.” He sounded good, upbeat. “Hi! How have you been?” “I’m good, Daniel. I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you. Have you changed your mind?” “About seeing you? No way. Have you decided?” I held my breath, even though I was pretty sure he would give me the okay. “Yes. I want to see you. Try to be with you.” “I’m glad. You’ve made my day.” I grinned like a kid on Christmas morning who’d just gotten the present he’d asked Santa for, but never expected to receive. 133
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“How was your day?” We talked for about an hour, about all sorts of mundane things like the weather, our jobs, skirting all around the question of when we’d see each other again. Finally, I asked him to dinner on Tuesday. I’m off on Mondays and Tuesdays. He didn’t have plans, so we made arrangements for me to pick him up around seven and we’d go to the little Italian place on Main Street, Agostino’s. It’s a casual place, so I figured it wouldn’t be very threatening. He told me he’d gone there before, and, in fact, it was one of his favorites. I was batting a thousand. I floated through the next day at work. Beth even caught me humming. Tuesday morning I had the pick-up cleaned at the car wash and dressed as nice as I could without looking like this was our first date. I thought about picking up a small bouquet of flowers for him, then decided to get a plant instead. I bought a small blooming hibiscus, hot orange, wrapped in gold foil with a big matching orange bow. Corny, I guess, but he was a gardener, so I thought it was a good choice. I stood on his porch, holding the plant and feeling like I was back in high school. He opened the door before I knocked. “I’m not late, am I?” “Right on time.” He laughed. “Actually, I’ve been standing at the door for the last five minutes. I heard you coming up the porch stairs. They creak.” He smiled and it transformed his face from good looking to gorgeous. My heart did a little thud; my stomach a big flip. My dick filled. I willed it back to sleep, knowing meeting him at the door with 134
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a raging hard-on wasn’t a good thing. Far too aggressive, and tonight I needed to go very slow. “For me?” One eyebrow rose and he leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pants pockets as if he had all day to stand on the porch and chat. “I thought flowers were too…girly.” I shrugged and held the plant out to him. He took it from me and our fingers touched. I didn’t know if he meant it to be, but that brief brush of his fingertips across mine was damned sexy. I swallowed down my lust and hoped it didn’t show in my eyes. Where was inscrutable when I needed it? “Way too girly for a man like you.” He nodded. “Can’t have you buying flowers for a guy, can we? What will the florist say?” “Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “You don’t have one of these, do you?” “A hibiscus? Yes, I do. Several, in fact. They do great here in Texas. But not this color. Mind if I just give it some water and leave it on the porch until I decide where to plant it?” “Sure.” So I watched as he put the plant down in a shaded corner, felt the dirt in the pot with the same fingers that had touched me, and then picked up a watering can on a small table next to a wicker loveseat and added some water. He moved gracefully, and I was struck by his beauty and obvious love for his plants as he checked the plant over, pulling off a few drooping yellow leaves. Then he stood and brushed off his chinos. “Ready,” he announced. “Let’s go.” I backed off the porch and led the way to my truck. We drove to the restaurant, both of us smiling like teenagers, and talked about the town, the weather, neutral things, safe things. At the restaurant, we got a table that sat four and sat across 135
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from each other, as was proper, since no one at the restaurant was supposed to know we were on a date. We ordered and spent the rest of dinner eating and talking. We had a lot in common. He worked with computers building databases. I used databases. Okay, not a lot, but it was early. We hadn’t even gotten to music, movies, and television. He asked about my experiences with the department, and I tried to keep them interesting. Mostly stories from my time on patrol. He made all the right encouraging noises in all the right places. I told him about my land on the Guadalupe, and he talked about traveling. He’d done quite a bit, in Europe and Canada. I asked if he’d ever thought about going to China. He asked if I wanted to go and did I speak Chinese. I told him I could order in a restaurant, but that was about it. Good thing about a small town is everybody knows you. Bad thing about a small town is everybody knows you. We were interrupted several times by folks stopping by our table to say hello to me, so I had to introduce Mark as a friend. It seemed enough for people. Now, I’m not that popular a fellow, but I have been around the town for a long time and have gotten to know a lot of people. Mark, on the other hand, was a relative newcomer. He seemed to take the intrusions well. Lucky for me, none of them were complaints, which is what I get most of the time. On the street, in the grocery store, at the gas station. In uniform or out, I’ve found it doesn’t matter. But tonight it was mostly folks just saying hello. None of them even suspected we were on a date, or at least if they did, they didn’t let it show. We were just two guys having dinner, that’s all. By nine o’clock, we were eating dessert. Buddy Macomb and 136
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his wife Marie dropped by the table on their way out. Buddy is a seventy-year-old neighbor of mine with a three-acre tract just down the road. Most of his land is wooded, but his wife keeps a few goats that occasionally wander onto my property. “Dan, I just wanted to stop by and see if I could talk to you tomorrow before you go to work.” I had introduced Mark to him and Marie. They nodded at each other. “No problem…I don’t go in until two. Can I stop by sometime after noon?” I figured he wanted to complain about something and had the good sense not to do it in the restaurant. Buddy was a commonsense sort of man and a good neighbor. “That’d be fine, see you then.” He nodded to Mark. “Sorry to interrupt.” “No problem.” Mark smiled. We ordered coffee and continued talking. I figured I needed to tell him I’d been looking into his records. It was bothering me that I knew about it without his permission. There was, however, something else bothering me more. The place had cleared out a bit and no one sat near us. “Mark, I hope you won’t be mad at me, but the other day, I went over the records of your assault.” He tensed for a moment, his eyes on his cup. Then he sighed. “No, it’s all right. You have a right to know who you’re getting involved with, I guess. Are you trying to tell me you’ve changed your mind?” “Not at all. For me, nothing has changed.” He looked relieved. “I’m glad. I feel a ‘but’ or a ‘however’ coming.” “Well, that’s just it. I read the reports and I’m confused about something. I figured you could clear it up for me.” 137
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“What would that be?” Mark’s eyes held mine. “Just who am I getting involved with, Allen Forester or Mark Montgomery?” A slow smile spread across his face. “The man sitting across from you is Mark Montgomery. Allen Forester is gone. I got rid of him about six years ago on advice from Dr. Cohen. She felt I needed a clean break from my past, and to protect me from Jeff in the future. So I legally changed my name, quit my job, and moved to a new part of Houston, even broke off contact with most of my old friends. Basically, I started my life over.” “That explains it. Did it work?” “I suppose. Sometimes, I feel like a new person. I didn’t change my insides, just my name. Allen and Mark are basically the same person. I don’t know, maybe Mark is stronger in some ways and weaker in others.” He shrugged as he played with his coffee cup. “Which ways?” He sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’m more wary. More closed. I never go out to clubs, make the scenes, don’t pick up or get picked up.” “This isn’t a pick up, Mark.” I caught his gaze and held it. “I’m not looking for a hookup, either.” “What are you looking for?” He glanced around the room. “It’s not like you’re out here, are you?” “No, I’m not.” I shook my head. “Well, if we continue seeing each other, how long do you think that’ll last?” “I don’t know. Until someone catches us making out in my truck?” I grinned. He laughed. “Think you’ll get that far, do you?” 138
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“Not tonight. But I have hopes.” We stared at each other as the silence stretched. He cleared his throat. “Look. I’m very attracted to you—I think you know that—but we have to be honest here. I’m pretty fucked up, Dan. I don’t want to expose you to the town, ruin your career, destroy friendships…” “Christ, you sound like you’re the Black Death, spreading plague across the land.” “Well, not the plague, but you need to be realistic about the consequences. I know you identify yourself as bi, and I can accept that, but if we have a relationship, it’s gay. I’m gay. It’s the all boys club, no females allowed.” “I understand that, Mark.” I nodded. He was right, I’d have to take a stand and get off the fence. “But are you ready to take that step?” “If you’re there, yes.” I reached out and put my hand over his for just a moment. He gave me the sweetest smile, and my heart melted as I gazed into his eyes, feeling the pull toward him begin to suck me under. “You may have changed your name, but you can’t hide those incredible blue eyes, Mark.” He laughed and snapped his fingers. “Damn, I knew I forgot something. Note to self, change eye color.” “Don’t change a thing, not for me.” “It’s a deal.” He reached out to shake my hand. I shook it as we grinned at each other. I paid the tab, and he didn’t even try to offer to pay. I liked that. Men always want to fight over the damn check and it’s a pain in the ass. I drove back to his house and parked. Here was the sticky part 139
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of the evening. I remembered what Dr. Cohen told me. “Mark, I had a wonderful evening. Thank you.” I sat back, giving him room. “I had a great time, Dan.” He put his hand on my arm. “Can we just sit for a while?” “Sure. I’m in no rush.” He chewed his bottom lip a little, trying to make up his mind, I suppose, and then he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid across the bench seat toward me. I put my arm on the back of the seat, and he laid his head on my shoulder. We must have sat there for fifteen minutes that way, not speaking. I could feel his breath on my neck, and he smelled incredible. Eventually, he pulled away and smiled at me. “Kiss me, Daniel.” I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Soft. Gentle. No pressure. It was a sweet, wonderful, tentative first kiss. I backed off, checking to see his reaction. He looked relaxed but shy. This time, he leaned in to kiss me. I let him control everything, kept my hands to myself, my returning kiss soft. Dr. Cohen had me so terrified I’d spook Mark and ruin my chances I was afraid to do more. I barely enjoyed it. When he flicked his tongue across my lips and opened his mouth, I felt my dick sit up and take notice. That dog reaction again. Our tongues danced, but I didn’t pull him tight, just held him loosely around one shoulder, my other hand on his thigh. I wanted to climb on top of him, devour him, smother him with kisses, but I kept those desires in check. He moved his hands lightly over my chest as he kissed me. I let him make the moves and I stayed neutral. However, it became increasingly uncomfortable for me, my 140
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pants growing ever tighter as my cock strained against them. “Mark, I need you to stop.” I hated doing it, but if this kept on, I knew I’d blow my chances and my load. Either way, not good. “Oh, sorry.” He smiled. “Actually, I take that back. I’m not sorry. I’m glad you find me…” His voice trailed off, offering to let me fill in the blanks. “Delicious, exciting, sexy…just let me know when to stop.” “I feel the same about you.” He slid back across the seat and opened the door. The dome light went on. “Can I call you tomorrow?” “Sure. Anytime.” “Great! It might be after work, though.” He nodded, got out, walked up to his house, and went inside. I felt great. I had let him make the moves, and he had responded. It was a start. I hadn’t done anything to screw up the evening, either. Right then, I felt as if I were on top of the world. I should have known by now that feeling never lasts long. *
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The next day I dropped by Buddy’s to find out what he wanted to talk about. I stood at the bottom of the steps with my hat in my hands and inquired after Marie. “She’s gone to town, having lunch with her church lady friends,” Buddy said. He looked my uniform over, the starched black shirt, khaki pants, shiny leather belt, and black Roper boots. His eyes had a twinkle in them that let me know old Buddy would be in rare form. “Looks like you got yourself a job, Dan.” “Well, work’s been scarce around here.” 141
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“No work for a Chinaman, I hear.” “No, rednecks took all the railroad jobs and there’s no opening at the laundry, so I had to take what I could.” The niceties done, he waved me up onto the porch. We sat in two wicker rocking chairs that must have been almost as old as Buddy. He put a new wad of Red Man in his cheek. Observing local courtesy, I gave him some time to get it going before I asked what this was all about. I’d figured he would tell me about kids speeding on the road or his goats being stolen. Some of the high school kids thought that was funny. Steal a goat and leave it tied up on someone’s lawn or in their room. Buddy took aim and launched an arc of tobacco juice off the porch and into his wife’s flower bed. The flowers where he spit were yellowed and dying. There was no hope of them standing up against the power of Red Man. “Dan, what do you know about an airport?” Oh, it’d be twenty questions. “Well, it’s a place where they park airplanes, and you get on them and they take you places.” I grinned, hoping I’d got the answer right. “Smart-ass.” He spit a warning shot, this time close to my boot. “I mean an airport around here.” “I don’t think there is an airport around here, Buddy.” I scratched my head. He rolled his eyes at me. He’s been my neighbor for years, so he tolerates me. “A new airport, you dumb fool.” “Like Intercontinental or Hobby?” I named the two large airports in Houston. 142
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“Maybe a bit smaller. More like the one down in Sugar Land? Seen that one?” Sugar Land was southwest of Houston, but more west than south. In the years when Imperial Sugar was king, the town grew up around the factory. The land around it was sugar cane fields; some still is, just like Riceland and its rice fields. Nowadays, Sugar Land is a suburb of Houston, with new subdivisions springing up along the U.S. 59 corridor. The airport there is small compared to the two big ones, but it has its share of jets going in and out. Mostly corporate jets, private planes, and commuter hops from the two big airports. “Not a word. What do you hear, Buddy?” If anyone was connected, it was Bobby. You don’t sit at a table for breakfast with the movers and shakers at the Riceland Diner on Main Street five days a week and not pick up some bits of information. “Word is there’s going to be a new airport to service the west side of Houston. Seems it got run out of Katy for ecological reasons.” He pronounced the word, “ee-co-logical.” He spit again for emphasis; the marigolds didn’t stand a chance. “I heard about that. The flight plans and landing strips were right on the migratory bird route.” Most of the migrating birds from South and Central America stop twice a year at the Katy prairie on their round trip to other areas of our nation. Makes for great duck and goose hunting. “Birds and planes don’t mix well. Something about feathers, intakes, and jet engines.” “That’s right. Well, this far north seems it’s not so great a problem.” “How do you know about this?” “Couple of the fellas been approached by an out-of-town company looking to buy up land, get permits at city hall, that sort 143
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of thing.” I rocked a while digesting this, but since it had little to do with me, I really couldn’t add anything to the conversation. “Well, I don’t know anything about it, Buddy, but if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.” “Same here.” I stood, tipped my hat, got in my pickup, and drove to town. Lunch was waiting for me at the diner. *
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It was ten days before the grand jury on Hagan’s shooting convened, and I was thinking about my four days up in the Hill Country. I had scheduled myself the time off when I thought Mark and I had no future, but now I didn’t want to leave him alone. It would be a very stressful time for him, and I wanted to be here for support. I had to try to switch my time without inconveniencing anyone else, or I’d lose the days. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’d still have the days, but I’d have to work during the trial. The city attorney had called and set up an appointment to go over the case with both detectives, Mark and Chief Tasket. I was not invited. There was no reason I should be. Tasket had casually let it slip in conversation, though, knowing I’d want to know about the meeting. I figured Tasket suspected my involvement with Mark, but he was a smart man and knew when to get involved and when not to. So far, I’d managed to avoid having “the talk” with Tasket. In fact, I think he worked harder at avoiding it than I did. Besides, if he got questioned about it, then he could honestly say he didn’t have a clue I was seeing Mark or that I was gay. 144
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Mark had called me and let me know about it anyway. We had been talking almost every night after my shift. I hadn’t been to Clancy’s in a while and knew I’d have to make an appearance there soon, or expect a large, bald biker trying to break down my door in the middle of the night. Fry and Vargas arrived before the meeting to set up the room. We don’t have that many meeting rooms, just a few small interrogation rooms, and one nice-sized conference room. They wanted the big room, so they had arranged it with Beth, keeper of all things at the station. In her capable style, Beth had provided bottled water and carafes of coffee, both decaf and regular, along with all the fixings. Mark arrived before the others, and Bill Fry led him to the room. Mark made a small detour, much to Fry’s surprise, and swung past my office to say hi. We kept it casual and appropriate for all age levels. What was going on between Mark and me was none of Fry’s business. Mark gave me a salute as he left, and Fry gave me a look of puzzlement. It occurred to me he might be thinking about that incident when I was found with my arms around Mark, putting two and two together, and my gut kicked hard. I wasn’t ready for this. The phone rang. Saved by the bell. I answered it, and got back to business. An hour later, I heard a door slam and raised voices. One of them was Mark’s. He sounded really mad. I went to the door and listened. Beth shot me a look and jerked her head in the direction of the commotion. It was her subtle way of saying, Get your ass in there. I nodded and went looking for Mark. “No, I told you, absolutely not! No press, no awards, nothing!” 145
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Mark’s voice level increased, but not to the shouting stage yet. He stood in the hallway with Chief Tasket, John Ball, the city attorney, and that slime ball St. Romaine. What the hell? How did he get involved in this? “But, Mr. Montgomery, you’re a hero! Everyone will want to know about this,” St. Romaine pleaded. I didn’t like the sound of what little I heard. “No. Chief Tasket, I appreciate your support, but that situation would be intolerable for me. I can’t appear with the mayor and you. I just can’t.” He shook his head and backed against the wall. Clearly, he was just about at the “flight or fight” stage. I had seen both his flight and fight, so I knew what it looked like. Mark scanned the hallway looking for an escape and spotted me. “Daniel! Tell these people I can’t do any press! No talks, nothing. Tell them!” All eyes turned to me, and about four sets of eyebrows rose up. “Daniel?” Fry asked. “You’re on a first name basis?” Tasket shot me a look of pity. Oh, yeah, we were going to have a talk. Fry’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursed, and I knew he’d done the math, but couldn’t quite believe the answer. I had no intentions of clarifying it for him. St. Romaine stared at me and a slow, shit-eating grin spread over his face. He turned to Mark, ignoring me. “Mr. Montgomery, why would Captain Chan know about what you can and can’t handle?” St. Romaine, the snake, drawn by the scent of blood, slithered closer. Mark glanced at me, misery in his eyes, and I knew I had to take control in order to salvage something. “Well, I’ve spoken to 146
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Mr. Montgomery’s psychiatrist about his condition.” I tried to sound casual. “His psychiatrist?” St. Romaine yelped. He turned to Mark. “You have a shrink?” “Yes, Captain Chan suggested I see someone the day of the incident. I took his advice.” I stepped in. “Dr. Cohen came to see me after meeting with Mr. Montgomery to verify the facts of the incident. She told me of Mark’s fears and concerns.” “And they are?” Ball looked terrified his entire case against Ridge would blow sky high. “He is extremely upset about killing that young man. Everyone forgets Mark isn’t a cop and trained for that eventuality. She told me Mark’s taken this very hard. At this time, the less he’s in the spotlight and being reminded of the incident, the better.” “Like post-stress syndrome?” Tasket added, trying to help me. God bless him. I nodded. “Right, he’s extremely shaken. Dr. Cohen told me he’s having trouble sleeping, eating, and dealing with it. I don’t think she would recommend Mark be subjected to any additional stress.” Mark nodded his agreement. St. Romaine still looked suspicious, but relented. “All right, no press, and no appearances. For now. We can’t use a blithering idiot. It would be a public relations fiasco.” He was so tactful. I wanted to punch his lights out. The tension started draining from the hallway, but Fry was still giving me looks. I knew that sometime later today I’d be seeing him again. “Just remember what we talked about, Mr. Montgomery, for 147
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your appearance on the stand. The jury will have your statement and they’ll just be asking clarifying questions. You won’t have to rehash the testimony,” Ball added. Mark nodded and left, looking like he was happy just to get away. Tasket turned and headed into his office, leaving me and John, Fry and St. Romaine. With a last look at me, Fry turned and disappeared into the back of the station. John gave me a sharp nod and went down the hall to the front of the building. “Captain Chan.” St. Romaine stared at me. I gave him a shrug and went back to my office. I was just sitting down when he showed up in my doorway. “Chan, you seem to keep popping up.” “Do I? I thought I had that under control.” I made a show of checking out my chair. “Once again,” he said as he stepped in and shut the door, “you have interfered with me.” “Sorry, my bad.” I started to shuffle some papers. “Just what is your relationship with Mr. Montgomery?” His eyes narrowed. “We are in love and plan to marry.” I used my most deadpan voice and looked inscrutable. “Enough of your wit…it wears thin.” He waved his arm. “I needed him to be at those ceremonies and press events. The mayor needs him. It’s the kind of publicity you can’t buy! It is very important, and you just ruined that for me.” He spoke between clenched teeth, seething under his smooth exterior. Not a good look for him. “I didn’t think you’d really want to have him break down standing next to the mayor. What a show that would be. I was doing you a favor.” 148
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“Perhaps, if he’s as fragile as you say.” He might not believe me, but he seemed to be calming down. “As his shrink says,” I corrected him. “Dr. Cohen, right?” He pulled out one of those high-tech gadgets and typed something into it. “That’s right. I’m sure she’d talk to you if you called and made an appointment.” “I just might do that.” He showed me his teeth in what could only be his best snake style. “I wonder what he’d tell me about Mark…and you.” I hated him speaking Mark’s name. I hated that he’d gotten near Mark. I had to be careful, though, because snakes are dangerous. There was no reason why Mark and I shouldn’t have a relationship. It wasn’t my case, so no rules were being broken. I just didn’t want St. Romaine knowing my business. I hated the bastard, plain and simple. It was close to lunch, so I rose, grabbed my Stetson, and placed it on my head. “I’ve got a lunch appointment, Mr. St. Romaine. Can I walk you out?” I smiled at him. He grunted and turned to the door. With one hand on the knob, he stopped and turned back. “Chan, I’ll crush you if you fuck with me.” “Sorry, as tempting as that offer is, my dance card is full.” He jerked the door open, and I followed him out. He trotted down the front steps, and I watched as he stalked over to the dark blue Mercedes and got in. A chill raced up my spine as something clicked in the back of my mind. I got in my patrol car and headed to Clancy’s. I needed to eat, but I wanted to talk to Jeff even more. We had some catching up to 149
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do, and I needed his help. *
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I took the first bite of the burger and chewed slowly, waiting for Jeff to come back from serving a couple of guys at the other end of the bar. It was after four and the happy hour crowd was just getting started. “So did you spend your time fishing or fucking?” Jeff was always to the point. “Neither. But we went out to dinner.” I smiled at the memory. “Did you get him back before curfew?” “Of course. Cowboys respect a curfew.” “Part of the code?” I nodded between chewing. “But what does that mean?” “That he’s giving me a chance. It’s up to me not to blow it.” “Shit, Dan, it’s only a matter of time.” He laughed. Sad thing was, he was probably right. “Jeff, I need to talk to you about something. Can we sit over in the corner?” “Man, this must be some secret shit, if you want to hit the corner.” He looked impressed. “Will we need the Cone of Silence, Max?” “Yes, this is ‘read once and eat’ shit.” We moved over to the corner and sat at a table. I explained the situation with Mark, the grand jury, and St. Romaine and laid out my suspicions. Then I asked Jeff for a favor. “No problem, Dan. Consider it handled. I’ll get back to you as soon as I get the info.” I finished my burger, and he went back to work. When I was done, I put a ten on the bar and left. 150
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I had a phone call to make, and I wanted to make it from a pay phone. I drove down Main until I crossed the FM 149 intersection and pulled into the Diamond Shamrock gas station. They had a phone you could sit in your car and talk on. I dropped the money in and dialed Cohen’s number. “Dr. Cohen’s office. Can I help you?” I explained who I was and was put on hold for a few minutes. “Dr. Cohen here. Captain Chan, are you calling to make an appointment?” “No, Doctor, but I needed to let you know, you may be getting a call from the mayor’s office. It’s about Mark and his testimony for the grand jury. The mayor’s campaign manager is pressuring Mark to do some publicity appearances with the mayor. ‘Our hero’ and all that.” “Oh, that’s not good.” “That’s what I told him. He may call to confirm it with you.” “I’ll be sure to set him straight.” She paused. “Why are you calling me and not Mark?” “Well, there was some discussion over our relationship. I’m not interested in telling St. Romaine about Mark and me.” “Are you embarrassed?” Her voice turned wary. “No, not at all. This guy doesn’t like me ’cause seems I’ve been a pain in his side once or twice. He wouldn’t think twice about hurting Mark to hurt me, or vice versa. He’s not a nice man, and he’s used to getting his way. Be careful, Doctor.” “I’ll take it under advisement, Captain. And thank you.” “For what?” “For Mark. He is changing, coming alive. I haven’t seen him like this in…well, ever, I suppose. Don’t let me down.” “I don’t plan on it. I love him.” 151
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“I hope so.” She hung up. I did the same and pulled out of the gas station. Ten minutes later, I parked the car in the station’s lot. *
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Detective Frank Fry knocked on my door, just as I’d expected, only much later. I guess he had some paperwork to handle. “Chan, can we talk?” “Sure, my door is always open, unless it’s shut.” He came in and took a seat. Crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Looked at his nails. I sat with my hands clasped on my desk, waiting for him to compose himself. I might have looked calm, but on the inside, my gut was one cold, hard knot of fear. I wasn’t ready to have this conversation. Not yet. Not with Fry, St. Romaine or Tasket. “Dan, you know, this is a small town. People know each other. What’s going on in their lives. What their kids are up to. If they go to church regular. Who they’re seeing. Who they’re not seeing.” His eyes narrowed. “But for the life of me, I don’t know anything about Dan Chan, other than you’ve been in Riceland for nearly twenty-five years. No wife. No kids. No girlfriend. Just work.” He swallowed, almost reluctant to go on. Boy, that Dan Chan sounded like a real loser. I’d hate to be him. Oh, right, I was him. “That’s okay, Frank. I don’t know much about you, either.” I really didn’t believe he wanted to know me…well, at least, not any more. “I’m a pretty open-minded person, Dan. I’ve seen a lot, especially in my time on the Houston force. And I want you to 152
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know, this won’t go any farther, but as investigating detective, I have to know or I wouldn’t ask.” “So ask.” I shrugged. “Are you a homosexual?” He leaned forward, dead serious. “What has that got to do with the case?” “Maybe nothing, but I need to know in case it does, and you know I do.” He was right. If I were in his shoes, I’d be asking the same damn questions. I could give him a rundown of my shifting sexual identity from my teen years to present, and as interesting as that might be, I didn’t think he really wanted to hear it. “Hypothetically, let’s say I’m bisexual.” I didn’t smile. The truth wasn’t funny and neither was exposing myself to Fry. He mulled it over, chewing the side of his cheek, then he sighed and sat back in his chair. “Are you seeing Mark Montgomery?” Straight to the point. Back to business. I had to respect the man, for damn sure. For a moment, I thought about lying. “We’re seeing each other.” I swallowed. He closed his eyes and groaned. “Is it serious?” “Yes.” No need to tell him everything—my hopes, my dreams, Mark’s fears, and wounds. “Dan, did you know Montgomery before this incident?” “No, I did not. First time I ever saw him was when he was in the back of the patrol car.” “And this…whatever it is between you…happened just that fast?” “Yeah. Just that fast.” I didn’t need to tell him it knocked me on my ass, did I? He nodded and pushed out of his seat. 153
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“Thanks for being honest. Saves me some trouble.” He extended his hand, and I shook it. “Have you told anyone?” I needed to know what kind of damage control I had to do. “No. And for now, I can’t see any reason why I would.” “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He stopped at the door. “Bi-sexual? That means you swing both ways? You like dick and pussy?” “Yes.” “Montgomery knows you like pussy, too?” “Yes. Mark is gay. I choose to be with him, so while I am, I’m monogamous. No swinging the other way.” “Holy shit.” He shook his head. “Holy fucking shit.” “Yeah.” I nodded. Fry left, still shaking his head. Holy fucking shit, was right. *
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It was eleven, and I’d made an appointment for midnight. Bayou City Escorts was waiting for me, but I wasn’t going to show. Not ever. But just thinking about her got me aroused. I had a man. I’d just never had him. That was my problem. I wanted Mark, wanted to be deep inside him. Instead, it was me and my hand, or the whore. Take your pick, old man, and make it the right one. I picked up the phone and dialed. “Mark?” “Dan! I was just thinking about you.” He sounded breathless, his voice low and sexy. 154
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“I was thinking about you, too.” Thinking about what I’d like to do to you, that is. “Really? What were you thinking?” he asked, very sexy, very suggestive. “What you’re wearing. If you were in bed yet. About that mole on your chest.” “I’m naked, in bed and my mole misses you.” I laid back and got comfortable. “Naked? Really?” I was surprised. “No, I usually sleep in boxers.” Hell, he was just teasing me. “Are you in bed?” “Oh, yes, and my mole does miss you.” I reached down and pulled my semi-hard cock out of my boxers just to give it some breathing room. “Good to know.” “Is that all you were thinking?” “No, not all. I was thinking of you.” “Good, I’d be pissed if you were thinking of someone else.” I felt a pang of guilt; this had started because I had been thinking about that whore. I guess I was quiet too long, and he picked up on it. “Who is he?” It was almost a whisper. “There’s no one else, Mark.” “Sure?” “Yes.” “Good, because I don’t like sharing. I’m sure you wouldn’t like it, either.” “No, I wouldn’t.” “I’m yours, Daniel.” I closed my eyes and let his words wash over me. “I want you, Mark. This is killing me.” 155
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“You think you’re the only one with a hard-on?” He sounded a little irritated. “Well, actually, yes.” I tapped the head of my now stiff cock. It sprang to attention and pointed to the ceiling. “Dan, I get so hard when I think of you. My hand is getting tired.” My cock jerked. He was sexual, not frigid, after all. He got turned on, but he was just frightened about acting on it. “My hand, too.” “Are you touching yourself now?” he whispered. “Yes.” Actually, I had been for some time. “Long, slow strokes, or fast and hard?” Jesus, he was making me throb. “Long and slow.” “All the way up your shaft, over the head and back down?” I moaned, as I worked. “I’ll take that for a yes.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Do you know what I want to do to you?” “Tell me.” I stroked myself harder. “I want to taste you, every inch of your body. With my tongue. Slowly.” “My body would thank you.” “Then I’d like to concentrate on making you moan loudly. Call my name. Beg me not to stop.” “Mark…” I picked up the pace, the tight circle of my fist flying over the fat head of my dick as I closed my eyes and pictured Mark under me. “Then just before you came, I’d take you in my mouth…” My moaning drowned out his as I released a load all over my belly. “Mark!” I breathed heavily, trying to catch my breath. 156
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“Sweet dreams, Daniel.” He chuckled and hung up. Sweet Jesus. I wiped the drying cum off with my boxers, tossed them on the floor, rolled over on my stomach, and slept until morning.
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CHAPTER 11 Life was good. I was looking forward to my next date with Mark with an eagerness I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Business was slow, which, in my line of work is a good thing. Routine and boredom were setting in and getting to feel really comfortable. In my experience, that’s usually when the bottom drops out and you find yourself dangling over a pit filled with gators. And the rope you’re holding onto is fraying. I had turned my phone over to Beth to answer so I could finish the next month’s schedule. Sometimes, you need to have someone run interference for you, and she was one of the best. She must have all the excuses for why the chief can’t answer the phone right now in a card catalog, and I was hoping she’d use some of them for me. True to form, Beth managed to hold everyone at bay while 158
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I finished the report. Up against the deadline, I was determined not to turn it in late or over budget. That means a lot of juggling of men, time, and money. Beth knocked on my door and stuck her head in. “Boss, you better pick up. It’s Mark Montgomery.” She looked worried. I punched the blinking light and picked up the receiver. “Daniel? Is that you?” Mark sounded really tense, more than usual. “Baby, what’s going on?” “Have you seen the news today?” “T.V.? No, not since this morning.” “It’s on television. Right now,” he shouted. “What’s on?” I wasn’t following him at all. “The tape! The shooting!” “What? Which channel?” “The local out of Houston. I can’t believe you gave it to them! How could you do that to me?” His anger rolled across the phone lines. “Hold on, Mark.” I hit hold and called to Beth, “Beth, turn on your set and get the local news.” Back to Mark. “I didn’t leak anything. I don’t even have the tape. Legal has it.” “Oh, Dan, it’s horrible. I can’t stand it. It’s bad enough I have to relive it in my mind, but seeing it in color, on television, as if it were something for everyone’s enjoyment, it’s too much.” Beth came in and motioned for me to come to her desk. “Mark, hold on. Let me go see this report.” I put the phone down and rushed to Beth’s desk. Together, we watched the end of the report. Breaking news. Right, it was almost a month old, but they were touting it as the 159
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latest from Riceland. We watched as the last of the report played. Basically, it showed the part of the tape where Mark shot Ridge. The anchor ended the segment, wondering if Mark was a hero or a coldblooded murderer. Then they cut away to Jimmy Ridge’s mother, crying and saying how Mark had cut down her poor son in cold blood and calling for justice. I didn’t see anything about Jimmy shooting Hagan. And no mention of the amount of meth in Ridge’s system. Fuck. This couldn’t be worse. My mind raced through all the possible suspects for the leak. When I got to St. Romaine, I stopped. I was furious and wanted to get my hands on him. Instead, I went back to my office to try to calm down Mark. “Mark?” “Daniel, did you see? It’s awful. They made it sound like I killed that boy for…for…fun! ‘In cold blood,’ they said. Jesus! He was going to kill us.” Mark’s voice shook with anger and fear. “Look, I need to get to the bottom of this, baby. Let me call you back in a little while, okay?” “Promise?” “I’ll take care of it. Promise.” I wasn’t sure what I could do, since the cat was out of the bag and it was too late to close the barn door. I counted to ten, trying to calm down, and then headed to Tasket’s office. “Chief, I need to see you.” Tasket was chewing on an unlit cigar. He nodded, put down his Deer Hunter magazine, and motioned me in. “Figured you’d get around to it sometime.” I knew what he was talking about, but right then, I had bigger problems than telling my boss I was gay. And having an affair, a 160
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relationship—hell, I didn’t know what the hell it was—with Mark. “Someone leaked the tape of the shooting. It’s on the five o’clock news. Mark is out of his mind about it. I watched the tail end, and they were calling it murder.” I slumped into a chair and ran my hand through my hair. “Shit!” Tasket bolted upright, snatched up the phone, and dialed a number. “Art? It’s Tasket… No, I didn’t see it, but Mr. Montgomery sure did and he about had a cow. Who leaked it?” Tasket listened and lit his cigar. After three strong pulls, the end was burning red hot. He took a long drag and slowly blew out a plume of smoke. “Find out. But you know who my guess is, the sneaky bastard. He’s gone too far this time. If he thinks this will force Montgomery to go public, he’s greatly underestimated his will.” He listened again. “I want to know as soon as possible.” After hanging up, he leveled his gaze at me, his eyes like both dark barrels of a shotgun. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the chief madder than at that moment. “The press is going to be all over this, Chan. We’re going to lose the case if Montgomery breaks. It’ll look as if he was crazy all along, not just scared of being killed. If the public doesn’t think Montgomery is the hero, there’s no telling what will happen at the grand jury.” “Chief, what can I do?” I needed to do something, but other than beat St. Romaine to a bloody pulp, I was short on ideas. “We need to place Montgomery under wraps and keep the press from him. If he is as fragile as everyone says he is and he snaps, all bets are off. As long as he’s rational and coherent, we’re home free. He’ll look like the hero he is. But if it looks like he’s mentally unstable, we could be in real mess. This is Hagan’s, your 161
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and my ass on the line here. Any ideas?” He looked at me, waiting for an answer. “Do they know where Mark is? Where he lives?” “Let me get Beth to check on it.” He called her in to his office, and she listened as he explained what he needed. “I’ll get right back to you, sir.” She left, all business, her waddle a little more pronounced. It would be twins for her and her husband. She looked enormous to me, but I had enough smarts never to mention it. “St. Romaine, right?” I asked bitterly. “As far as Art knows, no one in his office did it, and the tape is still there. He made a copy of the tape and gave it to City Attorney Ball to work with for the case. He’s the mayor’s man, so you figure it out.” “It didn’t take me long, chief. St. Romaine’s going to use this to pressure Mark into appearing in public, to help get the mayor reelected. It doesn’t matter to him what damage he does to Mark. Or to Hagan or the department.” “Will he cave?” “No way. He looks fragile, but he’s tough. He’s done a lot to survive, sir. He’ll get through this, too.” While Beth was gathering info, I briefly explained what had happened to Mark and how he’d survived being left for dead. Tasket leaned back and shook his head when I finished. “That’s some man you got there, Dan.” He gave me a grin. Like I said before, he’s a smart man and shouldn’t be underestimated. I nodded once, unable at that time to speak. He wasn’t asking, and I wasn’t telling. Beth came back. Her lips were thin and her jaw set. “My 162
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sources say they know who he is and where he lives. In fact, there are several news vans on the way to Mark’s house right now.” Jumping to my feet, I flew out the door and ran through the station, down the steps and to my car. As I pulled out onto Main Street, I lit up my trouble lights and the siren and headed to Mark’s. I don’t know how much time I beat the news crews by, but I slammed on the brakes, parking across the sidewalk, and bolted out of the car. I made the steps of his porch in one leap and pounded on the door. “Mark, it’s me, Dan! Open up.” He opened the door and, seeing the look on my face, pulled me inside. “The press is on its way. You need to get out of here, fast!” He was one step ahead of me because he stepped into the front room and came back with an overnight bag and a laptop case. “Let’s go,” he said, and gave me a tentative smile, but his trust in me was terrifying. We headed down the steps, I tossed his bag in the back seat of the cruiser, and we left. I turned off the trouble lights and drove at the posted speed back through town toward my house with Mark wearing my hat. We didn’t pass any news vans, so we must have been ahead of the game. Ten minutes later, we were passing The Terraces. “Where are we?” “My house. You don’t mind, do you?” I asked as we pulled down the long gravel road that led to my house. “I want you near me, where I can keep you safe.” He looked at the house. “I like it, Daniel. I’ve always felt safe with you. This is good.” 163
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I pulled under the covered parking spot next to the house, and we got out. I led the way to the front door and invited him in. He stepped into the house and looked around. “Daniel, it’s you.” “It’s small, but it’s just been me for so long.” I shrugged. “It’s not small, it’s cozy.” He looked around as he headed to the kitchen. I have to say I do keep a neat house. I hate clutter, everything was in its place. He left the kitchen and started down the hall to the bedrooms. “You can have the guest room. I only have one bath, but we can share, if you don’t mind. Since our schedules are so different, it shouldn’t be a problem.” “It’ll be fine, Dan.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “This won’t be a problem for you, staying with me? I promise I’ll keep my distance, no pressure.” I held my hands up in surrender. I wanted to reassure him about my intentions, even if I had no idea what they were right then other than to keep him safe. “I said, it’s fine, Daniel.” He shook his head, the smallest amount of irritation showing on his face. “If it wasn’t, I’d tell you.” “We’re going to try to keep you away from the press until it’s time for the grand jury.” “Trying to keep me sane? Afraid I’ll break under the stress?” He looked at me, his eyes narrowing, trying to decide whose side I was on. I shook my head. “Not me. I know you’re strong enough to deal with this. I just want you safe, but you need to realize, the chief and the department have a lot riding on your testimony. You need to back up Hagan’s testimony.” “Hagan’s testimony? But you have the tape.” 164
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“Yes, it’s all on tape. The tape could be read differently, though, just like what they showed on the news. There’s no clear sound and we can’t hear what Ridge was saying about killing you both. We need both your testimonies. Also, Hagan gave you his gun. A big no-no in law enforcement. Never give up your gun. Without you to back up Hagan, this could end his career. Provided he wants to come back. We have the blood work on Ridge and he was flying on meth, so that’ll help a lot.” I sat down on edge of the bed and watched him unpack. The small room had a bed, a dresser with a mirror and a small closet. But it had two windows that looked out over the back yard. I have to say, it’s a pretty sight. It didn’t take long for him to unpack. “You were in danger of being killed and it’s a solid case of self-defense, but if you appear to be unstable in any way, it could be twisted.” “I understand. No crazy gay guy stuff.” He nodded and slowly shut the dresser drawer. “No one’s said anything about you being gay. That isn’t an issue at all.” “But it could be, couldn’t it?” “Maybe, but it’s a pretty flimsy leg to stand on. Are you going to be all right here?” “I’m fine, Dan. Go on back to work.” “Sure?” He nodded and rolled his eyes. We walked back to the front room. “Make yourself at home, Mark. Don’t tell anyone where you are, just for right now, okay?” “Okay. Will you be home later?” 165
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Home…it sounded so good when he said it. “Yeah, around tenthirty tonight or sooner if I can get away.” “Call me?” I smiled at him and waited, my heart pounding so hard I thought he could hear it. He came to me, slipped his arms around my waist above my holster, and put his head on my chest. We stood there for a long moment, just holding on. God, he felt so good, so right, in my arms. My cock came to life, pressing against his body in its eagerness. He pulled away and stretched up to kiss me on the lips. He tasted so good, I wanted more. I stepped to the door. “I’ll call when I’m on my way home.” *
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I should have headed back to the station, but instead I headed to the courthouse. Taking the stairs two at a time, I found St. Romaine’s office on the second floor and told his secretary I didn’t have an appointment, but needed to see him. She talked on the phone, looking me up and down, and then hung up. “Mr. St. Romaine will see you shortly. Please have a seat.” She pointed to a section of the wall with four wooden chairs pushed against it. I sat and held my hat on my knee. After ten minutes, his door opened and he motioned me inside. “Captain Chan, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He sounded so smug. He took his seat behind a large glass desk that held only a phone and a computer monitor. Behind him was a large painting, modern and ugly. “St. Romaine, you bastard, you leaked that tape to the press.” I 166
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wanted to throttle him as I leaned on the glass, smearing it with my fingerprints. Frowning, he glanced at my hands. “Chan, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Of course you do…you leaked it. It’s running on the news right now. It makes Mark look like he killed the man in cold blood. How is that supposed to help the mayor?” It was all I could do not to pull out my gun. “It works perfectly. I suppose he’ll just have to come out and defend himself. Make a statement. There’ll be a press conference, the mayor will have to speak, that sort of thing.” He shrugged. He didn’t care who he hurt as long as he got what he wanted. “We’ll see about that.” My eyes narrowed as I stared at him, contemplating how much time I’d have to do, but damn it to hell, he needed killing. “I warned you before not to get in my way. You’re out-classed, Chan. You and the rest of your small town buddies. I ate people like you for breakfast in Dallas.” He flicked some imaginary lint off the crease in his pants. His suit was, no doubt, a designer brand and probably worth more than I make in a month, but that didn’t make a difference to me. I straightened and stared him in the eyes. “The day I’m out-classed by a piece of fly shit like you hasn’t arrived, St. Romaine. Stay away from Mark Montgomery. He’s not a pawn for you to play with. He’s a person. And the reputation of the police department will not be destroyed by you, either.” “Have you finished, Captain Chan?” He folded his hands in his lap and looked at me over his gold-rimmed glasses. “For now.” I turned and left. It had taken every ounce of control not to pull my gun and empty it into the smug bastard. 167
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As I walked down the marble stairs to the main hall, I realized that maybe I’d been rash in rushing over here. But I knew I was right. St. Romaine had been the one who leaked it. *
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I knocked on Tasket’s door and he looked up. “He safe?” “Yeah, for now.” He held up his hands. “Don’t tell me. Don’t tell anyone.” I nodded. I had no plans on telling anyone where Mark was, not even the chief. Being the smart man he is I was sure he could guess where I’d stashed Mark. Tasket grinned. “A reporter called here for a statement. No one can find him. Can you imagine that?” “How odd. Did they try his house?” “The public affairs department is preparing a statement for me to make in about an hour. I’ll be standing on the front steps of the station. Care to join me?” “That would be flying in the face of my lack of ambition, sir.” “But as my future successor, you need the face time. How else will the mayor recognize his next chief of police?” He grinned. “Maybe I could hold a sign?” “Or we could get you a really important looking hat?” “I like hats,” I admitted. “I like boots better.” “I’ll come get you when I get the call. You don’t have to speak, just be there.” “Yes, sir.” *
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It was crowded on the small steps of the station. Chief Tasket, Mayor Dalton, St. Romaine, City Attorney Ball and I were standing in a loose knot at the top. Someone had dragged out a podium with the Riceland PD crest on the front. One reporter had divided into ten by some miracle of television science. The accompanying cameramen, technical assistants, and makeup people were a small crowd with a life of its own. The fair citizens of Riceland, being the sane bunch they are, stayed away. His Honor Mayor Dalton grinned as he introduced Chief of Police Tasket and stepped aside to let him speak. Tasket recited his script, which he had memorized in his office just minutes before stepping outside. I realized there were many unadvertised talents needed for the job of chief of police. Luckily, I have no ambitions, so I wouldn’t have to worry about honing my memory skills. Basically, he ran through the time line of the incident, gave a brief rundown of Jimmy Ridge’s arrest record, habitual drug use, and his post-mortem toxicology results. Tasket spoke of Mark Montgomery as a model citizen, someone who hadn’t run in the face of danger and hailed him as the hero of the hour. He described Hagan as a dedicated officer who, even as he lay wounded, saved himself and Montgomery. It was inspired and it left no doubt to which side law and order was going to take. The press tried to ask questions of the chief, like where Mark Montgomery was, but he gave them a sharp, “No comment,” and “You have my statement,” before he stepped away from the microphone. Then the mayor stepped up, praising both Hagan and Mark as heroes who narrowly escaped death from a crazed druggie high on meth. 169
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St. Romaine stayed to the side until the very end, trying to look calm and collected, but he caught my eye once or twice, and I could tell he was pissed. By now, St. Romaine had to know Mark had disappeared. The city attorney told the reporters he would be asking for a decision of self-defense for Mr. Montgomery. Then giving the cameras his most dashing smile, the mayor posed for a photo op with the city attorney and the chief of police. I wanted to puke. Since I was merely background fluff, I didn’t speak or pose for pictures. I returned inside the station with the chief and went to my office. I figured the mayor and St. Romaine were like two peas in a pod. Political sharks, always moving, and with several rows of teeth. Very dangerous. I wanted to stay clear of both of them, but it seemed that wasn’t going to be the case. My phone rang and I answered. “Where is he?” I recognized St. Romaine’s voice in an instant. “Where is who?” “Mark Montgomery, Captain. Where have you hidden him?” His teeth must have been clenched teeth so tight those perfect white caps might break. “I have no idea. Wasn’t he home?” “I warned you, Chan, not to fuck with me.” “Right, or else.” I hung up. Well, it looked like I wouldn’t be able to stay clear of him. I wondered what he had in mind. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like it. Tasket called saying he wanted me to watch the news; the conference would be on. I headed for his office. Beth pulled out the television again and we watched the conference on the nine o’clock news. As I watched, I wondered if 170
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Mark had caught it. He would have to come to terms with the situation eventually. After all, he’d be testifying before the grand jury in just a day or so. The conference ended and we switched off the set. “The camera loves you, Chief.” “Thank you, Chan. You don’t think I look ten pounds heavier?” “Only where it counts.” Tasket checked out his waistline. “Darlene is a good cook.” I nodded my agreement. “The mayor looked good, too,” I said. “It’s what got him where he is today,” the chief replied as he opened a drawer and pulled out this month’s Guns and Hounds. “St. Romaine looks, well, not very happy.” “No, I don’t think he is. I wonder why?” Tasket glanced at me over the magazine. We grinned at each other, and I went back to my office. He still hadn’t asked me about my relationship with Mark, but, for now, I considered that a good thing. I finished my report and shut down my computer. I couldn’t wait to leave work and go home. When I walked in the door, I could smell dinner. A real dinner cooking. Mark came out of the kitchen as I shut the door, smiling and looking gorgeous. I stopped dead in my tracks. Did a double take. Loose, low riding jeans hung on his hips, a tight T-shirt stretched across his chest. His hair, normally parted in the middle and combed back, was fresh from a shower. Its natural curl had found freedom and it fell across both sides of his forehead. He looked so young it staggered me. Every one of my forty-two years hit me in the gut. 171
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“Like what you see?” he asked as he hooked one thumb in a belt loop and shifted his weight to the side. Even his bare feet looked good to me, and I’ve never been into feet, not even women’s. Damn, he looked hot. Now, I may be stupid and dumb, but I at least know when a man that fine asks if you like something, you damn well better answer with a resounding “Yes!” I didn’t have to fake it, either, since I did like the way he looked. I just didn’t like the way it made me feel. He was much younger than I had thought. I lowered his age by at least five years. “Yes, it looks terrific!” He picked up my hesitancy and frowned. I watched as he crossed the room to me, each step bringing him closer to me. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. I’m just blown away.” I kept blinking trying to readjust my fantasies. I needed to adjust my swelling cock. “The mole is still there, right?” “Yes, Daniel, the mole is still there.” He smiled. “That’s a relief.” I wiped my forehead and frowned. “Mark, I know I’m not supposed to ask, but how old…” “I’m thirty-two, Daniel.” He smiled, but I did the math. Ouch, about ten years stood between us. “I’m a lot older than you. Forty-two to be painfully exact.” “Age doesn’t matter to me.” He looked up at me, his blue eyes shining. My heart stopped right then and there. He closed the gap between us and wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me down to his hungry mouth. I held his hips in the lightest of grips. God, I could get lost in this man, in his taste, the feel of his skin under my hands, the way his eyes looked at me. 172
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When we finally came up for air, he laughed and ran to the kitchen to catch the pork chops before they burned. I headed to my room to change into something more comfortable than my uniform and holster. After a quick shower, I headed back to the kitchen. He had set the table and lit two candles. We ate by candlelight. “Did you see the press conference?” I asked between bites of slightly dry pork chop. “Yes, I thought the chief handled it well.” “He’s very photogenic.” “I saw you.” Mark looked up at me from under his lashes. “I am not photogenic.” “You looked good to me.” I prayed he wasn’t just saying that to make me feel good. “That’s all that counts. How was your day? Were you bored?” “I watched television, surfed the net, and read one of your books. Hope you don’t mind?” “No, which book?” “One of your science fictions by Zelazny. I like him.” “So do I. I don’t read much anymore. On the evening shift I get in so late that I just have time to eat something and go to bed.” I didn’t tell him about Clancy’s. I figured I’d bring him by and introduce him to Jeff when the grand jury was over. “I do a lot of reading and gardening. I hate feeling idle. You keep such a tidy house, there wasn’t much for me to do around here.” He motioned with his fork to the rest of the house. “I’ll make sure I mess things up for you. Maybe it’ll convince you to stay.” I took his hand. “Honestly, it wouldn’t take much, Daniel. But I really need to move at my own speed. Let’s just see where this goes for now.” He bit his lip. 173
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“Right. Slow and steady. That’s my speed.” I smiled at him, and he returned it. Inside, I was screaming, Stay with me forever, but Dr. Cohen’s voice drowned out my needy self, telling me to take it slow and not rush him. After dinner, I threw some wood in the fireplace and lit it. We sat on the couch in the dark with just the glow of the fire, snuggling next to each other. He had his arms around me and his head on my shoulder. We didn’t talk. Sometime around midnight, he got up, kissed me on the cheek and went to his room. I put the fire out, locked the doors, and went to my bed. *
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The press conference had good airtime. It ran on several stations and now, with the reports on Ridge’s drug use and his meth levels, his story was being slowly usurped by the hero story, or as I like to call it, the truth. By the time the grand jury date rolled around, it looked like there would be no problem getting a no bill on self-defense. Mark and I had kept to ourselves, having dinner together only at home. My schedule was to sleep late, usually until around 10 A.M. and then get ready for work. He got up very early in the morning, leaving for his work in Houston around six to beat the traffic. He took my personal truck, and I used the Crown Vic to get around. We hoped no one would find him, and we were right. I realized he probably could go back to his house, but I hated to mention it. I wanted him here with me. It felt so right. So it was time for something to go wrong. I came home that night and found Mark sitting on the couch waiting for me. He looked very upset. 174
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“Mark, what’s wrong?” I tried to sit next to him, but he jumped up and strode away from me across the room. “There was no one else, Daniel?” His voice and his eyes accused me. My stomach dropped like a brick off a high rise. “What? What are you talking about?” “That night, you said you weren’t thinking of anyone else. There was no one else.” “There wasn’t.” “A woman? Who is she?” Mark held up the business card for Bayou City Escorts, then flicked it at me. It fell on the floor between us. I had left it sitting on my nightstand. He must have been in my room cleaning. “No one.” “Really? Because I called and talked to her. She asked about you. Seems she knows you pretty well.” Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit…. “That was before I met you.” I slumped onto the couch. “She said you visited her recently.” Mark’s eyes filled with tears, hurt, and anger. It was time to come clean. There was no way I could lie my way out of this, and frankly, I didn’t want to. I’d lied enough about my sex life in the past and it had never done me a lick of good. “I did. During the time I was waiting for you to either tell me to get lost or that you wanted to see me. It was taking so long I assumed you were dumping me.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Just how many times, Daniel?” His fists clenched and his whole body was rigid. “Three. Once before I met you, twice after.” “Jesus, did you use protection? Are you going to give me some 175
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disease?” “The first time, yes, I did. The other times we didn’t need it.” “What do you mean, didn’t need it?” I took a deep breath, and saw my future with Mark flying out the window. “We had oral sex only.” Mark blinked back tears. “Did you…” “No, no, I never touched her. She gave me a blowjob.” I sighed. “Was she good? Was she worth the money?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Now I could hear the anger, not just the hurt. I figured he wasn’t really looking for the answers, so I didn’t say anything, especially not the truth. He turned and headed to the door, opened it and walked out into the night. I deserved to lose him. I’d been a fool. Still, I went after him. “Mark! Stop!” I caught up with him as he strode down my gravel driveway. “Please.” Forgetting myself, I caught his arm and pulled him around to face me. He jerked away and shook his head. “A whore, Daniel? You had to go to her? Three times. Fuck. There must be some reason you kept going back to her. Are you in love with her?” “No, of course not!” “Then why?” He turned away. I grabbed his hand and turned him around again. “It was either her or my gun.” His gaze searched mine, his brow creased. “What?” “I thought I had lost you. Thought my chance was over. You might as well know you aren’t the only one with problems. I’m subject to depression.” I kicked a rock with my boot and it 176
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bounced off into the darkness. “Depression?” “Yeah. The kind where you can’t decide to stick around and see how it all turns out or just be done with it.” He stood there staring at me. “You have noticed I have a gun?” I patted my Glock. “I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I felt awful after seeing her. How crazy is that? I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, but I felt like I was cheating on you. That’s why I didn’t fuck her. That’s why it was just the blowjob. I wanted you, not her.” It wasn’t coming out right, but I knew there was no way to make it sound right in any way, shape or form. He didn’t say a word, just kept staring at me. It was hard to see his face in the dark. The lights from the house were just bright enough to see by, but that’s all. “I don’t even know her name…I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t be with you, so I went to her.” “Daniel, she told me that you had a standing appointment.” “Did she tell you I didn’t show up for the last one?” “No.” He bit his lip. “I should’ve torn up that card and I know it. I don’t plan on ever seeing her again, Mark. Ever. I swear.” “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.” He put his hand on my chest, over my heart. Even I could feel it thudding. “I meant it, but you have to realize at the time I hadn’t heard from you. You left me hanging, you know. Two weeks. No word, no call. Not even a ‘give me some more time, Dan.’ It hurt pretty bad, baby.” He sighed. “I guess we both messed up.” “I am a stupid, old man. Can you forgive me?” I held my arms 177
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open, hoping he would come to me. He didn’t. “I have to think about this.” He was being honest at least. “Will you give me another chance?” “Yes.” He took my hand. “Were you really going to use your gun?” He looked up into my eyes, his forehead creased, and his eyes sad as a scolded puppy’s. I exhaled. “Yes.” “How close did you get?” “Well, this time I didn’t pick it up.” “This time? How many times, Dan?” He squeezed my hand. “This was the fourth time I’ve been faced with the choice of to be or not to be. But each time, I just couldn’t pull the trigger.” “Promise me you’ll talk to Dr. Cohen about this. She can help you.” “Mark, with all you went through, did you ever…” I let the question hang. “Sure, right after it happened. After I came home from the hospital. See, I still loved him.” He choked. “He beat me and nearly killed me. Left me bleeding on the bed we’d made love in for over a year. Left me for fucking dead. And I still loved him.” He let out a ragged breath. “For a while, I convinced myself it was my fault he’d beat me. How fucked up is that? I was ashamed of my feelings, embarrassed to face my friends, and feeling really stupid. And I hurt so bad. Physically, yeah, but inside, in my heart, I hurt so goddamn bad. I took an overdose of my pain meds.” “Christ.” “Luckily, it made me so sick I threw it all up. It saved me. I’ve been wondering all these years what it saved me for. Then I found you.” He brought my hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across my knuckles. I shivered with the touch, the tenderness, he showed me. 178
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“I’m so sorry,” was all I could say without losing what was left of my pride. We walked back to the house holding hands. He went to his room, and I went to mine. He to think about whether to ditch me or not. Me? Well, the usual self-flagellation. *
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A few days before the grand jury convened, I got a call from Jeff to stop by the bar. He rarely called, but his message said he had the info I needed. I sat down, and he tossed a manila envelope on the bar. I opened it and spread the photographs out. “Great work! You should do this professionally.” “Hmm, I especially like the lighting. What do you think?” I scanned through them and pulled one out. “It shows him to his best advantage.” “Well, everyone has a good side and a bad side.” “You certainly got his good side, Mr. DeMille.” “Let’s just say his bad side is a little short.” He snickered and showed me the distance, holding up his thumb and forefinger. Definitely short. “I particularly like this one.” He fished through the stack, found what he was looking for and pushed it in front of me. I picked it up and examined it. “You hit the mother lode, Jeff, my man.” There were a few more just like it. “I like the placement of the subjects, don’t you?” he asked, leaning over to take a look. “The play of the light on his hair is inspired.” I admired the 179
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photo. Jeff pulled out another envelope. Inside was a photographic copy of a lease agreement. “Thought you’d need this, too.” He wiggled his moustache in glee. “You thought of everything.” “Well, that’s just the way I am, Dan. I’m the best. At least that’s what all the girls say.” “These are perfect.” “She really is beautiful, Dan. Think I might make myself an appointment.” He grinned. “I have some money saved from my summer job.” “She’s a bad habit.” I felt I should warn him. “What do you recommend?” “It depends on what you’re looking for, Jeff.” I looked through the photos one last time and then slid them back into the envelope. “Is she worth the money?” “Yep.” “Can she handle me?” Jeff grinned and looked down at his package. I raised my eyebrows; the bulge was indeed impressive. “After me, you’ll be a walk in the park.” I grinned back. “I’ll just bet you spoiled her for other men.” “She’s spoiled, all right.” I stood and shoved the envelope in my jacket pocket. “Thanks for everything.” I laid a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. Jeff eyed it, then picked it up. “The ride’s on me.” “Thanks, Dan, don’t mind if I do.” He snapped it and put it in his pocket, and I left.
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CHAPTER 12 I usually sit at the end of the counter when I’m at the Riceland Diner for lunch. If I sit at a table, it leaves three empty seats to be occupied by people who feel the need to discuss their neighbor’s loud music or the dogs that escape their yards and take a dump in the rosebushes. The end seat only leaves one empty, and I stand a better chance of finishing my lunch uninterrupted. I was in the middle of a plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy with a side of greens when I felt someone slid into the seat next to me. “Dan, how are you?” It was Bert Farrell, the owner of Riceland Real Estate. He’s one of the town’s movers and shakers, and he’s sold most of the homes here in town. He inherited the business from his daddy, Bert Sr., and had increased sales. He even picked 181
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up a choice piece of property for himself now and then. Riceland’s own Donald Trump, but without the bad hair. We shook hands. “Just fine, Bert. How’s business?” “Couldn’t be better. I’m glad I ran into you.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “We need to talk.” “Do we? About what?” I cut a piece of meatloaf and put it in my mouth. “Property, of course.” I chewed slowly, thinking about my property. Could he mean that? “Bet you get tired of talking about property all day, huh, Bert?” “No.” He looked at me like I was crazy. “Can you stop by my office before you go to back to work?” “Sure.” “Great, see you then.” He slid off the stool and, after working the diner like a candidate for political office, he finally left. I finished my meal, paid and walked down Main Street two blocks to his office. There was no need to move my truck; it was easier to leave it parked. And I enjoyed the stroll. I drive Main Street every day, but there’s something about walking a street that puts you at another level. You meet people and see things you wouldn’t if you were driving. It was like that today. I noticed a few new stores and said hello to some folks I hadn’t seen in a while. The door to Riceland Real Estate, established in 1968, jingled when I opened it, and the secretary, Judith Moore, looked up at me over her reading glasses. She was in her sixties and had worked for Bert Sr. when he was alive; she was the woman behind the man. Well, at least behind Bert Sr., if the rumors are right. If Bert Sr.’s wife ever knew, she never let on. “Why, Captain Chan, we haven’t seen you in quite a while.” 182
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She smiled and I glimpsed some of the beauty she must have possessed in her younger days. “Not since that kid broke your plate glass window.” A teenager on a bike had careened out of control and smashed into the window. There was a map of Riceland hanging in that window, with little pins that showed where all their listed properties were located. The window was safety glass so luckily the kid wasn’t hurt. But it had scared the hell out of Judith. I got the call to come over and handle it for the chief, since Bert Jr. is a VIP. The next day, the window was replaced and the map was hanging right back where it belonged. “I had nightmares about seeing that kid come through the glass for weeks!” “I’ll bet.” “Can I help you with something?” Chitchat done, it was back to business. “Well, Bert Jr. asked me to drop by.” “Sure. I’ll let him know you’re here.” A few minutes later, I sat across the large mahogany desk from Bert Jr. with my hat balanced on my knee. He was about my age, with thick, grey-blond hair and a tan I suspected was artificially generated. His teeth were brilliant against his skin, only outshone by the Rolex on his wrist. “Dan, I’ll get right to the point. I’ve had an offer for your property.” “An offer? I didn’t realize I’d put it up for sale.” I sat back and waited for the explanation. “Well, I have an interested buyer. Very motivated and very generous. Very generous.” He leaned back nodding, expecting me to be impressed. 183
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“Who is this generous person?” “Well, I’m not at liberty to say, Dan.” He looked nervous. “Well, when you are, let me know, and we can talk. But for now, I’m not interested.” I smiled and stood. “But can’t we at least talk? Don’t you want to know how much they’re offering?” “No, I don’t do business with people I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right…feels shady.” “Dan, be reasonable.” “Who is it?” I pressed him. “I can tell you it’s a group of investors.” “Investors? Interested in Riceland?” Something in the back of my mind tried to make its way to the front. Then it came to me. I can be so slow sometimes. “Sure, why not?” “Has this got anything to do with the airport?” Bert practically choked on his own spit. “How’d you know about the airport?” “Small town, Bert.” I shrugged. A thought raised its horrible head; my property butted up to The Terraces. Lots of empty land. Shit. “Bert, are they thinking they’re going to put an airport at The Terraces? Right next to my property?” I was getting mad, but I needed to control myself, After all, I had a gun and Bert didn’t. He stuttered, seeing my anger, and his eyes nervously glanced to the semi-automatic on my hip. “Yes, Dan.” He took a deep breath. “It’s an opportunity of a lifetime. Your property is only worth about fifty thousand and the house about seventy on the market right now. But the offer from this consortium is over two-hundred-and-fifty!” 184
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Her eyes glittered as I’m sure he counted his percentage. “Does Buddy Macomb know about this? Have they offered him money for his property?” If Buddy sold out, I was a goner. I was a goner anyway. I couldn’t live next to an airport. I lived out there because it was quiet and isolated. The Terraces land would be more than enough for the airport, so mine was probably only gravy. But it was my gravy. “He was next on my list, Dan. Don’t tell him until I’ve talked to him, please. Don’t spoil this for me,” he begged me. He must have had some big money riding on this if they were offering me twice what my land was worth. “Fine. I’ll wait to see what Buddy is going to do, but I want to know who is behind this consortium. Names, Bert, I want names.” I turned and left, nodding to Judith on my way out. I was careful not to slam the door. For a while, I stood in front of the window, staring at the map. As I made my way back to the truck, I laughed. I was going to sell it anyway. There might be a way this might actually work out for me. The eternal optimist in me thought, This could be my lucky day. *
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My message light was on when I reached my office and I sat, pulled a notebook out, and hit the play button. Mark had left a message, saying the city attorney had invited him to dinner this evening to discuss the testimony for the grand jury the next day and Mark might not be there when I got in. “Don’t wait up for me. We may be late,” he said at the end. I sat back, clenching my hands so hard they hurt. I shook them 185
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out and wondered why they would be sitting around after ten at night talking about the case. Then, I shook it off, knowing with Ball’s busy schedule there could be several reasons. Besides, I needed to confirm my suspicions about the so-called consortium and St. Romaine was at the top of the list of members. I’ll admit I hated St. Romaine. His machinations had forced Mark out of his home and into hiding. He’d pressed Mark to do the publicity stuff after he’d refused to do it. And worst of all, he’d threatened my retirement and had offered me the chief of police position. I didn’t trust St. Romaine as far as I could throw him. I logged on to the computer and started Googling. *
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At nine o’clock, I was wrapping up my work, planning to go to Clancy’s to have a late dinner since I’d worked through what would have been my regularly scheduled dinner. The phone rang and I was surprised to hear Mark’s voice on the other end. “Daniel, it’s me.” He sounded a little strained. “Hi, baby, what’s up?” I wanted to sound cool, but just hearing his voice sent me into thoughts better left until we were alone. “Can you come get me?” “Where are you? Aren’t you supposed to be with the C.A.?” “He couldn’t make it.” Silence. “I don’t have my car and I want to leave.” “You’ve been at the restaurant for two hours waiting on him?” Wait, that couldn’t be right. The C.A. had arranged to pick Mark up. “How did you get there?” Mark cleared his throat. “St. Romaine picked me up. At first, I 186
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thought Ball would meet us here, but he never showed.” “That bastard. I warned him to stay away from you.” “You’re not going to believe this, but he’s one of us.” For a second, I didn’t understand what he was saying, then it clicked and every warning bell I’d ever possessed went off. I’d never thought St. Romaine’s interest in Mark was anything more than professional. “Mark, is he bothering you? Coming on to you?” I started packing up my desk, shutting down my computer. “Just come. I’m at the Lone Star Steak House, in a small private room in the back.” He hung up. I shoved my computer into my case and bolted for my cruiser. Christ, what the hell was going on? The C.A. and St. Romaine were in this together? Who else? Most likely the mayor because that’s who St. Romaine worked for. I knew exactly what Mark was talking about. The Lone Star, Riceland’s finest steak house, was equipped with several small and large meeting rooms for private parties. Just how private had St. Romaine wanted their meeting to be and why? I made it to the Lone Star in record time. I stood in the foyer and asked the man at the reservations desk where St. Romaine was. I let him assume it was official business, since I was still in my uniform. He led me to the back as my stomach knotted into a tight ball of burning gas. St. Romaine had booked one of the private booths. They were a throwback to the old steak houses—a large booth, surrounded on three sides by wall and on the open side a thick red velvet curtain blocked out most sound. The booth had its own lighting and a call button for the waiter. Very elegant and wonderful for those romantic moments when you don’t want the world to intrude. 187
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In the past, it was a badge of honor to claim you had made love on the plush bench seat behind those curtains. I often wondered how many of Riceland’s debutantes had lost their virginity in those booths. I stepped to the curtain and pulled the cord to the small bell that signaled the presence of the waiter. I would rather have thrown open the curtain and struck with the element of surprise, but since I didn’t really know what was going on, I stood to the side and waited. “Come in,” St. Romaine’s smooth voice replied. The waiter pulled open the curtain for me, and I stepped in. “Good evening, Mr. St. Romaine.” His smug smile fell as he saw me. Mark sat next to him…well, not really close, but too close for my comfort. His eyes told me he was grateful if not happy to see me. “What is he doing here?” He turned to Mark and his eyes narrowed. “I called Daniel to pick me up, Michael.” Michael? Did he just call St. Romaine by his first name? I wanted to jerk Mark out of the booth and drag him out of there, screaming, Mine! Mine! Mine! “That wasn’t necessary. I’d certainly have brought you home.” He was smooth, with no trace of the snake he was in his voice. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Mark started to leave. St. Romaine’s eyes narrowed, becoming hard and cold. Now, we got snake eyes, or at least, I got them as his gaze bore into me. He reached out and took Mark’s arm. I tensed, wanting nothing more than to slice off his hand for touching my man. Mark froze, his gaze dropping to St. Romaine’s hand, then 188
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flicking up to me. He gave me a small nod to tell me it was all right, to keep cool. “Join us, Chan. I have something to show you, Mark.” Now the bastard’s eyes glittered with anticipation. “I was saving this for later, but now is the perfect time.” “Michael, can we do this later?” Mark sounded tired. “No, Mark, now is perfect.” St. Romaine flashed him a smile. I took a seat on the opposite edge of the booth from Mark. St. Romaine continued, “I was just telling Mark he should be careful who he puts his trust in. That some might not have his best interests in mind. That their personal desires might come into play. He is a handsome man, isn’t he, Chan?” He gazed at Mark, and it made me sick to see the desire in his eyes. I didn’t answer. St. Romaine leaned back and brought out his briefcase from under the table. It was fine leather, the color called cordovan, with brushed nickel clasps. He opened it, pulled out an envelope and morphed from a snake to the cat with the canary in its mouth. Something told me I was the bird. “Mark, perhaps after seeing these you’ll change your mind about what I told you. We’re going to play a game. I believe it’s called Truth or Dare.” He passed the envelope to me. “Chan, take a look and then decide. Truth or Dare. If you select Truth, then pass them to Mark. If not, you take the option of Dare. This means, I decide whether to show them to him.” Mark looked uncomfortable. I held the envelope in my hands and gave St. Romaine my best “I’m gonna kill you” stare. “I don’t play games, St. Romaine.” I tossed it back to him. “Don’t you? Afraid of what might be in here?” I had an idea and it wasn’t good. “No.” 189
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He tossed it back to me, and I caught it in mid-air. I opened the clasp and pulled out the photos—eight photographs of me and the hooker, leaving the bar together, her kissing my neck at my truck, going into my house. Another set of me going into her townhouse. My stomach fell out as I saw what was on the next few. She knelt in front of me with her back to the camera, giving me head. Well, you couldn’t really see what she was doing to me, but I looked as if I was really enjoying it. I had. My head rested on the back of the seat and my hands grasped the arm of the couch, my eyes closed. The next was about the same. The seventh was of me zipping up my pants and in the last, I was my putting money on the table. The shots had to have been taken from somewhere inside the room. Not only did he have me with the hooker, but he could prove I’d paid her. I was fucked, and I hadn’t even been kissed. I’d been stupid, dumb, and foolish. They’d set me up and I’d allowed it to happen. St. Romaine had warned me. Truth or Dare? Nothing but God’s grace could save me now and I didn’t really believe He cared much about me at this moment. The best I could hope for was that Mark hated St. Romaine, Michael, more than he hated me. Sick to my stomach, I swallowed hard to keep from puking and passed the photos to Mark. I couldn’t even meet his eyes. I wanted to push St. Romaine up against the wall, stick my Glock in his mouth, and empty my clip into him. I swallowed rage, and it almost came back up. Mark took them from me, his eyes worried. He shuffled through them. Then he looked at them again. The third time he went over them, I saw a hint of a smile on his lips. It drove me and 190
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St. Romaine crazy. He’d expected Mark to explode, tell me to fuck myself, and leave an opening for whatever he had planned for Mark. I was expecting the same thing. Mark put the photos back into the envelope. “She’s beautiful, Daniel. I can see why you’d pay money for her.” I felt the bottom drop out from under me. “Blonde, tall, and certainly willing. No problems, no hang-ups, no complications, and no names. So not like me.” He gave me a look that shrunk me down to a puddle of spit on the ground. “You never did tell me if she was good. Worth the money. Truth. No option for dare.” “She was good. Worth every dollar I paid.” I looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” What else could I say? It was over. He smiled slowly and turned to St. Romaine. “How did you get these?” “They came into my possession from a friend.” St. Romaine waved his hand. “Are you fucking her, too? My, she certainly gets around! Don’t tell me…she’s doing the entire city council and the mayor.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “With a beautiful woman like her, why are you bi-boys so interested in a fag like me? Running out of money? She’s a sure thing. I’m not. For either of you.” He glanced at both of us. “Michael, why are you interested in me? Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love at first sight.” He sighed. St. Romaine had lost his grin and was looking very tightlipped. I wasn’t going to win, but neither was he. “I…I find you attractive…” he stuttered, opened his mouth to continue, but with one look at Mark’s disbelief, he shut it. Mark slid out of the booth, total disgust twisting his handsome features. “I’m leaving.” He tossed the envelope at St. Romaine and it smacked him in the face. “You can shove these up your ass, you 191
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conniving, selfish bastard. You ruined the only good thing to ever happen to me.” With that, he turned and strode to the front of the restaurant, leaving Michael St. Romaine and me alone. He turned to me, a confused look on his face. I stood and faced him. “Looks like your plan blew up in your face, Michael. You won’t get him now.” St. Romaine recovered and laughed. “As long as you don’t get him, Chan, I’m happy. Besides, which of us hurt him the most? He may need a shoulder to cry on later.” His lip curled up in a sneer and he pushed the envelope toward me. “You can keep the photos, Chan. As a souvenir.” He paused. “By the way, her name is Luna, and you were right. She is worth the money.” “Mark might find another shoulder to cry on, but it won’t be yours, you bastard.” It was hard to resist the urge to do him bodily harm, but I stayed under control, didn’t pick up the photos, and left. The drive home was excruciating. I kicked myself in the ass all the way there. When I arrived, I parked in the driveway and sat in the car holding my gun for a long time. All I kept thinking was what a pathetic asshole I was and that I should just face it—my life sucked. Why did I ruin the first real relationship I’d ever had? What was wrong with me? I had a choice to make, either get over it or end it. Was alone really so bad? Better than dead? I glanced at my house. Lately, I had been so excited to go home knowing Mark was waiting for me there. Now it was dark, empty. Back to normal. I checked the clip. It was full. Of course, I’d need only one bullet. I shoved the magazine back in and raised it. Pressing the cold barrel against my temple, I closed my eyes. 192
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If I pulled the trigger, St. Romaine won. He would have destroyed my chances with Mark and destroyed me in the bargain. In the end, my hatred of him overcame my hatred for myself. I holstered my weapon and got out. After I let myself in the front door, I took off my holster, hung it on a chair and emptied my pockets onto the small table by the door. I was halfway into the darkened room before I noticed the soft glow of a fire burning. Mark was asleep in the chair next to the fireplace. He woke, stretched, and stared at me. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone home.” I slumped on the couch across from him. “I did.” His gaze never left me. “Seems when I told the cabbie to take me home, I wound up here.” He shrugged. I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was the choked sob of his name. I’m not ashamed to admit I crawled on my knees to him, laid my head in his lap, and wrapped my arms around his waist like a child clinging to his mother as I begged for him to take me back. He stroked my head as he listened to me promise to always love him, to never hurt him, and to be a better man. When I ran out of words, I just held him, my head buried in his lap, letting him comforting me. At last, he took my head in his hands, lifted it up and looked in my eyes. “Later tonight, I want to hear you say I was worth it, every moment, every kiss, and every touch.” He leaned down and kissed me. It was soft at first, but then I felt his tongue asking to be let into my mouth. I opened and pulled him in, sucking it gently. “You are, Mark….” I started to assure him, but he interrupted 193
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me. “No, I want to earn it, so when you do say it, I know you mean every word.” I don’t know how, but we were lying on the floor. Mark lay on top of me as we kissed. Long, deep, hungry kisses. He pressed his stiff cock into me, making me harden beneath him. He rubbed against me as he kissed my face, my forehead, and my eyelids. He moved away, removed my boots, and stripped off my socks. Then he returned to kiss me again, moving small brushes of his lips down my neck, sending shivers of delight down my spine. His hands made short work of the buttons on my uniform shirt and he pulled it off. Caressing my skin, he moved his kisses to my chest. I could barely keep Dr. Cohen’s advice in my mind, since my brain’s blood flow diverted to my dick, allowing my grey matter just enough oxygen to function. I fought to keep from grabbing his ass and my dick strained against my trousers with each new attack of his mouth. When he slowly dragged his tongue across my chest from one nipple to the other, I almost lost it. He sucked them each in turn and kissed his way toward my stomach. Nothing he did was rushed as he took his time, savoring me. His hands found my pants and he unzipped them, licking and biting me softly around my sides and stomach. He pulled my pants and boxers down and stripped them off me. I was his plaything, lying naked and erect before him, while he remained fully clothed. I craved his skin next to mine, but I had to let him make the decisions and be in charge. Before, I had thought it was an incredible turn-on to have total control, but it was nothing compared to totally surrendering my self and my body to him. He lost himself in pleasuring me, and each time he’d make me 194
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moan it would challenge him to do it again. I let go of what little reserve I had left and let him know how he pleased me with my voice and my body. Mark pulled two pillows off the couch, placing them behind my head and shoulders to raise me up. “Now, you can watch,” he whispered in my ear. He took his time traveling back down the length of my body with his tongue. It was perfect. I could see everything he did to me. Every kiss, lick, and bite was there for me to rejoice in. His fingers made ever smaller circles in the black hair around my erection, coming close, but not touching. “Please, baby, please, touch me,” I begged him. “Shhh, all in good time, love.” He moved closer to the base of my shaft with his tongue as his hands spread my legs for him to lie between my thighs. He stretched out on his belly, and rose up on his arms so he was in perfect position to take me in his mouth. But he didn’t. His breath raced across the sensitive skin of my cock, warm and sweet as he blew air out. He moved closer and the tip of his tongue touched my leaking tip, lapping at the fat head. Intense pleasure shot through me, powerful and hard, and my balls pulled tight. Unable to keep it bottled inside me, I moaned. He smiled, satisfied with his work, as his tongue traveled up the length of my throbbing dick, then down, ending back at the tip as he teased me over and over with those slow licks. He finally took me in his mouth, and my hips arched into the air in pleasure, pushing myself deep into his throat as I moved from moans to cries of pleasure. I forced my eyes open to watch his lips slide up and down my shaft in slow motion as he took his time. He sucked me as his mouth reached the head of my cock, letting his teeth drag gently over the head, sending shivers and 195
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shudders up and down my body. He set up a rhythm of long, slow strokes that I matched with my hips. His hands reached under me and held each cheek of my ass for him to massage as he sucked me. His fingers, powerful and seductive, worked those muscles, but it was his mouth I was in love with. I wanted to worship his mouth, his lips, and his amazing tongue. He broke the rhythm to slide slowly down over me, his mouth swallowing me deep in his throat. He quickly pulled away until he kissed the very tip, then dived down again. He pleasured me, as time seemed to slow to a wondrous crawl, as my desire to come built inside my balls. He smiled at me and whispered, “Should I let you come?” “Yes, please, I want to come.” My voice sounded strange to me, thick and raspy from the sex and the strain. I’d been holding back long enough and wanted to shoot my load down his throat so much I could scream. “Not yet.” He backed off, and I fell away from the edge of that cliff, only to have him take me to the edge again and again. He might not have been sexually active in years, but he hadn’t forgotten exactly what to do. Not one goddamn thing. I begged him each time to let me come. But each time he denied me. It was such exquisite torture, one moment begging him to stop and the next begging him to keep going. “Should I swallow your cum, or should I watch you shoot into the air and then lick it off your beautiful cock?” He dove down the length of my shaft, and I thrust up to meet him. “Jesus.” I moaned, not able to form a coherent sentence to answer him. 196
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“I’ll take that as ‘whatever you want, Mark.’” He picked up the pace and one of his hands encircled my shaft, twisting and pumping. He continued to suck me harder and harder as he jerked me off. No longer able to hold back, he allowed me this time to fall over that sweet damned cliff. I exploded, calling out his name. “Mark, oh, God, suck me. Oh, God, you make me come so hard…” He did both; he swallowed the first few shots, backing off to watch the last three. My spunk shot straight into the air, only to drip down my cock. I watched him watching me come as a final ripple of pleasure shook my body. As I watched, near boneless, he licked my cock clean, my creamy cum on his tongue. At last, finished, he licked his lips, catching the last white bead on the end of his tongue. He climbed my body to lie on top of me and offered me the drop. Our tongues touched as I sucked it from the tip of his tongue and, for the first time, tasted my own cum. Salty, slightly bitter and still warm. Then he kissed me and tried to take it back, but I’d swallowed it. His tongue searched my mouth, found nothing, settling on my tongue, sucking it with gentle pulls. He let me go, and I fell back against the pillows. “Now you can tell me. Was I worth it?” He watched me, his eyes slits. “God, yes, worth all I have. Take everything, Mark. I give it all to you.” “You’re the first man I’ve touched like this since the assault.” As he laid his head on my chest, his eyes filled with tears and he uttered a lone, muffled sob. As his tears spilled, their warmth on my naked skin sealed my love for him deep inside me. He lay in my arms, and we watched the fire without speaking 197
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until it burned down. When the fire was out, he pulled me to my feet and led me to bed. I fell into it, and he pulled the covers up, kissed me, and left me. In mere moments, I’d fallen into a deep sleep. *
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The next morning I woke to the smells of breakfast. Bacon, toast, eggs and coffee, too. For a while, I just lay in bed enjoying the feeling of home. When I finally got out of bed and pulled on some boxers, I headed to the bathroom. On the counter, I found all my insignia from my uniform shirt. Mark had my RPD collar pins and my six stars, denoting my rank, that ride my epaulets laid out for me. My shield was there, too. I usually just put them in a pile, but here he’d placed them in a neat, even row. I’d taken them for granted, but Mark saw the pride in them. I loved him even more for it. I pulled on a T-shirt and went to the kitchen. It was seven A.M., and Mark’s day testifying in front of the grand jury would start at nine. I had the day off and planned to be there for him as moral support. They wouldn’t let me in the courtroom, but I thought I’d wait for him in the hall outside. Mark wore navy slacks, a white shirt, and a crisp blue-andwhite striped tie. The entire suit set off his eyes. It was perfect, conservative, yet it didn’t look too upscale. He’d combed his hair back, taming those wild waves that made me crazy. He looked wonderful. I, on the other hand, looked rough. My beard had finally come out and I needed a shave. Usually, genetics being what they are, I shave every two to three days. 198
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I sat at the table and stared at the food piled up on the platter. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Mark informed me. “I can see by the amount we must be expecting guests?” I teased him. “No, I was just expecting a very hungry man.” He smiled slyly. “I’ll try to do you proud.” I dug in. We ate in silence for a while. The question that had bothered me since last night finally got the better of me. “Mark, last night when you saw those photos…” I shook my head. “They were bad, but you still came home to me. Why?” His smile grew and he sat back, wrapping an arm behind his chair. “Well, at first I was furious at you. But I started studying the pictures. It was her doing everything. Her kissing you. Her going down on you. But you? You weren’t doing anything, just letting it happen.” I liked the way this was sounding, so I nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I figured it was like you’d told me. It was just sexual release, nothing more. Besides, I did leave you hanging, and you assumed the worse. That was my fault. I can’t blame you for trying to find comfort in someone else’s arms. So I decided if I wanted you, I had to fight you for you.” I chuckled. “Yeah, I’m my own worst enemy.” He nodded. “But even though those photos didn’t destroy me, they can destroy you, can’t they?” I sat back and ran my hands over my eyes. “Yes. They’re bad. The ones of the sex are merely embarrassing. It’s the one of my paying money that’s the problem. Prostitution is illegal, to perform it and to pay for it. I could be arrested, and if I was, my career just 199
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might be over.” Mark sat lost in thought, and I got up and knelt at his side, pulling him to me. “Don’t worry about it. You have enough to handle today. And it’s not your fault, baby. Nothing you did caused this. St. Romaine and I have been butting heads for a while.” “But, your job…” “Well, I always say, I’m may be as dumb as I look, but I’m not half as stupid.” He cocked his head at me and laughed. “Trust me, it won’t go that far. St. Romaine won’t do anything with those pictures. Just let me worry about it.” “But all he has to do is send them anonymously to the chief and the mayor.” “He won’t.” He must have heard something in my voice because his eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “Daniel, do you have something on Michael?” I just shrugged. “In chess, strategy is everything. Never underestimate your opponent. St. Romaine underestimated me. Now, let me get dressed and we’ll go to the courthouse.”
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CHAPTER 13 At the courthouse, Michael St. Romaine nearly choked when he walked up and saw me sitting with Mark on the bench outside the courtroom. Let him choke. It was a good moment. Mark glared at him, and I gave him my best shit-eating grin. The jury hadn’t convened yet, so most of the players were out in the hall waiting. St. Romaine slipped into the courtroom. Earlier, when Mark and I saw Bill Fry, it was an awkward moment, but Bill is a good guy and said his hellos. He moved off, sitting farther down on the other side of the hallway. His partner Detective Vargas showed up about fifteen minutes later and sat with him. The bailiff called them in before Mark, I guess to establish their roles and verify their reports. We’d been warned about talking to each other, so hello was about it for conversation. 201
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We stood and greeted Officer Hagan when he arrived with his wife at his side. His arm was in a sling, but he looked in good spirits. He wore his uniform, minus his holster and weapon, since the police department kept it as evidence. Mark shook his hand and Hagan and his wife thanked Mark for saving his life, something he hadn’t been able to do until then. It would still be several months before the doctor released him to return to full duty. However, he assured me that was still his plan, although his wife’s expression looked doubtful. I’d wait on that and see if he still felt the same when the time came. I knew the stats—the percentage of cops that don’t return after being shot is high compared to those who do return. They called Hagan’s name. His wife took a seat across the hall, opened her Bible and began reading. Maybe she was praying, I’m not sure, but I hoped she’d offer a little prayer for Mark, too. Thirty minutes later, the officer stepped out. “Mark Montgomery.” Mark stood, gave me a smile, stiffened his back and shoulders, and went inside to give his testimony. I hoped all he had to do was confirm the evidence and Hagan’s testimony. I sat in the hall on a long wooden bench and waited. No one asked me to give any testimony, and that was fine by me. There was not much I could add. The grand jury is usually restricted to the pertinent persons, so I couldn’t even go in. I was just there to support Mark. When they broke for lunch, Chief Tasket came out with Mark and let me know things were going well. He couldn’t give any details, but his manner seemed relaxed. If it had been going south, I think he would have given me a sign of some sort. Mark and I ate lunch at the diner, since it’s just a block away 202
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from the courthouse. We walked there and sat at a small table, ordering the daily special. He was relaxed and told me it was going well, just as the C.A. had told him it would. There had been no surprises. Once lunch was done, we returned, me to the bench, and Mark to the courtroom. At the end of the day, the testimony had upheld Hagan’s story, Mark was given a verdict of self-defense and it was decided Ridge was solely responsible for his fate. I have to admit, from what Mark and Hagan said about the city attorney that Ball handled it like a pro. He got all his recommendations, and the jury left satisfied it had upheld justice. I hadn’t expected it to be over so quickly. I’d thought it might take a few days, but it seemed the jury was pretty clear on the issues. Mark and I drove back to my place, where he went to his room to pack his things. We had decided, with Dr. Cohen’s help, that it would be best if he went back to his own home. We would still see each other as much as we could, just not have the temptation of sleeping in the same house. I wondered if he would miss me as much as I knew I was going to miss him. I stood there, holding his overnight bag, and watched him open his front door. He stepped inside and took the bag from me. “I hate this.” He shook his head. “Mark, baby, come on, we made this decision together, remember? I don’t like it either, but Dr. Cohen thinks this is the best way. I want to do what’s right for you.” “I know, Daniel. It’s just that this is harder than I thought it would be.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why, but it feels so permanent.” 203
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“Well, it’s not. If you think I’m going to go away, you’re just crazy. You’re stuck with me.” “Stuck is good.” He smiled and kissed me goodnight. I drove to over to Clancy’s to see Jeff. I needed some cheering up and there’s nothing like your best friend to deride you into a better mood. I sat on my stool, grinning like a bobcat. “I guess that means the jury thing went well?” Jeff poured me my usual. “Yes, it did. He’s home free.” I slid off the barstool, walked to the jukebox and fed a dollar into the slot. I selected my three songs and walked back to my seat. I had a hankering for a big, juicy burger with grilled onions, so I ordered and sat back. The first song started playing, 38 Special’s “Hold On Loosely,” and I considered my next move in our perpetual chess game. Jeff came over with my burger and put it in front of me. “You take Mark back home?” Jeff asked. “Yes, we both agreed it’d be best for right now.” I frowned. “You getting used to having someone around?” “It’s easy to do, with a guy like Mark.” I chewed, savoring the onions. “Thinking of making it permanent?” Jeff leaned forward and raised his eyebrow. “Yes, for some time now. Well, as permanent as living together can be.” “Finally! Well, when am I going to meet him?” “Real soon. Maybe after work on Friday I’ll bring him here.” “You better. If he doesn’t pass my inspection, you’ll have to throw him back.” 204
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“He’s not part of the ‘catch and release’ program, Jeff.” “Well, the way your luck runs…” He laughed. I finished my burger and headed home. *
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The next day I was in my truck, planning to make a trip downtown, when Buddy Macomb’s truck pulled down my drive. We stopped our cabs nose-to-nose and got out. He looked me up and down, sizing up my uniform. “Daniel, you still working?” “Yep, they haven’t fired me yet.” “And they gave you a gun? Is it loaded?” “Nope, I got the bullet in my pocket.” I grinned and patted my chest. The formalities done, Buddy spit tobacco juice in a perfect arc to the side and tilted back his hat. “Saw Bert Jr. the other day.” “Oh, yeah?” “Got an offer for my property.” “Really? For your place? In its condition? Do they know about the busted gate on the goat pen?” I poked him about Marie’s escaping goats. “Seem like the folks who made the offer don’t care much about such things. Bert Jr. says it’s an ‘as-is’ deal.” “As-is, huh? That’s good. It’d cost you a fortune to fix that gate.” “A fortune is what they’re offering.” Buddy scratched himself. “You taking it?” I waved away a fly with my hat. “Just waiting to see if you were taking yours.” “Well, now. Funny thing about that, I was waiting on you.” 205
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We both laughed. Buddy spit again. “Some sort of consortium. Bert Jr. was real tight-mouthed about it. I don’t like that.” “I told him no deal until I knew who it was.” “I don’t think Bert Jr. knows himself, Dan.” Buddy shook his head. “What’s the talk at the diner?” Here is where the real info would come out. “All I can tell you is they’re out of Dallas. Bunch of lawyers, is what I’m hearing, put together this big deal. Gloria in city hall says The Terraces has been bought by this gang. He says they paid pennies on the dollar for it.” “Pennies, huh?” “Seems pretty cheap, for an airport.” He grinned. You couldn’t put much past Buddy. “I guess our land is just icing on the cake.” “Well, seems the other side is county land, and word is city council held firm on not selling it. They want to develop it into a business zone, right next to the airport. Hotels, restaurants, fast food.” He shivered. “I don’t want to live next to an airport, Dan, but where else can I go? Marie wouldn’t want to leave the town— it’s been our home for all our lives—but I hate to pass up the money. It’d really help us out, and our kids.” “Isn’t there somewhere else in town you could live? Somewhere maybe Marie has always had her eye on?” Buddy thought for a moment before his face lit up. “Thanks, Daniel. You’ve given me an idea.” He nodded and headed back to his truck. I got in the F-150, backed up, and pulled to the side so he could turn around. I followed him out the gate and down the road into town. He pulled off and parked near Bert Jr.’s 206
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office as I continued on to the station. I guess somewhere I had made up my mind to sell. I had a good hunch who the consortium was, or at least its head consorter. It made me mad, but I put that thought to the side and counted money instead. There were two hundred and fifty thousand reasons to forget about who was doing the deal, but was that enough for me? I made my way down Main and parked in an open spot in front of the court building. I headed up stairs to find St. Romaine. We had some business to finish. He saw me immediately this time. “Well, Chan, yet another unexpected visit?” “You didn’t expect me? Funny, I’d have thought you had eight good reasons to expect me to drop by.” This time, I closed the door to his office. “Yes, eight embarrassing reasons. But so worth it, don’t you agree?” “You’d know, Michael. You put her up to it.” “Well, at the time I didn’t see you protesting, you hypocrite.” He sneered. And he was right. “No one dragged you there, plus she told me you kept coming back for more. Do you know the penalty for prostitution, Daniel?” “Yeah, well, I guess you pulled a fast one on me.” I laughed. “Now, let’s get down to business.” “Oh, do we have business?” He tried to sound innocent. “Cut the act, Michael. You didn’t go to all that trouble to set me up for nothing. All the talk about my being made police chief and the moves on Mark…the photos. It was all to back up the big deal, wasn’t it?” “What deal?” He sat back and crossed his legs. I wondered if he had as big a set of balls as he pretended to have. Time to lay my 207
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cards on the table, so to speak. “The airport. You had Bert Jr. offer to buy me out. You thought once I found out it was you I’d never sell since my opinion of you was so low. That’s why you had to have some leverage, some push. Career-wrecking photos, to be exact. All the other crap was just to piss me off because you’re a mean bastard.” “Yes, I am a mean bastard. I warned you not to fuck with me, Chan, and I meant it.” He became very serious. “When we first approached Bert Jr. about The Terraces property and yours and Buddy’s, we were told you and he loved your privacy down that dirt road. He told me you and Buddy Macomb would be hard sells.” “So you set up the hookers, hoping to catch me. And you did. Then you brought out the photos, knowing I’d be afraid you’d show them to the chief and the mayor and I’d sign the deal. But showing them to Mark? That was a real piece of work, you bastard. How long did it take you to think of that?” “Actually, it was a spur of the moment idea. You were there; he was there. I had the photos in my briefcase.” He shrugged. “Kill two birds, right?” “He wouldn’t let you near him, would he?” “No, he didn’t trust me, even after I told him about your exploits with Luna.” “I’d already told him.” “No wonder he didn’t seem so upset. I could tell he didn’t trust me.” He sounded surprised his ruse hadn’t worked with Mark. “He’s smart. He doesn’t need me to tell him you’re a snake.” “Too bad. I’ll just bet he’d be some tasty action. Am I right? Were you fucking him before I showed him the pictures? I hope I didn’t ruin it for you.” 208
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“No, you didn’t ruin it. In fact, the sex that night was really hot.” I smiled crookedly at him. He swallowed hard. “So, don’t sell. I don’t need you.” He waved me away like a fly. “Exactly. I thought at first, why bother with me and Buddy, since our properties only total about five acres? However, when I was at Bert Jr.’s, I remembered the map of Riceland he has hanging in his window…the one with all his properties for sale posted on it. So I made sure I took a good long look.” “Really. I’m sure that is interesting to someone…” He looked at his manicured nails. “That map of his is to scale, you see. One inch equals one thousand feet. Now, an airport runway that can accommodate charter and commercial small jets needs to be at least a thousand feet. Guess what I found? Seems anyway you measure it, The Terraces property is too short. By nearly two-hundred-fifty feet.” Michael glared at me and shifted in his chair. “Our combined little old five acres is just enough to make that and then some.” “There’s land on the other side of The Terraces.” He waved his hand to dismiss the idea. “Yes, but it’s county land and not for sale. My sources say the sale of that land was blocked in city council.” I raised my eyebrows. “What was the matter? Couldn’t get Luna to snag a couple of the councilmen? Maybe she’d have better luck with some of the councilwomen?” “Who told you that, Chan?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “A little bird. One of those migratory ones that stop over in Katy for a break before heading north.” I grinned. “So that makes our property very, very important. So important you created this 209
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whole prostitution sting ruse just to get to me.” I leaned forward on his desk. “What did you do to Buddy?” “That old man! What a hick! I didn’t need him. If I had you, I knew he’d go. If he went, I figured you’d go. Old prick dug in his heels, wanted to know who was fronting the project. So I offered him more money than he’d ever seen before, and he caved. It was that easy. I knew you wouldn’t just take the money, especially if you knew who was behind it. You’d fight me.” “Funny thing, Michael, is I’m three years from retirement and was already planning to leave. You could have bought me out before you started all this crap. I’d have taken the money.” I laughed. He looked shocked and then recovered quickly. “And now?” “And now, well, two-hundred-fifty thousand just doesn’t seem to be enough.” I smiled at him and picked imaginary lint from my uniform. He turned red, from the top of the collar of his imported handmade Italian shirt to the roots of his grey-blond hair. I figured this was his furious look. It looked good on him, I thought. “How much?” he managed to get out between those clenched teeth. I wondered if his asshole was as tight. “I want five hundred thousand. And Buddy gets three-hundredfifty thousand.” “Forget it. Live with planes, for all I care.” “No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. If I don’t sell, you don’t get the runway, and that means you don’t get the airport. My property is between The Terraces’ and Buddy’s. How much money is there tied up in this deal? Do you think your partners would appreciate you blowing a hundred-million dollar deal over a lousy half-million?” 210
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“You bastard!” He was practically spitting. “I’ll try the county land again before I pay you the extra money!” “I thought you’d say that. So I brought you something to help win you over.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out an envelope. “What’s that?” “This time, Michael, we aren’t going to play Truth or Dare. I’m going to show you my cards for free.” I tossed him the envelope. He caught it and stared at me. He turned it upside down and spilled the contents on the table. He recoiled and jumped to his feet, fists clenched and eyes shooting daggers at me. “You son-of-a-bitch, how’d you get those?” “Same way as you, Michael.” I shrugged. Spread across his desk was a folded piece of paper and a dozen photos of St. Romaine and his mistress Luna. In about seven of the photos, Michael, bare-assed naked, and Luna were having a fucking session, which from personal experience I put in the merely embarrassing category. Especially considering the size of his prick. It was the other five that were the jackpot, the real deal, the money-makers. Michael St. Romaine and a young male, looking like a boy of maybe fourteen, were engaged in some good old-fashioned butt fucking. Michael was giving it to the boy, who was on his hands and knees, while the boy was going down on Luna. Kinky, some people would call it. I call it illegal in all fifty states. That kind of kinky that could ruin a man with ambitions. “Do you know the penalty for sex with a minor, Mr. St. 211
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Romaine?” “You bastard!” St. Romaine dashed around the table and grabbed the front of my shirt in both his fists. “Are you blackmailing me?” “Take your hands off me. This is your only warning.” My voice was cold and steady, and my gaze bore into his. Our faces were inches apart. I wanted to pull my Glock so bad my hand itched. “After which, I will arrest you for having homosexual sex with a minor, running a prostitution ring, and assaulting an officer of the law.” He gritted his teeth, frowning, then released me and stepped back. “What do you mean, prostitution ring?” His eyes narrowed. “Well, see that folded piece of paper? That’s a copy of the lease for Luna’s townhouse, with your name on it. I’ll just bet if she was put on the stand she’d tell us all about how you set her up in business, enlisted her to entrap prominent members of the city of Riceland, attempted blackmail, personally engaged in sex with her, and had her procure young boys for you.” Michael sat heavily in one of the chairs and put his head in his hands. I waited. I had all the time in the world to enjoy this moment. “How much?” His voice wavered, but he never lifted his head. “Five hundred thousand. I want the papers drawn up tomorrow. Tell Bert Jr. I’ll be in to sign them around three. Oh, you can keep the pictures for your scrapbook.” I opened his door and left, taking my time to walk down the stairs and to my car. I reminded myself to thank Jeff properly. I wondered if he’d like a new Harley. 212
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*
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The next day, right on schedule, I walked into Bert Jr.’s office on Main and signed the papers. They’d transfer the money to my account by close of business that day. I had thirty days to vacate my property. Bert Jr. told me Buddy was coming in to sign the next day. He’d be three-hundred-fifty thousand dollars richer. Bert told me Buddy had already picked out a new house in the heart of town, just three blocks from their church and two blocks from the diner. It was in the nicest old neighborhood in Riceland, right off of Main Street Square, one Marie had always longed to live in. After he bought the new house, he’d still have around two hundred thousand left to play with. *
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Back at work, my vacation days gone, I was planning how to tackle packing up all my worldly goods when the phone rang. “Dan, it’s Dave…Dave Rapper.” I recognized his voice. “Dave, how’ve you been? I want to thank you again for setting up seeing that evidence for me.” “Well, I wanted to call you. I was going over some stuff, and you know we get the latest felon releases here? They have to tell their parole officers where they live, check in on a regular basis, that sort of thing.” “Sure, Dave. What’s up?” “A name came up. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Then I went back over my records and remembered that evidence box you had me pull.” I got a slow sinking feeling in my gut. “Jeff Granger? That’s 213
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who you’re talking about?” “Yeah. Seems he got out of Huntsville on early release for time spent and good behavior.” “When was that, Dave?” My heart beat in my chest so hard I thought he could hear it over the phone. I heard the papers shuffle on the other end. “Three months ago.” All the moisture in my mouth dried up and I had to take a swig of cold coffee to speak. “Thanks for letting me know. Is he in Houston?” He must be, if his name came up in Dave’s territory. “Well, that’s just it, Dan. The paper that came over my desk is for parole jumping. He didn’t report into his parole officer last month, so the officer filed a warrant. And Granger’s not at his last known address.” Shit. Shit. Shit. “Let me know if you catch him, Dave.” “Will do. Let us know if he shows up there, Dan.” My worst nightmare. “Why would he? As far as I know, he doesn’t know Mark’s new name or where he’s living.” Mark would be safe, I told myself. “Yeah, well, there’s another thing. That shooting made the papers here in Houston. I didn’t think you’d seen it, but the Chronicle carried an article about the shooting and the grand jury.” He sounded worried. Dave Rapper always had good instincts; that’s why he was such a good cop. My hands shook. “Was there a picture, Dave?” My voice came out in a whisper. I couldn’t trust it not to crack. “Yeah. Last page of the local crime section. Mark Montgomery and you going down the steps of the courthouse the day of the grand jury.” 214
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“Shit.” “Yeah.” He paused. “But it doesn’t mean Granger reads the paper, Dan. What are the chances?” “I don’t know. Fifty-fifty? Hell, even at ninety-nine-to-one against him reading that day’s paper and that article, I still don’t like the odds. Thanks for the warning, Dave.” “Keep Montgomery safe.” “I intend to.” He hung up, and I went to the bathroom down the hall from my office and splashed cold water on my face. I had to make a decision. Keep the news about Granger to myself and risk him catching Mark unaware, or tell Mark and have him living in terror for who knows how long? I went back to my office and dialed the good doctor’s number. She said she’d see me later that afternoon. *
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I sat on the sofa opposite Dr. Cohen’s chair and spilled my guts. Told her everything: about Luna, St. Romaine, the set-up, both sets of photos, the airport deal, and lastly about Granger. When I finished, she sat back and the look in her eyes was not good. Even she looked scared. “I don’t have to tell you what it would mean if Granger found Mark and didn’t have asking Mark’s forgiveness on his mind.” She tapped his pencil nervously on his notebook. “No. I don’t think after over ten years in jail he’s going to be ready to thank Mark.” “No.” She sat quietly, thinking. I waited; it was something I was getting good at. 215
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“We tell Mark. He has to know to stay safe, to feel in control. If he finds out we kept it from him, it would be another betrayal.” She sighed. “And you’ve come too far with Mark to have that happen.” She smiled knowingly. “Did Mark tell you…” I started. Cohen held up her hand and nodded. “So how did you like being naked, vulnerable, and not in control?” She gave me a piercing, truth-demanding stare over her glasses. I was getting used to that look from her. I thought for a moment before I told her the truth. “It was an incredible turn-on for me. Really hot. Mark was really sexy, very hot. He had total control of me, and it was good.” “It was good for him, too. I can’t tell you how much that one experience with you has helped him.” She grinned and patted my knee. “That’s good.” “That’s good? Just that’s good?” Now she laughed at me. “Well, let’s just say I’m looking forward to more experimenting.” Dr. Cohen leaned forward. “The way Mark tells it, you were pretty hot yourself.” I think I blushed. I nodded thanks and headed out the door. I couldn’t decide if it was creepy having Cohen know about our sexual escapades, or exciting. *
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I decided I needed to tell the chief about this latest turn of events. I might need some backup from a higher source. 216
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“Chief, got a minute?” He put down his Texas Highways magazine and waved me in. “What’s up?” “Seems Mark’s ex is loose. Skipped parole and there’s a warrant out on him. He’s been missing for about a month.” “Shit. That’s not good.” “No and it gets worse. He was in Houston when the Chronicle ran an article about the shooting, including a photograph of Mark and me on the steps of the courthouse.” “Shit!” “Funny, that’s what I said.” “Want me to post a man at his place?” “Yeah, I guess so, but that’s going to cost in man hours and overtime. How about just have all the guys pass by during their shifts?” It wasn’t as good as a man on-site, but it was better than nothing. “Couldn’t you hide him again?” the chief suggested. “Yes, but he’d be even in a more vulnerable spot. It’s very secluded at my place, and it’s too far out of the way for a patrol to make passes of any frequency.” I didn’t want to tell the chief about selling my property yet. As much as I wanted Mark with me, he was safer in the long run at his own place. “His place is right in town.” “Why don’t you move in there? For the time being.” “That’s a good idea. I’ll talk to him about it. When I tell him about Granger.” I leaned back, really not looking forward to being the bearer of bad news. “When are you telling him?” He looked at me pointedly. “Now’s as good a time as any.” I shrugged. “Git-er-done, Dan.” And with those words he sent me on my 217
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way. *
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I found Mark at home just sitting down to dinner. I rang the bell, and he came to the door. My heart skipped a beat knowing I could have been Granger and just walked up and rung the doorbell. Mark would have opened the door to him without even knowing. “Mark, I need to talk to you.” I guess the look on my face must have warned him something was very wrong because he turned pale. “What’s wrong, Daniel?” We sat on the couch in his living room, and I took his hand. “I just got word today. Jeff Granger has been released from Huntsville early.” He froze and his entire body became taut. He nodded for me to continue. “He’s skipped out on his parole officer, and they’ve lost track of him. He’s not at his last known address. They have papers out on him, and if anyone stumbles across him, they’ll pick him up and back to prison he’ll go.” “But until then, the police don’t know where he is.” He seemed to be taking it well. “Right.” Something in my tone alerted him to more bad news. “But? What else, Dan? I know you too well.” “He’s been out of jail for over three months. During that time, there was the television news story about the shooting, and the Chronicle ran your story, along with a photo. Of course, there’s no way to tell if Granger even saw it, or if he recognized you after all these years.” I tried to reassure him. “Oh, shit, Daniel.” He slumped onto the couch. “I can’t do this 218
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again. I can’t face him.” I moved closer to him and put my arm around his shoulders. “What can I do for you, Mark? Name it.” He stared off into space for a few minutes and then sighed. “Did you talk to Dr. Cohen?” “Yes.” “What did she say?” “To tell you, not to keep you in the dark.” “Thank you for that, Daniel. Knowing is bad, but not to know would have been…worse, I suppose.” He gave me a weak smile. “At least, I’ll be prepared if he shows up here.” “Mark, the chief is going to have a man on each shift patrol in town pass by your house like clockwork.” “But for how long, Dan? You can’t keep it up forever. At some point, I’ll have to be on my own.” “True, but we’ll catch him soon. For now, let us help you.” He nodded. “Missing for a month? Do you think he’s coming here? Maybe he just ran away?” He bit his bottom lip in worry. “I don’t know, baby.” I gathered myself. “Mark, what if I moved in with you for the time being? Just to keep you safe?” He smiled at me. “I always feel safe with you, Daniel.” He thought about it. “Sure, why not? You can use the guest room. I have two full baths. How soon can you move in?” “Say the word, and I’m here.” I kissed his hand. “Tonight, then.” “I’ll get my stuff for tonight, and the rest tomorrow. Is that all right?” He nodded. We kissed, and I left. I radioed in to have the patrols start right away passing by his house. An hour later, I stood in his guest room, putting some clothes in 219
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a drawer. My shaving kit was already in the second bathroom, and he’d brought me fresh towels and soap. I undressed and took a shower. A fresh uniform was hanging in the closet and my gun was hanging on a chair in my room. I slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and went to find Mark. He was reading a book in his living room. There was soft music playing. I looked over his bookcases filled with books, picked an Asimov sci-fi, and settled next to him on the couch. We read until midnight and then headed to bed. He went to his room; I went to mine. Still, I was content just to be in the same house as him again. I could wait, I told myself.
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CHAPTER 14 I had promised I’d come by the bar and bring Mark to meet Jeff. It was Friday night and Clancy’s would be grilling steaks for dinner. It wasn’t my day off, so we couldn’t go until after work, but that was fine because they didn’t stop cooking steaks until midnight. Mark said it was too late for him to eat that heavy, so we decided to split a steak and a potato. Luckily, he likes his potatoes loaded, just like me. I told him I’d meet him there around ten-thirty, after changing at the station. We’d save some time if I didn’t have to go to his house and change. I didn’t like letting Mark drive by himself, but he’d been doing it all week without incident as he went to and from work and around town. It just bothered me that it was so late at night. 221
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When I arrived, I spotted his car in the lot, and a rush of relief that he’d made it here safely warmed me. The crowd outside was thick with folks hanging around the huge black barbeque parked just to the side of the bar. Carlos was manning the tongs, cooking steaks to order. The pit was one of those immense things, built from a steel barrel, cut, and welded so the bottom half held the wood or charcoal and the hinged top served as a cover. The grill spread across the length of the barrel and there must have been twenty good-sized rib-eyes sizzling away. The smell was wonderful. Inside, the crowd was just as thick, all the pool tables were in play, and tables were at a premium. I usually sat at the bar, and I’d told Mark to just go in and wait there for me. I weaved my way through the crowd, saying hello, and dodging plates full of steak and potato. Remarkably, I managed to remain unstained by passing food and drink. I found Mark sitting in my seat at the end of the bar, talking to Jeff, and sipping a drink. “Hi, Mark. Were you waiting long?” “Well, to tell the truth, I got bored sitting around at home, so I came early. I’ve been here since nine.” Mark held out his arms in a shrug. “Great. Hope it wasn’t too boring?” “Oh, Jeff’s been keeping me entertained.” He grinned at Jeff, and Jeff winked. “Oh, really? What has Jeff been telling you?” Best friend or no, some of Jeff’s stories about me I’m not sure I want told. Especially not to my boyfriend. “Stories.” He winked back at his co-conspirator Jeff. “Stories?” My voice encouraged his to tell me more details. 222
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“About you.” I groaned and gave Jeff a look that said we’d be talking later. “After listening to him, do you still want to see me?” I jerked my head in Jeff’s direction. “Especially after listening to him,” he teased. “Don’t worry, Dan. I tried to make you look good. It wasn’t easy, though. I may have lied a bit, but I’m sure it was nothing you couldn’t live up to,” Jeff said in a stage whisper. “Thanks, if a cowboy can’t count on his partner, who can he count on?” “His horse?” Jeff asked. “Ain’t got a horse.” “Well, you may be out of luck then.” Jeff and Mark laughed. “What are you drinking?” I asked Mark as Jeff brought me my usual tonic and lime. “Diet Coke. Are you hungry? Ready for dinner?” “Sure, starved. You?” “Yep.” He nodded and started to get down off the stool. “If you stay here and hold our places, I’ll go get it. How do you like yours?” “Medium and the potato all the way.” “Same as me.” I nodded. I turned and made my way back through the crowd. Business was really booming and I noticed Jeff had brought out the extra tables, so seating was tight. Every seat at the bar had an butt in it. I’d have to stand at the end just to be next to Mark as we shared the food. I was glad he was having a good time. Clancy’s was like a second home to me, and it would be awful if he had hated it. But he was enjoying the music and even talking to some of the other 223
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people. He looked good, too. Brown T-shirt, plain brown belt, faded blue jeans and scuffed brown boots. A lightweight black jean jacket hung across the back of his stool. The cool air hit me as I stepped outside, heading for the grill. A guy came in the door, and we bumped into each other trying to maneuver through the opening. He wore a baseball cap pulled low over his head, blue jeans and a blue jean jacket. I said, “Excuse me” or something. He didn’t say anything except, “Pardon me.” I nodded, made my way to the grill and gave Carlos my order. I was thinking about what I’d do when my month at the house ran out, forced to find somewhere permanent to move. I couldn’t stay at Mark’s forever. Not without some sort of permanent agreement between us. Maybe Mark would think it was too soon for that. I hoped not. There really weren’t any apartment buildings around, so I was thinking I’d ask Bert Jr. to find me a small house to rent in town, maybe get a two- or three-year lease. Then I thought about Mark; if things went well, a two-year lease may be too long. I settled on a one-year lease. Carlos handed me the plate with my steak on it and I went to pick up the potato and fixings at a nearby table. Fully loaded, extra plate in hand, I headed back inside. When I got to the bar, Mark was gone. His jacket still hung on the back of the stool and his drink rested in its spot. I sat on the stool and waited for him, figuring he’d gone to the gents. After about ten minutes, I got nervous, so I signaled Jeff over. “Did you see where Mark went?” “To the bathroom, I guess. I saw him get up and head that way.” 224
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“He’s been gone a while, and the food’s getting cold.” “Lines are long back there.” Jeff motioned with his head toward the bathrooms. There wasn’t anything to do but wait. I glanced up into the mirror, spotted Mark making his way back and let out my breath in relief. He waited as I slid off the seat and he climbed up. We divided the steak—him giving me the lion’s share of it—and half of the potato and we dug in. We talked a little, but mostly we chewed and smiled at each other like a pair of starry-eyed teenagers. Thank God, the place was so packed no one paid any attention to us. We spent the next hour or so talking with each other, Jeff, and the occasional person who came up to me to say hello. Mark hung back, quiet, until I introduced him as a friend, then he smiled, shook hands, and listened to the names of people he would probably forget before the evening was out. At midnight, I was ready to head home. I had work on Saturday at two in the afternoon and needed some sleep. “Are you ready to go?” I asked him, leaning in close to his ear so he could hear me above the noise. “Sure.” He nodded and started to get off the stool, taking the last sip of his Diet Coke. He glanced into the mirror, did a double take, and froze. The glass slipped from his hand and shattered as it hit the floor. He stared, mouth open, at the mirror. “Mark, what’s wrong?” I turned back and saw only a crowd of people behind us. “Mark?” My eyes then focused on the man wearing the baseball hat. The same man I’d bumped into earlier. He and Mark were locked in a staring contest in the mirror’s reflection. I turned to toward the guy and caught a small movement, a 225
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flash of metal off the barrel of a gun. It was camouflage-colored, so making it very hard to see in the dim light. He held it discreetly at waist height, pointed at Mark. I grabbed Mark and threw him to the floor as the first shot hit the bar where he’d been standing. Splintering wood went flying. A woman screamed, piercing the noise of the bar. Mark, on his hands and knees, scrambled around the end of the bar and out of the way. I reached for my weapon, but it wasn’t there. I wasn’t in uniform and I’d left my Glock locked in my truck’s glove box. Jeff dropped what he was doing and headed our way. I stood in front of the bar, facing Granger. The rest of the patrons had frozen when the shot went off, but now, a moment later, they fled in blind panic, screaming and getting as far away from the man with the gun as they could. A mass of them crowded the door attempting to escape, knocking over tables and chairs in their panic. “Dan!” Jeff shouted. “He’s got a gun, watch out!” I shouted back. The man raised the gun and searched for Mark. “Allen, you can’t get away from me!” His voice was hard, cold, and deadly. “Come out here, you fucker. We have some unfinished business.” Jeff, at the middle of the bar, reached under the counter. When his hands came up, he had a shotgun in them. “Dan!” he called to me as he tossed it in the air. I twisted, caught the shotgun, swung it around, and had it cocked and pointed at Granger in one fluid motion. “Mark, stay down!” I shouted. “Put the gun down,” Jeff ordered, holding the second shotgun. 226
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By now, the crowd had vanished. Granger didn’t move, much less put down his weapon. “You owe me, you little cocksucker! Eleven years,” he yelled. “Put down the gun, or I’ll shoot!” I warned him, leaving off the “I’m the police” part. No reason to give him an excuse to shoot me. Seems he didn’t need an excuse. I saw the muzzle flash in the dim light of the bar. Heard the sound. The bullet hit me in the chest like a Mack truck and slammed me against the counter. I couldn’t breathe, but I pulled the trigger as I slid to the floor. The double blast of the shotgun blew Granger backward, scattering food, tables and chairs. I’d never been shot before, but it doesn’t take an idiot to figure out that it hurts. This idiot just didn’t know how much it could hurt. I couldn’t catch my breath or fill my lungs with air. My chest was being crushed like it was clamped in a vise. I looked down, amazed at how fast the blood spread over my shirt. It was like in the movies or your dreams where everything moves in slow motion, then your focus blurs and everything narrows down to what’s right in front of you. Jeff appeared, calling my name. I gasped and tried to speak, but from the look on his face, I don’t think I got anything out. The blood filling my throat and mouth made it impossible. I closed my eyes and thought, You only had three more years, you stupid, dumb fool. Last thing I remember hearing was Mark saying my name. *
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I recall bits and pieces of the next few days. I was in and out of 227
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consciousness, most of the time poked and prodded by nurses. I do remember Mark’s voice, and once I think I saw Jeff. He still had that same look on his face. Like his best friend had died. When I finally came around long enough for it to count as awake, Chief Tasket was sitting in the chair next to me, his unlit cigar clenched in his teeth and reading a Cosmopolitan. I had to blink twice. “It was the only one I could find.” He shrugged, reading my expression. “Water.” I could barely speak. My head hurt and breathing was almost impossible. Tasket got up and poured some water into a plastic cup, put a straw in it and held it for me to sip. After two swallows, I’d had enough. “Did you take the test?” I asked softly. A plastic tube fed something into my arm from a bag suspended from a hook. Monitors beeped. Green numbers glowed on machines whose purpose I had no idea about. “Yes, seems I am not as supportive of Darlene as I should be.” He looked disappointed, but then he grinned. “But I scored high on the sexual satisfaction portion!” “Of course. Didn’t doubt it.” “Never doubt it, Chan.” He put the magazine down and leaned forward. “How are you feeling?” “Like I’ve been rode hard and put up wet.” I closed my eyes. “How long have I been out?” “Three days. One day in surgery and two in intensive care. They just moved you in here this morning.” “Oh. What’s the damage?” I opened one eye and looked at him. 228
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He hadn’t shaved, in maybe two days or so. “Not bad. The bullet hit your lung. They took you into surgery and stopped the bleeding. It cracked a rib going out the other side. We thought we’d lost you in the ambulance.” “Lost me? Like?” I don’t remember any bright lights or tunnels. “Yeah, like.” Tasket’s eyebrows rose and fell. “It hurts to breath. My ribs…” The screaming pain was gone, just a steady ache now. Oxygen fed through a tube in my nose, but it didn’t feel like it was enough. “The doctor says they will for a while. I pulled Lieutenant Chambers in to cover for you. He and Walters will spit your shift. Don’t be in any hurry to get back, Dan.” “I wasn’t planning on it. I think I’ll just lie here for a long time.” I tried a weak smile. I had to know. “Granger?” “You nailed that bastard, Dan, with both barrels.” “I wasn’t sure…” I looked away. I’d killed before, but I didn’t think I’d be losing sleep over this one. “He’s awake?” Mark asked as he came through the door. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. I think it healed me; at least it healed my heart. My lung would have to take care of itself. “Hi, baby.” I tried to wave, but my arm felt disconnected from my body. Must have been the pain meds. Mark took my hand and gave it a squeeze. I could feel that. “I love you, Daniel.” His eyes were all worried, but his voice sounded sweet to me. “I love you, too.” Tasket rolled his eyes and stood. “That is my cue to leave. Mark, he’s all yours.” He reached out and squeezed my arm once. “I’ll be back in a few days, Dan. Let me know if you need 229
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anything.” And he left. Mark sat in the chair. “You look so good to me,” I whispered. My throat was very sore, too. Right then, I don’t think there was a single place on my body that didn’t hurt. “Shh. Get some rest.” He leaned over and kissed the back of my hand, then smiled. I closed my eyes and drifted off. *
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The next day they had me up and walking, pushing my IV along, and trying not to flash anyone in the hall. The nurses were brutal. My chest still hurt, but they cracked the whip and said if I could get my bodily functions working again I’d be able to go home. The nurses were nothing compared to the pulmonary therapy guy. Twice a day he would bring a machine into my room and make me breathe. Now, that was pain. But the promise of going home was what really got me motivated. So I walked and walked. Mark walked with me; Jeff walked with me; I walked by myself. Two days later, the walking paid off. “Daniel, the doctor wants to release you tomorrow,” Mark greeted me with the good news the next morning. “Great! Let’s go!” I sat up, ready to swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Tomorrow, he said.” He shook his head. “And strictly on bed rest and your breathing therapy has to continue for a while. So you’re coming to my house, if that’s okay with you.” 230
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I hadn’t told him about selling my house and if my calculations were correct, I would need to be packing up my house and moving soon. I sat back in bed and told Mark about my housing situation. I didn’t mention the money. “You can’t possibly move by then. You aren’t capable. I’ll get it all boxed up, and we’ll move some of it to my house and put the rest in storage.” “I was thinking I’d get Bert Jr. to find me a house to rent.” “Rent?” He bit his bottom lip. “Sure, Daniel, you need your own place.” He sounded disappointed, and, selfish bastard that I am, I was thrilled. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me underfoot, Mark. I didn’t want to force myself on you. I want to give you as much room and time as you need.” I held his hand. “You won’t be underfoot. I have that extra bedroom and I really don’t need that much time. And I want to take care of you, Dan.” He leaned over and kissed me long and deep, making my dick twitch to life. All my body functions seemed to be working now. *
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You heal slower when you’re older, I guess. Two months after the shooting, my doctor finally gave me the okay to go back to work. He lectured me, told me I was lucky I had such good lungs because there was no smoke damage to slow the healing. He warned me about being careful of my ribs; they’d be tender for a little longer. I saw the department’s doctor and he agreed I could return to 231
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light desk duty. No car chases, no drug busts, and definitely no dodging any more bullets. I still lived with Mark, giving up my regular up-half-the-night schedule and adopting his sleep-all-night schedule. I usually slept late, but I was there when he got home from work each day and we had the entire evenings together. I could definitely get used to this. My wound had healed over, and I’d finished the therapy for my lung. The breathing therapy had been the toughest thing I’d ever done in my life. I hated the stuff you sucked into your lungs, hated what you coughed up worse. And every bit of it hurt like a son of a bitch. I tried to be a good boy, giving Mark space, and we slept in separate rooms. I let him initiate any sexual activity as the mood took him. Mostly we kissed, held each other and when the stars were right, he blessed me with the beauty and talent of his mouth and tongue, while he jerked himself off. Our times together were good, fantastic really, but I wanted to touch him, wanted to take his cock in my mouth, wanted to fuck him, but he wasn’t ready. I loved him, and I wanted him so much I could drive my fist through a wall, but his well-being was more important to me than my own needs, so I followed his lead. The night before I was scheduled to go back to work, I turned in early. Mark was watching some show about gardening on the home improvement channel and he kissed me good night. Tasket had dropped by earlier in the week with the latest reports so I could get up to speed at work. I was going over them by the light of my bedside lamp when I heard a light knock on the door. “Come in, Mark. Is everything all right?” I dropped the papers on the floor next to the bed. 232
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He slipped into the room wearing only boxers. Then he slipped into my bed and snuggled next to me, his head resting on my bare chest. He’d never come to my bed before. Usually we made our form of love on the couch or on the living room floor. “Do you mind?” he asked, worrying his bottom lip. “Hell, no. I just don’t know how I’m going to get to sleep.” I pulled him closer to me. He smelled good, like after a shower. Fresh and clean. I inhaled deeply, or as deep as I could these days without coughing. “I think I know.” He smiled shyly, his fingers tracing the muscles in my arms, across my chest and ending in teasing circles around my nipples. I laid back to let his fingers work their magic. He reached down, took my hand, and brought it to his swollen cock. I thought my heart would stop and I held my breath. Together, we caressed it through the cotton fabric of his briefs as I learned the width and length of it. Smaller than mine, about the same diameter. I ached to touch him skin to skin, to see what my fingers felt. I took a chance and boldly my fingers found his nipple as I lay on my side. I kissed him, softly and slowly, trying not to pressure or insist. Our tongues found each other and we took turns sucking them. After one long kiss that left us both breathless, he pulled on my hand. “Touch me, Daniel. I want to feel your fingers on my skin.” I ran it over his chest, letting them lightly graze each hard nub. I spotted his mole, the one I dreamed about at night and I couldn’t stop myself. I leaned over and took his nipple in my mouth without asking. Instead of pulling away, he arched into my mouth as he 233
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moaned. I sucked one as I caressed the other. The taste of his skin was delicious and warm. I kissed his mole and made my way back to his face, to his throat, to his mouth, lingering there for a while. He reached down and found me, hard and straining to get free of my boxers. He pulled on them, I raised my hips, and he dragged them down and off. As we kissed, he stroked me with his hand. “I want you, Daniel,” he whispered. “I want you, too, baby.” He pushed me flat on my back, kicked out of his boxers, then straddled me at my waist. His cock strained upward to touch his belly as I just stared at it. “God, your cock’s so beautiful.” It was the most beautiful one I’d ever seen, and it was thick, dark with blood and leaking just for me. He rubbed it against my belly and the heat of his balls resting on my skin warmed me. I caught glimpses of them. Large, covered in sparse brown hair, they hung like tempting figs. I craved them. Where our bodies met had heated. He lowered himself to my body to kiss me hungrily as my hands ran down his back to his ass and I squeezed his soft bottom. He ground his cock into me, pushing, thrusting, and moaning as he worked himself off on me. “I want you, Mark. Do you trust me?” It was time. This was the moment I’d waited so patiently for and I could see in his eyes, hear it in his breath, feel it in the hard pounding of his heartbeat—he wanted it too. “Yes.” He kissed me, this time letting me push my tongue inside, letting me discover his mouth, control the kiss, control what we did. A stray thought entered my mind. We were going to blend our 234
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bodies in the ultimate union; I touched his face. “Baby, we need protection.” He shook his head. I started to reach for the nightstand, sure there might be one or two condoms still in there, but he stopped me. “I want to feel you inside me, feel you come in me, Daniel.” “But…” I searched his eyes. “I haven’t been with anyone, and you used condoms, right?” I knew I was free of any STDs or HIV; they’d tested me for all of it in the hospital. Besides, I’d had regular six-month check-ups through the department, and I knew Mark hadn’t been with anyone in years. “Are you sure?” “Yeah. Sure as I’m ever going to be. I want this, Dan. Make love to me.” Oh, God, I’d dreamed of this moment and I knew just what to do. I rolled over, got the love lube from the nightstand, and popped the top. I squirted some on my fingers of one hand, and used the other hand to touch Mark’s cock. I formed a tight circle and let him push and drag himself through it as fast or as slow as he needed it. “Play with my balls,” he ordered. I obeyed. They were soft, yet firm, ripe, filled with juice and ready to burst. I fondled them, gave them a squeeze as I watched his reaction to everything I did to him, checking for any discomfort or pain. Mark writhed on the bed, his hips thrusting as he fucked my hand. He uttered the most perfect moans I’d ever heard. Deep, 235
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throaty, almost purrs of delight. “Oh, God, Dan, it’s been so long.” His hands fisted the sheets as his body arched, chest reaching for the ceiling. I ran one lubed finger from his balls to his sweet puckered ass and he pushed down. Damn, he was so fucking eager. So ready. My dick ached, I needed to bury it inside him. He spread his legs wide, bent at the knee to give me access to his body. I painted the tight rose of his ass with the lube, then pushed in as he bore down on my finger. It slipped inside as Mark gave a cry. I froze, waiting. “More.” He panted, pushing against me again. My pre-cum leaked down the side of my dick, coating it with the best all-natural lube. I eased my finger into his channel. It was so tight, holding me in place as if afraid to let me move again, but he shuddered, then nodded to me. I worked it in and out, then added another finger to stretch him. He groaned, gritted his teeth, but kept pushing, kept fucking himself on my fingers. “Now. I need you now, Dan,” he whimpered. “Not yet.” I kept working my fingers inside him, but, with the other hand, I pulled his cock to my mouth. “I need to taste you.” Beads of pre-cum dotted the head of his cock. I lapped at them, gentle, but determined to capture his essence. Mark groaned and arched, thrusting his dick at me. I opened and took him in my mouth. “Dan!” Mark writhed. I bobbed up and down, sucking the length of him, burying my nose in the soft brown hair that surrounded his cock. Inhaled. Musky. Sweet. Mark. 236
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I deep throated him a few times, until he was singing, a long continuous moan as he thrust in a matched rhythm to my sucking. “Gonna come. Oh, God.” His hands fisted the sheets. “Wait for me, baby. I want to be inside you.” “Hurry. I can’t hold off much longer. It’s so good. God, it’s so good.” His voice caught in a strangled sob. I pulled off him with a pop and pulled out my fingers. I moved closer to him, put the head of my dick against his opening, and breached him. “Oh, Mark.” He groaned and shuddered. I leaned over him, supporting my weight on my arms and pushed deeper, letting his ass eat my cock, until my balls rested against his body. We both froze. I couldn’t believe it. I was inside him at last. Just that thought made my balls pull tight, ready to spill. “Fuck me.” Mark captured my gaze with his, and I fell into those beautiful blue eyes. I pulled out and pushed in, once, twice, on the third time, Mark met my thrust with his body, slamming into me, signaling his hunger, letting me know I could really fuck him. And I did. Our gazes locked, trust and love burning in his eyes. Mark wrapped his hands around my arms, and I pummeled him. Rode him like a fucking stallion rides a mare. Like a man takes his mate and claims his lover. I claimed Mark’s body that night, and he claimed my heart. Mark was glorious to watch, each movement, each little sound and moan of pleasure let me know he truly enjoyed making love to me, that he wasn’t afraid anymore, that he felt safe and loved, and that he was all mine. “Yes, Daniel, yes, harder!” he cried out. “Fuck, I’m gonna 237
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come.” I shifted my angle and nailed his gland. He howled and hot cum sprayed our bellies as his balls unloaded. With each shot, his channel pulsed around my shaft and it sent me over the edge. My balls slammed up, my dick swelled and then the explosion rocked me as I emptied into Mark. Panting, we stared into each other’s eyes. It had been unbelievable. “I love you, Danny,” he whispered. Danny? I liked it. Liked the way he said it, soft and tender. “I love you, baby.” We lay that way for a long time, naked bodies pressed together, cum smeared on our bellies and chest. My cock grew limp and, with a last sigh of pleasure, he let it slip from his grasp. Holding him, I kissed his throat and the words slipped out. “I want to be like this forever with you, Mark. Move in with me.” “You don’t even have a house. How can I move in with you?” He laughed. “I’ll buy a house for you. Just pick it out.” “How about we house hunt together, okay? Buy it together, huh?” “Okay.” I pulled him tight to me and lay back, my arm under my head, staring up at the ceiling. Damn. I may be stupid, but I was one lucky bastard. *
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You know, when disaster strikes, that’s when you learn who your friends are. Who’ll stand by you through thick and thin, 238
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through illness, through learning the truth of your sexuality. I’d already heard from Tasket that the cat was out of the closet. Seems as if I wouldn’t have to tell anyone about Mark, since the town already knew. And remarkably, it didn’t seem to care. Over the last few weeks, the guys at the station had been great, sending their well wishes for my speedy return and even dropping by. Flowers arrived from different people, and I’d had a steady stream of visitors. Buddy and Marie Macomb had dropped by to see me several times and on their last visit had told me all about their new house. Marie never looked happier and Buddy… Well, he was still Buddy. Jeff came by at least twice a week, and we’d play chess and just shoot the shit, while Mark was at work. Bert Jr. had dropped by to check if I needed anything in the way of real estate, and I told him I’d be looking for a house to share with Mark. I wasn’t sure about the look he gave me, but I suppose whatever thoughts he had about gays disappeared when I told him price was no object. But the visit that really threw me for a loop was the one from my parents. They had never been to my house before, or even to Riceland to see me. If we saw each other, it was at their River Oaks home for the holidays or we’d meet at a restaurant. Mostly we talked on the phone, short, clipped conversations about my work, Dad’s work, and Mom’s health. Mark had answered the door, greeting them and calling out to me in the living room. “Daniel, your parents are here.” I walked into the foyer and my mom hugged me tightly, fighting back tears. Dad shook my hand. Dad looked old, a lot 239
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greyer than the last time I saw him. I think my mom must have had some work done because she looked great, as usual. In their sixties, both were alive and kicking. We sat in the living room. I introduced them to Mark and told them he was my partner. At first, they stared at me, then my dad broke the awkward silence. “I always wondered. That explains Mai.” “Are you sure?” Mom asked. “He’s the one.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “I love Mark.” “And I love Dan.” Our gazes caught and held. “If it makes you happy…” Mom said. “It does.” My mother and Mark smiled at each other. Then Mark went to the kitchen to make tea, disappearing discreetly to give us time alone. It was a good visit. They liked Mark. Dad told me he was proud of me. I hadn’t heard that since I’d graduated college. As they were leaving, Mom made Mark promise to bring me to Houston for a visit. They say a brush with near death can either bring people together or tear them apart. This time, it worked in my favor. I got Mark and my parents. *
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I buttoned up my black uniform shirt and pinned on my badge, and nameplate. Mark had left them laid out on the bathroom counter for me and had put my captain’s stars on the shoulder epaulets of the shirt. 240
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Running my fingers through my short-cropped hair, I figured I looked pretty good, just a little thinner. Rested, at least. Thankful to be alive. Thankful to have a small town concerned about me. So damn thankful I had Mark. First days back are always hard and this was no exception. I’d been determined I wouldn’t be one of those cops who didn’t go back after being shot. After all, Hagan was back at work. Truth was, I was excited to go back. A small zing of adrenaline coursed through me and my body hummed in anticipation. That hadn’t happened in a very long time. Of course, I hadn’t been this happy in a long, long time. Maybe never. I strapped on my holster, put my Stetson on my head, and headed to the door. “Captain Chan?” Mark leaned against the wall, wearing nothing but a smile. “Yes?” “Love you.” I fell on him, pinning him with my body to the wall, and took his mouth in a hard kiss. My hat fell to the floor. He grabbed my ass and held on, as we rubbed our bodies together one last time, my thigh pressed between his legs. Demanding. Dominant. Mark melted into me. Goddamn, it just rocked me when he did that now. I broke the kiss and gazed down into his beautiful blue eyes. “Love you.” “Clancy’s at ten?” he whispered, his lips swollen from my kiss. “I’ll be there.” “I’ll be waiting at the bar.” I nodded, picked up my hat, then slipped out the door. 241
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My desk and chair waited for me. There were payrolls, schedules, time reports to complete and the men on my shift to ride herd on.
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LYNN LORENZ
Ms. Lorenz lives in Katy, Texas, just west of Houston, with her husband, two teens and a neurotic dog. Originally from New Orleans, she’s had gay men in her life since high school, so writing gay romance came naturally for her. She started writing as a young teen, angsty poetry and short stories, attended the University of New Orleans as an English major, but switched to Fine Art, graduating with a B.A. She put down her paintbrush and picked up a pen just three years ago, and hasn’t stopped writing yet. Although previously published, David’s Dilemma is the first of her books with Amber Quill’s Amber Allure line, and she plans on releasing more with them. Find out more about Lynn at www.lynnlorenz.com. *
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Don’t miss David’s Dilemma by Lynn Lorenz, available at AmberAllure.com! When David’s father moves in, David loses more than his study. He loses his life. His father has Alzheimer’s and each day is a
struggle for both of them. His father’s blunt, bigoted attitudes about David’s lifestyle, friends and neighbors pushes David out of his circle of support and into a world of loneliness, repeated conversations, and the fear that his father will wander off or burn down the house while David’s at work. With David’s life in turmoil, now is not the right time to meet a man. And definitely not the time to try to have a romantic relationship. But when his father does wander off, David turns to the local police for help, and he meets Detective Travis Hart. Travis’s life is not much better. Just coming off a nasty break up with his much younger lover, Travis struggles with his attraction to David. A rebound romance is not what Travis is looking for; he wants commitment and forever. Both men realize what they really need at this point in their lives is not a lover, but a best friend. Through phone calls, they begin a friendship and share the moments in their days, David’s coping with his father and Travis’s struggle with his job as a cop. But as their friendship and attraction turns into the love, David’s father spirals deeper into a disease that robs him of memory and replaces it with fear and delusions, until the situation becomes something that neither David or Travis ever expected…
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