A Matter of Time 07 - Parting Shot (MM) (6 page)

“Maybe you should let him do it all the time,” I said thoughtfully.

“I was thinking that same thing myself,” he said as he dropped down onto the bed and straddled my thighs.

“Were you?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hands sliding over my chest. “Like maybe the amount of traveling I’ve been doing won’t really work anymore.”

“Why is that?”

His eyes searched mine.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want to be away from you for two and three weeks at a time.”

“Me neither.” I exhaled sharply. “I would miss you.”

He cleared his throat as I put my hands on his thighs and squeezed tight. “I was already missing you in that short—”

It took a minute before I realized he wasn’t going to say anything else. “Aaron?” He was unsure, and I got that. I lifted my hands to his face and he leaned just enough so I could touch him. “You don’t have to hide from me, and you’re not the only one feeling it.”

“No?”

“No,” I promised.

He bent close.

“I have morning breath,” I said, but clamped a hand around the back of his neck anyway.

“That’s okay,” he said weakly and slanted his mouth down over mine.

I had him rolled over onto his back and pinned to the mattress in seconds. He threw a leg over my hip and I grabbed it tight, savoring the feel of the strong muscles cording under my hand as his arms wound around my neck. No doubt about it: I could stay in bed with Aaron Sutter for the rest of my life.

“Oh.” He was happy about something.

“What?”

He tipped his head to stare up at me. “Can I take you to lunch, Detective?”

“We can’t just stay in bed?”

He studied me.

“What?”

“This is going to sound strange.”

I grinned. “I love strange.”

“I’d like people to see you with me.”

Normally, those words meant the end for me and whoever. I had no idea what it was about me that brought out that need in the men I dated. It was probably flattering, the desire in them to publicly claim me, but I had never thought so. Until now.

Aaron Sutter wanted to basically hold my hand and have other people see it, and instead of being terrified like I normally was, just the thought of it felt right, settled. I really liked the idea of belonging to Aaron Sutter. “Isn’t that dangerous for you?”

“I don’t know.” He seemed confused.

“You’re playing with fire with your dad being on the rampage, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Then why do it? We can hole up here,” I said suggestively, waggling my eyebrows.

His eyes searched mine. “Because you deserve to be with someone proud to be with you.”

“I think my ex said something similar about himself right before he broke it off with me.”

“And now the shoe is on the other foot.” Aaron grinned.

“Yes, but neither one of us can be out. Not really.”

“Are you sure?”

I was, wasn’t I? Or was I just too scared to find out?

“Do you know any other gay policemen on the force?”

“No,” I answered, starting to feel cornered.

“But there have to be some.”

“Well, yeah, of course.”

“Is being gay something you can be fired for?”

“No, but you can be frozen where you are because of it.”

“How?”

“Just not be promoted.”

“And what is your rank now?”

“We call it a grade, civilian.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I’m a sergeant now.”

“And you might never make it to be a lieutenant if you come out.”

“Or captain, someday.”

“Okay, then,” he said, trying to roll away from me.

I held tight.

“Let me go, Duncan.”

But I didn’t.

“You don’t like ultimatums, and I started this whole thing with you, and now—”

“I don’t want you to pick someone else,” I said bluntly.

He stilled and his eyes met mine.

“Do you get that?”

“Yes,” he assured me.

“Then act like it,” I said, crushing him with my bigger body, pressing him down until I felt the fight run out of him, and he wrapped me up, arms and legs holding tight.

“I don’t want you to sleep with anyone else but me.”

“I already promised,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he sighed, “I just wanted to hear it again.”

I lifted off him only to shove his shirt up and kiss down his flat stomach. His breath caught, his hand fisted in my hair, and he shuddered as my mouth closed over the crown of his shaft, which strained to reach me through two layers of cloth.

“Please.”

The request was unnecessary.

A
ARON
left on Monday morning, which was good because I had to get my game face on and get back to work with Joaquin and the others. It was really difficult to walk out of the suite knowing I wouldn’t see him at the end of the day. In that short time, I got used to him and the hotel.

Benny came to pick me up at my new apartment in Joaquin’s tricked-out Escalade, and we made the usual rounds. He and Andre both seemed exhausted.

“What the hell’s with you guys?”

Andre had his sunglasses on, head back, and Benny, who was driving, had his on as well. But it rained with no bright light from anywhere.

“Party at the Mayan last night,” Andre muttered in explanation. “Stop at Starbucks, I need water and coffee.”

“My mother wanted me to eat eggs this morning,” Benny grumbled. “Fuck me.”

They were supposed to be scary. They were drug dealers. But right now they were both simply hung over.

“So what did you do?” Benny questioned me ten minutes later as we rolled up to Starbucks.

“When?”

“This weekend,” he clarified. “Me and T rolled by your place, but you were gone. You hole up with some bitch all weekend?”

It was Aaron’s fault. The separation was a fresh wound, and I wasn’t ready to lie. “No.”

“No?” Benny pressed.

“I don’t sleep with girls.”

Two sets of glasses came off; two sets of bloodshot, narrowed eyes stared at me.

I sat there and waited.

“Okay,” Benny shrugged after a moment. “So less of you gettin’ in my way. That’s cool.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Andre muttered, putting his glasses back on, shoving his phone at me. “Just go get my Venti Quad White Mocha, and that’s nonfat, you got it?”

I was confused.

“The phone has my Starbucks card on it.”

“I need a Venti Americano, and I want half and half in it, not milk.” Benny chimed in.

“One of you guys go. I don’t know what any of that shit is.”

But since the daystar wouldn’t fry me, I got elected. When I was back with their drinks and bottled water and coffee cake neither of them wanted—food bad—Benny explained we had a ton of cash to pick up that morning.

I was sipping my very regular cup of coffee, listening to a traffic report on the radio, when Benny disturbed my thoughts.

“Maybe we don’t tell anyone else about you bein’ a fag, huh?”

I gave him my attention.

“Yeah, that’d be good.” Andre yawned from the backseat. “It might be a problem for some of those guys, and I don’t wanna hafta shoot anyone today. I like this suit.”

Priorities were important. “Sure,” I agreed.

The first three stops were uneventful: just show up, take the money, give the dealer his cut, and walk away. At the fourth one, when we reached the door, it was already ajar and swung wide with just a gentle nudge from the tip of Benny’s boot. I saw the blood spray on the walls from where I was behind him and stopped him before he stepped inside.

“Awww, what the fuck,” Benny groaned from the doorway, pulling his phone from his breast pocket, as Andre and I tried to see how many guys were dead from the hallway.

“Freeze!”

Of course, the cops were there. Someone had to have called them. At least Benny and Andre had both finished their coffee.

T
HE
question was simple: why were we there? At the police station, each of us got put into a different room with a different set of detectives, and we all said the same thing: we were there to see Pablo Guzman and nothing else.

“You a friend of Pablo’s, are you?”

“Sure,” I replied nonchalantly, waiting to be attacked with what they thought they knew: I worked for Joaquin Hierra, and Joaquin worked for the Modella cartel, which supplied half of the narcotics in the city.

“What is this, Ross?” Detective Craig asked, holding up a snub-nosed revolver.

I squinted. “I don’t know, Detective. I carry a 9mm, as you know from your records.”

“You have a permit for that?”

“You know I do.”

It was hours before all three of us were standing in front of the police impound yard, waiting for them to bring the Escalade around.

I pointed at Andre. “Your eye is swelling shut, man.”

“Fuckin’ cops,” Benny griped, licking at his cut lower lip. “You ain’t looking too much better, Tuck.”

I had gotten the elbow to the eye myself by accident, emphasis on the accident part. Not that I wasn’t guilty of doing the same to suspects in my custody.

The interrogation had eaten up our day, so I was not surprised we had to work well into the night to catch up. We had a lot of driving to do, a lot of places to visit, a lot of people to see, and a lot of cash to bring back to Joaquin’s bar, Jimmy Rig.

Once we were there, one of Joaquin’s hostesses led us back toward one of the rooms in the back.

“Why aren’t we going to the office or the VIP room?” Andre questioned as a man I had never met before, or even seen, opened the door.

Inside the sparse interior we were led to, a couch had been left vacant for us.

Joaquin stood with five men in the corner, and only then, stupidly, did it occur to me I had not checked in with anyone all day long. I had a 9mm strapped to my side, but I couldn’t get to it without risking someone putting a bullet in my head. I was at Joaquin’s mercy, and I had walked right into the fire all by myself. I had not done anything quite that stupid in a really long time.

“Get on your fuckin’ knees!”

So the couch was actually not for us.

Me, Andre, and Benny were all grabbed by the back of the necks and shoved down onto the cold concrete floor. As I watched, one man separated himself from the others. It only took me a second. I had seen a lot of pictures of Esau Modella; I had just never seen him in real life.

“Apparently we have a cop in our midst,” the man in charge of security for the Delgado cartel informed us. “And we’re about to find out who that is.”

I
NTERROGATION
or torture, it was impossible to differentiate.

The first thing that happened was, I lost track of time. It was tough to tell one day from the next when you were locked in a dark room. It was impressive, really, what Mr. Modella knew about inflicting pain, but being on the receiving end of it, of his ingenuity and patience, was grueling. The worst part of it was they suspected one of the three of us: me, Andre, or Benny. Someone, they thought, had been wired for sound for six months, feeding the feds information. I wanted to point out I hadn’t even been with Joaquin for a month, but it came down to the fact that somebody was a cop and the other two knew or were covering. Or only one of us was covering. Mr. Modella didn’t know. Joaquin didn’t know. But they were determined to break us to find out. What that told me was that either Benny or Andre was on the job. I just didn’t know which. As the days slipped by, it was difficult to focus enough to figure it out.

I was beaten unconscious the first day, and then, because they took my watch, it was too hard to figure out how the days bled into each other. It was a kindness my shirt wasn’t ripped off so no one saw the stitches, or I was certain those would have been pounded on. Joaquin didn’t mention it, but still, occasionally, someone caught me there. It winded me instantly, the acute, splintering pain, and on my drop toward the floor, my face took some more damage.

My left eye was swollen shut, my nose broken, again, and between the piss and blood and vomit, the cell where they kept me reeked. We had been transferred at some point, or I was, having by then lost complete track of Benny and Andre. I couldn’t hear the others screaming anymore. I had been proud of myself for not yelling, but when they broke my right arm, I didn’t have a choice. The howl was involuntary and loud.

The questions were always the same: Was I the cop? Did I know who the cop was? What had I told him?

They only gave me water, nothing else, and when I saw no one for what felt like days, I thought maybe I had been left to die. My only regret was I had not gotten to live with Aaron Sutter. I would have really enjoyed coming home to him every night.

S
INCE
standing was no longer an option, I was dragged to an area of a warehouse and thrown down in front of Joaquin and Esau Modella. It was funny to see what appeared to be pain wash over Joaquin’s face. We were his men, after all. It couldn’t have been good for him to be the one with the weak links.

Andre had been beaten much like me. Benny was worse, and his breathing sounded wet.