Storm Season

by Elle Keaton

  “You want to try to sleep, or should I see if you have coffee?”

  “I can’t sleep,” Micah replied. “I need to shower.” He looked down at his borrowed clothing. “Coffee is in the freezer; machine is on the counter.”

  The shower was short. Micah did not look at the blood washing down the drain as he cleaned himself. He didn’t think about losing Adam. Who he loved.

  All that blood.

  It was still dark outside when Micah came back into the kitchen. Weir had managed to get the coffee machine going and was sitting at the kitchen table doing something on his laptop.

  He looked up at Micah. “You look…well, cleaner. He’s going to pull through, you know that, right? The doc was trying to be conservative.” He hesitated paused and then sighed. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. Adam has been a dickish asshole to me ever since I joined M’s team. He has a reputation as a perfectionist hard-ass. He also has one of the best closure records among active agents. He is like a dog with a bone. It used to make me batshit crazy until I realized those qualities were what made him successful. He does not care about other people’s opinions. He cares about facts. He cares about the victims he is looking out for.”

  He stopped for a moment dragging his hand through his wild hair. “M had to make him come up here and deal with his Dad’s stuff. The guy probably has a year of unused vacation and personal time. He is that dedicated. And I am reasonably sure he is in love with you. I’ve hung out with him a few times socially; he’s not the easiest guy to get to know. Everyone knew Adam was gay, even before the repeal of DADT. He could care less. But he has never had a boyfriend or partner or anyone, at least that I knew of. I think you’re good for him. He will be okay.” Weir laughed. “He is going to be a total asshole while he recovers from this; I am not envious.”

  Micah didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily, Weir’s phone rang, reminding Micah his had lost power hours ago. He went to go plug it in. A few seconds later, Weir came into the study, pulling on his jacket as he walked. “Adam’s been transferred to a room. I’ll drive you.”

  Micah could not comprehend how important this complicated man had become in the short time Micah had known him. He couldn’t, no matter how stupid it sounded, imagine his life without him. Adam had stomped into Micah’s life and planted himself front and center. Micah hadn’t known he was not living until Adam. He could have been satisfied spending his life wrapped in a cloud, as he had been for years.

  He hurried from Weir’s car to the sliding doors of the hospital’s main entrance. He was ready to live again.

  Fifty-Two

  Weir was not wrong. Adam was an abysmal patient.

  Micah felt sorry for the staff and nurses there to assist him, because the man was an asshole. Micah knew he tried not to be. But he was frustrated by his limitations and irritated when the staff didn’t jump high enough or fast enough. Or when his body didn’t listen. After one incident when Micah was almost positive the nurse left to go and create a voodoo pincushion with a bit of Adam’s hair, he called him on it.

  They were alone in the room. Micah was fairly certain all the rounds had been done and they had at least half an hour of alone time before the physical therapist came in to work with Adam on moving his arm and shoulder. Micah quietly shut the door behind the nurse and turned to look at Adam. God, he was beautiful. Even in a hospital bed, with several days of stubble and dressed in a faded blue hospital gown.

  He stalked toward the bed, enjoying how Adam’s eyes widened slightly at his approach.

  “Stop acting like a total asshole.” He pushed the bed railing down with a crash while also flipping Adam’s covers back.

  “Hey!” Adam exclaimed.

  “Hush.”

  Adam quieted when he saw that Micah was unbuttoning his jeans.

  “I think you need a different kind of hands on you.”

  Adam’s lips slightly parted, his pupils dilating as Micah shoved his hand into his boxers and began to rub his own cock. He figured if he was horny then Adam had to be horny, too.

  Adam groaned and reached down with his good hand to rub himself.

  “Oh no, you don’t get to do that. You might hurt yourself. Put your hand behind your head.”

  “Shit, Micah,” Adam breathed out, but he did as he was told.

  Micah shoved his jeans all the way down. While he was aware of the sounds in the hallway, he didn’t care. He needed this and Adam needed this. He was half hard from Adam’s scent; he smelled it under the hospital soap.

  “Come closer. Please.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Toeing off his shoe and stepping the rest of the way out of his jeans, feeling Adam’s eyes on him. Making certain the door was closed, he crawled carefully into the bed on Adam’s good side. Instead of continuing his sexual onslaught Micah pressed his needy body into Adam’s. As close as possible, tucking his head next to Adam’s shoulder. Horny though they both were, he wasn’t going to endanger Adam’s recovery. Micah needed to prove to the both of them that they were alive and okay. He needed skin.

  Kind of hilarious how after being alone for years and not caring, a few nights with Adam warming his bed and making Micah feel safe and wanted left him missing Adam’s presence ferociously. He found himself waking up in the dark hours of the night disoriented without Adam’s warm body next to him.

  Someone had told him once about a condition called “skin hunger.” Micah hadn’t known he was starving. Starving for Adam’s touch, starving for something he had believed he no longer had the capacity for. Feeling the comforting rise and fall of Adam’s chest, his prickly chest hairs, the soft skin of his belly, Micah breathed him in, trying to get his fill until Adam could come home.

  Micah tugged Adam’s chin down and pressed his lips to Adam’s, falling into them, offering everything. They kissed languidly, tenderly, sliding their tongues together, exploring. Micah lost track of time while his body took what it needed.

  There was a quiet knock, and before Adam or Micah could answer it the door opened slightly to reveal Weir, who quickly covered his eyes with a hand.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, not again! For God’s sake, get your clothes on. M’s here!” he scream-whispered before pulling the door shut.

  Mohammad’s visit was quick; an update on the case as well as checking in person to see how Adam was recovering and that he was behaving. He was gone before Micah could recover his composure enough to say hello. The room fell silent again. Micah was wondering if he had time to crawl back into the bed with Adam when there was another tap at the door. Adam groaned; had he been doing the same calculations as Micah?

  Joey James poked his head through the door, apologetic expression on his face. “You have another visitor. She asked specially to see you.”

  “Who is it?” Adam demanded in his grimmest this-had-better-be-good voice.

  “Uh,” Joey looked over his shoulder, “it’s, her name is Tabitha Abrahams.”

  Tabitha Abrahams looked terrible. Micah wondered if she had any friends, anyone to support her while she grieved the loss of her husband and child. Watching her slowly cross the room to sit in the other chair, Micah noted her movements were stiff and contained, like a little old lady’s. Not a woman who had yet to turn forty. Huddled into her beige winter coat, she clasped and unclasped her hands, clearly trying to get her words out. Micah wanted to go to her, to hug her, except she looked like she might shatter with a touch.

  “You’re probably wondering why I came,” Tabitha said, her voice so quiet Micah could hardly hear her. “I’ve made a lot of poor choices in my life. After everything, I only have myself to blame.” She stopped, lowering her head, but not before Micah saw tears rolling down her face.

  “Mr. Abrahams was a police officer, many years ago. I was pregnant, a young runaway with nowhere to go, no home, no medical care, no resources. He offered to help me. I saw his offer as a way out. I would be able to give my child a better life than the one I was born into.

  “At first th
ings were nice, but as Jessica grew he became…unreasonable. He said she was damaged goods because of how she came into this world. I tried to leave when I found out what kind of man he was, after he forced Jessica out the last time, but he said he would make sure I never saw her again if I left. He would make sure of it.” Tabitha broke down, sobbing, but put a hand up when Micah stood to go to her.

  “Well, he did, didn’t he? Made sure I never saw her again. She’s gone; I wasn’t able to protect her.”

  “Mrs. Abrahams,” Adam started.

  “Don’t call me that. Tabitha, please.”

  “Tabitha. I’m, we’re sorry for what you have been through—”

  Tabitha interrupted whatever Adam had been about to say, “I saw what happened on the news, about that police officer.” She looked down at her hands again. “I think that’s what Mr. Abrahams used to do. Before I came along.”

  Oh, my God, was all Micah could think.

  Neither Adam nor Weir was surprised by Tabitha Abrahams’s backhanded accusation of her recently deceased husband being possibly involved in a child-prostitution ring. Although why Abrahams chose to marry the young mother had been taken to the grave with him.

  “She was only fourteen or fifteen when she gave birth,” Adam said. “We may never know what truly happened because both Jessica and Mr. Abrahams are dead, but it seems whatever Parks got himself involved in has been going on for a long time. When the department brought in a new lieutenant with no local connections, that must have scared a lot of the old-school shitheads who have been participating or looking the other way.”

  Weir nodded. Adam had texted him as soon as Tabitha had left. Adam had tried to get her to stay, but she insisted on leaving, though she promised she would stay in Skagit for the time being. Micah hoped that maybe she left the hospital room a little lighter than she had entered it.

  ***

  Adam’s hospital stay was excruciating. Between Mohammad and Micah, they managed to keep the hospital staff from killing Adam in his sleep. Micah knew that Adam was as hard on himself as he was on others. Harder, even. His temper stemmed from believing that everything was his fault. He was beating himself up about lowering his guard and almost getting them all killed. The brief interlude Weir had interrupted was all they managed during the entire stay. It was an understatement to say they were impatient for Adam to be discharged.

  Micah was bringing him home. To his home. If he had anything to say, Adam would never leave it.

  He got Adam into the house without too much trouble. Weir had offered to tag along to make sure everything was okay, but Micah and Adam both nixed that, threatening him with explicit sexual acts. Micah could see that the short ride from the hospital to the house tired Adam more than he would admit. Micah led him straight to his bedroom; he had changed the sheets and vacuumed earlier.

  “Why are you so quiet?” Adam asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Micah sighed, feeling like a drama queen but unable to hold it in. “I assumed you would come home to my house. I didn’t even ask. And now I guess I feel like I should’ve asked. What if you’d rather be at Ed’s or something?”

  Adam looked seriously confused. Almost like he couldn’t understand the language Micah was speaking. Was he not speaking clear English?

  “Why would I want to be somewhere else? What am I missing?” He grabbed for Micah’s hand as he moved away from the bed and pulled him closer, grimacing. Micah went without resisting, because he did not want Adam hurt. He needed Adam.

  Adam tried to pull him down to sit on the bed, but Micah refused, sticking his hands into his back pockets so he would quit fidgeting. It was now or never—or now and forever. He stared out the window while he tried to explain. If he said these words while looking Adam in the eyes he might not be brave enough to push them out.

  “Look, I feel like maybe I’ve made some assumptions. Assumptions about us I guess. And stupidly my feelings are involved. Because—“ He paused, and then he had to look straight at Adam so he could judge his reaction and know for certain. “Because I love you, Adam. And I want you to stay. With me. Stay, as in if you ever fucking get hurt like that again I don’t want to have to wait while the doctors talk to Mohammad first.” His stupid eyes were watering.

  Adam stared at him for a long heartbeat before his face lit with a magnificent smile. He held his hand out again, this time Micah took it.

  “I thought you knew. Weir called me on it before the shooting, during that wild car chase. I’m yours, Micah. I’ve never been anyone’s before. I hate that I’m trapped here, injured like this, when I want to make love to you and show you how much I love you. I am much better at showing than telling. Please, baby.”

  A little tug and Micah was curled up next to Adam in the bed.

  “Really?” He hated that he sounded whiny.

  “Yeah, really. I think it started the minute I saw you spill your coffee at Sara’s place.” Micah snorted, cheeks heating, and Adam grinned.

  “For certain after you rescued me from my car, in front of your house. I’d tried to leave, but I ended up at your house instead. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. I love you, Micah.”

  They stayed that way a long time, drifting, watching the shadows on the bedroom wall grow longer. Eventually Adam’s stomach let out a loud grumble. Micah laughed.

  “Hey, I need fuel to heal,” Adam said with a smile.

  “Yeah, and I know we won’t get the whole day alone. I’m sure Weir and Seth will show up at some point.”

  Micah had gotten to know Seth a little better while Adam was in the hospital. He was still staying with Ed. It didn’t seem like he had anywhere to land. He hadn’t talked a whole lot about himself. He said he was trying to make himself useful so Sara could keep the café open while Ed healed. It sounded like Ed was almost as bad a patient as Adam, although he’d been sent home after only a few days.

  “Kiss me first,” Adam asked.

  Micah couldn’t say no. He leaned over Adam, fastening their mouths together. It was hot, fast, and dirty. Adam’s good arm was around Micah’s shoulder, gripping the back of his neck; Adam’s wicked hot tongue slid in to lick the roof of his mouth. They both moaned. A soft bite to his lip and Adam pulled back.

  “Any more and I’m not going to stop.”

  “Poor Weir,” Micah laughed.

  “Don’t let him fool you. He is gay as the day is long. He’s a big boy; he can handle it.”

  “Weir, gay? My gaydar is seriously defective.”

  “He’s quiet. I’ve seen him watching. He’s less guarded around me, I guess because I’ve always been out. Enough about him; I’m still hungry.”

  Fifty-Three

  He knew he was being a bastard, but he was so incredibly bored. The past few days all he had been allowed to do was lie in bed and brood. And the occasional blow job, because Micah wasn’t going against doctor’s orders. Fuck. Adam hated lying in bed and thinking. He’d already snapped at Micah for hovering, for bringing him coffee, for helping him to the bathroom when he needed to go. That was in the past sixty minutes.

  The sound of his cell phone ringing made his mood improve. He figured it would be Mohammad calling to check up on him. Mohammad generally didn’t care if Adam acted like a bastard.

  “Remember Ringling?” Mohammad asked without preamble.

  Remember? How could he forget? Rochelle Heide’s case haunted him. He hated it when a case turned cold. Rochelle’s bothered him particularly. The entire team had combed over the files and the physical evidence. There had been nothing, nada, zilch. Yet Adam felt in his gut they were missing something. Something important. Someone always knew something they weren’t mentioning.

  Much of the trouble with that investigation had stemmed from poor handling by the local police. They’d managed to alienate all parties; from Rochelle’s family to possible suspects, before the girl had been missing twenty-four hours. When Adam’s team had been called in, the evidence the locals had collected was no better than w
hat a bunch of motivated first graders could come up with. Maybe worse.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Jesus Christ, when do I ever like it when an eight-year-old girl is kidnapped and murdered?” He yelled. Ah, it felt good to yell. Micah peeked into the bedroom, a questioning expression on his face. Adam indicated everything was fine, mouthing “Mohammad,” before Micah disappeared back to the kitchen or wherever he was hiding from Adam’s lovely mood.

  “Remember, Rochelle’s mom worked late?”

  Yeah, they’d checked that out; she worked late nights as a janitor. That had been confirmed. “And?”

  “The neighbor Rochelle often stayed with.”

  “Nancie Troutman.”

  “Yes. She came forward with some new information. It appears she has a cousin of some kind, Martin Brown, who has property in—”

  “You are fucking kidding me. Montana?”

  “I’m letting you get away with this behavior because I am aware you are bored. Would you like me to finish my sentence?” Mohammad asked dryly.

  Oh, man, Adam had missed this. He sighed happily. “Yeah, go on.”

  “Montana. Deer Lodge, approximately a hundred miles northwest of where Rochelle’s body was found. From what Ms. Troutman has indicated, Brown is not someone she is close to, but he occasionally visits when he is ‘on a road trip.’ She became suspicious when she saw on the news that the girl’s body had been found in Montana. Brown has always been a bit strange.”

  “Probably pulled the wings off flies as a kid.”

  “He’s being brought in for questioning any time now.”

  Just like that, Rochelle had found justice. Or at least taken a big step closer to it. The relief Adam felt from hearing Mohammad’s news was incredible. He honestly didn’t care how a case was solved; he wanted the survivors to be able to put their loved ones to rest. Unfortunately, this time that resolution came at the expense of Nancie Troutman, who would have to live with the guilt of bringing the killer into Rochelle’s life. At least she had done the right thing by coming forward. Sometimes life sucked like that.