by P. A. Brown
“We found a man matching the description of your missing kidnapped victim.
Witnesses have him falling or jumping out of a truck on Pacific Coast Highway, north of Santa Monica.”
“Where is he now?” David leaned forward, shielding the phone with his free hand, all too aware of Chris watching him with unblinking eyes. Praying Copland wasn’t going to say “the morgue.”
“Santa Monica Hospital. Far as I know he’s being prepped for surgery as we speak.”
David straightened. “Was he processed first?”
“You’ll be happy to know we collected more than enough skin tissue from under his nails to get a solid DNA match. This guy was a fighter, I’ll give him that.”
“He had a lot to fight for,” David said softly. “Good work, detective.” David met Chris’s gaze. “We’re on our way.”
He slapped the phone shut and jumped to his feet, dragging Chris with him.
“It’s Des. He’s hurt, but he’s alive.” Chris’s beautiful face lit up.
“Where?”
“I’ll take you.”
Slapping the bubble light on the unmarked car’s dash helped them speed through the traffic to Santa Monica. They made it to the hospital in under forty minutes. David parked in the emergency lot, dropped an LAPD OFFICER ON DUTY board on the dash, and led Chris inside.
Fifteen minutes later a white-coated doctor floated through the doors of the emergency room and beckoned them into an empty alcove.
“Detective Laine?” she asked, glancing from David to Chris. “I’m Dr. Melanie Anderson.”
“David Laine. This is Christopher Bellamere. He’s a good friend of Mr. Hayward’s.
How is he?”
“Mr. Hayward is still in surgery. His condition has been guardedly listed as critical.”
“Can I see him?” Chris asked. David wasn’t sure he’d even heard her words.
Dr. Anderson shook her short mop of red hair. “He’s in surgery. Even when he’s moved to the intensive care unit it’s unlikely he’ll be allowed visitors for some time.”
“I want to see that he’s okay.”
She looked to David for help. “At this point all we can do is wait and see. Your friend’s condition is critical and the next twenty-four hours he’ll be under constant watch.”
David led Chris over to an orange vinyl chair along the waiting room wall. “Wait here.
I want to talk to the doctor a minute.”
“What? I want to see Des—”
David pointed at the chair. “I’ll see what I can do. Stay.”
Chris subsided. David turned back to Dr. Anderson. He took her arm and guided her away from Chris.
“There’s an officer waiting outside the ICU,” she said. “I told her the same thing I’m telling you. This man is not going to be talking to anyone for some time.”
Unspoken between them lay the words “if ever.” A critically ill man in surgery might not make it out of surgery.
“What are his injuries?”
“Head trauma,” she said. “More than likely from the fall from the vehicle. Skin abrasions to the spinal column. Shoulders, ditto. Other wounds consistent with a weapon—probably a knife. And he was raped.”
He pulled out his notepad and wrote, thinking all the while: How am I to tell Chris?
“Was a rape kit run?” She nodded. “No fluids were recovered. Indications are a condom was used.”
“Who brought him in?”
“An ambulance was dispatched. The EMTs probably saved his life. Jumping out of a moving vehicle on the Pacific Coast Highway. He’s damned lucky he wasn’t turned into road smear.”
“He’d have been dead if he’d stayed in the vehicle.”
She nodded her head. “I thought it might be like that.”
“Can you let us know when he’s out of surgery?” David tucked his notepad back in his jacket pocket. “In the meantime, I’d like to speak to the other officer.”
“Sure. I’m just making my rounds. I’ll show you the way.”
Officer Barbara Morelli was a first-year rookie who had been on patrol in Santa Monica when the call came in that an injured man had been found on the Pacific Coast Highway. She and her senior partner, Foster Dean, arrived on-site shortly after the EMTs.
They had worked on the injured man while Morelli and Dean had done a quick canvass for witnesses. They found four. At this point Morelli consulted her own notes.
“Vehicle was described as a bright or dark yellow sport-utility vehicle. Possibly a Ford Explorer. Year unknown, but probably new.”
“Anybody get a look at the driver?”
“Not enough to matter. Male. Likely Caucasian. Maybe Latino.”
David briefly thought of giving her a copy of the police sketch, then remembered Martinez had it.
“You get names? Contacts?”
“Of course—”
“If I get you a sketch, can you run it by your wits? See if it rings any bells.”
“No prob. Who is this guy?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Nasty piece of work, whoever he is.”
David found Chris still sitting in the tacky orange chair in emergency. He jumped to his feet the instant he saw David.
“Is he okay? When can I see him? What’s happening—”
“He’s still in surgery.” David guided him over to a more comfortable sofa where they could sit together.
“But he’s alive? He’s going to make it, isn’t he?”
“They’re doing the best they can.”
Chris leaned into him. David stroked the short, spiked hair where it rested against his shoulder. Chris’s eyes closed.
David held still so as not to disturb whatever measure of rest Chris was able to get.
An hour passed. Then two. People passed through. He grew stiff and the back of his head throbbed.
Finally the door opened and Dr. Anderson stepped out. She looked nearly as wasted as David felt. Their eyes met. She took in the sight of Chris in his arms and one eyebrow went up, then she nodded as though something now made sense to her.
“Doctor?”
“Mr. Hayward is out of surgery. He’s still critical, but stable.” She offered him a tired smile. “The prognosis is guardedly optimistic.”
“Any idea when he might be available for a statement?”
“Twenty-four to thirty-six hours, if you’re lucky.”
David frowned.
“If I was you, I’d take your friend home. You’re not going to be in any shape to ask anyone questions if you hang around here another day.”
“Can I leave a number to call if his status changes?”
“Of course.”
Once she was gone, taking his cell phone number and Chris’s home phone with her, David gently tapped Chris awake. “Des is out of surgery. But he can’t have visitors for another day at least. Let’s go back to your place. We can wait there.”
“He’s okay?” Chris blinked up at him owlishly.
David nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be all right. He’s through the worst of it.”
Chris blinked some more. “God, I can’t keep my eyes open.”
“Come on then. I’ll get you home.”
“Stay with me?”
“Of course.”
Chris slept in the car and barely woke up enough to get them past the alarm system at his place. The SUV was nose up to the gated courtyard. David unlocked the mailbox with Chris’s key to find the SUV keys.
David guided him upstairs and left him to undress while he went to check the house and make sure everything was locked up tight. The message light on the phone wasn’t blinking.
When he returned to the master bedroom, Chris was sitting up groggily in the bed, wearing only his boxers. He froze when he saw David.
“I thought you’d left.”
“No, I’m staying. I’ll be downstairs—”
“No. Stay here. Please.”
David stood by the edge of the bed. C
hris smiled up at him.
“Hey, I promise I won’t take advantage of you,” he said.
“Don’t,” David said, not sure if he meant don’t promise, or don’t start. He returned Chris’s smile and slipped off his jacket and holster and hung them on a hook on the bedroom door before sliding into the bed beside the younger man. “Now go to sleep.”
Within minutes Chris was breathing softly and lay completely relaxed in David’s arms. David tried to follow suit, but it was a long time before sleep came. Just before he drifted off he realized he hadn’t called Martinez to tell him about the evening’s events.
He wondered if his partner would find out from some other source. And what he was going to think when he did.
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CHAPTER 20
Friday, 4:10 am, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles CHRIS ROLLED OVER and bumped up against a solid wall of muscle. He blinked both eyes open and met David’s bemused stare.
“You always this restless when you sleep?”
“David? I thought I was dreaming...”
“No dream.” David’s arms enfolded him; their hearts beating a staccato tempo.
Chris’s hand splayed over David’s thickly furred, naked chest. “Your shirt,” he muttered.
“I didn’t want it to get wrinkled,” David said.
Chris nodded as though that made perfect sense. His fingers fanned through the dark mat of hair, stopping to play with a fat brown nipple, tweaking it. He let his hand roam, tracing the thick line of hair that snake down David's chest and stomach to where it vanished under his boxers.
David’s eyes were half closed and his mouth opened. His breath was uneven.
“Any word on Des?”
“He’s been moved off the critical list,” David murmured. “We’ll probably be able to go see him tomorrow, or early the next day.”
Chris closed his eyes loving the feel of David's breath on his face, of his hand lightly stroking his flank. “Thank God.” Then he opened his eyes again. “What did the doctor tell you?”
David shifted on the king-sized bed. One of his hands moved down Chris’s hip He brushed his thumb over Chris’s erection and it was like a jolt of raw electricity. His cock leaped and squirted pre-cum onto his briefs.
“He’s going to be fine. Now I’ve got a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“You interested in proving once and for all that you’re innocent?”
“I am innocent.”
David’s warm gaze slid over Chris’s bare chest. “Somehow I doubt that. But I’m talking about this case.”
“Very funny. What do I need to do?”
“Give us a DNA sample.”
“Jesus, I don’t know...”
“Listen,” David said with urgency. “I know you didn’t kill anyone. But I’m not the only detective on the case. I need something to convince Martinez once and for all that we need to look elsewhere for our Carpet Killer. Please, Chris... talk it over with your lawyer.” David smoothed his hand up Chris’s hip, rubbing the bare skin above his boxers, slipping the tips of his fingers under the elastic waist band. Chris shivered. “I’m not trying to pressure you here, Chris.”
“No?” Chris whispered, all too aware of David’s erection pressed between his thighs.
It matched his own. A pulse beat in the shadows of David's throat. Chris stared at it, mesmerized. “What are you trying to do?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, what—”
“You’re sure? You haven’t been drinking, have you?”
“No.” Chris frowned at the odd question. “What—?”
“Good. Neither have I,” David said. “One more question.” He pulled Chris tightly against him, pressing his mouth against the hollow of Chris’s throat, biting at his skin.
David’s unshaven face and mustache stroked Chris’s skin. Desire pooled in his gut when David gently traced the outline of his straining cock.
“David!”
“You got protection?”
“Top drawer, lube and skins. Oh, God, David. Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure.” He lowered his mouth to Chris’s. He was tentative at first, even gentle. Then his grip on Chris’s shoulder tightened and his kiss grew savage. He shoved his tongue deep into Chris’s mouth, tangling with his, stifling Chris’s moans.
His mouth moved lower, nibbling on the skin above his Adam’s apple, whispering words of passion and need against the skin above his pounding heart. He teased one nipple into a stiff nub before moving to the next one, laying a trail of heat that swept away all doubt and resistance. Chris wound his fingers through David’s thick hair and silently urged him down. David obliged, but oh-god-so-slowly. He dipped his tongue into Chris’s navel. Ignoring Chris’s entreaties to suck him, he pushed his legs open and slipped his tongue behind Chris’s balls, stroking the taut skin above his hole.
Chris writhed on the bed, his head whipping from side to side. When David’s tongue slipped over his hole, probing and lubricating him, he cried out and thrust his hips up, opening himself to David’s assault.
Chris had never had anyone make love to him with such single-minded intensity. It was as though nothing existed in the world but the two of them, drowning in wave after wave of pleasure that bordered on pain.
When he heard David fumble in the bedside drawer he whimpered and gasped when David’s first probing lube-covered finger entered him. Then his hot mouth wrapped around Chris's leaking cock and inhaled him. When a second stiff finger joined the first Chris rocketed his hips off the bed and cried out. He shook his head when David withdrew his fingers and raised his hips, begging for more. David gave it to him. With excruciating care he positioned the massive head of his cock against Chris's hole. Chris winced at the initial stab of pain, quickly followed by a growing heat that spread through his gut and suffused him with need. When David stopped to let him adjust to the invasion, Chris thrust up, grabbing his ass to pull him in deeper.
“Easy, baby,” David gasped. “We got all night.”
Chris wanted to tell him no, they didn’t, because he was going to die soon if David didn't finish what he had started.
David responded to his need, shaking as he levered himself above Chris and stared down at his lover, eyes glazed and lips parted. He shuddered when Chris twisted his hips and started thrusting with wild abandon.
They slammed together, the only sound in the room the slap of moist flesh and their harsh breathing and soft moans.
David’s movements grew erratic, his self-control gone in a wave of lust that swept them toward an incandescent explosion.
Chris came, spewing cum all over his stomach and David’s. Back bowed, David thrust one more time, burying himself deep inside Chris, his hands gripping Chris’s hips so tight he left bruises. They collapsed together amid the tangled sheets, convulsing in release.
Chris struggled to get his breath back.
“Wow.” He gently touched the side of David’s face which was still flush with passion.
His swarthy, pockmarked skin felt hot and rough under his fingertips. “You haven’t done this for a while, have you?”
David kissed the tips of his fingers. “Is it that obvious?”
“Oh, yeah. So...” Chris sobered. “What happens now?”
“We wait,” David said. “Wait for Des to tell us what happened.”
“Are you going to get into trouble?”
David sighed and pressed his lips together. “It’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think?”
Chris drifted off to sleep with the feel of David’s arms around him. His weight felt good.
Chris wanted to reach for him, but couldn’t find the energy.
Then sleep claimed him in a dreamless land.
Friday, 5:40 am, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles THE PHONE RANG. When Chris didn’t answer it, David reached for it over his body. Maybe it was the hospital again with more information about Des.
&
nbsp; “You shouldn’t have done that.” The soft, whispery voice spoke so low David had to strain to hear the words. “He doesn’t belong to you. He’s mine.”
“What? Who is this—”
The phone went dead.
David swung upright on the king-sized bed, his gaze shooting around the room as though he expected the owner of the voice to materialize in front of him. The darkened window, overlooking an even darker backyard that was pitched down into wooded blackness, drew his wandering eye. They were two stories up, perched on the edge of a hill overlooking the Silver Lake Reservoir; there were no curtains on the broad windows.
Strips of light leaked into the bedroom from a room down the hall. David lunged off the bed into a half crouch and slammed the bedroom door shut, plunging them into total darkness.
His fingers closed over the leather case of the police-issue Glock he had hung on the door hook earlier. The familiar weight of the weapon felt good in his hands. He quickly put on his linen pants.
The phone shattered the silence again. Chris rolled over into the space David had just vacated, one hand groping sleepily for something that wasn’t there. He sat up, the thin sheet falling into his lap.
“David?”
“Get down, Chris!”
“What the hell—” Chris leaned sideways and snapped on the bedside lamp.
David swung the semiautomatic up at the ceiling at the same time he dove across the room and shoved Chris off the bed, sending the phone and the bedside light crashing to the hardwood floor.
“Get down and stay down.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Chris tried to crab-crawl out of the tangled sheets wrapped around his legs. “What’s wrong with you—”
“He’s out there.”
Chris froze and David took advantage of his stillness to swing over the bed and creep up the wall beside the window.
“Shut that light off!”
The room was plunged back into darkness.
David peered out through the thin pane of glass, all too aware of his vulnerability. He couldn’t see anything in the tangled, tree-filled yard beyond the sweep of spidery branches. Somewhere close by a dog barked. A coyote answered it.
