by Amy Lane
Jackson grunted back. “I chased a guy out of the manager’s office, and he got me with a Schrade dagger across my back. Henry’s buddy is stitching me up so I don’t have to go to the hospital.”
Ellery took a deep breath, keeping the retroactive panic at bay. “That’s nice of him. Is he qualified?”
Jackson let out something that might have been a laugh but was muffled against Ellery’s chest. “He’s a med student, but he was good. I mean, my back could look like a crazy quilt, but at this point, it would be an improvement.”
Ellery shuddered hard in what might have been a laugh, and kissed the crown of Jackson’s head. “I’ll look later,” he promised. “Is there anything else?”
Jackson grunted. “Fucking apartment complex. Got lost in it, like… like November. Almost shit my pants. Panicked. Couldn’t breathe.”
Ellery closed his eyes. “Oh.” He took a deep breath. And another. “Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
Jackson pulled back, and Ellery got a look at Jackson’s face, still haunted but without that air of victim that had so gutted Ellery after his stupid-ass temper tantrum. “I gotta function, Ellery. Sometimes I just need to put the bad shit in the box.”
Ellery nodded and kissed his forehead. “Understood. How about, ‘Is there anything else?’ and you say—”
“I’ll tell you later?” Jackson swallowed as he offered it.
“Good.” Ellery closed his eyes. “That would be… be a lot better than… you know, finding out you just tried to fuck me as a distraction.”
“I didn’t try,” Jackson said with a hint of a smirk. “I did.”
Ellery tried to laugh then, and it came out broken and a little hysterical. “And I lost my temper,” he added. “And I’m sorry.”
“I always want you, but I… I hurt your feelings. And I’m sorry.”
They both took a collective breath.
“Remember November?” Ellery asked. “When… when you had one foot out the door?”
Jackson nodded, and Ellery’s heart wrenched. He’d known it then, but to hear it confirmed, to know how close they’d come to losing each other, to him losing Jackson forever, was hard just the same.
“You were afraid I’d kick you out,” Ellery said. “You wanted to leave before I… I made you go.”
“Yeah.”
“Conversations like this—they make sure that never happens.”
“Okay,” Jackson whispered, and Ellery could sense the doneness in him. “Okay.”
Ellery kissed him, a salty, stinging messy benediction of everything they’d just said, and then he pulled away. “Don’t, uh… don’t go anywhere tonight? Don’t… don’t go play video games? Don’t go running or swimming or whatever? Just… even if you dream some more, just stay.”
“Ellery, no—”
“Just stay,” he begged.
“It is all bad in my head right now,” Jackson said, his voice raw. “I… I may not sleep at all. I….”
“Just stay,” he begged again, voice breaking. “Please. Nothing inside you is so bad I’ll run away. I mean, I know I fucked up. I know. I should know not to lose my temper like that, but—”
“Hey, hey…,” Jackson soothed him. “You have the right to lose your temper. I… I don’t make it easy on you. You shouldn’t have to worry about not getting mad—”
“Lose my temper, yes,” Ellery said bitterly. “But throw shit? No. You… you didn’t know what to do with that. I made things worse.”
Jackson gave a fractured laugh. “I didn’t know you had that in you,” he said, a little wonder tinting his voice. “I was… surprised.”
He’d been terrified. Frightened. Hurt beyond words. Ellery would never forget the lost look on his face.
“I took away some of your… your faith in me—”
“Never.”
“No. I did. And I need to own it. I can’t do that again. I depend on that, you know.”
“On what?”
“On you believing in me.”
Jackson was quiet, and for a glorious, hopeful moment, Ellery hoped he’d fallen asleep. “You’re…. It was good, you did that,” he said at last. “I… you, loving me. It didn’t seem quite real. But you’re not perfect. And that makes it real.”
Ellery almost smacked him. “Oh my God, that’s warped,” he muttered. “Are you ever going to trust me again?”
“No, no—it makes total sense.” Jackson nodded at him, as earnest as a child. “It’s hard to trust someone who’s perfect. But I trust that you’ll try.”
Ellery supposed he could take it as a win. “Only to you.” Ellery kissed his temple, and almost like that was a signal, they relaxed enough to let some oxygen between them. “So now that I know the guy in the manager’s office had a knife, is there anything else you want to tell me about him?”
Jackson chuckled and then told Ellery—really told him—about his day. For a few minutes, Ellery lost himself in Jackson’s story of Cock Cheese Sternberg and the dormitory full of porn models who were not fully grown.
And in all of the repercussions this new information might have for the case.
“Okay, so we know a little more now,” he pondered, sitting up in bed as Jackson had been for the past few minutes. “That’s good.”
“If Kryzynski calls us with new information tomorrow, that would be better. But we’ve got a name for the second round of tapes, and an organization—that’s important.”
“Yeah. Now if we could only figure out what it all means.” Ellery chewed his lower lip for a moment, until Jackson’s stomach broke the silence—loudly. “You didn’t eat,” he said softly, and Jackson shrugged his good shoulder. “Come on, I’ll make you a sandwich. You can do dinner theater for me, and we can talk about what you learned in Sampson’s office.”
He expected to have to argue fiercely about this, but Jackson got out of bed almost immediately. Maybe it was because he wasn’t ready to sleep yet, or maybe he just wanted them to get along.
Or maybe he had relaxed enough to be hungry.
Small steps. Ellery celebrated small steps.
A few minutes later, Jackson sat shirtless at the kitchen table with a peanut butter sandwich—his request—and a glass of milk. Comfort food for the child Jackson never got to be. While he ate, Ellery doctored the wound on his shoulder.
“This is neatly done,” he appraised. “But you tore it a little. Here, I’ll go get some more gauze to suck up the blood.”
“Thanks,” Jackson murmured, head down.
“You didn’t really expect me not to notice this, did you?” Ellery kept his fingertips on Jackson’s skin so Jackson would know he wasn’t mad.
“No. I knew you’d see it. I know you’re not stupid, Ellery.”
“Then what? Why wouldn’t you even tell me about it?”
Jackson reached behind him and laced his fingers over his shoulder. “I just wanted to skip to the part it was old news,” he confessed. “Yeah, that? Happened a few days ago. No big deal.”
Ellery squeezed his hand and bent down until he was whispering in Jackson’s ear. “You are always my big deal. Understand? You may not like it—not all the time. But if I have to live with worrying about you, you have to live with the fact that I’m worried. That would be great if it inspired you to take fewer chances, but I’ll take what I can get. Understood?”
Jackson squeezed back. “Understood.”
Ellery went for gauze, and when he came back, Jackson was feeding a corner of his sandwich to an imperious Billy Bob, who was standing up on his haunches—missing back leg and all—and batting Jackson’s fingers with his paws. Jackson took a bite of the sandwich and pulled off another corner for Billy Bob and then took a swig of milk, and Ellery’s heart thudded hard in his chest.
His man. This was his man. All of the worry, all of the damage, and Ellery had a superhero who would split his meal with a three-legged alley cat and swear playfully at him at the same time.
“You want that? You can’
t have it. Nope. No bread for you—oh! Nice try, no-thumbs-having motherfucker. Nice fucking try. You want some more? Why would I give you more? You’re lazy. Go kill something for me. Go fucking kill me a possum to cook for food, motherfucker. Go do that, maybe I’ll give you more peanut butter. Oooh… nibbles? You’re gonna nibble me? Sure. You go ahead and nibble me. I’ll take what’s left of your teeth, asshole, oh yes, I will. Fine, fine—more. That’s fine. You eat all my sandwich and see if he yells at you. No, no he doesn’t yell at you, because you’re a big cheesy motherfucker with no thumbs. He doesn’t love you, he pities you, so don’t get ideas. Nobody loves you. Fine, I’ll scratch your ass. Don’t think that means anything. Yeah, you drool on me tonight, I’ll lock you in the bathroom. Hot, sweaty, and covered in cat fur—what kind of nightmares you think I’ll have then?”
Ellery walked up behind him, much like Jackson had come up behind Ellery earlier, and dragged his lips down the back of Jackson’s ear.
“What?” Jackson muttered, surprised.
“Want another sandwich?”
“No, this one’s good.”
“Detective?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Jackson turned his head, and Ellery found his mouth for the awkward over-the-shoulder kiss. “Love you too, Counselor. Now do you want to hear about the rest of my day?”
Ellery grinned and pulled away. “Oh, I do. I really, really do. You still have milk left. Want cookies?”
Jackson smiled then, holding his hand palm out over his mouth, as though to hide any food left in there. “Oh, I do. I really, really do.” His green eyes crinkled at the corners, and his dark blond hair was messily attractive over his brow, and Ellery thought that he would lie down and die for this man, a thousand times over, just to see him mangle a smile over a peanut butter sandwich and milk.
“Then let’s make that happen.”
They talked about the case for another hour, until Jackson rested his chin on his hands and closed his eyes—seemingly in thought.
Ellery yawned and nudged him to bed, making sure their phones were in the chargers this time but not setting an alarm.
Jackson slid bonelessly into bed, and Ellery followed, the air-conditioning zealous enough—and the night outside cool enough—that some of the stickiness in the air faded.
This time, they both slept until morning.
Jigsaw and Duct Tape
JACKSON’S PHONE was buzzing, but not with an alarm.
“What the… fucking… motherfucker. Ellery, did we oversleep?”
“No.” Ellery yawned delicately—like the cat. “We can’t oversleep. We’re the bosses. I turned off your alarm.”
“But I set that on purpose—fuck!” He said that last part right into the phone.
“Thank you, no,” Kryzynski said dryly. “You are not my type.”
Jackson’s head ached, and his fucking back felt like a big throbbing inflatable raft. “I wouldn’t bang you in the dark on Viagra. Why are you here in my bed at fuck-all in the morning?”
“It’s nine, Rivers. Must be nice to keep your own hours.”
Oh Jesus. The night before—Jackson looked at Ellery, who was arching a singularly unrepentant eyebrow. The night before had been an emotional meat grinder.
“It is when your boyfriend doesn’t keep them for you,” he muttered. “I’m sorry about that—my bad. Why are we talking again?”
“Because I know who your guy with the blade was. First name Ralph, last name—”
“Gordon,” Jackson said, and yes, a little bit smugly. “He works for Candy Cormier.”
“Jesus,” Kryzynski swore. “I did not know that last part. How did you?”
“Gnomes. What can you tell me about Cormier?”
Kryzynski gave a sigh. “Newcomer. Last few months or so—word is he’s up from down south. Meth, manufacture, distribution, and sales. He’s sort of….” Jackson could hear the gears turning and respected that. “He’s organized,” Kryzynski said thoughtfully. “Like, since February, he’s infiltrated all the mini-markets in the area and taken over. I think he even refined the product. I know we’ve had half the poisonings in the last six months.”
“Does he use?” Jackson asked, remembering Herbert’s claim that he was more meth than brains at this point.
“From what I’ve heard? No. But he is certifiable. We’ve got a couple of butchered bodies that were his errand boys who got greedy. Can’t pin it on him—can’t pin him down—but we’ve heard his name whispered often enough, you know?”
“February,” Jackson said, looking sideways at Ellery. Ellery paused from reading his phone long enough to raise his eyebrows.
“Interesting,” he mouthed, and Jackson nodded.
“Very.” Then he tuned back in to Kryzynski. “So, Candy Cormier—meth, militarized, douchebag. Sent Ralph Gordon in to erase the original footage. Did he succeed?”
“Yes and no,” Kryzynski said. “We’ve got a car and a partial plate driving up near the dumpster about twenty minutes before Henry Worrall did his chores, but nothing beyond that. Not even a shadow.”
Jackson grunted. “Did you run the partial?”
“Yeah—the car’s decent. A Buick Encore, big enough to hide the body, not big enough to be noticed. But our list is about two hundred possibilities long. Do you have any names you want me to run it against?”
Jackson sighed. It was time to put up or shut up. “Got three possibilities,” he said. “Summer Frasier, Ash Carver, or Robert Sampson.”
“The vic’s father?” Kryzynski said, obviously impressed. “On what evidence?”
“A hunch,” Jackson said. “We’re working on evidence.”
“Well, let me know when you get something. I mean, I know Martin wasn’t a model son, but his dad’s a—”
“Drug-dealing douchebag. And we will get evidence of that, I promise you. Anyway, I think the drug dealer Sampson pissed off was his father—or in his father’s little ring. Dad cracks him over the head, knows about the altercation with the porn kids, drugs him so he dies, and plants the body. Cormier realizes Dad is not a master criminal and tries to doctor the tapes. What we don’t know is how exactly the drug ring operates and what evidence we can gather to nail Sampson Senior—or why Cormier wanted to keep Daddy Sampson in the clear. And that shit’s important if we want to keep Henry out of jail.”
Kryzynski grunted. “I will run that partial against those names,” he said, obviously unconvinced. “And thank you. See? Did that hurt? Don’t you want to cooperate with me again? We can be a team! Hooray!”
“I am a-jizz with excitement. Really. So a-jizz I need to hang up now. Get back to me on those plates.”
“Roger that.”
And Jackson was free to listen to the purring of the cat between his knees and the buzzing in his own skull.
“You unset my alarm,” he said, keeping his voice even.
“I did.”
“So we talked about my faults. Are we going to talk about yours now?”
He sent a sideways glance to Ellery, who looked back at him and smiled without guilt. “No. I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“Did I lie to you?”
“No, but—”
“Did I lose my temper?”
“No, but that’s not the—”
“Did anything bad happen because I let us sleep in?”
Beyond the thundering headache and the wound, Jackson felt more refreshed than he had in weeks. “You suck,” he muttered.
“Not last night, because you seduced me from behind.”
“Bite me.”
“Later. I want you to see the office first, and then we can discuss our game plan.”
Jackson growled, and then Ellery leaned against him, dropping a kiss on his bare shoulder.
“And maybe,” Ellery continued, “we can try the sex thing again tonight.”
Jackson side-eyed him again. “I might be tired tonight.”
“I
might lie next to you and touch myself while you listen.”
“Augh!” Jackson rolled out of bed and was about to stalk to the shower—with full expectation that Ellery would join him and maybe make it up to him—when his phone buzzed again. He stalked back to the dresser and answered it. “Henry?”
“Yeah. Uh….”
“Did I miss an appointment? Were we supposed to do anything today?”
There was an awkward pause. “No. But, uh, I’m bored. I… I mean, I don’t have anything to do today. I…. Sometimes I run errands for John and Galen or Davy, but, uh. Do you need any help on the case?”
Jackson blinked and looked at Ellery helplessly. “We’re gonna be at the office in two hours. Meet us there—and bring your scrubs.”
“Two hours?” Henry asked, sounding puzzled. “Where are you now?”
“About to have really aggressive sex. You want a part of that?”
“Two hours it is!” Henry hung up, and Ellery smiled.
“How aggressive?” he asked, hope lacing his voice.
“Come to the shower and find out.”
Ellery’s filthy chuckle followed him to the bathroom, and his cock started to throb.
TWO HOURS later, laden with iced coffee and takeout, they pulled up to the office. Jade had beaten them to it, and she and her boyfriend, Mike, were busy bringing in books from Jade’s car. Jackson hopped out to help them but was stopped by Mike’s critical look.
Mike was actually Jackson’s tenant. After Jackson had taken his golden handshaft from SACPD, he’d bought a duplex and rented out the other half. Mike had been living in that other half for a while now, the self-professed redneck from Virginia, the cranky conservative whose heart was as open as the sky and who was constantly trying to figure out how to live a humane and kind life in a world so very different from the one he’d grown up in.
He’d appeared to be the last person in the world Jade would want to be with—until you saw the quiet worship in his farm-boy blue eyes when he looked at her.
“Did you bring some of that for me?” Mike asked as Jackson got out of the car.
