by LaQuette
“Cam,” Elijah called to him, his voice colored with compassion and concern. “I know last night couldn’t have been easy. I can’t say I’m happy about being assigned to this case. But I’ll do what I have to keep you safe.”
The intensity in Elijah’s eyes calmed the fear Camden had been struggling with since he’d watched his car explode last night. He’d treated this man poorly, even if it had been for Elijah’s own good, and now, here Elijah sat offering Camden comfort during the most traumatic experience of Camden’s life. Somehow that knowledge hollowed him out, filling the important parts of him with emptiness and shame. Even when he tried to do the right thing, he still screwed it up.
Camden shook his head, trying to crawl out of the weird space his thoughts were taking him to and focused on the issue at present. “So, what’s your plan, Elijah?”
“Well, you’re hiding the witness. So, I will hide you.”
“Where are you going to hide me?”
Elijah leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and bending his luscious lips into an inviting smile. “That, Counselor, is on a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know.”
ELIJAH unlocked the door and took a deep, calming breath when he stepped inside the uninhabited Westchester home. Even though he wasn’t here under pleasurable circumstances, just being inside these walls had a way of healing his restless soul. He stepped aside, holding the door open for Camden, waiting for the man to enter. Once he was inside, Elijah headed toward the living room and motioned for Camden to follow him.
“This is nice,” Camden uttered as he stepped in a slow circle, looking around the room. “NYPD’s safehouses are nicer than I thought they’d be. I was imagining some seedy hotel scene from Law and Order.”
“It’s not NYPD’s. It’s mine.”
Camden stopped turning long enough to make eye contact with Elijah. “This is yours? Really?”
Elijah narrowed his eyes, trying hard not to let Camden get under his skin. It seemed the man’s arrogance seeped through all the time. “What, surprised a dumb cop could buy something like this?”
Elijah waved his hand across the expanse of the spacious room. It was a four-thousand-square-foot colonial sitting on three-quarters of an acre of land. Elijah had scrimped and saved for years, taking all of that hazard pay and overtime and putting it toward a sizable down payment for this house. It was the thing he was most proud of, and to have this man insult Elijah in it rubbed him the wrong way.
“No.” Camden raised his hands palm-side up in surrender. “That wasn’t what I was saying at all, Elijah.” Camden dropped his eyes. For someone as arrogant as him, Elijah was certain it was as close to an act of contrition as he’d get. “I was just surprised you’d bring me to your place. Isn’t this a breach of protocol or something?”
“Normally it would be. But my captain wants you somewhere that no one else can trace you to. That eliminates any place connected to NYPD or the DA’s office. And since you and I have no documented history together, this is probably the last place anyone would look for you.”
Camden nodded, still looking everywhere but at Elijah as he spoke. “I guess it just feels a little weird being back in a place of yours again. Especially in this situation.”
“You mean after you fucked and ran the last time?” The slight hint of rose coloring beneath Camden’s creamy skin let Elijah know his comment had hit its mark. “No one knows about this place. The only people who ever come here are my parents and sibling. The only address I have on file is my apartment in Brooklyn. If anyone goes snooping, they shouldn’t be able to connect you or me to this place. It’s the perfect hideout.”
“So, you’re not expecting any company, then?” Camden’s question made Elijah chuckle and shake his head. The balls on this guy were unbelievable.
“You couldn’t possibly be asking me if I’m expecting a date to arrive?” Elijah walked to where Camden was standing. They were matched in height, but Elijah had more bulk to his muscular frame than the lithe runner’s build Camden possessed. He leaned in, crowding Camden enough that the man looked poised to take a step back. “Could you?”
Camden shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, I just wanted to make sure we were safe here. That’s all.”
“We’re safe,” Elijah replied, knowing it was only a half truth. Elijah doubted anyone looking for Camden would ever find him here. NYPD had smuggled him into the precinct from the hospital after the explosion and smuggled him out of the precinct through an underground parking lot into Elijah’s tinted SUV. No, unless these cult members could mind read, no one would know where Elijah had stashed him.
But the way Elijah’s blood simmered as he stood this close to Camden, breathing in the acrid scent of medicinal soap wafting off his skin, Elijah didn’t think safe was the right word to describe their current status. Slightly intoxicated by the desire Elijah knew he shouldn’t have for a man he shouldn’t want, Elijah paused a second to let his gaze slide up and down Camden’s lean body. A moment was all it took to remember how glorious Camden was in nothing but his bare skin, and for Elijah to recognize the real threat Camden was. They might have been safe from Camden’s enemies, but being safe from each other was another matter altogether.
“Now.” Elijah uttered the single word through a dry mouth, taking a moment to swallow before he spoke again. “Let’s go upstairs so I can show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
Elijah turned around, heading for the steps, forcing himself not to look back at the tempting sight of a wide-eyed Camden standing in the middle of his living room. Instead he kept putting one foot in front of the other, reminding himself that fucking around with Camden, no matter how good he knew it would feel, was a bad idea. The way his life was set up, Elijah couldn’t afford any wrong moves right now.
Once Camden was settled in the guest room, Elijah fell across his bed. He would’ve stayed there for the rest of the day, but knew he had to place a call first. Elijah turned over and fished around for the disposable cell phone in his pocket, connected the call and waited for his captain to pick up on the other end.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah, we arrived a few moments ago. He’s settling in.”
There was a brief pause before she continued. Not long enough to be awkward, but definitely long enough to make the hairs on his arms stand up. “I’m glad you called. I was actually about to dial you. There’s been a development.”
Elijah sat up on the bed, pinned the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and started putting his sneakers back on. “What happened?”
“We’ve got intel. Our informant on the inside says Lee is dispatching men to look for Camden. To find out if he’s really dead.”
Elijah stood up and gave his neck a good roll. They’d blown the man’s car up. Would it be too much for them to believe they’d won and let shit go?
“Is that the line we’re feeding the press, that he’s dead?”
“We’re using the excuse of charred wreckage and remains and a busy forensics lab to keep Camden’s identity concealed. On its face, our story’s holding. But Lee Edwards isn’t stupid. If he was, we’d have built a solid case against him a long time ago.”
Elijah stepped inside of his closet in search of his to-go bag. “Maybe we should set up another location.” He closed his hand around the small duffel bag’s handle and opened it for a quick perusal.
“No. For all we know this could be a plan to draw him out. Don’t move until I tell you to or the threat level has increased.”
Elijah closed the bag and moved it to the side of his dresser just in case he needed to move quickly later. For now, Captain Searlington was right. Staying put was the safest bet. “I’ll await further instructions.”
Chapter Five
CAMDEN woke from his nap with a dull ache behind his eyes. He was exhausted. But despite the bone-deep fatigue, he couldn’t seem to sleep any longer. It was probably normal for people who’d survived an attempt on their li
fe to have a bout of insomnia or two. But Camden wasn’t certain his current sleeplessness was because of the trauma or the knowledge that Elijah Stephenson, and all his sexiness, was somewhere roaming this house.
Why did it have to be him?
Camden could still remember the night of their blind date. Lindsey had worked for the better part of six months trying to get the two of them together. She’d sung Elijah’s praises, making him sound like the most delicious piece of man meat to ever walk, until Camden had agreed to a solitary date. The two men texted back and forth for a week before agreeing on a casual dinner at a local eatery near Camden’s office.
Camden had walked into the restaurant, dressed in a fitted long-sleeved muscle shirt and designer jeans he knew displayed every bit of the carved lean muscle he and his trainer worked so hard on. Even through the throng of the Saturday night crowd, based on Lindsey’s description, Camden could spot Elijah easily. Beautiful brown skin with reddish undertones, neatly twisted dark brown locs that swept his shoulders, a broad build of hard muscle, and an ass that warranted worship. And she’d been right. Elijah was beautiful, built to perfection with thick muscular legs that made him look edible in his jeans. But when the man took notice of Camden at the door and offered him a warm, bright smile, the part of Camden that kept him distanced from most people in the world, including the ones he shared blood with, begged him to let Elijah play for more than a night.
Camden had known then that Elijah was dangerous. Yes, there was a certain fearlessness about his aura, one that many cops in Camden’s experience possessed. It was the bravado, the attitude that warned others to tread with caution when in their presence. Camden should’ve listened to the warning bells. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have spent his brief rest tossing and turning, wondering if Elijah slept in his boxer briefs, or in the nude, the way Camden had left him five years earlier.
Camden groaned as both delightful images popped up in his mind. Too tired to jerk off and too annoyed to stay in bed, Camden rolled on his side, then swung his legs out of the bed. He sat for a moment, taking a deep breath in to clear his head when the smell of something inviting filled the air.
He made his way to the bathroom down the hall and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. With none of the high-end salon products his own bathroom vanity would be littered with, his untamed jet-black waves hung freely over his brow. He wet his hands and ran them through his strands to provide some sort of control but gave up when his fussing only seemed to make his hair unrulier.
His stomach grumbled, and his need to preen momentarily forgotten, he washed his face, brushed his teeth, and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, both borrowed from Elijah. Camden was on his way out of the room and down the stairs, when the sound of music caught his attention. He followed the rhythmic beats of what sounded like an up-tempo mix of R&B, jazz, and hip hop to the kitchen. Camden’s breath caught in his throat when his eyes lasered in on Elijah, his back to the kitchen entrance as he stood at the stove, mixing something on the stovetop, moving his body to the beat of the music.
From the bopping of his head, down to his swaying hips, Elijah’s movements caressed the beat. His swaying body matched the peaks, valleys, and lulls of the music.
It was intoxicating.
Not just the sensual power of his movements—although that was enough to make his mouth dry with want. No, there was something more, something essential, carnal even, about the way Elijah moved. It was so much more than just a man dancing at his stove while he cooked. It was freedom.
A shiver ran down Camden’s spine as recognition took hold. This wasn’t the first time he’d recognized this freedom. It wasn’t the first time this man’s power had drawn him in, overwhelming his senses.
This freedom, which he’d only had the chance to sample for a few hours into the night, had forced Camden to stay away from Elijah. The one night they’d shared had been enough to tell Camden that Elijah, and the freedom woven into the fabric of his being, would never fit into Camden’s world.
“You gonna stand there and watch me dance all night, or help set the table?”
The deep rumble of Elijah’s voice was the perfect excuse Camden needed to loosen the grip a five-year-old memory had on him. He blinked a few times, waiting for his mind to slip back into the confident persona he was so used to portraying. When the uncertainty of Elijah’s effect on him faded away, he fell into character. With a tilt of his lip into his signature cocksure smile, Camden was back.
Camden leaned against the doorjamb, angled his head, and smiled wider as he took in another healthy eyeful of the still-dancing lieutenant. “I don’t know,” Camden huffed. “The view from here is so perfect, moving would just spoil it.” When Elijah ignored him, Camden stepped inside the kitchen, spreading his palms wide on the island that stood between them. “How’d you know I was standing there, anyway? Your cop sense tingled?”
Elijah shut off the stovetop and turned around with a steaming hot pan in his hand. He laid it atop a heat protectant mat on the counter before lifting his eyes to meet Camden’s.
“Yeah, it was my cop sense.” His face straight with a lifted brow, he pointed behind him. “Or, you know, it could’ve been the reflective surface of the stovetop exhaust.”
Camden laughed, shaking his head as Elijah went about pulling plates and cutlery from hidden places in the modern kitchen and filling the dishes with food.
“Smells good in here,” Camden hummed. “Like breakfast.” He gave a passing look to the bacon, eggs, and biscuits Elijah placed in front of him and whispered to himself, “Greasy breakfast, it appears.”
“What was that?”
Camden shook his head. “Oh nothing.”
Elijah shrugged. “When I left here today, my intention was to stay at my apartment in Brooklyn. I didn’t have a chance to make a grocery run, so it’s either breakfast for dinner, or nothing.”
Camden held up a hand. “Breakfast for dinner sounds divine.”
“It’s my mom’s biscuit recipe taken up a notch with my dad’s sweet and spicy jelly recipe. Some bacon and eggs added to it will set it off just right. I promise you’re gonna love it.” As if to demonstrate that fact, he quickly fixed a plate for himself and dug into it.
Elijah smiled. There was pride there as he ate. Camden was certain it had more to do with Elijah’s parents than actual biscuits and jelly, and that knowledge made his heart tug a bit with sadness. He shook his head, not wishing to focus on the negative, so he zeroed in on Elijah’s smile.
“Has your dad retired yet?”
Elijah’s eyes squinted, and then a spark of recognition took hold. Had their one night together been so forgettable that Elijah hadn’t remembered telling Camden he’d joined the force to follow in his dad’s footsteps?
Just because you remember everything doesn’t mean he does, Camden.
If Elijah remembered nothing from that night, Camden knew it was no one’s fault but his own. He’d let fear pull him away from the most engaging man he’d ever met, and he could only blame himself. Well, himself, and the well-oiled machine that was his father’s plan for his future.
“Yeah,” Elijah answered as he met Camden’s gaze, “about two years ago. Now, he spends most of his days watching the Cooking Channel, and his nights making wonderful meals for my mom. They’re both in heaven. His retirement seems to agree with them both. And your dad?”
Camden shook his head as a derisive chuckle shook his shoulders. “They’ll pluck the gavel from his cold, dead hand before Chief Judge Warren retires from the New York Court of Appeals.”
“I know having a dad with an impressive record in the department was difficult for me,” Elijah hedged. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for you knowing your dad was—is—the head honcho in the highest court in the state.”
Smothering.
That was the only way Camden could describe it. On paper, it made for an amazing read. But to live that existence, always needing to be perfect for fe
ar of besmirching the family name and legacy—yeah, no fun at all.
“I guess you don’t think about it when you know no other way to be,” Camden huffed as if balancing those heavy scales all his life hadn’t been a living hell. The song playing cued a transition, and Camden allowed it to pull him away from the heavy conversation they’d found themselves in.
“I love this song,” Camden spoke, not waiting to see if Elijah would acknowledge his subject change. “‘Left & Right’ was a club favorite.” Camden bopped his head to D’Angelo’s deep bass rhythms. “There are a few hits on the Voodoo album, but I’ll always favor Brown Sugar.”
Elijah lifted his head, his eyes narrowing into slits as he focused on Camden. “You would’ve been what, twelve or thirteen when Brown Sugar was popular, fifteen or sixteen when the Voodoo album dropped? What the hell would you have known about a neosoul king like D’Angelo at that point?”
“We’re the same age, Elijah,” Camden huffed, snatching a piece of crispy bacon from his plate. “Why is it so crazy I would’ve known about D’Angelo and not crazy you would?”
“Because I didn’t grow up in one of those soulless boarding schools I’m assuming Mommy and Daddy sent you to. No way your headmaster would’ve allowed you to pollute your precious mind with music like that.”
“I don’t think I like your presumptions,” Camden responded, fighting to keep his own laughter at bay. He had attended boarding school throughout his formative years and then went away to an Ivy League institution to which his parents wrote large checks for him to attend.
“But am I wrong?”
Camden held in the laughter for as long as he could until it bubbled up from his chest and spilled past his lips. “No, you’re not wrong. There wasn’t any neosoul there. But when you have your own credit card, you can buy whatever CDs you like and play them on your portable CD player.” He savored the smoky flavor of the bacon. Better to enjoy it now. When he went back to his regularly scheduled life, bacon and biscuits would be traded for fruit and nondairy yogurt. “I was listening to Brown Sugar in my dorm room at thirteen. By the Voodoo album’s release, I had my first fake ID, and was dancing to ‘Left & Right’ in Manhattan clubs.”
