by Hank Edwards
"Don't take any chances, Pearce."
"Don't forget to use your other hand so it feels like someone else," Pearce said and, with a smirk, slammed the door before Jake could reply.
He walked through the lobby to the elevators, his feet feeling heavier with each step. When the elevator arrived at his floor, he couldn't remember getting inside or the ride up, and figured he had dozed off until the bell sounded. A few cleaning carts lined the hallway, and he dodged around them, hoping his room had already been cleaned. Even if the cleaning woman was still in there, he figured he'd just fall face-first across the bed and leave her to work around him.
His luck seemed to have changed: the door to his room was closed. When he let himself in, the bed was made and there were fresh towels. Oh yeah, he hadn't been back the night before. He hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle and used the bathroom. While he stood peeing, he looked at himself in the mirror and then caught a whiff of himself. Jesus, had he smelled this bad all day? He had to give Jake a lot of credit for not bitching once about his stench though they'd been cooped up in an interrogation room, the small office they shared, and the car for hours. He decided that tired though he was, he really, truly needed a shower before he slept, and stripped out of his clothes in the bathroom. Standing with his back to the shower, he let the spray pound on his neck and shoulders, easing a bit of the tension.
The questioning had gotten them nowhere, and Pearce was starting to think they'd gone off track. Morgan using someone he knew to draw the victims in seemed like the right ploy to Pearce, but maybe he had met someone in the year he'd been on the run. Whatever the case, there had to be some kind of connecting thread between all of the cases. And Morgan, or his accomplice, had to have been at Danglers the night Pearce had talked with Tristan.
A quiet flash of anger seared through him. All they needed was to find the smallest hint of a loose end, just someone who had seen Morgan or seen someone talking to each of the victims, and give it a quick tug to unravel everything. When his tired mind attempted to remind him that Morgan was just as well-trained in criminal behaviors as he was himself, Pearce refused to pay it any attention.
He shut off the water and dried himself, then brushed his teeth and decided to leave shaving for after he woke up. His phone battery was in the red, and he pawed through his bag looking for his charger. After several minutes of frustrated searching, he discovered it was already plugged into the nightstand outlet on his usual side of the bed and cursed at himself.
Pearce plugged in his phone, pondered setting an alarm, then decided he needed the sleep more than he needed to wake up at a certain time. He noted the time of 1:13 PM before he yanked the comforter and blanket down to the foot of the bed and slid naked between the sheets. He thought about Mark and considered sending him a quick text, but after drawing in a deep breath, he was out.
The next thing Pearce knew, his room was dark. He'd left the curtains open, and the room was illuminated only by the lights of the city. He lay in bed for a time, drifting in and out of a light sleep. At that moment, he didn't care about anything, not Morgan, not Tristan, not the case, none of it. All he wanted to do was lie there and listen to the muted sounds of city traffic on the street below. The time of day, day of the week, nothing mattered other than just lying still and slowly coming back to awareness.
After a while, he rolled over and saw the time on the clock radio, shocked to discover it was 2:30 AM. He'd slept for over twelve hours. How long had it been since he'd had that much sleep at once? He lay still for a few more minutes, then swung his feet over the side of the bed and plodded into the bathroom to pee. After that, he filled a glass with water, drank it down, filled it again, and took the glass with him, setting it on the nightstand and sliding back into bed. He left the lights off as he propped pillows behind his back and rubbed sleep from his eyes.
A long line of text messages waited for him, and he swiped to unlock his phone. Mark and Jake had both sent him messages, and he read through Jake's first. Tristan's autopsy was complete, and he'd go over it with Pearce when he saw him. There were no other case updates, just questions as to which bar Pearce had visited and what he'd been up to. The last message from Jake had come in at midnight, and all he'd sent was the word Slut. Pearce smirked at that, then opened Mark's list of messages. It took him a couple of read-throughs before he realized that Mark had left Washington, DC, and was on his way to Detroit.
"What the fuck?" Pearce said and sat up in bed, heart pounding as he scrolled through the messages.
Oh fucking hell. Mark wasn't just on his way to Detroit, he had arrived and was in the lobby bar. What the hell time had that message come in? Pearce's heart jackhammered as he jumped out of bed, turned on the lamp beside the bed, and started pulling on clothes. He chose track pants, a T-shirt, and athletic shoes without socks. Making sure he had his key card and phone, Pearce hurried out of the room.
The hallway was deserted at that hour, and the elevator took what felt like days to arrive. He stepped inside and punched the lobby button, then bounced on the balls of his feet as the elevator slowly descended. Pearce was thankful it didn't stop on any other floors because he probably would have cursed out the new arrival. The doors opened, and he hurried across the lobby, looking through the empty bar area as his gut clenched with nerves. Had Mark been here, gotten freaked out because Pearce hadn't responded to his text messages, and then simply left? Was he somewhere in the city in panic mode right now? Jesus Christ, could this situation be any more fucked up?
"Aaron."
Mark's calm voice stopped Pearce dead in his tracks, and he whirled to see him sitting in a corner near a large potted palm, a roller carry-on bag standing next to him. Mark looked tired but good, and Pearce rushed over to crouch down in front of him.
"What are you doing here?" Pearce asked, trying to keep the frustration and anger from his voice.
"I had to come," Mark said, looking at him nervously. "I saw an article online about another murder, and they showed a video news clip of you leaving the crime scene, and you looked so wiped out, so tired. I couldn't stay back in DC and leave you with this alone."
"Mark, no," Pearce said, hands gripping Mark's thighs, needing to touch him, needing to convince himself this was real and not a dream, that Mark was truly here in Detroit with him. "No, you shouldn't be here. It's not good for you, not with your… With how you've been feeling."
Mark put his hands over Pearce's, and his touch seemed to have a calming effect.
"I did have to do this, Aaron. I need to be here for this case as well."
"It's too much," Pearce said, shaking his head.
"Can we go up to your room and discuss this?" Mark asked. "I just drove ten hours to get here, and it's pretty late."
Pearce nodded and pushed to his feet. "Come on. What can I carry?"
"Nothing. I packed light. I've got it."
Pearce led the way to the elevators, his mind spinning. What was he going to do? Mark couldn't stay here, but how could he send him home again? This was all too much for him to comprehend right then, and he just wished he could be back asleep. Maybe he was asleep, and this was all just a dream. Maybe Tristan and now Mark was all just some long, fucked-up dream.
The elevator arrived, and the ding sounded real enough. When he pressed the button for his floor, it felt real enough. And once the doors slid shut and Mark took his hand, Pearce knew for sure it was no dream.
"It's okay, Aaron. I'm okay. I drove here all on my own and I didn't freak out. Not once."
"But it's not safe here, Mark," Pearce said as the panicky feeling inside him continued to expand. It was filling up his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe. He held Mark's hand until the doors opened on his floor when, with a squeeze, he released him.
Pearce led the way to his room and opened the door. He watched Mark wheel his bag inside, then closed the door as quietly as possible in deference to his neighbors and the time. He'd turned on just one bedside la
mp when he'd gotten dressed, and they stood and looked at each other in the subdued lighting. Pearce wanted to pull Mark to him, hold him tight, and kiss him until they both lost their breath. But in the same moment, he wanted to grab him and shake him, hard, and demand to know what the ever-loving fuck he was thinking by coming there with Morgan still on the loose, when he'd killed Tristan just because the kid had talked with him. He wasn't sure which action would win out, so he simply stayed where he was and crossed his arms as he looked at Mark.
"I know you're upset," Mark said.
"Upset?" Pearce shot back, and realized the angry side of his emotions was going to win out. "I'm more than upset, I'm livid. This was a really foolish thing for you to do. Not only does it have the potential to set back any progress you've made in your recovery, but it's distracting to me when I really need to be able to focus on this case. And it's fucking dangerous here, Mark. It's not safe for you to be in Detroit."
"Okay, I understand you're livid," Mark said. "But this was something I really needed to do, and I think it's an important step in my recovery and not a setback."
"How is this a step in recovery?"
"I drove here on my own," Mark explained. "Like I would have done back before Barbados. It's like I've come to a threshold, and this was a major action that I needed to take."
Pearce sighed, and some of his anger was expelled with his breath. He sat on the edge of the mattress and put his face in his hands.
"I don't know what I'm into here," Pearce said. "I don't know how deep this all goes. Morgan has killed men just to get my attention, just to get me back here in the city. And…" He dropped his hands and looked up at Mark, knowing his pain and anguish were evident in his expression. "Dammit, Mark. It's fucked up, it's all so fucked up. These kids are dead because of me, and I have no idea what to do next to stop him. I don't know what his game is or how to go about ending it." He was on the verge of tears, and he hated how weak and helpless he felt. And the worst part of it all was that Morgan had planned for him to feel this way.
Mark sat beside him and took one of Pearce's hands in both of his. "I know this city, and by now, I know Morgan. We stopped him before, and that was when he had the whole Kings of Rebellion helping him, remember? We can stop him again."
"I didn't want you here," Pearce said. "It's too dangerous."
"You don't think he could have just driven to DC while you were here and killed me?"
"Jesus, Mark."
"I'm serious. Think about it. He might have been luring you here just so he could get in a car, drive a few hours, and find me there on my own."
Pearce groaned and closed his eyes. "I'm going to worry about you."
"You weren't worrying already?"
"It was different worry," Pearce admitted. "It was you being safe and in another city worry."
"Well, now you'll be able to see me in person and reassure yourself that I'm doing okay," Mark said, then turned Pearce to face him. "And you'll get all the added bonuses that go along with that."
"It's just that…" Pearce took a breath and looked away. "He killed someone a couple of days ago just because he talked to me at the bar."
"Oh. Oh my God. Aaron, I'm sorry. That's awful. You must feel really terrible."
"One way to put it."
"Come here." Mark pulled him close and held him tight. Although Pearce had a good five inches in height on him and fifteen more pounds, he felt safe and protected within Mark's arms. He trusted Mark, completely, and knew that Mark trusted him. They'd been through a hell of a difficult year, but it had strengthened their bond, even as they'd been tested.
"He was just a kid," Pearce said, clinging tight to Mark. "Just a damn kid."
"It's not your fault, babe," Mark whispered. "It's not your fault. This is all Morgan, not you."
"I can't lose you, too," Pearce said, and pressed his lips against the skin of Mark's neck. "I can't lose you."
"You won't," Mark said. "I promise."
Mark kissed him. It was soft at first, but their passion ignited quickly and the kiss deepened. Pearce slid his hand up Mark's leg and cupped his crotch, groaning when he found he was already hard.
Clothing was shed, and they fell together on the bed in the midst of kissing. Mark grabbed Pearce's cock and stroked it as they kissed, earning a groan. Pearce slid down Mark's body, kissing all the way, and took him in his mouth.
"Oh, yes," Mark said. "Turn so I can suck you, too."
Pearce did as requested, and they sucked each other. Mark took hold of his balls in that special way Pearce liked, with his fingers spread so the tips pressed against his sensitive spots. Pearce stroked Mark as he sucked, moving fast, eager to bring him to release. There would be time later to take things slow, right that moment, he needed to come with the man he loved.
Mark grunted around his mouthful of cock, and moments later, hot, thick cum filled Pearce's mouth. He swallowed eagerly, savoring the familiar tang of it, just before he hit that amazing edge and then toppled over. Pearce stopped sucking long enough to gasp, and his cock bucked within Mark's mouth as he came.
Afterward, Pearce shifted position to pull Mark close to his side. They kissed a bit, more softly this time, and then Pearce took Mark's hand and led him to the bathroom. They showered together, and by the time they'd returned to bed, it was 3:30 AM and Mark was yawning.
"I'm about to crash," Mark admitted, and, still naked, got into bed.
"I slept the entire afternoon," Pearce said. "I'll be up for a while."
"Are you okay?" Mark asked.
Pearce nodded and leaned over the bed to give him a soft kiss. "I'm better."
"I'll take better," Mark said, then asked through a yawn, "You going to stay with me or go to the office?"
"Actually, since the hotel has a twenty-four-hour fitness room, I was thinking of getting in a workout."
Mark smiled and looked away.
"What?"
"Nothing," Mark replied. "I like when you work out."
Pearce grinned. "Yeah?" He made a muscle. "Because of the gun show?"
Mark dropped his gaze to Pearce's groin. "That and other things."
"Now I'm intrigued," Pearce said. "Care to explain?"
Mark shook his head. "Not now, I'm really tired. Maybe another time. Don't forget to wear a jockstrap."
"Aw, you do care whether or not I injure my balls," Pearce said.
Mark yawned again and waved him away. "Enjoy your workout."
Pearce leaned down and kissed him softly, then remained leaning over him as he looked into his eyes.
"I'm still mad at you," Pearce whispered.
"I'm still mad about you," Mark whispered back.
"Not the same thing," Pearce said with a scowl.
"To me it is." Mark kissed him a final time before he rolled away and presented his back.
Pearce shook his head as he dressed in his workout clothes. He eased the door shut behind him and headed for the elevator. Some exercise would help to clear his thoughts a bit and allow him to focus on the case again. He just wished—and not for the last time he was sure—that Mark had stayed home.
17
Mark slept more soundly than he had in weeks, possibly months. It was a deep, dreamless sleep, and he awoke to an empty room lit only by a long strip of sunlight streaming in through a small gap in the curtains. He rolled over and gathered Pearce's pillow close, breathing in the scent of him and smiling as he thought about sex with Pearce earlier that morning. It had felt so good to be with him again, to kiss and touch him, to taste him. He hadn't fallen asleep with Pearce, but he'd slept the night beside him.
At least he thought Pearce had come back to bed after his workout. Mark grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and lifted his head to peer around the room. A small pile of workout gear in the corner confirmed that Pearce had at least returned to the room after working out, and Mark smiled before he got up and headed to the bathroom to pee.
After splashing water on his face, he pulled op
en the blinds and squinted against the glare as he looked out over the Detroit skyline. Sunlight glittered in the windows of the nearby buildings as well as those situated across the river in Windsor, Ontario. For a long moment, Mark stood naked at the window and just looked around. He had missed Detroit. It had a different energy than Washington, DC, with more grit and a distinct attitude.
He turned away from the view and did some yoga stretches to loosen up his muscles. It would be nice to visit the hotel's fitness center, but he figured he needed a key card to gain access. Maybe that evening when Pearce returned from the Bureau, they could get another key card at the front desk.
Mark walked toward his bag he'd stowed in the corner and found a folded piece of hotel stationery tucked under the handle. A key card waited inside the paper, as well as a note from Pearce. Mark smiled and sat on the bed as he read the note.
Mark -
I'm still mad at you, no matter how hard I sucked your cock earlier. So mad I may have to do that and more every night we spend here in Detroit. This key card is for you. I picked it up at the desk after my workout. Text me when you wake up, lazy ass. And get your ass ready for a real pounding.
Don't wander around the city a lot. I'm serious.
I love you,
Aaron
He folded the note and slid it into a zippered pocket of his suitcase. Laying the bag on the floor, he unzipped it and extracted his workout clothes, then carried them into the bathroom to change.
The fitness center was on a lower level, and when the elevator doors opened, he stepped out and hesitated. The empty hallway stretched out before him, and he had to force himself to take the first step. His heart beat faster and his palms were coated with a thin layer of sweat by the time he reached the fitness center door and used his key card to gain access. Once inside, he took a few deep breaths to slow his pulse and mentally chided himself for being afraid of an empty hallway. Every time he felt he'd moved on from Barbados, something new seemed to send him back a step or two. This trip, however, had been a sign that he was ready to move on, and that's what he intended to do. With that decided on, he did some light stretches before stepping onto one of the elliptical machines.
