by Hank Edwards
"Okay, we've ordered. You've mentioned having reservations about Jake before but never really gave some examples."
"It's just weird things I've noticed. He came up with the idea of Morgan working with a member of the Kings of Rebellion, and that got us nowhere, and he's led us down a couple of other dead ends, too. I know that's part of the investigative process, but all of these misses have been adding up lately. Yesterday he already knew you had gone with me to Danglers the night before. Now, he could have assumed it since I'd told him you'd come into town, but it just set off an alarm in the back of my mind. How would he have known that? And then today when he offered to type up my notes. That was more than a little off."
"Yeah, I wondered about that, too," Mark said, and sat back as the waitress brought their drinks before hurrying off again. "You don't think he would have entered them incorrectly, do you?"
"Or lost them?" Pearce added. "I don't know. And, again, there's no proof of any of this, and it could very well just be my suspicious nature, but…"
"But you've been an agent for a long time and have been involved in some pretty twisty cases, so it makes sense that you'd be cautious." Mark sipped his tea, thinking. "Do you really think there could be another psychopath like Morgan in the Bureau?"
"I'd like to think not," Pearce replied. "But I'm trying to keep an open mind."
Pearce switched topics to the questioning and gave Mark a quick overview. The food arrived as he was wrapping up, and they ate in silence a few minutes.
"You know," Mark said. "If Jake were involved, it would be a great way to throw off your investigation. And if Morgan could seduce you back in the academy, he could very well have gotten to Jake at some point during the time he worked in the Detroit office. Any idea how long Jake's worked here in Detroit?"
Pearce took another bite of his burger before shaking his head. "Nope."
"Think you could find out?" Mark asked.
"I could try. It would let us know if he was even an agent during Morgan's time here."
"Do you think he'd get suspicious if you started asking him lots of questions about his background?" Mark wondered.
Pearce nodded. "Good point. He is pretty sharp. I'll have to use my subtlety to avoid suspicion."
Mark smirked.
"What?" Pearce asked.
He looked at him with an overly innocent expression. "What what?"
"You're thinking something you either don't want to tell me or don't know how to bring up."
"You don't know that."
"I do know it, and you're going to dwell on it for hours, and by the time you do bring it up, we'll both be tense about it, so why don't you save both of us a lot of time and just say it?" Pearce raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly at Mark, who tried to appear offended but finally sighed and slumped his shoulders.
"Fine."
"Good. Out with it."
Mark scowled. "How'd you know that?"
"I know you," Pearce said, and then leaned in over the table and lowered his voice. "Inside and out."
He grinned at the sight of Mark's blush.
"All right," Mark said. "I was thinking if we go to the Bone Yard tomorrow night, you could ask Jake to meet us there as like an investigation thing. If you give us a chance to be alone together, I could ask him those questions, and it wouldn't look nearly as suspicious."
Pearce shook his head. "No."
"Why not?"
"I don't like it," Pearce replied. "And besides, Jake said he had plans."
"All right, if not tomorrow night, what if I meet you guys for lunch? Or dinner?"
"No, I don't want you to get involved."
"Aaron, I'm already involved."
"Yeah, against my wishes," Pearce said.
"Oh, your wishes are now law?"
"Between us they should be."
Mark narrowed his eyes. "I have no say in what I choose to do?"
"Look, I know where this is headed," Pearce said. "And I'm not going to be pulled into an argument with you. All summer you've worked to get past what happened on Barbados. When the details of this case became clear that it was Morgan, I had no choice but to leave you alone back in DC. I hated to do it, but you'd made progress."
"A lot of progress," Mark said.
"Fine, a lot. But you're still scratching at the scar in your arm, and I saw how being in the bar both Thursday night and last night put you on edge."
"I'll probably always scratch at this scar," Mark said. "Sometimes it's like I can still feel the needle sticking in my arm. And, yeah, okay, I was a bit overwhelmed at the bar each night, but Thursday at Danglers was the first time I'd been to a bar since Barbados, so I think, overall, I did pretty damn well."
Pearce took a moment to consider what he wanted to say. "You did do damn well. It's just that you're here now, here where Morgan is prowling the streets, looking for a way to get at me. He killed that kid Tristan just for talking to me. If he knows you're here, and there's a pretty good chance he does by now, he's got to be planning to get to you to get back at me. It would be the perfect weapon."
"I'm with you pretty much all day," Mark said. "How much safer can I be?"
"But you're not able to always be with me, and when you're not, I'm worried about where you've gone and how you are."
"Are you trying to say I'm distracting you from the case?" Mark asked.
"It is a distraction," Pearce replied. "But I don't know what's worse: having you here near danger or back home out of my reach."
"And I don't get a say in any of this?" Mark asked in a cold tone.
The waitress approached, and Pearce sat back as she picked up his empty plate.
"Save room for dessert?" she asked.
"No, thanks," Pearce replied with as genuine of a smile as he could muster. "Just the check please."
She set a bill folder before him. "I thought as much. Whenever you're ready."
Pearce slid a credit card into the bill folder and set it aside.
"So we're done talking about this?" Mark asked, sitting straight-backed and with his arms crossed tight as he glared across the table.
"For now," Pearce replied. "Let's talk about it in the car."
When the waitress took the bill folder, they sat in tense silence, looking anywhere but at each other. She returned with the charge slips a few long minutes later, wished them a good day, and was off again. As Pearce added a tip and signed the slip, Mark got up and walked out of the restaurant.
"Happy Halloween," Pearce mumbled to himself, then stepped outside himself.
A brisk wind had picked up, and the sun hung low in the sky, making his shadow stretch out before him along the sidewalk as he followed Mark. From this vantage point, Pearce was able to stare at Mark's ass and think about all the things he'd recently done to it, and what he'd like to do. He just didn't think there'd be any chance for that kind of fun later that night.
Mark arrived at his car and unlocked the doors, then slid behind the wheel without a glance in his direction. Pearce took a deep breath of the fresh air—feeling like a man about to plunge off a terrifyingly high cliff into uncharted waters below—then dropped into the passenger seat.
"I don't like fighting with you," Pearce said.
Mark had reached for the key but paused with his hand in mid-air.
He stared straight ahead out the windshield, but his tone was warmer than before as he said, "I don't like fighting with you, either."
"Then why do you do it so much?" Pearce asked.
He received the reaction he'd hoped for: Mark finally looked at him with a shocked expression.
"You did not just say that," Mark said.
Pearce grinned as he looked away. "Okay, that might have been a bit much. But it got you to look at me."
"Just a bit much?"
"A bit more than a bit," Pearce amended. "But, seriously, I want you to understand where I'm at with this case."
Mark sat back in the seat and nodded. "Okay, I'm listening."
"These men
are all dead because of me," Pearce said.
"We've been through this," Mark said. "They're dead because of Morgan."
"Who killed them to get my attention or hurt me," Pearce corrected, then held up a hand when Mark opened his mouth to speak again. "Let me just get this out, okay?"
"Okay, go ahead."
"This case is hard enough with that weighing on me, but I sure as hell didn't want you here with me where Morgan might see us together and figure out that one final act he could do to break me. Because if I were to lose you, especially if I were to lose you because of my past or a mistake I've made like not catching Morgan in the first place, I would not be able to live with myself."
He forced himself to look at Mark, hating the thick, burning sensation in the back of his throat and the tears that threatened.
"I can't lose you, okay? I can't be responsible for any harm coming to you. And it's confusing me and scaring the fuck out of me to have you here. I like knowing that you're here, feeling you with me when I go to sleep and when I wake up. I love having sex with you and spending time with you. But every minute I'm away from you, I'm afraid Morgan's going to sneak into the hotel and get into our room and kill you. I couldn't handle that. It would break me. It would be the end of me."
Pearce looked away and forced the tears to stay at bay.
"I'm sorry," Mark said, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "I knew you'd be angry when I showed up, but I didn't think it would have this kind of effect on you. If you want me to go back home, I'll do it. No arguments."
Pearce shook his head, still not trusting himself to look at Mark. "No. I want you here. But it's like I'm arguing with myself over it. Part of me wants you here, the more vocal part. But another part wants you back in DC, away from Morgan, this city, and even me."
"Why even you?" Mark asked.
"Because until Morgan is either caught or dead, I'm a target," Pearce replied. "And that makes you a target, too. Probably an even bigger one."
"I can handle myself," Mark said.
"I want to believe that," Pearce said. "But I know you're struggling, too."
Mark nodded and stared at the steering wheel. "I am sometimes, I admit it. But it's better than ever. I've come up with a workout routine and… Well, I brought something to make me feel safer."
Pearce frowned. "You brought something?"
Mark glanced at him. "Yeah. But we can talk about that back at the room."
Pearce wanted to know what Mark was talking about, but he was tired now after talking so much. All he really wanted to do was go back to the hotel room and review his notes. And maybe get Mark naked.
"All right, but I'm going to ask about it again," Pearce said.
"Yeah, I know."
"So, are we okay?" Pearce asked.
Mark smiled at him. "Yeah, we're okay."
"Good, because I don't like fighting with you."
"But you do it so well." Mark started the engine. "And so often."
"Yeah, yeah." Pearce slouched in the seat and closed his eyes. "Home, James."
26
Mark opened the door to the hotel room and stepped inside. Pearce slipped off his shoes in the entry and kicked them into the closet, then started to get undressed. Mark stole glances at him from across the room and, when he saw Pearce remove his gun and holster, decided it would be better to tell him right away about the gun in his luggage.
"So, that thing I was going to tell you about?" Mark said. "That I brought from home?"
Pearce gave him an assessing look. "Yeah?"
"When I was packing to leave for Detroit, I was feeling a little anxious about the trip," Mark said, then regretted it as Pearce raised his eyebrows. "Just anxious, not fearful. Okay? It wasn't like a PTSD episode or anything."
"Go on," Pearce said as he peeled off his white undershirt, exposing the long, hair-covered length of his torso.
Mark pulled his gaze from Pearce's body and moved past him to the closet in the entry. He pulled his suitcase out from where it sat beneath the clothes dangling from hangers and laid it on the floor. Sorting through the underwear, socks, and other items he'd left inside, Mark found the gun he'd packed and stood up.
"What…?" Pearce looked completely thrown by the revelation, Mark could tell by his expression.
A moment later, Pearce's expression went stony, and he held out his hand. Mark handed the gun over, and watched as Pearce checked to make sure it wasn't loaded.
"I'm not careless," Mark said, trying to keep the edge from his voice but not sure he had managed it very well. "I wasn't going to carry a loaded gun around with me."
"Then why bring it at all?" Pearce asked. He held the gun at his side in one hand and extended the other palm up. "Cartridges, please."
Mark rummaged through his bag for the three cartridges and handed them over. He watched as Pearce crouched down to open the room safe. He placed the gun and cartridges Mark had brought, along inside with his own Bureau-issued weapon, and locked it. Pearce stood up and crossed his arms as he gave Mark a long, steady look.
"What?" Mark asked, feeling more than a little defensive.
"I'm feeling a mixture of things," Pearce said. "Surprised, angry, concerned, and, despite my better judgment, impressed."
Mark blinked in surprise. "Impressed?"
"Yeah." Pearce stepped out of his pants, now wearing just his white briefs and dark socks and looking sexier than Mark thought any man had a right to. "I taught you how to handle a gun, how to shoot, and when to understand a situation required you to use a gun. I think I made an impression on you."
"Well, yeah, of course."
"Good." He stepped up, kissed Mark softly, then smiled. "But for safety's sake, let's keep it locked in the safe, okay?"
"Okay."
Another kiss, and then Pearce turned for the bathroom. "I need a shower."
"Hey, do you have any of the case files here in the room?" Mark asked.
Pearce stopped in the doorway. "Why?"
"Just thought I'd look them over," Mark replied.
"While that's a kind offer, it's also not really legal," Pearce said. "And, besides, I don't have them with me." He turned away but said over his shoulder, "I did snap some pictures of the case board with my phone to have with me, though. So if someone knew the code to access my phone, they could see them."
He shut the door, and Mark immediately grabbed Pearce's phone. Flopping onto the bed, he tapped in the access code he knew well because it was the same one he used for his own phone: 2469. Basically it meant "it takes two for a sixty-nine position," and it had been Mark's idea. Even though it was more of a horny teenager's way of thinking, he did love being in that position with Aaron.
Mark scrolled through the photos, spreading his fingers to zoom in and look more closely at details. He came across a few of the dick pics he had sent when Pearce had first left, and smiled to himself before returning to the case images. Pearce also had shots of the pictures of the four victims, and Mark spent some time looking at their faces. They had all been so young. He could understand why Pearce was taking the case so personally. He wished there was something he could do to help them find a common link. Surely there had to be something they all had in common.
He grabbed a notepad and pen from the desk across the room, then stretched out on his stomach across the width of the bed. Moving back and forth between the pictures of the victims and those of the individual case details, Mark noted each victim's date of birth, date he went missing, and date his body was found.
"Solve the case?" Pearce asked. He wore a towel around his waist and used another to scrub at his wet hair.
"Not yet," Mark replied. "Just making notes of dates."
"Well, when you figure it out, let me know."
Pearce draped the damp towel over his head, and Mark shouted a protest as he flung it off.
"Big jerk," Mark grumbled good-naturedly.
"I bet you say that to all of your agent boyfriends," Pearce said.
"No, just you."
"You going to shower?" Pearce asked.
Mark looked up and saw him clutching the outline of his erection through the towel. "I'm guessing that was more of a request than a question?"
"You guessed right." Pearce grabbed the phone away from Mark and slapped his ass.
"Well, when you put it that way," Mark said. He reached out to grab Pearce's cock through the towel, but he stepped out of reach. Mark gave him a dirty look. "Tease."
"Come on, more showering, less talking."
As Mark showered, the faces of the men Morgan had strangled flashed through his mind like a kind of horrific slide show. He saw Stuart Behnke, some curls of dark hair laying boyishly over his forehead and his smile so big it created wrinkles in the outer corners of his dark eyes. Thomas Dougherty followed, dark hair cut short, his irises such a dark shade of brown his pupils were barely visible. Ethan Cohen was next, his dark hair worn long on one side and short enough on the other to show off the several gold hoops that lined the outer edge of his ear. A pair of thin-lensed, dark-framed glasses reflected the flash, but Mark could still see the light brown color of his eyes. Finally, Erik Hamill appeared, dark red hair a bit on the shaggy side, and his brown eyes flashing with humor as he smiled broadly.
Mark dried off and stepped out of the room to find Pearce waiting on the bed on all fours, his ass pointed in Mark's direction.
"Oh, fuck," Mark said, his cock springing to life. "That's fucking hot."
"Have at it," Pearce said and lowered his head to the mattress so his ass was in the air.
Mark knelt on the bed behind Pearce and spread his cheeks apart. He took a moment to look at the pink and wrinkled hole before running his tongue over it. Mark licked slowly up and down Pearce's crack and, when his anus glistened with saliva, slid a finger inside. He reached his other hand between Pearce's legs to fondle his balls and stroke his hard length.
Pearce moaned and pushed back against Mark's finger.
"You're pretty eager," Mark said. "Do you need a repeat of last night?"
"Oh, yeah," Pearce replied. "Get your cock up my ass."
"Only if we can trade off," Mark said.
Pearce moved forward to pull himself off Mark's finger, and turned to kiss him hard. "You've got a fucking deal."
