by Adira August
Twee fiddled with her cameras. Hunt and Merisi took a few steps up the accessway. They switched on their flashlights.
“What the hell?”
Twee started at Hunter’s cry. He and Merisi played their lights over the way ahead. A way now a shambles of freshly overturned deadfall.
Twee grabbed Merisi’s flash and examined the chaotic tumble of rotting leaves, old gravel and broken twigs.
She turned a stricken face to Hunter Dane.
“How did they know?”
“YOU DONE FOR THE DAY?” Natani asked Avia, buttoning her coat.
“I am. The Lieutenant just called. They’re on the way in.” She shut down the computers and straightened her table. “I’ll be done on a second here, if you want to wait.”
“That’s okay, you can lock up.”
“I don’t have keys.”
“Keys!” Natani about-faced. She was back in less than a minute. “Front door knob, front door deadbolt,” she said, handing Avia two keys on a plain round ring. “Never leave the place empty, even for a few moments, unless both locks are engaged. Including when I’m in my office with the door closed.”
“Okay. Also, Cam said there was equipment to record the fish autopsy?”
“Over here.” Natani opened the doors of a tall grey metal cabinet. “Used to be where Twee kept her equipment, but that’s all across the hall, now.”
“Nice cameras. I’m impressed,” Avia said, examining the contents.
“Are you?” Natani was at the door. “I don’t know much about it; Cam donated it. Listen, you had a hell of a first day and you did a great job.”
“Thanks. See you in the morning?”
Natani waved and left.
Avia picked up a tripod.
No better relation than a
prudent and faithful friend.
Poor Richard's Almanac
CAMDEN SNOW’S PESTO was Italian parsley, olive oil and walnuts. He liked a Romano/Asiago blend better than Parmigiano. Upending the blender, he added the fragrant mixture to the gently bubbling sauce. He’d already added the wine and dried spices. It was Hunter’s favorite of the things he made.
Hunter had come in and headed straight into his room with just a wave. That meant a bad day. And that meant Hunter would be under the shower for a long time. And need comfort food. And comfort.
Cam didn’t let himself think about how much he would enjoy comforting Hunter Dane. He needed to focus on not burning the bread, which focus was harder to maintain with an erection.
He set the sauce to barely simmer and tore open a loaf of ciabatta. He never cut ciabatta. He brushed the uneven faces of the loaf with olive oil he’d infused with fresh rosemary and sprinkled coarse Himalayan salt on them. Cam couldn’t taste any difference between it and plain table salt, but he thought the pink color added interesting visual texture to the meal.
The pipes went quiet, meaning the shower was off. Cam dropped the pasta. He took fennel sausage from the oven, arranging the fat lengths around the edges of the pan. Covering it, he turned it off the gas, so it would have a few minutes to rest and meld.
A thin whine of wind in the eaves. They would get snow tonight from a fast-moving storm. An inch. Maybe. Denver Metro would get a dusting. Hunter was working an outside case; he’d want to know the weather. He’d want to know how Cam’s day was and not talk about his own, even if he were allowed now that Cam was no longer part of the Unit.
Hunter kept work at work. He kept his emotional reactions someplace inside himself until it was over. Then, he’d need something more than comfort from Cam.
He had the broiler on low and slid the ciabatta under the heat when the bedroom door opened. Hunter stopped halfway across the great room and took a long deep breath. Cam saw his shoulders relax slightly, his fingers uncurl.
Coming up behind Cam, Hunter circled his waist and rested his chin on Cam’s wide shoulder. “I can’t think of anything in the universe that beats coming home to you and this.”
Cam turned pink. “Hunger’s the best spice.”
Hunter slid his lips into the hollow behind Cam’s clavicle. “God knows it’s true,” he said against Cam’s warm skin, sucking slightly.
“Unless you want charcoal for bread and pasta goo, go pour the wine,” Cam told him, putting a hint of severity into his voice even as he pressed back into Hunter’s body.
“Yes, Sir.” He teased Cam’s earlobe with his teeth as he let go.
DAN GORDI GLANCED nervously at the blond woman working two tables away. He’d noticed the tripods and cameras at the empty table when he came in with the cider press remains. But he was a half hour into the male’s autopsy before the woman showed up. She breezed in with an armful of lighting equipment, cords trailing.
“Hi. Sorry I can’t shake hands, I’m Avia Rivers. I’m working with Hunter Dane, now.” She made a beeline to the far table and set everything on the floor next to it. “You’re Dan Gordi, right?”
He swallowed and nodded being certain if he spoke, “Yes, I am” would somehow come out “Phhizzderuph.”
This was a beautiful woman.
Not an overly made-up, dressed-to-kill sex kitten of a woman. A woman with clean skin and sparkling green-blue eyes and full lips and hips that swayed the long skirt she wore. Her v-neck sweater was slightly askew where the lights had been pressed to her chest. He wasn’t supposed to be staring at her full, round breasts or the cleavage that sadly disappeared when she tweaked the sweater back into place.
Dan Gordi, Intel International Science and Engineering Fair “best of category” winner in high school, Counter-Strike: Global Offensive champion two years running, was very grateful he was frozen behind an autopsy table with a bone saw in his hand. All of him was not frozen.
“I know Heather, of course,” the golden goddess was speaking of Doctor Zee. “I’m supposed to film the fish autopsy in the morning and I’ve never done anything like that.”
She chatted away while she attached small spotlights to the camera tripods. “I thought I’d come by and do a run-through on an empty table. I hope you don’t mind?” She flashed him a dimpled smile with the inquiry.
Something clicked. “You’re the new Cam.”
She laughed. “I guess so. But I doubt I’ll ever be as good as he obviously was.”
Something bigger clicked into place. He put down the bone saw. “I did two of the autopsies from the incident at Benedict Hart’s property last year. I was at the scene. You were already gone, of course.”
Now she froze. Dan Gordi saw something bleak flash across her face. She nodded. And went back to work on her lights. “Is that Jimmy or Frannie?”
Dan Gordi would have said nothing about the remains on his table if he didn’t feel a little uncomfortable bringing up the shooting Avia Rivers had been involved in. He’d caused her pain and wanted very much to get back to the part where she smiled at him.
“It’s uh,”—he checked his open laptop screen— “actually John Doe seventeen-dash-thirty-seven for the year and number of unidentified remains. No official or absolute identification of the body has been made.”
She picked up a white package with both hands and laid it on the table. She opened it under the lights.
“That’s a fish!”
“Yeah, I was lucky. The big King Soopers had whole trout in the case.” She looked around, and checked in the drawers of the table. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother, but could I borrow a scalpel?” She smiled, not quite as brightly as the first time.
He told her what drawer to look in. As she passed closer to his table, she didn’t glance his way at all. The woman seemed focused on her task and not at all interested in what was on his table.
“Thanks,” she said on the way back with the paper-sealed scalpel in her hand.
She opened the belly of the fish and spread it to expose the intestines. He noted she did this without cutting herself. He wondered if she fished.
They worked together in silence for a w
hile. He relaxed, no longer concerned that she would pry into the manner of the victim’s death. After a while, cleaning the cut marks absorbed him so completely he forgot she was there. He used a special microscope camera to photograph the marks and took casts with a pliable molding material that would harden slowly inside an evidence bag.
Finished with the boy, Dan Gordi returned him to his drawer. He stretched and yawned. He needed water and something to eat, before he started on the girl. First, he needed to pee.
Avia was taking stills of the fish. She looked over at him. “Cam said the problem with video is light reflecting off the shiny surfaces. He gave me a special filter for this camera.”
Dan Gordi nodded. “He’s doing well, then?”
“Yeah, I think so. As well as he can what with everything.” She looked into the viewfinder and leaned over the fish. “He does have a tremor in his hand now, but so far that’s it.”
“He’s awfully young,” Dan said stripping off his gloves.
Avia seemed more concerned with the camera angle than the conversation. “I guess. I read it comes on faster when it’s inherited, though. Maybe that’s it.”
“Inherited? I’m surprised he didn’t have more repeats.” Dan Gordi walked over to her table and stood near, polishing his glasses on his lab coat. “Why is Zee doing an autopsy on a fish?”
Avia shook her head. “This is my first day and I already got yelled at over the secrecy thing. I’m sure Heather would tell you.”
She stepped back from the table and ended up right next to him. “I think I’ve got it.” Dan was tallish and she looked up into his spectacle-free face. “Is it okay if I leave the lights and stuff set up? Would it be in your way?”
He looked down into her cleavage. “Yes. I mean no. Not in the way. Just go ahead. Um. Excuse me.”
Dan hurried out to the hall and the men’s bathroom. Avia hurried over to the laptop he’d forgotten to close and brought up a new screen for Camden Caulfield Snow. She did not forget her camera.
HUNT AND CAM ATE BEFORE THE great triangle of glass window wall looking out on the back of the property and woods beyond. Cam put six fat scentless candles in glass jars on the table and turned off the inside lights. Then he switched on the floodlights in the backyard.
Sometimes when they ate like this, a racoon would waddle onto the deck and sniff around under the adirondack chairs for crumbs they’d left. Cam once flipped the lights on revealing a screech owl perched on one of the yard poles gulping down a mouse.
They settled at the table and Hunt barely paused to ask how Cam’s day went, before setting to work inhaling the very excellent dinner.
“I had a really good day,” Cam said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. When I went in and saw the plaque with my name on it, I was completely intimidated.”
Hunter looked surprised but didn’t answer as he had a mouth full of sauce and pasta.
“It just hit me that I’m totally unqualified,” Cam went on. “We—I—took this dead woman’s lifework and I don’t know how to do anything. If my mother wasn’t an attorney, I wouldn’t know how to file for non-profit status.”
“And now?” Hunter sat back for a moment to sip some wine.
“Avia Rivers.” He laughed a little. “Never expected… Well, she was there and said a couple things and I realized mine might be the only name on the door, but I’m not alone.”
He ripped off a small bite of ciabatta. “I took some advice she gave me and contracted with a fund-raiser. He’s a grant writer who’ll work on commission and already had three places that he knew off the top of his head that would be interested.”
“That’s great!” Hunter said, twirling more pasta onto his fork. “What about whoever was funding Tussey’s research before?”
“No way I’m trusting anyone who was involved with her. Would you?”
Hunter shook his head. “I see your point. Might all be CIA fronts or foreign spies.”
Cam pushed his plate away. Hunter copied him, even though he could easily have had another helping. Cam had had a good day and made Hunter’s favorite dinner. Hunter’s not so good day had been transformed by the sight of candlelight burnishing Cam’s wild blond locks to pale gold. The flames cast enticing shadows over forearms and facial planes.
He’d felt Cam’s gaze slide over him like warm silk several times during the meal. Now, Hunt wanted to get cleanup out of the way to see what Cam had planned for dessert.
He gathered their plates and Cam helped him carry the serving dishes to the granite counter that separated the great room from the kitchen. “Take your time,” Cam told him. “I have some things to do upstairs. You have things to do down here.”
Cam trotted up the wide open staircase to the big loft bedroom. Hunter got to work with a will.
It took little time to put the kitchen to rights as Cam was a cook who cleaned up after himself as he went. With the last of the leftovers stowed away in the fridge and the dishwasher humming, Hunt crossed to his bedroom.
Cam had given Hunt the guestroom for his own with the understanding he was not allowed to sleep in it. Hunt was required to sleep with Cam. It was one of the great pleasures that had come with finally establishing an intimate adult relationship.
He had little to do since he’d already showered. Teeth brushed, mouth rinsed, he filled one of the four ounce bulb syringes Cam kept the bathrooms supplied with. The first time Cam had used one on Hunter, he’d been restrained and resistant. But now, just easing the narrow end into his ass aroused him. It was as if performing the anal douching Cam insisted on was itself an act of submission and surrender, even though he was alone.
Anything… anything … anything for you.
The thought mantra started in his mind whenever he anticipated yielding to Cam. Anything for the one who took all decision and responsibility on himself, banishing uncertainty and solitude. Who never invited, but always took. Who never asked, but always impelled. Anything for the man to whom he surrendered in trust, who freed Hunter from himself.
AVIA RIVERS LAY UP in her fiance’s huge bed against a pillow rampart searching on her cell. Benedict Hart came in from the bathroom in flannel bottoms and a white t-shirt. He kicked off his shoes and slipped under the down comforter beside her.
“You got in late. Good day?” He ran one hand up the inside of her leg. Her lips curved up and her knees dropped open.
“It was extraordinary,” she said, putting the phone aside. “The only thing better than that is going to be this.”
She rolled over on top of him, and his arms went automatically around her.
“Is this a ‘my turn’?” Ben was not just a billionaire purveyor of erotic ebooks and sex toys, he was Avia’s lover and Dom. But she had the option of occasionally deciding how their sex would go. He’d never regretted giving her that option.
She shook her head. “I want to ask you something first, so I’m up here. I figure you can roll me over at will.”
“You figure correctly,” he told her. “What’s the question?”
“How do you use money to make people do what you want?”
Six months ago, Ben had given Avia ten million dollars. At her demand. As far as he knew, she’d never spent any appreciable amount of it.
“It depends on who you want to do what. Can you tell me more?”
She sat up, still straddling him. “Let’s say there’s a non-profit foundation that gives away cars to poor people. But they only have one hundred cars. You want them to give your friend a car. For some reason, you can’t do it yourself. How do you get them to pick your friend?”
He studied her serious face for a moment in the lamplight. His instinct was to protect her, to simply tell her to give him the details and he’d arrange whatever she wanted. But their deal was that being her Dom ended at the bedroom door, though Avia was usually happy for him to take the lead in their lives.
In this case, he was sure she wanted to do this herself.
/> “You make an appointment with the CEO,” he told her. “Take them to lunch somewhere exclusive. At an appropriate moment, put a large check on the table. Depending on the size of the outfit, fifty to one hundred should do it. Unless it’s something as large as UNICEF, then you’ll need a million.
“You place an envelope with your friend’s information inside on top of the check and say, ‘I hope you’ll give my friend consideration for a car’. The CEO will say, ‘Of course, but I can’t promise anything’ and pocket the check and envelope. Then you change the subject, finish the lunch and tell them you hope they’ll keep you informed of how their program is doing.”
“That’s a pretty convoluted way to bribe somebody,” she said. “It would take a whole day, at least.”
A whole day surprised him. That meant she’d have to leave town. Most non-profits were in D.C. or New York.
“It’s not a bribe. That would be crass. You are supporting a good cause and as a major donor, they can at least consider your candidate if they are qualified. It’s just that in this case, unless your candidate is completely unqualified, they’ll be getting their car.”
Avia looked flummoxed. He eased her back down on his chest and kissed her. “How about if Delores makes the appointment? I have to fly to the coast anyway, day after tomorrow. You can do your thing while I do mine.”
“I guess. But Delores is your assistant. I need one of my own, I think.”
He shifted her hips slightly off his erection and then ran his hands over her fantastic heart-shaped ass. “You have ten million bucks, hire one.”
She sighed and wriggled. “I was putting it off until after the wedding so you’d pay for her. Or him.” She rested her chin on hands she’d crossed on his chest. “And I’m going in the opposite direction. I’d have to go to New Haven.”
“Which is on the coast. Or a few miles from it.”
“Oh. I thought you meant Los Angeles.”
“New York is also on a coast. You can chopper across the Sound while I fight with money men.” Once he knew where she was going, he’d have Hugo make sure whatever the “car” was got to whomever she desired. Then she could have a nice lunch and donate additional money and practice the subtle art of influence.
