by Adira August
“Maybe they’d like to catch this one?” Hunter suggested.
Both dogs and handlers smiled.
Hunt, Merisi and Peat had to stay outside when the dogs went in. Hunt suggested they start at the top like he had. He explained about the lights upstairs and the cellar door being locked as it hadn’t been searched, yet.
“I have to hold the keys. When you get to it, I’ll unlock it for you.”
The two cops exchanged a look. Hunter didn’t take offense. “It’s about the warrant. I’ll unlock and stand back out of the way.” They still looked reluctant. “In the doorway of the utility porch.”
They had an accord.
Peat lit a cigarette. Merisi ran to his car for his coat; the temperature dropped fast once the sun went down. Hunter prepared to wait.
But Hansen barely had the door open when Tuff plunged, hitting the end of his lead, yowling. The dog bulled his way past Ace, dragging Torvald who lost his grip on the lead.
Hunt raced for the porch, but there was no hurry. Tuff was tearing at at the cellar door, with Ace right next to him shouldered to the side, barking and pawing at the edge of the pantry.
Torvald, red-faced, got hold of Tuff and forced him down. “Get Ace out of here, they’re triggering each other.”
Hansen led his dog away, the animal looking back over his shoulder as if he couldn’t believe he’d be missing the capture.
On the floor next to Tuff, Torvald was literally holding down the dog who continued to try and get at the cellar door. “This isn’t what he does when he finds a suspect. I’ve never seen this before.”
“What do you want to do, Officer?” Hunter thought the K9 officer was far better qualified than he, in this case.
“I think you got a body down there,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t also a suspect.”
Hunter nodded. He was aware Merisi and Peat were behind him.
Torvald chin-pointed at the cellar door.
“Unlock it.”
Hunter went to the door and the dog doubled his effort to get free. “I’m going down behind you,” Hunt told him, when the chain was off and the key inserted. “That’s the deal.”
Torvald nodded. “Give me some light.”
Hunt swung the door in and Torvald let Tuff drag him into the darkness below. Hunt pounded down the stairs, his Colt in one hand, his flash in the other, held to illuminate what he could in front of Torvald.
Merisi was right behind him.
“Right!” Hunt yelled on the last step and veered that way, while Merisi went left. Their lights strobed the rough stone walls. Black shadows raced each other across the floor to holes where the packed dirt met the walls.
Peat was on the stairwell, his piece moving in an arc to cover the whole cellar.
“Cover the K9 cop,” Hunter told him.
Peat moved to Torvald while Hunt and Merisi quickly searched the twenty-foot-square space. Under the stairs, behind the furnace, along the walls. They met at a large set of shelves. Merisi spotted the overhead light cord, but there was no bulb.
Tuff whined on top of an old freezer chest, clawing at the edges in a futile attempt to lift the lid he stood on. An extension cord led from the back of the freezer. Tacked to the wall, it ran up and along an overhead joist to the light fixture.
But the coils of the freezer lay behind it; its useful life long past.
“Dane?” It was Torvald.
Hunter holstered his weapon. “Thank you officer”—he looked at Tuff — “and you, too, Officer Tuff. Can you two go back to perimeter? I know you’re off, but a lot of people are going to show up here, soon, and that’ll bring back the press.”
“Our relief is on the way; we’ll stay until they come.” He looked at the freezer. “Someone alive could be hiding in there. I don’t think it’s airtight, anymore.”
Hunter could smell it also. Decomp.
“I appreciate it, Officer. But this part’s my job.”
Peat stepped toward him. “We’ll do it.”
“Merisi, please accompany the K9 team out and cover the back door. I’ll do the notifications by phone in a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
After they left, Peat eyed Hunter coldly.
“What do you know that I don’t?”
“You should go,” Hunter said. “It only takes one person to lift a lid.”
“You don’t think it’s twenty year-old hamburger meat. And you don’t think the killer’s in there. And you already recovered the bodies. What was left of them.”
“Sergeant, I appreciate how invested you are. Please don’t make me order you out. I’d ask you to stay if I could.”
Peat scowled and looked at the freezer thoughtfully. Then his face cleared. “He butchered them?”
Hunter kept his face expressionless.
“Motherfucker.” Peat climbed the stairs using the handrail for support.
Hunter did what he did next quickly, with no thought. He set the lighted flash on one of the shelves aimed at the freezer. He held his Colt ready to fire in his right hand, though convinced he wouldn’t need it. He took a deep breath and held it.
He opened the lid.
IT WAS ALMOST NINE when Hunter came out of the shower in the new townhouse which was actually the entire tenth floor of a building of luxury condos Cam had invested in. He hadn’t had the opportunity to see the place because Cam met him at the door and ushered him immediately into their bedroom, pointing him to the bathroom.
Cam had left a heavy plastic trash bag on top of the bed. He stripped and put the clothes he’d been wearing inside. He knew what they smelled like. Tying the top tightly, he set the bag outside the door.
His comfy sweats were laid out on the bed, too, along with his thick white socks. His lambskin mocs waited on the carpet. Cam had been to his apartment.
Hunter was grateful. He wanted to stand under scalding water until the dust of decades and stench of death wasn’t even a memory. He wanted to be clean and dry and warm and in contact with Cam’s body.
That last part would have to wait until after dinner. Though he couldn’t imagine wanting to eat again. Ever.
But finally being clean restored an appetite that fled before what was in the cellar. Hunter longed for comfort food. But the first night in a new place was not conducive to cooking. He’d be grateful for a bucket of take out chicken.
When he emerged from the bedroom dressed and dry, he followed the hallway to a faint flickering light. The hall opened onto a long, darkened open space. The flickering light came from a gas fireplace. Two small lamps glowed from the mantle. And oasis of warmth and comfort.
In front of the fire was a disturbingly western style coffee table. But on it, Cam finished laying out his dinner.
“Oh my God, is that chicken pot pie?”
“I raided the A-frame freezer. There’s also an apple pie cooling.”
Cam sat down on a high-backed sofa with half-upholstered polished pine arms. And a ruffled skirt. At least it was strewn with big pillows, none of which matched the sofa fabric which was-
“Plaid?” Hunter asked, sinking gratefully onto it and folding himself into a half lotus, reaching for a plate. “No dining table?”
“Plaid was what all that was available in this length. And there is a table. I just thought eating here would be better tonight.”
“It’s perfect.” Hunter leaned his head back, savoring as he chewed. “If I wasn’t marrying you I’d propose to your grandmother.”
Cam’s Gran had been keeping him supplied with casseroles, pies and pastries since he left home at eighteen.
“She’s already married,” Cam told him, watching him eat. “But she is crazy about you; she might leave him.”
Hunter shook his head. “Too late. I’m promised to someone else.”
They didn’t ask each other about their days. Cam rearranged some pillows and pulled Huner around to lay between his legs, back to chest, with his dish still in his hands.
; When Hunter finished eating, he started to get up. Cam tightened his arms. “Not tonight. I’m doing everything.” He took Hunt’s empty plate and set it on the coffee table. “You want pie?”
Hunt relaxed back into Cam’s strong, solid body. “Maybe later. Or for breakfast. I don’t suppose you brought liquor?”
Cam leaned down and kissed Hunter where his neck disappeared under the neck of his sweatshirt.
Extricating himself, he took the dishes to the kitchen. A minute later he brought back a glass of ice water and three fingers of Midleton in a thick-bottomed whiskey glass.
He slipped in behind Hunter again, ignoring the erection that inevitably rose. He reached and felt. Hunter was ignoring, also.
“This is not your everyday Irish Whiskey,” Hunt said, swirling the $300 a bottle liquor around in his glass.
“It’s housewarming booze.”
Hunt raised the glass. “They should rename it ‘Amber Orgasm’.”
He felt Cam’s chuckle more than heard it.
“So about what we like. You don’t like plaid?” Cam asked.
“It’s red and green. Looks like Christmas in the bunkhouse.” Hunter took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Avia has this skirt? It’s dark blue and darker blue has these really thin yellow lines that make big squares. Simple. I think that’s some kind of plaid.”
“Windowpane, maybe,” Cam murmured into Hunt’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of soap and warm skin.
“That would be okay if you wanted plaid.” Hunter let himself drift along with the feel of Cam’s mouth and the comfort of his strong thighs under Hunter’s arms. “You want to get some lights on? Show me the place?”
A shrug. A pause. Then… “Something happened today.”
Hunter caught the change in Cam’s voice. Whatever something was, it had weight for him. “At work?”
“No. Well, yeah but that was… I should just never go to the morgue.”
“You won’t have to, anymore.” Hunter took another sip and set his glass down. “But you were talking about something else.”
“Around seven I got a call from my neurologist.”
Hunt felt his adrenaline spike. His heart pounded.
“Guy works late,” was all he said. He sat up and faced Cam who looked … emotional. Hunter couldn’t read him, but whatever this was, it was big. “Tell me.”
“Campion got me into a clinical trial.” Cam’s voice caught on the last word. He coughed. “All the trials were full. Even in London. But this one—I guess they got some new funding or … anyway. I’m in. Just like that. They want to see me Wednesday.”
And then he smiled—like sunlight breaking through overcast illuminating the last drops of rain. Hunter wrapped him up and held him tightly. He knew it was just a trial. He knew nothing was guaranteed.
But he also knew—because he’d checked them out without mentioning it to Cam—that initial results in similar trials had shown very positive results.
He pushed Cam away and looked into his eyes. “Which one?”
The smile became a grin. “Yale.”
Then they were both grinning.
“Hunt?”
“Yeah?” He brushed back some strands of pale blond hair. Cam hesitated. Hunt sat back a little. “What?”
“Will you still marry me if I’m not gonna get sick?”
“Jesus, you are such a dumbass, sometimes!” Hunter kissed him.
THEY MADE LOVE in front of the fire on a comforter Cam had stashed conveniently under the coffee table. Hunter rolled Cam onto his back and covered him with his body, kissing him, moving down, sliding his stubbled cheeks over well-developed pecs and the gentle hills of abs to the silky skin of his abdomen.
Cam had his hands in Hunter’s thick brown hair but relaxed so fully he let them drop, yielding his cock to Hunter’s mouth and tongue. Hunt slid a hand underneath and, knowing how sensitive his lover was, only pressed one finger gently against Cam’s throbbing anus as he came.
Cam did so almost without effort, as if Hunt’s finger simply turned on the flow of cum. Hunter swallowed and held Cam still inside his mouth, until Cam pulled away.
Cam returned the favor, turning Hunter face down, massaging him into a boneless mass of yearning. Then Cam fucked him slowly and steadily, one hand on Hunt’s cock, the other arm around his chest, keeping them pressed firmly together.
“Cam,” Hunter breathed and spilled himself out under the comforting weight of Cam’s body, feeling him bite down and come again.
It was perfect.
THE LIGHTS DID come on and Cam gave Hunter a short tour around their new place. “Around” being a literal description as the townhouse circled the elevator core. Every exterior wall incorporated glass doors that opened onto a continuous balcony.
Hunter ended up perched on the end of the kitchen counter watching Cam clean up. Cam insisted.
“Parts of the balcony are screened,” Cam said. “You’ll see in the morning if you have time before you go in.”
“I’ll have plenty of time. I told everyone to come in at noon.”
Dan Gordi and his team had taken over recovery of the remains Hunt had found in the freezer.
Twee took samples before they arrived. She sprayed Luminol everywhere.
It was an abattoir. There was no flat surface or random item that didn’t glow with drips or smears or spatter.
She photographed it. As soon as Gordi showed up, Hunter drove Twee away. Gordi would secure the scene. Hunter kept the extra set of keys.
They didn’t speak during the ride to 440 Dunton Court. He helped her carry all the evidence boxes inside. She logged them into the certified evidence locker attached to her lab.
Twee left by the stairs. Hunter watched her cross the parking lot to her car until she’d driven safely away. He sent a text to the team thanking them and telling them to sleep in. Report at noon. Team meeting at thirteen hundred.
Cam didn’t ask why Hunter pushed the meeting. He’d come home in clothing so foul, Cam had taken the bag outside and left it on the balcony. However his clothing got that way would be the last thing Hunter wanted to think about, much less talk about.
Hunter threw back the last of the Midleton and handed Cam the glass. He washed and dried the crystal tumbler by hand and set it in a cabinet.
“So you couldn’t rent barstools?” Hunter asked, lowering himself to the floor.
“The one thing I ordered without consulting you. They’ll be here tomorrow. They match the countertop perfectly.”
They switched off lights and headed for their bedroom.
“They come tomorrow? Don’t you have to be on a plane to New Haven tomorrow?”
Cam looked surprised. “Oh! No, sorry. Campion will do it here. Yale is flying him and some other docs out there for training on the protocols. We start when he gets back. He just wants updated tests before he goes.”
“This gets better and better. You have a new job, new fiance, new house and new chance for an HD-free life.”
“We have a new house,” Cam corrected. “I tossed a set of clean sheets in the closet on a box, could you get them for me?” He pulled the comforter off a bare mattress.
“You know what I mean, Cam. It’s not like I own it.” Hunt stepped into the dark walk-in closet. “Is there a light in here?”
“There’s a pull for the light over the top shelf,” Cam called. “And you do own it. Half of it, anyway.”
Hunt appeared in the closet doorway and stared at him.
“I know,” said Cam. “It seems like a stupid place for a light. The previous owner changed the setup and-”
“What do you mean I own half of it?”
Cam went to him. “I thought it would be like a wedding present. But Sherrilynne found this so fast and I had to move on it and”—he took a breath—”I just bought it in both our names.”
Hunter Dane knew there were times when he needed to not react in the moment. Times when things were far too easy to overreact to. Times when he nee
ded to wait for anger to subside so he could think.
“Hunter.” It was a plea.
“Camden.” It was a barricade.
Hunt closed his eyes. It had been a very very long day and he knew he should get some sleep. He blew out a breath and glanced at the closet.
“I can’t find the light pull.”
Cam was happy to let it go if Hunter was. He opened the door wide and slid a plastic crate of shoes over to hold it open. Inside, in the light from the bedroom, he reached up to take a large box off the shelf. “I must have shoved it behind here.”
Hunter reached up, taking the box from Cam to set on the floor. It had been blocking a square recessed light in the ceiling with brass chain. At the end was a wooden pull weight carved in the shape of a bowler hat.
Cam tugged the pull and the light came on. As if in a dream, Hunter lifted the box to slide it back onto the shelf. Cam put up a hand to stop him.
“It’s blocking the-”
“Leave it.”
Cam pulled back.
Hunter slid the box back into position. He looked up. If you didn’t know it was there, if the light wasn’t on, you’d never guess there was a fixture in the ceiling.
“I need my clothes.”
He that best understands the world,
least likes it.
Poor Richard's Almanac
“YOU POURED THE three fingers,” Hunter bitched looking out the passenger window of his Bronco.
“And you drank them,” Cam said. “In an hour-and-a-half. I looked online. Your blood alcohol is .044.”
“Impaired is .05. I can drive my own damn car.”
“You carry a gun.”
“Try to take it away.” Hunt glared at him, but Cam was infuriatingly calm.
“Try to think like a grown-up. You were already impaired, Hunter. You’re exhausted—emotionally, psychologically and physically.”
“Try to stop running my whole fucking life.”
Cam glanced at Hunt’s cold countenance in the rearview mirror. “It’s reversible. You can sign a quit claim and it’ll all be in my name.”
Maybe it would be okay to relax … To sink gratefully into everything Cam wanted and offered …
