Splintered

by SJD Peterson

  “Wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a little bit of everything,” Hutch informed him as he pulled his smokes from his pocket and headed toward the balcony. Noah couldn’t help but stare at Hutch’s impressive backside as he moved.

  “You’re not eating?” Byte called out as he filled the counter with a dozen small white boxes.

  “I will later,” he informed them and closed the sliding door behind him.

  “What’s up with him?” Noah asked as he continued to stare at Hutch beyond the glass door.

  “He’s having a little bit of a meltdown,” Granite drawled.

  “Meltdown?” Noah asked in alarm. “About what?”

  “He’s having one of his moments,” Granite responded, picking up one of the containers and sniffing it. “He’s questioning if he did the right thing, worried he may have caused the death of another victim, and he refuses to listen to reason.”

  “That’s ridiculous! This guy is going to keep killing. Who knows how many bodies he’ll pile up if he isn’t stopped!” Noah argued.

  “That’s pretty much what I told him,” Granite said. “Although I may have used a few more colorful words than you did.”

  Both Granite and Byte started piling food onto paper plates. Noah glanced back and forth between them and Hutch.

  By the time they took their plates to the small table, Noah couldn’t stand it anymore. “Isn’t someone going to go talk to him?”

  “Be my guest,” Byte muttered around a big bite of food. “But I’m going to warn you, he’s a bit bullheaded, and until he’s done with his pouting, he’s not going to listen to anyone.”

  “You might as well grab a plate,” Granite added. “It may be a while.”

  “Days,” Byte snorted. “Remember that time in Albuquerque?”

  “The Basher case. Oh. My. God. That tantrum was epic!” Granite hooted.

  Noah wasn’t paying attention to the two of them as they laughed at Hutch’s expense, too busy watching Hutch as he leaned over the railing, the tension in his frame obvious as he blew out a stream of smoke.

  “I’m going to go talk to him.”

  Byte and Granite continue to laugh and ramble on, something about Hutch brooding in a hotel room for days. Noah didn’t find any humor in it, but rather his heart ached for Hutch. He knew what it felt like to be so personally invested in a case that you blamed yourself for death. He pulled the sliding door open and stepped out, shutting it behind him before leaning against the railing next to Hutch and staring at the cityscape beyond.

  After a long, drawn-out moment, Noah finally asked, “You okay?”

  “Fine,” Hutch said tightly and blew out another stream of smoke.

  “I was talking to—”

  “I know what they’re saying,” Hutch interrupted. “And honestly I’m fine. This is how I deal with shit. I overthink, overanalyze, beat myself up, then get over it and get my job done.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well… if you ever want to talk or vent, I’m a great listener.”

  Noah started to turn, planning on heading back inside to give Hutch time to stew, but Hutch grabbed his forearm. “I still wouldn’t mind the company while I pout,” he said with a bit of a smile.

  Noah’s pulse quickened as he looked into Hutch’s dark eyes and felt the man touching him. “Sure,” he managed to get out even though his throat had gone dry. Good God, he was acting like a silly schoolboy, something Hutch reduced him to quite easily.

  They stood next to each other, staring out at the city as dark clouds began to roll in, the scent of rain heavy in the air. Hutch smoked a second cigarette as the time ticked by, but Noah wasn’t in any hurry for it to be over, nor did the silence bother him. As crazy as it sounded, he felt as if he were somehow helping, supporting Hutch while he worked things out in his head, even if they didn’t speak.

  Nearly thirty minutes later, Hutch broke the silence. “Did you watch the press conference?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I think you pissed off a couple of the suits, and the news channels might be scurrying to bleep out a few curse words, but I thought it was great!” Noah said adamantly.

  “You think he’ll get the message?”

  “He was definitely watching, and given his narcissistic tendencies, I’d say he is beyond irate about the message you delivered.”

  “Him being beyond irate is the thing I worry about most,” Hutch confided. He pulled the pack of smokes from his pocket, considered them, then returned them without lighting up. “I do know it was necessary to stir him up a bit, but I also know there is a fine line between rattling his cage and sending him off on a blood-crazed rampage.”

  Noah turned, leaned his back against the railing, and studied Hutch. He was still tense, and the expression in his midnight blue gaze spoke of how troubled the man was. Noah’s need to comfort, to wipe away the frown marring Hutch’s brow, was automatic, but he curled his hands around the railing to keep from giving in to the urge to pull the man into a hug.

  “Set aside your personal notions for a moment,” Noah instructed. “What is the one thing, well, beyond his need for blood, that defines the killer?”

  Hutch cocked his head. His eyes were on Noah, but Noah could tell he wasn’t seeing him, but truly considering Noah’s question.

  “Byte said you could sense this guy’s feelings. Tell me what he’s feeling, what he thought about you taunting him today,” Noah encouraged gently.

  Hutch’s eyes went wide, almost a panicked expression, but when Noah continued to hold his gaze, keeping his expression neutral, without judgment, Hutch seemed to relax a bit. He turned back to the view, hands grasping the railing tightly, and closed his eyes.

  “I hate doing this,” he admitted.

  Noah didn’t respond, instead watched him curiously, spellbound by the play of emotions that ran across Hutch’s face, his grasp tightening as his lip turned up into a sneer. Time stretched out, and Noah began to wonder if Hutch would share with him what was going through his mind.

  “Hatred. Such an amazing amount of malevolence the likes of which I’ve never encountered in a perp before. He wants revenge. He’s hurt, feels violated. I’ve insulted his intelligence, and that pisses him off. But he also will feel sorrow…. Sad that I don’t understand what he is trying to do. He believes in his cause, his needs, and feels they are justifiable.”

  The color in Hutch’s cheeks reddened as if he were holding his breath, and yet Noah could see the rapid rise and fall of Hutch’s chest. Then just as quickly as it overcame Hutch it visibly seeped from his body, and he dropped his head and took a deep breath. Noah didn’t dare speak, enthralled by what he’d witnessed, yet his curiosity was piqued and he so badly wanted to ask what had just happened. How Hutch could seem to tap into what the killer was feeling. He’d seen it before in interviews given by Ressler and Hazelwood, but they were clinical, seemingly unemotional when they spoke. Hutch spoke with such passion, almost as if he really was feeling what the killer was feeling. It was surreal to witness.

  “I’m starved,” Hutch suddenly blurted and, without meeting Noah’s gaze, turned and reentered the hotel room.

  Noah stood stunned, heart in his throat as he watched Hutch leave. He knew it was impossible for Hutch to have actually connected across time and space with the killer, yet Noah knew something extraordinary had just happened. Not only was Hutch the sexiest man he’d ever met, but also the off-the-charts most interesting person he’d ever met.

  Chapter 22

  NOAH SAT on the bed, leaning against the headboard and trying his damnedest to work on his dissertation, but he kept getting distracted. It was all Hutch’s fault. The agent wasn’t doing anything all that exciting really, reading case files and studying crime scene photos, but he was breathing, which in Noah’s eyes made him a distraction.

  Besides serial killers, nothing or no one had ever held Noah’s attention like Hutch could. Not only was he drop-dead gorgeous, when
Noah was around him he felt at ease, protected, something he hadn’t experienced since he was eight years old. Not since his mom would tuck him into bed at night and assure him there were no monsters in the closet or under the bed. With her death, Noah had soon learned monsters were very much real, only they weren’t under the bed or in the closet, they walked the streets hiding behind a human mask.

  The major difference between then and now was Noah was also horny as hell. How could he not be? And didn’t that just make him all kinds of crazy. A sick killer might or might not want him dead, and all Noah could think about was getting laid by the one man who could protect him.

  He glanced over at Hutch. His brow furrowed in concentration, and Jesus fuck, the man was hot and sexy. He’d love to know what Hutch looked like when he was giving in to pleasure.

  Yup, totally distracted.

  Noah blew out a heavy breath and set his notebook aside.

  “What’s wrong?” Hutch asked as he looked up from his files.

  I’m horny. “Nothing, just restless, I guess,” Noah replied, glad the filter actually worked and he didn’t blurt out what his first thought had been.

  “I’m really sorry you got dragged into this mess.”

  “Don’t be. This isn’t your fault, and besides, I’m actually glad I’m in this mess.”

  “What? Are you nuts?” Hutch balked.

  “I’ve been accused of that a time or two,” Noah snorted. “But seriously. I’ve been studying and following serial killers most of my life. It’s kind of cool having one follow me.”

  “Again I say…. Are you nuts?”

  “Like I said—”

  “You’ve been accused of it before,” Hutch interrupted with a shake of his head. “I’m just not sure you’ll think it’s cool if he catches you.”

  “You won’t let that happen,” Noah responded with conviction.

  Hutch stared at him as if he had a screw loose, and perhaps he did. He couldn’t explain why he felt so strongly or why this powerful connection had grown so quickly. It just had.

  Hutch continued to stare at him for several more ticks of the clock. “I’ll do my best,” he finally responded, looking away.

  Hutch looked tense as he shifted in his chair, the file on his lap falling to the floor. He grumbled something Noah couldn’t make out and then bent to retrieve the file. Noah noticed a crime scene photo that didn’t look familiar, and he’d studied the case files for CS extensively.

  “What is that photo of?” Noah inquired, pointing at the unfamiliar shot before Hutch slid it into the pile.

  “It’s a different case,” Hutch muttered and sat back up as he closed the folder with the retrieved items and set it on the table next to him.

  “Wow, I’m impressed. I would have thought CS would have kept you busy enough. You really are a workhorse, aren’t you?”

  “It keeps me out of trouble.”

  “And what kind of trouble would you get into if you didn’t work?” Noah asked pointedly and raised a single brow.

  “Let’s just say my roommates are thankful I work a lot.”

  Noah moved to the edge of the bed, closer to Hutch. He ran his gaze leisurely up and down Hutch’s impressive form. “You don’t have roommates now,” Noah pointed out, his voice deepening seductively.

  Hutch’s gaze landed on the growing bulge in Noah’s sweatpants, causing it to harden further. Noah did nothing to try and hide his arousal because, oh hell yeah, he really liked Hutch’s eyes on him. He especially liked the way Hutch looked at him with appreciation while licking his lips, which caused a tingling sensation to travel down his spine and warmth to spread through his groin.

  “You’re all kinds of trouble, aren’t you?” Hutch asked as he looked up into Noah’s eyes.

  “I can be.”

  “And a distraction,” Hutch murmured.

  “That seems fair,” Noah snorted.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Noah pushed off the bed and stood in front of Hutch. Noah bent until their lips were only a few inches apart. “You’ve been distracting me since I met you,” he admitted.

  Noah silently willed Hutch to close the space between them, to kiss him. He knew Hutch wanted to, could see the lust shining in his dark blue eyes, had seen the way his pants were beginning to tent. Noah’s eyes began to flutter closed as Hutch reached out and grabbed his forearms, and his pulse sped in anticipation. Much to Noah’s disappointment, however, Hutch didn’t take the blatant invitation. Instead he held Noah where he was and sat back.

  “This is a bad idea,” Hutch whispered. He blew out a breath and licked his lips. “We better get back to work.”

  Noah bit his bottom lip to keep from begging. He knew Hutch wanted him, was attracted to him. He also knew why Hutch was holding back. They were in the middle of murder investigation, and Hutch had named himself Noah’s personal bodyguard.

  He’d bide his time.

  “You’re going to need a little relief from the case eventually. When you’re ready to take care of that little distraction problem,” Noah offered with a nod toward Hutch’s erection, “I’ll be here.”

  Noah heard what sounded like a growl from Hutch as he spun and headed into the bathroom, adding a little swing to his swagger. He glanced in Hutch’s direction before stepping into the bathroom and pumped his fist the minute the door was closed. Hutch had been staring all right, and from the look in his eyes, Noah doubted he’d have to wait long for what he wanted.

  HE SHOULD have changed rooms. Had he been a smart man, he’d have asked either Byte or Granite to switch with him, but Hutch was obviously a glutton for punishment.

  It had been hard as hell to decline Noah’s advances. Painful too. In fact, he still had blue balls from the way the Noah continued to tease and taunt him. Oh sure, Noah was sitting across the room acting like he was innocent with his nose in a book. But Hutch knew better. The way Noah kept glancing over at him with heavy-lidded eyes—psychology, no matter how interesting, was not boner inspiring—so the erection in his sweats and the way he kept running a hand over it was totally on purpose.

  Hutch set the file on Struk’s dad aside. Whoever was involved had done a very thorough job of hiding the truth. It was one of those cases that would bother him for a long time to come due to the fact that the chances it would be solved were next to zilch. Unless someone got a conscience on his deathbed, it wasn’t going to happen.

  And neither was it going to happen with Noah.

  Nope.

  Nada.

  Hutch watched as Noah once again ran his palm over his erection, his bottom lip between his teeth as he pretended to read.

  Damn you! Hutch squeezed his eyes shut as his cock began to throb.

  Nope.

  Nada.

  Zilch chance of it happening.

  He could repeat it over and over as many times as he wanted, but the minute his eyes opened and he found Noah looking at him with that damn seductive look again, he knew it was utter bullshit.

  Jesus, have some self-control, man.

  He grabbed his pack of smokes from the table and headed out onto the balcony. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he muttered as he put a cigarette between his teeth and lit up.

  He had no business thinking the thoughts that were running wild in his mind about Noah. He should be focusing on catching a madman, not bedding a hot one. Noah was hot… scorching, even. The way he looked at Hutch, the lust shinning in his eyes…. Fuck, maybe Noah was right. Take the edge off, and they’d be able to concentrate on something other than their dicks. He took another drag from his smoke, held it in, and then blew it out slowly. It did shit to help.

  Yeah, maybe they should relieve a little stress. The smoking and drinking sure the fuck weren’t helping.

  “Nice night, huh?” Noah commented as he joined Hutch on the balcony.

  Hutch gritted his teeth, keeping down the groan that threatened as Noah brushed up against him.

  “Looks like a storm is
coming in,” Hutch responded tightly.

  Noah rested his forearms on the railing, hunching over in just the perfect position to put that impressive ass of his on display. “I love thunderstorms. All that power gets my heart racing.”

  Hutch wasn’t touching that one, and he damn sure wasn’t going to think about what other kind of power would get Noah’s heart racing. Nope. “They’re okay,” he deadpanned.

  “Just okay? Are you crazy? They’re fricking awesome!” Noah tilted his head up, a playful glint in his eyes. “The rumbling, the jolt that races right down your spine, and in the end you’re left wet and breathless.”

  “Are we still talking storms?” Hutch murmured, lost in those amazing eyes and the images flashing in his mind.

  Noah straightened up, turning to face Hutch. He leaned in slightly to whisper in Hutch’s ear. “The best kind.”

  Hutch shuddered as Noah’s warm breath tickled his ear, the suggestive tone intensifying the effect. “I…. Ow! Fuck!” Hutch jerked back and shook his hand, flinging the butt of his cigarette.

  “Another reason those things are dangerous,” Noah said and grabbed Hutch’s wrist to examine the burns.

  “I’m fine,” he gritted out and tried to pull his hand away.

  Noah refused to release him; instead, he brought Hutch’s hand to his mouth and pressed his lips gently against the red mark. “Better?” he asked, looking up at Hutch from under long lashes.

  Hutch was held captive by the way Noah’s soft lips brushed against his flesh, the lust that shone in his eyes, and the way Hutch’s body instantly responded, tingling and heating. He pulled his hand free, knowing if he allowed Noah to touch him for a second longer, they’d be naked and in bed.

  “Much better,” he said, his voice thick with arousal and coming out as more of a growl.

  Distance, he needed distance. Hutch headed back into the room, the sound of Noah’s laughter following him. It was proof of who was winning the little war of control. Hutch looked down at his groin.

  “It sure the fuck isn’t me,” he muttered as he headed to the bathroom for yet another cold shower.