by Mary Calmes
“You stupid fuck,” I snarled at Evanston, swinging on him.
The man had a good fifty pounds of muscle on me, and at six four, two twenty, I was not small myself. So when he blocked my throw and drove his fist into my face, I knew it was going to hurt.
It was a fight then, with yelling and screaming, stampeding for the exits, punches flying, and finally guns being drawn.
I wound up on the bottom of a pile, stepped on, kicked, punched, and cut. I had no idea who had the knife, but the diversion created an irresistible opportunity for someone looking to take out a rival. My money was on Pedro, who had never liked me. I was the one who had taken his friend Musa’s place in his boss’s circle after his buddy went to prison for trafficking in stolen goods. He had never made it a secret he didn’t trust me, and even though he did, in fact, have good reason, since I was undercover, he didn’t know that.
By the time I was pulled out from under all the other bodies, I was bleeding enough to know I needed stitches.
“This one’s gotta go to the hospital before booking,” Sam Kage yelled, pulling me to my feet fast, but more gently, I was certain, than anyone would be able to discern.
When he shoved me up against the wall, I groaned.
“Broken?” He asked, leaning in close, talking in my ear as he pinned me there.
“Bruised,” I muttered, giving him the lowdown on the state of my ribs. “Just losing blood.”
“Hold on,” he said so only I could hear.
Like I had a choice.
Ten minutes later, I was in an ambulance, on my back, looking up at Sam Kage.
“Asshole,” I barked as the EMT tried to stop the bleeding.
He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“How the fuck does your guy know my guy?” We couldn’t do names in front of the tired-looking EMT.
“Before your guy was hired muscle for the family, he worked for my guy.”
“Who’s really the doctor,” I grunted.
“Actually, the doctor is the bad guy,” Sam mocked me. “I mean, if you’re concerned about being precise.”
“How the fuck is Salcedo walking around to begin with?” I yelled, using his name before I could stop myself. “I thought he was in federal custody?”
“We had one more leak,” Sam informed me. “But we’re all good now, obviously.”
“What if you lose him again?”
“My team is on it,” Sam assured me. “Mine. You understand?”
I was quiet, the pain getting to me. “Yeah.”
He stayed with me, which I didn’t expect. As the hours rolled by in the hospital, as I got twenty-seven stitches down my left side over my ribs, as the drugs made me a little loopy, and as a full inventory of cuts, bruises, and a split lip was taken, Sam remained.
“Why are you here?”
“’Cause nobody else is,” he said frankly, one eyebrow lifting like I was stupid.
And because he’d made me feel like crap with that answer, I took a shot at him. “So, how does Jory feel about you working with your ex?”
“I’m not working with him, asshole, I’m recapturing him, and Jory’s glad he’s back in custody.”
“And that’s all?”
“He knows me, Duncan; he knows who I love and who I don’t give a shit about.”
I squinted. “Yeah, but you and that Salcedo guy, that was on like Donkey Kong in Colombia, huh?”
He was horrified. “What did they give you?”
It had to be something strong, because I was smiling like an idiot and using Nintendo references. My instinct for self-preservation was MIA.
“And no.” He shook his head.
“I heard all about it, Kage,” I huffed out. “You were with the good doctor for a year while you—”
“For your information—” Sam cut me off, his voice low and dark, making me just a little nervous. Yes, we were friends, but the man was menacing, no way around it. “I screwed the doctor for three months while me and Jory were apart. It never meant shit. If I could take it back, would I? Oh hell yeah, I would, but not why you think.”
“Why do I think?”
“I never thought of it like cheating on Jory,” he explained. “A year had gone by. He was sleeping around by that time, and so was I. The reason I wish it didn’t happen was because of how it made me feel.”
“How’d ya feel?”
“Like crap,” he barked at me. “You know when you confessed to me that you screw guys at bathhouses and places like that?”
“Thanks for bringing that shit up,” I groused.
“Just—do you remember?”
“Yes, I fuckin’ remember!” I flared.
“You know how gross you feel when you do it?”
“I do.”
“It’s was like that,” he confessed. “I didn’t care any more about Kevin Dwyer than you do about all those guys you fuck and forget, but—”
“Even from the little I know of Jory, I bet he doesn’t think it was nothing.”
“Because it lasted longer than one night,” he grumbled. “Jory fucked a ton of guys while we were apart, but the one he spent any time with—”
“Aaron,” I supplied.
“Yeah. Aaron he had feelings for.”
“So since Jory cared about Aaron, he figures you cared about the doctor.”
“Yeah.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No,” Sam sighed. “I really didn’t.”
“But you were together how long?”
“Three months.”
“So, that’s kind of a dick thing you did there.”
“Yeah, I know!” he barked at me. “I told you that already.”
“Okay, so Jory thinks what?”
“Jory thinks I was as attached to Salcedo as he was to Aaron, because he thinks we have the same kind of heart. In fact, he thinks everyone’s heart works just like his.”
“They don’t,” I said sadly.
“No, they don’t. But that’s why I’m here, to protect him.”
It was funny to hear gentle words from such a fierce man.
“I’ve never loved anyone but him, and that’s why I had to get him back. When you’re faced with the truth, you have to act on it.”
It seemed like he was trying to get me to admit something.
“Did you love your professor?” he asked.
He was talking about my ex, Nathan Qells, the only man I had ever been in a real, grown-up relationship with.
“Did you love him the way I love Jory?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
He shrugged before leaning back in his chair. “Sorry, buddy; you’re the one who wanted to go swimming in the deep end.”
I studied him a minute. He was right. I had been the one to try and pry out secrets. And I knew why. I was all hopped up on drugs. If I weren’t, I would have never had the balls to talk to Sam so openly. “No.”
“No what?”
I cleared my throat. “No, I wasn’t in love with Nate the same way you love Jory. I chose my job over him. You chose Jory over the job.”
“I actually never had to make that decision,” he said thoughtfully. “I was fortunate. By the time Jory and I were ready for me to say what we were; I had a captain who got it and a new partner who didn’t care who I slept with. Right after that, I became a marshal.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m pretty much set. I do my job well and no one screws with me. If they look, they see I have a domestic partner, but why would they even look?”
“Your own little don’t ask, don’t tell, huh?”
“That’s belittling a lot of pain there.”
“I ain’t belittling anything. I just don’t have the luxury you did. I didn’t get to go off and work with the DEA for two years and switch from homicide to vice or become a marshal. I like my job. I like catching the bad guy. This is all I know how to do.”
“So do it, but don’t forget that I’ve seen how you look at Jory.
”
My heart almost stopped. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Not like that, idiot.” He glared at me. “I’ve seen you look at Jory and how he looks at me, and I know you fuckin’ want that. You want a man to come home to. I get it.”
I scoffed. “So you think Jory thinks you walk on water, huh?”
“No,” he said huskily. “Jory can see every single one of my faults. He just forgives them. And I know how he looks at me. I know I’m loved. Who loves you?”
And it was a question I couldn’t answer.
AFTER Sam finally left, they moved me to another room and fixed all the reports with my fake name, Tucker Ross. Soon after, DEA agent, Derrick Chun, and his partner, Agent Maxwell Owens, were brought into my room by Special Agent Conner Wray. He thanked me, shook my hand, and cautioned me to be careful. It was nice that he gave me his card, with his cell number scribbled on the back, and said if I got in trouble, to call. The look he shot the two DEA agents was not kind. Yes, they were all working together, but it was more than obvious Wray thought they might get me killed.
“We won’t let you get killed” was the first thing Chun imparted.
It did not inspire confidence.
They left quickly, promised to be in touch, gave me an untraceable cell to hide, which was not great, considering I was in the hospital, and then I was alone to consider the state of my life. It was fucked, was what it was.
Chapter 2
THE hospital wanted to keep me overnight in case I had a concussion, but I’d had enough of them in my life to know the difference. I wasn’t nauseous, nor did I have a splintering headache behind my right eye, but most of all—and this was the clincher—everything was the correct color. My vision wasn’t blurred or spotty, so against medical advice, I signed myself out.
I was walking out of my room when I saw Joaquin and the others at the nurses’ station.
“Hey,” I called to them.
Joaquin levered up off the counter where he was leaning and jogged over to me, Benny and Andre close behind him.
“You all right?” he inquired, looking worried, his gaze met mine, and when he reached me, his hand went on my shoulder. It was funny, but it seemed like he honestly cared.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
He didn’t look convinced. “So where is your crib, man?”
“Brooklyn,” I said as I was programmed to.
He shook his head. “Nah. Now you live in Musa’s old place. I had it all cleaned up for ya.”
“Oh no, Boss, you don’t gotta do that.”
“Yeah, he does,” Benny assured me.
“Yeah, I do.” Joaquin chuckled as Andre slid his arm around my shoulder.
“Come on, man, let’s go. We’ll go get your shit first.”
“You look like ass.” Benny scrunched up his face like I smelled.
“I’ll be fine.”
“How many stitches?” Joaquin wanted to know.
“Only fifteen or so,” I lied. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I said diversion, buddy, not World War Three.”
“I think Pedro was the one with the knife.”
Joaquin agreed. “Yeah. I think he’s been pissed at you since Musa.”
“Me moving into his place ain’t gonna help,” I said frankly.
“I’ll take care of Pedro.” Benny smiled in that sort of sinister way he had. It was very cat-that-swallowed-the-canary.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no,” Joaquin soothed me. “Not like that. Calm down.”
“I just don’t wanna cause a problem.”
“No, man. You fix them, as far as I can tell.”
“That shit was federal,” Andre reminded me, his voice low, easing me sideways so I had to give him some of my weight. “That prick Evanston brought a guy to us with a marshal on his ass.”
I nodded.
“Did you know that Evanston shot some kid in Chicago?”
Yes. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, he’s gettin’ life for that shit, or a needle in his arm.”
“If he doesn’t roll.” Benny smirked. “You always gotta figure on that shit with guys like him.”
Joaquin shook his head. “That’s Modella’s problem. I already called him.”
“Too bad we didn’t get the name of the marshal,” I fished. “We could’ve taken care of that too.”
“Oh fuck that,” Andre grumbled. “We ain’t messin’ with no goddamn marshal. He wasn’t even there for us; all he wanted was that piece of shit Evanston.”
“Nobody needs that kind of heat,” Andre chimed in.
I was glad to hear Sam wasn’t even on their radar. “Okay.” I winced. “Let’s go before all my pain meds are gone.”
“I got shit for pain,” Benny assured me. “Just say the word.”
Even though I was cleared to do drugs if necessary to maintain my cover, I didn’t think taking anything stronger than Tylenol for stitches was what anyone behind the scenes on the task force had in mind.
THE apartment was small and clean, in an older building that had been restored. It was not far from the theater district, close enough to walk, if a twenty-minute stroll was something you were up for. It was like staying at a hotel, and Joaquin suggested I get either a plant or a cat. Benny suggested I find a woman, instead, and forget anything else. Andre went over the good places to pick up pastries, tapas, or to get a drink.
It was nice that, on his way out, Joaquin squeezed the back of my neck and ordered me into bed. He gave me the keys: one for the security door outside, one to get from the foyer where the mailboxes were into the building, and the last one for the apartment.
“I don’t wanna see your face ’til at least Monday.”
As it was Thursday night, that gave me a nice three-day weekend. Maybe I could fly back to Chicago and see Aaron Sutter. “Okay,” I agreed.
Once they were gone, I called Agent Chun, reported what happened, and then hung up. I promised to talk to him no later than Tuesday. I thought about taking a shower and changing out of my bloodied T-shirt but just couldn’t muster the energy. Both my suit jacket and shirt had been sacrificed in the line of duty, first pierced with the knife used to stab me and then shredded by the paramedics. Many articles of clothing had been lost that way over the years. I had to add up what the Chicago PD owed me in dry cleaning and replacement wardrobe one of these days. It had to be in the thousands.
Lying down on the couch, I picked up my own phone from the coffee table and called Aaron.
He answered on the second ring. “Duncan?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“I—” He coughed. “—put your number in my phone.”
It was nice to hear. “So,” I said, my voice low and full of gravel. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he said quickly. “You?”
“I just got stitches.” I grinned because, God, he sounded good. “So I’m a little beat to shit, if you wanna know the truth.”
“You got—who hurt you?”
“I’m a cop. You know how it is.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t, actually.”
I grunted. “It happens. I’ll live.”
“Yeah?”
Why did he sound scared? “Are you all right?”
“I don’t want to freak you out.”
“Why would you?”
“I, uhm,” he hedged, “I’m in New York. I have been for a week.”
There had to be more.
“Duncan?”
“Yeah, still here.”
“Are you—is that freaking you out?”
“You do business all over the world, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“So you probably hafta come to New York a lot, right?”
“I do, yes.”
“I guess I’m not getting why you being here would be weird.”
“I just”—his voice cracked—“didn’t want you to think I was stalking you or somethi
ng.”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be something,” I mused.
“Something?”
“Yeah, I mean, that’d be cool, right? How many guys could say that Aaron Sutter was following them around? I should be so lucky.”
He whimpered.
The sound about shredded what little control I had left. Hurt and tired, with the last of my buzz wearing off, I was damn needy. “You maybe wanna see me?”
Silence.
“Aaron?”
“Yes, please,” he murmured. “I would love to see you. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“No. It’s not safe. You tell me where you are, and I’ll come to you.”
“How ’bout this,” he said shakily. “You walk one street over from where you are, and I’ll be there in a car in ten minutes to get you. Deal?”
“What if I’m not in the city?”
“Fine. However long it takes,” he huffed out. “Where are you?”
“Tenth Avenue and 49th Street.”
“Oh man, I’m like minutes from you. I’m staying at The Pierre on 5th.”
“I don’t know that place. Is it fancy?” I teased.
“It is.”
Of course it was. “Okay. Will they let me in?”
“You’ll be with me.”
“True.”
“So—are you working?”
“Yeah.”
“I see.”
“But not until Monday.”
“Oh?” His voice rose, and I could hear the reprieve and the happiness.
I made a noise that didn’t quite qualify as communication.
“You think you’d want to stay with me a couple days?”
“Yeah. Ya know I was thinking of flying back to Chicago just to see you,” I said without even thinking of how scary psycho it sounded. “Awww shit.”
Several long moments passed, but I was too panicked to speak. I had no filter because of everything, and now I would pay for it.
“You were thinking of returning to Chicago for just two days?”
“Well, three actually,” I corrected him. “But, yeah.”
Quick, sharp exhale. “Okay, you win. That’s like one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
It was? “It is?” I was baffled. “Shit, who’ve you been hangin’ out with?”
“People who like my money,” he said, clipping the words. “I’m leaving now. Can you walk?”
