by Mia Watts
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Dangerous Distraction
ISBN # 978-0-85715-117-9
©Copyright Mia Watts 2010
Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright March 2010
Edited by Christine Riley
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2010 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom
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Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
DANGEROUS DISTRACTION
Mia Watts
Dedication
To Tessie and Heidi for being awesome fan girls who keep me going.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:
Lifesavers: Wm. Wrigley Jr. Company
Chapter One
“Fucking A! Those bastards from ninth are here,” Gedry snarled. “I fucking hate those guys.”
“Where?” Paulson asked.
“Ninth in our neighbourhood? Fuck that.” Paulson’s partner looked ready for a fight. David Rook could never remember that guy’s name. Frankenfurter? Frententruber? Fronfuckingasskisser should have been his name.
Rook turned his bottle, expanding the moisture ring. “Ninth wouldn’t show up in our precinct for beer and pretzels.” He leaned on the high table where he’d propped his elbows. Hair fell over his eye and he puffed it off his forehead.
“The guy in the suit is DEA liaison for that office,” Gedry insisted.
Rook glanced over his shoulder. Five men huddled around a table like theirs. They were tight, controlled, watchful. These guys didn’t have that hang-dog endlessness about them like beat cops, nor the cadet-superman complex. Those uniformed guys all had one hang-up or the other.
This group looked solid and sported more than their share of confidence.
“Think they’re crossing borders?” Fronfuckingasskisser wondered, excitedly.
“For fuck’s sake, this isn’t gang warfare,” Rook muttered.
“You want a repeat of Strickland?” Gedry asked. His brows shot up, his upper lip wrinkled with scepticism. “You of all people—”
“—know when to let it rest,” Rook finished for him. He tipped the bottle to his lips, taking a long, final swallow.
“They stole our case,” Paulson said.
“It crossed lines. They had the majority of the information and the location of the hostages,” Rook reminded him.
“We had the bank that funded the damn thing,” Gedry said, increasingly disgusted.
Rook rose to his full height. “What the fuck do you want me to do about five guys from ninth hanging out?” He shook his head on a shrug. “It’s beer, Gedry. Get a grip.”
“I want to drink my brew in peace. I want them out of my goddamn face, that’s what,” Gedry bellowed. “Somebody has to show them the door, and you’re bigger than the rest of us. None of them will fight you, except for maybe their big dude.”
They had a big dude, too? Rook turned slightly to see their token big dude. The other guy looked about the same height and build as Rook. A fight with him wouldn’t be easily won.
He had a head full of dark hair and, though his was on the short side, it looked tousled, as though some chick had just finished ruffling it up after a fantastic kiss. The man laughed. Rook’s gaze took in his exposed neck, the Adam’s apple, his wide shoulders and lean body.
“A fight would take too long,” Rook mused aloud.
“Then don’t fight him,” Fronfuckingasskisser said.
“If I make ninth leave, my beer is on you three for the next month,” Rook said.
“Deal,” Gedry agreed. “I hate that DEA guy. I’m working a case right now with his office written all over it. I sure as fuck don’t need his smug ass at my home base.”
“Okay,” Rook said, shrugging. Just as well, hanging out with the guys every Friday night was starting to take a toll on his wallet.
The ninth’s big dude intrigued him. It was territorial, Rook assured himself. Two top dogs facing off, marking territory, peeing on things to prove to their packs just how dangerous they were—or some Darwinistic shit like that.
Rook rolled his shoulders. He wasn’t going to give the boys a fight. Not exactly. He strode to the table, big dude in his sights. The intruders shifted from disinterest to wary suspicion.
Big dude looked comfortable in his own skin, relaxed, and confident. He turned and facing him, Rook felt like a silly, over-testosteroned teenager standing down a rock star. His charisma drew Rook. It gave him the strange sensation of floor shifting unsteadily beneath his feet. He didn’t like this feeling. Felt a fuckofalot like fear and lust. Rook didn’t do fear, and he didn’t do lust in his own jurisdiction.
Big dude’s jaw was square and fully capable of taking a hit. His large hands and long fingers bracketed his hips. They were lean and agile looking, much like the man. Rook didn’t see a weakness as he took in the breadth of his chest and the way the other man’s expression sobered intently at Rook. He seemed to know he’d been singled out for mischief.
Slashing a glance at the other four men before determining they weren’t a threat, Rook reached his target. He mirrored the other man’s posture, looked him square in the eyes. He couldn’t make out their colour, but they were clear. Maybe green or grey or silver. The lighting had nothing to do with not being able to discern it. The colour encompassed all three without settling on one.
“I think it wants something,” the man said, addressing his pals.
Suddenly, Rook knew what he had to do. The man had brought it on himself, the asshole. There were rules among alpha dogs. You pissed on the property, not the other dog. He needed to be taken down a peg, sent through the doors with his charismatic tail tucked between his legs and yelping. Rook needed to strip the other guys’ alpha. Make him a bitch. Besides, he had the undeniable urge to taste those sarcastically twisting lips.
He caught the man behind the neck with lightning speed, cradled his nape with laced fingers, and drew him in. The man looked surprised. He should be. It kind of surprised Rook with how easy it was to suck face with the enemy.
Rook’s lips made contact, claiming the other man’s mouth with firm pressure. The man’s bottom lip felt fuller than the top, soft, unexpectedly so. He grabbed Rook’s forearms and pulled, but Rook held fast, stroking his tongue in and deep when the man grimaced. Rook held him as his tongue explored. Fingers bit the insides of Rook’s wrists. He ignored the pain.
Free fucking beer for a month. He’s gonna give in soon. Any minute.
Hoots sounded around them. There was a cheer, some chanting. Rook heard Fronfuckingasskisser above the bunch shouting something lame. The digging
fingers hurt a little less, the grimace relaxed, and in another second the tables turned.
Aggressive dominance was stolen from Rook as the man responded, tangling his tongue with his instead of pulling away. Rook’s stomach spiralled downwards. Their kiss made the floor unsteady again. It changed everything, softened, ripened, stretched until the only thing holding his wayward stomach up, was Rook’s stiff cock playing kick-stand to his shivering insides.
His pulse raced, his head swam, and Rook almost lost touch with reality as he barely strangled off the groan rising in his chest. He pulled away first, stumbling backwards. He stared at the other man, dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.
Gedry yelled, “The ninth ain’t got their own beer and pretzels?” Peripheral sound came rushing back, reminding Rook what he’d been doing and why he had thought kissing the man had been a good idea. Why had that been, again?
“What the fuck was that?” one of the ninth asked, his voice high pitched and nervous.
Rook shored himself up with arrogance he didn’t feel. He turned to the other four with a wide, knowing grin. “Who’s next?”
“The fucking seventh wants to have your baby cops, Nate,” another said, sneering. Nate’s friends laughed tightly.
He didn’t look at Nate, certain he’d notice how shaken the kiss had left Rook. Nonetheless, he listened for Nate’s response as he opened his arms in a “bring it on” gesture.
The bar continued to chant. The bartender yelled to take it outside.
“Let’s go,” Nate said. His voice was barely loud enough to carry.
The bar cheered. Rook turned a slow circle like the champion in a fight, a cocky grin on his face as he bounced his wide-spread arms to the time of their chants. “Rook! Rook! Rook! Rook!”
The ninth began to file out and Rook kept his back to them, a deliberate show of disrespect and lack of concern.
A sharp, stinging slap zinged his ass. A warm body pressed up close to Rook’s back preventing him from turning. Nate, the fallen dog, whispered close to Rook’s ear from behind. “It took one kiss to get you hard enough to pound nails. Another one, and your ass is mine for the taking. Next time we meet, I’m going to Queen your Rook, bitch.”
Agent Nate Giamanti propped one hand on his waist, his wrist pushed back one side of the ATF windbreaker as he listened to the chatter on his radio. He absently fingered the badge affixed to his belt. Derrick, his partner, nodded towards the three story building and Nate tipped his head in unspoken acknowledgement. He was ready too, just as soon as the damn precinct got its sadly misshapen ass together.
The boys in blue couldn’t be more disorganised. But what had he been expecting from the seventh? Nate waited for what seemed like another eternity. Even though the threat had been diminished and the majority of the gun stash from the apartment had been collected, he kept the patrol car between him and the building.
He’d been home free when they’d found the damn body. Not just any damn body, but the damn body of on open case currently being worked by Detective David Rook. He’d gone three weeks, trying to forget the fucker and that kiss.
Instead, Nate had the dubious privilege of waiting for the cocky sonofabitch to show up, debrief him, and turn over the scene along with the ongoing report details. There was one way Nate wanted the debriefing to go down and he was pretty sure Rook wouldn’t go for it. Then again, maybe Nate could just bend him over the back of the patrol car and nail Rook’s ass until he quit thinking about the detective from seventh.
Nate’s fingers flicking over the hard leather badge plate made the tips numb as the rhythm increased. He’d done some looking at Rook’s file in the guise of not thinking about the man. But no matter how he sliced it, David Rook left an impression. One that made Nate’s cock want to storm Rook’s defences to see exactly what kind of artillery he was sporting.
Derrick’s expression took on one of bemusement. “Looks like your girlfriend finally decided to make an appearance.”
Nate looked around, saw Detective Rook and one of the shits from the night in the bar slipping under the police tape. Rook’s jaw had hardened and his lips pressed into a petulant line. It pushed the corners down and pursed the full centre. Nice. Kissable. Fuck!
That wasn’t happiness written all over his face, either. Just Nate’s luck that he’d pull the one bust which landed in Rook’s jurisdiction and case load. What were the chances? Fucking Murphy’s law. There had to be a negligence lawsuit for situations when Fate fucked you over so badly, you got to give Karma the finger.
“Missed me, did you?” Nate asked, drolly as Rook stopped beside him.
Rook flicked a glance over him, straightened his shoulders and arrogantly lifted his chin, a strange shrug to the corner of his mouth. Rook’s own brand of body language without actual movement beyond his face.
“You got my dead body,” he muttered, looking towards the building. “Did you pussies clear out of there, or are you still busy fucking up my crime scene?”
“Still fucking up your crime scene,” Nate shot back.
Rook’s sudden laugh surprised them both. “Well, fuck me, you admitted it.”
Nate turned, propped an arm on the top of the patrol car, and grinned. “Is that an offer, Rook?”
The detective’s eyes widened, his smile faltered. Dull red crept up his neck and flushed his jaw. Rook stared straight ahead as though a poker ran his spine and his head would break off if he moved it.
“I think it was an offer, Nate,” Derrick agreed.
“Typical. I finally find myself a half-decent mug to wake up to and the man is all lips and prick with no substance,” he mourned to his partner.
“I thought you fags liked lips and pricks,” Derrick countered.
“His lips. My prick. Sure. But if he’s going to blow me, I wanna know it won’t take all his brain power to fuel the engine.” Nate shrugged. They’d been talking around Rook while he’d grown redder and redder. Now all three faced the building.
“I think you called it, partner,” Derrick said. “All his steam got used up in two sentences.”
Rook swore under his breath. “Show me the damn building, asshole.”
“Asshole is such a big word. You sure you can part with it?” Nate asked.
“Rook! This can’t wait all day, man!” the guy from the bar yelled.
Rook said something like Fronfuckingasskisser, but Nate was pretty sure he heard him wrong. “Call Paulson. I’m going to be here for a while,” Rook said.
“You sure, man?”
Rook sighed deeply. “I hate that guy.” To Nate, he said, “When you’re done flirting with me, I’d like to get in there.”
Derrick snorted. Nate shot him a scowl. “Come on, then.”
“I think I’ll leave the show and tell to you, partner,” Derrick said.
Nate motioned for Rook to precede him, which Rook accepted. Figured. The man was a taker. A damn sexy taker, but a taker. They cleared the first flight of stairs, had passed the last two out-going ATF agents when Nate decided to goad him some more.
“You have a damn fine ass, detective.”
“Are you hitting on me?” Rook asked.
Nate followed him around the bend and up another flight. He considered Rook’s flexing butt and thighs, the hip slung pants and thick soled shoes. His eyes travelled back up, pausing on the tight butt then ascended to Rook’s rocking gait. Rook looked good enough to eat. They cleared the second flight and took the final level up to the crime scene. Nate locked his gaze on the ass in front of him.
“Yeah, Rook, I guess I am.”
“That’s what I thought.” Rook stopped, pivoted on the halfway point landing.
Nate daringly took the step below him, cocking his eyebrow in challenge. “And?”
Rook seemed confused, annoyed, interested, and yet cautious as though he didn’t mean for Nate to read him. But the detective’s guard wasn’t completely up and Nate did read him. He looked steadily into the gaze of a man who wasn’t
out.
Nate’s heart sank. He’d been hoping Rook would take advantage of the sexual banter in a real, cock-pumping culmination of lust, and damn if Nate hadn’t sworn he’d never fall for a closeted gay. It had been too hard coming out. He had no intention of hiding for anyone else.
“Never mind, Rook,” Nate said, stonily. He stepped around him and climbed the last half to the third level. “It’s this apartment, here.”
* * * *
David’s gaze followed Nate until he disappeared. Then giving himself a mental shake, he pursued the sound of the other man’s voice to the apartment. The door had been battered off its hinges and debris littered the floor. He picked his way through the mess.
“She’s in the closet,” Nate said. With a sardonic twist of his lips as he moved to the location.
“How do you know she’s mine?” David asked.
“One of your responding officers recognised her.”
David took a folded latex glove from his back pocket, pulled it into place, and snapped it on his wrist. Nate muttered about doctor appointments. David tried not to think about prostate examinations by Nate.
He nudged the closet door. “Was the door closed when you came on scene?”
“Yeah. I think one of your guys opened it,” Nate answered, strolling to the window and looking out. He seemed to study the outside sidewalk, his hands in his pockets pulling the black cotton of his slacks tight over his ass.
David turned his attention to the unlit closet. “Why isn’t the Medical Examiner here?”
“You want me to do your investigating for you, detective?”
David crouched, examining the body more closely. If the department didn’t do this right, they’d be flayed by public opinion and might lose any case they drew against the killer. What was the tie to the arms deal? Did the murderer have a link, or was the body here before the deal went sour? Was the killer dealing on the side?
