“Like that?” he asked, starting to pant with exertion.
“Shit.” Nathan met him thrust for thrust, arching his back in a long, beautiful line. From the tension radiating from his body, Sam knew his orgasm was building. He also knew Nathan was having a hell of a time stopping himself from barking orders. While he appreciated the reversal of their usual power dynamics and what it meant, Sam wanted Nathan to let go. He slowed his stroke.
“How about this?”
“Mmm. Harder. Don’t play with me. Not now.” Nathan’s voice sounded raw, and Sam bit his lip. He pulled out.
“What are you—”
“I want to see you,” Sam said. “On your back.”
Nathan switched position so Sam could kneel between his thighs again, but this time his mouth was accessible. Sam slid back into him and leaned up for a kiss.
It was even better with Nathan’s face visible. His expressive mouth was soft with pleasure, not hard like it sometimes was when he dominated Sam. He was vulnerable and precious—the most precious thing in Sam’s life. Nathan wrapped his arms around Sam and urged him on.
“Love you,” Sam whispered, catching Nathan’s lips clumsily as he started to come, and the words turned into a groan. With his heart pounding in his ears and his orgasm blotting out all other sensation, he missed the moment Nathan came. But after, when he collapsed on top of his lover and felt the cooling wetness sticking their skin together, he smiled.
“I love you,” said Nathan softly. He brushed his fingers against Sam’s lips. “Be careful while I’m gone. All right?” His eyebrows drew together in a look Sam knew all too well.
Sam reached for the tissues and grabbed a couple for Nathan. “I’ll be fine. Focus on your case. Don’t worry about me.”
“That’s what you always say.” Nathan snorted. He wiped the smear of come from his belly, balled the tissues, then tossed them at the can near the side of the bed—and missed by a mile. Sam laughed, but his throw was no better. The alarm clock already read 9:40 a.m., and as much as he wanted to crawl back into bed and tuck against Nathan’s side, Nathan was already in business mode.
“You know the combination to the safe,” he said, striding to the closet and rifling through his clothes. The safe held enough weaponry to take down the Spanish Armada if they ever showed up in Stonebridge.
“Yes. Yes.” While Sam didn’t like having so many guns in the house, he knew it was important to at least appear willing to use them if trouble arose. He’d needed one to take down Randall Palmer, aka Benedict Anderson, on Halloween. But even though the asshole deserved it, Sam hadn’t enjoyed shooting him in the leg.
“I’m serious,” Nathan said, pausing to look back over his shoulder. “At the very least, you need protection. I don’t want to worry about what you might be up to here.”
“It only seems fair. Tit for tat.”
Nathan furrowed his brow. “Tit for tat? Really?” He pulled on a crisp, black button-down and a pair of dark jeans. No suits on this venture. “Sam—”
“Okay. Okay.” Sam sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. “I get your point. But I will be fine. And you take your own advice and stay out of trouble. I want you home in once piece.”
Nathan leaned down for a kiss. His beard scratched Sam’s smooth-shaven chin. “Understood.”
Chapter Six
SAM BREATHED in the humid country air and surveyed the muddy lot with his hands on his hips. A housing development had hired Manella’s to seed and plant all of the new yards. They were building cookie-cutter houses for families and young professionals making the move from city to country. When Yuri called him to ask if he was interested in helping out, Sam immediately said yes. Sitting around the empty apartment with only Shadow and his laptop for company was starting to take a toll, and it had only been a couple days since Nathan’s departure. He glanced at the sky, hoping the rain would hold off for at least a few hours. They couldn’t afford to lose another day. Around him the other guys discussed the plan of action.
“Hey, bud,” said Yuri, elbowing his side. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a helluva project. What’s the turnaround on this one?” Sam swiped at a horsefly buzzing around his head.
“They want it done by Friday. Family arrives Monday. We better get our asses to work.”
Sam rubbed his hands together, eager to get them dirty. “You’re the boss.” He enjoyed the work more since he didn’t have to do it every day. It was clear that Juan, Yuri’s new partner, had a lot more ambition for the business, anyway. He was the one who’d gotten the development contract.
The morning grew into a sunny, late-May afternoon. Sam shot the shit with the other guys, but in quiet moments, his mind wandered to Nathan. He wondered whether he and Eric had hit the club yet, and if so, what it was like. Of course he didn’t really want to know, but he couldn’t help thinking about it. He had only heard from Nathan once so far—a brief call on the night he arrived in Jersey. They planned to talk that night, though, so Sam pushed the negative thoughts out of his mind and focused on the work.
He was tired by the end of the day, but not terribly so. With all the running he’d been doing, he was in the best cardio shape of his life. He whipped off his shirt and used it to mop his sweaty forehead. The rain had held off, but it was only a matter of time. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Yuri stopped Sam by his truck.
“Hey. What’re you doing tonight? You want to see a movie with me, Alex, and Rach? Maybe go bowling or something?” He smiled and his right cheek dimpled. “I deserve a rematch after last time.”
“It’s not my fault your bowling score would make any golfer proud.” In fact Yuri had gotten so mad the last time they played, he’d vowed never again.
Yuri punched his bare arm. “Ha-ha. So?”
“I’d like to, but… I can’t. Sorry.” Nathan was calling him at eight, and Sam wanted to make sure he’d be able to talk with no distractions. Still, he felt stupid admitting he was turning down plans with the gang to talk to his boyfriend.
Yuri saw through him immediately. He made kissy noises. “All right. Your loss. Tell Nathan we all miss him.”
SAM’S CELL didn’t ring until a quarter after eight, not that he was keeping time. He grabbed it up, heart beating fast, and grinned when he heard Nathan say his name.
“Hey, yourself,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Oh. Not too bad so far. I miss you.”
The evasive quality of the response gave Sam pause. “I miss you too. It’s weird without you here.” He was stretched out on the too-large bed, where he’d been playing sudoku on his computer until Nathan called. Shadow curled next to him, keeping his side warm.
“I’ll be home before you know it.”
“That’s what they always say,” Sam muttered. “So, have you been to the club yet?”
“We got our introduction from an insider last night. Eric put the moves on him at the hotel bar.”
Sam forced a chuckle. “What was it like?”
“It’s hard to tell from one visit. If there’s trafficking going on, it’s likely not well known. Everything seemed consensual, and everyone there last night was of age.”
It wasn’t exactly the type of answer Sam was looking for. Nathan obviously knew it, because he continued. “But if you’re asking if I fucked anyone? No.” Sam could hear the eye roll in his voice.
“Okay.”
“So how was your day?”
Sam allowed the change of topic. He gave the short version, not wanting to bore Nathan with the details of landscaping work, but glad to have his full attention. The nervous feeling of anticipation started to dissipate as they talked. When Nathan chuckled and told Sam how much he missed him—how much he needed him—Sam’s cock started to fill. He responded to Nathan’s voice like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
“I want you to talk to me,” Sam said. “Can you? I… need you.”
A sigh from the end of the line didn’t sound pr
omising. “I’m not exactly alone. Eric’s in the shower, but he’ll be out soon.”
Sam stared blankly at the ceiling. His erection was going down like the Titanic. “Your shower?” he said, before he realized how ignorant it sounded. Of course they’d be sharing a hotel room. It made practical sense, and Sam didn’t know why he hadn’t considered it.
“Unfortunately, when it comes to agents bunking on a case, the bureau is cheap.”
Silence. Why hadn’t Nathan mentioned it before they left? He thought they were being candid with each other. “Ah.”
“Does it bother you? We’re not sharing a bed.” Nathan sounded slightly annoyed. Sam didn’t want to be the nagging, doubting boyfriend. If he were in Nathan’s place, he’d probably be irritated too.
“Sorry. It’s fine. I’m being stupid.” After all, crashing in the same room wasn’t any more intimate than tying up the guy and giving him a spanking.
“As soon as I come home, I’m going to give you what you need. I promise.”
“You have to go?” Sam’s voice echoed back at him. Stupid cell phones.
“Unfortunately yeah. I have to cut it short tonight. We’re meeting someone at nine.” The regret in Nathan’s voice was clear, but it did little to alleviate Sam’s disappointment.
“Ah. Okay. Can you talk tomorrow?”
Nathan hesitated, and it sounded like Eric was back in the room. “Probably not. It’ll be a busy day. What about Thursday? Maybe we can Skype.”
Sam perked up. “Okay. Thursday works for me.”
“I’ll try to get some privacy. Eight on the dot. I’ll text you with instructions.”
“Mmm,” Sam murmured. “Sounds like fun.”
“Oh, it will be.” Nathan’s voice held a dark promise. “Listen. Before I go I wanted to say I appreciate you being so understanding. I know this isn’t easy for you, and I hope you know how much it means to me. I love you.”
“I love you too. Be safe.”
When they hung up, Sam stared at his cell and tried to sort out his conflicting emotions. It was only eight thirty, and he’d given up a night out with friends for a fifteen-minute conversation. At the same time, Nathan’s parting words had affected him deeply, and he was filled with gratitude and love for him—and anticipation for Thursday.
They’d come so far from the days when Nathan was secretive about where he spent his time. And Sam had come a long way with his honesty. All the same Sam wondered about the second visit to the club. He wasn’t going to sit in their empty apartment with his mind spinning like a hamster wheel.
The first thought that occurred to him—even after all his months sober—was beer. An ice-cold sixer would do. He grabbed his running shoes instead.
AT LUNCH the next day, in the middle of a heated Red Sox-Yankees debate with Yuri, Sam’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the local number, and his heart skipped a beat. What if something had happened to Nathan? He answered with numb lips.
“Sam Flynn here.”
“Hi, Sam. This is Barney Collins, from the bar the other week. You gave me your number?”
Sam gave Yuri an apologetic nod as he turned to take the call. “Hey there. Good to hear from you.”
“Is it really?” The guy laughed nervously and a little too loudly. Sam wondered if he was at the bar.
“Yeah. Of course. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to talk to you, if your offer is still on the table.”
It didn’t sound like Collins wanted a date. His voice trembled, even though he was obviously trying to maintain control. “Absolutely. Where and when?”
“Tonight. Nine o’clock. Same place as last time.”
Sam answered quickly. His curiosity was piqued. “Sounds good.”
“Oh. And… it will just be you. Right?”
“Yeah. Just me. See you then.” Sam’s pulse picked up. It sounded like the guy had something for him—maybe even dirt on White’s murder.
The phone went dead. When Sam turned back to Yuri, his friend grinned slowly. “Who was that? Don’t tell me you’re cheating on Nathan.”
“Of course not. It was a source.”
“On the mayor?”
“Maybe.” Sam frowned. He didn’t like the way Collins sounded. Maybe meeting in public wasn’t a good idea, especially if he had information about White’s poisoning. Another voice—the result of the past two years of deception, betrayal, and violence—urged caution. He had no reason to trust Collins, and even though the guy didn’t seem like a murderer, appearances could be deceiving.
Nathan would want him to bring a gun. He’d insisted Sam get a license to carry, in case they ended up in another dangerous situation. But Sam still didn’t feel comfortable with a concealed weapon. He brushed the dirt off his work pants and stood up.
The rest of the day, he wavered back and forth trying to decide what to do. In the end he rationalized that they would be in public, and he could easily take Collins if it came down to it, so he left Nathan’s gun cache alone. Before he left the apartment, he checked himself in the mirror. Even he had to admit his dirty blond hair looked good. He had started wearing it longer on top and parted and slicked to the side. Although he abhorred hipster snobbery, he liked their haircuts. He chose the brown blazer he wore for interviews and a pair of skinny jeans. At the last moment he wondered if he looked too nice—too much like a guy headed out on a date. He figured it probably didn’t matter. Barney already knew where they stood, and it was a business meeting.
The bar was nearly as empty as it had been when Sam first found Barney turning his liver into a martini pickle. Unlike that day, soft jazz filled the air, and the few patrons sat spaced out at the long bar, each lost in silent thoughts. One couple chatted quietly at one of the small tables. The dim lighting muted the shabbiness of the place and made it look almost elegant.
Barney Collins gave him a wan smile as Sam approached the bar. He had almost polished off one of his signature drinks. “Thank you for coming,” he said and waved the bartender over.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked Sam.
“I’ll take a seltzer with lime,” he replied.
“Absolutely not,” Collins exclaimed with a nervous laugh. “Get my friend here a gin martini, extra dirty, and I’ll have another as well.”
Before Sam could protest, the bartender went to make the drinks. Something like desire curled through Sam, but he pushed it out of his mind. He didn’t have to drink the damn thing, and he wasn’t going to. After another, Collins probably wouldn’t notice anyway. His cheeks were already flushed, and his eyes were slightly glazed.
“So, how’re you doing, Barney?” Sam asked as he slid into the empty seat next him. The barstool creaked as it settled.
“Not so great.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. It’s a miracle I’m still alive,” he mumbled.
Sam wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing.” With thin, bony fingers, Collins plucked the green olive out of his glass and finished his martini with a flourish. The rattle of the cocktail shaker punctuated the silence between them.
“How are things with the cops? You get the all clear yet?” Sam stopped tracking the bartender’s efficient movements and turned his attention to Collins.
“As if. They called me down there again today, but I’m not saying a word. Not a word.”
Sam lowered his voice. “So you do know something about White’s death.”
The bartender brought them their drinks. Sam sucked in a breath as the gin martini was placed right under his nose. The piney, floral fragrance advertised it was top shelf. His mouth watered. He hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and olives always seemed especially tempting on an empty stomach.
When he turned back to Collins, he was already slugging away.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
“Not if you want to stay alive. Do you?” Collins posed the question honestly,
without passion. Some of the nervousness from their earlier phone conversation had gone out of him too. Probably an effect of the booze.
Sam’s pulse ratcheted up. “I’m pretty fond of living. Yeah.”
“You said I could trust you. Right?”
“Of course. I never give away my sources.” This was it—his big chance to break the story of the mayor’s murder. It was huge—the chance of a lifetime.
Collins’s expression became sly. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“You don’t. But it’s obvious you want to talk or you never would’ve called me down here. Something in you wants to trust me.”
“I can’t trust anyone.”
“I know how that feels.” Sam touched his slender forearm where it rested on the bar.
Collins seemed startled, but he didn’t move away. He closed his eyes. “No. I don’t know if you do. You see, I want to do the right thing, but I can’t. I’m a coward.”
Sam couldn’t figure out what Collins was playing at with his hot and cold act. Either he had evidence or he didn’t. “Something happened. You can tell me.”
“I quit my job yesterday. Or maybe I was fired. I’m not really sure.” He laughed mirthlessly.
“What are you going to do?” Had someone else on staff orchestrated the murder? It was possible. The deputy mayor, perhaps?
“This wasn’t a good idea. Someone at this bar could be watching us right now.” Collins glanced around nervously.
Sam did the same, but a cursory sweep of the room didn’t indicate anyone taking an unnatural interest in them. No one could overhear their quiet conversation, especially with the music playing. But Sam knew better than to take their privacy for granted. He leaned closer. “You think someone’s tailing you?”
Collins seemed like he might answer, but then he changed tacks. “You seem like a real ambitious guy, Sam. I get it. But you’re honorable. I was never like that. I was out for myself, and I knew it. I didn’t care. But if I’d known then…. Jesus.” He scrubbed a shaking hand over his face.
Blind Spot Page 7
