Sasha, being a newcomer, was clueless as to the place name, but Perry said, “That’s a small side canyon about ten miles from here. Gets good reception there because there’s a tower.”
Rowan pulled a laptop from his SUV and put it on the hood. In a program he typed in the longitude and latitude while Perry and Sasha each clung to one of his strong shoulders. It was clear to Sasha that Rowan was the alpha dog. Once Hinton was located, Rowan zoomed to see surface details.
“Holy shit,” said Sasha. “He’s almost to the Triple Play Lodge.”
“I had a feeling,” said Rowan, defeated. “I had a hunch earlier and now I know. He’s going to infiltrate that Great Utah FurFest.”
“Damn,” said Perry. “How are we ever going to be able tell which one is him?”
Chapter Seven
Perry Donovan waited at a table on the balcony of the Neon Cocktail lounge for a man wearing a leopard suit.
“So your partner goes off with the pretty lady doctor, and you’re the one stuck interviewing the Furry? Bad scene, bro.”
Perry’s partner Gabriel wasn’t helping the situation any. He’d been promoted to Sergeant and was best man at a wedding in a few days, so Perry didn’t expect any help with the case. But he certainly didn’t expect to get ground into the mud. “He’s not my partner. He’s just some fed chasing down the Winterhawk bomber.”
“He’s your partner. You both work for the government.”
“You’re my partner, but you’re more interested in your boutonniere than a bomber. Hey, what exactly is your relationship to the happy couple, Brooke and Adrian? You’re the best man?” He added that to give his partner an “out” if he should choose to take it. Gabriel could easily pretend his only role was that of best man, although it was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that he also lived full time with them. Perry himself had even once seen Gabriel grabbing Adrian’s ass, and the two kissed for quite a long, intimate moment.
“I’m best man,” said the handsome, hulking conservation officer, “but much more than that.” His wiggling eyebrows left nothing to the imagination.
“All right, we get it. You sleep with both of them. Knowing you like I do, what else could I expect. Do you all sleep in the same bed?”
“Usually. Sometimes Adrian snores, and Brooke deals with insomnia, so she wanders around. And they sometimes sleep at the horse ranch where they work.”
Perry said, “It’s difficult enough with two people in one bed. I can’t imagine three. So you have a…commitment to each other? Even though the other two are the only ones who can legally wed, the three of you have a…mental commitment?”
“Right. It’s a lifetime commitment for the three of us. Can I ask why you want to know all this, Perry? You were never interested in any bisexual shenanigans before. You always acted pretty squidged any time I’d mention a nice cock I just sucked. Obviously it’s that fed who is sculpted like David. Isn’t he a little old for you?”
That was the question Gabriel chose to ask? “You’re not gonna ask me whether he’s not the wrong sex for me? Jesus, Gabriel! Is that all you gays care about?”
“I’m bisexual, and Adrian ran the numbers on Rowan O’Shea, if that’s what you want to call him. He’s been with Hawkeye Corp for eight years, mostly in Iraq and Afghanistan, but lately he’s been on domestic terror assignments. Before that he was Sinn Féin, located in County Kerry. Basically, IRA.”
“If it’s so top secret how could Adrian get that information?”
“Insider privilege. All those commandos have to stick together. So I know he’s eighteen years older than you. And me.”
“Big deal.”
“Big deal? Do you really want to be with a man suspected of having pulled off a mass bank heist in Belfast? Even though it means he is probably independently wealthy?”
Perry shrugged. He hadn’t thought of any of these things up until a few hours ago. The incident in the desert standing by the monster SUV, Perry had brushed that off as a weird aberration. He’d just been horny. Rowan had been in the wrong place at the right time. Or the right place at the wrong time. But apparently that spontaneous cocksucking had stayed with Perry intensely enough that when Rowan plunged into the swimming hole, Perry had eagerly reached for his cock to frig. He could just kick himself, how eagerly he’d reached for the Irish mercenary. How much pleasure had he derived not only jacking Rowan’s dick but in merely kissing him, in holding a man in his arms and lapping away at his tongue like there was no tomorrow?
What in God’s name had gotten into him? “What should I care? He’s clean now. He’s with Hawkeye Corp.”
“Yeah? And you think all those private military contractors are so damned pristine? They don’t take a little on the side, a little off the top?”
“Well, of course they do. Especially if they get paid as badly as conservation officers do. Besides, I doubt he’s after this bomber for the money. The bomber isn’t even in it for the dough—he’s strictly a renegade, off the grid, a whacko. I’m just curious how you handle your…arrangement. I mean, you don’t hold hands in public, do you?”
“I try not to. Of course there are always going to be ones who frown on you. I try not to pull down Adrian’s pants and pop his cock into my mouth in the middle of Logan’s ski run, if that’s what you mean. But the citizens of Bird in Hand are all pretty cool, in particular the women, if you can imagine. They always sort of mentally elbow me and Adrian.”
“Probably because they’d like to watch it themselves. Earlier we turned Sasha McQueen into a puddle of melted goo when we jacked each other off by a swimming hole.”
This seemed to impress Gabriel. “Sasha? I heard she’s a tough nut to crack. Her sisters always encourage her to date, but she says her medical examiner’s job is good enough for her. Good luck to you.”
Perry shrugged, as though it made him no difference. “They’re both here until they can find that bomber. Then they’re back to their jobs.”
“They all say that, bro. Nathan Horowitz—well, he was a burned-out case after his partner got shot down in Africa. He was probably ready to retire from The Circuit. But Adrian was only here to evaluate an antique coin. He fell so hard for me and Brooke he never looked back.”
“Well, I ain’t falling for anyone, Gabriel.” Perry lied. He had already fallen quickly for Rowan the second Rowan had cuffed him and gulped his cock. And he knew he was hot enough for Sasha to fight Rowan tooth and nail for her. “My job comes first. Oh, here’s my five o’clock.”
Gabriel twisted around in his chair. Naturally, he guffawed. “Your five o’clock is a leopard.”
Perry said irritably, “You can’t have failed to have noticed all of these fully-grown adults running around in cartoon outfits.”
Gabriel couldn’t seem to stop laughing. “Yeah. You’ll see them sometimes in the desert, camping. They’re usually harmless.”
“Well, they refuse to take their outfits off at a convention. Hey, Red!” Perry stood to greet the leopard, who held out his furry paw for Perry to shake. Gabriel made a getaway, shaking his head with amusement.
“Hey, Officer Donovan,” said Red, taking a seat. “I’m glad you called on me for my expertise. You’d be surprised what us furry fans have seen. No one thinks we’re on the lookout because we’re wearing these giant heads. It’s true we can’t see very well—not the best peripheral vision. But you say you think some culprit is planning on hiding undercover as a furry fan?”
“That’s what I’m assuming, yes. Here’s a picture of him I need you to commit to memory, and here’s my business card, Red.”
“I’m telling you, Officer Donovan, we don’t usually engage in fursuitism. Me and Mike just got carried away yiffing.”
“Well, maybe the ticket I gave you will go away if you give me concrete information on this guy. How does that sound, Red?”
“Sounds jim-dandy to me.” Furries were pouring into the Neon Cocktail. The bar was starting to resemble the bar in Star Wars, with
cute, horned creatures standing with hands on hips nodding, and sexy foxes swishing enormous tails while sipping martinis. Some of the costumes must have been hot inside—Perry noted at least one built-in fan above a bear’s tail. Sure, some conventioneers were dressed normally. Red had told Perry the fursuits could be quite expensive. “I’m sorry I can’t hand out a hard copy photo, but it won’t do to have him know we’re onto him. And you can’t be discussing it anywhere, period. You never know which…” Perry looked around. A person dressed in a pink pony suit trotted by. The pony oddly reminded Perry of a cartoon his niece liked to watch. “Which pony is plotting to blow up your furry lifestyle convention.”
“Well,” said Red, “I know most of these people from past conventions. So I’m presuming it’ll be someone I haven’t met before. Hey, Bruce.” He waved to a guy who wore only a tiger head, but otherwise was dressed as a human in cowboy vest and boots.
“Right. Probably a loner, someone not interested in talking to others.”
“All right, Quick Draw McGraw.” Sol Greenspan, the lodge’s lawyer, loomed over their table. Sol looked lawyerly even wearing a polo shirt and slacks. Maybe it was his unsuccessful comb-over that gave his forehead that intelligent yet sleazy look. He hitched his thumb while sneering at Red. “Vamoose, buster. I have some actual, real business to discuss with Smoky here.”
“Quick Draw McGraw is a horse,” Red reminded Sol.
“Keep in touch,” Perry advised Red as the leopard went to rejoin his clan.
Sol sat. “You’re actually talking with these jokers? It’s bad enough that we have to host their fluffy convention. It’s not going to go far for our image as the premier lodge in Utah, if you know what I mean. How are they even drinking cocktails with these heads on? We’re going to run out of straws. Cass told me she’s already gotten a complaint the bathroom stalls in the women’s room are too narrow. This is worse than that Overeaters Anonymous convention. Now listen. What’s up about this crazed bomber lurking around? Sasha told me she thinks some guy followed her from the Winterhawk.”
“Well, that’s what Rowan thinks. His IP address did ping off the closest cell tower. I’ve ordered a detection dog which should arrive tomorrow, special delivery from a co-worker in Salt Lake.”
Sol slapped his palm against the table. “See? This is what I mean. I always said the day we have to bring in bomb detection dogs is the day I quit the Triple Play Lodge. I was going to fly back home to Provo. I’ve got other clients, you know. Have you noticed how trouble seems to follow these McQueen girls around? That’s right, you just moved here. You’re not familiar with these Typhoid McQueen ladies.”
“I know their unsavory crowd was due to Xandra’s ex-boyfriend in Charleston. But this current Sean Hinton asswipe has nothing to do with that crowd. I honestly can’t figure out why he’d be following Sasha. He was following the congressman around, probably in his employ, blowing shit up to justify Maliano’s paranoid legislation, but now it’s something different. Rowan thinks he’s just gone off the deep end. Too many years of being an incendiary thug. C-4 gone to his brain. Whatever the case, no one’s really going to rest until he’s in custody.”
Sol gestured for the waitress. “Could it be that he’s got it out for some of these costumed critters? First he turns on his politician employers, now against whack-a-moles in mole costumes?”
Perry stood. It was actually a legitimate possibility—a coincidence that Sean Hinton had been drawn to the Triple Play by the Furries after assassinating Maliano. Maybe he even was one of them and wasn’t going undercover. Maybe he was just taking a few personal days off before continuing his explosive rampage somewhere else. “I’m going to check on Sasha.”
“Hey, Pooh!” yelled Sol through a cupped hand. “Move your fluffy ass so I can see the damned waitress!”
Perry started for the interior hallway that would lead to Sasha’s suite. Already he was overwhelmed by insecure feelings, not wanting to leave Rowan alone with the delicate beauty. What was going to happen? The two men would kill each other before they would let Sasha choose which one she wanted—if any.
“You! Yeah, you, Piglet! Move that twisty little tail or I’ll wind it up for you! Now I need a double. You’re driving me to drink!”
Chapter Eight
Rowan rifled through Sasha’s suitcase.
True, she was lying right there on her back on the mattress, idly watching him root through her panties and socks. But Rowan was starting to doubt that she had what he wanted.
He withdrew a pair of sheer black pantyhose that would have to do and sat on the edge of the bed. Sasha was stripped down to her lacey black bra, her wrists enclosed in furry cuffs that closed with Velcro, but their long ribbons weren’t as yet tied to anything. It was safe, sane, consensual, as they always said.
“It’s all about trust,” said Rowan, sliding her black panties down to reveal a cunning triangle of ash-blonde curls. Sasha didn’t date anyone, yet she trimmed her bush. That went along with what he knew of her. Sort of obsessive-compulsive, had to be right about everything, and damn, did she have to look fine at every moment.
“I do trust you,” said Sasha, matter-of-factly. “I don’t know why, but I do. Do you force all your charges to go through such rigorous training to prove their trust in you?”
Rowan set the stockings on the mattress and now boldly dared to go through the closet. Every stylish woman must have a pair of black high-heeled sandals. Flippantly he said, “Only the most exquisitely gorgeous ones who need protecting.” Abandoning his high-and-mighty tone, he turned to her and said softly, “Actually, it would be against my military code of conduct to use my power to get sexual favors.”
“I see,” Sasha said mildly. “So you’re just using your charm and animal magnetism to get sexual favors.”
Rowan liked her lightness. She did not scream, cry, or use other manipulative tactics. She was straightforward. “Something like that, yes.”
“Did you use your charm when you were an IRA agent?”
Rowan’s hand holding the black sandals stilled. He set the shoes down next to her feet then sat down himself, bowling her toward him. He covered one of her bare feet with his broad hand and squeezed. Her eyelids lowered with the pleasure. “Sinn Féin, in County Kerry where I was born. We did some things that now sound thuggish—hell, probably were thuggish. That slate was wiped clean when I emigrated here, became a citizen, started working for your—our—government taking down the bad guys.” He continued stripping her panties from her, tossing them to the carpet.
She smiled slyly. “So basically you’re a thug yourself, and you don’t care which government’s bad guys you take down. You just like taking them down.”
Rowan shrugged. She had pretty much nailed it. “You make it sound so crude, so crass.” He pretended to be injured by her insult.
His ruse worked. She put a soothing hand on his arm, and he began to unroll one leg of the sheer stocking to cover her foot. “It’s who you are, Rowan. I see some terrible abuse in your past that turned you into a tough, take-no-prisoners type.”
It was eerie how accurate the doctor was. His father had, of course, beat the shit out of him for every imaginary infraction, so he’d lifted weights and buffed up to protect himself. He had joined the regular army but found it not martial enough for his liking, so had joined Sinn Féin. “My father was such a bastard, once he set his two bull terriers on me. Normally he kept them chained in the front yard as a show of macho bravado. But he was angry at me for not having mowed the lawn or some such shit. So he unchained them.”
Sasha’s eyes flashed with ire. “What a bastard!” Rowan was taking his time, smoothing the stocking that felt like real silk over her well-formed calf, then her knee. She even assisted by spreading her leg at the right angle, and the little pink tip of her clitoris peeked from the curls. That’s where Rowan wanted to be. Proving to Sasha that he was all she’d ever need. “Did they bite you?”
Rowan knew he’d played a sympath
y card, so now he had to mitigate it. “A little. Their teeth chomped at my ass as I went flying over the fence.” Actually, their teeth had taken out a few chunks of his ass, and now Sasha would be on the lookout for the scars. Sometimes Rowan liked to pretend to women he was trying to seduce that the bite marks were from shrapnel. Much more romantic and dangerous that way.
“I take it you don’t talk to your father much anymore.”
“Not at all. He could be dead, as far as I know.” Then he recalled Sasha’s computer screen when she’d been typing at the Winterhawk. She’d been composing a speech, probably to tell her sisters, something about how their father was sicker than anyone had previously known. “It’s a shame, because a relationship with a father can be a good thing, I gather. It’s just never going to happen in my life.” His fingers came within inches of her heated, slick pussy, but now he had to start rolling up the stocking toes of the other foot.
“And you’ve never been married? I find that hard to believe.”
Rowan actually felt himself blush. Her opinion mattered so much to him. “There hasn’t been much time what with fighting all these terrorists. Believe it or not, miss, my assignment isn’t often to protect a gorgeous lass like you. It’s usually to protect some jowly politician who wants to be taken to a strip club. There is where I find women, to formulate my ideas of womanhood. We watch women hump the pole and squirm around on the laps of politicians, and in the back rooms and alleys we beat up whoever is currently wronging us. That’s our life.”
“Hm,” said Sasha thoughtfully, looking at the ceiling. She made a tiny gasp when Rowan’s fingers intentionally made light circles against her inner thigh. He could tell she was forcing herself to speak, but her mind was elsewhere. “So your entire life revolves around brutality. You’ve obtained the wrong view of women if you’ve only seen them slide around poles. Don’t you ever have women to protect? Hillary Clinton? Condoleezza?”
The Grass Is Greener [McQueen Was My Valley 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 8
