Broken Protocol (Smoke & Bullets)

by A. R. Barley

  “Luke and I ran into a mugger outside the bar last night,” he explained.

  “Is that why you’ve been such an asshole?” Finn flushed as the last word dropped out of his face.

  “Two kids were attacked. Some asshole in a black hoodie.”

  “So, some asshole.”

  “Pretty much.” Dante felt like an idiot hearing the words come out of his own mouth. It was the same generic description given by almost every eyewitness in the city, and given the late night darkness and dismal light in the alleyway it probably wasn’t even accurate. The hoodie could just as easily be red, or green, or pink with pastel purple cammo.

  “One of the guys lost his ring. It’s silver. Distinctive crest.” Dante pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and thumbed his way to the pictures. Thank God, he’d been sober enough to collect some evidence. “Here.” He stopped on the clearest image of Ryan’s tattoo. “This is on the ring. I need you to pull that image off my phone, clean it up, send it out to every pawn shop and jewelry store in the city.”

  “Isn’t there a uniform who can do that?”

  “They’ve got important things to do. Like their jobs. You should do yours.” Luke might not be interested in Finn, but that didn’t mean Dante was going to let his partner harass him all morning. “When you’re done with that, you can start going through the files. I want to see every mugging in the last year that used a gun.”

  Finn’s blue eyes were wide. “Are we just talking Lower Manhattan?”

  “The whole borough.”

  “And Brooklyn,” Luke said.

  “Brooklyn?” Dante frowned. Most criminals stayed where they were comfortable, and there were plenty of gay nightclubs in Manhattan.

  There were deep lines around Luke’s mouth and noticeable circles under his eyes. Dante wasn’t the only one who’d slept badly the night before.

  Of course, the damn alley had only been a twenty-five-minute cab ride from Dante’s home. His head had probably been hitting the pillow while Luke was still waiting for the subway to take to Grand Central so he could catch a train out to Long Island.

  When Luke had moved out of his childhood bedroom, he’d moved all the way downstairs to the basement apartment. Even with the cost of transit from Long Island to the fire station, it was cheaper than finding a place of his own.

  Another city and living at home might be totally lame, but in New York where rent on a hole-in-the-wall studio apartment could be over two thousand dollars a month it was practically expected.

  It didn’t make the commute any easier.

  And then he’d gotten up early the next morning to catch the train back to Manhattan in time to catch Dante at his desk.

  This wasn’t a joke or a random line of inquiry.

  It was real. Luke was certain, and for whatever reason he was saying Brooklyn.

  “Start in Manhattan but Brooklyn too,” Dante told Finn. “Start with the most recent cases and then go backwards. Look for any connections, where the victims said they were coming from, anything they might have been doing when they were surprised. I haven’t talked to the captain. This isn’t on the books yet. That means we’re going to be working this around our other cases, but I don’t want you slacking off because of that.”

  Finn looked pissed but he wasn’t objecting. He really might turn into a decent detective after all. Eventually. Maybe. Dante tapped his fingers against his desk’s scuffed wood surface. “Luke, you got any plans for the morning?”

  “My shift doesn’t start for another few hours. When I got done here, I figured I’d grab some coffee and hit the books until then. This semester is kicking my ass.”

  “You’re going back to school?” Dante blinked in surprise. Charlie had kept him informed about Luke over the years, but he hadn’t mentioned school.

  “It’s just a couple of classes. I want to be an arson investigator,” Luke explained quietly. He didn’t look too sure about that. His smile had dropped away and he was suddenly uncertain. “It’s harder than I thought. Lots of science. Lots of math.” His shoulders bowed ever so slightly. “It all makes sense after a while, but I need all the study time I can get.”

  “Sounds like fun.” It was a worthy ambition, even if his gut twisted at the thought of the younger Parsons going toe to toe with psycho firebugs and shady businessmen desperate to turn a gallon of gasoline and a match into their next big win. “If you can put off studying for a little while—”

  “God, yes.”

  “—I was hoping you’d go back to the alley with me. We could take another look. See if there’s anything we missed last night in the dark.” When he’d been too drunk to pull his gun or chase down the guy. He pushed his chair back away from his desk and tried to stand up without wobbling. It almost worked. Probably. He pulled his hat out of his pocket and slammed it down on top of his head. “Maybe track down a lead or two.”

  “Anything to get out of differential equations.” Luke took the lead, tracing the way through the crowded police station. His head was held high. He strutted forward like someone who knew where he was going, not caring if he bumped into a desk or brushed past a man in a suit.

  Dante’s motions were a hell of a lot more precise, but then he couldn’t remember the last time he’d moved with Luke’s easy grace. Maybe never. He kept his arms pulled in tight and a glare fixed purposely on his face, daring anyone to step into his personal space, as he followed Luke out onto the street.

  The sky was shining blue up ahead, but the street was coated in the familiar dank shadows thrown off by New York City skyscrapers. They’d have to go to Central Park or Long Island to really feel the sun on their faces. Dante didn’t care. The shadows were where he’d lived since he was too young to remember, but then Luke stepped into a slender patch of light and everything was sunny.

  Between the pounding in his head and the fluttering in his chest, it took Dante half a block to realize they were heading toward the subway. “Not a chance.” The underground trains might be the lifeblood that kept New York pumping along, but he’d never been a fan of the smoldering heat or the press of the crowd.

  Smoke & Bullets wasn’t that far away. They could walk.

  Side by side they ambled down the street, neither one saying anything. The city was loud enough. Televisions screamed advertisements from a nearby storefront. People crowded them from every direction. Dante tugged his hat down another inch, not that the wool did much to muffle the sound of someone trying to sell him Broadway tickets.

  Luke shouldered him. “Hungry?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Right.” Luke jogged forward half a block. He stopped in front of a food cart and said something to the owner. By the time Dante caught up with him, Luke was offering up a five-dollar bill for a pair of hot dogs.

  “On the house for FDNY,” the vendor said.

  Luke didn’t even pause before tucking the bill into the tip jar. “I insist.”

  “Got to love a hometown hero.”

  It was enough to put Dante’s teeth on edge. When Luke finally fell into step beside him, he tugged his jacket in close and picked up his step. “Did he give you his number?”

  “Excuse me?” Luke asked around a mouthful of all-American beef.

  “First my partner, then the hot dog guy. I know you’re looking for Prince Charming, but do you have to flirt with every guy in New York?”

  “I wasn’t flirting. I was paying him for the food.” Luke took a bite, chewed twice, and swallowed. “I don’t flirt with every guy I come across.”

  “You were flirting with my partner last night.”

  They’d arrived at their final destination. In the bright light of day, the alley was washed out. The asphalt beneath their feet was stained with sludge and slime. The walls were alternately brick red and concrete gray. It took him a minute to get his bearings and retrace the path they’d taken the night before.

  “The pair of you were practically sucking face over at the pool table. Then the cold sh
oulder this morning.” He let out a low whistle. “That’s one hell of a mixed message you’re throwing his way.”

  Luke dug into his messenger bag and pulled out a mint green beanie the same style as Dante’s. He tugged it on over his dark curls. “Maybe he wasn’t the one I was sending a message to.”

  Whatever the hell that meant.

  Dante’s gaze swept the alleyway in front of them. It was so damn ordinary. An ordinary alleyway behind an ordinary building with an ordinary Dumpster at the far end. At night it had maybe been a little darker than most—perfect for what Liam and Ryan had been planning—but that was it.

  Except...

  The noise from the street had dimmed when they turned the corner. In the noisiest city in America, they should have been able to hear car horns blaring, pedestrians swearing as they collided with each other on the sidewalk, and a thousand other tiny noises.

  Instead, Dante was all too aware of the rustling coming from under the Dumpster. Rats or worse although he couldn’t really imagine anything worse than rats.

  “This place is quiet, really quiet.” The alley was definitely private. How the hell had the mugger found Liam and Ryan? Dante hunched down to take a closer look at the tracks in the dirt where Liam had knelt down. Could he make out a footprint where the attacker had stood? Ugly red tennis shoes with blue laces. It wasn’t much to go on. “We weren’t supposed to hear them calling for help.”

  No one was supposed to hear anything.

  If they hadn’t shown up—if the perp hadn’t been spooked by a badge—then anything could have happened.

  Damn, Dante had been stupid to rush into the confrontation without backup.

  Lucky, but stupid.

  And Luke had been standing right beside him.

  His hands were shaking. When had his hands started shaking? Dante rubbed his palms hard against his slacks. “You shouldn’t have followed me last night.”

  Shit. He’d almost broken rule one, the first rule he’d learned when he’d walked into the Parsons household at fourteen and the only rule that really mattered: Don’t hurt Luke. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that backup wouldn’t get there in time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink that much before. You were practically unconscious. I didn’t know if you were going to fall over before you got there or worse—you could have fallen down right in front of the guy. He wouldn’t have needed a weapon then. He could have kicked your skull in, and you wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.”

  “You could have been hurt.”

  Luke shook his head.

  Dante wasn’t done. “You could have been killed. You think I want to explain that to your dad?”

  “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need him to protect me. I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

  “The next time I tell you to go for backup you’re going to do as you’re told.”

  “I’m not a kid.” Luke’s voice was a low growl. Dante tilted his head up and blinked in surprise. His color-changing eyes were almost black now with lightning flashing in their depths. Maybe it was just the way the shadows hit them. Dante settled back on his heels, but Luke’s eyes were still dark, angry, cold.

  Not good.

  Luke Parsons could be stubborn when he was challenged. If Dante said the wrong thing, he’d be stuck trailing after Luke for the rest of his life to make sure he didn’t take up a stupid new hobby, like sky diving or vigilante justice. Or worse, be stuck on the outside looking in while Luke broke every bone in his body.

  Dante knew all about being self-destructive. There’d been a time when he might have been considered the world’s leading expert. He wasn’t about to let Luke go down that road.

  Even if it meant doing something he didn’t want to, like groveling, or...

  “I don’t want to protect you because I think you’re a kid,” Dante said quietly. “We’re brothers.”

  Foster brothers. It shouldn’t have mattered, but Charlie Parsons hadn’t been like any of the other foster fathers he’d had over the years. Their bond might not be blood, but it was real.

  Dante reached up and grabbed Luke’s arm. He wrapped his fingers tight around muscular biceps and he pulled himself up onto his feet. It brought them even closer together. Heat rolled off Luke’s body. It was the closest he’d been to another human being in months, except for the night before when he’d leaned into Luke like he belonged there. He should probably—definitely—pull away.

  Dante wrenched his hand away from Luke’s arm, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He liked being close to Luke. It felt good, damn it. Warm and comfortable. Hell, it had felt even better when they’d been touching.

  Stand too close to the fire, and he was going to get burned.

  Maybe Luke was right. He’d been single too long. It was making him think things he shouldn’t, like how damn arousing he found the scent of oatmeal soap. Like how Luke wasn’t a floppy-eared teenager anymore and maybe asking him out to dinner wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

  Luke was off-limits. He was forbidden.

  Dante needed to get laid.

  When he was done for the day, he’d go home and clean out his apartment until he found the coffee cup with the barista’s number on it. Or he could just hit a bar and skip straight to the good stuff.

  “I’m not going to be done with my shift until late,” Luke said. “If I stop by your apartment afterwards, maybe we could get some takeout and go over whatever files Finn digs up.”

  No. Dante’s palms itched. He needed to say no, but he couldn’t form the words. “I’ll text you my address,” he said almost against his own will. Luke might be off-limits, but this time Dante couldn’t bring himself to pull away. They had to stick together at least until the end of the case. No matter how painful it was to stand next to Luke without touching. “You’re buying and I want Indian. The good stuff. Lamb korma from that place in Morningside Heights.”

  Chapter Five

  The place in Morningside Heights delivered. Luke placed his order while he was on the train and ran into the delivery guy in the lobby. He paid and climbed the four flights of stairs to Dante’s apartment. It was a nice building, brick with tall ceilings and wide sprawling hallways even if the tile floors were cracked and the walls could use a fresh coat of paint. When Dante finally opened the door to his apartment, a sliver of the park was visible through the windows.

  “You got the food.” Dante was wearing a pair of comfortable gray sweatpants with a bleach stain on the left side. His T-shirt was light blue, almost the same color as his blue eye, and the sleeves stretched around ropey biceps decorated in thick black streaks. It wasn’t until he turned to usher him inside that Luke realized the shirt’s uneven color was probably the result of an unfortunate laundry accident with something darker.

  Dante’s long step caused his shirt to pull free from his pants and reveal more ink pooled at the base of his spine. Luke choked on his own tongue. Damn. Dante’d started getting the tattoo the week after he turned eighteen. It was huge, sprawling, and Luke had never seen the entire thing.

  Would his tattooed skin feel different to the touch? Smoother, like the needle had sanded over any rough spots?

  Would it taste different?

  Luke refused to think about it. Dante might be all kinds of sexy, he might be the man of his teenage dreams, but he was also the man who’d abandoned him for years. Forget fantasizing. He wanted to get in, get through the files, and get out.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  “You’re not even going to try to be friendly?” Luke asked.

  “You’re the one who invited yourself over.”

  “You’re a big boy. You could have said no. It’s not like you’ve been falling over yourself to give me your address before this. I couldn’t even get Dad to tell me what borough you lived in.”

  Dante turned away sharply like he’d been hit, but he didn’t say a word. He did take the bags of food away
from Luke and led him into a good-sized living room with a couch, a coffee table, two bookshelves, and a small flat-screen that was placed on top of a glass-fronted hutch that had probably held fine china during its first hundred years of existence but now contained two different video game systems complete with games and a tangle of controllers.

  To the right there was a narrow doorway. Dante led the way through to a galley-style kitchen running the length of the living room. On one end the appliances were squeezed together around a small window. The other had a table large enough for two people, maybe, if they really liked each other.

  Luke dropped his messenger bag down on the little table and Dante put the food down on the counter. Then they retraced their steps through the living room and down a short hall. They almost managed to do it without touching, but then Dante’s arm rubbed against his, and they both nearly fell over trying to make space between them.

  Smooth.

  Really smooth.

  They passed swinging doors that opened to a cramped office with a wooden desk, a tower computer, and the textbooks from every criminology course Dante had taken in college.

  Next was a bathroom with tiny white tile that might have been a retro twist on modern design but was probably original to the building. Luke wouldn’t mind giving the claw-foot tub a test-drive. If Dante wanted to join him that would be good too. He gave himself a mental head smack. He was there to investigate crime—find the damn mugger who’d stolen his wallet and taken his ability to sleep through the night—not flirt with a man who didn’t even like him.

  The last door was a bedroom. Dante’s bedroom with its oversized white metal bed and flowery curlicues. The crisp cotton comforter was a muted gray sprinkled with white flowers. Luke looked around long enough to memorize the room for any late-night fantasies and promptly retreated back to the living room.

  “This is a nice place,” Luke said. It was a real apartment with art on the walls and a homey feeling that made him want to stay. How long had Dante lived there? Only a train ride away from the firehouse. And he hadn’t even said hello.