by Pandora Pine
He’d never volunteered for the Officer Buddy program, figuring his imposing height and gruff manner would scare rather than encourage the kids to think of police officers as their friends.
His anger started to build again as he ran through the list of names, sure Michael Frye’s killer was in these pages somewhere. Some of the names were familiar to him, others were not. He saw O’Dwyer’s name along with Tony’s and a name he’d forgotten was a part of the program all together. “Holy fucking shit!”
“Well, good morning to you too, snookums!” Tennyson said from behind him.
“Oh, shit, Ten!” Ronan spun off the barstool he’d been sitting on.
Ten was standing behind him dressed in blue and white flannel sleep pants with his arms crossed over his chest. His mop of curls was pulled back behind his head, giving Tennyson a slick look. His lover raised a curious eyebrow at him. “Looks like you’re right at home here.”
Ronan smiled sheepishly. He was right at home in Tennyson’s borrowed pants, sitting at his counter, drinking his coffee. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I got up and made some coffee. Hope you don’t mind?” Ronan stalked toward him, the last name on the list momentarily forgotten.
Tennyson dropped his arms from his chest and reached for Ronan. “The only thing I minded was waking up alone in a cold bed.”
Pulling him into a tight hug, Ronan felt a pang of guilt. He would have loved to have been there when Tennyson woke up. “I have a feeling there are going to be plenty of other mornings for us to wake up together, babe.”
Pressing a kiss against Ronan’s neck, Tennyson hummed against his warm skin. “I’m going to hold you to that, Detective O’Mara. Have you found anything interesting?”
Nodding, Ronan pulled back. “Yeah, Josh’s name is on the list. I’d totally forgotten he volunteered for the program.”
Tennyson shivered in his arms.
“Does that mean something?” Ronan’s eyes narrowed as he studied Tennyson closely. He held Ten back at arm’s length, his hands on Ten’s shoulders.
Ten shook his head. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a visceral reaction to hearing his name again. I didn’t get a good first impression of him when we met.”
Ronan rubbed his hands up and down Tennyson’s arms. He could feel they’d broken out in goosebumps. His husband was poison to everyone he came into contact with. How the hell had he survived seven years with Josh and come out unscathed on the other side?
“How about shower sex and a homecooked breakfast before we have to get back to Boston and the case?” Tennyson waggled his eyebrows at Ronan as he reached for the waistband of his lover’s borrowed sweats.
Ronan’s answer was a kiss that stole his breath and he hoped Tennyson’s heart along with it.
40
Tennyson
Since Ronan hadn’t finished reading the rest of the Officer Buddy list before Tennyson had woken up and interrupted his work, Ten had spent the long, traffic-riddled ride into Boston reading the rest of the list to Ronan. He would have rather been talking about the mind-blowing up-against-the-shower-wall sex they had before they’d left his apartment this morning, but he had a feeling there would be time for that later.
As Tennyson read the names off, Ronan would grunt or stay silent about the officer in question. If Ronan made some kind of noise, Tennyson highlighted the name on the list. With nearly twenty-two hundred active members of the Boston Police Department, there was no way Ronan knew all of those men and women personally. There was no way to tell from this list how many were still on the job or had moved on to other departments or had retired. Hell, some could even be dead by now. Seven years was a long time in police years. They were just killing time here and keeping Ronan’s head in the game.
After what felt like hours on the road, Ronan pulled the Mustang into an open parking space in the precinct’s underground parking garage. “When we get upstairs, I need to have a private talk with Captain Fitzgibbon. I was a bit of an asshole yesterday and I need to smooth things over with him.” Ronan sounded contrite.
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my Ronan?” Tennyson’s mouth was hanging open in shock. In all of the time he’d known Ronan, it wasn’t like him to willingly offer an apology to anyone.
“Your Ronan?” The detective wore a self-satisfied smirk.
Tennyson rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Not mine as in I own you. I meant mine as in my usually cocky partner who thinks he walks on water.”
“Uh, didn’t I walk on water in the shower this morning?” Ronan’s face burst into a gorgeous smile.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tennyson shot him a confused look.
“Well you kept shouting ‘Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus!’ So, I must have been walking on water.” Ronan burst out laughing.
Tennyson unbuckled his seatbelt and straightened his spine. “I don’t know why I like you.” There were only about a million reasons on the ever-growing list now, but Ten wasn’t going to give Ronan the satisfaction of listing even one of them.
Ronan waggled his eyebrows. “Because I’ve got a big cock and know how to use it?”
Boy did he ever know how to use it… Tennyson bit his bottom lip to keep from saying those exact words out loud knowing they would just make Ronan’s already monolithic ego even bigger, and hopped out of the car.
“Come on, Ten. You know I’m right.” Ronan slung his arm around his lover as they walked to the elevator bank.
Tennyson sighed and rolled his eyes. It was the only acknowledgement he was willing to give Ronan.
When they got upstairs, Tennyson took a seat at Ronan’s desk while Ronan went off to have his private word with Captain Fitzgibbon. All of the cameramen Brett McCabe stationed at the precinct followed Ronan, leaving Ten alone with his thoughts.
Some of the detectives he’d gotten to know over the last few weeks had stopped by to say hello and ask how he was doing or gossip about Ronan. Ten was learning to roll with the punches and offer tiny tidbits about his partner that they already joked about, like the way he babied his car. It was easy to joke along with the guys without offering up any details about his private time with Ronan. Ten was starting to feel like he was part of the precinct family.
After all the cops drifted back to their desks and there was still no sign of Ronan, Tennyson headed into the kitchen. He knew some of the female detectives kept a supply of green tea in there and he could go for a cup. For some reason, he was feeling a bit uneasy in Ronan’s office today.
He was picking up low levels of anxiety, like an almost out of range radio station. Ten was getting mostly static with the occasional burst of a signal. What little information he was getting was enough to put him on edge. Maybe some hot tea would help calm him down. He’d been rubbing a healing crystal he’d kept in his pocket for Ronan, but so far, it wasn’t helping to calm his own nerves.
Trying to shake off the feeling of unease, Tennyson walked into the kitchen, which was blessedly empty. The last thing he was in the mood for at the moment was making more small talk. He grabbed a mug and a tea bag and filled the navy-blue cup with boiling water from the water cooler. He was adding the bag to steep when Tennyson felt someone walk into the room behind him.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the ghost whisperer,” an all too familiar voice sneered.
“What do you want, Josh?” Tennyson turned around, the mug of hot tea clenched tightly in his right hand.
“Where’s hubby? It’s not like him to run off and leave his boo unattended.” Josh grinned at Tennyson around a toothpick sticking out of the left side of his mouth.
Tennyson rolled his eyes. He had no idea how Ronan lived with this guy for years without stabbing him in his sleep. “Are you for real or is this act just for show?” Tennyson took half a step to the side of the repulsive man, intent on moving past him. “You know what? Never mind, I’m not interested.”
Josh’s right hand shot out, grabbing Tennyson’s arm. “You kno
w what, asshole? You should be interested.”
Tennyson couldn’t breathe. The minute Josh touched him, it was like the world was moving in slow-motion. He could see everything that was going on around him, but could not take a breath. The cup of hot tea he was holding slipped from his hand and crashed against the floor sending the hot liquid and shards of glass every direction, but he didn’t hear the glass break.
The next thing he knew, Josh was shaking his body with both hands on his upper arms. Ten could see his lips moving, but couldn’t hear the words he was saying.
Tennyson felt his eyes roll back in his head and flashes of light were intermixing with pictures like a movie projector that was on the fritz.
He saw Michael Frye and his puppy flash by before he saw what he thought was a uniformed police officer from the knees down; dark navy-blue pants and boots polished to a high shine. He saw an older model Boston Police cruiser and then Michael in the back seat wearing the clothes they’d found with his remains.
Tennyson gasped when flashes of Michael’s rape passed by his eyes. He could hear the boy’s screams and pleas for Officer Buddy to stop hurting him. Lastly, he watched, as if through the murderer’s eyes, as Michael was strangled until the life faded from his eyes.
The last things Tennyson saw were what he thought was a street light gleaming off the metal head of a shovel and a garbage bag being laid into a shallow hole in the ground. The last thing he heard was dirt hitting the bag.
He came back to his senses all at once. He could feel Josh’s iron grip biting into his upper arms, could smell the cinnamon from the toothpick clamped in his teeth, and could hear him asking what the fuck was wrong with him. Tennyson yanked himself out of Josh’s grip, slipping for a second on the spilled tea. “It was you,” he half-whispered. “You raped and murdered Michael Frye.” Tennyson took another step backward.
Josh’s eyes darkened as he took a menacing step toward Tennyson. “No one will believe you and your bullshit ghost stories, asshole.”
“Ronan will prove you did this.” Tennyson took another step away from Josh. He thumped hard against the back wall of the kitchen. He was trapped. With tables and chairs set close together around the room, there was no where he could run without Josh being able to grab him before he made it to the door.
Josh snorted. “Are you fucking kidding me? He lived with me, fucked me, slept next to me for years and didn’t have the first clue about Michael Frye.” Josh took another step forward, bringing their bodies flush against each other. Josh bent low to whisper, “Your precious detective didn’t have a clue about any of them.”
Tennyson felt Josh’s cinnamon-flavored breath tickle against his ear. He felt physically ill. Being this close to the revolting man, who Ronan had loved with every fiber of his being and who’d just admitted to being a child killer and rapist, was going to make him sick. “Fuck off!” Tennyson pushed against his chest, which felt like it was made of steel. Josh didn’t budge.
“Listen close, Witch City Medium, we’re getting out of here.” Josh’s eyes sparkled with malignant glee.
“Like hell we are!” Tennyson took a deep breath. He knew he couldn’t muscle past Josh, but he could shout until someone came to his rescue.
Josh clamped a meaty hand over his mouth before swinging his right hip against Tennyson’s stomach. “Feel my gun digging into your gut?”
Tennyson nodded, terrified. He’d seen Ronan’s gun in its holster a hundred times, but had never once felt threatened by it or by the man who carried it. He had no doubt that Josh would use that gun on him here and now, even with a hundred or so cops only steps away.
“Ever notice where most detectives keep their guns when they’re in the squad room, dick-cheese? Hmm?” Josh sneered in Tennyson’s face.
Tennyson knew Ronan always stuck his gun in the top drawer of his desk and then locked it. His partner had done that exact thing before he’d gone off to meet with Captain Fitzgibbon. He had no idea if the other detectives did the same, but had a feeling that was the point Josh was trying to make. He shrugged, trying not to let his captor see how truly scared he was.
“Most of those assholes keep their guns locked in their desks. If I walked out there now and started shooting, how many of those worthless motherfuckers do you think I could kill before even one of them could get their keys in their shaking hands?”
The blood drained out of Tennyson’s face and his knees were on the verge of giving out. He had no idea how long the meeting with Fitzgibbon would last. Ronan could be one of the detectives out in the squad room now and Ten had no doubt Josh’s first bullet would have Ronan’s name written on it.
“I can see you’re following along.” Josh’s smirk blossomed into a revolting smile. “We’re going to walk out of here together, just like we’re buddies. Got it? If you make one move or try to signal anyone, I’ll start shooting. Understand?”
Tennyson nodded.
“Follow me out of the kitchen and head to the bank of elevators. Do not make eye contact with anyone or I start to shoot. Got it?”
Tennyson nodded sharply, suddenly remembering the healing crystal in his pocket. It might not have helped calm his anxiety, but it just might save his skin now. The second Josh turned around, he slipped it out of his pocket and dropped it to the floor. He cringed when it pinged off the tile floor and bounced twice, making a loud snapping sound.
“What the fuck was that?” Josh spun around, his face a mask of rage.
Tennyson shrugged. “My foot kicked a shard of broken glass and it hit the lower cabinet. You gonna shoot me for that?” Tennyson could feel his heart hammering in his chest. At least Josh didn’t see the brightly colored stone he’d dropped. He could talk all he wanted about what a shit detective Ronan was, but Ten knew Ronan would spot the rock instantly and know Ten had left it there for him to find.
“Shut the fuck up and keep moving.” Josh grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door.
Shit, that was close… He knew from watching endless hours of Law and Order that being kidnapped and taken to a second location was always bad news, but he had something going for him that none of those television victims had: Cold Case Detective Ronan O’Mara.
41
Ronan
Ronan’s meeting with Fitzgibbon went better than he could have expected. The captain had understood how emotional he’d been over having to arrest his best friend and former homicide partner. He’d even commended Ronan on how professionally he’d handled the arrest and booking process with Tony.
Thankfully, the captain didn’t know anything about his and Tennyson’s subsequent visit to Tony and Carlie’s hotel room in Revere last night or the fact that Carlie’s burner cell phone number was now stored under Apolonia, her Nonna’s name, in his department issued cell phone.
When Ronan stepped out of the captain’s office, he was surprised not to see Tennyson sitting at his desk. Figuring his partner was in the bathroom, he sat down at his desk and turned on his computer.
He read through his emails and by the time he finished, fifteen minutes later, Tennyson still wasn’t back. Ronan’s radar was up now. Not one to ignore his instincts, he opened his desk drawer and grabbed his gun, fitting it into his holster, and forced himself to walk calmly to the men’s room.
When he opened the door, he knew instantly the room was empty, but he went stall by stall just to make sure Ten wasn’t sitting on the tank with his feet on the toilet seat. Why he would be doing that Ronan didn’t know, but he was going to be thorough in his search.
If Ten wasn’t in the bathroom and he wasn’t in the squad room, where the hell was he? Digging his phone out of his back pocket, he dialed Tennyson’s number as he pushed through the bathroom door and back into the main office space. He thought he could hear Tennyson’s ringtone among the white noise of the room. The call went to voicemail.
Ronan hit the button to dial Tennyson’s number again. Sure enough, he could hear Lady Gaga belting out Edge of Glory, the closer he
got to his own desk. Tennyson’s cell phone was sitting near Ronan’s desk phone.
A tendril of stone-cold fear started to uncoil in his stomach. “Has anyone seen Tennyson?” Ronan shouted.
Fellow detectives’ heads popped up when Ronan shouted, but no one said anything.
Ronan’s shoulders tensed in frustration. “Jesus Christ, guys. Tennyson came in here with me this morning and now he’s missing. Has anyone seen him?” Ronan roared.
“Calm down, O’Mara. He’s prolly just takin’ a shit,” someone shouted from homicide.
“I just checked the men’s room. He’s not in there. We’ve been keeping this close to the vest, but it wasn’t Tony Abruzzi who killed Michael Frye. It was another cop and we’re closing in on who it was. I’m afraid Tennyson figured out who it was with his gift…” Ronan trailed off, not wanting to finish his train of thought out loud.
“What the hell is going on? O’Mara, you just apologized for shouting the building down, yet here you are doing it again.” Fitzgibbon’s hands were fisted on his hips. He wore a frustrated look on his face.
“Captain, Tennyson is missing. He came in with me this morning and now he’s gone. His phone is on my desk and it’s like he vanished into thin air.”
“Hey, Ronan! RONAN!” came a shout from the direction of the kitchen.
Ronan ran toward the kitchen. He didn’t need to be a psychic to know the shouting had to do with Tennyson. When he got to the kitchen door, Mick O’Dwyer was squatting down next to a puddle of water and broken glass shards that looked like they’d once been a BPD coffee mug. Tennyson was nowhere in sight. “Jesus, O’Dwyer, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
The other detective had his nose down next to the puddle of water. “Green tea,” he proclaimed.
“Great detective work.” Ronan sighed about to turn back to the squad room.
“Tennyson mentioned wanting green tea, not coffee,” O’Dwyer said. “And besides, none of us would break a cup like this and just leave the mess here. We’re not total cavemen.”
