by Hank Edwards
“Oh.” Michael said the word like a quiet exhalation, and it sent a shiver racing down Jazz’s spine.
Three figures stepped out of the woods. They all wore ski masks. The largest of the figures held Mr. Pickles in one hand and a gun in the other.
Jazz realized the shortest one was a woman. Kitty would be pleased a woman was involved, despite the sheriff’s comments.
She took a few steps toward them and said, “We told you to come alone.”
“I brought someone to have my back, just like you did,” Michael shouted back.
“Whatever. Do you have the drugs?”
Michael held up an evidence bag. Inside lay three condoms filled with crushed aspirin spiked with Vicodin.
“Those are the original condoms?” the big guy asked.
“Come sniff them and find out,” Michael said.
Mr. Pickles had turned his head at the first sound of Michael’s voice. Now he let out a loud, lonely meow that Michael answered with a quiet “Oh, baby,” which broke Jazz’s heart.
The cat began to squirm, and the big guy holding Mr. Pickles struggled to keep his grip on him. He wore gloves, which seemed to impede his dexterity, and Mr. Pickles took the advantage, squirming and meowing his disapproval. “Hold still, fucking cat.”
Michael took a couple of steps forward, and Jazz followed suit. “I swear to everything holy, if you hurt my cat, I’ll fucking cut you open with a bone saw.”
Whoa!
A thrill swept through Jazz, and he sucked in a breath. Maybe he was channeling his inner freak, because Michael’s threat sounded creepy and hot as hell at the same time.
“Stay back!” The big guy pressed the barrel of his gun against the top of Mr. Pickles’s head. “Stay where you are or the cat gets a lobotomy.”
Jazz froze. Beside him, Michael stopped too, his fists bunched so tight Jazz feared he’d rip the evidence bag open.
The third masked figure, tall and lanky, shifted his feet and wrung his hands, darting nervous looks at Mr. Pickles.
So he’s worried about the cat.
If things went south, that guy might listen to reason. He might even help them.
“Everybody shut the fuck up and listen,” the woman shouted. “This is how it’s going to go down.” She stabbed a finger at Michael. “Mortician! Step forward and put the bag down halfway between us. Then move back to your car.”
Teeth clenched, Michael looked at his beloved cat with a gun to his head, then nodded once. “Okay. Just don’t hurt him.”
“If you do as you’re told, I won’t,” the creep with the gun said.
Mr. Pickles meowed, and Jazz thought it sounded like a plea for help.
After exchanging a glance with Jazz, Michael slowly advanced. Jazz kept his gaze on the big guy with the gun. It would be easy for him to make a subtle change in aim and shoot Michael. Only one subtle move.
Jazz didn’t know what he’d do if he saw it happening.
But he’d do something—anything—to save Michael.
The air around HPP grew still, as if Nature herself was watching the exchange.
When it all started to go south, it wasn’t the big guy’s fault.
Not entirely.
It was actually Mr. Pickles who set everything in motion.
Maybe Mr. Pickles caught Michael’s scent as he neared the center of the space between the groups. Or maybe he’d simply had enough of being held tight in the goon’s big hand.
Whatever brought it on, Mr. Pickles moved with natural cat quickness.
Hissing, he bit down on his captor’s wrist, the only exposed flesh between glove and jacket.
“Fuck!” The goon released a surprised shout of pain and tried to shake Mr. Pickles loose. “Get off me!”
The cat dug his claws in and refused to open his jaw.
Struggling, the goon dropped his gun to yank Mr. Pickles off his wrist. Mr. Pickles hissed and snarled, jumping away before the guy could grab him.
Jazz had never been close to anyone’s definition of athletic, but his adrenaline spiked. It pushed him to run faster than he’d ever believed possible. Power surged within him, and he rushed forward.
The big guy froze and stared in shock at Jazz.
It wasn’t a long stare, but it was time enough for what Jazz intended to do.
He bent over and scooped the gun up off the ground. Planting his right foot, he made a sharp turn and darted back toward the car.
“Get the cat!” the woman ordered. “It’s getting away!”
“Fucker’s got my gun!”
“Mr. Pickles!” Michael shouted behind Jazz.
“Don’t hurt Mr. Pickles!” The new voice was male, higher-pitched than the goon’s or Michael’s. The mostly silent third kidnapper.
“Fuck the cat. Get the fucking drugs!” the woman screamed.
Behind him, Jazz heard pounding footsteps closing in. He dodged to his right and ran along the narrow road. If he could just make it back to the car he might have a chance. With a mental shout of thanks to his grandfather for teaching him about guns, Jazz released the magazine and tossed it aside. Then he ejected the bullet in the chamber and flung that into the dark, still sprinting toward the vehicle.
The goon was right behind him when Jazz threw the useless gun into the bushes.
“Fucker!” The big guy dove after his gun.
Perfect. Like throwing a ball for a dog.
“Police! Freeze!”
“Show us your hands! Don’t move!”
Jazz reached the car and collapsed against the trunk, gasping for breath.
Maybe he should do something with a little more activity.
“You brought the fucking cops?” the woman shrieked.
Jazz lifted his head and looked around. Sheriff Musgrave was on top of the big goon, a knee in his back as he cuffed him. Musgrave had an extra few inches on his neck and chest, easily able to subdue the man who’d threatened Mr. Pickles. Dark angry eyes glared at Jazz from behind the ski mask.
A tremor went down Jazz’s back as he came down from the adrenaline high. That was all so close. Too close….
Deputy Tanner had cuffed the tall, thin guy and tugged his ski mask off, revealing a long, pale face, wide eyes, and raspberry-colored hair. “You’re under arrest for murder and kidnapping a cat, asshole,” Tanner growled with surprising authority from the normally timid ginger.
“I took care of Mr. Pickles! I swear,” the kid cried. “We never hurt him!”
Deputy Tompkins managed to tackle the woman before she fled into the darkness. “Not so fast, sister,” she snapped, her severe ponytail flapping across her back as she struggled to contain her suspect.
“Get off me, you fat cow!” She fought like a feral cat, but Deputy Tompkins had the upper hand and probably fifty pounds on the kidnapper chick. She cuffed her and dragged her to her feet. When she yanked off the woman’s ski mask, a cloud of black hair billowed and the girl shook it loose like a practiced Instagram model.
Jazz gaped at the two catnappers. Neither of them looked any older than twenty-five. How had they gotten involved in drug running and murder?
In the center of the parking lot, Michael stood rooted in place. He held Mr. Pickles close to his chest, the bag of decoy condoms lying at his feet.
Hurrying over, Jazz put his arms around him from behind. Mr. Pickles’s contented purrs were like music to his ears. “He’s okay.” Jazz let out a relieved breath. “You’re okay.” He held Michael close, offering the fat kitty a soft caress as relief washed over him.
Everyone was okay. This crazy plan worked!
“You’re safe, little man,” Michael cooed, burying his face against Mr. Pickles as Jazz held them both tight. “You’re safe.”
“We didn’t hurt him,” the kid with the raspberry-colored hair said. When Jazz looked at him, he was surprised to see his cheeks wet with tears and his lips trembling. “He’s a really good kitty.”
“Shut the fuck up,” the girl said.
; “Sorry, Vee.”
“No names, asshole!” she snapped.
Musgrave laughed and shoved the big goon in line with the other two cuffed criminals. He pulled the goon’s ski mask off. The man had a ruggedly handsome face and mean eyes still locked on Jazz.
“You got anything to add, big guy?” Musgrave said.
The goon kept his lips shut tight and simply stared.
“We’ll see if some time in jail loosens up your lips,” Musgrave said.
“Oh God,” the raspberry-haired kid said with a sob. “My dad’s gonna kill me.”
“Might deserve it,” Deputy Tanner said, pushing him forward and keeping a hold of his arm. “After what you did to Mr. Pickles and Dylan Roberts.”
“What?” The kid’s eyes widened in shock, and he looked to the girl he’d called Vee. “Did you kill Dylan?”
“Shut the fuck up, Cam!” Vee shouted. She seemed to realize she’d let his name slip and put her chin on her chest as she released an angry shriek and stomped the ground several times.
Deputy Tompkins jerked on Vee’s arm. “Keep it quiet, Missy.”
“You’re both idiots,” the big guy muttered, his voice a deep rumble.
“Oh, he speaks. This may be easier than we thought.” Musgrave gestured with his gun. “Line ’em up by the car, deputies. Come on, over here. And no funny business.”
Jazz and Michael moved out of the way as Musgrave, Tompkins, and Tanner lined the three up next to Michael’s car. Musgrave sent Tanner and Tompkins to get the patrol cars. Eyes alert, Musgrave kept his sidearm pointed and at the ready as Cam sobbed and the big goon breathed heavily. Vee swore repeatedly under her breath.
Still cooing at the cat and ignoring everyone else, Michael carried Mr. Pickles to the opposite side of his car. Jazz followed, opened the back door, and retrieved the carrier they’d brought along. Inside, Michael had placed a folded towel, handfuls of treats, and Mr. Pickles’s favorite catnip toy. As Michael placed Mr. Pickles inside the carrier, Jazz filled the portable water bowl for him with a water bottle. Placing the carrier gently in the back seat, Michael took the bowl Jazz carefully held out for him.
“There you go,” Michael whispered, setting it inside and locking the door. “Daddy’s got you. You’re all safe now.”
Mr. Pickles was already crunching the treats while Michael strapped the carrier in place with a seat belt, securing Mr. Pickles safely inside his car. After brushing his hand across the top of the carrier, he closed the car door. Without warning, Michael pulled Jazz into a strong hug.
“Thank you,” Michael whispered.
“For what?” He hugged him in return, rubbing the tension from his back and neck.
“Being so brave.” With a sigh, Michael melted against him, and Jazz half imagined he might faint with relief.
Jazz pulled back to caress and kiss his cheek. “You were the brave one, sweetie.”
“Oh jeez, really?” Musgrave said with a disgusted snort. “Can’t you two save it for behind closed doors?”
Before Jazz could tell Sheriff Motel 6 to stick his opinions where the sun don’t shine, two patrol cars pulled up, lights flashing all around the trees. Holding hands and staying close to the car, Jazz and Michael watched Musgrave and the deputies load Vee and Cam into one car and the big goon into the other. Tanner walked the area with a flashlight searching the ground. He returned to where they stood and shone the light at Jazz.
“You tossed the magazine and ejected the bullet in the chamber?” Tanner asked.
Jazz shielded his eyes, and Tanner lowered the beam. “Yeah. I threw them somewhere while I was running.”
“We’ll come back in the morning and look,” Musgrave said. “Let’s get these three processed and settled into their suites at the Hilton.” He snickered at his cleverness.
“I want my lawyer!” Vee shouted from the back seat of the cruiser.
“Ow, Vee, my ears,” Cam whined.
“Oh, vag it up, Cam,” Vee snapped.
Jazz cocked his head to the side. Vag it up? That was a new one to him.
Musgrave fixed a stare on Michael and Jazz. “I’m going to need you both to stop by the station and give a statement.”
“Does it have to be tonight?” Michael asked, sounding frustrated and weary. “I’d like to get Mr. Pickles home and settled.”
Musgrave rolled his eyes. “Fine. Tomorrow morning at eight.” He pointed at them. “Both of you.”
Jazz saluted, which earned him a glare from the sheriff before he got in the car with the big goon in the back seat. Tanner and Tompkins got into the other cruiser, and they pulled out of the HPP parking area and followed the trail toward the main road.
Once they were alone on the lookout, the only sounds were their breaths and the crash of the waves echoing in the distance.
“What a night.” Michael crossed his arms and leaned against his car with a heavy sigh.
“At least we got Mr. Pickles back.”
“All’s well that ends well, eh?” He gave Jazz a rueful expression. His glasses reflected the moonlight, shielding his eyes. His dark hair was disheveled and his cheeks flushed.
Maybe it was the adrenaline, the near-death experience, or just pure primal instinct, but Jazz had never seen anyone sexier.
“Dare?” Jazz prompted, pulse quickening.
“What?” Michael scrunched his face in confusion, then shook his head. “I think we’ve had enough daring tonight, don’t you?”
“You sure?” Heart skipping, Jazz gave him a sly smile. “You said all’s well that ends well. We could end the night better than well… if you know what I mean.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “What are you thinking?”
“Well, we’ve got all of HPP to ourselves.” Swaying his hips a little, Jazz spread his arms and raised his face to the stars. “Why waste it?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
JAZZ MOVED a step back as Michael straightened and dropped his hands to the side. When Michael spoke, he kept his voice low, as if Musgrave and his deputies might be out in the woods eavesdropping. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
Biting his lips and smiling, Jazz nodded. “Do you accept my dare, Mr. Fleishman?”
“What? You mean right now?” Michael looked around nervously. “Out here?”
“Not outside, but inside, where it’s not so chilly.”
The Adam’s apple on Michael’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “In the car?”
Grinning, Jazz opened the front passenger door and reached down to recline the seat, then move it all the way back. He gestured Michael inside the car. “My hot and handsome take-charge badass mortician. If you would.”
“Badass?” His head cocked to the side, his voice less unsure than a moment ago.
Jazz’s dick hardened, wondering if that commanding lover from yesterday would wow him again. He sure hoped so, because his body was still thrumming from danger and it needed an outlet.
“You were a total badass,” Jazz assured him. “When you told that big goon with the gun to come sniff the condoms, wow.” He shuddered and groped his dick, shifting it in his jeans. “And the way you talked back to the sheriff earlier. And how you threatened them if Mr. Pickles got hurt. A bone saw? Yeah, just wow. Fuck, you really got my engine running.”
To demonstrate, Jazz took Michael’s hand and pressed it against the bulge in his crotch.
Michael sucked in a breath, his voice turning husky. “Oh, I do see.”
Jazz stepped closer, edging Michael up against the car. He used the leverage to thrust his dick up toward Michael’s. Michael made a funny sound deep in his throat and gripped Jazz’s hips, yanking their pelvises together. “Am I gonna have to pull out the double dog dare?”
“No, I’ll take that dare.”
Their mouths met in a hungry kiss, tongues sliding together and breaths so much quicker than before. Never breaking their lip-lock, Jazz loosened Michael’s belt and fumbled with the button.
“Yes,” Michael whimpered, shifting to assist.
“God, I need you so bad,” Jazz murmured, heart racing faster than it had when he’d rushed for the gun. “So bad… now.”
When he lowered the zipper, Jazz pushed his pants to his ankles. After a firm squeeze on Michael’s hard cock, a spot of moisture whisking Jazz’s palm, the briefs followed the pants. Once he had the lower half of Michael’s decadent body exposed, Jazz pushed him down into the passenger seat, his feet outside and still on the ground.
Michael stared in wide-eyed wonder as Jazz knelt before him and lifted Michael’s left foot to remove his pants and briefs. Michael let out a gasp when Jazz spread his legs as wide as possible in the narrow space.
A long, firm lick up the underside of his big dick made Michael shiver from head to toe. When Jazz reached the tip, he swirled his tongue around it, then took him all the way into his throat, unable to take it slow. He’d never needed to be fucked so badly in his life.
And he’d never wanted a man as badly as he wanted Michael.
He sucked harder, putting all of his sudden desperation into every second of that blowjob.
With a cry, Michael put a hand on the back of Jazz’s head and thrust up. “Oh, Jazz. Your mouth.”
Running his hands up and down those hairy, strong thighs, Jazz sucked him again, letting Michael fuck his mouth a few times, but not to the finish. He was too worked up and wanted to get to the next part quick, before he exploded in his jeans—or any other horny citizens decided to show up at HPP.
Lost to blinding need, the clean and salty taste of Michael made Jazz linger, sucking and laving that beautiful dick as Michael thrust into his mouth and gripped his hair tight.
Mr. Pickles meowed contentedly in the back seat, startling them both.
Jazz pulled off Michael’s dick with an audible pop.
The cat had discovered another treat in his carrier and was crunching away.
Panting, Michael glanced at the carrier nervously—still distraught over his beloved pet. Then he looked back at Jazz, his smile soft and eyes drooped. “He’s okay.”
Damn, Jazz loved Michael’s tender side almost as much as his surprising badassery.
