Blind Spot (3 page)

“Huh.” Sam didn’t know how he felt hearing Nathan would be working with a man, rather than a woman. Then again, it was a “gentlemen only” club.

“Sam, talk to me. Tell me you’re angry. Tell me to go fuck myself.”

“Do you want to do it?” Sam tried to keep his voice neutral. Half of him wanted to tell Nathan to fuck himself, but the other half was scared of losing him for good—which was exactly what would happen if he gave Nathan an ultimatum. Months before, Nathan risked his job to trust Sam’s instincts. He told Sam he was more important than his position at the FBI. But there were children involved. He knew Nathan wouldn’t back down from his duty if it meant saving innocent lives.

“Of course not. You know I don’t.” Nathan grabbed Sam’s arms, not quite pulling him into an embrace.

Sam resisted. “Do I?”

“God, I hope so.” And even though he was gratified to see the truth in Nathan’s eyes, Sam had to look away. He was afraid of what he’d see if he searched deeper.

“All right. Well. I don’t want to hear about it. Any of the details. Okay?” He pushed off the counter and sidestepped Nathan. “You do what you need to do, but I don’t want to know.”

SAM POUNDED
the pavement as the music boomed in his ears. Sweat ran in his eyes, but he didn’t bother to swipe it away while he focused on the uneven sidewalk under his feet. Occasionally he dodged a pile of dog shit or piece of garbage. But even with all the distractions, he couldn’t escape his thoughts.

It had been over a week since Nathan got word about his new case, and it would be another before Eric arrived and the two of them headed for New Jersey. Seven days, and Nathan would be gone. Sam meant what he said about not wanting to hear the details. Ignorance wasn’t bliss, but it was a hell of a lot better than knowing what Nathan would have to do. At least that way, he could fool himself, safe in the comfort of his own denial.

It was only sex, after all. Sam had never been a possessive lover. He never thought very far into the future either.

He hopped over an overturned garbage can and turned down the alley behind their apartment building. At least the exercise kept his mind off the tempting oblivion of the bottle. Since Nathan was home each day, doing research for his case, Sam started going on longer and longer runs and then heading to the coffee shop to work on his writing. He hadn’t produced much, aside from a couple short, freelance pieces.

By the time he reached the back stairwell, his lungs felt like they might burst, and his legs were jelly. He checked the running app on his phone and wasn’t surprised to see he’d logged over eight miles. His shorts and T-shirt were soaked through.

Upstairs, Nathan was on the phone, pacing around the living room. He laughed at something the person on the end of the line said, but when he noticed Sam, he made his excuses.

“All right. I’ve gotta go. See you soon, Eric.”

Eric.
What a hilarious guy. Sam grimaced as he kicked off his running shoes and reached for the water bottle he’d left on the coffee table.

“Good run?” Nathan asked.

“Yeah. Pretty good.” Sam knocked his head back and let the water flow into his mouth. He swallowed it greedily, not meeting Nathan’s eyes.

“I was thinking of heading to the pool in a bit.” Since Nathan moved to the city, he did laps at the local Y at least three times a week. The man was a seal in the water.

“Cool.”

Nathan frowned at him. “What are you up to later? I thought we could grab dinner.”

“Sounds good, but I’m seeing a movie with Rach and Yuri. Sorry. No significant others allowed.” Sam tried to smile, but the expression felt as foreign as snow in July. And maybe he drank too much water too quickly. It sloshed in his gut. He slapped Nathan’s arm. “Actually I better get cleaned up or I’ll be late. I’ll see you? Have a good swim.” The stupid fake smile hurt his cheeks.

“Right,” said Nathan.

Even though Sam tried to ignore it, their relationship had become strained, almost polite—a far cry from the fun, passionate connection they shared until recently. He hadn’t worn the collar Nathan gave him since the morning he heard the news.

He hated it. And although he knew it was mainly his fault, he didn’t see any other way. Shadow pronounced her judgment with a yawn from the couch as Sam retreated to the shower.

A FEW
hours later, Sam sat across from his friends at a Greek diner for a postmovie bite. Rachel and Yuri were chatting about the film as Sam picked at his fries. The burger was still half-eaten on his plate, but he couldn’t force the rest of it down. During the movie he’d gotten a text from Nathan.

Heading to bed early. I love you.

“So, did you like the giant talking penis, or did you think it was a little over the top?” Rachel asked him.

Sam nodded, surprised at being addressed. “What? Uh. Yeah.”

“Dude, did you even watch the movie?” Yuri grabbed one of Sam’s fries and popped it in his mouth. “You were the one who picked it.”

“Sorry.” Sam grimaced. He couldn’t have commented on the plot under waterboard torture. “I guess I’m distracted.”

“Oh? Trouble in paradise?” Yuri raised an eyebrow.

“No. It’s nothing.” Nathan had asked him never to broadcast the details of his work. Sam would be overstepping boundaries to share his concerns with his friends, no matter how much he might want to vent. And though they’d likely respond with support, he didn’t want them shit talking Nathan. It wouldn’t make him feel any better.

Rachel saved the day. “The mayor’s autopsy results are nuts. Are you writing about it?”

Sam dropped the fry he’d been dragging through ketchup and straightened up in the booth. “Wait a minute, what autopsy results?” He’d been waiting all week, but the investigation seemed to be taking its sweetass time.

Rachel frowned. “It was all over the news this afternoon. You didn’t see? They found crack in his blood, along with alcohol and some sort of poison. Ritalin? No. That’s not it.”

“Ricin,” Yuri supplied.

“Are you sure it was ricin?” Sam asked. Ricin was one of the most potent and easily synthesized poisons out there. And it only took a small amount to do the job. It was also renowned for delayed onset, as any casual
Breaking Bad
watcher knew—meaning it could be administered hours or even an entire day before the onset of symptoms.

“That’s what they said on the news. Trace amounts.”

“I can’t believe the mayor was doing crack,” said Yuri. “With the amount of money the guy had, you’d think he’d be into the pure stuff.”

Sam was already grabbing his phone and googling. Sure enough the top hit from an online rag read
Mayor’s Shocking Autopsy Results Reveal Heavy Drug Use, Poisoning
. Other, more reputable news outlets followed with less-salacious headlines. Sam clicked on one link and started to read.

“
According to a source close to the mayor’s family, who requested anonymity, the mayor had begun using illicit drugs as early as his first term… refused to seek help… personal behavior becoming more erratic… trace amounts of deadly poison….
”

“Jesus,” said Sam. As he scrolled through the rest of the article, his pulse picked up. “It says here there likely wasn’t enough crack in his bloodstream to kill him.”

“Yep,” said Rachel. “Someone poisoned him.”

“But who?” Sam’s mind started to spin. The list of people who disliked the mayor was incredibly long.

Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you figure it out?”

Sam reached for his wallet and threw down a twenty to pay for his food. “I’ve got to go.” His friends teased him good-naturedly as he slid out of the booth and slipped his phone into his back pocket. “I’ll see you later.”

WHO KILLED
Mayor White?

The cursor blinked on the blank Word document as he considered the possibilities. Shadow nudged her way under his arm and took an inconvenient seat on his lap, digging her claws into his hip. She’d grown, but she was never going to be a very large cat. Sam started typing.

Deputy Mayor?
Out of everyone, Deputy Mayor Rick Morgan seemed to have the most to gain from getting rid of his boss. Perhaps he knew about White’s drug use and counted on the autopsy to reveal drugs as cause of death. If so, he overestimated the amount of poison to use. The mayor hadn’t metabolized it all.

His wife?
Maybe she got fed up with his drug use and generally repellant behavior. She was in her early forties and would live a long, wealthy life as a widow. And she had discovered him at home in bed—maybe to rid herself of suspicion. She could have easily slipped poison into his food, or even dosed him as he slept.

His dealer?
It didn’t make much sense. Why kill the hand that proverbially fed you? Unless the mayor had done something stupid, like not pay for his dope, which seemed unlikely. White wouldn’t have wanted to risk the chance of exposure. But blackmail was a definite possibility.

Someone with a personal vendetta?
Another long list. The mayor favored the rich suburbs of West Stonebridge over the poorer downtown. Over the years his policies had infuriated a lot of people—Sam included. The mayor’s incredibly ironic “Streets Clean” program was designed to nab small-time dealers. It had received its share of positive attention, but the church bombing had turned the public tide against him once again. Maybe a family member of one of the victims who’d been killed in that bombing? Sam made a mental note to do some research the following day, since he was already yawning. He snapped his laptop shut—frightening Shadow off his lap—and made his way to the bedroom, where Nathan had fallen asleep with the lights on.

His chest clenched painfully as he noticed the phone near Nathan’s lax hand, the book at his side.

Trying to be quiet, Sam set both of the objects on the nightstand, disrobed, and slipped under the covers. The king-size mattress dipped slightly with his weight. He breathed out and stared up at the darkened ceiling.

White’s murder was a welcome, exciting distraction, but with Nathan sleeping beside him, Sam’s mind gravitated back to more personal worries.

He wondered what this Eric looked like—whether he was attractive, whether he was gay. Probably yes to both. The last time Nathan went undercover for a sex-trafficking case, he wound up fucking his partner in addition to the men and women he’d been trying to mine for information. Nathan admitted they’d done it off the clock too. He said Eric wasn’t his type, but he could have said that to spare Sam jealousy. And there was the laughter earlier.

Sam kept telling himself it was only sex. He could live with it as long as he didn’t know the facts. Maybe. But what if it turned into more? Two men working together under high-stress circumstances were bound to get close. They needed to rely on one another, to trust one another completely. All of those long hours on the job, forced to make small talk, which could easily turn into deeper conversation. Would Nathan develop feelings for his new partner, as Sam suspected he had the last?

Sam turned onto his side and tried to make out Nathan’s profile in the shadows. He hated feeling the poison in his blood. They hadn’t made love since Nathan broke the news.

He needed that connection more than anything. Sam reached for him in the darkness, found the warm flesh of Nathan’s arm, and ran his fingers under the sleeve of his T-shirt. Nathan shifted and murmured in his sleep. Sam moved closer to press against him, hooking his leg over Nathan’s thighs. His naked cock poked Nathan’s hip.

“Are you awake?” he whispered.

“Am now,” Nathan said with a sleepy sigh. He rubbed up and down Sam’s arm. “How was the movie?”

“I couldn’t concentrate on it. I…. God, I need you. Please.” His cock ached as he urged his hips forward again, so Nathan could feel it.

“Really?”

The surprise in Nathan’s voice made Sam’s throat close up with emotion, and he rolled on top of him without another word, fitting himself between Nathan’s spread thighs. Sam kissed Nathan hard, thrusting his tongue possessively into his mouth, and groaned when Nathan reciprocated with vigor. Nathan held him tighter, his cock firming underneath Sam as they continued to kiss and rub against each other. Even though his body was fired up, Sam couldn’t quiet the thousand doubts and questions running through his mind. The last six months had been nearly perfect, but maybe he’d been mistaken to trust that it would last. He’d let his guard down, given in, let Nathan into his heart with no reservations. He knew better.

“Need you,” he whispered into Nathan’s ear between kisses.

Nathan surged up and flipped them over, trapping Sam’s body underneath his. “Oh yeah? How?”

“So hard. Just… fuck.” He couldn’t think when Nathan bit at his neck and licked and sucked kisses into the sensitive skin. He took Nathan’s head in his hands and pulled him tighter, urging Nathan to leave marks. He wanted it to hurt. Maybe he whimpered. Nathan stilled, and even in the darkness, Sam could see his concerned expression.

“Are you okay?”

Grunting with frustration, Sam writhed under the firm mass of Nathan’s body, his trapped cock seeking friction. “I’m fine. But I won’t be if you don’t fuck me. I want you to fill me up.” Who knew if they’d be able to go bare again anytime soon? Not if Nathan was going to be sleeping with other people.

He kissed Nathan again, savagely, using his teeth and biting into the kiss. Instead of responding, Nathan held his hands down and forced their mouths apart. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. We need to talk—”

“Screw talking. I swear to God, if you don’t fuck me now, I’ll go find someone who will.”

The sound Nathan made could have been a growl. “No you won’t.”

“Oh, yeah? What makes you think you get to have all the fun?”

“Fun? Do you think this is fun?” Nathan nearly spat the words. “You think I enjoy having you not speak to me for over a week? Not being able to touch you?”

“So touch me now.” He was so worked up, he didn’t know what he would do if Nathan didn’t give in. Maybe he would go insane. “Please.” He begged sweetly, the way Nathan liked most. Then he swiveled his hips and was gratified to feel Nathan’s sizeable erection nudge him in return.