Dangerous Ground 2: Old Poison (9 page)

“Yeah. I am.”

Taylor laughed, a husky, naughty, full-throated laugh that closed Will's own throat. Desire.

That was what he felt. More than lust. It was the longing, yearning to be together. To be one.

“Oooh, Brandt,” Taylor cooed. “Oh God, what you
do
to me.”

Will laughed breathlessly, kept his hand moving.

Taylor moaned, mocking them both probably, but certainly mocking himself, that keening sound that escaped him when Will was fucking him hard. Those little cries that drove Will insane with lust.

“Bastard,” Will gulped out.

Taylor chuckled again. Then he said huskily, deliberately, “No one's ever made me feel what you do, Will. When you push that big, hot cock inside my body. I never let anyone do that to me before. It…scares me, it's so good. I want it so much. But there's always this moment of panic when I think, No, he's too big. I can't take him. Not just my body but my mind. Like you're taking me over. Pounding my ass and pounding my brain.”

Will started to laugh, breathlessly.

Taylor's voice dropped lower. “And it feels so
good
. In a dark, dirty way to let you do that to me…to shove right inside my body, right inside my skin. The friction…the way it feels for you to move inside me. It kind of burns and it kind of scrapes and I feel it in my belly and my chest…”

Will bit his lip hard, hand moving frantically.

* * * *

On Wednesday they had their first viable threat against Madame.

Well, at least it looked that way for the first few seconds.

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Josh Lanyon

They were shopping—what else?—in the Beverly Center, located at the edge of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. Madame had already chewed them out once that day for hovering too closely. Did she suspect that in the guise of protecting her they were going to snatch a great bargain from under her nose?

A woman with a stroller was passing to the side of Taylor; he was absently tracking her out of his peripheral vision because she was a little closer than he liked. The kid suddenly screamed.

There was no mistaking that sound, it was raw pain, and Taylor turned instinctively. It turned out to be nothing more serious than pinched fingers, and he was relaxing as Varga suddenly shouted,

“Gun!”

Taylor ducked and spun, pulling his own weapon, and there in his sights stood a beanpole of a kid in dreadlocks holding up one of those little goofy autograph books. His hand was shaking, the color draining out of his face.

He opened his mouth, and no words came out.

Plenty of words, however, were coming out of Madame Kasambala. Varga had knocked her to the department-store floor and was using her own body to shield Madame. Madame was less than grateful and making it clear.

Loud
and clear.

“Identify yourself,” Taylor ordered the half-fainting autograph hound. It was already clear to him they had got it wrong and it was probably going to be on the news—not to mention YouTube—in a matter of hours, judging by the cell phones clicking from around the store displays where other customers and staff were hiding.

“Norman Piggot. Little Piggy,” the kid quavered. “I just wanted to get Krista Kross's a-autograph.”

“Who the hell is Krista Kross?”

Little Piggy barely inclined his head toward the tangle of Varga and Madame Kasambala.

Madame was rejecting Varga's protective embrace for all she was worth, and in another time and place, Taylor would be laughing his ass off at the picture they made. At the moment, not so funny. Pulling their weapons in this kind of a crowd situation? He and Varga would be lucky if they didn't wind up with an official reprimand.

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57

A voice from behind a display of lady's hosiery—a chorus line of mannequin feet and shapely, stocking-clad shins—volunteered, “She's a female rap artist.”

“You've got the wrong lady,” Taylor informed Little Piggy.

Little Piggy nodded, eager to show himself cooperative.

It took a few minutes to sort it out: reassure the public that all was well, reassure Madame that they were truly sorry, reassure Little Piggy that he wasn't going to jail.

“I misread it,” Varga said, chagrined, when they had moved on to Bloomingdale's.

“Better safe than sorry.”

He knew Will would have been amused to hear him say it.

* * * *

Jose Valz lived with his wife, parents, brother, sister-in-law, and assorted rug rats in an older Spanish-style apartment in downtown San Diego. Had he lived alone, it would have simplified everything.

The plan was to interview Valz. They weren't ready to make an arrest yet, and when they did scoop him up, they planned on catching as many of the little fish as possible in their nets.

In fact, Will wanted to do the interview on his own; he suspected—and he turned out to be correct—that Valz was liable to panic when he spotted Bradley's uniform. But Bradley was adamant that Will was not walking in there on his own, not when they didn't know exactly what they were dealing with.

So they waited till suppertime, when the odds were in their favor that Valz would be home from a hard day's work ripping off the US government. Señora Valz opened the door to their knock. Good smells issued forth, along with a babble of non-Spanish.

Nahua, identified Will, who had spent some time in San Salvador. So there was another strike against Valz, who claimed in a couple of documents to be a lawful citizen of Mexico—

those would be in the documents where he didn't claim to be a United States citizen.

A roomful of wary black eyes turned their way, and silence fell.

Bradley began to explain their business in painstaking Spanish. There was the squeak of floorboards behind them. Will turned, and there was Valz rabbiting down the apartment hallway toward the staircase.

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Josh Lanyon

Will was after him, shouting a warning for Valz to stop. He wasn't going to shoot the guy in front of his kids—wasn't going to shoot him at all. Nothing in Valz's profile indicated he was dangerous or warranted shooting. In any case, Valz paid no attention.

Will jumped over the railing and gained a flight, dropped over another metal railing, and hit the ground floor the same time as Valz. He could hear the pound of Bradley's feet behind him—slower and heavier than Taylor, who would have passed Will up by now.

Valz burst out through the side entrance that led to the pool courtyard.

Will shot through the doors a few seconds behind him.

The courtyard was empty. It was too cold for swimming this time of year, even in San Diego, but there was some kind of pool maintenance going on and the deck was wet. A large gray hose was stretched across from a rumbling truck in the parking lot, and it sounded like the pool was being vacuumed.

Though small and portly, Valz was fast. Or very scared. He went through the obstacle course of lounge chairs and tables like a steeplechaser. Will was gaining on him, though, until he slipped in a puddle. He knew an instant of chagrined surprise before his foot shot out from under him and he plunged headfirst right into the pool, his skull grazing the cement lip of the pool. His last thought was the hope that they weren't draining the pool…

Dangerous Ground: Old Poison

59

Chapter Seven

“Will?”

A hand was patting his cheek. Annoying.

“Will?”

He twitched his eyebrows in irritation. His head was pounding sickeningly, like someone was kicking an oil drum next to him. He was wet and cold and starting to shiver…

“Come on, Marine. Talk to me.”

And if that fucking voice and fucking hand slapping his cheek did not go away, Will was going to punch someone. His eyes snapped open.

David Bradley was leaning over him, his handsome face grim and worried. In fact, his face was quite close to Will's, his mouth a couple of inches away, his breath warm on Will's chilled skin.

Seeing that Will was conscious, he drew back in relief. “How do you feel?”

Now that he thought about it…not good. In fact…

A wave of nausea rose inside him. Salty saliva filled his mouth; his stomach lurched. He rolled onto his side, away from Bradley, and was sick on the pavement.

“Great,” he got out.

“I see that.” Bradley's big hand was on his shoulder, squeezing in support.

“I'm okay,” Will assured him hoarsely. “That's just reaction.” He pushed up from the mess.

Bradley grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. “More like concussion.”

“Nah. Where's our guy?”

He was upright now, weaving a little in the mild evening breeze. Bradley steadied him and chuckled. “He ran straight into the arms of a pair of sheriff's deputies here to collect a deadbeat dad.”

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Josh Lanyon

Will laughed shakily, put a hand to his throbbing head.

“Let's get you back to the base,” Bradley said with quick concern. “They've got it under control here. It'll do Valz good to wait a little before we question him.”

* * * *

The base medic pronounced mild concussion, recommended a couple of days of bed rest, and sent them on their way. When they got back to Bradley's office, Will accepted a change of clothes and declined the offer of a bunk.

“I'm serious. You can stay at my place,” Bradley said. “You should not try driving tonight.

I've got plenty of room. I'd like to have you.”

No kidding. And Will would like to have Bradley too. But that was not going to happen.

Will might be suffering from mild concussion, but he'd have to have major brain damage to go along with that idea. He tried to imagine breaking it to Taylor he was having a slumber party at David Bradley's house. Not going to happen.

Bad enough that he wasn't going to be able to drive back home tonight. He wanted to, but he knew better. He was just groggy and exhausted enough to make that unwise.

“I appreciate it,” he said, “but I think I probably better get a hotel room.”

“Now I'm insulted,” Bradley said, and he did look pretty formidable. Definitely not a guy to jerk around. “I sort of thought, regardless of the rest of it, we were friends.”

“We are friends,” Will said.

“But what?”

“There
is
the rest of it. I'm not going to pretend I don't still want you. But I've got someone now.”

“So you said.” Bradley was watching him closely, speculatively. “Is it this partner of yours?”

Will hesitated. He felt he owed Bradley this honesty. “Yes.”

“I wondered. I knew you were close. When he was shot, it was pretty clear your world narrowed down to him.”

What could Will say? It was the truth.

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61

“I've never been partnered with anyone, so I wasn't sure if it was like that for everyone. I had a feeling it might be unique to the two of you.” Bradley asked tentatively, “Does he feel the same?”

Will nodded. He had a sudden sense of how very lucky he was. He could see it on Bradley's face.

“Well, hell.” Bradley grimaced. “I guess I made a mistake backing off when I did. I was kind of hoping you'd see the light. Unfortunately it turned out to be a different light.”

“I'm sorry,” Will said. “It…caught me by surprise too.”

“I believe that. I thought we had something pretty special ourselves.”

Will didn't want to hear this; what was the point? “We had something good,” he acknowledged.

Bradley was still eyeing him in that steadfast, measuring way. “And you don't have any doubts about this partner of yours? I thought he was kind of a wild card?”

“I don't have any doubts about him.” End of discussion.

Bradley nodded, mostly to himself. His eyes met Will's, and there was a wicked gleam in the brown depths. “Okay if I kiss you good-bye?”

Will laughed uneasily. His heart started thumping. It was ridiculous and stagy, but easier to get it over with than make a fuss. “Sure.”

Bradley put his arms around him, and Will thought what a crazy thing it was that for all Bradley's greater size and obvious strength, it was only when Taylor held him in that bony, fierce grip that Will felt helpless. Then Bradley's mouth was on his, and Will stopped thinking, because he'd forgotten how good this was. And Bradley was applying his considerable talents to this moment.

Dazedly, Will was aware of a surge of sexual hunger, of fierce physical desire, his body responding to the expert pressure of the hot mouth on his own. It was startling because it wasn't like he was doing without these days, and it was alarming because it would be very easy to give into this. Sex had always been good between him and Bradley.

But what he had with Taylor went way beyond this.

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Josh Lanyon

He drew back—not without effort—and said, “And this is why spending the night at your place would not be a good idea.”

Bradley looked slightly dazed himself. “Will—”

“I'll stop by tomorrow on my way out of town,” Will said, and he got himself out of there.

* * * *

The generic hotel was mostly clean and mostly quiet. Will used the complimentary toothbrush, took a couple of painkillers, climbed into bed, and phoned Taylor.

Taylor's voice had that edgy, on-the-job note when he answered, and Will said,

“Everything okay?”

“Sure.”

Will could hear the conscious effort to ease up. Something had happened; Taylor was definitely wound tight. Tighter than usual. Will silently cursed the fact he wasn't driving back.

“Any more weird gifts or notes?”

“Nah.” He sounded relaxed about that, so it was probably just the stress of working with Varga. Taylor confirmed that a second later. “Varga and I are in the doghouse. I'll tell you when you get here.”

“Well, I've got bad news,” Will admitted. “I'm not going to make it back tonight after all.”