Double The Risk
Double the Risk
by
Samantha Cayto
Book Two
Boston’s Brave
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Double the Risk
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Samantha Cayto
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-699-6
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-700-9
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my cousin, Sean,
an Irish cop in the best Boston tradition.
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Samantha Cayto
AND HER BOOKS
BLUE HEAT
“Great book couldn't put it down.”
~Patrick C.
“A hot story of an undercover cop and M/M sex.”
~Richard F. Casson
CATCHING EAGLE’S EYE
“Two hot military men, need I say more? This read captures your interest from page one. Between the characters and the story, you can’t go wrong with this pick.”
~The Color of Ink
“Wow! Loved this book, it was great from start to finish.”
~Nanee’s Review
JONESIN’ FOR ACTION
“The book is hot and sensitive and kept my interest from the first page.”
~Completed Review, Long and Short Reviews
Prologue
“What are you going to do, Rory?” The fear in his mother’s voice was obvious to Ronan.
“Sheila, my love, don’t worry about it.” His father tried to put his arms around her, a look on his face he only wore when he was about to cajole his wife of more than twenty years.
His mother deftly avoided the hug and moved to the other side of the kitchen. “Don’t tell me not to worry when I can see as plain as day how much
you
are.”
His father sighed heavily and ran his fingers through the head of black hair still thick in his middle-age. “I’m not so much worried as pissed, honestly. I thought better of these men. Hell, I went through the academy with some of them. I thought they were good cops, honest ones. They’re tarnishing the badge,” he added, his voice lifting.
His mother glanced around. “Lower your voice, Rory,” she admonished. “Finn will be home any time now, and Ronan is coming for dinner. I don’t want them to hear any of this.”
Ronan was already home, lacrosse practice having ended early when Bobby McCoy broke his leg. That’s what he got for showing off, not that Ronan would ever say as much out loud. Standing quietly in the hall, he listened to his parents talking, understanding quickly that something was up. He’d seen the tension in his father these last few months every time he came home from college looking for a better meal than they offered up on campus. Perhaps now, he’d understand why.
“Neither do I,” his father said in a quieter voice. “I’ve told them all their lives that being a Boston cop was the best job in the world. I hate to have to tell them there are worms eating at its core.”
“It’s not your fight, or at least not entirely,” his mother amended quickly when his father scowled at her. “Please don’t take this on yourself anymore. You need to tell others. You need to tell James.”
His father’s scowl deepened. “I don’t want to go to James until I have more proof and know who all is involved. He’s up for promotion again, and you know he’s going places, Sheila. I don’t want to put him in a bad spot.”
“You do him a disservice by keeping him in the dark. He’s as good a cop as you and would want to know the truth.”
Running his hand down his face, his father said, “Maybe you’re right. I’ll bring him into the loop soon, I promise.” He opened his arms. “Sweetheart, I don’t want you to worry, though. I’m being careful, and I know what I’m doing. I promise.”
“Oh, Rory.” His mother walked into his father’s arms and hugged him tight. “I can’t stop worrying about you. You know that.”
As his parents stood wrapped in each other’s arms, Ronan stayed still so as not to disturb them. But his mind whirled with what he’d heard. Something bad was going on, and his father was in the thick of it. Whatever it was, it had his mother worried, and now he was worried, too.
Chapter One
The City of Boston clung tenaciously to summer, hot and humid already at six in the morning. It was going to be a scorcher, hitting near ninety, and as early as it was, the sweat had dripped off Ronan Callaghan before he’d gone more than a block. That was New England weather. It could be as cold as Montana and as steamy as Florida. Given that it was early September, the heat and humidity weren’t a complete surprise.
Ronan didn’t care or even notice that his T-shirt was plastered to his torso as he turned into the last block of his morning run. The college students were back in class so he wasn’t the only one huffing his way down the sidewalk. He didn’t mind that, either. When he’d finally moved out of the family home for good, he’d deliberately picked the Brighton area to be near his alma mater, Boston College, and its student body.
After his parents’ murder, he’d been forced to return home and commute, having tasted college living for only one semester. That’s what he got for deferring college until January. Someone had to look out for his kid brother, Finn, and with his older brother, Daire, working full time as a new cop, that someone had been Ronan.
He hadn’t minded, not really. He’d done it without even being asked. Sure, a fourteen-year-old boy was a major pain in anyone’s ass. One who was also mourning the brutal loss of his parents, even more so. It had been tough keeping tabs on the kid, making sure he got to school on time, did his homework, and cleaned his room, everything Ronan had loathed to do himself at that age and older. All this was while dealing with his own grief and anger and trying to adjust to being a college student and young adult with the angst that entailed. There hadn’t been time anymore to go to parties or just hang out with other students after class. There was laundry to do and dinner to fix. The weekends had been filled with house cleaning and food shopping.
Yeah, Ronan had become the “mom” of the house, filling his mother’s shoes to the best of his ability and always feeling as if he’d fallen short. One day he’d been lecturing Finn about missing dinner and not calling, and suddenly he wondered when in the holy hell he’d grown his mother’s forefinger. The one she’d shaken countless times in front of his face. Still, he’d done it all because he was a Callaghan and Callaghans always took care of their own.
Those days were past him. He’d graduated from college and the police academy. He wasn’t merely a cop but a detective, and knowing he followed his brother up the ranks, the way Callaghans had always done, filled him with pride. Finn didn’t need him anymore, hadn’t for years really. Finn had put on the badge months ago, and even had an undercover assignment under his belt, plumping up his file. And his brother was making a home of his own, living with another cop and raising a teenage boy to boot.
Just the thought made Ronan grin. Every time Finn bitched about the pain-in-the-assedness of teenagers, Ronan told him to talk to the hand. Been there, done that, bro, and welcome to the club. Finn’s partner, Michael, was a good guy, so Ronan didn’t worry about Finn anymore. Sure, he still had bad dreams about the night they’d almost been too late finding Finn during the undercover job. He’d wake up in a cold sweat with visions of Finn’s naked and bloody body in the grip of the leader of the pedophile ring they busted. On those days, it was doubly great to slip on his ratty clothes and hit the pavement.
Maybe it was kind of pathetic that he wanted to immerse himself in the community he’d missed out on as a student. He didn’t care. It wasn’t as if he was hanging out at frat parties or anything. He just liked the vibrancy of the location, and it wasn’t as if at the age of twenty-six, he was some lecherous aging guy ogling the co-eds. He wasn’t even into his age group. He liked slightly older women, seasoned ones who knew what they were doing and not necessarily looking for forever. Having spent much of his young adulthood being too much of an adult, he liked to play it easy and loose.
Ronan pushed his speed because he needed to burn off the stress already building within him. Normally, he loved his job and couldn’t wait to get the day started. This one, however, could turn out to be a bitch. He was getting a new partner. He’d known it was going to happen as soon as Vicki told him she was pregnant. Only four months into her pregnancy, and she’d been put on bed rest. Twins, Christ Jesus. She and her husband would have their hands full. He couldn’t begrudge her the need, of course, but they’d been partners for less than a year. As the older, more experienced detective, she’d been his mentor. Her steady and methodical manner had worked wonders at curbing his impulsiveness. Now, who knew what kind of cop he’d be paired with? He couldn’t even think of anyone in the department that was currently solo. Maybe they’d give him a rookie detective. Then he’d be the senior man, and he wasn’t so sure he was ready for that.
Shit, he’d rather have the twins. He’d rather be the one to
give birth
to the twins.
As his feet pounded the pavement and the sweat dripped into his eyes, he willed his mind to shut off. Worrying about things never helped. He’d just have to wait and see. He put in a burst of speed as he ran up the front stoop of the duplex he rented. A nice cool shower before heading into work would slap him more awake. Iced coffee on the way to the station was also a must. He needed to be on his toes today in particular.
Throwing himself into the shower stall, he leaned into the stream and sighed with the pleasure of it. His cock sprang up, much like Pavlov’s dog. Living on his own meant he could spend as much time in the bathroom as he wanted and jerk off whenever he felt the urge. His morning showers had turned into play time given the dry spell he was going through date-wise. He pumped some body wash into his palm and clasped his dick. He teased himself with long, slow strokes that made him groan. With his other hand, he rolled his balls. The rhythm his hands danced to was automatic. He knew just how to coax his pleasure to climb at a steady pace.
No hurry, no one else to please or worry about. Just him squeezing his cock on the upstroke and sliding his thumb through his slit. He tugged his sack away from his body, grunting at the small bite of pain. They tightened in his grip, signaling his climax was near. He picked up the pace, jerking his dick hard and fast. As the first rope of cum shot out, he clasped more firmly with both hands and pulled himself through the orgasm. He gasped into the spray, choking on the water entering his mouth. When his knees threatened to buckle, he released his balls and braced his palm against the wall.
He stood panting for long minutes, until his brain kicked back into gear. He needed to get going so that he could meet his new partner. Now that he was a relaxed as he was ever going to get, it shouldn’t be too bad. How much of a douche could his new partner be?
****
Diego Nieves parked his Harley in the precinct employee parking lot and debated whether he needed to bring his helmet in with him. Then he remembered the chance of being arrested never stopped anyone from committing a crime, and he tucked it under his arm. Man, Boston was as steamy as New York this time of year. Somehow, he expected it to be cooler because it was a little farther north and Boston Harbor wasn’t as far inland as New York’s, at least it seemed that way to him. Whatever, it was fucking ninety degrees with seventy percent humidity. He’d taken the risk of wearing just his suit on the bike and no leathers. If he’d gone down, the doctors would have been piecing his skin back in strips. Fortunately he was used to riding in the City, the real one. Boston drivers had nothing he hadn’t seen before.
