Phoenix Rising (3 page)

Tired and disappointed, they stopped for a late lunch/early dinner in the hotel. “Let the department pay for it,” Rachel said dispiritedly as they ordered burgers and beer. Later, they’d write up their reports and touch base with the department to catch up on what they’d missed.

The Bull and Bear was nearly empty at this hour, and they settled gratefully into the cushioned quiet. “What did you think of him?” Artemis asked, toying with the edge of the tablecloth. The baby-shit-brown leather on their seats squeaked pleasantly as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

“We talked to a couple dozen people today and you could be referring to anyone, so how do I know it’s Talis you’re asking about?” She smirked at him.

Artemis had the grace to look abashed. “Yeah, well, he has a lot of… charisma.”
She snorted. “That’s one way to put it. The guy exudes pheromones in doses far above normal. He looked at me and my brain got tongue-tied.”
“That makes no sense.”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
Their beers arrived, and they drank, smiling at each other. Technically they were on duty. Technically they shouldn’t be drinking. Technically neither of them gave a shit.
“What was that all about,” Rachel asked. “When he shook your hand.”
He hesitated. “Not sure. Felt like static electricity. He was barefoot. Must have picked it up from the carpet.” It had been nothing like that at all. A rush had gone through him at the touch of Talis’s hand in his, and there had been a decidedly sexual element to it. Merely recalling it gave him a semi-hard, and he shifted uneasily, attempting to ease the pressure.
“What if we’re barking up the wrong sexy singer?” Rachel said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “He’s famous, wealthy, and sexy as hell. Why would he murder anyone? Where’s the motive? And why would anyone in his group kill? The tattoos may just be a coincidence.” She cradled the frosted bottle in her hands. “Like he said, maybe they just liked the design. We didn’t find anything in the victim’s apartments that would indicate some kind of unhealthy obsession with the group or Talis.”
“Both of them had music from Phoenix Rising in their music collection.”
“So do I. Does that make me a suspect?”
Artemis sighed. “Point taken.” Using a napkin to shield his fingers, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a spoon. “Got an evidence bag on you?”
Her eyes grew wide. “In my purse. What’s that?”
“Noticed the room service cart in the hall and took it off Talis’s plate as we went by. I think we were on our way to interview the drummer.”
“How do you know it was used by Talis?”
“It was on the plate with the cup of crap he called Turkish coffee.”
“That could have been mine.”
“Nope. You didn’t use a spoon. You sipped, pretended it was really good, and then set it down. Spoon belongs to Talis.”
“Goddamn, Artemis. You are one sneaky asshole, and I love you for it.”
“I’ll drop it off tonight, ask Sherlock to run the prints ASAP.” Sherlock Jones was the department lab rat and resident evidence guru.
“And then we’ll know.”
He nodded, watching her carefully place the spoon in a paper bag; plastic would smear the prints. “Then we’ll know.”
Their food arrived and both chowed down, ravenous from not having eaten all day. For several minutes, all they did was bite and chew, answering their stomachs’ prayers. Both decided one beer was enough, but they made the most of it. Afterward, sated, they lounged and continued their conversation.
“He was totally hitting on you,” Rachel said, smiling. “I’m jealous as hell.”
“He was studying me,” Artemis countered. “Like a bug under a microscope.” Even now, the remembered intensity of Talis’s gaze was unnerving. Was Talis attractive? Without a doubt. If they’d met under different circumstances, Artemis would have made a move. But this was a murder investigation, Talis was a possible suspect, and you didn’t foul your own nest.
“No underwear.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“He wasn’t wearing underwear. That’s a statement in itself.”
“Yeah, that he enjoys the freedom of not wearing underwear. Jesus, Rachel.”
“Tell me you didn’t notice!”
He couldn’t help laughing. “I noticed.”
“Hung like a fucking horse. You should hit that.”
“Unethical.”
“Un-ignorable.”
“Stop making up words. I would
so
beat your ass at Scrabble.”
Chuckling, she said, “So where do we go from here?”
“Back to the office, where we will dutifully fill out reports, drop off that spoon, and then, hopefully, get home at a decent hour.” He hadn’t slept enough last night, and the food and beer had made him sleepy.
Artemis paid the bill and they left.

A
RTEMIS
lived in a fourth-floor walk-up a few blocks from the precinct. He’d been there several years. As neighborhoods went, it wasn’t the safest, nor was it the most crime-ridden. The locals knew he was a cop and left him alone. The rest took one look at him, felt his quiet authority, and gave him a wide berth.

He stripped off his jacket and shirt, tossed them aside, and poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniels. Three swallows and it was gone. He poured another, sipping it this time as he moved around the apartment, kicking off his shoes, undoing his belt buckle, reaching down past it to give himself a quick feel. Yup, still there, but work drained so much out of him, it surprised him. He went days feeling sexless, neutered, a human vessel that worked to solve crimes and did nothing else. How long had it been since he’d come?

Naked, he got into the shower, making it as hot as he could stand, seeing amethyst-colored eyes in his mind, recalling the taut lines of strong muscle under a soft white pullover, and remembering a golden tuft of chest hair in the V. He jacked himself, bracing one hand against the tiled wall, steam rising around him. He remembered blue jeans stretched snugly over narrow hips, and he vividly saw the outline of Talis’s cock under worn-smooth material. Rachel had been right. Talis was hung. Saliva flowed at the thought of taking that dick into his mouth, of sucking on the head and tasting him.

Need intensified, and his breath caught in his throat as his balls tightened and rose. His cock leaped as his hand moved faster, blood beating in his temples, everything turning inward, and then he was coming. He embraced it, gasping in pleasure, muscles going weak as he trembled with release.

He stood under the hot water a long time, eyes closed, counting the days since Richard had left him. “Five months,” he muttered, water running into his mouth. “Jesus.” And no one since then, not even a pickup. He’d buried himself in work, which had served him well until he’d met Talis.

Was he involved in these murders? There was no evidence yet, but Artemis felt in his gut this particular path led to the tall blond man. He wanted Sherlock Jones to be in the office early tomorrow, run the prints on the spoon against those they had from the murder scenes, and tell him… tell him what? What did he want to hear? That Talis had been at the scene? Because that was all a print match would get him. Well, not all. They would then have cause to request a DNA sample from him, and if that matched….

Somewhere deep inside, he didn’t want Talis to be involved. He wanted Talis…. The thought trailed off but still echoed.
I want Talis.
The man had awakened the buried hunger within him. His skin itched, his blood burned. For the first time in more than five months, he
yearned
. How he missed touching and being touched, and the feel of someone’s hard body against his!

Stupid, being celibate this long. I can’t think straight. I must be missing something, some small thing that will take me straight to the killer.

He turned off the water, dried himself, and pulled on a pair of black Calvin Klein underwear. In bed, he spread out the files of the three victims and went over them again.

Three men in their early twenties, all gay, all beautiful, killed after sex by means that remained undetermined. It was Nolan’s opinion that their hearts had simply stopped, but what had caused that, he didn’t know. No signs of struggle, all found lying peacefully dead.

The scratches on their legs were a mystery, and they’d all had them. They hadn’t been made by human nails, according to Nolan, and there’d been no match made to any known knife or tool. Sherlock Jones had humorously suggested the possibility of aliens. It was as good an explanation as any.

He pushed the files aside, turned out the light, and slid down under the blankets, adjusting the pillow until it satisfied. He admitted it, there in the darkness of his quiet bedroom: he was lonely.

Work
wasn’t
enough. He wanted more. He wanted someone to come home to, someone to talk to at the end of the day, someone who welcomed him with hugs and kisses and a hard cock.

A
N HOUR
later, he gave up, got up, slid into tight jeans and a snug-fitting shirt, and went to a nearby gay bar, something he hadn’t done in a long time. The usual suspects were hanging out, eyeing everyone in the room, and at this hour, a faint scent of desperation hung in the air.

Artemis ordered a scotch on the rocks and looked around. He was here for one reason and one reason only: he wanted to get laid. Wanted? Hell, he needed it.

This was usually pretty easy. He was good-looking, in great shape, and gays didn’t dance around the question the way straights seemed to.

He finished that drink, ordered another, and looked around, spotting a pretty blond man gazing back at him from across the room. Good enough.

Artemis gave him “the look,” and seconds later the man sidled up next to him. “Hi. Want some company?”
He looked clean and not stoned or too drunk. “Could be. Convince me you’re thelove of my life… for tonight, anyway.”
He shook the blond hair back from his face and laughed, revealing straight white teeth. “Playing hard to get?”
Artemis stuck a hand between the man’s legs and gently squeezed. “Want me to?”
They left a couple minutes later.

him as he ripped the condom open with his teeth. Had he even asked? The man had a nice ass, and it looked particularly attractive from this angle, jutting up in the air in front of his erection, the hole shiny with lube and ready for Artemis.

His head buried in a pillow, he mumbled, “Dan. Just how drunk are you?”
Not drunk at all
, Artemis thought as he guided his cock into Dan’s ass,
and when was the last time I did
that
? I’m missing all the fun stuff in life lately.
He’d chosen Dan because he had blond hair and a mouth that reminded him of Talis. Yes, he could be that shallow sometimes. They were in Dan’s bedroom, which was moderately neat, and Artemis wasn’t wasting any time.
Dan groaned and made noises as Artemis thrust into him, his knees bouncing a little on the mattress. Sweat broke out on Dan’s back as he quivered beneath Artemis. The light outside shone through the window blinds, striping their moving bodies dark, light, dark, light.
The scotch and late hour had slowed Artemis down. Hard, yes; on the verge of coming, no. “Talk to me,” he urged, still pounding into Dan. “Say something.”
“I… love your… cock.”
“Yeah, that’s good. More….” Artemis moved faster, felt the burn start, noticed Dan was jerking himself, bit his lip, closed his eyes, and came. A few seconds later, still mouthing obscenities, so did Dan.
Gulping for air, muscles twitching, he grasped the condom at the base as he withdrew. Dan fell flat on the bed, right on the wet spot. Artemis stripped off the latex sheath, tied it off, and pitched it into the basket beside the nightstand. “Very nice. Thanks.” Sliding off the bed, breathing almost normally, he reached for his pants.
“Going already?” Dan sounded disappointed.
“I have to work tomorrow.” The zipper sounded loud in the silent room. Artemis sat on the bed to pull on socks and shoes.
“I’d like to see you again,” Dan offered hesitantly, reaching out to touch him lightly on the hip.
“Keep an eye open for me.” Artemis stood, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and keys. “See ya around, Dan.”
He was out the door in seconds, letting it bang shut behind him, walking home as fast as he could, hands shoved deep in his pockets. It was a humid summer night. The city buzzed around him, still awake.
Why the hell did I do that? He was a nice guy and I
used
him.
He was under stress. Richard had left him. And even though he knew it was wrong, he wanted Talis more than he’d wanted anyone in a long time. Dan just hadn’t measured up, not to Richard, not to Talis.
Back in his apartment, he stripped and showered for the second time that evening before crawling into bed and finally falling asleep.

T
ALIS
was enjoying breakfast Friday morning at the table near the sunny window when Ammon appeared and set a stack of paper at his elbow. He raised his eyes, asking the question silently.

“What I have thus far discovered about Detective Gregory,” he said. “Some I found online, other things I paid for.”

Talis nodded. It was only money. He finished his goat cheese and herb omelet and fresh-squeezed orange juice before wiping his fingers on a napkin and picking up the papers. He paged through slowly, reading here and there, before moving to the couch in the sitting room to go through the information more thoroughly.

Half an hour later, he knew a great deal more about the detective, but this did not quell his anxiety. He had very little time to woo the man, and it wasn’t as if he could shrug it off if he failed. A thousand years of history and knowledge and experience would go up in flames. What a waste that would be.

Artemis.
A lovely and uncommon name. Adopted son of Janelle and Thomas Gregory. There were pictures: Janelle had brown hair and an open Midwestern face with smiling eyes. Thomas looked serious, even stern, and had salt-andpepper hair and brown eyes. His arm was around her shoulder, and he appeared to be touching her almost gingerly, as if the photographer had said, “Get closer to your wife!” and he’d resented it. A later entry noted Thomas Gregory had died of a heart attack four years ago.