Chapter Three
T he Best Western Inn sat just off of Interstate 10 and Fisher had picked it because it wasn’t far from Joshua Tree National Park. He’d always wanted to see that place.
He’d picked a room with two queen beds on the top floor that had a view of the San Jacinto Mountain range. They never stayed in separate rooms and that was because it would waste money he didn’t have.
He was broke.
That may sound odd with the type of job he did, but there was a reason for it. One, they got paid after the job was done. But the bigger reason was that Solomon Mercy, his former boss and handler, had taken seventy percent of what he’d earned.
And his decision to go back and work for the guy after being away for six years hadn’t been one of his best decisions. The only light at the end of that very dark tunnel had been reconnecting with his two best friends, Echo and Rogue—that right there had been worth the price.
So now he penny-pinched and he saved, and it was only a matter of time before he could move out of his crappy apartment. To where, he hadn’t a clue but with the number of jobs he and Justice were taking, his savings would be bursting in no time. And then, he’d have choices.
Justice dropped his duffle bag on the floor by the bed that was closest to the door and Fisher gladly took the mattress by the window.
Flopping onto his back on the bed, Justice stretched with a groan. “Long damn drive.”
“We still have daylight. We should drive into the city and scope out Bridger’s location,” he said.
“Let’s go look for food first,” Justice grumbled, giving him a hopeful look that sent warmth through his chest.
“Bottomless pit.”
“I’m a man of simple needs,” Justice said and rolled to his feet.
The man proceeded to pull a few shirts and pants from his bag and hang them in the small closet.
“Simple my ass,” he snorted and did the same.
They jockeyed for hangers and Fisher ended up hanging one of his button-down shirts over Justice’s button-down, sharing the hanger. Shoving socks and briefs into the top drawer, he was just about to shut it when Justice dumped his own socks and briefs on top of his.
“There are five drawers,” he pointed out.
“So?”
“What if I pick the wrong pair in the dark,” he bitched.
“Turn on the light,” Justice suggested and then gave a slow grin. “Or wear mine.”
“Yeah, like those would fit.” He lifted a pair of what he was sure were an XL and held them up.
“Touching my underwear and we haven’t even kissed yet?” Justice snickered.
Damn the man. Fisher wadded up the briefs, hastily tossed them back in the drawer, and slammed it shut.
Visions of kissing Justice filled his head and Fisher couldn’t get his brain to shut off. He wondered what the man’s kiss would be like, taste like, and if that would lead to other things. Which would probably ruin their work partnership. Plus, one of his rules was to never have sex with friends.
But could they be considered friends?
He was on the fence about that.
So, did that mean they could have sex?
No, he reasoned. Bad. That was a very bad idea and he needed to get those thoughts out of his head right now because he was almost sure Justice had been kidding.
Sure, the guy had always been possessive, but that was because Justice had a control streak a mile wide and not because the man was attracted to him.
Right?
He darted a discrete glance at Justice when the man walked by on his way to put his toiletries in the bathroom.
Had Justice been serious?
Fisher couldn’t tell.
Downtown Palm Desert was busy at just after one in the afternoon on a Thursday. Palm trees lined the streets and giant branches waved in the air as the San Gorgonio Pass sent strong winds gusting through the town—making the ninety-nine-degree weather bearable for short bursts of time.
Justice was in the passenger seat browsing one of the brochures he’d snagged in the hotel lobby on the way out.
“They have a windmill tour,” the man said.
“No.” He tried hard not to roll his eyes.
“Why not?”
“We aren’t here to play.”
“It’s a self-drive windmill tour.”
Fisher tossed the man a glance and laughed because Justice had no idea of how petulant he looked.
“Maybe,” he relented, receiving a smile.
Having stopped at a burger place not far from the hotel, Fisher ate with one hand and drove with the other.
“Where does this Bridger guy hang out?” he asked around a bite of meat and cheese.
Justice juggled his bag of food on his lap and tugged out his phone to scroll through the confidential information they’d managed to gather. Info the FBI hadn’t been able to get.
Erebus had other means for getting info that the FBI couldn’t even dream of.
“He spends his time between a resort casino and the country club. Both near here.”
“I say the country club.”
“Nah. Let’s wait at the casino.” Justice shook his head and tore into his third burger, the wrapper crinkling.
“Why?” He frowned. Was this another of his partner’s power play?
“More people. We’ll blend in,” the man said around the food in his mouth.
Fisher couldn’t argue with that logic. He knew that his sudden need to make all the decisions was causing him to miss things and he didn’t like it. So far, Justice hadn’t balked at his choices until now.
“Casino it is,” he decided.
“Get off here,” Justice said and Fisher took the Bob Hope exit.
Craig Bridger looked up at him with a blank stare from his dead eyes and Fisher crouched to check the man’s pulse.
“It was a clean shot,” Justice said and tugged at his arm.
“I know.” Fisher had put the bullet into the man’s heart, but he never walked away without checking.
They’d found Bridger in the casino and tailed the guy back to his house. From there, it was only a matter of time to break in and kill the man. The murder/rapist/kidnapper’s death was no loss for society.
He followed Justice through the long hallway of the expensive home just as the front door opened.
“Craig?” a man’s voice called out.
Justice shoved him into the room they had previously entered to get into the house. This room had a patio access. The big former soldier crowded him back against the nearest wall, just out of sight of the doorway. Slowly, Justice eased the door closed, leaving a crack to avoid any sound.
Fisher’s back pressed to the cool surface of the wall and when Justice placed a finger to his own lips, Fisher held his breath.
“You home, bro?” The front door closed and the man’s boots echoed on the tiled floor of the entryway.
Fisher gazed up, catching and holding Justice’s eyes in the semi-dark provided by a nearby nightlight. He couldn’t see the man’s expression, but the way Justice was pressed against him had his pulse racing. Justice must have felt it because the man’s breathing slowed, becoming deep and rhythmic.
And there in the dark of a killer’s spare bedroom, Justice lowered his head and took his mouth in a slow and deep first kiss.
The kiss was possessive, heated, and when Justice caught his hands and lifted them over his head to cage them together, Fisher’s dick went from soft to hard.
Fuck. He swallowed back a moan as his mouth was marauded. He clamped his teeth lightly over the man’s bottom lip and when Justice swept his tongue inside his mouth, Fisher tangled their tongues together.
“Shit!” the man’s voice cried out.
That was their cue.
Justice drew back, linked their fingers, and together, they slid out the back bedroom patio door.
The tension was thick during the drive back to the hotel and it followed them when they stopped at a convenience store to pick up a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and other essentials. The heated charge of tension followed them all the way to their room.
Fisher uncorked the wine and instead of using the plastic coffee cups on the counter, he took a few gulps straight from the bottle before handing it over.
Justice guzzled down a bit of the wine and wiped the back of one hand against his cropped mustache and beard.
Fisher almost moaned as he took back the bottle to drink more. He wanted to feel that overgrown stubble on his skin and he wondered if this was a very bad idea.
Justice apparently didn’t give a shit because he came up behind him the minute he set the bottle down and encircled his waist with those strong arms.
“Wait,” Fisher whispered and Justice stilled, staying quiet.
The man’s big body was pressed up against his back and ass, making it hard to think, but he needed to get this out.
“This could…change things.”
“I know,” Justice said, his voice rumbling against the nape of his neck, and Fisher made a sound in the back of his throat.
“Do you want to take that risk?” he asked.
“I do, but I won’t if you don’t.”
He laughed on a groan and then reached for Justice’s hand before walking toward the queen bed near the window.
This might be the stupidest thing he’d ever done and he still had his own issues to sort out, but he couldn’t fathom missing this with Justice.
But fuck it. He tossed aside his reservations.
The man pulled him to a stop and he turned, glancing up, holding those heated blue eyes.
One hand cupped the back of his neck and Fisher was lifted to his toes. Justice dipped his head and the kiss that came was so possessive he couldn’t think.
“I want you,” Justice growled against his mouth.
The words were spoken low and hungry, and Fisher’s blood rushed from his head to his dick in a nanosecond. His lips parted and the man’s tongue was there, tasting of wine.
When the man’s hands went to the buttons on his jeans, Fisher stilled his hands.
“Wait.”
“Hmm?” Justice paused, buried his face into his neck, and Fisher groaned.
They had had the whole testing conversation in the empty convenience store and the lube they had purchased—beneath the amused gaze of the clerk behind the counter—now sat near the opened bottle of wine.
“Lube?”
Justice laughed against his skin and stalked over to snatch the small bottle. Fisher took that moment to start taking down his hair. It would take a minute to get it released from its confinement. He started with pulling it through the band once and then again, before he pulled the band free. With a quick rake of his fingers, he had the silky black strands falling down his back.
Justice hadn’t returned to his side and Fisher glanced up to find the man watching him from across the room as if in a trance.