Irrelevant, Really
But old habits die hard.
It was after four by the time Lucas felt comfortable leaving the office.
Last one out, he turned off the lights, considering the silhouettes of tidily arranged desks and chairs, unlit string of Christmas lights draped across the silent bullpen, then stepped through the security door and made his way down the hall to the back entrance.
As the outer door closed behind him, he drew a deep, bracing breath of snow-scented air. Officially, the office was closed for the next four days, but as the agent on duty, he’d probably look in once or twice.
He waffled a little over picking up some kind of a peace offering, but given his hitherto undiscovered talent for turning tokens of affection into the opening salvo of mortal combat, maybe it was better to stick to the script.
Accordingly, he headed straight for Riley’s.
The complex wasn’t much to look at by daylight, but in the early dark of a mountain December, with a dusting of snow along the gabled roofs and soft golden light glowing behind most of the windows, it had the quiet appeal of a Christmas card.
Rustic but well-maintained: timber accents, stonework planters, a couple of decorative pine trees wrapped in white lights out front.
The kind of place that said “seasonal rental” in summer and “ski weekend crash pad” in winter.
Not luxury, but nice. Comfortable. It suited Riley: warm, practical, unpretentious.
In Lucas’ opinion, his chalet suited Riley better. But still.
He parked in the visitor lot beneath a flickering lamppost and sat for a moment, watching the snow flurries circling the lamp like moths. Above him, Riley’s window was dark.
He hadn’t considered the unwelcome possibility that Riley might not be home.
Riley’s SUV was not on the lot, but sometimes he parked in the back.
Maybe he was napping? They were always short on sleep. If Lucas ever did go on vacation, he wouldn’t mind spending half of it sleeping. He sighed, double-checked that he had his laboriously written letter safely in the pocket of his parka, and then got out and went up the wooden staircase.
He knocked a couple of times and then rang the doorbell.
Nothing.
He waited, then returned downstairs and got back in his SUV. He tapped his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel.
It was possible Riley was out running errands.
If he was planning on spending Christmas on his own, he’d probably need to pick up a few groceries. Like Lucas, Riley liked to cook nearly as much as he liked to eat. He would not be satisfied with a frozen pot pie for his holiday dinner.
Lucas’ heart sank. Or maybe Riley wasn’t planning on spending Christmas on his own. Maybe he was planning to fly back to Los Angeles for the holidays? Maybe he was at Hailey right now, trying to wrangle a last-minute flight?
It would take some doing, but Riley was the guy to get it done, if he thought it needed doing.
This unhappy thought had Lucas climbing out of his vehicle for a second time and once more jogging up the slick stairs.
Hell. As he’d feared, the landing outside Riley’s apartment was empty.
The small welcome mat with the faded Sun Valley Lodge logo was still there, dusted with a light crust of snow, but the usual lineup of boots and battered trail runners was gone.
Lucas paused, the wind kicking sharp against his coat collar, the scent of pine and woodsmoke crisp in the air.
Someone had strung a string of icicle lights along the balcony railing, and he could hear muffled laughter from a unit down the way, a door opening and closing. Normal sounds. Just not their normal.
Maybe—
No. Riley always left his snow boots outside.
Unless he was not planning to be back for a while.
For a moment Lucas stood there biting his lip, thinking, before turning and trudging slowly back down the stairs. He climbed into his vehicle, huddling into his parka. The chill he felt went all the way to the bone, and had nothing to do with the weather outside.
“You really blew it this time, asshole,” he muttered.
Even so, he struggled with the idea that Riley would just give up on, well, them.
He knew Riley loved him. Not unconditionally. In the end he’d definitely had a couple of conditions. But more than anyone else had ever loved him.
And Riley’s conditions had been pretty reasonable. People who had loved Lucas a lot less had asked for a hell of a lot more than Riley ever had.
The minutes ticked past, and green-blue twilight turned to night.
There was a draft inside the cab, a chilly little whisper telling Lucas he was wasting his time, that he was waiting for something that had already left him behind.
He was increasingly cold and uncomfortable, but did not turn on the heater.
If Riley had been able to stay sane trapped in the dark and freezing silence of the National Forest for hours—with a dead man beside him—Lucas could stand ninety minutes in his SUV.
Rarely did he let himself dwell on what Riley had been through, but somehow this evening it was hard not to imagine…
The increasingly desperate attempts to free himself.
The sick realization that there was nothing left to do but wait.
The pain of that bitter cold seeping into his bones as the hours slipped past with agonizing slowness, the fear as feet and hands began to go numb, the fear of sliding into a sleep there was no waking from.
Surrounded all the time by the weird not-quite-silence of creaking pines, sifting snow, the ticking over of the wrecked engine.
The growing knowledge that help might not come in time.
Loneliness like no other.
No wonder Riley needed to believe there was something, someone on the other side of that darkness to turn to, to rely on, to trust in.
No wonder he had reached a breaking point.
And how had Lucas reacted? With frustration and impatience at the lack of consideration in expecting him to take a few days off every year.
Jesus Christ.
“You did this to yourself,” he muttered to the shadowy eyes watching him from his rearview mirror.
He remembered when Riley had been released from the med center.
Driving Riley back to the chalet, helping him upstairs, helping him undress, getting him settled in the nest of blankets and pillows and quilts.
Riley, still pale, still shadowed, still dealing with everything he’d been through, had looked up at him and said reassuringly, kindly—to whatever he saw in Lucas’ face, “I’m okay, Luc. You should get back to the office.”
And Lucas, overwhelmed with emotion and a hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with wanting, needing to be as close to Riley for as long as possible, had said roughly, “Can I stay for a while?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Lucas had undressed, slipped between the sheets, drawing Riley carefully, so carefully into his arms, and Riley had rested his head against Luc’s, and slid into exhausted sleep; a sleep so heavy, so deep, that now and then Lucas had lifted up to make sure Riley was still breathing.
But the relief, the all-encompassing relief of Riley warm and alive and in his arms.
They had stayed like that for hours, and when Lucas finally rose, it was only to call in to let people know he would be working from home for the next few days.
He had been very conscious he had been given a second chance.
Very conscious there was nothing he would not do for Riley.
What had changed?
Nothing.
That was the funny thing.
Nothing had changed. He still felt the same way.
Why, then, had he kicked so hard at the idea of being asked to prioritize this relationship that, in fact, meant everything to him?
What the hell was the matter with him?
At a quarter to seven, he accepted the inevitable and got out of the SUV a final time.
He walked slowly up the stairs, took his keys out and let himself into Riley’s apartment.
The door closed behind him, the metallic click loud in the hush of the apartment. No lights were on. No music, no TV. Only the distant hum of the fridge and the faint ticking of the wall clock.
Lucas didn’t turn on the lamp. The drapes were open and there was enough light from the living room window.
Silvery shadows softened the angles of furniture, a battered pair of trail boots drying by the heater, a couple of books and a half-finished mug of coffee on the table next to the sofa.
The ghost of Riley’s scent—Dove Men+ soap and Proraso aftershave—still lingered in the air.
Lucas stood in the doorway and let his eyes adjust, let the quiet wrap around him. He recognized, sadly, that this was probably the last time he would stand here.
And, as it was, Riley would probably consider this trespassing.
After another moment or two, he shook off his melancholy and went into the small kitchen, setting the envelope on the counter, propping it against the coffee maker.
He hesitated over leaving his key, ultimately deciding he needed the key to secure the premises. Besides, it gave him another reason to come back and talk to Riley.
But speaking of secured premises, it did seem out of character for Riley, even as angry as he’d been when he walked out of the office, to impulsively jump on a plane and fly across country without so much as leaving word with Rainey.
An Out-of-Area Notification was standard procedure (and professional courtesy).
Had he left?
Uncomfortably aware that he was now definitely trespassing, Lucas headed for Riley’s bedroom to check if his suitcase or carryall was still in the closet. Fingers on the light switch, he froze at a telltale noise behind him.
The sound of a key scraping the front door lock.
The door swung open as Lucas turned, and Riley’s tall shadow stepped inside and flipped on the overhead light.
Lucas barely had time to register that Riley, in snow boots, jeans and his navy-blue parka, was not carrying luggage, groceries, or anything else—and Riley barely had time to register that someone was standing in the doorway to his bedroom.
Riley made a smothered sound and moved to draw his weapon. Lucas threw up his hands, calling, “It’s me, Riley!”
In a split second that look of deadly intent gave way to shock—and then fury. Riley shouted, “Are you out of your fucking mind, Lucas?”
“Sorry. Sorry!” Lucas dropped his arms. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Riley wiped the hand holding the Glock across his eyes. The next instant he lowered the Glock and glared. “I didn’t mean to shoot you, but I almost did, you…you…dumb bastard!”
“I’m sorry. I should have turned on the light.” Lucas walked toward Riley; couldn’t help it. It was like Riley exerted some kind of gravitational pull on him. More than anything, he wanted to wrap his arms around Riley.
“You should have—What? Why are you here? What are you doing in my place?” Riley did not seem to be experiencing the same tractor beam effect. He stepped back from Lucas. Shields up.
Lucas did not miss that scowling retreat. He swallowed hard. “I came to-to deliver a letter.”
“D-Deliver a letter? I see. You don’t have enough to do? Now you’re moonlighting for the postal service?”
Lucas spluttered a laugh. Which was unfortunate, because the situation was not comical, though he did, even now, find Riley genuinely funny. That scathing tone? That indignant expression?
Riley was not amused, however. He hauled off and slugged Lucas.
“Owww.” Lucas recoiled, putting his hand to his chest.
It was not a real punch, or at least not the punch Riley would’ve thrown if he’d been serious about doing damage, but it was not a love tap either. It landed squarely but high in Lucas’ shoulder.
“What the hell was that for?” Lucas protested.
“What the hell were you doing sneaking around my bedroom?”
“Looking to see if you were in California!”
Riley opened his mouth, but seemed at a loss for words.
“I was afraid…” Lucas tried again. “I wanted to try to explain.”
Riley’s expression changed, and he looked suddenly older and a lot wearier.
Lucas rushed to cut off whatever words were about to follow that expression. “Riley, listen. I know this is my fault. I want to fix it. I’m trying to fix it. But everything I do seems to make it worse. I thought if I could write it all out, then maybe we could—”
“Lucas.”
Stubbornly, Lucas kept talking. “Because I don’t believe we can’t work this out. The fact that we love each other has to count for something—”
“Luc.”
Lucas stopped, asked gruffly, “Are you transferring back to California?”
Riley’s left eyebrow shot up. “How would I make that happen? Wishful thinking?”
Lucas flinched, and Riley grimaced. “No. Of course not.”
Lucas nearly sagged with relief. He’d all but convinced himself Riley had one foot on the next plane to LAX.
He tried to cover by saying, “I-I had the idea that maybe you decided to fly home to see your folks.”
“My folks are on cruise in the Bahamas, remember?”
“Oh. That’s right,” Lucas said sheepishly. “You did mention that.”
“Yep. I did.” Riley considered him for a long moment. “I went to see Hayley Corbin’s parents.”
“You… Okay.” Not what Lucas had expected.
“This time of year is… I wanted to let them know that we haven’t forgotten.”
That was very Riley. It would never have occurred to Lucas, but he found it unexpectedly touching.
He said carefully, “That was kind. But…”
Riley’s gaze held his. “I know you disagree, but I think there are still a couple of loose ends to pull on.”
“Okay.” Riley was a shrewd investigator. If he believed it was worth taking another look, then the rest of them probably had missed something. In any case, Lucas was not about to argue with him. Not now and sure as hell not about this.
“I’d like to take another run at the case. Officially.” Riley added dryly, “I mean, assuming I’m back on the docket?”
Lucas winced, “Yes. Of course. Whatever you want. That…thing about reassigning your cases was a-a misstep.”
“I’ll say,” Riley growled.
But something in his expression, that mix of exasperation and understanding gave Lucas hope. He brushed the tips of Riley’s fingers tentatively with his own, and this time Riley did not move away. “Can I give you the letter?”
Riley nodded, but said, “I don’t need the letter, Luc. You’re right. It’s not easy to walk away from someone you love.” His blue eyes met Lucas’ steadily. “I know you’re not where I am in this—”
Lucas closed his eyes in pain, locked arms around Riley, pulling him tight, whispering, “Now, this time you’re wrong, Special Agent Christopher. I’m with you. I’m with you every step of the way.”