Chapter 12 #2
Lincoln chuckled. “Exactly. Or considered that there’s no afterlife at all.
That was the day I left organized religion behind.
I’m sure not every minister is as ignorant as that man was, but I wasn’t there for it, or any religion, as I concluded a few years later.
Maybe it’s the scientist in me, but I’m more comfortable putting my faith in the tangible, namely myself and those around me—the good, the bad, and the ugly. ”
Carter nursed his tequila, turning that rationale over in his head. He wasn’t exactly religious, but he did put some faith in there being a higher power. Growing up, he hadn’t had that faith in himself, and he hadn’t had people around him to depend on either.
Lincoln shifted next to him, mirroring his posture. “You said you were an orphan but a very lapsed Jew. Was it one of your foster families?”
“Very lapsed is generous. I haven’t actually ever practiced.”
At Lincoln’s quirked brow, Carter lifted a hip, withdrew his badge from his back pocket, and removed the tiny circlet of suede from behind his badge.
He always carried the yarmulke with him, but he hadn’t pulled it out in years.
He didn’t want to handle it too often, the light blue fabric showing its age and the hand-stitched Star of David in the center increasingly fragile.
“There was a car accident when I was very young. So young I don’t actually remember it or how I got separated from who I assume were my parents.
I was thrown from the car and too young to speak my name when someone found me, so I got .
. . lost. Being a foster kid is all I’ve ever known, but I always had this.
” He held it out to Lincoln. “They found it on me. It was my one possession, and I’ve kept it with me always. It’s all I have.”
Lincoln gently handled the yarmulke, and his voice was similarly gentle when he spoke. “That’s why the interest in Apex? In genealogy?”
Carter nodded. “I think the accident happened here. I’m still trying to confirm that.” He gestured toward the cap. “And also figure out who I am.”
Lincoln passed back the yarmulke with a smile. “You seem pretty confident in that.”
“Okay, who I was, then.” Carter tucked it into the pocket behind his badge, then ran a thumb over the gold shield.
“Figures into who I am now too. I would love to settle down someplace, stop living out of my car, feel completely comfortable in my skin and like I don’t have to constantly prove myself.
But I’m a foster kid, always trying to prove myself worthy of staying.
Never succeeding. I take these random assignments in this place or that thinking maybe some family member or the person who found me will recognize me.
And if I’m loud and brash enough in those roles, in those places, in my life, maybe that’ll help them see me.
” He pocketed the badge, then tossed back the rest of his shot.
“Of course, they may see me and decide they don’t want me, that I’m not good enough for them either. ”
Lincoln caught his wrist on the descent.
“I don’t know how anyone could think that about you.
” His thumb swept over the inside of Carter’s wrist, like Carter had done to him two nights ago.
He missed the pressure point, but the touch and Lincoln’s heated gaze were causing pressure of another sort.
Behind the zipper of Carter’s fly, and in his chest, drawing Carter forward. Nose to nose, lip to—
Lincoln’s phone rang, startling them apart so forcefully that Carter had to shoot out an arm and leg to keep Lincoln from tipping backward in his chair.
Amid curses and apologies, they recovered in time to catch the incoming call from Senator Kirk.
“Ollie,” Lincoln answered as he put the phone on speaker. “Did you find Ruby and Chase?”
“We found them,” Kirk said through choked sobs. “They were in a warehouse, the water was rising, oh God . . .” His words died, swallowed up by emotion, and for a second, Carter feared the worst.
Until Beverley came on the line. “We got them out alive.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” Lincoln bypassed his shot glass and went straight for the bottle, taking a long swallow. He held it out to Carter, who didn’t hesitate to do the same. Victory and relief in the form of smooth, aged agave burned across his tongue and warmed him from the inside out.
“Did you catch the copycat?” Lincoln asked.
“We did,” Beverley answered. “Jeff Baxter. Name ring any bells?”
“None here,” Carter said as he lowered the bottle back to the table.
“Me neither,” Lincoln said.
“In any event, he’s in custody, and Ruby and Chase are safe,” Beverley said. “Case closed. You two can come home.”
“No,” Lincoln said, eyes darting from the phone to Carter, asking an unspoken question.
Carter answered it, the determination in Lincoln’s eyes the only guidance he needed. “We’re getting closer here,” he told Beverley. “To the real Dr. Fear.”
“Closer than we’ve ever been,” Lincoln added. “Does Baxter have gray hair?”
“Yes.”
“I think we’re on the right track,” Lincoln said. “And Dr. Fear killed again today. Here in Apex.”
“Again?” Kirk said, rejoining the conversation.
“Zia and Quinn weren’t Baxter’s kills,” Carter explained. “We’re fairly certain that was Dr. Fear and then Baxter hijacked the cycle.”
“He left me a note at Stacy’s crime scene,” Lincoln said. “He’s escalating, and we have his attention. We can’t let this go. We’re too close.”
“Bev,” Kirk said. “If they’re right, we may never get another shot like this.”
“All right,” the director agreed. “Let’s not waste the opportunity, and let’s see if we can cut short the cycle for good.”
“We need to question Baxter,” Carter said, “But we can’t leave town.”
“Let us get him processed. Do an initial interview and send you that transcript. Then if you have follow-up questions, we’ll set up a video conference.”
“Later tonight?” Lincoln said.
“Probably tomorrow.”
“But—”
Carter laid a hand on his forearm and with the other, muted the phone. “Did you sleep any last night?” A glare but not a denial. “Didn’t think so. Me neither.” He released Lincoln and unmuted the phone. “Tomorrow morning is fine.”
“Good work, you two,” Beverley said.
Kirk followed with a “Thank you for helping us save them,” and after a few more operational details, they ended the call.
“I’m sorry,” Lincoln said, slumping back in his chair. “I should have asked before I said we wanted to stay.”
“You did ask, and I didn’t object because you’re right. We’re too close.”
“You up for playing Mr. Polk a bit longer?” Lincoln asked, his grin a little fuller, a little looser after three shots of tequila.
Carter returned the smile. “I think I could suffer it.”
Lincoln scoffed, full of mock outrage as he shifted in his chair sideways and forward toward Carter. “You have to suffer? What about me?”
Carter matched him, in affected ire and position, knees bumping as he narrowed the already scant distance between them. “What about you? Or rather, what about me is so insufferable?”
“You’re cocky, and you have an aversion to putting things in their place.” He flung an arm out to the side, toward the kitchen. “Like dishes in the dishwasher.”
Carter grabbed his arm. “You want me to put things in their place?”
Heat flashed in Lincoln’s eyes, and he didn’t try to wrench free.
Instead, he used his wrist in Carter’s grip to drag him closer to the end of his chair with his legs spread, thighs on either side of Lincoln’s.
Faces so close Carter could feel the warmth of Lincoln’s breath and the timbre of Lincoln’s words.
“You’re insufferably handsome, and it’s all I can do not to kiss you. ”
Carter prayed to all that was holy that the fucking phone didn’t ring this time, didn’t interrupt his fantasy that was so close to finally becoming reality.
He slid closer, cheek to cheek. “I can make you suffer, in other, more pleasurable ways, but I’d prefer you do that to me.
” Lincoln’s gasp made his dick throb, and the heat that bloomed against his cheek and thighs was scalding, enough to make him draw back, wanting to see all of Lincoln in his turned-on glory—pupils blown out, lips parted, erection tenting the front of his pants.
Carter lifted his eyes to Lincoln’s molten honey ones.
“But holding out for a kiss, you don’t have to suffer that, L, if you don’t want to. ”
“I don’t want to,” Lincoln said, zero hesitation.
Carter held his gaze as he shifted their positions, lifting one then the other of Lincoln’s thighs over his own. “What do you want, L?”
Taking the cue, Lincoln grabbed hold of Carter’s shoulders and levered himself onto Carter’s lap. He half groaned, half growled as he rolled his hips, magnifying the suffering tenfold. “I want you to fucking kiss me.”
As much as he wanted to stretch up and capture Lincoln’s lips, to end their suffering, Carter couldn’t resist one last needling. “Say ple—”
Lincoln’s mouth crashed down onto his and it was entreaty enough.
More than. Carter groaned as he opened for everything Lincoln had to give—tongue, teeth, lips—wanting and craving it all.
Delayed gratification at its finest. Lincoln rolling his hips and rutting his arousal against Carter’s abs as his hands raked through his hair.
Cradling his scalp while holding him hostage.
Carter ran his hands up Lincoln’s thighs and around to grasp his perfect ass, holding tight as he thrust up against him.
Lincoln moaned down his throat and tugged Carter’s head back farther, deepening the kiss.
Carter surrendered to anything and everything Lincoln wanted.
Just as long as he got to keep him here, in his lap, devouring each other.
Neither of them protested, but eventually the chair did, a creak that forewarned of imminent collapse under their combined weight.
Carter made to move, to stand and transfer Lincoln from his lap to the table, hoping the latter would be sturdier than the chair, but Lincoln shifted first, sliding off to stand between Carter’s spread legs.
Hands still in Carter’s hair, he gentled the hold and kiss, fingers playing with his curls as they wound down to light pecks.
“Fuck,” Carter panted, still catching his breath. “I’ve suffered years waiting for that kiss.”
“I suffered weeks with you in class, and those were the worst weeks of my teaching career.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
Lincoln trailed his hands down his neck and around to the hollow of his throat, making Carter shiver. “Yeah, you were.”
Carter hooked his arms around the backs of Lincoln’s thighs and eyed the erection straining toward him. “I can show you bad.”
Lincoln slipped a hand beneath his chin and tipped up his face for a hard, fast kiss. “All those years, you can appreciate a slow burn.”
“In other words, you’re gonna make me suffer some more.”
“Trust me when I say we’re both going to be suffering.”
He moved to step back, and Carter dropped his arms. He wouldn’t push. After all they’d talked about, he understood Lincoln had reservations, had other commitments to consider. And Carter had his own baggage to deal with. Still had more to prove.
As if hearing his thoughts, Lincoln paused at the hallway to his room. “If I can help you find out who you were, just say the word. But, Carter, just so you know, whatever we find, it won’t change how much I like who you are now.”
Carter’s belly swooped and his heart raced, the potential in both those offers terrifying and tantalizing. Not quite ready to go there himself yet, he relaxed into his chair and their usual smirk and snark routine. “I thought I was insufferable?”
Lincoln correctly read the call, giving Carter that out, and turned for his room, tossing a “Goodnight, Mr. Polk” over his shoulder.
“Goodnight, Mr. Polk,” Carter returned, watching Lincoln’s perfect ass strut away from him. The perfect ass—and perfect man—he’d held in his arms tonight.
Finally.