Chapter Seven
Tyson
To my absolute frustration, I didn’t see Donovan or Hamish again for several days.
Fuck my luck.
Fuck my life.
Fuck Rutger Lewis.
Well, yeah. The guy was one fucking asshole. And a dangerous criminal who led the department on a two-day goose chase through the city while we tried to catch him.
Mariah and I’d barely finished interviewing Meggibeth Smythe when a call came in for all hands on deck. A gangland shooting had taken place, and Rutger, the leader of one of the gangs in question—and our lead suspect—was in the wind.
Two days in, a nosy neighbor in Lower Lonsdale, over in North Vancouver, called in a tip about the strange new guy next door. If we hadn’t been desperate, I wasn’t certain we’d have followed up. But a cop in North Van had a hunch. A SWAT team was called in, but Rutger surrendered peacefully.
We’d been ordered home to sleep, and since the homicides hadn’t been my case, I’d gladly obeyed.
Friday morning, Cole’s doctor called to say I could interview him.
My call to Mariah was answered with a no fucking way, I’m sleeping for a month.
I headed to St. Paul’s by myself. I hoped to see Donovan, but Michael and Caressa flanked Cole when I entered his room.
Hesitantly, I approached the bed.
Michael visibly bristled, his hand going protectively to Cole’s shoulder. He made a sound low in his throat—almost like a growl.
Caressa flanked Cole, her pale-blue eyes wary.
I held up my hand. “Just here to ask Cole a few questions. I promise I won’t be long.”
Carefully, I took Cole through his entire relationship with Meggibeth.
Absolutely no red flags except that she appeared to have been extra attentive to him.
Her appearance at the gala on Saturday night had been a surprise since tickets were quite expensive, but Cole had again brushed off any notion something might be wrong.
His recollection of the shooting was actually fairly good, given the trauma he’d suffered. Which brought us back to where we’d started—with Cole a little out of it and Caressa, with Michael, clearly wanting me gone. Still, a few more things remained.
“You’ve spoken to Donovan?” Cole cocked his head.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Uh, yes. I’ve spoken to Mr. Riggs. Several times. He’s been…most helpful.” Where is he going with this? Better to just move things along. “So you’re going to be released soon.”
Cole nodded.
“The watch commander will add a couple of drive-bys in your neighborhood. If anything suspicious happens, don’t hesitate to call.”
Caressa’s gaze shot to me, with her incisive eyes taking me back a proverbial step. “What are you suggesting?”
“That word’s gotten out about where Cole lives. We’ve had police cars driving by, and that seems to have deterred the press. But if they know Cole’s home, then it might take more…persuasive measures.”
“Fuck me.” Caressa’s invective appeared to startle both Cole and Michael.
I shrugged. “We’ll do what we can.” After closing my notebook, I pulled out a card.
My arm hung in the air as I gazed between Michael and Caressa. I was about to put it on the tray when Michael snagged it.
Our gazes clashed.
I read…anger? Disgruntlement? Annoyance? “If you think of anything else.”
“I doubt I will.” Cole’s brow unfurrowed. He took a deep breath and blinked. The blink was long and lazy. He appeared ready to go to sleep.
“Uh, thanks.” I met Michael’s gaze. “If you see Mr. Riggs…”
“We’ll tell him you said hi.” Caressa grinned in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable.
What has he said to them? I’d assumed he would be circumspect, but maybe I’d miscalculated on that count. Maybe he’d said something—done something—that led them to think more was going on.
I inclined my head, met everyone’s gaze, then left.
And ran smack into Donovan just as I exited the room.
He appeared as startled as I was.
I snagged his left elbow and tugged him off to the side where we were less likely to attract attention. “Did you say something to them?”
“To who? About what?” His dark-brown eyes flashed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Caressa, Michael, and Cole.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Whether my upset came from worrying about my career or Donovan’s proximity, I couldn’t be certain.
He cocked his head. “You believe I’d tell my friends about you? About us?”
His tone warned me, but I didn’t heed it.
“You’ve said Cole’s your best friend. You might’ve let something slip. He might’ve said something to the others—”
He pulled back a step, gazed intently into my eyes, then smiled. “Did you blush?”
“I…” Goddamn it. “I did not.”
“Oh, you so did.” He continued to beam with a smile. “You stupid idiot.”
I barely had time to bristle before he pushed me into a storage closet and closed the door. “Uh, I’m not sure this—”
He cut me off with a brutal kiss. His tongue demanded entrance—and I was happy to oblige. I also made a few demands of my own, running my hand down his flank, cupping his ass, and dragging him closer. He ran his hand through my hair, raking my scalp with his fingernails.
Fucking asshole.
Yeah, he’s got your number.
Just that one little action set me off every time. My cock strained against my pants, and I longed for some kind of relief. I thrust my dick against him, trying to find friction.
“I was so worried.” He pulled back, his breaths harsh.
I nibbled my way down his exposed throat. “For what?”
“They said on the news that some guy killed a bunch of people and all the cops were out looking for him. I wanted to call you so badly, but I didn’t want to pull focus—”
“You can call me anytime, and I’ll never lose focus. I can do my job and want you at the same time.” Okay, holy fuck, did I really just say that?
“Want me?” His breath hitched.
“Need you.” I bit his neck—not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough for him to take notice. This wasn’t like me. This animalistic need to possess—to own.
To claim.
“My arm.”
I pulled back immediately.
He winced. “It got caught…I… God, I didn’t want you to stop, but…”
“You’re hurt.” Shame swamped me. “We shouldn’t be making out in a broom closet.”
“I agree. So my bed, tonight?”
Unblinkingly, I gazed into his eyes. “I can’t do it, Donovan.”
“Can’t you, like, recuse yourself from the case? I mean, isn’t the case essentially over? You have the perpetrator. She’s guilty. What more do they need you for? Don’t you have other cases to work?”
“You’re a victim, Donovan.”
He scowled, bristling.
“I get that you don’t want to see yourself that way, but the law sees you that way. The regulations see you that way. My boss,” I said quietly, “will see you that way.”
“Well, then let me talk to him—”
“Her.”
“Her. Let me make her understand.” He scratched his scalp. “There’s got to be a way for the three of us to see each other outside of this clusterfuck situation. I’ve only just found you—I’m not going to lose you to some regulation—”
“Those regulations dictate my life. I agreed to that when I put on the uniform.”
He arched his eyebrow. “Do I get to see you in your uniform? Because I have to say that’d be quite a turn-on.”
I glared. “So not the point.”
He shrugged. “Anything to make you see what I see.”
“And that is?”
“Three men who are attracted to each other.”
I sighed. “Hamish is in much the same situation as I am. He can’t see you socially either. We just chose professions with strict rules. I never thought I’d be tempted—”
Donovan pressed his crotch to mine.
Reluctantly, I put my hands on his hips and eased him away.
He pouted. No other word for it. “But you want me, right?”
As I gazed into those dark-brown eyes, with pupils blown wide because of the crappy lighting, my heart stuttered. “Wanting and having are two different things. I can want you, but that doesn’t mean I deserve you. Or that it’d be okay.” I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Before he could answer, I slipped out the door.
I adjusted my jacket, then headed for the elevators.
The entire ride down—and for the rest of the afternoon—I debated.
How hard would it be to go in and see my sergeant and ask to be removed from the case?
If I didn’t tell her why…or if I said a new conflict had arisen…
She would ask, though, and my inability to not blush would give me away. Maybe I could play up that nothing had happened, and I was only attracted to—
Nope. Every time I went down that path, only disaster lay ahead.
Grateful for my partner’s ignorance, I settled down to do my work and to not think about the fact I wanted two men with such an ache within me.
A few hours later, I headed home. As I drove through Renfrew, I wondered how Donovan was coping—specifically driving to and from work.
Although perhaps he was healing. At least he didn’t drive a stick shift.
He only had to worry about putting the SUV in Drive and then Park.
I had no doubt his left arm was as strong as his right, so maneuvering the vehicle with just a left arm would be fine.
I missed my five-speed, and when I was shifting, I could only have my left hand on the wheel.
In Vancouver, manual transmission was either a blessing or a curse—depending on one’s perspective.
I loved being able to control the car and downshifting to get more power going up the massive and steep hills.
On the other hand, the constant shifting in rush hour traffic could be beyond annoying.
Is ruminating over driving a stick shift getting your mind off Donovan?
No.
There you go.
So much for ignoring my inner voice.
Eventually, I grabbed a sub sandwich and headed home.
A sense of relief came over me as I pulled into the underground garage of my condo building.
The elevator up to the eighth floor was swift, and soon I was in my two-bedroom.
Although that wasn’t entirely accurate. The primary bedroom was where I slept.
The spare was full of stuff from my house that I hadn’t been able to part with.
My wife had taken all the marital assets and had wanted nothing of my father’s things. Which was fine—but I had to cram a lifetime of memories in one room.
Letting go of the good memories was proving harder than I’d hoped. In truth, no one ever came here, so no one would ever need to sleep in the spare room anyway.
I put my gun into my safe in the bedroom closet, then stripped and headed to the shower. Usually, I showered before shifts and often after if I smelled bad. More back in my beat days when I often encountered people…who hadn’t been at their best. The scent of vomit, shit, and death could cling.
In the shower, the hot water hit my muscles, and I tried to relax into the warm spray. You deserve a break. Keep breathing. Keep moving ahead. Keep living. Because living a good life was the best revenge.
As I cleaned my bits, my fingers brushing my cock stirred lust within me. Why not wank off? A little stress relief…right? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done this—certainly before the shooting.
I grasped my cock and worked to bring myself stiff, and then after some more effort, I got off.
Jesus, that was fucking empty. The same way I felt each time I did this. When was the last time I’d gotten off and had pleasure from it?
I wracked my brain—and eventually gave up.
In the last few months of my marriage, my sex life had been nonexistent.
I’d been focused on nursing my father, and Tammy’s disinterest hadn’t really registered.
That she’d left me before my dad even died hadn’t been lost on me. By then, I hadn’t given a shit.
Then Dad died, I signed divorce papers, and I’d tried to move on.
After getting out of the shower, I towel dried myself. Although my condo was nice enough, this was a hell of a fall from a four-bedroom, three-bathroom home in Brentwood over in Burnaby. Longer commute. Smaller living space. Nowhere to properly entertain people.
Except after Dad got sick, I’d stopped inviting people over. I hadn’t sought to take that habit back up.
Because of what you did.
That thought hit me in the chest. Yeah, I had reasons for not fraternizing with fellow cops these days. A cross between disgust with some and embarrassment with others.
You should’ve done the right thing.
Yeah, but that time had come and gone. Now I just had to live with the consequences of my inaction.
Clean and feeling human for the first time since the manhunt had begun, I sat at the breakfast bar to eat my sub.
The urge to turn on the television was easily suppressed. After finishing my food, I headed to bed.