By the Book, page 22
“There’s a pristine bottle of Laphroig at my place, thanks to George’s foresight. Care to join me?”
“I need to go home and hug my kids. Rain check?”
“Any time.”
* * *
George came to the door when she heard him come in, and that made Nick feel a tad less depressed. It wasn’t that he was jealous of Duncan having kids to go home to, more that he had someone to go home to.
Okay, Marshall, enough! He was fine. Perfect even. He had all the money in the world; he could pay whoever he wanted to come home to. His short, unhappy laugh made George do a double take. No, she wasn’t here for the money, or not only for the money, anyway.
Nick waved it off. “Bit of a rough day,” he said. Shit, he really didn’t know what he wanted, did he?
Ben came out of the kitchen, and the amorphous weight slid of Nick’s shoulders. Which, damn. And why the hell was Ben allowed in the kitchen, anyway?
“How did it go?” Ben’s voice was even, despite the tension in his shoulders.
“Greg is dead.” Even that felt less heavy for the moment. As if Ben simply standing there had thrown up a shield around Nick.
“Shit, Nick, I’m sorry.”
Nick shrugged. “He made his own bed. Still, harsh punishment, that.”
At the other end of the room, George was pouring drinks. Three glasses. Nick took his and toasted Ben. “Sullivan’s locked up, though, so you can finally go home.”
Ben sputtered. Not used to drinking whisky? “That’s...great.” Had that been a pause? Was it too much to hope that Ben didn’t want to leave?
Nick only sipped at his drink. He needed a clear head if he wanted to get through this as smoothly as possible. “If you want to pack up your stuff, I’ll drive you.” Keep your voice neutral. This was how it had to go.
One of George’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t say anything. Better that way.
“Uhm, sure. Gimme a sec.” Ben set his glass down and disappeared into the guest suite.
“You’re in a hurry,” George said.
He was, and he wasn’t. Something about ripping off Band-Aids fast. “He’ll be glad to get home.”
“Will he?”
How much had she seen before Nick had left for the field office?
Did he owe Ben an explanation? There wasn’t one beyond what he’d already said. And no way around that, no matter how hard he looked. But could he soften the rejection for Ben? Leave a door open for something after this was all over? Did he want to? Oh hell yeah. That was the easy answer. It’s dangerous territory was the other one. Damn, life could be complicated. Nick had it easier than most, but that didn’t extend to honest relationships.
He set his glass down next to Ben’s and went to knock at the door to the guest suite. “Ben? Can I talk to you for a second?”
Ben opened the door and motioned him inside, then closed it again behind Nick, who’d walked into the middle of the room. “Almost done,” Ben said. “It’s not like there’s a lot.”
“Look,” Nick said without turning around. “Once I’ve dropped you off, I’m not going to contact you again before the sentencing hearing is over. Not unless it’s in an official capacity, anyway, but I don’t anticipate that.”
Ben was silent for a minute, then said, “Because of Title 18, US Code, Section 1512?”
Trust Ben to remember the numbers perfectly. Nick finally did turn to look at him. Mistake. He’d never be able to resist those Bambi eyes. Every fiber in his body wanted to take a step forward, touch and be touched. He grabbed on to the edge of the desk to keep himself tethered. “It’ll indeed look better if we’re not seen together at all.” He gave Ben a small smile. “But also because you’re the temptation I don’t want to resist. Not seeing you will be easier than trying to keep some invisible line.”
Ben’s brows drew together. “How long until the hearing?”
Nick shrugged. “A few months at least. Shouldn’t take forever, though. It’s not a complicated case.”
“Months? I could forget you.” There was a tension in Ben’s body as if he was waiting for something. Protest?
Still, that stung just a little. “I suppose so.”
But then Ben grinned and came over to where Nick stood. Came so close that they stood chest to chest. Leaned in. “You’ll have to give me something to remember you by,” he murmured, his breath caressing Nick’s jaw. It sent a jolt of desire through Nick’s body, instant memory of those lips touching his only a few hours ago. As if he’d needed the reminder.
Ben leaned his forehead against Nick’s, framed Nick’s neck and jaw between his hands, and kissed him. Deeply. With lips and tongue, and hands getting tangled in Nick’s hair.
The rational part of Nick’s brain, the part that knew he should stop this right now, shrank into a tiny corner, overwhelmed by desire, and by what Nick still called the shadowy thing, because he couldn’t define it; it was more complicated than mere desire. He reveled in the kiss, drowned in it, gave himself up to it completely, because there really was no other choice.
Ben’s hands roamed over his shoulders, down his arms, then Nick felt them on his rib cage, under the suit jacket—gun!
He jerked back so hard, he nearly tripped himself, his cock—no, his whole body—screaming in protest.
Ben’s face was a study of conflicting emotions: desire, uncertainty, comical chagrin. “I swear I was going to stop.” He sounded as breathless as Nick felt.
“Sorry,” was all Nick got out. Fighting for breath, he half opened his jacket to let Ben see the holster. He gulped in air. “Haven’t had time to take it off.”
“Bummer.”
Indeed. Nick tried to tell himself that it was better this way. Who knew where they would have ended up?
In the fucking bedroom, you jerkass. Ben might have stopped, but Nick had no idea if he could have followed suit.
He cleared his throat, but his voice was unsteady when he said, “Anyway, let me know when you’re done, and I’ll take you home.”
With that, he fled, desperately trying to stuff the shadow thing back in its corner. Trying not to think about what it was. He didn’t have any brain space left. And it was so very complicated.
* * *
A week later Nick was watching Duncan and a patched-up Sullivan through the one-way mirror of the interrogation room. Sullivan sang like a canary, confessing to all three murders, fraud, bribery, until Nick wondered what else he might confess, if they only mentioned it.
Nick should be satisfied, and to a point, he was. He couldn’t name what was niggling at the back of his mind, just knew it was there. He went back to his desk in the bullpen, and then to the glass dividing wall they were using as their murder board, searching for anything he might have missed.
He was still standing there when Duncan joined him twenty minutes later.
“Well, that should be a slam-dunk trial,” Duncan said.
“Mhm.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
Nick sighed and turned to his partner. “No. Yes. I mean, I’m very happy we got him.”
“But?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty certain he shot both Havering and Greg. I mean, I’m sure he shot Greg, and Havering was the same gun, same sloppy DNA evidence all over everything. That first murder, though. Henderson?”
“I take it you don’t believe anymore that Havering shot Henderson?”
“I wasn’t truly sold on that in the first place. Havering strikes me as a bruiser. He likes it up close and personal, and he’s messy. The Henderson murder, though? Neat, professional, no evidence, nothing on camera—”
“Because neither of them ever left the building.”
“None of the cameras inside picked him up either.”
Duncan thought for a moment. “Maybe he knew them well enough to avoid them. Sullivan says he himself was wearing gloves.”
“Why for Henderson but not when he shot Havering?”
“Says he forgot.” But Duncan was making his I’m listening face.
“What about the Boston Consulting payment?”
“May have nothing to do with the murder and all with the money laundering.”
“And then there’s the gun that was also used in the Banyon case.”
“Yeah.” Duncan scratched the side of his nose. “Sullivan says he got it from a guy selling out the back of his truck. Threw it into the Charles after Henderson.”
“Hm, I heard him. He has an answer for everything, doesn’t he?”
“Okay, I’ll play,” Duncan said. “Why should he confess to a murder he didn’t commit?”
“Why not? He’s sure to get life without parole, anyway, just for shooting Greg Elston and Havering. Then there’s the money laundering. It’s not like they can book him into his afterlife for anything on top of that.”
“Yeah, but why make it easy for us?”
“Exactly.”
Duncan gave him the look. “I mean, what does he get out of confessing to Henderson’s murder?”
Nick chewed on his cheek. “There you’ve got me. He’s going to spend the rest of his life in prison. Whatever he does has to go toward making that easier.”
“Prestige?”
“Meh. Double murder should get him plenty of that kind of respect.”
“Or he did pay someone for the first murder, and is banking on his gratitude?”
“Possible, but hired guns tend to be loners without much influence, unless we’re talking organized crime.” Nick stared back at the board. “Which, mind you, with money laundering is far from impossible.”
Duncan looked suddenly very interested. “So, if we’re talking organized crime...”
“It may not be the killer he’s covering for...” Nick went on.
“But a client,” Duncan finished.
Nick’s brain went into overdrive. “His boss.”
But here Duncan put the brakes on. “Unfortunately nothing we found, not a penny, not a piece of lint, points to organized crime. And the few hints that point at a third person at all are circumstantial. Inference.”
“My gut feeling. The first murder was a different style.”
“Yeah, good luck selling that to a judge. Look, even if your gut feeling is right, and it often is, we have zero evidence. If you bring it up, all it’s going to do is put into question the evidence we do have. Let him go away for Henderson’s murder. It’s not like they’re going to lock up an innocent man. At the very least, he ordered and paid for that hit. And it doesn’t mean we can’t keep our eyes and ears and minds open for anything that might pop up after the fact.”
“You’re a devious man, Duncan Reid.”
Duncan shrugged. “This one’s not going to keep me up at night. And it shouldn’t keep you from sleeping like a baby either.”
Nick wasn’t so sure. Not because of principles and the morality or lack thereof, on that count he was with Duncan. No, what was likely to keep him up was the possibility that a contract killer had slipped right through their fingers without a trace. Again.
He eyed the accumulated files on his desk with a grimace. As soon as he had the time, which might or might not be this year, he’d have to go through all of those again. Something was in there; he was sure of it. He just had to find it.
Chapter Seventeen
Ben—six months later
Pushing open the door of the courthouse and stepping out into the sunshine, Ben took a deep breath of the crisp March air.
It was over.
Only now did he realize that he’d lived his life with half-held breath these past months, waiting for Sullivan’s sentencing. This, this was what breathing really felt like.
But also, and that thought he’d been very much aware of every day since last summer, he was not a witness in any pending court case anymore. A certain special agent’s ass was his.
He moved away to the side of the building to avoid the small news crew waiting at the bottom of the steps. Good thing they were more interested in the main figures around the case. It would give him a chance to quietly slip away. He didn’t feel like talking to any strangers. Right now he wanted to feel the sun on his face, and to wait for a familiar walking suit-porn to leave the building.
The trees were still bare, but there was a shimmer of green on the lawns that promised a renewal of things, a fresh start.
He flipped his collar up to keep the wind out of his neck, luxuriating in the feel of cashmere wool between his fingers. It was a new coat he’d bought right after paying the arrears of his rent. The new job paid so much better than Venture ever had. He just hoped that everyone else who’d worked there had fared half as well. He hadn’t been close with anyone, but most of them hadn’t been involved in the shadier side of the business and deserved better than to be unemployed now that Venture had had to close its doors.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone lightly running down the steps toward him, and his heart skipped a beat even before his conscious mind had provided Nick’s name.
Now here was the man Ben wanted to talk to. Among other things. It had been way too long. Nick had been true to his word and not contacted Ben since the day they’d said goodbye back in September. And that had left too many tantalizing openings dangling for too many months. Ben was looking forward to exploring every one of them.
He’d seen Nick in the courtroom, of course, but they’d mutually ignored each other there. Why give the papers something to write about or anyone to doubt the sentencing? No, that deliberately conservative suit needed to be taken off in private.
Now Nick was wearing a stupidly expensive-looking wool coat, and a wide smile, and he took Ben’s breath away.
“On your way home, Mr. Coyne? Can I give you a lift?” Nick’s casual tone was given the lie by the intense, maybe even anxious, look in his eyes.
The Mr. Coyne was probably, hopefully, aimed at the reporters who were milling about just within hearing distance. For their benefit, Ben answered the same way. “I can’t say I’d mind.”
They fell into step, keeping up small talk on their way to Nick’s car. Or Ben did. Nick was strangely monosyllabic.
“I must say, consecutive life sentences is more than I’d hoped for,” Ben said. “Doesn’t look as if Sullivan ever makes it out again.”
“Unlikely.”
Sliding into the low seat, Ben threw a glance to his left and met Nick’s eyes. A man could get burned to cinders by the promises smoldering in them.
Nick started the car and steered it out of the lot into the afternoon traffic. “Still the same address?” he asked, in that same casual tone. Or was there a slight quiver in his voice? He’d better not be pulling a Marshall on Ben.
“Yup,” Ben replied, feeling his way. “For a while there, it looked as if I’d have to move back home, but I managed to hang on to the apartment.”
“New job, then?” Oh yeah, there was definitely a tremor.
Ben nodded. “Started right after New Year’s. I’m working for an insurance company now, as a forensic accountant.” He checked to see if Nick found that as funny as he did.
Nick laughed. “Forensic accountant, huh. I’ll be damned.”
Strings still attuned then. The thrill of that never got old. “I guess I’ve discovered my new calling.”
Ben couldn’t suppress the grin that came with that. It was true. He felt as if he’d only really grown up since the summer. He was no barely-out-of-college kid anymore; he knew who he was. And he’d never be anyone’s fool ever again. Andy had been the price of Ben finding his feet. There’d be no more compromises on doing things his own way. He knew what he could do, and what he wanted. And he wanted Nick Marshall. The thought that he might also do Nick Marshall made Ben grin even wider.
“Well, you’re very good at it,” Nick said, and it took Ben a second to realize that Nick was still talking about forensic accounting. Ben really needed to make Nick focus on more important things.
“You’ll find that’s not the only thing I’m good at,” Ben growled, and the grin he gave Nick had teeth.
A visible shiver ran through Nick’s body that was everything Ben could have hoped for.
“Eyes on the road,” he said, savoring the tension that had been building between them pretty much all day.
Nick’s knuckles on the wheel were white as he pulled the car over in front of Ben’s building. “So,” Nick said awkwardly into the sudden silence of the cut engine. “Did you forget all about me, then?” Every ounce of casualness had left his voice.
Suddenly the small space was full of things unsaid and anticipated.
“Well, you did give me something to remember you by.” Ben didn’t even have to try for the growls, his voice came out like that all on its own. He paused, but Nick didn’t reply. Seemed he was still waiting for something.
“Want to come upstairs and see if it worked?” Ben asked.
“Only if you want me to.” Still hesitant. Second thoughts?
Nick being weird made Ben weird, too. C’mon, you know who you are and what you want, remember? Right. Out loud he said, “Okay, I’m getting extremely mixed signals here, so you’d better spill it.”
Nick swallowed hard.
“Like, now!” Because if Ben couldn’t get his hands on the man in the next five seconds, he’d need to get out of the car.
“Sullivan is behind bars,” Nick finally said. “You’re free to live your life without looking over your shoulder. You don’t need me or the FBI to protect you anymore. You’re free to never see me again, if that’s what you want.” He paused, but Ben was too stunned to reply. “What I’m saying is, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Wow.” Ben couldn’t concentrate because of what all that hard swallowing did to Nick’s throat. Eyes up! This was important, though Ben’s cock begged to differ. “You do know how to make things complicated.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts, making sure he had Nick’s attention. “I’m pretty certain I owe you my life, in that I would have bled out in the street if you hadn’t been there to call an ambulance.”
“I need to go home and hug my kids. Rain check?”
“Any time.”
* * *
George came to the door when she heard him come in, and that made Nick feel a tad less depressed. It wasn’t that he was jealous of Duncan having kids to go home to, more that he had someone to go home to.
Okay, Marshall, enough! He was fine. Perfect even. He had all the money in the world; he could pay whoever he wanted to come home to. His short, unhappy laugh made George do a double take. No, she wasn’t here for the money, or not only for the money, anyway.
Nick waved it off. “Bit of a rough day,” he said. Shit, he really didn’t know what he wanted, did he?
Ben came out of the kitchen, and the amorphous weight slid of Nick’s shoulders. Which, damn. And why the hell was Ben allowed in the kitchen, anyway?
“How did it go?” Ben’s voice was even, despite the tension in his shoulders.
“Greg is dead.” Even that felt less heavy for the moment. As if Ben simply standing there had thrown up a shield around Nick.
“Shit, Nick, I’m sorry.”
Nick shrugged. “He made his own bed. Still, harsh punishment, that.”
At the other end of the room, George was pouring drinks. Three glasses. Nick took his and toasted Ben. “Sullivan’s locked up, though, so you can finally go home.”
Ben sputtered. Not used to drinking whisky? “That’s...great.” Had that been a pause? Was it too much to hope that Ben didn’t want to leave?
Nick only sipped at his drink. He needed a clear head if he wanted to get through this as smoothly as possible. “If you want to pack up your stuff, I’ll drive you.” Keep your voice neutral. This was how it had to go.
One of George’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t say anything. Better that way.
“Uhm, sure. Gimme a sec.” Ben set his glass down and disappeared into the guest suite.
“You’re in a hurry,” George said.
He was, and he wasn’t. Something about ripping off Band-Aids fast. “He’ll be glad to get home.”
“Will he?”
How much had she seen before Nick had left for the field office?
Did he owe Ben an explanation? There wasn’t one beyond what he’d already said. And no way around that, no matter how hard he looked. But could he soften the rejection for Ben? Leave a door open for something after this was all over? Did he want to? Oh hell yeah. That was the easy answer. It’s dangerous territory was the other one. Damn, life could be complicated. Nick had it easier than most, but that didn’t extend to honest relationships.
He set his glass down next to Ben’s and went to knock at the door to the guest suite. “Ben? Can I talk to you for a second?”
Ben opened the door and motioned him inside, then closed it again behind Nick, who’d walked into the middle of the room. “Almost done,” Ben said. “It’s not like there’s a lot.”
“Look,” Nick said without turning around. “Once I’ve dropped you off, I’m not going to contact you again before the sentencing hearing is over. Not unless it’s in an official capacity, anyway, but I don’t anticipate that.”
Ben was silent for a minute, then said, “Because of Title 18, US Code, Section 1512?”
Trust Ben to remember the numbers perfectly. Nick finally did turn to look at him. Mistake. He’d never be able to resist those Bambi eyes. Every fiber in his body wanted to take a step forward, touch and be touched. He grabbed on to the edge of the desk to keep himself tethered. “It’ll indeed look better if we’re not seen together at all.” He gave Ben a small smile. “But also because you’re the temptation I don’t want to resist. Not seeing you will be easier than trying to keep some invisible line.”
Ben’s brows drew together. “How long until the hearing?”
Nick shrugged. “A few months at least. Shouldn’t take forever, though. It’s not a complicated case.”
“Months? I could forget you.” There was a tension in Ben’s body as if he was waiting for something. Protest?
Still, that stung just a little. “I suppose so.”
But then Ben grinned and came over to where Nick stood. Came so close that they stood chest to chest. Leaned in. “You’ll have to give me something to remember you by,” he murmured, his breath caressing Nick’s jaw. It sent a jolt of desire through Nick’s body, instant memory of those lips touching his only a few hours ago. As if he’d needed the reminder.
Ben leaned his forehead against Nick’s, framed Nick’s neck and jaw between his hands, and kissed him. Deeply. With lips and tongue, and hands getting tangled in Nick’s hair.
The rational part of Nick’s brain, the part that knew he should stop this right now, shrank into a tiny corner, overwhelmed by desire, and by what Nick still called the shadowy thing, because he couldn’t define it; it was more complicated than mere desire. He reveled in the kiss, drowned in it, gave himself up to it completely, because there really was no other choice.
Ben’s hands roamed over his shoulders, down his arms, then Nick felt them on his rib cage, under the suit jacket—gun!
He jerked back so hard, he nearly tripped himself, his cock—no, his whole body—screaming in protest.
Ben’s face was a study of conflicting emotions: desire, uncertainty, comical chagrin. “I swear I was going to stop.” He sounded as breathless as Nick felt.
“Sorry,” was all Nick got out. Fighting for breath, he half opened his jacket to let Ben see the holster. He gulped in air. “Haven’t had time to take it off.”
“Bummer.”
Indeed. Nick tried to tell himself that it was better this way. Who knew where they would have ended up?
In the fucking bedroom, you jerkass. Ben might have stopped, but Nick had no idea if he could have followed suit.
He cleared his throat, but his voice was unsteady when he said, “Anyway, let me know when you’re done, and I’ll take you home.”
With that, he fled, desperately trying to stuff the shadow thing back in its corner. Trying not to think about what it was. He didn’t have any brain space left. And it was so very complicated.
* * *
A week later Nick was watching Duncan and a patched-up Sullivan through the one-way mirror of the interrogation room. Sullivan sang like a canary, confessing to all three murders, fraud, bribery, until Nick wondered what else he might confess, if they only mentioned it.
Nick should be satisfied, and to a point, he was. He couldn’t name what was niggling at the back of his mind, just knew it was there. He went back to his desk in the bullpen, and then to the glass dividing wall they were using as their murder board, searching for anything he might have missed.
He was still standing there when Duncan joined him twenty minutes later.
“Well, that should be a slam-dunk trial,” Duncan said.
“Mhm.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
Nick sighed and turned to his partner. “No. Yes. I mean, I’m very happy we got him.”
“But?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty certain he shot both Havering and Greg. I mean, I’m sure he shot Greg, and Havering was the same gun, same sloppy DNA evidence all over everything. That first murder, though. Henderson?”
“I take it you don’t believe anymore that Havering shot Henderson?”
“I wasn’t truly sold on that in the first place. Havering strikes me as a bruiser. He likes it up close and personal, and he’s messy. The Henderson murder, though? Neat, professional, no evidence, nothing on camera—”
“Because neither of them ever left the building.”
“None of the cameras inside picked him up either.”
Duncan thought for a moment. “Maybe he knew them well enough to avoid them. Sullivan says he himself was wearing gloves.”
“Why for Henderson but not when he shot Havering?”
“Says he forgot.” But Duncan was making his I’m listening face.
“What about the Boston Consulting payment?”
“May have nothing to do with the murder and all with the money laundering.”
“And then there’s the gun that was also used in the Banyon case.”
“Yeah.” Duncan scratched the side of his nose. “Sullivan says he got it from a guy selling out the back of his truck. Threw it into the Charles after Henderson.”
“Hm, I heard him. He has an answer for everything, doesn’t he?”
“Okay, I’ll play,” Duncan said. “Why should he confess to a murder he didn’t commit?”
“Why not? He’s sure to get life without parole, anyway, just for shooting Greg Elston and Havering. Then there’s the money laundering. It’s not like they can book him into his afterlife for anything on top of that.”
“Yeah, but why make it easy for us?”
“Exactly.”
Duncan gave him the look. “I mean, what does he get out of confessing to Henderson’s murder?”
Nick chewed on his cheek. “There you’ve got me. He’s going to spend the rest of his life in prison. Whatever he does has to go toward making that easier.”
“Prestige?”
“Meh. Double murder should get him plenty of that kind of respect.”
“Or he did pay someone for the first murder, and is banking on his gratitude?”
“Possible, but hired guns tend to be loners without much influence, unless we’re talking organized crime.” Nick stared back at the board. “Which, mind you, with money laundering is far from impossible.”
Duncan looked suddenly very interested. “So, if we’re talking organized crime...”
“It may not be the killer he’s covering for...” Nick went on.
“But a client,” Duncan finished.
Nick’s brain went into overdrive. “His boss.”
But here Duncan put the brakes on. “Unfortunately nothing we found, not a penny, not a piece of lint, points to organized crime. And the few hints that point at a third person at all are circumstantial. Inference.”
“My gut feeling. The first murder was a different style.”
“Yeah, good luck selling that to a judge. Look, even if your gut feeling is right, and it often is, we have zero evidence. If you bring it up, all it’s going to do is put into question the evidence we do have. Let him go away for Henderson’s murder. It’s not like they’re going to lock up an innocent man. At the very least, he ordered and paid for that hit. And it doesn’t mean we can’t keep our eyes and ears and minds open for anything that might pop up after the fact.”
“You’re a devious man, Duncan Reid.”
Duncan shrugged. “This one’s not going to keep me up at night. And it shouldn’t keep you from sleeping like a baby either.”
Nick wasn’t so sure. Not because of principles and the morality or lack thereof, on that count he was with Duncan. No, what was likely to keep him up was the possibility that a contract killer had slipped right through their fingers without a trace. Again.
He eyed the accumulated files on his desk with a grimace. As soon as he had the time, which might or might not be this year, he’d have to go through all of those again. Something was in there; he was sure of it. He just had to find it.
Chapter Seventeen
Ben—six months later
Pushing open the door of the courthouse and stepping out into the sunshine, Ben took a deep breath of the crisp March air.
It was over.
Only now did he realize that he’d lived his life with half-held breath these past months, waiting for Sullivan’s sentencing. This, this was what breathing really felt like.
But also, and that thought he’d been very much aware of every day since last summer, he was not a witness in any pending court case anymore. A certain special agent’s ass was his.
He moved away to the side of the building to avoid the small news crew waiting at the bottom of the steps. Good thing they were more interested in the main figures around the case. It would give him a chance to quietly slip away. He didn’t feel like talking to any strangers. Right now he wanted to feel the sun on his face, and to wait for a familiar walking suit-porn to leave the building.
The trees were still bare, but there was a shimmer of green on the lawns that promised a renewal of things, a fresh start.
He flipped his collar up to keep the wind out of his neck, luxuriating in the feel of cashmere wool between his fingers. It was a new coat he’d bought right after paying the arrears of his rent. The new job paid so much better than Venture ever had. He just hoped that everyone else who’d worked there had fared half as well. He hadn’t been close with anyone, but most of them hadn’t been involved in the shadier side of the business and deserved better than to be unemployed now that Venture had had to close its doors.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone lightly running down the steps toward him, and his heart skipped a beat even before his conscious mind had provided Nick’s name.
Now here was the man Ben wanted to talk to. Among other things. It had been way too long. Nick had been true to his word and not contacted Ben since the day they’d said goodbye back in September. And that had left too many tantalizing openings dangling for too many months. Ben was looking forward to exploring every one of them.
He’d seen Nick in the courtroom, of course, but they’d mutually ignored each other there. Why give the papers something to write about or anyone to doubt the sentencing? No, that deliberately conservative suit needed to be taken off in private.
Now Nick was wearing a stupidly expensive-looking wool coat, and a wide smile, and he took Ben’s breath away.
“On your way home, Mr. Coyne? Can I give you a lift?” Nick’s casual tone was given the lie by the intense, maybe even anxious, look in his eyes.
The Mr. Coyne was probably, hopefully, aimed at the reporters who were milling about just within hearing distance. For their benefit, Ben answered the same way. “I can’t say I’d mind.”
They fell into step, keeping up small talk on their way to Nick’s car. Or Ben did. Nick was strangely monosyllabic.
“I must say, consecutive life sentences is more than I’d hoped for,” Ben said. “Doesn’t look as if Sullivan ever makes it out again.”
“Unlikely.”
Sliding into the low seat, Ben threw a glance to his left and met Nick’s eyes. A man could get burned to cinders by the promises smoldering in them.
Nick started the car and steered it out of the lot into the afternoon traffic. “Still the same address?” he asked, in that same casual tone. Or was there a slight quiver in his voice? He’d better not be pulling a Marshall on Ben.
“Yup,” Ben replied, feeling his way. “For a while there, it looked as if I’d have to move back home, but I managed to hang on to the apartment.”
“New job, then?” Oh yeah, there was definitely a tremor.
Ben nodded. “Started right after New Year’s. I’m working for an insurance company now, as a forensic accountant.” He checked to see if Nick found that as funny as he did.
Nick laughed. “Forensic accountant, huh. I’ll be damned.”
Strings still attuned then. The thrill of that never got old. “I guess I’ve discovered my new calling.”
Ben couldn’t suppress the grin that came with that. It was true. He felt as if he’d only really grown up since the summer. He was no barely-out-of-college kid anymore; he knew who he was. And he’d never be anyone’s fool ever again. Andy had been the price of Ben finding his feet. There’d be no more compromises on doing things his own way. He knew what he could do, and what he wanted. And he wanted Nick Marshall. The thought that he might also do Nick Marshall made Ben grin even wider.
“Well, you’re very good at it,” Nick said, and it took Ben a second to realize that Nick was still talking about forensic accounting. Ben really needed to make Nick focus on more important things.
“You’ll find that’s not the only thing I’m good at,” Ben growled, and the grin he gave Nick had teeth.
A visible shiver ran through Nick’s body that was everything Ben could have hoped for.
“Eyes on the road,” he said, savoring the tension that had been building between them pretty much all day.
Nick’s knuckles on the wheel were white as he pulled the car over in front of Ben’s building. “So,” Nick said awkwardly into the sudden silence of the cut engine. “Did you forget all about me, then?” Every ounce of casualness had left his voice.
Suddenly the small space was full of things unsaid and anticipated.
“Well, you did give me something to remember you by.” Ben didn’t even have to try for the growls, his voice came out like that all on its own. He paused, but Nick didn’t reply. Seemed he was still waiting for something.
“Want to come upstairs and see if it worked?” Ben asked.
“Only if you want me to.” Still hesitant. Second thoughts?
Nick being weird made Ben weird, too. C’mon, you know who you are and what you want, remember? Right. Out loud he said, “Okay, I’m getting extremely mixed signals here, so you’d better spill it.”
Nick swallowed hard.
“Like, now!” Because if Ben couldn’t get his hands on the man in the next five seconds, he’d need to get out of the car.
“Sullivan is behind bars,” Nick finally said. “You’re free to live your life without looking over your shoulder. You don’t need me or the FBI to protect you anymore. You’re free to never see me again, if that’s what you want.” He paused, but Ben was too stunned to reply. “What I’m saying is, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Wow.” Ben couldn’t concentrate because of what all that hard swallowing did to Nick’s throat. Eyes up! This was important, though Ben’s cock begged to differ. “You do know how to make things complicated.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts, making sure he had Nick’s attention. “I’m pretty certain I owe you my life, in that I would have bled out in the street if you hadn’t been there to call an ambulance.”
