The Bureau, page 26
A man who isn’t in control of himself. That was Kurt’s voice. No—it was Des’s own.
A great calm came over him. “I am in control.” And he turned the box’s power back on itself, burning the cedar to ashes.
Then he scooped Kurt into his arms and ran from the blazing house.
* * *
Things became hazy and jumbled, like a badly spliced film. Des knelt on damp grass, desperately using pressure and his own torn and wadded shirt in an attempt to stanch Kurt’s bleeding. Kurt wasn’t moving or speaking, but he still breathed and his gaze never left Des’s face. There were sirens, shouting, rough hands pulling him away from Kurt. Strangers yelling questions and commands at him. A ride in an ambulance? Needles and more hands—gentler—and loads more questions, the scents of charred flesh and chemicals. Des tried to speak a few times, to ask about Kurt. But if anyone answered him, he didn’t catch it through the fog. And then he was falling, blessedly falling into blackness.
* * *
The man wasn’t wearing a doctor’s white coat or scrubs, and he wasn’t in a sheriff’s brown uniform, and for all that Des was grateful. He’d had more than his fill of those people, and after three days, the hospital room felt as confining as his cell.
“Desmond Hughes,” said the man with a wide smile as he walked to Des’s bedside. He was some indeterminate age, maybe around sixty, with thin gray hair and a round face. His three-piece suit was too small for his portly frame, but he moved with surprising lightness and grace, as if the laws of gravity didn’t quite apply to him. He carried a fedora and smelled strongly of whiskey and cigarettes.
“Yes?”
The man stuck out a hand. “Townsend. Chief of the Bureau’s West Coast Division.”
Des shook his hand automatically but didn’t pause for other niceties. “Kurt. Jesus Christ, what happened to Kurt? He was shot and nobody will tell me fucking anything.” He had propped himself onto his elbows, heart hammering rapidly against his ribs.
“He’s all right,” Townsend replied in a soothing voice.
“Oh, thank Christ,” sighed Desmond, falling back against the pillows. The giant fist in his stomach finally unclenched, allowing him to breathe freely for the first time since the fire.
“He was badly hurt. Broken bone, internal tearing, blood loss, smoke inhalation…. But with time he’s expected to recover fully.”
“Can I see him? Please? Just once more?”
Townsend shook his head. “We flew him back to California.”
Although Des was disappointed, he knew it was better for Kurt to be near friends and family, and he nodded in acceptance. “I expect you want me to tell you what happened.”
“Only a few minor details. Powell’s already given me the gist of it, and he’ll file a full report when he’s up to it.” Townsend’s expression turned grave. “He and I both owe you apologies.”
That startled Des so thoroughly that he could only blink.
“We misjudged, my boy, and made false assumptions. We forgot that Bureau agents can be tempted by the wrong path too. The East Coast chief has already resigned over this—she did a slipshod job of vetting and supervising her people.” Townsend seemed pleased over his colleague’s misfortune—so much so that a suspicious mind might wonder if he’d deliberately let things get out of hand so she’d be assigned the blame. Well, that wasn’t Des’s problem.
“I killed those agents,” Des said.
“Yes. In self-defense and while defending Powell. There’s no shame in it, and certainly no criminal liability.”
Des had been weighing those deaths in his mind over the past three days and had decided his conscience could handle the additional burden. He wasn’t happy Canfield and Finch had died so horribly, but he was very happy that he and Kurt were alive.
“I understand you destroyed the box as well,” said Townsend.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. But more exist, yes? You and Krane had two more stops between here and Kansas.”
“One more in Arkansas and one in Oklahoma.”
Townsend rubbed his fingers together as if he wished he were holding a cigarette. “Two of my men are on their way here. Well, they’re not truly my men, although one of them used to be one of my agents. They still do consulting work for me now and then, and I think it’s better right now to avoid official Bureau channels. I’d like you to help them finish the work you and Agent Powell began.”
Well, that was a bit of good news. Des wouldn’t have to return to prison right away, and he could make sure nobody ever got their hands on those boxes. “I think Demeter’s finest might have some problems with that. They’ve been camped outside my door.”
Townsend gave a jolly chuckle. “I’ve informed the sheriff’s department that their services are no longer needed. And the doctors tell me you’re in good condition. Do you feel up to traveling?”
“Most definitely.” Honestly, he’d felt physically fine for some time. He’d experienced smoke inhalation and some minor burns, but his main problems after the fire had been bone-deep exhaustion and worry. Three days of sleep had cured the former, and news of Kurt’s condition resolved the latter.
“Excellent.” Townsend rubbed his palms together. “Grimes and Tenrael should arrive shortly. I’ll tell them to pick up some clothing for you along the way. Wouldn’t do for you to go traipsing about in a hospital johnny. Aside from clothing and basic toiletries, is there anything else you’ll need for the journey?”
Couldn’t hurt to ask. “Books? I don’t care what kind.”
“Of course. Maybe we can find you a fresh copy of Reading Gaol.” Townsend winked.
Des was still processing that when Townsend clapped twice. “May I see your right hand, please?”
“What?”
“Right hand.” Townsend pointed.
Des’s left arm sported several hospital wristbands, but the right was bare except for the tracking device. Maybe Townsend wanted to confirm that the thing still worked properly. Sure enough, when Des obediently held out his arm, Townsend poked at the device with a tiny metal rod he’d removed from his pocket. But then, to Des’s complete astonishment, the bracelet fell from his wrist. Townsend caught it neatly in his palm and tucked bracelet and tool away.
“Wh-what…?”
“Officially, Desmond Hughes died in a fire in Demeter, Arkansas. That means, of course, that his life sentence is complete and the federal government no longer holds authority over him.” Townsend grinned like a kindly grandfather handing out Christmas presents. “Grimes will bring you some paperwork to help establish a new identity, along with a little cash to start you on your way.”
There were no words. Des was very close to fainting dead away, like a maiden in a Victorian tale. Arm still hanging in midair, he gaped. “B-but….”
“You’re a free man, my boy. I hope you use this opportunity well.” Townsend plopped the fedora onto his head, winked again, and glided out of the room.
Chapter Eighteen
“You make the world’s worst patient,” Maryann complained, snatching a plate out of Kurt’s hands. “You go sit down. I’ll wash up.”
“You divorced me. I’m not supposed to be your problem.” But Kurt shuffled into his living room and threw himself down on the couch. Harder than he should have—he winced as his stitches pulled—but he was making a point. Of some kind.
Water ran and dishes clinked in the kitchen. Several minutes later Maryann walked into the living room, drying her hands on a red-checked kitchen towel. “You are still my problem, Kurt Powell, because you are my son’s father. And if you don’t let yourself heal properly, my son’s not going to have a father to rely on. So keep your butt on that couch.”
“Then let Jason do the dishes and other chores. Isn’t that what teenagers are for?”
“Jason has track practice today, which you know perfectly well. But tomorrow’s Saturday, and you can make him work all day. All the while, he’ll be rolling his eyes and moaning about how unfair life is.”
Kurt grinned. “Perfect.”
Maryann draped the towel over a chair and came to sit beside him. She had her hair up in a complicated-looking scarf arrangement, which he knew meant she hadn’t been in the mood to fuss with it today. She looked attractive. Aside from gaining a few pounds—which suited her—she appeared nearly the same as when he’d met her twenty years ago. He, on the other hand, had aged centuries.
“You’re doing okay,” she said. Statement, not a question.
“All things considered.”
“What will you do when you’re healed?”
“Go back to work.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And let them put more holes in you?”
“I’ll try to avoid that part.” He set one of his hands on hers, feeling her solidity travel through to him as it always had. Maryann had a few human faults, but she was strong. “It’s what I do, Mar. It’s funny, really. Before this mission I was feeling burned out. As if I were just running in circles, getting nowhere. Now I’m not.”
“That’s what happens when you almost die? You find your purpose?” She was smiling fondly, a familiar expression that said she didn’t understand him but loved him anyway.
“I guess so. Some of the things that happened reminded me why I do what I do. Reminded me it’s worthwhile. Even worth risking my neck over.”
She tsked and shook her head. “Your mama and daddy would never have forgiven you if you’d died in Arkansas.”
It hurt when he laughed too hard, but he did it anyway. Then he gave her a gentle smile. “I’m so lucky. Bullet holes and all. And as soon as I’m able, I’m going back in the field and doing as much good as I can, the best way I know how.”
“I knew you would, baby.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but the doorbell rang. Kurt waved her away to answer it himself. He could damn well walk across his own living room and open the front door.
Des stood on the little concrete porch.
He looked beautiful in jeans, T-shirt, and black leather jacket, with his sun-streaked blond hair hanging slightly in his face and his mouth curled into a tentative smile. Kurt’s pulse began to gallop, and he clutched at the doorframe for support.
“Hi,” Des said.
“Hi.”
“You going to invite me in?”
“Have you turned into a vampire?”
Des’s smile turned up a few notches. “You’re the one who teetered on the brink of his grave.”
“And you pulled me back. Come in, Des.”
Maryann was hovering right there, of course, and Kurt had to perform introductions. They both looked as if they’d love to interrogate each other about Kurt, who was relieved when Maryann sighed instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, rather pointedly. She’d clearly be expecting a briefing. In a flurry of shoes and tote bags and keys, she was gone, leaving Kurt and Des standing awkwardly near the door.
Kurt took a deep breath. “How did you—”
“We have some private-eye acquaintances in common. Interesting blokes, by the way. Very interesting. And they didn’t mind finding your address for me.”
Kurt needed to have a talk with Grimes and Tenrael about divulging private information. Right. He suppressed a smile.
“Townsend told me the three of you found the rest of the boxes.”
“And destroyed them.”
Kurt wanted to reach out and touch Des, to confirm the reality of him. He looked away instead. “I’m sorry, Des. I fucked up. I should have—”
“Shut up, Kurt. If you think I dragged my ass all the way across the country just to hear you apologize, you’re a fool. And I don’t want to hear any ‘thank you for saving me’ either.”
“Why did you come here, then?” Kurt tried to quell the hopefulness in his voice but doubted his success.
“To point out to you— Wait. Did Townsend tell you what he did? How I’m free now?”
“Yeah.” And as far as Kurt was concerned, nobody need ever know that he’d hung up the phone and sobbed with relief and joy after that discussion. Or that he’d spent every day since trying not to wish for Des on his doorstep.
“Then I’d like to point out that I am officially and completely a man in control of himself.” That was hope on Des’s face; Kurt recognized it. And yearning. That was familiar too.
Warmth spread throughout his body. “You’re the most in-control man I know.”
The only warning he had was a slight widening of Des’s eyes, and then Des was on him—hard enough to jostle Kurt’s injuries, but who the fuck cared? Des was in his arms. Kurt buried his nose in Des’s hair and inhaled deeply. This. Yes. This was what he needed. God, he’d needed this for years.
“Don’t make me leave,” Des whispered. “Not yet.”
“Not ever.” Kurt meant that, and all its implications.
“No ringing phone.”
“I’ll ignore it if it does.”
“Good.”
And then somehow they were laughing and kissing at the same time, with maybe a tear or two thrown in. Des was more complex than anyone Kurt knew, so their emotions would never be simple.
When the kissing became active enough that Kurt’s knees went weak, he pulled away with a gasp. “Bed. I’m still not a hundred percent.”
Des froze. “Have I hurt you?”
“No,” said Kurt, stroking Des’s lips. “You never have.”
They made it to the bedroom, where Kurt had no chance to be embarrassed by the unmade bed or the general debris of a man who wasn’t yet up to housecleaning. Des probably didn’t notice anyway. He was too busy peeling away Kurt’s clothing and kissing each bit of skin as it was exposed, cautious around the healing wounds. He wouldn’t let Kurt undress him but instead sat Kurt on the edge of the mattress and did a strip show so sexy that Kurt nearly keeled over.
With both of them finally naked, Des urged Kurt’s knees apart and knelt between them, his head resting on Kurt’s chest. Kurt petted his hair. “This wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“Is it bad?”
“Polar opposite of bad.”
Des looked up at him earnestly. “This is my first time in over seventeen years. And the first time ever with… with someone significant. I don’t want to rush.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “We can boink like bunnies next time.”
Next time. That was the best phrase Kurt had ever heard.
Des kissed Kurt’s belly and the inside of his thighs, which made Kurt tremble and clutch Des’s hair. Usually Kurt took the lead during sex, but it was lovely to sit there and wonder what Des would do next, knowing it would be wonderful no matter what. And really, just looking at Des’s bare body and feeling the brush of his hair against Kurt’s skin was almost enough.
“I want to taste you,” said Des, blowing soft breaths onto Kurt’s already aching cock.
“Yes. Please.”
Judging from his smile, the please made Des very happy. He was practically purring when he kissed the tip of Kurt’s cock and then gave the shaft a long, sweet lick. By the time he’d licked twice more, Kurt was panting hard.
Des’s eyes had a wicked sparkle. “Been a while for you too, yeah?”
“Yes. And Des? Never before with someone significant.”
“I’m that?”
“Entirely.”
Des hopped onto his feet, did a neat little dance around the end of the bed, then threw himself backward onto the mattress. He pulled Kurt down on top and gently squeezed his ass. “Injuries feeling okay?”
“Yes.” At this point Kurt could probably withstand several more gunshots, as long as Des kept touching him like that, as long as they kept rocking their hips and sliding their dicks against each other.
“I brought…. Oh, sweet Jesus!.... I brought condoms.” Des made a ragged sound that suggested he might be as close to the edge as Kurt, and that was very, very close.
Kurt supposed he should be pleased that Des had taken to heart his lecture on safe sex, but it was hard to remain patient when Des squiggled out from underneath him, rooted around in his discarded jeans, and finally returned to bed with a little plastic bottle and foil-wrapped protection.
It turned out that Des had never rolled a rubber onto anyone—including himself—so sheathing Kurt involved some fumbling and laughter. Oddly, neither of those things cooled their passion. The chuckles faded and became moans when Kurt slicked up his fingers and slid them into Des.
When Des got really worked up, his brogue grew stronger, sometimes slipping into Gaelic curses, and a delicious flush spread from his chest all the way up to his face. Best yet, though, was the way he gazed at Kurt in wonder and gave his powerful body over. Des was always pretty, but while writhing beneath Kurt—Des’s hair splayed on the pillow, his nipples hardened to nubs, his skin as hot as a furnace—his beauty was as overwhelming as the complexities of his soul.
“I think we’re going…. Oh God, Des…. We’re going to need to save the slow for the next time.” It wasn’t easy to speak clearly.
Kurt was shatteringly close to climax when Des pulled Kurt’s head down for a kiss and then moved him back slightly so they could see each other. “Two ships… could take on monsters… better than one,” he panted.
“Together,” Kurt agreed before falling into a spiral of sweet fire.
* * *
Des in bed with him was not new. But Des naked in bed—against Kurt’s equally naked body—was. Kurt liked this development.
“I have a job offer, you know,” said Des, sounding sleepy and content.
Kurt hadn’t known, although he had a suspicion how this might end up. “Oh?”
“Townsend and I had a chat after I finished in Oklahoma.”
“Aren’t you a little old to start out as an agent?”
Des gave Kurt’s belly a poke. “I’m a year younger than you.”
“And we’re both past forty. Although some days I feel four hundred.”
“And I feel fourteen,” said Des with a hint of wistfulness. “Anyway, not an agent. Seems your Bureau has a library, and the library has need of people to keep it tidy—and to do research for the assholes out in the field. I’m not trained in it, but Townsend thinks I could be.”
