“It’s complicated.” The look in his eyes was dark and serious.

  “It ought to be, with a degree like that at your fingertips.” I looked past Michael to see a well-built blonde putting her hand on Michael’s shoulder.

  He turned. “Hey, Melanie! It’s been a while.”

  “Too long,” she replied with a caress to the side of his neck. “We should go to dinner.”

  “If we can sync up your schedule and mine,” Michael replied.

  “Yours is always weirder than mine.”

  “True,” he admitted.

  Melanie looked at me. I got the long, slow once over from her. I didn’t mind, I just wasn’t interested. “So introduce me,” she said to Michael.

  “Melanie Rogoczy, this is a work colleague, Ken Sullivan,” Michael said.

  I don’t know why it bothered me, but why wasn’t I “a friend or a buddy”? It wasn’t like I actually thought he’d introduce me as the guy he was screwing, but he made it sound like this was strictly a drink after work thing.

  “Are you a police officer, too?” she asked.

  “US Marshal,” I said.

  “Oooh, that sounds bad ass.”

  Okay, I had to laugh a little. “It can be.”

  “Call me,” she said to Michael and placed a fairly intense kiss on his mouth, just about climbing into his lap in the process. Then she turned to me and grabbed a napkin, writing her number on it. She handed it to me. “You can call me, too.” With that, she sauntered away.

  “I’m assuming she’s a past conquest.” I took a swig of my beer, still half annoyed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Not very discriminating. She doesn’t seem like your type.”

  “Enh, it was a couple of dates.”

  I was desperately tempted to ask if she was good in bed. I’d had my share of one-nighters and short term flings, so I had no room to complain. Even so, my gut did weird things when I thought about him in bed with her. “So tell me why you carry a gun and a badge instead of designing engines or something.”

  “No.”

  I raised an eyebrow. That was a pretty flat denial.

  “It’s personal. I don’t want to talk about it here.” Michael made a vague gesture around the bar.

  “Okay, later then.”

  “Maybe. Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.”

  Chapter 13: Chicago Detective Michael Branham

  Dinner was good, but I knew Sully well enough to suspect he wouldn’t let me refuse to answer his question about why I didn’t have an engineering job for very long. He was damn well going to have to wait until we got back to my place though.

  I’m guilty of distracting him to postpone the confession, too.

  Inside the condo, I pushed him back against the door about a half second after it shut. I leaned against him and nipped the side of his neck as I groped his crotch. “If we’ve only got until tomorrow morning…” I let the offer hang.

  That smirk, oh that smirk made suggestions.

  “Blow me,” he said.

  I think it was a dare. “I don’t swallow,” I said.

  “I didn’t say I expected you to.”

  “Not here then, in the kitchen, where there’s a sink.”

  “Fine by me.” He took a slow amble toward the kitchen. Fuck if the look he gave me over his shoulder wasn’t ten times hotter than the one Melanie gave me earlier in the evening. He stood with his butt resting on the counter, feet apart, one hand on his belt buckle.

  I stopped in front of him and brushed his hand aside, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly. I palmed his crotch, feeling the hard ridge of his cock inside his boxers. Sliding my hands under the waistband, I pushed his underwear down around his thighs. I knew exactly what he felt like in my hand. Was I really going to go down on him? I had second thoughts about my ability to do this.

  Sully tipped my chin up and looked at me. “You are allowed to say no.”

  The way the lust simmered in his gaze, I wanted to watch him come undone and know I was the one responsible. “Just don’t grade me on technique.”

  He smiled, and leaned in for a kiss.

  I dropped to my knees and curled my fingers around his dick. He was hard and I could see the drop of come at the slit. I licked the length of his cock. I was probably way too tentative but he just looked down at me, his fingers curled on the edge of the counter. I dragged my tongue across the tip. Salty, with kind of a weird bitter after taste. Okay, not as bad as I thought. I sucked him, not too deep, because I wasn’t sure of my gag reflex. I’d had enough blowjobs in my life to know to use my hand as much as my mouth. It made my jaw ache a little but glancing up at his face, the blown pupils and teeth on his lower lip told me I must not be too awful at this.

  He lifted a hand and gripped my shoulder, “Close.”

  I lifted my head enough that most of his come ended up on my shirt and not in my mouth. The small amount of thick warmth that hit my lips and tongue was not entirely pleasant but not awful either. I did stand up and spit in the sink.

  Sully looked at me with a glazed smile. “That was really good.”

  I stripped off my shirt. “Beginners luck?”

  “Something like that.” He rubbed his hand across my groin, squeezing and stroking my own hard-on.

  I guessed I was a lot more wound up than I realized because I was suddenly clutching at his arm to keep my balance as my climax tore my breath away. “God…” I muttered as I was finally done. “You caught me off guard.”

  “In a good way?” he asked.

  “Yeah, in a good way.”

  He kissed me again, as his hands skimmed along my belly and chest and circled around to my back. “I think you and I both ought to ditch the clothes.”

  “In the washer.”

  “Yours, anyway.”

  * * * *

  We ended up in bed, touching, kissing, and basically just messing around. We were both relaxed and about half asleep. I supposed now was as good a time as any to answer his question.

  “I’m a cop because a girl I had started dating in college got raped,” I confessed.

  “Huh-uh, more, it’s not that simple.”

  “I went on a couple of dates with Breanna, nothing epic. Coffee, then dinner and a movie. I was attracted, but she was nice and I didn’t make a move. We shared a few kisses. I liked her and hoped it was heading toward more. One night her roommate called me and asked me to go with her to the hospital. Breanna had been raped. Christ…she wasn’t hurt that bad physically, but he’d held a knife to her throat apparently. Libby and I took her home. Over the next few weeks, an arrest was made but they couldn’t make it stick. I did what I could to be there for Breanna but I felt helpless. One night she texted me, and told me she was so sorry but she was done. Something didn’t sound right but it took me an hour to figure out if I should check on her. When I did…” My throat was tight and images of that night flooded back way too vividly. Her stillness, the blue-gray of her face, the scent of pee on the bed clothes, and the bottle of vodka on the floor.

  Sully hugged me tighter to his body. “She killed herself?”

  He was law enforcement, too. It didn’t take a serious leap to see the connection.

  “Vodka and valium. I’d never seen a dead body outside of a funeral home until then. I always wonder what I could have done differently, what I could have done to save her. And why the hell the case against the asshole who’d done it, didn’t hold together.”

  “And so you became a cop.”

  “To make a difference. Although there are days when I wonder…” There was always the question in the back of my brain on whether my career choices were what they should be.

  “Don’t. The job is hard enough as it is. Don’t doubt the good you do.”

  There was something introspective and compassionate in his words and it made me think he’d been down the road of crisis of faith more than once. I snuggled up to him, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the comfortable way we were tangled together.

  We slept.

  Chapter 14: US Marshal Ken Sullivan

  It was time to go all too soon. I would have to swing by the rental car agency at the airport and drop off the car before I caught my flight. And because I had flown up to Detroit as an escort for a witness, I would have to deal with checking my weapon.

  It was easier to go ahead and say goodbye to Michael at his condo. I set my luggage next to his front door.

  He stood in front of me, hands in his pockets. “I’m glad you managed to combine your business trip with coming to see me.”

  We stood there staring at each other for a couple of seconds, like idiots. I reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him toward me. Michael looped his arms around my neck and sealed his mouth over mine. I hung onto him and tried to enjoy my last few minutes with him in my arms.

  “We need to do this again,” I murmured.

  “Maybe I can swing down your way again for a weekend in a month or so, minus the funeral next time.”

  “We used the hell out of that hotel room though.”

  Michael grinned. “True.”

  “Next time, my place.”

  “Where exactly do you live? Like Chicago, DC is a pretty big place, suburbs and all.”

  “Falls Church is what my mailing address says, but it’s usually easier to tell people I live fairly close to the Dunn-Loring Metro Station.”

  “I have a hazy idea where that is.”

  “You said you used to live in the DC area.”

  “Yeah, when I was eighteen and didn’t know how to drive.”

  “I take it you weren’t the sixteen year old with a learner’s permit scaring the shit out of your parents then?”

  “No, I was almost twenty before I drove. It didn’t seem that important at the time.”

  I cupped my hand behind his head and kissed him. “I’ll text you or something when I get back.”

  “Good.”

  I picked up my luggage and walked out the door. Halfway to the airport, I realized my chest hurt. God, when did I start falling for him so hard?

  Part 4: May

  Chapter 15: US Marshal Ken Sullivan

  I had only heard from Michael once this week. That wasn’t all that unusual by itself. Sometimes when he was slam busy with work he was not very communicative. I had my crazy weeks, too. When I got a text from him at eleven o’clock at night, I thought he’d probably just gotten home and was finally slowing down for the night.

  u home? I need 2 talk.

  Something about the phrasing didn’t bode well. I stood there looking at the message for a good long minute. Was this the prelude to “I can’t see you anymore”? He always seemed torn about our relationship, or the sexual part of it anyway. Presumably he was enough of a grown up to actually want a phone call rather than just a text? I sighed and replied.

  Am home. Call when convenient.

  I sank down onto the couch and wondered how long before he screwed up the courage to call. About three minutes.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I was trying for casual.

  “I shot someone.” He just blurted it out, his voice tight and nearly cracking.

  “Christ. Question number one—are you okay?”

  “Uh, you mean physically. I’m fine.”

  “I’m assuming this was in the line of duty?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yes, of course. Oh crap, you don’t think I’d…”

  “Just checking. No, I don’t think you’d just stroll out and shoot someone. Tell me what happened, and are you at home or are you at the precinct waiting to give a statement?”

  “She was holding a gun on the kid and the father and I had a clear shot but I thought I could talk her down.”

  “Michael…Back up. Slow down. You need to start at the beginning. And start with, are you at the precinct? You’re not on scene are you?” I stood up and walked toward my bedroom. A hazy plan already forming in my head about how long it would take to drive to Chicago.

  “No, I’m not on scene. I was there for a couple of hours. They took my weapon and badge and had a uniform bring me back to the station. I’m waiting for a union rep. They’re supposed to be with me when I give my statement to I.A. God, Sully. I am losing my shit.”

  “Do. Not. Make the statement without the rep. I’m sure everything was above board but I.A. can be a dicey bunch of bastards if they choose to be. I’m going to walk out my door in about thirty minutes. Unless traffic is a complete bitch, I should be there in twelve to thirteen hours.” I yanked a suitcase out of the closet and tossed it on the bed.

  “Sully, I didn’t mean for you to come. I just needed…I trust you. I needed to talk to someone who’s not involved, who might take my side.”

  “I will always take your side. I assume they’ll put you on paid leave for at least a couple of days while they dig into the facts?”

  “Probably. It’s the norm. I didn’t actually ask for how many days I’d be out.”

  “When they let you, go home. Stay there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

  “Okay.” He hung up.

  I spent the next twenty minutes madly throwing shit in the suitcase. I called Tazewell and told him that I had a personal emergency and I was going to be unavailable for at least a couple of days. Blissfully, he didn’t ask for much in the way of details. Lastly, I stood in the middle of my apartment and ran a little mental checklist. I had everything I thought I would need for a few days. Michael sounded like he was coming apart at the seams. I wanted to be there for him right now. The best I could do was half a day from now.

  * * * *

  I drove too fast, all night long. I only stopped a few times. I made it to the door of his condo in eleven and a half hours. I took a quick look at my watch before I knocked on the door. It wasn’t quite noon.

  When it opened, Michael just stood there, his eyes searching my face. Finally he stepped back and I went in. The den looked like a bomb had gone off, books knocked off the shelves, a shattered cup on the floor, chair overturned. Obviously he’d gone on a rampage.

  “I made a mess,” he said. He ran his fingers through his blond hair, and paced.

  I dropped my duffel bag on the floor and set down my laptop bag. I grabbed a fist full of his shirt and hauled him into my arms. He put a hand against my chest like he was going to push me away, then buried his face on my shoulder. I held him tight.

  “Come sit down.” I led him to the sofa and pulled him down with me. I kept him in my arms. “Talk to me. Everything, from the beginning.”

  “I got called to a drive by shooting. The uniforms had already called an ambulance and I thought things were under control. A woman showed up and started screaming about how she knew exactly who had shot her man. There were too many people around. And we couldn’t get everyone under control fast enough. The next thing I know the woman has a gun up against the head of a little boy and she’s yelling at the man in front of her, accusing him of setting up the victim of the driveby to be shot. I was madly trying to calm her down and get her to lay down the gun. I had my own weapon out. The uniforms were about six steps away. I thought…I thought I was getting her under control. Then she shot the little boy and lifted the gun to kill the man, too. I pulled the trigger, twice. I should have taken her out first. She wouldn’t have killed the boy. I didn’t want to kill her. I hesitated. I second guessed. I keep seeing the little boy’s head splattering blood and brains all over his father. I keep seeing it and I had to kill her and…and…and…” The information came out in an uncontrolled rush. By the time he stopped, he was trembling.

  “It’ll be okay,” I whispered.

  “He’s dead. She’s dead. God…Fuck…”

  I took a deep breath. “From what you told me, you are justified. The outcome was unfortunate. If you had shot first, there’s still the possibility she might have shot the child anyway. I assume you did the right thing and talked to the union rep before your statement to I.A.?”

  “Yuh.” His voice was thick, and I wondered if he was going to break down.

  “How long before I.A. renders a decision?”

  “I don’t know, maybe two days, or three.”

  “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “No.”

  “I spent twelve hours on my ass in the car. You are wound tighter than a drum. Let’s go for a run. I could do with a good hard couple of miles at least. I drank enough coffee to drown an elephant.” Judging from the already wrecked room and the hard, shaking tension of his body, I decided the best possible thing was for him to burn off some of the stress energy before we ended up in a fist fight. The other option was rough aggressive sex but I thought as upset as he was that was not a good plan.

  Michael hesitated, then replied. “Yeah, a run might be a good thing.”

  Chapter 16: Chicago Detective Michael Branham

  I changed into a pair of leggings and a half-zip over my T-shirt. Chicago in April was often pretty chilly. Sully changed, too, sweats and long sleeve tee. I locked the door of my condo and we took off at a slow lope to warm up.

  I had about a half dozen different routes I usually run. I purposely chose one I knew was close to three miles. Sully was right in that I needed to move. Hours at the precinct, hours in the condo, doing things I shouldn’t have to the den, I needed to blow off steam.

  After the first half mile, we sped up. I’d never run with him, I didn’t know much about his endurance levels. He was obviously in good physical shape but I got the impression he spent more time on weights than cardio. It was tempting to sprint until I couldn’t breathe. I doubted he could keep up. The good, solid pace though did make me feel less stuck in my own head. Second mile, and I was sweating enough to push up my sleeves some and lower the zipper on the shirt.

  Sully was keeping up, more or less and I focused on an even pace. By the third mile we were heading back toward the condo and I felt the burn in my leg muscles. We slowed for the last few blocks.

  “Better?” Sully asked.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8