Ground Zero, page 21
part #1 of Zero Hour Series
“It’s official,” Locke said ten hours later, looking and sounding as haggard as Sawyer felt. “Miller is in the wind. He’s had plenty of time to get out of Georgia. The question is: did he go north or south?”
The team had knocked on the doors of every known associate, friend, or family member. They were spat at, cussed out, and cursed. The group spread out to stake out every remote cabin registered to any of them which encompassed a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius. Cities and asphalt gave way to rural areas and dirt roads. Miller was nowhere to be found, and Sawyer felt like he wore every mile of grit they had traveled. Coming up with nothing after a long day was a horrible feeling.
Sawyer wanted a hot shower, a cold beer, and something delicious to eat.
“We learned a valuable lesson today,” Locke said, patting Sawyer’s shoulder as they headed to their vehicles.
“That you couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket?” Sawyer asked.
“I sing along with Johnny Cash damn well, and you know it.” He did, but Sawyer didn’t want to add to Locke’s already inflated ego. “The next time we’re in the field like this, we’ll do the Johnny and June duets. You can be June.”
“Thanks,” Sawyer said drolly. “What did we learn today, Locke?”
“We can work ten hours straight and not kill each other. How awesome is that?”
Sawyer smirked and shook his head. “It’ll do.”
“Do you have plans tonight?” Locke’s question took him by surprise, but he worked hard not to show it.
“I need to call Levi at some point to finalize plans for Friday. What did you have in mind?”
“I think you should invite me over for dinner. I’ll bring beer,” Locke said.
“Did I hear you correctly? You asked me if I had plans then invited yourself over to my house for dinner?”
“Yeah. You game?”
Sawyer knew what his answer should be. Ten straight hours, most of it spent in a confined space with Locke, had worked on his nerves. He learned a lot about Locke’s teenage exploits, his favorite music, and discovered he was as much of a foodie as Sawyer. Locke talked about Candi and the kids, Daniel, Marc, and Bailey, until he felt like he knew them. Locke talked about everything that was important to him except the person who had meant the most—the ghost elephant in the car. Marcus. Locke’s silence on the subject spoke volumes. There was no one I loved more than him. Sawyer was grateful Locke hadn’t picked up on his internal struggle but knew he needed to break away and regroup. It was so much easier to ignore his attraction to his partner when Locke was being an asshole, but funny stories, personal anecdotes, and smelling his cologne had worked on his nerves. Before Sawyer could respond, Locke’s cell phone rang.
“It’s Candi. I better take this in case she needs an emergency sitter,” Locke said, hitting the accept button. “Hey there, Candi Crush. What’s up?” Sawyer chuckled at the nickname. Locke’s expression morphed from happy to thunderous in seconds. The scowl on his face reminded Sawyer of his first day on the job. “Just breathe, honey. I’ll be right there,” Locke said, storming off toward his vehicle.
“Rain check then?” Sawyer asked after his partner tucked his phone back in his pants pocket.
Locke stopped and spun around. “Fuck! I’m sorry. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Sawyer said casually. “Another time.”
He drove home, fed his cat, took a cold beer into the shower with him, then made himself a double-decker bacon sandwich. Some days he worried a lot about what he put into his body, and others he couldn’t give a fuck less. Sawyer’s call to Levi was brief. He was tired and talking over the phone didn’t hold the same allure as speaking to him in person. Sawyer wanted to see those pretty pink blushes and look into his expressive eyes. He wanted to magically stop investing emotional energy in people and situations that weren’t healthy for him. They confirmed their dinner plans, and Sawyer genuinely looked forward to their date. After hanging up, Sawyer fell asleep in his recliner while watching a Braves game. Someone ringing his doorbell jolted him awake sometime later, dislodging a pissed-off Bones. A glance at the clock on his cable box said it was twelve thirty.
“Who the hell?” he sleepily asked on his way to the front door. Glancing through the peephole left him just as baffled as when he hadn’t known the identity of his visitor. Sawyer opened his door, and a drunk and very uncoordinated Royce Locke fell into his arms. “Whoa there.”
“Sorry for stopping by so late. Were you sleeping?” Locke’s words were slightly slurred as hot beer breath blasted against Sawyer’s face and neck.
“Yeah, but it’s okay. What’s wrong?” Sawyer asked. “Please tell me you didn’t drive here in this condition.”
“Hell no. I took a Lyft. Might’ve taken me a few tries to type in your address,” Locke slurred.
“How’d you know where I live?” It seemed like a dumb thing for him to ask, considering his maybe-straight, very drunk partner was in his arms and pressed against him. Shouldn’t he be asking why he was here?
“I’m a detective. I know things.” Locke nestled deeper into Sawyer’s hold. “You feel so fucking good. Warm. Strong.” Locke buried his nose in Sawyer’s throat and inhaled deeply. “Smell good too.”
Sawyer somehow managed to chuckle even though it felt like he’d stopped breathing. “And you’re very wasted.”
“A little, but it doesn’t make it less true. Booze is truth serum or some shit. There’s a lot I could say.”
“There’s a lot I won’t let you say.”
Locke lifted his head and peered up at Sawyer. “Fine. I’ll just use my mouth to do other things.” Then he pressed his lips to Sawyer’s.
Lust—hot and addictive—spiked Sawyer’s blood and sent it racing through his veins, threatening to obliterate reason and logic. His brain screamed “pull back,” but Sawyer threaded his hands through Locke’s silky blond strands instead, holding him still so he could deepen the kiss. Sawyer’s knees weakened when their tongues met, causing him to stumble back against the foyer table. Locke’s arms tightened around Sawyer’s waist, and he shoved a denim leg between Sawyer’s, nestling his firm, toned thigh just beneath his balls. Locke’s body heat seeped through the thin fabric of Sawyer’s mesh basketball shorts. Stars exploded behind his closed eyelids, and his grip on sanity diminished a little more.
Sawyer had only known Locke for three fucking days, and much of the time was spent wondering what the man tasted like. The answer: so fucking good. Even the taste of beer couldn’t detract from Sawyer’s pleasure. Beer. Fuck! This wasn’t right. His conscience surged forward, scrabbling for purchase.
Sawyer tried to break the kiss and pull away, but Locke, sensing his intention, firmly gripped the back of his neck, holding him in place. Even drunk, Locke’s kissing skills were impressive. His tongue was aggressive and playful at the same time—sweeping in boldly one second then darting back out just to flick the tip against Sawyer’s.
Someone growled lustily—maybe it was both of them—then they angled their heads to deepen their kiss as the touching began. Locke slid both hands beneath Sawyer’s tank top, ghosting his fingers over the ridges of his abdomen to reach his pecs. Sawyer kept one fist tangled in Locke’s messy hair but slid the other hand down to grip his taut ass, holding him in place. Friction. Just need a bit more friction. Sawyer canted his hip ever so slightly and… Right fucking there. He felt the whimper in the back of his throat. There was no earthly being or heavenly power that could’ve prevented him from rutting against Locke’s rock-hard thigh.
Sawyer ripped his mouth away from Locke’s, letting his head fall back and exposing his throat. Sawyer cried out when Locke circled an erect nipple with his thumb before pinching and tugging it. Sawyer gripped Locke’s ass hard enough to leave finger marks while riding his thigh harder. Locke dropped his head to Sawyer’s neck. Dark blond scruff scraped over sensitive flesh in his wake, then he sank his teeth into a tendon.
“Oh God,” Sawyer moaned, getting embarrassingly close to coming in his shorts. Locke responded by chuckling against his hammering pulse. Something about his partner’s rumble penetrated Sawyer’s lust-saturated brain. “I… You… We…”
Locke chuckled harder, but before Sawyer could comment further, he recaptured Sawyer’s mouth in a bruising kiss. The hand on his chest slowly slid down his torso until it reached his waistband. Teasing fingers toyed with the drawstring of his shorts. One smooth tug and there would be nothing keeping Locke from touching his bare, leaking cock.
Stop. This isn’t right. Sawyer could barely hear his soul’s pleas over the blood rushing through his veins. So close. Just a little more. Curious fingertips dipped beneath Sawyer’s waistband and grazed the wet head of his dick. Locke simultaneously broke the kiss and jerked his hand out of Sawyer’s pants at the same time. He stared at his wet fingers with both a dazed and curious expression. Then Locke stuck his fingers inside his mouth, sucking Sawyer’s precum off them.
The gesture stunned Sawyer so much that his hips stilled. He waited in breathless anticipation for Locke’s next move. This was it. They had reached the point of no return—the zero hour. If they crossed the line, there would be no going back. Was Sawyer willing to risk his career to appease Locke’s curiosity? Isn’t that what this was? Sawyer had nothing to base his opinion on other than his instinct, which rarely steered him wrong. He suspected Locke’s attraction to men wasn’t new, but his willingness to explore it was.
“You’re drunk,” Sawyer said, trying to inject sanity and reason into the situation. “I think we need to slow this down.”
Locke grinned wryly but didn’t budge an inch. “I’m not that drunk; I’m tipsy. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll walk away. No harm done and no hurt feelings.”
Sawyer opened his mouth to form the lie that would preserve his sanity and save their partnership but could only manage a sigh. Locke aimed his pirate’s smile at him, and they were kissing again, harder than the first time—teeth gnashing and tongues dueling. Locke tugged the drawstrings loose then shoved his hand inside Sawyer’s shorts, fisting his cock and jacking him with sure strokes.
Determined not to come alone, Sawyer unfastened Locke’s jeans and slid his hand beneath the waistband of his underwear. The heat of Locke’s thick erection seared his palm and ratcheted up his desire. He matched him stroke for stroke, both of them driving each other to the edge.
A song suddenly started playing in the foyer, and they jolted apart. Sawyer glanced around the room looking for the source of the old song he hadn’t heard in years. He thought it was called “Sugar, Sugar.”
“Fuck,” Locke groused, figuring out the source of their interruption before Sawyer could. Locke pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket and stared at it. He flicked his apologetic gaze to Sawyer briefly before accepting the call. “Hey, Candi Land,” Locke said softly, stepping away from Sawyer and taking his body heat with him.
It was for the best, Sawyer said to himself while retying his drawstring. No irreparable damage had been committed, and he had more accurate spank bank material. Silver linings and all that shit. Sawyer looked down at his hand, expecting to see scorch marks on his palm.
“I’m okay, honey. I’m sorry I scared you,” Locke said, sounding slightly less drunk—tipsy—than when he’d arrived. Whatever Candi had said to him put a sappy smile on his face that made Sawyer want to vomit. “Sorry I snuck out of there, but I didn’t want to wake you or the kids. I didn’t drive. I left my Harley at your place and called a Lyft to take me home.”
Sawyer pushed off the wall and walked deeper into his home. Watching hearts and moonbeams shine from Locke’s eyes when he talked to Candi Wilkes was terrible enough, but listening to his lies about where he went after he left her house was more than Sawyer could handle. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the universe had been looking out for him. He had no idea how he’d handle it if Locke wanted to pick up right where they left off once he completed the call. It turned out he had nothing to worry about when Locke found him a few minutes later peering into his refrigerator like it held the answers to all of life’s mysteries.
“What’s that?” Locke asked, hooking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Sawyer’s living room.
Sawyer shut the refrigerator door and turned to face him. “That was you inviting yourself into my home and helping yourself to my body.”
Locke’s face grew scarlet red, but he didn’t look angry or remorseful. “I didn’t ask what that was; I asked ‘what’s that’ as in what the hell is that huge gray beast glaring at me from the back of the sofa.”
Grateful for a safer topic, Sawyer said, “The gray beast is Bones. He’s my cat.”
“That isn’t a cat,” Locke said, shaking his head. “At least not a breed I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t know Bones’ full story, but the veterinarian said he’s part Maine Coon, and the breed is exceptionally larger than your typical domestic house cat.”
“I think he wants to chew my dick off.”
Sawyer chuckled. “You’re safe unless you have bread tucked in your underwear. And since I know you don’t…” He let his words trail off. Cracking jokes about their near mishap felt wiser than demanding to know what the fuck Locke had been thinking. “Want me to make you some coffee, or do you just want some cold water?”
“Water,” Locke said. “Otherwise, I’ll be up all night.” He snorted. “Who am I kidding. There’s no chance in hell I’ll get any sleep tonight.” Glancing at the clock on the microwave, he amended, “This morning.”
Sawyer looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since Locke got off the phone. His mouth looked pinched, and a deep V furrowed his brow. Whatever prompted Candi to call Locke earlier that evening had rocked his world. Sawyer longed to smooth the grooves away with his fingers, but wisely kept the expanse of the kitchen between them.
“On second thought, do you have any beer?” Locke asked. “I’m feeling way too sober right now.”
“I think you’ve had enough beer for tonight.”
Locke stiffened, and his countenance darkened. “Don’t tell me what my limits are, Key. We’re not to that stage in our partnership.” Ouch.
“I see. We’re just at the drunk-kiss-and-fondle stage.” Locke flinched like Sawyer slapped him, and he immediately regretted his spiteful words.
“I’m just going to head out. I’ll order another Lyft.” Locke turned around and headed back toward the living room.
“Stay,” Sawyer said. “Please. Just a little longer.”
Locke slowly turned around and blew out a frustrated breath with enough force to ruffle the messy strands of blond hair hanging over his forehead. “I messed up here tonight, Key. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be alone and coming here felt right. I shouldn’t have kissed you or touched you.”
Sawyer’s mouth tipped up into a half smirk. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Locke glared at him. “It was damn good. Don’t bother trying to deny it with the giant wet spot on the front of your shorts.”
Sawyer shook his head. “God, you’re a dickhead.”
“I’m not going to bother disputing that.”
Reopening the fridge, Sawyer pulled out two bottles of beer then crossed the kitchen to hand one to Locke, who twisted the cap off and took a long drink. “I can tell you’re upset by whatever happened tonight. I know we’re virtual strangers at this point, maybe a little closer since you nearly stroked me off—” Locke choked then spat a mouthful of beer all over Sawyer’s tank top, cutting off the rest of what he was going to say. “Damn. Now I need another shower.”
“Make it a cold one, asshole. You’re not getting any more of this,” Locke said, making a big circle over his chest and groin.
“Anyway,” Sawyer continued, “I’m a good listener when you’re ready.” If he’s ever ready. “I promise to keep what you tell me confidential.”
Locke’s eyes were a smoky gray, and Sawyer couldn’t read the expression. Relief? Pleasure. “I’m not ready yet, but soon, okay?”
“Sure,” Sawyer said with a firm nod. “I have a spare bedroom if you want to crash here tonight.”
“I don’t want to impose.” At Sawyer’s quirked brow, Locke added, “More than I already have.”
Sawyer took a long pull from his beer. Common sense said he should order Locke a ride then firmly shut the door on this night, but he couldn’t. There had been so much vulnerability in Locke’s confession about him not wanting to be alone, especially in the words that followed. “You’re not an imposition. You said coming here felt right, and I want you here. Finish your beer, and I’ll show you to the spare bedroom.” A thought hit him. “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah.” Locke didn’t sound convincing, so Sawyer quirked a brow. “At lunch,” Locke admitted grudgingly.
Sawyer returned to his refrigerator and pulled out the rest of the uncooked bacon. “How do you like it?” he asked Locke who grinned sheepishly. “Your bacon, dickhead. Chewy or crispy?”
“You don’t have to cook anything for me.”
Sawyer pulled Vic’s favorite old cast iron skillet from the cabinet. A random thought came out of nowhere. Vic would like him. Sawyer didn’t know enough about Locke to confirm or dispute the thought. It could just be fanciful thinking. “If you don’t tell me, then you’ll leave me to guess. Might as well get a bacon sandwich you’re going to like.”
Locke moaned a little. “Crispy.”
“Would you like a fried egg too?” When Locke didn’t answer right away, Sawyer looked over his shoulder and caught his partner staring at his ass. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” Sawyer snapped his fingers, and Locke jerked his head up to meet his gaze. “Fried egg on your sandwich?”
Locke swallowed hard, and his expression became unreadable again. “That sounds great. Um, do you have any tomatoes?”
