

## Continental Divide

### Separate Ways: I

## Laura Harner and Lisa Worrall
Continental Divide is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Laura Harner

Cover Art by Laura Harner

All rights reserved.

Smashwords edition published in the United States by Hot Corner Press.

ISBN: 978-1-937252-59-5

Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Contact the publisher for further information: Hotcornerpress@gmail.com
Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Author

Also Available

## Acknowledgements

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

_Harrods:_ Harrods Limited

_Styrofoam:_ The Dow Chemical Company

_Marriott:_ Marriott International, Inc.

_M3:_ Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft Corporation

_Tiptree Preserves:_ Wilkin & Sons Limited

_Corona:_ Cerveceria Modelo, S.A. de C.V. Corporation

_Weetabix:_ Weetabix Limited Corporation

_eBay:_ eBay, Inc

_The Plaza:_ Plaza IP Holdings LLC

_Armani:_ Giorgio Armani S.p.A.

_Stoli:_ Spirits International BV

_Grey Goose:_ Barcardi & Company

_Star Trek:_ Paramount Pictures Corporation

_Diamondbacks:_ AZPB Limited Partnership

_Oreos:_ Kraft Food Global Brands

_Bud:_ Anheuser-Busch, LLC

_TASER:_ TASER International, Inc.

##  Chapter One

"Jamie, we're off down the Dog and Duck for a beer, are you coming?"

Glancing up at the young detective peering around his open office door, Jamie shook his head and indicated the file in front of him. "I've got some stuff I want to finish up thanks, Barry. I'll catch you up if I'm done before closing."

Jamie returned his attention to the papers spread across the oak veneered top of his desk and growled in frustration. Too many. Too many missing boys. Who was taking them? What was their objective? It wasn't murder, no bodies had turned up, and with the number of teens missing from the streets of London, there should have been a few more John Does on the coroner's table. But that wasn't the case. So where were they?

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands behind his head and stretched. His head was pounding in time with his heartbeat, an intense ache in his temples distorted his vision and he rubbed at his eyes. This case was killing him. The last boy had disappeared six days ago and there were still no leads. It was as though the kids had simply vanished off the face of the earth. Would another homeless teenager be plucked from the street on this balmy Friday evening? Friday...Friday? Bollocks!

Jamie jumped to his feet and grabbed his jacket. If he was late again this week, he would be joining the missing, because his mother would make sure they never found the body. Slamming out of his office, he ran down the hall to the lift and pressed the call button, shifting his weight impatiently from one foot to the other as he waited for it to arrive. Friday night was family night and his mother insisted that he, his older brother, and younger sister stop whatever they were doing, wherever they were doing it, and be home by eight o'clock.

Barely giving the lift doors a chance to open all the way, Jamie stepped into the metal box with its faux granite walls and stabbed at the button for the garage level. He leaned against the wall and straightened his tie, ran a smoothing hand down his shirt, and then shrugged into his jacket. Glancing into the mirrored back of the lift, he frowned at the bird's nest that used to be his hair and feathered his fingers through it. He rolled his eyes and poked out his tongue childishly at his reflection. No matter what he did, his mother would find fault with his appearance, his tardiness, his manicure, his everything; so the primping was pointless. _And yet, you still do it..._

Calling a goodbye to the constable on reception, Jamie pushed through the double doors and jogged down the first few steps before stopping in his tracks. Oh, come on, she sent the bloody limo? He sighed heavily and stomped down the rest of the steps to the pavement like a disgruntled five-year-old. So what if it wasn't very attractive in a thirty-one-year-old, he couldn't believe his mother had sent a car for him. Didn't she trust him to show up under his own steam?

"Good evening, Master James." The tall, distinguished looking, if somewhat elderly man standing by the sleek black car, opened the door and touched the peak of his cap.

"For God's sake, Bernie," Jamie mumbled, ignoring the open door and walking around the bonnet to the passenger door. "If I have to ride in this monstrosity, I'm not doing it in the back by myself." He chuckled as Bernie protested under his breath and slammed the back door while Jamie settled himself in the front beside the driver's seat. "What are you winging about?"

"Master James," Bernie said firmly as he slid behind the wheel. "You know Madam doesn't like it when you ride up front."

"Don't worry, Bernie old chap," Jamie replied with a grin and leaned over to pat the elderly man's leg as he started the engine. "You can stop before we go up the drive and I'll get in the back, it'll be our little secret. Unless she's finally bugged the limo." He glanced over his shoulder at the smoky glass privacy petition. "She hasn't finally bugged the limo, has she?"

"Not yet, sir." Bernie chuckled as he pulled out into a gap in the heavy London traffic. "But I believe it's on Her Grace's to do list."

"Really?" Jamie's voice was sour but he couldn't help the intonation. "You'd think she'd be too busy with world domination and balancing her Harrods charge card." He kept his gaze on the windshield, even though he could feel the weight of the glance that Bernie threw at him, accompanied by the concerned frown. Bernie knew him far too well, and why shouldn't he? He'd worked for the Mainwaring family since before Jamie's elder brother, Hugo, was born, had been a stalwart support through most of Jamie's family crises, and was basically the only person in Mainwaring house for whom Jamie had any respect.

"Rough day at the office, dear?" Bernie said teasingly as he reached to press play on the CD player in the dashboard.

Jamie smiled gratefully at the other man when the delicate strains of Chopin created a calming ambience around them on their journey out of London. His favorite. It amazed him how Bernie always seemed to know when his battered psyche needed soothing. "Rough as old arseholes, Bern my good man, rough as old arseholes," Jamie sighed, dropping his head onto the leather rest behind him and closing his eyes.

"You know her Ladyship doesn't like your interestingly vulgar turns of phrase," Bernie admonished as he pulled down on the peak of his cap. "Any break with the missing lads?"

Jamie shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face in exasperation. He'd spoken to Bernie last week about the case he was working on—obviously no details, he had taken an oath after all—but just generalizations on what had been happening in their city. Bernie had certainly been the only one who had supported his choice to enter the police force and he had been the one standing proudly, in his best pinstripe, to watch him on his passing-out parade. His mother, as he recalled, had needed to lie down for twenty-four hours in a fit of the vapors because he had dared to sully the Mainwaring name with such menial employ. He was an Earl for heaven's sake and he'd become, heaven forbid, a 'copper'.

Not just a 'copper' now though. He'd worked hard, busted his arse, and moved up the ranks to inspector faster than some who'd been working the force for years; and he was pleased to say it had all been done on his own merit. His mother would not have dared to use her influence or money in any way, shape, or form, because then everybody would know what he did for a living. And we couldn't have that, could we? Good God, no. James Tristan Mainwaring, forty-second Earl of Fordham, an officer of the law? How positively ghastly. His mother was such a supercilious snob, it drove him crazy. The throbbing in Jamie's temples had stepped up to a hammering and he groaned in annoyance.

"James?" Bernie's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Sorry, another blasted headache courtesy of this sodding case," Jamie replied smiling briefly to reassure the other man that he was okay. "We've had another report of a regular face not turning up to the shelter, or not being seen at his known haunts. He's a new kid, hasn't been around long, but still.... That's six, Bernie, six. In just a few months. What the fuck is going on in this city? It's as if they're being beamed up by bloody aliens or something. Not one single body of the missing who've been reported has turned up. That's unheard of for God's sake. I mean, you could expect a few to be disposed of and never seen again, but every single one? This is the most bizarre case I've ever worked on and my head is about ready to explode."

"Just don't do it at her Ladyship's dinner party."

Jamie's gaze flew to Bernie and he noted the flush in the man's cheeks. "What are you not telling me?" His gaze narrowed and acid crept up his throat as his anxiety level spiked. "Bern—" Jamie's mouth snapped shut as understanding flooded through him from the single glance Bernie allowed him. "Fucking hell, say it ain't so, Joe. Who is she trying to fix me up with this time?" Another glance had his worst fears coming true. "Not Marjorie bloody Attwater again? Give me strength."

The other bone of contention that his mother had with her middle child was his single status. Her constant matchmaking attempts were endless and exhausting; mainly because Jamie was a homosexual, gay, queer, a poof, bent as a two bob note. He'd tried explaining it to his mother using every type of vernacular he could think of, but she refused to listen. And twelve years after he'd received and given his first blowjob, both in the same night of course, she still refused to accept it. Despite the fact that she was the one who'd caught him with David Montague's cock in his mouth while the other boy jerked him off in the last stall of the stables.

Closing his eyes again, Jamie spent the last half an hour of the journey in silence as he psyched himself up for the dinner from hell. One where he would be forced to make polite chit-chat with Marjorie Attwater, who only had one topic of conversation: her livery stable. His mother was going to find herself off his Christmas card list if she didn't stop her interference in his love life.

"Come on then."

Bernie's voice broke through the calming influence Chopin had been having on him, and a frown creased his brow as he opened his eyes. "Come on what?" He glanced out of the window and noted that they were in the copse of trees that led to the wrought iron gates of Mainwaring House. Turning his gaze back to Bernie and the smug smile the older man wore, Jamie groaned loudly. "Bernie," he protested. "I was joking, it was a joke for Pete's sake."

After another few moments of complaining, he mumbled insults beneath his breath as he climbed out of the limo and slammed the passenger door. Slumping into the back seat and pulling a face at the privacy partition, he closed his eyes as they pulled through the opening gates and headed toward the house.

Four hours later Jamie was back at his desk on the fourth floor of Scotland Yard. His cheeks ached from smiling politely and he'd check his ears for any sign of a brain bleed when he'd gotten in the front of the limo, ignoring Bernie's protests. Marjorie had been her usual vivacious self, regaling him with a blow-by-blow account of her new foal's birth and his mother had looked on benevolently, planning the wedding in her mind. He'd made his excuses as soon as the coffee had been poured, and Bernie had dropped him back at the office at his request.

Staring at the computer screen, he frowned. Something Bernie had said kept playing in his head. Just a passing statement, but the cogs were turning and he wanted to check it out. "Is it only in London?" That's all Bernie had said, five simple words; and now he was looking at Interpol's home page, having just typed in the details of the missing teens and pressed enter.

The details appearing on the screen were way too similar to his own cases, but they had occurred in Phoenix, Arizona. If it weren't for the fact that they were happening thousands of miles away, he would have been hard pressed to tell the difference between the notes on the screen and the files on his desk.

What the fuck had he stumbled into?

****

Detective Remington stared at the six folders spread across his desk. There would always be runaways, he knew that better than most. Every small town lost them, every big city collected them. Kids looking for freedom, wanting to get away from whatever it was that haunted them. Drugs, sex, abuse, running away or running toward. Didn't much matter. What mattered was these kids, these six who disappeared from his city. Or more precisely, from the smaller cities that surrounded Phoenix.

A door swung open with a bang, hard enough to rattle the glass enclosure of the small office that stood in the center of the large squad room. Remy's head snapped up at the sound, instantly alert, mind back on his surroundings. Shit. Nothing good ever came his way when the captain had that look on his face. The look that clearly said, Remington, you have fucked up for the last time.

It didn't take a mental genius to figure this one out. He'd thought he could count on another week before the boss found out he'd gone around departmental procedures. It didn't matter he'd done it for a good reason. All that mattered to Captain Oswald was that Remy had colored outside the fuckin' lines, again. The captain stepped on anyone he could on his path to the top, and he didn't like anything that might leave a mark on his unblemished backside.

"Get in here, Remington."

With an ill-disguised sigh, Remy pushed his chair back with a rougher than necessary kick, hitched up his jeans, and took a slow and deliberate saunter away from the captain's office toward the coffee pot.

"Be there in a minute...Boss."

No doubt his computer search had triggered some sort of cyber-alert that filtered through to the IT geeks, and they'd gleefully informed the captain that the troublesome Detective Remington had once again broken their security protocol. Rat bastards.

He put fresh grounds in the filter, refilled the water reservoir and then pressed the brew button. He supposed he would have to come clean and tell the captain what he'd found, although that went against his every instinct. Oswald was a bad cop and a glory whore, the worst of all combinations, as far as Remy was concerned. Not only wouldn't the man be able to see the pattern of the disappearances, he would resent that Remy had.

With the top solve rate of any murder cop in the state of Arizona, Remy had been bumped to Missing Persons six months ago because he'd failed to keep his captain informed of his progress in solving the Campbell Murders. It was a three strikes situation, the case was high publicity because of the social standing of the vics, the killer was an undocumented alien, feeding into the current anti-immigration craze, and the press got to Remy before the public affairs office could rein him in. A combination that led to Detective Remington, and not Captain Oswald, getting the glory.

If these missing boys were connected, then the captain would want to claim the cases for himself. Remy didn't give a shit about the glory. All he wanted was a shot at the sick bastard who was snatching the runaway boys from the street. The bastard who was most likely a cop. If that meant he had to swallow his pride and offer to work as the captain's second on the case, he would. This case needed to be solved right-the-fuck now, and Remy would do anything he could to keep the captain's mouth shut so Internal Affairs didn't start nosing around. That was why he'd gone outside of the Department's resources to begin with.

Resigned to sucking up to his boss long enough to keep the case, Remy poured Oswald a cup of coffee and carried the two mugs to the glass cubicle in the center of the of the room. The better for everyone to see me was Oswald's mantra. He entered without knocking, put the coffees on the edge of the desk, and avoiding the metal folding chair the captain reserved for his underlings, he plopped himself into the leather visitor's chair.

"You wanted to see me, Cap?"

Oswald ignored the peace offering and focused on protocol instead. "Captain."

"Right. Sorry 'bout that, Cap'n. What can I do for you?" He leaned back, crossed a booted foot over a denim-clad knee, rubbed at his two-day beard, then ran a hand through unruly brown hair that was a month overdue for a trim.

Only after he'd made sure to draw attention to each and every violation of the squad's business-casual dress code did he look up to meet Oswald's gaze. He was surprised at the wide grin that split the other man's face. There was undisguised amusement in the raised eyebrows and quirk of lips.

"Get your fucking ass out of my chair, Remington. You are hereby directed to collect your personal belongings and to report to the office of Senator McCloud. You just earned your way into the driver's seat, just like you always wanted. Only now, you're driving the Senator when he's in town."

Remy set his mug down with a thunk and sloshed coffee onto the polished wood. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked. He swallowed hard around the bile that was trying to rise in the back of his throat. "I've got cases—"

"Not any more you don't." Oswald grinned. "Smith and Tieriny already have your files." He nodded toward the action that was taking place in the squad room. Remy's head whipped around in time to see the two detectives walking away from his desk, their arms full of folders. Then his gaze rested on Markins from IT, who was clearly disconnecting his laptop from the docking station.

He whipped his head back to Oswald, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. The only thing Remy had in his life was his career as a cop. _The only thing_. Somehow, this smug bastard had gotten him pulled from Homicide and shunted to Missing Persons. Now he was sending him into hell. Assignments to the VIP details might coveted by others who hoped to get a leg up on their careers. He didn't need any help. He was living his dream, working alone, solving crimes. Remy had no designs on the captain's job, or anyone else's. He just wanted to be left the fuck alone.

It was on the tip of his tongue to quit, but he wouldn't give the prick the satisfaction of hearing the words. If he was going to go out, it would be with a bang. When Oswald rose to follow him to the door, Remy curved his mouth into a semblance of a smile.

"No hard feelings, Cap," he said and put his hand out, as if to shake. The captain's smile slipped a few watts, and a frown creased his forehead. As his hand came up to shake, Remy shoved his palm into the other man's gut doubling him over. In one fluid motion, he pushed Oswald's head into his own quickly raised knee, then lowered the dazed Oswald to the ground.

"No hard feelings at all," he repeated, turning to find an unsmiling man dressed in a shiny black suit waiting beside his desk.

"Fuck. All right. I suppose you're here to escort me out. Let me grab my memory stick. I don't have any other shit." He took the silver thumb drive from his desk and the two of them turned toward the elevator.

Oswald moaned, and climbed to his knees as the two men walked past his cubicle, but no one spoke. Once inside the elevator, shiny suit said, "He was a prick. He deserved that, no?" in accented English.

Remy threw back his head and laughed. "I like the way you think." He eyed his escort with more than a little idle curiosity. Not Internal Affairs escorting him out, that was for sure. He struggled to place the accent...maybe one of the Slavic languages, he mused. Something about the manner in which the man moved, never putting his back to anyone, the tension in his muscles, the wariness in his eyes, all spoke of one thing...a military background. Unless he missed his guess, this man was not associated with the Department. That left the Senator's office.

"You the Senator's personal bodyguard?" Remy asked, wondering why the Senator would send someone to pick him up.

His escort merely grunted, leading the way from the elevator. "Follow."

Remy was a good cop, he stayed alive in part because his instincts were sharp. And right now, mental alarm bells were ringing all over the place.

Last night he'd accessed the Interpol Trafficking in Human Beings database and input the information about his six missing boys. He'd bypassed his own official channels, because something of what he'd discovered indicated a possible connection to law enforcement. Today his job was gone.

Everything about this was off—the timing was too cute.

Before he had time to think much more about the situation they were through the door and shiny suit was steering him toward a black SUV with tinted windows. His escort opened the back door and Remy leaned forward and looked inside.

"Good afternoon, Detective Remington. I hope your passport is up to date."

##  Chapter Two

Remy ignored powdered creamer and sugar, but emptied both packets of instant coffee into the small Styrofoam cup while he waited for the kettle to boil. _Are you kidding me? A fucking teakettle?_ He looked around the small hotel room with its twin beds, nubby carpet, and a table and chair so small that he wondered if he was supposed to work from there or play tea party. He didn't see an Internet connection and this didn't look like the sort of place that supplied free Wi-Fi. He rubbed gritty eyes, yawned, then shuffled his way into the bathroom. He was seriously sleep deprived and needed a shower before the others arrived. Stripping quickly, he squeezed into the coffin sized shower stall, unsurprised at the trickle of lukewarm water. This place was a dump. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he washed using the hotel-provided lavender-scented soap. _Jesus H. Christ_.

After much bumping of elbows and a good hard thunk on his shoulder from the midget high showerhead, Remy stepped out, wrapped the bath mat posing as a towel around his waist, and crossed to his suitcase. He tossed a pair of well-worn jeans and a black T-shirt on the bed and returned to the bathroom for his now-tepid coffee.

He knew he would be meeting with a representative from Interpol and a local detective. The details were sketchy, but when a US Senator says jump, well, he supposed he hadn't much choice or he'd have found himself actually assigned to the VIP driver detail that was now his cover story. Cover story for what though?

Remy gave the mirror a swipe with the spare towel and took a good look. Running a comb through his freshly cut brown hair, he thought briefly about searching for stray grays mixed in with the brown, then gave himself a snort. What the fuck did he care if he had a gray hair or two? At thirty-seven and in his line of work, he was lucky to still be alive. He turned his side to the mirror to catch sight of the latest scar, a long pink pucker that creased his left side. Seven months ago, a bullet had nearly cost him a kidney and was the reason Oswald had been able to get away with reassigning him to Missing Persons. It was just one scar of many, and he knew it would fade with time.

He rubbed his jaw and decided one more day of growth wasn't going to make a difference. The tired eyes would be enough to scare any sane person away, and it wasn't as if he was here to impress anyone. Hell, the only thing he wanted to impress was a hot mouth on the other side of a glory hole. And it had better be soon because it had been a while since he'd taken even that release. He blew out a breath and wondered if he had time for a little stress relief. A quick look at the counter revealed lavender-scented hand lotion to match the soap. With a defeated sigh, he made a mental note to pick up lube and condoms later.

The tap on the door reminded him he was here for a reason. Without hesitation, Remy grabbed his gun from its spot on top of the bureau, and moved to stand just to the side of the door. A quick peek through the small hole gave him a fish-eye view of a dark sleeve and a hand holding an identification card. Remy opened the door with a quick jerk and used his gun to gesture the other man inside.

"Let me see it." He held out his hand for the credentials. With one hand on his weapon and the other reaching for the small leather folder, Remy was fully aware that left him with no hands to hold up his towel. Some things couldn't be helped.

****

"Who the hell are you?" Jamie asked incredulously, not expecting to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Regardless of the gorgeous hunk of man-flesh at the other end of it. Rephrase that, the _naked_ gorgeous hunk of man-flesh at the other end of it, as the man's loosely secured towel slipped to the floor. His gaze traveled slowly over the man's ruggedly handsome face and down the muscled planes of his torso. Pausing longer than was perhaps polite on the long thick length of the man's cock laying heavy against his thigh, he tried not to lick his lips as he continued down the muscled legs to the bare feet poking from beneath the dropped towel on the floor. Maybe a little homespun and unrefined for Jamie's tastes, but undeniably gorgeous all the same. "Well, I feel slightly over-dressed," he drawled sarcastically. "If I'd known it was going to be a slumber party, I'd have packed my jammies."

"James Manwearing?" Remy questioned glancing from the ID to Jamie and back again.

Suddenly the man-flesh looked less edible as eyebrows rose high under the shaggy brown hair falling in warm hazel eyes. Jamie grabbed his black wallet from the stranger's fingers and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "It's pronounced Mannering," he snapped. "I'd ask to see your badge, but I don't think you can show me anything I haven't already seen."

Jamie strode across the room to pull back the flimsy curtain and peer out into the street. Good God, what a dump! He had no idea dives such as this one even still existed in a city as affluent as London. What had good-looking done to deserve this? More to the point, what had _he_ done to deserve this?

One minute he's sitting at his desk, going over the latest reports with one of his team and the next he's being dragged into the Chief Inspector's office and told to clear his calendar and report to this address. There had been no explanation, just the steely glare of his superior and a sticky-note slapped into his palm. Jamie had worked for the man long enough to know that all he could do was follow orders and hope there was an explanation waiting for him when he arrived.

What he hadn't been expecting was a naked man-mountain to open the door and stick a gun in his face. Turning to the man who, thankfully, had shoved some jeans and a shirt on, Jamie put his hands on his hips. "Okay, who are you and what the hell am I doing here?"

"Name's Remington and I was gonna ask you the same thing, Detective Man-wearing."

****

"Inspector. Not detective. Inspector. And it's pronounced Mannering. Inspector Mannering," he repeated, pronouncing it slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted child.

Remy ignored the clipped voice, narrowed his eyes, and returned the thorough inspection he'd been given by Man-wearing. Height-wise they were well matched, with only an inch or two difference, but he had a good twenty pounds on the inspector. The man had black hair that curled over his collar and fell in his face, and deep-set eyes that were currently looking out from under a wrinkled brow. Imagine that, the in-spec-tor looked annoyed.

The pansy ass would likely get along well with Oswald, but probably didn't have a clue about real police work. Fucking shit! Was this how cops dressed in London? Polished black shoes, a charcoal gray suit, and a fruity green shirt and tie. He supposed the guy was trying to show off those dark green eyes. His damned outfit probably cost more than Remy's pick up truck back home.

"Like what you see, Detective?"

"Hardly," Remy snorted. "You look like you belong in a bank. I doubt you'd recognize a bad guy if he jumped up and bit you on the ass. In fact—"

A sharp rap on the door interrupted the tirade he seemed to be building toward. Pushing aside his unreasonable anger, Remy repeated the door opening routine. This time it was a woman who entered at the wave of his gun. She reached into the pocket of her red power blazer and removed her credentials for inspection.

Remy kept the gun aimed at her stomach and took the leather case. "Julia Forsythe, Director, Regional Police Services—European Division. Interpol. Guess that makes you a pretty big deal," Remy said.

"I guess it does," she agreed.

"For God's sake, Remington. Put the gun away. Director, it is an honor to make your acquaintance, I'm James Mainwaring."

Remy ignored their exchange. He locked the door and tucked his gun in his waistband before moving to sit on the edge of the bed. The newcomer was a compact woman in her mid-fifties, with a cap of short salt and pepper hair. Despite the elegant exterior, she carried herself like a cop. He liked that.

"So, a director and an inspector. Somebody want to clue me in on why a plain old detective from Phoenix is here?" He was watching both of them, so he didn't miss the quick nod of Mainwaring's head.

"You're here, Detective, because I asked for you. For both of you. Now, James, if you'll take a seat, I'll explain."

"Call me Jamie," the other man added quickly, and Remy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jamie. _Of course_.

"Within the last few days, each of you entered similar case information into the Interpol database. The London request wasn't enough to set off the sensors. We frequently get data queries from here. What brought the search to my attention was the almost identical request from Phoenix, in the United States. That was a most unusual request, as it came from an investigator going around the system, rather than through the authorized channels."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Jamie muttered.

The director continued as if she hadn't heard his remark. "Would you care to tell me what made you request information from Interpol, Detective?"

He flicked his eyes toward where Mainwaring perched on the small wooden chair, and noted the man at least looked to be listening. "I have six missing boys, between the ages of twelve and fifteen. Each case belongs to a separate police department from one of the cities surrounding the greater Phoenix area. With the different jurisdictions involved, they might not have been matched up, if someone hadn't decided to dump the reports on me. In addition to the age range, these boys are all Caucasian runaways, come from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, and dysfunctional families. Four of the six boys were reported to have been seen talking to an officer. At least two witnesses reported a limousine with diplomatic plates near where these boys were seen. We don't have a lot of those in Phoenix." He shrugged and suddenly felt as if every hour of the two straight days he'd been awake was throbbing along with his headache. He rubbed his temples, then dropped his hands.

"Call it gut instinct, if you want. Or experience. Something about this feels like there's a lot more going on than just runaways. There are no bodies and yet these boys are disappearing. I think it's possible there is some connection to the International human trafficking trade and it may be possible there is a cop involved. If you need to know, I was just beginning an unauthorized investigation, and I was circumventing official channels to look for similar patterns. If I had used internal resources to run the data, my boss would have taken the case and turned it into a circle jerk with the press."

He saw the inspector's mouth open, then close, as if he'd changed his mind about what he wanted to say. The director curved her lips, but only someone very unobservant would have called it a smile.

"Succinct. I happen to believe you're correct about the human trafficking angle. It's why you're both here. I want you to spend the next several days combing through the evidence you each have gathered, looking for similarities—you know what to look for. I've included a few other cases. It's hard to gather much data without alerting the locals and setting off serial kidnapping alarms prematurely. I'm unwilling to expose our interest until we have more evidence."

Remy jumped to his feet, unable to contain himself any longer. "You want me to sit on my ass looking at case files, when I should be back in Phoenix turning every screw I've got in order to find these boys," he said, feeling the heat rise in his face.

"The boys aren't in Phoenix, anymore, Remington. You know that," Jamie said quietly.

"What the fuck do you know about it?" Remy snapped, before he remembered what the director had said. He took a steadying breath. "Shit. Sorry. How many?" he asked.

"Six. That I know of. I can't help but feel I might be missing some."

"Good. Then we're all agreed," the director said brightly. "I'll have the case files delivered immediately."

"Wait!" Jamie said.

"What?" Remy asked.

"Where, for God's sake?" Jamie added, looking around in apparent horror.

"Well," Julia said slowly, "I thought you could review the files for a couple of days, then we'd discuss the assignment. I have a relatively small budget, which I prefer to conserve until we are actually conducting fieldwork. I don't wish to prejudice your thinking before you've looked at all the evidence, but there is reason to suspect people in more than one government agency may be involved. That means keeping you two off the official radar. Because people know you've been working the London disappearances, Jamie, I would prefer we do this away from your home, as well. If this is in fact human trafficking in young boys, the profits will be enormous. That could put you both in danger if you are connected in any way other than as straightforward missing persons cases.

"So, I suppose it will have to be here. Although I could check at the front desk to see if they have a larger room available. This would get cramped with the two of you staying here," she conceded.

It was Jamie's turn to smile, and Remy had to look away from the slow curve of the perfectly shaped lips.

"You're a clever one, aren't you, Director?"

"I am, yes."

"Have the records delivered to the Park Lane Marriot. I'll take care of the rest. Is it acceptable to use my own name?"

"Ah...yes. I think that's best, don't you?"

Feeling as though he'd missed something important, Remy nevertheless kept quiet. He would let these two suits have at their little playground games. He just wanted to get his hands on the records.

****

When the director left the room, so did the apparent calm she had brought with her. Jamie could feel Remington's eyes on him and it made him uncomfortable, not that he would ever show it, of course, not him, not Anna Mainwaring's boy. He knew how to mind his P's and Q's, had been doing so practically from birth. His mother had no place for anything other than the most precise etiquette and, while he would freely admit that he was not the snob his mother or his siblings were, some things were too well ingrained to be less than habit.

One of these habits was comfort, and that was something this hotel was sorely lacking. Gazing around the room at the dingy carpet, he grimaced and then turned up his nose at the curtains, which looked as though they hadn't been laundered since his mother opened her Harrods account. He ignored the surly American who sat on the bed next to a rather odious looking stain and wandered into the bathroom, trying to ignore the way the soles of his expensive loafers seemed to stick to the carpet with each step. "Dear God!" Jamie hissed, pausing in the doorway, unwilling to even cross the threshold into the room. "Please don't tell me you showered in here." He held his hand up as the other man opened his mouth to speak. "I said don't tell me." A full body shudder shook his lean frame and he backed into the room. "Pack your saddle bags, Remington, there's a good chap. We're moving up in the world."

"What's wrong with here?" Remy growled, leaning back on the bed. "You too good for this place?"

"Quite frankly," Jamie countered without batting an eye, "yes. I'll be waiting for you downstairs in the car. If we hurry, we'll be in time for lunch and Pierre does wonderful things with a dead cow. Something I understand you Yanks appreciate."

Once he was seated comfortably behind the wheel of his silver M3, Jamie buckled his seatbelt and ran a hand through his black hair. He'd known there was something more going on than simple runaways.

Human Trafficking? Interpol? Diplomats? Cops? What the hell? And to top it all, he had to be attached at the hip to John-bloody-Wayne.

Something about Detective Remington had gotten under his skin from the moment he laid eyes on the man. It could have been his me-Tarzan-you-stupid-little-Englishman-who-has-no-idea-what-the-hell-it-means-to-be-a-cop attitude.

Or maybe it was just the damn walk. It was hypnotic the way the cowboy's hips rolled enticingly under the influence of that slow, steady gait and well-worn boots. Remington owned the word saunter. Or maybe it was the weight of the detective's speculative gaze. The one time he'd caught the other man's scrutiny, he'd been surprised at the ferocity in Remington's eyes, as though it were his own fault that he was looking at him in the first place.

"What the fuck is this?"

Remington's voice was deep and rich with a heavy twang to the vowels and Jamie looked up to find him standing beside the car with a quizzical expression on his face. "It's called a car, Remington. Don't they have them in Phoenix? I didn't know you still rode around on horseback over there." Jamie kept his tone conversational but the sarcasm was still as clear as day. "Throw your suitcase in the back and get in, there's a good chap. If I don't get a cup of coffee soon, I'm going to start twitching."

"Coffee?" Remington's gaze narrowed thoughtfully. "Real coffee?"

"Is there any other kind?" Jamie drawled as he indicated the back seat of the convertible. "What are you waiting for? A written invitation?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a world class pain in the ass?" Remington grumbled while sliding into the seat beside Jamie after tossing his case in the back.

"All the time," Jamie murmured pulling out into the London traffic and heading toward Park Lane. "Just think how boring your day would have been if I wasn't."

The journey was made in silence and by the time they arrived at the front entrance of the Park Lane Marriott, Jamie was on the verge of grabbing Remington by the collar and screaming in his face, "Say something, damn you!" Silence was not always golden and what the hell was that irritating smell coming from the man? It was like...like...old ladies. No, wait, to be precise...it smelled like his Great Aunt Penelope. Why would a grown man from Arizona smell like lavender?

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mainwaring."

The polite voice broke through his reverie and Jamie smiled brightly at the middle-aged man holding his door open for him. "Peterson, good afternoon." He climbed out of the car and nodded to the back seat. "We've got one bag in the back and my travel spare's in the boot, if you wouldn't mind. I'll have another bag brought around later."

"Of course, sir," Peterson replied closing the door and quickly running around to the passenger side to give Remington the same treatment. Jamie had to cough into his fist at the look on the American's face as he stared up at the older man for a few moments before getting out of the car to join Jamie on the pavement.

"This is a friend of mine from the States, and we'll be in my usual corner suite. Thanks, Peterson," Jamie said and handed the man the keys to the car. "Make sure you remember me to that lovely wife of yours."

"I'll see that the bags are sent up to your room, sir," Peterson said, doffing his cap again. "I know Jan will be pleased to hear from you."

"Is this going to take much longer?" Remington grumbled, shifting from one foot to the other.

Jamie rolled his eyes and stage-whispered an apology to Peterson. "Like I said, American." Turning to Remington, he nodded toward the entrance. "Come on then, Tonto." He headed through the doors with Remington following closely behind him mumbling something about Tonto being Native American and stupid limeys, which he, of course, ignored. Entering the vestibule of the Marriott, Jamie threw his arm out in a sweeping motion and grinned at the stoic man-mountain beside him. "Detective, this is what you call a proper hotel."

##  Chapter Three

Remy wasn't a stupid man, and he normally had plenty of confidence to go around—in most situations. He was beginning to feel more than a little out of his element in this one. Climbing into the sporty BMW, arriving at the swank hotel, following behind Mainwaring like some poor country cousin. Just where in a hell did a police inspector get so much money? He hadn't even needed to register. By the time Jamie had spoken to all the little people, the concierge was waiting with the key card to their suite. Once he was inside it hadn't taken him long to realize just how much trouble he really was in.

The worn soles of his boots rolled into the thick beige carpet as he crossed the room to look out onto a panoramic vista of London. Limousines pulled into the drive where doormen waited to help the privileged passengers exit onto the red-carpeted walkway. Then each car trunk received a healthy pat and the drivers took off to wait until they were needed next. Remy turned to scan their working quarters. Two black leather club chairs flanked a stiff looking couch. The predominately neutral shades were brightened with splashes of color in pillows, throws, and art. The dining table was set for four, as if they expected company for dinner.

Turning his mind toward why they were here, he thought the table would be too small for both of them to spread files on. He'd let Jamie take that, and he would pull a chair around to use the couch for his work surface. He glanced up and found Jamie watching him, with a raised eyebrow and a half smile. Even as he watched, Jamie's smile broadened. What the hell was he grinning about? For that matter, when had he started thinking of the inspector as Jamie?

Remy gave a little grunt and walked toward the open door, then stopped dead in his tracks. He spun around, looking for another doorway. Other than the exit to the hall, this was the only other door. There was only one bedroom. Only one bed. He shook his head.

This whole situation got more bizarre by the minute. No doubt the living and workspace would give them plenty of room to spread their files, and the hotel had Wi-Fi. No, if he was going to be stuck inside reviewing case files for the next two days, he certainly couldn't complain about the working conditions. But couldn't they get a suite with two bedrooms?

This room was light years away from the hovel they'd just left—and wasn't that the problem in a nutshell? This hotel was a perfect fit for Inspector James Mainwaring. Classy, elegant, with beautiful attention to every detail. And Remy didn't belong here.

After a brief argument with Jamie about their accommodations, Remy took his bag into the bedroom and started to unpack. He tossed his empty suitcase into a closet big enough to serve as an extra bedroom. Which of course brought him right back around to the fact that their new luxurious suite came with only one bed. A bed big enough to land a plane, but still....

Of course, he wasn't going to mention it again. Not after the fuckin' Brit had the nerve to call him a wuss for complaining. _Jesus H. Christ_. He hadn't had sex in so long he needed to check that he still had a dick every time he took a shower. It was bad enough that he would be working in the same room with all that tall, dark, and mouthy. Now he was supposed to sleep on the opposite side of that mega-mattress and not get laid?

Not that he was looking to get any from Inspector Man-wearing, he sneered the name in his mind. He was definitely off limits. Remy knew his name. He didn't fuck people with names—not real names, anyway. Still, he was only human and he needed to take care of this most basic need before they crawled onto the same bed together tonight. No matter how big it was.

"Where's the closest drug store?" he asked Jamie's back.

Jamie stopped unpacking long enough to look over his shoulder. The movement sent a wave of silky black hair cascading over his forehead, so that green eyes peeked through his bangs. "I'm sure they have whatever you need in the shop downstairs. Just call the concierge, and they can deliver to the room."

Right now, the only thing Remy needed was to get away for a while before he marched across the room, forced Jamie to his knees, and parted those beautiful lips with his cock. Fighting back a moan at that mental image, Remy moved to the bedroom doorway.

"Thanks, I just need to get out and stretch my legs. Need some shampoo," he added. "That shit at the other hotel left me smelling like an old lady. I'm giving myself a fucking headache." He didn't mention the lube and condoms he planned to buy. Surely he could find some hole to stick his dick in before he got himself into trouble. "I won't be long. We can start on the records as soon as they arrive." He took a key card from the table and moved quickly into the hall, before he reached into his jeans to adjust his cock.

****

"What the hell?" Jamie muttered, staring at the closed door. Detective Remington may be drop-dead gorgeous, but he had an air of arrogance and self-righteousness about him that was beginning to get right up Jamie's nose. He'd wandered behind him like a sulky three-year-old as Jamie had arranged the room and stopped to chat to several of the staff who wished him good afternoon. The man obviously thought he was too good to even acknowledge their presence, as he did no more than grunt when he was introduced. He chuckled softly and continued to unpack. Not that Pierre, the Marriott's chef had done more than grunt himself. The little Frenchman had practically sprinted from the kitchen when the word that Jamie was in reception had filtered through to him, and he'd clasped Jamie to his bosom, kissing both cheeks exuberantly.

The chef had looked Remington over and filed him under uncouth, ill-mannered American in a matter of seconds, and Jamie had watched with amusement as the detective had bristled in annoyance. When Pierre had promised he would have two of his best steaks delivered to the room whenever they were ready to eat, one medium rare for Jamie, and one still mooing for Remington, he'd been hard-pressed not to laugh out loud at the look on the other man's face.

He'd known that Remington was confused at the luxury Jamie could afford, but he was not in the habit of bandying his title around, or his money, unless he had to. At the Marriott he was well known and no one had called him anything other than Mr. Mainwearing or in Pierre's case, "Jamie, darling," and he had no intention of filling the surly American in on his birthright. Imagine how much happier he'd be knowing he was bunking with an Earl for God's sake. He'd be a perfect little ray of sunshine. Jamie sniggered at the thought of Remington being a little ray of anything and stretched, hearing his back pop in protest at the movement.

"At least that explains why he smells like Aunt Penelope."

****

In the end, he'd decided he would have to take care of this himself. The last thing he needed was to get picked up for lewd and lascivious. Wouldn't that phone call be interesting? Uh, Inspector, I could use a little help here. He snorted. Yeah, he could use a little help, all right. Maybe he'd find a club tonight and grab a twink to take to the back room. A short blond, with brown eyes and thin lips. God, anything but tall, dark, and fuck-me-stupid.

Remy stripped quickly, eyed the tub, but settled for the glass enclosed shower stall. He gathered his shampoo, soap, and the all-important lube, and after adjusting the temperature, stepped inside. He washed quickly, preferring to get business out of the way before pleasure, although this little bit of pleasure was practically going to be all-business. Christ, he didn't remember being this horny in his life. Just the thought of that shit-eating grin Jamie gave him when he'd realized they were gonna share that fuckin' bed...Or the way his green eyes glittered out from under that mop of black hair? He'd almost shot his load right there.

Once every trace of the old lady smell had been replaced by the spicy-man-soap, he leaned back against the tile and let the spray wash over him. Absently, he ran his hand over his furred chest while he conjured up the image of his future twink. Definitely had to be a blond and preferably American. There was no room for a black-haired Brit in his fantasies. He pinched a nipple, adding a twist, nice and hard, just as he liked it. He bit back a moan as his other hand drifted lower to skim lightly over the trail of hair that ran from his navel to the thick patch at the base of his cock. He reached back to tug at his balls, to slow things down a bit.

He poured some lube into his palm and with one foot propped against the opposite wall of the shower, he massaged slick over his dick and balls. He was wound too tight already. Fuck, he needed a man. He wrapped his fist around his cock and with long, slow strokes, his hand began the dance.

Eyes closed, he drew his fantasy blond to mind, nothing but a nameless tool. He pictured pushing him to his knees, imagined soft lips, a slippery tongue, deep, hard thrusts to the back of a willing throat. Then the image shifted and he was holding that eager mouth in place with fingers twisted in long strands of silky black hair as he pumped faster. A moan escaped as his balls drew up tight. With his eyes still closed, he imagined watching his lover's perfectly shaped lips stretch wide around his cock, as he opened his throat and took him all the way down. Black hair streamed back from the chiseled face as the spray from the shower left glistening drops of water running over the creamy skin. Familiar eyes looked up, as his imaginary lover swallowed around his cock and the tingle at the base of his spine seemed to suddenly shoot straight out the head of his dick.

His propped foot hit the floor in order to keep his balance and he gentled his stroke. The load he shot would have drowned a real man. With a final pulse, his body let go of the stress that had been building ever since Jamie had walked into his hotel room. _Fuck_ _. Jamie._ Somewhere along the way, his fantasy had shifted to the man who even now waited in the other room. To his sultry mouth, sculpted face, and eyes that seemed to see straight through him.

With a sigh of relief that it had only been a fantasy and Jamie would never know, Remy opened his eyes and found a steamy green gaze watching him through the glass shower door. At the look of hunger on the other man's face, Remy milked his cock with a few more strokes. Then he rinsed his hands, never looking away from the other man.

****

Jamie had been hanging his shirts when Remington had returned to the room from his trip to the store. After grunting his usual pass for a hello, the man had tossed the key card onto the table inside the door and then began to strip out of his clothes as if undressing in front of relative strangers was something he did every day. Not that Jamie hadn't appreciated the impromptu show—he had a pulse for God's sake—and beneath the worn jeans and button down shirt, the detective was a sculpted vision of muscles and honey-toned skin; and that was just his back.

In his peripheral vision, Jamie could see Remington folding his jeans and shirt and laying them over the back of the leather couch in the corner of the room. The obsessive neatness looked automatic, because the man's face was impassive as he completed the task, as though the actions had been drummed into him. Jamie's gaze narrowed as a brief question about the type of upbringing the detective had floated across the surface of his mind. He wouldn't have pegged Remington as the neat freak type—interesting. Maybe the guy had more layers than asshole after all.

"Seen enough?" Remington said gruffly, storming past in his boxers, the paper bag with his purchases gripped in a closed fist.

Ignoring him completely, Jamie rolled his eyes as the bathroom door slammed behind the other man. "Okay, maybe not that many layers then," he mumbled, smoothing a hand down the fabric of the shirt he had just hung in the wardrobe. He turned back to his suitcase on the end of the bed and took out his underwear and jeans, stowing them in the top drawer of the dresser before zipping his case and pushing it on top of Remington's bag in the bottom of the wardrobe.

Actually, a shower's not a bad idea. Jamie grabbed a pair of jeans from the drawer, a shirt, and fresh underwear. It wasn't as though they would be going anywhere. The files had been delivered while Remington was out. Four large boxes of them to be precise, marked London, Hamburg, Phoenix, and Washington.

Padding across the room while he waited for his turn in the bathroom, Jamie gazed out across the magnificent view of Hyde Park. God, he loved this town. The sounds, the smells, just bloody everything. He knew that his mother thought he should be attending more charity balls, more dinners, more society headlining events, but all he wanted to do was live his life quietly in London, without all the hoypoloy that went with his title. _Yes, I can see you really hate to use your family's standing. Is that why we're looking out onto Hyde Park instead of a brick wall?_ Jamie didn't have time to answer inner Jamie as a rumbling moan emanated from behind the bathroom door. Followed by what sounded like the squeaking of scrabbling fingers on tile.

"For fuck's sake, what's he doing in there?" Jamie pondered aloud as he strode across the room to the door. "Remington? Are you okay?" There was no answer just the sound of cascading water and another low moan, and he huffed in frustration. "Bloody moron's probably fallen on his arse." _Hadn't you better go and pick him up then? Or do you want to explain to the director why your "partner" died of hypothermia because you left him on the bathroom floor?_

Sighing heavily, Jamie slowly turned the handle and was met with a face full of steam. An unbidden gasp left his lips as the steam cleared partially and he saw Remington. Big, beautiful, should-be-on-a-billboard-in-a-cowboy-hat-and-jeans-with-a-fag-hanging-out-of-his-mouth Remington. Except he wasn't prostrate on the floor.

Jamie froze in the half-open doorway as his gaze swept over Remington from top to toe. The man was fucking gorgeous fully clothed, but naked, rivulets of water dripping down that body and one of the most impressive cocks he had ever seen fucking the man's clenched fist; he was breathtaking. He knew he should just close the door as quietly as he could and back away, but he couldn't. There didn't appear to be enough blood left in his brain to make any coherent decisions, as it was rapidly pooling in his cock as it swelled against his zip.

He couldn't drag his gaze away from the pleasure on Remington's face, a deep primal need to be the one who produced that look unfurled low in his belly. Jamie's tongue snaked out to moisten his suddenly dry lips, and he palmed his own erection through his clothes, trying to remind his errant cock that this was bad etiquette. But somehow, he didn't think his cock gave a shit and neither did he as he watched the big man bring himself off with a guttural moan and a load that made him want to applaud. Then those lust-blown hazel eyes opened and it was too late to make his retreat as Remington stared straight at him.

Clearing his throat, Jamie mumbled lamely, "I heard a noise." He still didn't move as Remington raised a sardonic eyebrow, cleaned himself of his seed, and then turned off the shower. Nor did he leave when the man opened the shower door and grabbed a towel off the rack, wrapping it around his waist to cover his half-hard cock from Jamie's view. "Thought you'd fallen," he added as Remington paused in the doorway and gazed pointedly at Jamie to move out of his way. At which point Jamie's feet finally responded to the signals his brain was rapidly sending and he skittered past Remington into the bathroom, his cheeks filling with warmth at Remington's heavy drawl of, "Shower's free."

Closing the bathroom door, Jamie leaned his head against it and closed his eyes. _Holy shit!_ _I am in big trouble_ _._

****

_Fuck, I am in big trouble_ _._ Remy closed his eyes and leaned against the bathroom door, willing his heart to stop trying to hammer out of his chest. Thank God, Jamie had been dressed, because if he'd had to look at all that tall, dark, and bend-me-over...well, he would have done just that.

Christ, he didn't even know for certain the man was gay. _Of course he's gay. He looked ready to lick your pop, didn't he?_ Oh shut up, he told his inner voice. It had taken every bit of internal fortitude to walk out of that bathroom without dropping to his knees to worship at the altar of Jamie.

When the sound of the shower invaded his thoughts, Remy pushed away from the bathroom door, and went to dress. It was time to do what he'd come here for. He needed to find those boys. He pulled on a pair of well-worn jeans and a fresh T-shirt and moved to the living room to get started.

He began with the carton labeled Phoenix. He sliced open the red strip of tape and folded back the flaps of the box. A thick layer of bubble wrap protected a slim laptop computer. Underneath the electronics was a stack of unfamiliar manila folders bearing familiar names.

His official police computer. Copies of his case files. A US Senator at their disposal. He'd always thought of Interpol as not much more than an efficiently run international databank. In a little more than twenty-four hours, Director Forsythe had collected everything she needed to conduct a covert investigation, including him. He filed that knowledge away for later.

Arranging the six files in chronological order on the dining table, he trailed his hand over each name, reconnecting with the facts. Peter Walker, thirteen. Ran away from his home in Flagstaff nearly six months before Remy had even been assigned to Missing Persons. Last seen near a homeless shelter in downtown Phoenix. Although the shelter director reported seeing him talk to an undercover officer, too much time had passed to be sure. None of the officers who worked that area responded to his request for information. The case was a dead end. Then, with a sudden lurch of his stomach, Remy checked the date on his watch. Peter would turn fourteen tomorrow. If he was still alive. "Happy fuckin' birthday, kid," he muttered.

The next box contained the London case files and another laptop. He put the laptop on the table and arranged the files across the couch. He mentally pushed the number of cases away. _Not yet, let's see the scope of this thing._ He opened the remaining boxes, and found six more files in each. Six cases in Hamburg, six in Washington, D.C.

Sweat broke out on his forehead and bile rose in the back of his throat. _Fuck_. He shook his head and wiped a shaky hand over his face. _Fuck!_ He'd barely been able to eat or sleep in the week since he'd found the pattern between his six cases. The nightmares had come for him then, invading every time he closed his eyes. He knew his boys, could see their faces, feel their fear.

Saliva pooled in his mouth and his stomach lurched. Eighteen more cases. Twenty-four missing boys. He looked up to find Jamie leaning against the doorjamb, watching him with an unfathomable expression. Remy moved as casually as he could, but his shoulder bumped against Jamie as he pushed past him on his way to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, turned on the water, and barely made it to the toilet before the spasms emptied the bitter bile from his stomach.

##  Chapter Four

Jamie leaned back on the leather couch and yawned inelegantly. They'd been staring at these files for hours, and he'd just read the same line for the fourth time. He was done and needed a drink. Preferably over ice. Glancing over at Remington from beneath lowered lashes, he sighed inwardly.

God, the man was stone cold. He'd wanked off in front of Jamie without even a pause in his stroke, and then acted as though nothing had happened. As though his deep hazel gaze hadn't locked with Jamie's while his load shot from his cock in waves of epic proportions; or that his cry of completion hadn't shaken Jamie to his very core. _And isn't that the problem? One twitch of an eyebrow and you'd have been on your knees with your mouth open to taste every drop._

Jamie hushed the little voice whispering in his ear, but only because it was right. He couldn't remember ever having had such an immediate reaction to any man, naked or fully clothed, as he had to Remington the moment he opened the door this morning. The irritating moron was just male, from the tips of his short dark hair to the toes on his huge feet. It was the only word he could think to describe Remington—male, pure male. Apart from the Aunt Penelope smell, obviously. But even that had been replaced by some irritatingly appealing spicy scent, mingled with, well...sodding male!

"Are you finished with that file, Man-wearing?"

"May I borrow your gun?" Jamie said conversationally, the tightness of his gut belying the casual tone.

"Why do you want my gun?" Remington said with an arched brow, lifting his gaze from the papers he held in his hand.

"So I can, what is it you Yanks call it? Oh yeah, pop a cap in your arse," Jamie hissed in annoyance. "It's pronounced Mannering. Anyway, what sort of name is Remington? Your first? Your last?" He groaned loudly with a grimace, wrinkling his nose. "Don't tell me...it's both isn't it? Detective Remington Remington, what a mouthful. No wonder you look like a bulldog chewing a wasp most of the time."

"Didn't seem to bother you when you were staring at my dick," the American countered, satisfaction spreading across his face as Jamie's cheeks flushed with heat.

Without another word, Jamie stood up and grabbed his key card from the nightstand and his leather jacket out of the wardrobe, then walked sedately out of the room, before he did something he would regret; like really shooting the fucker.

****

_We have a winner!_ Satisfied with the outcome of their little skirmish, Remy looked down at the remaining file from the London cases, his grin immediately fading. Christ, this was brutal. He didn't blame Jamie for escaping. He'd like nothing better than to walk away for a couple of hours. He rubbed his hand over his face and blew out a breath. One more file to go, he promised himself, then he had to get some sleep.

Aaron Litchfield. Eleven years old. He'd only been added to the case files four days ago. With a jerk, he sat up straight, the knife-like twisting in his gut ratcheting higher. He thumbed quickly through the report, his breath coming fast. Aaron had been reported missing by his grandfather a week ago, after the school called to report his absence. The preliminary report read like a possible homicide investigation, since there was some indication the boy had actually disappeared the day prior to the initial missing persons report. After some pointed questions, the grandfather admitted the boy might have run away after he'd been sent to his room without supper for disobeying. The locals forwarded a copy of the report to Inspector Mainwaring as part of his standing request for information on all missing children.

The file was sparse, but Remy noted the change in the attention to detail once Jamie intercepted the case. Not that any of the early police work was shoddy, because it wasn't. Just like with the Phoenix cases—each boy was from an outlying area of the city, and investigated by a different officer. It seemed more luck than anything else that brought the pattern of the crime to the attention of a single investigator with both the intelligence and sufficient rank to pull all the information together.

Remy didn't often admit he was wrong, but he had been about Mainwaring. The man was nothing at all like Oswald. Once the cases belonged to Jamie, the information was cataloged, cross-referenced, and examined through a microscope. With a grudging respect, Remy admitted to himself that there was a fine cop's mind behind that beautiful face.

He picked up Aaron's case once again, and thumbed through the scant information. A dull ache started behind his eyes, traveled through his brain, and tied itself into a knot at the base of his skull. Missing one week—

"Fuck!" The word exploded in the quiet of the suite. This was all his God damned fault. If he'd only seen the pattern sooner, hadn't hesitated to put the cases into the database, hadn't—

He stood suddenly and the file tumbled from his lap. He felt oddly disconnected. His body moved stiffly toward the bedroom, while his mind fought an internal battle against self-recrimination. With a jerk, Remy tugged his T-shirt over his head and then stepped out of his jeans. He folded his clothes into precise squares and placed them on the chair in the corner of the room.

He crawled between crisp white sheets, cool against his heated flesh and closed his eyes, forcing the memories away. It's this fuckin' case, that's all. Just the fuckin' case.

****

Jamie leaned against the bar and gazed around the club while he waited to be served. He'd needed to get out of the room and away from Remington-fucking-Steele or whatever his bloody name was. Of course, the guy was winding him up on purpose, but there was only one way a knock-down, drag-out fight between them was going to end up, and that was with two naked, sweat-slick bodies clamoring for release.

"Hey, Jamie. Haven't seen you here for a while. The usual?"

Jamie smiled a greeting at the bartender who had stopped before him, much to the chagrin of the other patrons who had been waiting considerably longer for assistance. "Andy, good to see you." He glanced at the array of bottles behind the bar and shrugged. "Surprise me. I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for tonight."

"Hopefully you're in the mood for me," a soft voice murmured close to his ear and Jamie turned his head to look at the man pressed up against the right side of his body. A slow smile curved his lips as he stared down into the piercing blue gaze of Marcus Dolby, sixty-fourth Earl of Sirencester.

"Marcus," Jamie murmured, his gaze taking in the slightly effeminate features and voice, the dark eyeliner making Marcus's eyes pop and the gentle pout of lips in the shape of the perfect bow. As far from Detective Tie-Me-Up-Tie-Me-Down Remington as you can get. Swiftly hushing his inner voice, Jamie leaned toward the slighter man. "I'm always in the mood for a bit of posh, darling. You know that."

When Marcus's lips touched his, he let his eyes drift shut as he immediately took control of the kiss and plundered the wet heat of Marcus's mouth with his slick tongue. He only released Marcus, when Andy gave a loud cough to attract his attention and furnish him with a blue exotic looking cocktail.

"Really?" Jamie said in stunned amazement, glancing between the drink and the bartender.

"You did say surprise you."

"Surprise, mate," Jamie countered, "not frighten the shit out of me." He grinned widely at the other man and picked up his drink, motioning to Marcus to head in the direction of the private booths banking the edge of the dance floor. Once they'd found an empty booth, it didn't take Marcus long to continue where they'd left off, as he climbed Jamie like a howler monkey and latched his lips to Jamie's throat.

Jamie's eyes drifted closed as Marcus worked his neck, pulling the flesh between his plump lips and laving the skin with his tongue. He'd been in this position with the other man on more than one occasion and Marcus certainly knew which of his buttons to push. He wasted no time in reducing Jamie to little whimpers and moans. Marcus's blond hair brushed against Jamie's face, and he lifted his hands to wrap around the almost white strands. Something felt wrong. The hair was silky soft and smelled of coconut, the length winding around his fingers; he couldn't feel the short spiky hair that he imagined a certain detective's hair would feel like in his hands.

_For fuck's sake! Get out of my sodding head!_ Jamie dragged Marcus up and kissed him deeply before pressing his hands to slender shoulders, leaving no doubt as to what he wanted. He gasped when Marcus slid down his body and dropped to his knees, half under the table and half between Jamie's spread thighs. Jamie guessed that in polite society you wouldn't normally find two members of royalty in such a position, but this was Ku Bar and all manner of sights could be seen.

When Marcus's hot mouth closed around his cock, Jamie arched his back against the cushions and tried to concentrate on the perfect slide and suction, designed to bring him off explosively. So why wasn't it working? Squeezing his eyes tight, Jamie put his hands over his face and flinched when the overpowering smell of Marcus's shampoo assailed his senses where it lingered on his hands. He gasped and looked down to watch when Marcus's tongue stabbed into the slit at the head of his cock, and he gripped onto the man's hair, rolling his hips up into the willing heat. Then Marcus ruined it. He looked up at Jamie with those cornflower blue eyes and his mouth stretched wide around the engorged flesh. That's when Jamie felt the flame of passion sputter and die. For a split second in the dimly lit room and the flashing lights, Jamie had been sure that hazel eyes were gazing up at him, the scratch of stubble against his balls as Remington took him all the way to the root and sucked him like there was no tomorrow.

Pushing roughly at Marcus's shoulders, rougher than he had intended to, Jamie apologized with a look as he tucked his rapidly dwindling erection back into his jeans and zipped them up. He knew Marcus was confused, but as far as Jamie was concerned, he could join the club, because he had no bloody idea what was going on. All he knew was that it was Remington's fault. _Again_ _._

With a sudden need to escape, Jamie threaded his way through the crowded dance floor to the rear exit. He hoped an alarm wouldn't sound, but he pushed open the rear fire exit door. He stepped down the few steps to the pavement, the cool night air biting through his thin denim jacket as he left the bar. Then he was momentarily blinded by the flash of a camera going off in his face.

"Evening, Your Lordship," a gruff London voice laughed and Jamie blinked several times before he came face to face with a paparazzi he vaguely recognized.

"Dick'ed," Jamie growled and pushed past the man, quickly hailing a passing cab. He jumped in and slammed the door behind him, but not before the moron had managed to get off another couple of shots. Jamie groaned and laid his head back against the seat after giving the driver the name of the hotel. His mother was going to have a field day with this one.

****

It was almost midnight when Jamie finally opened the door to their suite, having spent over an hour chatting aimlessly to a very attractive chap behind the hotel bar. He'd also imbibed a couple of shots, okay, maybe four, just a little Dutch courage to set himself up for the night ahead. Sighing, he closed the door behind him and placed the key card on the table against the wall. He'd joked earlier about sharing the bed, but after the shower and the bar, he suddenly didn't find the thought of lying next to Remington quite so amusing.

The outer room of the suite was empty and dark, apart from one muted lamp burning on the corner table where they'd been doing their research. The papers of which were still spread around the coffee table and the floor. But there was no sign of Remington, so Jamie assumed he'd just gone to bed. _What? Did you expect him to wait up for you?_

Slipping off his jacket and his shoes, Jamie padded barefoot across the luxurious beige carpet into the bedroom, stopping at the end of the bed to slip out of his jeans and T-shirt, tossing them in a heap on the chair. He couldn't help the curve of his lips when he saw Remington's clothes, all neatly folded on the back of the chair and huffed softly as he made his way around to the unoccupied side of the huge bed.

Jamie lifted the sheets slowly and maneuvered himself under them, trying not to disturb the other man. There was no way he was in the mood for another round of good cop, bad cop; not tonight. When he was satisfied that the lump on the other side of the bed wasn't complaining, he settled back against the pillows and heaved a relieved sigh. It had been a long, long day and the only thing he wanted to do now was have eight hours of uninterrupted, blissful sleep.

****

" _But why, Gramps? I don't like it," he whimpered, knowing even as he did, it was the wrong thing to say. Tears made his breath raspy and his voice thick._

The first whip of the belt across his naked thighs buckled his knees, and he fell to the floor. Then his grandfather's hand moved too fast to see in the dark, once, twice, three more times. Remy screamed in pain when the belt curled around his hip on the last swing and caught his dick. He curled into a ball and his grandfather delivered the final blow in the form of a swift kick to the ribs with his pointy cowboy boot.

" _You listen to me, you little ingrate. Your whore mother up and left you to me, to do with as I see fit. For eleven years, I done everything I could with you. You know everything you need to know and now it's time for you to give back. Dolan paid good money for you to help him out on his farm for the next couple of weeks. I expect you to show him proper respect and gratitude and to mind him as you would me!"_

With a final kick, his grandfather stormed away, leaving Remy in a ball on the floor. He covered his head with one arm and pressed a hand to his mouth, sobbing quietly.

****

Jamie sat bolt upright in bed, completely disoriented. _Why am I awake?_ He listened carefully, but couldn't hear anything that would have precipitated being pulled from his slumber. He mentally shook his head and lay back down against the pillows. Then he heard it again. Hoarse, gut-wrenching whimpers coming from the man beside him.

Reaching across to the lamp on the nightstand, Jamie turned it on and a dim glow cast shadows around the walls. He turned to look at Remington and his stomach bottomed out. The man was slick with sweat, the tendons in his neck in stark relief against his tanned skin. His head was tossing from side to side and his mouth was moving, although nothing coherent was coming out. But even asleep and totally unaware of what he was doing, Jamie could see the pain and fear on the man's chiseled features. Whatever he was dreaming about, Remington was terrified.

"Fuck," Jamie hissed between clenched teeth as he scooted across the bed and placed a tentative hand on Remington's shoulder. _Jesus, he's on fire!_ "Remington, ssssh, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, rubbing his hand in a circular motion on the other man's skin. He ducked a flailing arm and continued to mutter softly, hoping that he would be able to calm Remington enough to wake him without traumatizing him even more. Jamie thought he'd cracked it, too—until one of Remington's muscled arms suddenly lifted from the bed and caught him across the cheekbone.

"Jesus!" Jamie exclaimed, clapping his hand to his face, and then letting out a very unmanly squawk when he was suddenly pinned to the bed by Remington. Gazing up at the other man, whose eyes were now open, but glassy, Jamie realized immediately that Remington was still asleep, regardless of what his movements suggested. "Remington," Jamie grunted, trying to heave the man off him. All he succeeded in doing was making Remington hold him tighter, and grind his hips against Jamie's a little bit more. "For fuck's sake," he mumbled, managing to get one wrist out of the fist it was wrapped in and began to rhythmically stroke down the side of the American's face.

"Remington, it's me, it's Jamie, you're safe now," Jamie repeated over and over in a soft voice, trying to ignore the feel of the growth of prickly hairs against his palm, and the hardness of the other man's cock against his own. "Come on, cowboy, you've got to wake up. It's me, it's—"

"Jamie?" Remington's throat sounded raw and broken as he muttered hoarsely.

"Yeah, it's me, I'm right here," Jamie soothed, brushing the short dark hair back from Remington's sweat dampened forehead. On the second pass, his wrist was gripped tightly again and forced back onto the pillow beside his head. His eyes widened as the darkened gaze dropped to his mouth and he said on an intake of breath, "Rem—" just as Remington crashed their lips together in a brutal kiss.

Not that, if he was forced to think about, Jamie minded. Being kissed by this man was unlike any kiss he had experienced before. It wasn't just a kiss, it was an assault on his senses that left his head spinning and his lungs desperate for oxygen. Even his toes tingled. But then it was over and he was staring up at Remington in stunned silence, so close that every panted breath was a whisper on his skin.

Jamie felt oddly bereft when Remington rolled off him so fast that he briefly wondered if the other man's arse had caught fire, and he turned to find himself faced with a broad, honey-toned back and the sudden arctic wind that was now billowing through the gap between them. Steadying his breathing, he moistened his lips and said shakily, "Remington, I—"

"Just a dream," Remington replied gruffly, pulling the sheets up around his shoulder. "Sorry I woke you, g'night."

Jamie listened to the rapidly fired words and stared up at the ceiling, his head buzzing, his senses humming, and didn't close his eyes again until the first rays of dawn broke through the chink in the curtain.

*

Jamie was awake for about five minutes before he actually forced his eyes open. He'd been listening to the sound of Remington's breathing; long deep breaths completely different from the harsh gasps for air that the other man had woken him with during the night. Opening his eyes, he glanced over at the man spread out on the mattress beside him and let his gaze travel over the tanned torso on display, the sheets having pooled in Remington's lap at some time during the night, and one of his bare legs was hooked over the white cotton. He looked as though Michael Angelo himself had carved him out of a block of honey-colored granite, all hard flesh and ridges of muscle that just begged to be tasted.

Jamie groaned quietly, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet. Grabbing his jeans from the back of the chair, he held them in front of his hard on and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The last thing he wanted was for Remington to wake up and find him in that state. The asshole would never let him live it down.

After he'd showered, taking time to ease the ache in his balls by stroking himself through an intense orgasm with visions of Remington running the cold steel of his gun down Jamie's engorged flesh, before taking his length between those sulky lips. He dressed quickly in dark jeans and a tight-fitting black shirt, leaving the cuffs open and the tails draped over his ass. Fifteen minutes later, he was reclining against the arm of the leather couch with Aaron Litchfield's file open on his chest, when he heard the bedroom door open and the sound of his roommate clearing his throat.

"Good morning, Remington," Jamie said brightly, holding up the cup of freshly brewed coffee he'd made earlier. "Coffee?"

Remington shrugged as he strode across the room, grabbed a bottle of water from the mini bar and returned to the bedroom, throwing a gruff, "Gonna take a shower," at Jamie on the way and slamming the bedroom door behind him.

"Not really what you'd call a morning person, then," Jamie mumbled and turned his attention back to the file before him. Aaron Litchfield, the latest of the missing boys. Basically a good kid. Good grades, stable home. He'd interviewed Paul Litchfield, Aaron's grandfather, personally and apart from admitting to being a little strict with the boy, the old man's love for his grandson was in his pale face and wide-eyed gaze. Aaron had been missing a week, and there had been no sightings of him, either by his own friends or on the street. Jamie had spoken to the coordinators of all of the shelters dotted around the city, and none of them had seen a boy fitting Aaron's description. As with all the others, it was as though he had just vanished into thin air.

****

Remy walked from the bedroom, toweling his hair dry. "The way I figure it, we should finish going through the Hamburg and Washington files this morning, then compare notes. I don't have a handle on this shit yet. What about you?"

He dropped his towel over his shoulders and moved barefoot to the percolator to pour a cup of coffee. When there was no answer, he turned and gave Jamie a long look, taking in the dark blue jeans and a long sleeved dress shirt, open to reveal the other man's lean torso. "Is that supposed to be business casual code for Scotland Yard?" Pointedly, he looked at his own bare chest and faded button fly jeans. "We going somewhere today, Inspector?"

"Err...breakfast. We're going to breakfast...downstairs. So, perhaps you...uh...could finish dressing, and uh...we'll go." Jamie stood, and began to fasten his buttons. With some amusement, Remy expected the other man to turn his back and tuck in his shirt, but Jamie left it loose for now.

With a shrug, Remy walked back to their room, looked over his meager supply of clothes and decided against anything even close to business casual. He grabbed a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, pulled it over his head, then as a concession to the workday, tucked in the hem and put on a belt. In the bathroom, he combed his hair, and then frowned as he caught sight of his reflection. He didn't usually wear his shirts tucked into the waistband of his denims. It looked as if he'd be replacing his favorite pair of jeans as soon as he got home, because there was no way to hide the threadbare patch to the left side of his zipper. He considered his near-constant reaction to the man in the other room, then yanked his T-shirt free and slipped the belt from the loops. No sense showing off.

****

"Oh, your Lo—"

"That will be quite enough, Clarissa," snapped the maître d', cutting off the waitress mid-sentence. "Good morning, sir. If you and your companion will follow me, your table is ready." Charles led the way to a window table that over looked the gardens, the chastised Clarissa following in their wake with a pot of coffee and two cups.

Remy noticed that several pairs of eyes followed their progress through the dining room, but no one actually stared outright. Biting back the urge to check to see if his T-shirt covered his crotch, he slid into the chair the austere man held out for him and placed the napkin over his lap, just to make sure.

"Shall I get your usual, sir?"

"Yes, thank you, Charles," Jamie replied, glancing at Remy. "Would you like to look at the menu, Remington?"

"Nope," Remy said as the girl set his cup next to his hand and gave him a tremulous smile. "Clarissa, darlin', do you think your cook could rustle me up six eggs, scrambled hard, two pieces of toast, and a thick ol' slab of ham? And add some strawberry jelly and a glass of milk, too, sugar," he dropped the young girl a wink, and was rewarded with a bright smile from her and a scowl from Charles.

Swallowing a laugh, he added, "Keep that coffee coming, Chuck."

When they were alone, Jamie leaned in and hissed through gritted teeth, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Speak as if you're a caricature of an American tourist."

"Was I doing that?"

"Well, I've never heard you use that accent before," Jamie said with a huff.

"What, this one?" Remy asked, putting on the Texas accent that often served him well. "Hell, it's easy and sometimes it makes people underestimate you. Besides, Chuck was being a dick. The girl was trying to be polite. I just put on a little show to cheer her up."

"Charles was doing his job. There are certain standards in a place such as this and—" Jamie left the sentence unfinished as the food arrived.

Remy raised one brow and watched as Clarissa unloaded her tray, his lip curling as he noted what the limey was having for breakfast, he should have known. Muffins and strawberry jelly were put down beside a bowl of chopped fruit covered in natural yogurt. His smile widened as Clarissa unloaded his order in front of him, and he dropped her a wink when he caught her eye. Staring down at the large ham steak, the pile of scrambled eggs, and thickly cut toast with a small jar of Tiptree Preserve. He had no idea what Tiptree Preserve was, but he didn't care, he was ravenous and wasted no time in diving headlong into his meal.

"Feel better?" Jamie asked as Remy shoved his last bite of toast into his mouth and pushed his empty plate away.

When he looked up and caught the full effect of his companion's slow, easy smile, Remy's heart rate skittered to a halt then suddenly raced ahead like a pack of wild horses. James Mainwaring was too beautiful for words. Once again his eyes were drawn to the perfectly shaped lips, and he couldn't help but notice the slight sheen of moisture from where a trace of the man's last sip of coffee lingered on his bottom lip. Right next to—he reached out to thumb a crumb away from the corner of Jamie's mouth. Remy cleared his throat, blew out a big breath, and then looked around the dining room, searching for Charles and that damned coffee pot.

Acting as though wiping a crumb from another man's mouth in public wasn't the least unusual, and ignoring the stunned expression on Jamie's face, he said, "All right, after that breakfast, I'm ready to concede. This is a far better hotel than the last dive." Then he used his words as an excuse to adjust his pants, as if his waistband was too small to accommodate all the food he'd eaten.

Jamie's laughter bubbled out. "I think the public toilet on Hampstead Heath would have been better than that place. I can't imagine what Director Forsythe was thinking."

"It seemed like she was thinking Scotland Yard has a bigger expense account."

Mainwaring picked up his coffee and casually looked out the window. Too casually. What he'd said had made the inspector uneasy...why? Well, now that they were both uncomfortable, he might as well get this next bit over with. They would be spending all day locked together in that room. Jamie deserved an apology, if not a full explanation.

"About last night—"

"It was nothing, Remington. You had a nightmare. It happens, to everyone," Jamie said in short jerky sentences. "You were probably over tired from your travel. And this case is enough to give anyone nightmares. Last night was—"

"James, darling, yoo hoo!"

Remy's gaze widened at the sound of the woman's high-pitched squeak from across the dining room, but it was the other man's, "Fuck!" that had him intrigued.

****

"James, darling, I thought that was you," the woman rushed across the room flapping her hand wildly, a slender timid looking man following her closely behind. "I was just saying to Monty, that's Anna's Jamie over there," she glanced over her shoulder at the man who nodded quickly at her, "didn't I just say that, Monty?"

Trying to ignore the amused expression on Remington's face, Jamie squared his shoulders as the couple reached their table. "Daphne," he said, rising to his feet and clasping her hands in his, planting a brief kiss to each of her round cheeks. "How lovely to see you, looking as beautiful as ever, you must tell me your secret."

Jamie didn't bat an eye at Remington's hearty cough-covered laugh from across the table as the older woman preened like a teenager, her ample bosom quivering and her fat fingers patting her coiffed hair.

"Oh stop it, you naughty boy, you'll make Monty jealous," Daphne replied, her gaze falling on Remington. "And who do we have here?"

"Forgive my manners," Jamie said with an apologetic smile. "This is a friend of mine from across the water, Remington. Remington, this is Daphne Fortesque, and this lucky old goat is her husband, Monty." He turned to Remington and sent him a silent plea as he added, "They're friends of my family."

"How do you do, Mr. Remington," Daphne purred, her gaze cataloguing and curious as she looked the man up and down, the curve of her lips making Jamie's stomach lurch. Daphne was an interfering old busybody and he knew without a doubt, that the fact he was breakfasting with a stunning American would not be something she would be able to keep to herself. "So nice to meet His Lordship's friends. I'm sure his mother wishes she were as fortunate."

"Ma'am," Remington replied in the same heavy Texan drawl, Jamie noted. The drawl that was fanning the flame in his belly every time he heard it.

"Well, Jamie, darling," Daphne said squeezing his hand tightly. "We've held you up long enough, must dash. See you soon, I hope."

"I look forward to it, Daphne," Jamie replied. Waving his fingers at her retreating back, he mumbled, "You old buzzard." He sank down into the chair and reached for his coffee, ignoring the amusement on Remington's face at his discomfort. "I wouldn't get too comfortable, Yank. I give her until she reaches reception before she's on the phone to my mother. That ought to wipe the smile off your face."

##  Chapter Five

"God, I feel like I need another fucking shower," Remy said, closing the last of the Hamburg files. He rubbed a hand over his face and remembered he was about two days overdue for a shave.

"There's just so damned much here," Jamie agreed. "What does Forsythe think two investigators are going to do? Twenty-four boys!"

"Yeah, that ain't no fuckin' coincidence. Four major cities, each with six missing boys who fit the profile. None older than fifteen, none younger than eleven."

They each sat in one of the club chairs, looking at yellow notepads, taking turns pointing out facts they both already knew.

"Each boy comes to these four big cities from outlying rural areas."

"Each case reported to different investigators."

"Why only six? Because our bad guy has decided it's the most he can take from any one city before he draws attention to the pattern?"

"DC and Hamburg are probably dead ends, the cases are too old."

"He's likely still here in London."

"Might have already left, he's got number six. Aaron Litchfield."

"Fuck!"

Just then, Jamie's phone rang, and he answered it on speakerphone. "Mainwaring."

"Jamie...is that you, darling? You sound funny. Do you have me on that infernal speaker thing again? I wish you'd just answer your phone properly. A man of your stature should—"

Remy watched Jamie's cheeks flush as he jumped up and frantically tried to turn off the sound of the female voice. He gazed down at his notepad, only half listening to Jamie's side of a heated discussion, dotted with "Mother for God's sake, I'm a grown man and I'll—" and "Daphne Fortesque is an old bag and you know it. You can't stand her either—" Admittedly, the "I most certainly will not. I'm not subjecting him to the Anna Mainwaring inquisition—" caused him to pay more attention but judging by the look on Jamie's face, the man had received the slap down from his mother because he muttered, "Okay...I said yes didn't I? Yes, no! I'll drive...if you do mother, I promise you we will not attend. I will drive. Yes...goodbye, Mother."

"What was all that about?" Remy asked with a raised eyebrow as Jamie snapped his cell shut and tossed it on the couch before following it down, his long legs draping over the arm. Not that Remy noticed...he had far better things to think about.

Jamie sighed heavily and picked up his notebook. "Come on, we need to get this done."

"Why the big rush all of a sudden?"

"Because my poor American friend, I regret to inform you that we're going out to dinner tonight." Jamie grimaced and scratched through some notes on his pad. "We've been summoned to Chez Mainwaring."

****

Jamie stabbed at another mange tout on his plate and shoved the crisp green pod into his mouth. Just when he had Remington bloody whatever, or whatever bloody Remington, figured out...he pulled a one eighty on him and turned into a completely different person. He'd been concerned about the man's first reaction to his family home when he pulled up the drive, but the asshole hadn't batted an eyelid, as though he was invited to English ancestral homes every day of the week.

Then the freak had proceeded to charm the pants off everybody at the table, including his mother, who had giggled like a schoolgirl. He didn't think he had ever heard his mother giggle. He didn't even know she could. Now the irritating bastard was chuckling with Marjorie bloody Attwater as though they'd been separated at birth! _Jealous, James, darling?_ "Fuck off," he hissed.

"What did you say, dear?"

Jamie's gaze flew to his mother's beside him at the head of the table. "Nothing, nothing," he said quickly, cutting off a slice of steak and pushing it into his mouth. "Did you get your hair done?"

"Don't change the subject, darling. And don't speak with your mouth full," Anna complained with a wrinkle of her carefully powdered nose. "I don't really need to see half a masticated cow at the dinner table."

Jamie felt, rather than saw, the glance that Remington threw at him, so he ducked his head and tried to concentrate on what his mother was murmuring as she leaned in. His mouth dropping open in stunned amazement as she said, "Your charming friend seems to be getting on very well with Marjorie. Perhaps you should intervene before he steals her away from you."

Jamie followed his mother's gaze to Marjorie and Remington side by side on the other side of the table, heads close together, Marjorie holding her napkin up to her eye as if to wipe a tear as she laughed boisterously at something the American murmured to her. His head was spinning. Had he read the signals wrong? Maybe Remington was bi? He could have sworn the man was as bent as a banana but who was to say he didn't swing both ways? _Oh my God! Did he just ask her to call him Remy? What the fuck_?

Dessert was a quiet affair, at least for Jamie. Remington, Marjorie, his mother, his brother Hugo, and Emily, his brother's girlfriend, were absolutely enthralled with the American. They listened to his stories of his life back in Phoenix, which frankly sounded like some ridiculous shoot-'em-up cop show from the television, hanging on his every bloody word.

As he gazed around the table, Jamie was suddenly struck by the notion that Marjorie and his family must have been abducted by aliens and these were the clones they'd left behind. What was wrong with them? His gaze narrowed as it met Remington's and the man dropped him a wink. Whatever it was, it was Remington's bloody fault. And he was going to tell him so.

"Shall we take our coffee in the drawing-room?"

Jamie smiled at his mother and kissed her cheek. "Actually, Mother. I think I'll show Remington around the grounds, he'd probably feel more at home amongst the horses." He glared at the other man who was watching him intently and jerked his head toward the door. "Come on, old boy, nothing like a bit of fresh air after a big meal."

He heard Remington following him through the kitchen, the man's cowboy boots echoing on the quarry tile, and then out the back door onto the graveled walkway of the gardens. Stomping along, Jamie mumbled beneath his breath until they reached the paddock and the row of stables in the small courtyard. Once he drew level with the empty end stall, he turned on his heel to angrily face the reason for his irritation.

"What the fuck were you doing in there?" Jamie demanded, lifting a finger to jab it in Remington's chest. "Marjorie is very impressionable, and she doesn't deserve to be led on by your dreamy accent and bedroom eyes. I won't have her hurt."

Okay, Remington doubling over clutching his stomach and laughing so hard he began to gasp and tear up, was not the reaction he'd expected...but it was the one he got. "What's so bloody funny?"

"You...you're bloody funny. I'm not interested in Marjorie and she's not interested in me," Remington sputtered. "She's a lesbian."

"Don't be ridiculous," Jamie said incredulously. "She is not. Marjorie Attwater has been in love with me for years."

"No she hasn't."

"How would you know?"

"She told me."

"Why would she tell you something like that? She just met you."

"Because, you arrogant asshole," Remington replied, his laughter subsiding, "I actually had a conversation with her, instead of ignoring her like you do. She's been having a little fun of her own at your mother's matchmaking attempts and it kept her own parents off her back about finding a man." He took a step forward. "What are you so mad about anyway? You don't want her."

Jamie's gaze widened as Remington took another step and he found himself inside the empty stall. "How the bloody hell do you know what I want?" An involuntary gasp fell from his lips as he was crowded up against the wall by the mountain of muscle, and God help him, he made a little sound in the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like a moan.

"I know exactly what you want, Inspector," Remington said lowly, grabbing Jamie's wrists and pinning his hands on either side of his head. "Exactly who you want...and it ain't no prim and proper English rose."

Jamie had time to moan once more before Remington's lips met his. The kiss was intense, passionate, and literally stole the air from his lungs. Remington's tongue plundered his mouth, not asking for entrance, just taking it, taking him. The sensual assault continued as Remington let go of his hands, and Jamie cupped his face, holding the man to him, not wanting the feel, the taste, to stop. Then Remington's fingers were pulling at the hem of his shirt and fumbling with the button on his jeans, yanking down the zip and slipping inside to release Jamie's engorged flesh.

"Oh, fuck," Jamie whispered when large, warm hands engulfed him, stroked him, the thumb rubbing into the weeping head of his cock. "Remy." He gazed into the other man's lust-blown eyes, and groaned when soft lips brushed against the palm of his hand before Remington slipped from his grasp and onto his knees on the straw. "Yes, oh God, yes!"

Remington took him in so fast and so deep that Jamie's head jerked back and smacked onto the wall behind him. The stab of pain was a small price to pay for the exquisite torture Remington was dealing out as his head bobbed up and down on Jamie's cock, the man's tongue driving him insane as he lapped at the pearly drops steadily leaking down his shaft.

"Is this what you want, Inspector?" Remington pulled off, gazing up at Jamie. "You want me to suck you down, make you come...make you scream?"

"Yes...you fucking bastard...don't stop." Jamie moaned sliding his fingers into Remington's hair and urging him back onto his cock. "Do it...come on...suck me."

"Say my name again," Remington said, refusing to drop his gaze.

Jamie smiled softly as he swiped a thumb over the big man's cheekbone. "Suck me...please, Remy." He was rewarded with a wide grin and Remy's mouth on his cock, sucking him down to the root, laving at the bundle of nerves beneath the head on every upstroke, his other hand cupping and rolling Jamie's sac. His pending orgasm moved through him with the inevitability of a freight train, his nerve-endings on fire, his balls drawing up tight as the fiery tingle flowed through him. "Remy...gonna..." He gave Remy ample warning, but the man simply increased his movements and pulled up to suck on the thick head of Jamie's cock, pushing him to the edge.

Jamie exploded into Remy's mouth, his moans and harsh breaths echoing around the stables as Remy sucked him through his orgasm and kitten-licked him through the aftershocks until he couldn't stand it a moment longer. Grabbing Remy's face, he hauled the other man to his feet and brought their mouths together in a bruising kiss, one that was returned with equal fervor.

When the kiss finally ended, they were both panting, so close that they shared each other's exhalations; Remy's hands against the skin of Jamie's lower back, Jamie with one arm looped around Remy's neck and the other pressed against the man's chest as they stared at each other. Neither of them said a word, each not wanting to end the moment, lost in their own thoughts.

Jamie took a deep breath and opened his mouth just as his brother's voice echoed around the brick outbuilding. "Jamie? Are you in here, you arse? Mother needs to talk to you. Now." Letting out his breath on a long sigh, Jamie lifted his hand from Remy's chest and gently swiped his thumb over Remy's swollen lips, moaning as the other man's tongue flicked out to caress his flesh.

"Be right there," he shouted back.

****

Jamie took his hand as they walked from the stall. When they reached the main door, he'd turned to give Remy a long look and squeezed his hand. A promise of things to come. Remy felt a little flutter in the vicinity of his heart, something he wasn't even sure he possessed. Was this what it would feel like to be in an actual relationship? That thought was so alien, so far out of his realm of experience that he had to look over just to make sure he wasn't imagining the man walking beside him.

Remy brushed his fingers over his own swollen lips and hid the smile he felt threaten. He wasn't the sort of man who socialized often...too many ghosts for that, so he'd been surprised to realize how much he'd enjoyed himself tonight, talking with Jamie's friends and family. Especially once he noticed it was making the other man crazy. He'd felt Jamie's gaze on him throughout the evening, hot and heavy as a caress, and when they'd been alone outside and Jamie had turned on the jealous outrage, well, it had been a fucking aphrodisiac. He didn't think anyone had ever wanted him with such a possessive hunger. The unchecked desire in the other man's eyes had driven him to his knees.

Now he noticed the grim set of Jamie's mouth and the look had things tightening low in Remy's stomach, and not in a good way. Jamie's mother was waiting alone in the drawing room when they returned. Apparently the others had been dismissed—or run for cover. Either way, Remy knew he didn't want to be in the middle of this.

"I'll wait for you outside, Jamie—" he began.

"No, Mr. Remington, I think it's best if you stay." Mr. Remington? What the fuck had he done?

"Mother, for God's sake, the man is my partner, he has no need to be subjected to whatever it is that has you upset."

"Is that so? Your partner..." she said coldly and Remy immediately realized she'd misunderstood Jamie's use of the term. He opened his mouth to correct her impression then snapped it closed when she tossed a newspaper at the man beside him.

"If he's your partner, maybe you can explain why the paparazzi caught you sneaking out the back door of a gay nightclub last night. Or perhaps that's where you really acquired Mr. Remington. Either way, this sort of behavior is completely unacceptable for someone in your position. I am deeply disappointed in you, yet again.

"You are James Tristan Mainwaring, Earl of Fordham. This is not the first time I have had to remind you that it is incumbent upon someone in your position to maintain the highest degree of public decorum," her voice dripped with ice and Remy was sure the temperature actually dropped in the room with each word. He heard Jamie's voice, tight with anger, respond but he had no idea what the man said. _Earl? Shit._

Without a backward glance, Remy strode from the room and got in the car to wait for his ride back to the hotel. Hitting the cool night air was like the cold shower he should have taken rather than gone on that walk with Jamie. Thoughts raced through his mind. The car. The clothes. The suite. This estate. Each thought brought him closer to the realization of just how badly he'd fucked up.

When the car door was wrenched open and Jamie flung himself inside, Remy held up a hand, indicating he didn't want to talk. Jamie ignored the warning, and reached out to try to take his hand. He batted the other man's fingers away and growled, "Just shut up and drive."

The journey was made in silence as Jamie headed the car toward London. Neither uttered a word until they approached the hotel and the man beside him tried again. "I'm so sorry, Remy. Mother overstepped her bounds and what she said was completely uncalled for. I can't imagine what you must think of us. She isn't usually so blunt in front of others. I can only blame that article; she's very particular about what she perceives as fitting behavior."

"I said shut up."

"Come on Remy, you're not going to hold my mother's issues against me, are you? Not after tonight—"

"Apparently inspectors must out-rank detectives, because you're not listening to what I'm telling you," Remy hissed, the rage that had been on slow simmer suddenly boiling over.

"Remy! It's not like that and you know it. I thought after what—"

"After what? After you got what you bought and paid for? This isn't any fuckin' expense account, is it?" He waved his hand toward the hotel. "This is all you, getting what you fuckin' want, when you want it. God forbid the illustrious Earl of Fords or whatever-the-fuck you're called has to live within the limits of his job, like the rest of us poor peons. Well, fuck you, my Lord!

"That was the first blow job I've given since I was fifteen Goddamn years old. It's good to know I can still get on my knees to earn my supper and a place to sleep." He opened the car door and walked into the night.

##  Chapter Six

Jamie woke up alone in the huge bed, the other side undisturbed. He sighed heavily and sat up, the crisp white sheet pooling in his lap. Last night had gone from total bliss to total bust and instead of waking up in Remy's arms this morning, he had no idea where the man was or if he even came back to the hotel last night. _Stubborn arse is probably on a park bench somewhere, swapping stories with a tramp who's picking his pocket as we speak._

He threw back the covers and clambered from the bed, striding into the shower and turning it on to warm as he stepped out of his boxers. Obviously, he loved his mother, despite her faults, but he could have cheerfully wrung her neck last night for her impeccable timing. He stood beneath the cascading water and grabbed the bottle of complimentary shower gel, squirting some in his palm and proceeding to give himself a thorough wash. The faint scent of the straw and Remy still clung to him and he wanted to get rid of it.

Even now, the way she'd spoken to Remy, the way she'd looked at him, made Jamie's cheeks flush with mortification and his skin crawl. She'd stared through the man as though he were nothing, not fit to tarnish her presence with his. His mother had made it her life's work to embarrass him and he was used to it, but he'd never been ashamed of her until last night.

Turning off the flow of water, he stepped out of the cubicle and grabbed a towel, drying himself vigorously before tossing it toward the hamper and then padding back out into the bedroom. He pulled open the wardrobe and grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a navy button down, once again leaving it un-tucked and the cuffs undone. Jamie walked barefoot across the room and opened the door, pausing mid-step when he saw Remy with his feet up on the coffee table, a file in one hand and a steaming cup of java in the other. "Morning," he tried tentatively.

Remy looked up and indicated the box of donuts on the table. "I want to interview the grandfather again."

Jamie realized that there was no way on earth that Remy was going to refer to last night, so he sighed inwardly and poured himself a cup of coffee. "The grandfather? You mean Paul Litchfield?"

"It's the only grandfather I know in London," Remy said sarcastically.

"Why?" Jamie demanded, taking a gulp of the hot, strong, coffee. "I interviewed him myself, he's got nothing to do with this. He dotes on Aaron. The poor man was prostrate with grief. He just wants his grandson back."

"He's lying," Remy countered with a shake of his head. "It's obvious."

Annoyance uncurled in Jamie's belly, and he narrowed his gaze as he stared down at Remy where he reclined on the couch. "What are you saying? That I missed something?" He grabbed one of the chocolate covered donuts and took a bite, not bothering to wipe his mouth before continuing. "Or are you saying I don't know how to do my job?"

"Well, I wasn't gonna say anything, but since you brought it up..."

"Paul Litchfield doesn't have anything to do with his grandson's disappearance," Jamie blustered, ignoring the smirk on Remy's face and mentally kicking himself for rising to the bait.

"Get off your high horse, Your Lordship," Remy drawled, waving the file at Jamie. "If the old man's telling the truth, it means that Aaron is not one of our boys. He wouldn't fit the runaway profile, which would mean that our suspect is still working in London. Therefore, we need to determine if he's lying or not."

Jamie wasn't particularly happy with the tone of voice Remy was using, even if what he said did make a modicum of sense. He didn't enjoy being spoken to as though he were a slightly deficient six-year-old. "Whatever," he said huffily, slamming down his coffee cup and slipping his feet into his trainers. He grabbed his keys and the room card from the table and turned to glare at the still lounging American. "Well come on then, Detective Know-It-All, we'll drive out to Chiswick and interview him, again." He waited while Remy pulled on his cowboy boots and stood up.

"Good," Remy said with a smug smile. "Let's go, then. We need to be back in time for our meeting with the director."

"What meeting?"

"The one I asked for," Remy replied his face impassive. "I told her we were finished with the initial screening of the records and needed to hear what she had in mind. I'm beginning to think I could do more good back in Phoenix. I could also stop in Washington on the way back. But if this is all computer legwork, there's no reason for me to stay any longer."

"No reason?" Jamie muttered in amazement.

"Absolutely none."

Jamie almost flinched at the icicles dripping from those last two words as Remy brushed by him and out of the door. He wasn't sure what the fuck had just happened, but he was fairly sure that Remy was planning on leaving London...leaving him. This was a side of Remy he hadn't seen before, cold, dismissive, disconnected. It couldn't be just because he'd found out his family were loaded and minor royalty, surely? There was something else going on in that thick head, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the blowjob remark Remy had hurled at him last night.

****

"Let me handle this, cowboy. He already knows me, and we don't need to stress the man unduly. He's likely to believe we're here with the worst sort of news, anyway." Jamie added the last under his breath, but Remy heard him well enough. Jamie telegraphed tension, from his grip on the wheel to the tick in his tightly clenched jaw. He needed Jamie to develop a thicker skin; this was going to be an emotionally hard interview. One way or the other, they'd both feel dirty when they drove away. They couldn't afford to pull punches if they wanted to help young Aaron Litchfield—if he could still be helped.

Remy closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath of the English countryside. Knowing what needed to be done didn't make it any easier. He put on the Texas, and spoke deliberately slowly.

"I don't know how you play cops and robbers over here, Inspector, but we're playing this one by my rules. You go start whatever conversation you need to with the old man. Your job is to establish rapport. I don't give a shit if you wanna fuckin' hold his hand, but you be on your Goddamn toes, and ready to back my play.

"We got two main possibilities. One," he held up a finger for emphasis, "he's telling the truth and Aaron's never been in any trouble and they got along well. If that's the case, then Aaron is already dead and we all know it. And we know the most likely killer in those situations is a family member. So stay sharp.

"If the granddad is lying, he's likely trying to save his reputation and covering his own ass and Aaron ran away. In that case, the kid fits our profile and we can take our happy asses back to the hotel." He pulled his gun from the shoulder holster, and made a point to check the magazine for effect then released the safety. "You carrying, Inspector?" he drawled.

"Good grief, Remington. This isn't the Wild West. We've got a scared old man and a missing kid! Of course I didn't bring a bloody weapon."

Remy smoothed his hand over his right hip and came away with his back up piece. "Take this. We'll argue about it back at the hotel— the field is not the place," he said holding his other hand in a conciliatory gesture. "Look, Mainwaring," he said, using the correct pronunciation for a change. "I've seen your records—I'm learning how your mind works. I know you've got good cop sense. I think you're clouded on this particular issue—but we have to be sure. Like it or not, we're partners out here. There isn't anyone else around, no back up, no support. I've got your back and I need to be Goddamn sure that you've got mine. Take the gun, and get moving.

"I'm just going to walk around for a few minutes, get the lay of the land. You get in there and start bonding, but watch yourself. Any sign of something hinky, shoot first, ask questions later."

"Oh for the love of God," Jamie huffed.

Remy turned quickly to hide his smile, and began to walk a circle around the house. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, he just wanted a feel of the place. He didn't race, but neither did he linger. The landscape couldn't have been any more different from the small Arizona ranch where his grandfather had raised him, but the isolation of the site stirred the memories. He ruthlessly pushed the non-productive recollections aside, and moved to the door. He could hear Jamie, his voice low, comforting.

"No, Mr. Litchfield, I'm really sorry there isn't better news. We're doing everything we can—"

"Where's the boy's room?" Remy interrupted as he stepped through the door without knocking.

"Ah, Mr. Litchfield, allow me to introduce you to Detective Remington, on loan to us from the States. He is here to...assist us on your grandson's case."

Paul Litchfield looked at him with wide eyes and a quivering lower lip, but the posture was wrong for a grieving grandfather. The older man's shoulders rode up and his hands fisted for a moment, before he relaxed. He was younger than Remy had imagined, probably in his early fifties. Nearly as tall as Jamie, but raw-boned, with narrow shoulders and long arms. His tongue darted out to moisten dry lips.

"Detective, thank you for your help—"

"His room?" Remy interrupted and was rewarded with a flash of temper in the watery blue eyes.

Litchfield turned to lead the way and Jamie met Remy's gaze, briefly, before he turned to follow.

"Here it is. Help yourself, Detective."

Remy let his eyes wander the room, taking note of how sparsely the boy's space was furnished compared to the rest of the house.

"I've kept everything in place, just as the inspector told me."

"Thank you, Mr. Litchfield. Is there anything else you've thought of, any friends who might know where he is?" Mainwaring asked.

Remy pulled open the top drawer of the bureau, rifled his hands through the contents, moving to the next drawer. He didn't say a word, just let his movements and the scowl on his face speak for him.

Litchfield looked back and forth between the two officers. "Uh...no, nothing. I mean, why would.... What are you looking for?"

He saw Jamie's restraining hand grip Litchfield's shoulder, and knew he was sensing the grandfather's sudden tension.

"How many pairs of jeans does Aaron own?" he barked out his question.

"What? Why? I don't know."

"More than one?"

"Yes, of cou—"

"How about underwear, Mr. Litchfield. More than one pair of underwear?"

"Yes! Why—"

"How about toys, Mr. Litchfield? Does he have any toys?" Remy was launching the questions rapid-fire now.

"I don't see—"

"No, you don't. But I'm beginning to get a clear picture. Your daughter's dead...where's Aaron's father? Does he pay child support?"

"Detective Remington! That's enough," Jamie said sharply, his hand still gripping Litchfield.

"It's not enough. Not nearly enough. I think this bastard killed his own grandson," Remy whipped out.

"Sod off! Inspector, I do not have to listen to thi—"

"Where's his backpack, Litchfield? The rest of his jeans? His underwear?" He turned and moved closer, looming at the older man. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Tell me, Litchfield, where's the body? Did you bury his backpack along with the boy?"

Paul Litchfield lunged at him, hands slamming into his chest, and he let himself stagger at the contact. Jamie wrapped the rangy man up and lifted him away, keeping his arms pinned safely to his sides. "I didn't kill anybody you idiot. He ran away! He took his Goddamn backpack and ran. Fucking worthless piece of trash, just like his mother."

There was more, but Remy didn't stay to listen. Aaron fit the pattern of a runaway, and if the pattern held true, the London disappearances were finished. He'd done what he needed to do, and now he couldn't get away from the house fast enough. He waited outside while Jamie took the bastard's revised statement.

****

"I'm a bloody fool," Jamie said, dropping into one of the large club chairs. "I should have pushed him the first time. We just wasted an entire morning because I didn't do my job. And worse, I could have cost that kid his life if it had gone the other way."

"Shut the fuck up," Remy said, as he crossed to a small foam cooler and removed two bottles of Corona. He handed one to Jamie, then took a seat on the couch, before taking a long draw of the icy lager, drinking it American style, well chilled. "Don't wallow. You ain't that special. Besides, you picked up on the kid fitting the pattern from the initial reports, and despite your candy-ass empathy, your instincts about Aaron were right."

Remy leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, the bottle held loosely between his knees. "Look, I don't think anything would have kept me from going out there today. Nothing you said, nothing in the report. Aaron is the most recent victim we have, and it makes sense to verify the facts surrounding his case while they're fresh. It's where you should focus your attention."

"Where I should...what the hell will you be doing? Because if you think you can cowboy all over London while I'm relegated—"

"Told you already. I'm going home."

"Remy...you can't leave—"

The knock on the door startled both of them.

Remy watched as tall, dark, and needs-a-hug crossed the room and actually followed security protocol before opening the door to the director who, surprisingly, was accompanied by a bellman. As before, the woman entered the room with a great deal of authority as she led the hotel employee to deposit a suitcase and a box next to the couch.

"Thank you. That will be all." She dismissed the help with a tip. Remy noticed with amusement that Jamie also slid a fistful of notes into the young man's hand, and then murmured something too low to hear from across the room. As soon as the door was closed, Director Forsythe got straight to business. "All right, let's cut to the chase here, what do you think of the reports?"

Remy exchanged a look with Jamie, and at the other man's nod, he began, "We obviously agree the cases are connected. The evidence supports that we're dealing with human trafficking, as opposed to serial killings or any other type of crime. The link between the victim profiles is too close for coincidence. Whoever is behind this has decreed six as the maximum number of kidnappings for any single metropolitan area, we assume to prevent the local law enforcement from having enough time and victims to connect the cases.

"The next avenue of investigation would be the possible links between the cities, because beyond their victim profiles, you're not gonna find any more links between the boys. So look for which governments and businesses operate in each of those four cities, as the first inquiry then look for people connections." He tossed the conversational ball to Jamie with a look and finished his drink.

Jamie nodded, then took over. "We don't believe this is a one-man job, but more likely two men near the top of their background cover. It feels more like government than industry, but it's too early to rule anything out. We'd suggest you start with government officials who have access to high-level security information. It's possible that someone is recruiting dirty cops, or at least cops vulnerable to bribes or black mail. It would be preferable from their standpoint, if it was someone in their own small organization who posed as a cop in these cities, because the fewer people in on their dirty little secret the better. However, it would be prudent to keep in mind that genuine law enforcement personnel may be involved.

Remy's heart beat fast at what he knew Jamie would say next, and he couldn't look away from the compassion he saw on the other man's face. He hadn't told him anything of his past, other than the words that spilled out in his anger the previous evening, but he'd seen the speculation in Mainwaring's eyes. Remy kept his face carefully blank as Jamie continued.

"There will be an element of brainwashing and Stockholm Syndrome in order to make the boys more compliant, convince the younger ones especially, that they are being rescued from a life on the streets. Most of the boys will be trained in sexual skills, as well as traditional education, like modern-day Geishas, in order to increase their marketability."

Jamie shook his head, as if to clear unwanted images, and finally released Remy from the hold of his gaze. "In any event, the person or persons you're looking for will have access to transportation and an isolated location to keep the boys until the customer is identified and the transfer negotiated."

The director looked thoughtfully back and forth between the two men, and Remy could practically feel her mind working. He knew she wasn't finished with them, but he was most definitely finished with her. Finished with this case and with the green-eyed devil-god who seemed to see right into his darkest secrets.

"All right. That's good work, so far. Now, let me lay out the plans—"

"Director—" Remy interrupted her, about to tell her he was heading back to the States, when Jamie—the very same man who'd just looked at him with understanding and compassion—side swiped him.

"Remy is about to tell you he is returning to Phoenix, and I don't blame him for feeling inadequate. Quite frankly, I don't see how the two of us can make a difference. There should be dozens of people working on this case, not two on our own, without back up."

Director Forsythe tilted her head, as if to hear some deeper meaning behind the words. "There _are_ dozens of people working on this case. As of early this morning, the appropriate officials were notified of a possible human trafficking ring operating in their cities. There is no way to keep something like this quiet, and truthfully, I hope they are able to prevent any more boys going missing. However, I don't think we'll catch whoever is the mastermind behind this through traditional methods.

"You two will have access to everything from the official investigation, but no one, and I mean no one is to know of your connection to the case. While you've been here examining these files, the cover stories explaining your absence from your usual positions have been put firmly in place, so there no longer remains any indication either of you is involved."

Remy unfolded himself from the couch, ready to launch into a protest, but the director ignored him and directed her comments to Jamie.

"You have new orders. Jaime, you are to report to the American Embassy the day after tomorrow in order to receive your briefing. How much do either of you know about the United Nations?"

Her question caught Remy off guard. He'd been trying to quit, and now he was given a pop quiz about the UN? He looked over and saw Jamie's confused expression and felt a little better. Since he was already standing, he decided to get another bottle of beer while he listened to where Forsythe was going with this. He silently offered the other two bottles, then returned to his position on the couch.

"All right, here's the short version. Jamie, you will be attached to the British Consulate as part of a UN Human Rights exploratory commission on international Gay Rights Issues." She said it quickly and the words ran together, but judging from the way Jamie sputtered, he got the meaning clear enough. Remy pressed his lips tightly together to prevent any laughter from escaping.

"You will not be involved in the actual negotiations, but will have some official title that means not much of anything, just another dilettante, I'm afraid. The rumor will be circulated that the consulate is providing you with a six-month assignment as a favor to your mother, in order to get you away from the sort of lifestyle that was captured in yesterday's paper. It seems you're quite disenchanted with following the, er, straight and narrow."

"My mother!" Jamie exploded, ignoring the attempt at humor.

"It will only be a rumor, and not one your mother is likely to become aware of, however, if you could manage to get into the papers another time or two, it would shore up your position. In short, Jamie, we don't know anything about the people who are behind this, however as you both pointed out, someone with government connections seems a strong possibility. In this position, you will have contacts through the official diplomatic circles as well as through the UN. This gives us flexibility once the scope of the investigation narrows and we know exactly what we're looking for. Until then, you need to build your reputation as a man who was unable to find what he needed in life by working within the system. You are finally ready to explore some of your darker desires."

Remy saw his opening and jumped. "Good, then you won't be needing me anymore."

"Oh, but we certainly will, _Remy_." She emphasized the name Jamie had just used. "You are Jamie's right hand man. His personal assistant, chauffeur, and body guard. I want you to appear to be his supplier in all things. You will get him his drugs, his rent boys, approach those in the clubs whom he finds attractive. In short, no one gets to him except through you. No one will be surprised when you start to look for a new young toy for the Lord. In fact, people will blame you for his fall from grace.

"So Jamie is just supposed to suddenly give up his career for the promise of his heart's secret desires. How fuckin' Faust-like. You know, Director, deals with the devil never go well." He couldn't hold the laugh back any longer. It was actually a rather brilliant plan, if you didn't mind the free fall from ten-thousand feet without a chute. The cover was in place and yet loose enough that they would be able to adjust quickly to nearly any circumstance. Placing Remy as the gatekeeper allowed one of them to stay above the fray while the other...while _he_ got to reach into the underbelly of the sex-trade. Working without a net. Just the way he liked it best. He quickly made up his mind and changed his plans to return to Phoenix.

"I don't think this is such a good idea..." Jamie began.

"What, you afraid to tarnish your reputation, My Lord? I think the whole plan looks to fit us perfectly. No one is better at rationalizing than you, Jamie, and God knows, having my hands in the seediest parts of a debauched lifestyle is the perfect role for me. When do we start, Director?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Remy saw Jamie stiffen, as if struck. The director watched the interplay with raised brows.

"You men need to remember that whoever is behind this may have ears in every police department from the cities where the boys are missing. We're researching as fast as we can, but if you start to get close and are discovered, your lives could be at risk. Now Jamie, do you think you could arrange for a falling out with your family to kick off this whole downward spiral that your life is about to take?"

Remy gave a snort. "I think he about got that covered, don't you, Boss?" he said to Jamie.

"Good. Remington, hand over your official police weapon to me."

"No fuckin' way. You just pointed out our lives could be in danger and what kind of body guard—"

"I didn't say you were going to be unarmed. Just not with your police weapon. I don't want it found anywhere in your possession. Not your identification either. You'll find everything you need in there." She pointed with her chin to a box the bellman had placed on the floor near the couch.

"Holy shit," he said, and felt the smile break out when he lifted the lid.

"Boys and their toys, thank goodness for the American gun laws. We were able to access your records without any trouble. You now have duplicates of the same weapons you're used to, so you won't have an adjustment to a new gun. I also added a smaller nine mil, just in case. The suitcase by the door is for you. I didn't figure you packed expecting the undercover role, and you need to dress the part.

"Jamie, since you are playing yourself, your own wardrobe will be fine. There is also a phone in there for you, Remy. It's programmed with two numbers. If you get into any type of trouble, you call either of those number and we'll get help to you right away. There is a GPS locator chip, so even if it's turned off, it will have some life. If the phone is shut off completely, the operation is aborted and we send every available officer to the last location. So don't let the battery wear down."

"I'm so glad the two of you are getting along so well," Jamie interjected with an impressive amount of sarcasm.

"Ah, yes, Jamie. I've placed your contact information in the binder. The superintendent will receive your letter of resignation..." she looked at her watch, "in about five minutes. I think it's best if you stay here for the next few days, rather than your home, your servants know you too well, and this will help keep you in character.

"Hit the clubs, make a scene here or there, stay up late, go to the embassy tired. I've already planted a few rumors around town. You'll be leaving for New York within the week, so get busy laying the groundwork.

"New York?" Jamie asked, looking shell-shocked.

The director stood, and brushed the wrinkles from her slacks and then moved to the door. "Detective, please place your weapons in the box and repack the suitcase with your own clothes. The bellman will be up shortly to retrieve them. I will return everything once the mission is complete. And yes, New York. Your first assignment will with the UN, I thought I mentioned that?"

"You did, but you didn't say it would actually be _at_ the UN. Is there any particular reason we're starting in New York and not back tracking to Washington or Hamburg?"

With her hand on the door, Forsythe gave them each a long look before she answered. "Twin twelve-year-old Caucasian males ran away from Syracuse two weeks ago and were last seen at a homeless shelter in Queens. The center director called the police to get the name of the officer she'd seen talking to the boys so she could thank him for his help in getting the young men off the streets and back home. Needless to say, no officer spoke up and claimed to be the hero. And no one's seen the boys since. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Have fun tonight."

##  Chapter Seven

Jamie squeezed some jell out onto his fingers and then rubbed his hands together before feathering them through his hair. Pulling at strands of hair here and there, he ponced about with it until he was happy with the tousled spikes that looked as though he hadn't even touched them. He padded into the bedroom and took his black shirt, shot with a fine vertical silver thread, down from the hanger and pulled it on. Then he grabbed his tightest jeans and spent the next several minutes trying to wrestle them up his legs. He slipped his feet into some funky looking biker boots he'd bought earlier that day and gazed at himself in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door.

He wasn't a particularly vain man, he had too much going on to pay too much attention to how he looked, but the reflection staring back at him was most definitely hot. _Could it be that we took a little extra care because Remy is our escort tonight?_ "Oh fuck off," he muttered and slammed the wardrobe door with a rattle.

Squaring his shoulders, Jamie walked back out into the living area and paused mid-step. Remy was standing by the window and the lamp in the corner of the room perfectly back-lit the gorgeous man. He was wearing dark blue jeans, his resident cowboy boots, and an olive green silk shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. Jamie wished that he had a camera in his hand, because Remy was way past handsome, he was beautiful. Then he turned around and ruined it all.

"I feel like a fuckin' model!" Rolling his eyes, Jamie groaned as perfect Remy was replaced with thirteen-year-old Remy, with a sulky expression and a stance that said, "I don't wanna."

"Get a grip," Jamie snapped, picking up one of the key cards and squeezing it into his back pocket. "Forsythe wants me to have a public fall out with my family. I think we both know that my mother hates behavior that she deems unbecoming to someone with a title. And since she already thinks I picked you up in a bar, we're just going to go and have a good time and make sure we get paparazzi'd. It'll hit the society pages first thing in the morning and she'll have a fit over her Weetabix. Job done." He wandered across the room and stroked a finger down the 'v' of skin on show in the open neck of Remy's shirt, enjoying the discomfort on the other man's face. "Oh, and one more thing. Would you mind removing the stick from your arse for just one night? You might surprise yourself and have a good time." He lifted an eyebrow sardonically and mumbled beneath his breath, "Stranger things have happened."

****

Standing at the bar, the beat of the music reverberating through his shoes, Jamie couldn't help his smirk. At first he'd thought Remy was just fidgeting aimlessly beside him, but low and behold, the stoic detective was actually dancing. Very slightly, the movement barely discernible, but dancing nonetheless. _Well, who'da thunk it? The cowboy has rhythm._

"Okay, Fred Astaire," Jamie said leaning up to press his lips close to Remy's ear so he would be heard. "I've spotted at least five representatives of the tabloid paparazzi in the fifteen minutes since we arrived. The guy at the end of the bar trying not to look at us is the same one who snapped me leaving here the other night. No, don't look, for God's sake." He reached up and slid his fingers into Remy's hair to keep his gaze trained firmly on him. "Let's hit the dance floor and give him a good show."

"A show? Whatever you say, Boss." Jamie gasped at the satisfaction in Remy's eyes as the big man grabbed him around the waist and hauled him up against a firm chest.

Jamie found himself weaving through the crowd of gyrating bodies, his wrist firmly clasped in Remy's fingers. Heat unfurled in his belly at the intent in Remy's gaze as he glanced at him over his shoulder while they made their way to the dance floor. _Why do I get the feeling that I just lit the touch paper and forgot to stand well back?_ He couldn't contain another hiss of breath when Remy stopped suddenly and spun around, releasing Jamie's wrist long enough to grip tightly to his hips. Then Remy closed the gap between them and any coherent thought Jamie may have been capable of, dissipated like a frond of smoke on the breeze.

"How's this?" Remy said in a husky voice, his lips pressed against Jamie's ear.

"Not bad." Jamie swallowed as Remy held him close and began to move his hips to the beat. He was desperately trying not to let Remy know that the blood was coursing through his veins at a rate of knots, or that his heart was racing in his chest...but he had a feeling the thick length of his rapidly hardening shaft might just give him away. "I didn't have you down for a mover and a shaker, Remington." Remy's smile was smug as he murmured against the shell of Jamie's ear, sending a delicious shiver of anticipation down his spine.

"What you don't know about me could fill a book, _Boss_."

Jamie could hear his blood rushing in his ears, even though the music flowed around them, and he bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out when Remy's tongue snaked out and traced the whorl of his ear. Remy's thigh was hot and hard between his and the other man had taken complete control of the dance, directing his hips this way and that. If you could call what Remy was doing to him right now dancing. The man's tongue was making an assault on his earlobe and all Jamie could do was hang onto those broad shoulders, his cock so hard that he was sure he was going to have the imprint of his zipper permanently pressed into his engorged flesh.

"Am I doing this right, _Boss_?"

Remy's voice was rich and deep in Jamie's ear and his breath skittered across the dampened skin, the sensation possibly one of the most erotic things that Jamie had ever encountered. Perfect except for that word.

"Don't call me that," he protested, slipping his fingers across the silk of Remy's shirt and up into the softness of the other man's hair.

"What do you want me to call you?" Remy pulled back and his gaze burned into Jamie's.

"My name...I love how you say my name." Jamie's lips parted on a sigh as he saw the heated desire in his own gaze reflected back at him in Remy's. _He wants me just as much as I want him. Why does he insist on fighting it? Who put the shadows in your eyes? And why the fuck do I want to hurt them and take away the pain and put back the light they extinguished?_

"How do I say it?"

"Like it tastes good."

"Jamie," Remy growled into his ear, at the same time, rubbing his thigh into Jamie's length. "Like that? Is that how you want me to say it?"

Jamie was so turned on he could barely breathe. His name on Remy's lips was like a caress, and he became impossibly harder, unable to control the need to grind himself against the man holding him in an iron grip. Needing more, needing Remy. Before he could stop himself, he tightened his fingers in Remy's hair and pulled the man's head back just enough to allow him to merge their mouths and thrust his tongue into the wet heat beyond those sinful lips. He moaned as Remy returned the kiss, taking control, forcing his head back with the ferocity of their need for each other, tongues dancing together in time to the rhythmic beat of the music.

When Remy tore his lips away, Jamie's stomach dropped, sure that the man was going to brush it off and give him one of those sarcastic rejoinders he favored so much. He gazed at him, panting harshly through parted lips, the flame of desire reaching forest fire proportions when Remy grabbed his hand and practically dragged him through the club. He had no idea what the hell was going to happen next...but whatever it was, he didn't want it to stop.

Outside, he vaguely registered the flash of a camera going off, but that was soon forgotten as he found himself in the back of the cab that Remy had waved down and after snapping the name of the hotel at the driver, the other man's lips were back on his in a bruising kiss. Jamie arched toward Remy when warm hands slipped beneath his shirt and the scratch of blunt nails across his flesh had his entire body shuddering. "Fuck." He hissed, tearing his mouth away from Remy's and sliding his lips along the stubbled jaw, nipping at the skin as his fingers pulled at the buttons on the other man's shirt. "Remy—" His words were cut off by the driver banging on the partition and shouting out the fare.

How they made it through reception without touching, Jamie would never know. There seemed to be people wherever they turned and even the lift was full, denying them the chance to maul each other on the way up to the room. Jamie's fingers itched to feel Remy's skin beneath them, wanting to be so close that the man's scent filled his senses, needing to feel the hard length of Remy against him, inside him. Whatever this thing was between them, it had been simmering away ever since they laid eyes on each other whether the stoic American cared to admit it or not—and it had now reached boiling point.

Jamie fumbled helplessly with the key card, distracted by the warmth of the big hands that slipped under his shirt and the roll of Remy's hips against his arse. Finally getting the door open, he dropped the card from his nerveless fingers and groaned into Remy's mouth as the other man kicked the door shut with a resounding click. "Remy," he mumbled against soft, warm lips as his mouth was plundered again and again, tasting and pulling back and tasting again, while rough fingers rid him of his shirt and then tore at the button on his jeans.

He managed to get Remy's shirt and jeans open and push them over his hips as they stumbled to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed in a tangled heap. "Jamie," Remy said his name like some sort of heavenly mantra in a voice that dripped molasses, and Jamie cried out when he was pressed into the mattress by the weight of Remy's body.

"I want you so fucking badly," Jamie hissed, scraping his nails over Remy's hard nipples standing proudly against muscled flesh under his ministrations. "Right from the start. Oh, God!" Remy's cock rubbed against his, and then a large, calloused palm encircled both silken shafts and stroked them from base to tip.

"You like that?" Remy said huskily. "So hot, so hard, all for me?"

"Yes, only for you," Jamie moaned, his hips bucking into Remy's hand as the American set up a punishing pace, stripping both their cocks hard and fast. "Remy...so good...harder...don't stop...fuck...don't stop."

"Say my name, Jamie," Remy ground out. "Say it...so fuckin' hot."

"Remy." Jamie's back arched as his orgasm pulsed through him. "I'm coming," he cried, hot streams of white shooting across Remy's fingers, onto his own stomach, and as high as his chest. The intensity was such that he saw flashing lights behind his closed lids, amazed as his load just kept coming, even as Remy's own seed heated his stomach and mingled with the briny fluid already there. "Holy shit," he cursed as his orgasm finally subsided and every muscle in his body twitched in the aftershocks.

Opening his eyes as Remy's weight left him, he smiled and stretched languidly while Remy cleaned himself up with a T-shirt that had been discarded earlier before they'd left. Then the butterflies started to tremble in his stomach when he realized that Remy was buttoning his shirt with hasty fingers. He watched in stunned disbelief as Remy tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped them up.

"Remy?" Jamie flinched at the distance of Remy's gaze as he lifted his arm and casually checked the watch on his wrist. His words echoed in Jamie's ears long after the door of the suite had slammed behind him.

" _I hope you enjoyed the show, but if you'll excuse me, I'm off the clock now,_ _Boss_ _."_

****

Remy ran a shaky hand through his hair and checked his watch. _Shit._ No matter how he cut it, there wasn't going to be enough time to get much rest before they were due at the American Embassy at ten. He tossed back the dregs of his cold coffee with a shudder. He threw a few notes on the table, waved to his waitress, then stepped out into the pre-dawn dampness of a London night.

He kept his stride easy and resisted the urge to pat the little bag he'd scored when he'd returned to the club without Jamie. He'd planned to score the drugs, put on a floor show with Jamie, then make a point of sending other men to dance with his 'boss,' to start establishing his position as the man to see if you wanted to get to the Lord. Then with one raised eyebrow and an order to dance, Remy had forgotten everything about their assignment and was lost in the immediacy of Jamie. In having him right-the-fuck-now.

Christ, how the hell was he supposed to stay focused on creating their cover when tall, dark, and say-my-name was all over him like a wet dream? He could close his eyes and picture that dark hair, the perfect face, and the deep green eyes half hidden under the sleepy-sexy lids. The holy-shit orgasm that nearly made him black out. He'd wanted to fall to the other man's feet and beg for forgiveness for what he knew he had to do.

What a fucking fiasco. He could still smell Jamie and wondered if it was the trace of dried cum on his skin or something deeper, something he might never shake. There were rules for a reason, and tonight, he'd trampled on several of them. He didn't fuck people he knew, he sure as hell didn't fuck cops, and he never, ever got so caught up in the game that he lost track of the cover. He hated the look he put on Jamie's face when he'd dressed and practically run from their suite.

Pushing aside the useless thoughts and regrets, Remy thought about their assignment. When they'd left the club earlier, he'd been so Goddamn hot to get his hands on Ja—Man-Wearing's cock, he'd barely registered the paparazzi cameras that flashed at their exit. When he'd returned to the club alone, he noticed at least one of the celebrity hounds recognized him as the Lord's plaything from earlier, so he made sure there were plenty of opportunities to snap him dancing with the youngest men in the club. He'd stayed at the club, establishing their story.

The last boy he'd danced with had been nothing more than a scrawny sixteen-year-old who'd obviously gotten into the club on a fake ID. He'd wrapped his arms around the kid and murmured in his ear, "How much?" After determining the boy had no place to go, he'd bundled him outside and into a waiting cab, glaring for effect at the flash of cameras. He'd stopped the driver at a seedy hotel and bundled the kid upstairs. He'd covered the trembling fingers with his own as the boy reached to unzip Remy's pants. Then he'd done what he'd needed to do from the minute he spotted the youth across the dance floor.

"Kid, we all do what we have to in order to survive, but I can tell you there's no future in this lifestyle. You got this room for the week. I don't have a lot of cash, so use this the best you can for food and clothes," he'd said, slapping most of his money on the cheap dresser. "Get a job, get in school, and when you get to be my age, find a kid in trouble, and pay it back." Then he'd walked back into the night until he'd found the small American-style diner. Three cups of bad coffee later and he was on his way back to...to face the wrath of the good inspector.

****

Remy kept his face expressionless as Jamie and the embassy official positioned themselves in the small office. It was a futile attempt at superiority on the part of the bureaucrat. Even if Jamie hadn't held the title, the mid-level bureaucrat didn't hold an ounce of the class Mainwaring exuded like a pheromone.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Fordham."

"Please, call me Jamie. Jamie Mainwaring."

The other man smirked, and looked as if he barely resisted rolling his eyes. Remy had no trouble reading the body language of the impeccably-groomed gangly blond. He thought Jamie was a useless piece of fluff. Taller than Jamie by a good six inches, and weighing at least twenty pounds less, the man identified by the desk placard as Robert Kelly, resembled a stork with his beaky nose and prominent Adam's apple.

"So, why don't you tell me what I can do for you, Jamie?" he asked, his voice a bored New England drawl.

Remy uncoiled from his position against the doorframe, drawing the attention of both men before Jamie had a chance to answer. He knew exactly how to handle this type of officious prick. "Sorry, Boss. I guess Bob here isn't the one you were supposed to meet with, after all. Let me take you back home. No sense in wasting your time. I'm sure the Ambassador's secretary will call back with the name of the correct staff member once she hears of the oversight." He put his hand on the back of Jamie's chair, as if to pull it back for his boss.

"Oh, hold on, now," Kelly said. "It's been a difficult morning, and it momentarily slipped my mind," he lied, reaching for a blue file on the top of his pristine desk. "I have your folder right here. I'm sorry Lord Fordham, where are my manners? I completely forgot to introduce myself. I'm Robert Kelly, Undersecretary and Consulate Liaison. The Ambassador requested I see to your, er, nomination, personally."

"So kind, I'm sure," Jamie murmured smoothly.

"Ah, yes. This...uh, is...uh, a new position, so the role isn't completely set, however I'm certain a man with...uh, your qualifications..." He let his voice trail upwards in a question. When no explanation was forthcoming, he swallowed hard, then continued, speaking while he looked into the file as if for divine inspiration.

"This is an unusual position, in that you will be assisting the United Nations and the British Consulate at the personal request of the US Ambassador here in London. Your flight has been booked for tonight. I am to pick you up at your residence myself. All of the details of your travel and assignment are included in this folder."

Remy reached over and plucked the folder from Kelly's hands. He rifled through the contents.

"Just a minute..." the officious bureaucrat protested.

"There's only one ticket," he said flatly. "In your name, Boss," he said, looking at Jamie, and fighting down the flutters that started every time he looked into the moss green depths of his partner's eyes.

"No that won't do," Jamie said, his voice clipped with the extreme irritation of a disappointed Lord. "Remington is my personal assistant and he serves as my bodyguard. I will not accept this position without him. Now, I understand perfectly that I cover his salary, as he works exclusively at my pleasure. However, I was very clear with the Ambassador's secretary that my man Remington is to be included on all official travel and event invitations."

"It's a business class ticket, Boss," Remy added.

Jamie turned and looked at Remy as if he'd farted in church. "Business class? For God's sake," he said, his voice layered with disgust. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, as if thinking about what to do when faced with an impossible situation. "All right. Remington, take me to my club, I need a massage. Then you may book us two first class tickets and pack. I'll want a Terrace Suite at the Plaza. You might as well lease us a vehicle, while you're at it."

Jamie stood, moved closer to Remy and practically purred, "You know what I like." Then he turned his attention to Kelly, "Remington will take care of what I need. You may tell your superior that I accept the position and will report for duty on Monday."

Remy turned to leave but stopped when he spotted a man walking quickly in their direction with his gaze locked on Jamie. Automatically, he cataloged the description: five feet, ten inches, neatly cropped sandy blonde hair, broad shoulders camouflaged by the excellent cut of his gray suit. He had a strong-featured face, with a broad forehead, Roman nose, wide mouth, and the tanned skin he associated with expensive hobbies, like sailing and tennis. Remy stiffened, and his hand went to the empty spot where his holster normally sat snug against his body. Weaponless, he moved forward to intercept the rapidly approaching man.

"Lord Fordham, right? I didn't miss you after all. Kelly, I told you to call me when his Grace arrived—"

"His Lordship, and who are you?" Remy growled, planting himself in front of Jamie.

"Down, boy," Jamie murmured, his hand on the small of Remy's back. He felt the heat of that touch through his jacket and fought back the shiver that came with the memory of that same hand against his bare skin.

"Please, I'm Jamie Mainwaring. Call me Jamie," he said, stepping to the side and extending his hand.

"Oh, yes, so nice to meet you, Lord—I mean Jamie," the man said, gripping Jamie's hand in a two fisted shake.

"And you are..." Jamie asked, his hand still captive.

"Wilton Kennedy, but please, my friends call me Will." He gave Jamie a long look. "I hope we'll be friends." He smiled, and Remy felt a knot start up low in his belly at the frank interest in that look.

Jamie pulled his hand back, with a slow smile. "Oh, I'm a friendly sort."

"Glad to hear it, since we'll be spending so much time together."

"Do tell." Jamie positively glowed at Kennedy.

"I'll be working closely with you. I'm the new liaison for social affairs...your American counterpart at the UN. How about I take you to lunch and we can spend some time getting to know each other, compare notes about our respective...positions."

"Oh, for God's sake," Kelly said with a snort. "Take it somewhere else, Kennedy."

"I'd enjoy that," Jamie said and moved to stand closer to Will. "I think I'd like that a lot. Remington, you may return to the rooms and get started on those assignments. I believe Will can take care of me for now."

Remy felt the heat rise in his cheeks at the pointed dismissal, but he turned without a word and left the building.

****

Jamie emptied the drawers in the bedroom and dumped them on top of the rest of his clothes in his suitcase. He could hear Remy on the phone in the other room, exchanging their tickets for first class on the late night flight. Returning to the bathroom to collect his toiletries, he couldn't help the curve of his lips as he recalled the look on Remy's face when he'd thrown his credit card at him after he'd arrived back at the Marriott after his lunch with Will Kennedy.

"Where the hell have you been? You've been gone for four hours! And what the fuck do you want me to do with this?" Remy had growled.

"You need to upgrade the tickets and get me a Terrace Suite at the Plaza, remember? We don't want anyone checking up on us, do we? And I get the distinct feeling that Mr. Kennedy is very thorough in all his undertakings," Jamie had said, his face a vision of schooled innocence. "It wouldn't do for a Lord of the Realm to be seen dealing with so menial a task. Not when he has a perfectly good man to do it for him. Now, hurry along, old boy. They're expecting us in the dining room at five."

"And what will you be doing, Your Lordship?"

"Will and I took advantage of the sunshine and had a long stroll around St James's park to walk off lunch. It was refreshing to be able to take time over a meal and savor it for a change. I see you're already packed, so I'd better make a start on mine before dinner," Jamie had drawled before he'd headed toward the bedroom. He paused to throw over his shoulder, "Oh, and just the flights and hotel suite, Remington. Don't get excited and go nuts on eBay, there's a good chap."

Carrying his toiletry bag into the bedroom, he added it to his suitcase and then zipped it closed, swallowing a chuckle as he heard Remy's voice rising on each word and his accent came out in full force. "I don't give a shit if you have to kick Madonna herself back to coach, I want two seats in first class or His Lordship will be speaking to his good friend, Richard Branson and then to his aunt, I think you call her Queen Elizabeth!"

Jamie sank onto the edge of the bed and lay back on the mattress. It was difficult not to allow his mind to drift back to last night and the fact that he'd been left on the bed with his jeans around his ankles and a mixture of his own and Remy's seeds drying on his skin. He wasn't sure how long he'd lain there after the slamming of the door, but it was long enough for him to start shivering as the air around him cooled.

He'd gotten up, kicked his jeans off completely, and tried not to dwell on the memory of Remy ripping at the button and dragging them down his legs. His shirt had joined his jeans and he'd shuffled into the bathroom, naked and vulnerable, a miasma of emotions swirling around his head as his brain moved swiftly from one to the other without actually latching onto a single one. The fucking coward had done it again. Remy Remington, Remington Steele, or whatever the fuck his name was, had allowed himself to feel, to be a normal human being with wants and desires and needs for one brief moment. Then he'd taken something amazing, something wonderful, and basically treated Jamie like a common prostitute. The tiny part of Jamie's brain that had been working at that point, had half expected Remy to throw money onto the night table.

He'd been in a daze as he turned on the shower and stared at his reflection in the mirror, waiting for the water to heat. Jamie had held his own gaze only briefly, not wanting to linger on the haunted despair there. His heart had felt heavy in his chest and his stomach had lurched alarmingly a nano-second before the alcohol he had imbibed hit the white porcelain of the sink.

Jamie sat up and rubbed a hand over his face before standing and picking up his case. He'd had a shower after he'd rinsed the sink of his stomach contents and then crawled between the sheets. Not that he'd slept at all, had simply stared at the ceiling until the dawn's rays fell through a chink in the curtain and he'd heard the slam of the door heralding Remy's return.

Carrying his suitcase through to the other room, Jamie set it down beside Remy's and checked his watch. Glancing over at the big man standing by the window he said, "Are you ready? Five o'clock remember." He flinched when the other man returned his gaze and for a split second he saw something...sorrow...regret...then it was gone and the walls were back.

Remy nodded, slipping his cell phone into his pocket and tossing the small black credit card back at Jamie. "We've got two seats in first class. We can pick the tickets up at the desk in the airport."

"Did they bump Madonna?" Jamie returned on a teasing note. He shrugged at the questioning rise of Remy's eyebrow. "I heard you on the phone. Oh, and just so you know, the Queen isn't my aunt. In case we happen to bump into someone whose aunt she actually is." Jamie sighed when Remy's usual stoic mask remained impassive and there was a pregnant pause before the man brushed past him and headed out of the room without a word.

****

Remy knew he'd behaved badly and he hated that he put that damn look of hurt on Jamie's face. Yet another reason he didn't do relationships. He resolved to apologize and offer an explanation, of sorts. Not the whole truth, because no one would ever know that, but maybe enough so Jamie would understand that what happened last night couldn't happen again. They were partners, nothing more.

He tucked his laptop case under their white-linen covered table. As he sat, he noticed more than a few eyes straying in their direction, and wondered what it was about the two of them that seemed to capture people's attention. The restaurant was in a fancy hotel, but the dress code was casual. He and Jamie fit right in with their open-collared shirts under jackets. Of course, most of the diners at this early hour were from the senior set, and there was more than one head of silver-blue hair in the room. In fact, he thought he saw...

"Hey, Jamie, what was that old busy body's name? The one that reported us to your mother the first time we were here. Daphne something?

"Daphne Fortesque. Why?"

"Well don't look now, but I think I just saw her duck out toward the ladies room. You don't think she's calling your mom again?"

"Oh Lord. Probably—"

"Gentlemen, your martinis," interrupted their waiter. "Are you ready to order, sir, or do you still need a few minutes?"

Remy noticed the man deferred to Jamie. He thought most people naturally would. There was just something so...fuckin' Lord-like about the man. He hid the smile behind the rim of his glass.

Something of his amusement must have shown because Jamie, in the middle of a conversation with their server, looked over and his mouth quirked at the corner. _God. That mouth._ He'd plundered that mouth last night. Kissed and licked and nipped until Jamie's lips were slick and swollen. What would it feel like to have Jamie on his knees, those perfect lips stretched wide around his cock. He'd like to bury his fingers in that silky dark hair as he fucked that beautiful mouth—

"I don't know whether to get naked or spill my ice water in your lap."

Jamie's words slowly penetrated his brain. He realized he'd been watching Jamie's mouth, and from the amused look on the other man's face, he'd probably been staring for a while. Yeah, he'd been caught in a fantasy. No use denying that.

"Fuck you, Mainwaring," he said, with a laugh.

Jamie's gaze heated and he inhaled sharply. "Yes. All right...as soon as we get to New York. But then turn-about is fair play, I'm going to fuck you, too."

A shiver ran up his spine at Jamie's sophisticated accent wrapped around the crude words. _Jesus Christ._ He wanted the man across from him like he'd wanted no other—but it couldn't possibly work. Not with his history and God knows, not in the middle of this case.

"Jamie," he said, and winced at the strangled sound of his own voice. He looked away from the intense expression of desire on the other man's face. He swallowed the rest of his martini, closed his eyes briefly, but he couldn't escape the heat of his own desire.

"Jamie," he tried again. "I can't. We can't. I don't do—"

"Gentlemen, your wine." The server appeared at Mainwaring's elbow. After the appropriate rituals, a glass was placed near his hand. Before the server left the table, he signaled to a younger man hovering in the background. He returned a moment later with a tray of food, and Remy sat back and looked over the dinner he didn't remember ordering.

"I trust everything is as you like it, sir?"

"Yes, fine, fine. Thank you, Jonathon," Jamie said.

Remy looked down in confusion at the steak and new potatoes on his plate then back up at Jamie. "Did I order this?"

****

Jamie watched Remy's face as he tried to sort through what had happened since they'd arrived at the table. He'd realized the American had slipped into a fantasy when his breathing changed and his cheeks flushed. It had taken all his considerable will power, plus the presence of their server, to keep Jamie from bundling Remy right back up to their room. But he didn't want the big man for a quick release. No, he wanted to take his time, to make those big dark eyes go blind with pleasure, to fuck him so hard that he wouldn't be able to run away when they were finished. He cleared his throat and answered Remy's question.

"No. You looked as if you were contemplating eating me, so I took the liberty of ordering for you. Now, would you like to finish telling me why we can't—Oh, bloody hell!"

The two men barely had time to acknowledge the high-pitched resonance of Daphne Fortesque's voice, when the newspaper skittered across the table. Jamie reached out to try and save the wine and water glasses, and noted Remy attempting the same, but it was too late—a large pink stain blossomed on the pristine tablecloth.

"Would you like to explain yourself, young man?"

Jamie's gaze flew to the two women standing beside the table and the nervous looking Monty Fortesque wringing his hands behind them. "Mother?" His tone was incredulous as he stared into the cold green eyes glaring down at him. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"If you sincerely need to ask that question, James," Anna said regally, "then I'm ashamed to say that I raised a fool as well as an exhibitionist."

Jamie followed the direction of her gaze to the paper on the table and his stomach bottomed out at the picture in full color on the front page of the society section. The photographer couldn't have caught a better shot if Remy and he had actually posed for it in a studio. They were wrapped around each other on the dance floor, so close that not even a breath could have come between them. Remy's hands were firmly cupping his arse and their lips were together in a passionate kiss, Jamie's fingers in the other man's hair. It was perfect. His gaze flitted briefly to Remy and for a moment, he thought he saw compassion in the warm hazel eyes as he held Jamie's gaze.

"Mother, I—" he faltered at the glistening in his mother's eyes and his throat tightened at the unexpected sight. He'd anticipated a scene, screaming, accusations being hurled, maybe even an army of Beefeaters ready to ship him off to the Tower, but not this. Not the tiredness, the confusion, the utter despair he saw now. He didn't think he had ever seen his mother so defeated in his entire life. All of a sudden, this didn't feel like such a good idea. He wanted to take it all back and tell her everything that was going on, that he was sorry he was responsible for the pain etched into her face.

The inner emotional turmoil must have been easy for Remy to see, because the other man's warm fingers enclosed around his where they lay against the table. The warning was clear in the pressure of Remy's fingers, but so was the support as he stroked his thumb across the back of Jamie's hand. Taking a deep breath, he managed to swallow down his apology, saying instead in a casual tone, "What do you want me to say?"

"There is nothing you have to say that I could possibly want to hear."

Jamie huffed out a joyless laugh. "Well, that's not exactly new, is it Mother? So why don't you let me have it." He was painfully aware of the silence in the dining room and the weight of the other guests' stares. "Tell me how I've once again shamed the name of Mainwaring. How I've brought disrepute to the house of Fordham. How I have no right to the title my father wore with pride. There's nothing you could say that I haven't heard a million times before."

He was wrong.

"I love you, Jamie," Anna said softly, her head held high. "But you are no longer welcome in my home, and I will not acknowledge you as my son." Reaching out a gloved hand, she cupped his cheek and stroked a gentle thumb across his cheekbone, then turned and walked away, Daphne and Monty in tow.

It was as though a knife had been plunged into his chest and carved into his heart. The finality in his mother's tone, the sorrow in her eyes, had left him breathless and he didn't even realize he'd turned his hand in Remy's and was holding on for dear life. A couple walked past their table and he dimly heard the woman hiss to the man, "That's Jamie Mainwaring, his picture was in the rags this morning. Did you see his mother's face? Poor woman."

"Jamie?"

Remy's voice was insistent and Jamie forced himself to look at him. There was nothing in the other man's eyes but understanding and for a moment, Jamie thought that he was going to lose what little dignity he had left and burst into tears. Instead, he swallowed hard and tried to say nonchalantly, "Well, I think it's safe to say it worked." He was appalled by the fact that the nonchalance he was going for came out more little boy lost, the words sounding thick and painful as they fell from his lips. Remy didn't respond and for that Jamie was grateful, but the big man didn't untangle their fingers, which for some reason, he appreciated even more.

##  Chapter Eight

Jamie had been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd left the hotel the night before. He'd slept most of the flight, his head eventually dropping onto Remy's shoulder. The gesture felt oddly intimate and awakened unwelcomed feelings of protectiveness, even as he'd pulled the blanket over the other man's shoulders.

Their suite was a two story, two-bedroom luxury apartment that overlooked Central Park. It was going to set back the Lord's bank account by a considerable chunk, but Mainwaring said nothing as he listened politely to the rehearsed recitation of the hotel amenities. Jamie played his role perfectly and allowed Remy to direct the bellmen to place the bags in their respective rooms.

Remy unpacked his computer bag and briefly wondered where he'd put the London newspaper that Lady Mainwaring had tossed on their table. He'd thought it was in this bag, but maybe it was in the overnight bag. With a sigh at the memory of the previous night's ugly scene, he knew he wanted to throw away the gossip rag as soon as possible. He wasn't even sure why he'd grabbed it off the table, other than he hadn't wanted to leave it behind for the restaurant staff to snicker over. He was just connecting his laptop when Jamie poked his head in the door.

"I'm knackered. I'm going to catch another couple of hours sleep," he said, and walked quickly away. When Remy heard the footsteps on the stairs, he pulled out his personal cell and made the first of two phone calls.

"Don't say anything else," he interrupted when the call was answered and the man on the other end started to identify himself. "Do you recognize my voice?"

"Yes," was the cold reply.

"Good. Now call this number back from another phone. One that isn't linked anywhere," he said, then severed the connection. He knew what he was doing was dangerous, but he thought he could trust the old man. Five minutes later the call was returned.

"No names or other identifiers. You need to know this and you need to protect the information as if his life depends on it, but you can tell the one who needs to know. Undercover." He hung up and hoped it was enough. Then with an eye roll at the twelve-year old girl who apparently lived inside his head, he decided he'd played Boy Scout enough for one day.

He dialed the second number and got an even less cordial reply than the first one.

"Wha-fuck-shit," the phone sounded as if it clattered to the floor. "Remington? Man, what the fuck you calling so early for?"

"Hey, Miggy. What's shaking?"

"Remy, my man, if you called to ask me that, I'm gonna kick your fucking ass next time I see you. Which I hope is never," he said. The sounds of his yawn carried over the line. "Seriously, dude. I was working until...fuck...what time is it? Ten? Jesus. I was working until about three hours ago. Go the fuck away. Call me at noon." The line went dead.

Remy realized he was grinning and checked his watch. Miguel Rojas would call back within the hour. The man would shower, make a cup of café Cubano strong enough to melt a spoon, then call back, acting annoyed as hell. And unable to resist the mystery of why Remy called, because they both knew it wasn't the sort of thing Remy would do.

They'd met at Quantico several years previously and formed an instant bond of mutual disgust on the first afternoon of a weeklong profiling course. They each took a chair in one of the back corners of the classroom. With a silent nod of acknowledgment, Remy indicated he understood that the other man could see the exits and was protecting his own back. He understood because he was doing the same. They exchanged looks again when a fresh-faced kid in his third year of college walked to the front of the class and introduced himself as their next "expert" profiler. Or maybe the bond was their mutual disdain for the class dress code of professional business attire. They'd each worn jeans and T-shirts.

Over drinks and dinner, they'd discovered they both primarily worked deep undercover assignments, almost always worked solo, and neither wanted to be there. For the rest of the week, the days had been endless rounds of watching their Feeb wanna-be classmates kiss ass; the evenings were enjoyable bullshit sessions over beer, trashing the instructors and topping each other's crime fighting stories.

On the last night of the course, Remy had just returned to the table carrying their third round of beer when Miggy leaned over and said quietly, "You're pretty damned good. You've got a little bit of a tell, but not much."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Remy asked, instantly defensive.

Miggy had held up both hands in a universal sign for peace. "Hey man, save it for someone who gives a shit. As long as you're not tagging my ass, I don't give a flying fuck. I'm just saying, you have a tell."

Interested, despite the hazards of outing himself in the law enforcement community, he'd asked what the other detective had seen.

"All week....you observe everyone in your vicinity. It's why you're a successful undercover, you watch, but not with the typical restless cop eyes. It's casual, natural looking. Like I said, you're good. Tonight, that group of firefighters comes in, and after a quick scan, you've avoided looking directly at them. Hell, even a straight man would notice all that beef, so I figure there must be a reason you don't want to get caught staring. The way I figure, being a gay cop is like being undercover full time. Just thought you should know. You ever get to New York, you got one friend at NYPD who doesn't give a shit what you do on your own time."

"Well fuck me," Remy had said under his breath.

"Thanks, but you're not my type. On the other hand, the fire fighter wearing the white T and blue jeans got a boner watching you carry the bottles from the bar."

The sound of his cell phone jerked Remy from his memories.

"All right, asshole. Spill it," Miguel said by way of a greeting.

When Remy told him what he needed, Miggy laughed darkly. "I can do that. Go to XES...it's the kind of place you're looking for. I'll be there, but not before midnight at the earliest. Bring plenty of cash. See ya, asshole."

It had been a long twenty-four hours with too little sleep and too much caffeine. Remy was still too keyed up to sleep. Afraid of the temptation to go upstairs and crawl into bed next to tall, dark, and heartbroken, he changed into shorts and a wife beater, and slipped quietly out of their suite, in search of the hotel gym. He needed a punishing workout, one that would leave his muscles trembling and not from an earth-shattering orgasm. He set his plan. He would push his muscles to the max, take a shower, then catch a good long nap before their clubbing tonight. And while he worked, he absolutely would not think about the dark-headed god with the perfect mouth, who even now was upstairs in their suite. Probably sprawled across his big bed. Was he naked? _Yeah...not even gonna wonder if Jamie is hard._

****

Jamie couldn't relax past the throbbing in his temples. He didn't think he'd ever been so tired, and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he knew the tension in every muscle had more to do with the quiet finality in his mother's voice than jetlag. Gripping the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he groaned softly. It was no good; he was going to have to take something. Throwing back the covers he clambered out of bed and padded across the room toward the couch, where he had dumped his and Remy's carry-on bags. The sound of Remy moving around downstairs had him changing direction and he stopped just short of the banister along the mezzanine. He watched as Remy bent to tie his sneakers, obviously intending to use the hotel's gym if the sweatpants and wife beater he had changed into was anything to go by. And no, his gaze was not lingering on the luscious curve of Remy's perfectly rounded arse as he tied his laces. Nor was he biting on his lower lip to try and prevent the gasp bubbling in his throat from escaping when Remy looped the towel around his neck...his muscles rippling beneath the skin at the movement. _Yeah, sure you're not_ _._

He waited until the other man had closed the door behind him to let out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and returned to his original task. Unzipping his bag, he rooted around and huffed in annoyance when he found the box of ibuprofen and opened it, to find that the blister pack inside was empty. Frustrated with himself for putting the empty pack back in the box, he rubbed a hand across his forehead and then shrugged before unzipping Remy's bag in the hope that his roommate had some painkillers among his possessions. His fingers grabbed the small bottle and heaved a sigh of relief when he found acetaminophen. After scanning the directions, he shook two into his palm and then recapped the bottle, tossing it back into Remy's bag. Grabbing the half-empty bottle of water from his bag, he opened it and took a large mouthful, grimacing at the gritty taste of the already melting pills on his tongue as he swallowed them. Jamie turned to close Remy's bag and noticed the folded newspaper sticking out of the side pocket.

A frown creased his brow as he pulled at the paper and unfolded it, immediately recognizing it as the copy his mother had tossed at him the night before. _What the fuck is it doing in his bag?_ He glanced at the picture of the two of them taken by the paparazzi. Scanning the full article he saw various other pictures of the club goers who had been there that night, his lips lifting slightly when he saw Marcus wrapped around some guy as they were practically poured into a cab. But it was the picture below that which held his attention, together with the caption beneath it.

Earl's New Boy Toy Stepping Out Already?

His gut tightened at the photograph of Remy and some blond twink. He noted the way Remy's fingers were entwined with the youth's as he hailed a cab. Saw the way that the blond gazed up at the man like he was some white knight come to his rescue. "Some fucking hero," Jamie ground out through gritted teeth, his voice loud in the silence of the room. "Some fucking, miserable, lying, scumbag of a hero!" Re-folding the paper, he put it back where he found it and stomped across the room, throwing himself down onto the mattress and pulling a pillow over his head. So that's where he went after he'd touched me, kissed me, made me think that he wanted me? _Fucking bastard! What was I supposed to be? The entrée? Two can play at that game Remington what the fuck ever. Two can play at that game._

Tossing the pillow across the room, Jamie reached out for the phone and dialed reception. His call was answered almost immediately by a very helpful young man named Jean-Claude, who informed him that the best place to get noticed in New York was in the XES Lounge. Thanking Jean-Claude for his help and assuring him that he would call if he needed anything—or anyone—else, he hung up and headed into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and smiled to himself as he stripped out of his boxers. It was time that Remington and he established their cover, and time for his man Remington to do his job.

By the time he'd finished his shower, taking his time to wash his hair and his body, spending long satisfying minutes with the water cascading over him easing his aching muscles and tired soul, he heard Remy call his name from the bedroom. He turned off the flow of water and stepped out of the cubicle, grabbing a fluffy white towel from the rail and wrapping it around his waist. Okay, so it was vanity that made him stop and check his reflection and poke at the damp strands of his hair to make sure they looked satisfactorily disheveled—but one had to look their best when one was planning to irritate a very large American.

"Hey," he said as he wandered into the bedroom. He swallowed the smile of satisfaction when Remy turned around and saw him standing there, wearing nothing but a towel, his chest damp and his muscled thighs poking out from beneath the small square of cotton around his hips.

"Did you sleep?" Remy asked gruffly, pulling off his wife beater.

_Touché._ "Not really," Jamie replied as he stretched out on the mattress and crossed his ankles. "Which is probably a good thing since we're going out."

"Out? Out where?" Remy asked, stepping out of his sweatpants and folding them neatly before placing them on the back of the chair.

Jamie shrugged nonchalantly as he willed his cock not to embarrass him at the sight of Remy standing before him in only tight cotton briefs. "I thought we ought to go to one of the popular bars and establish some cover...you know...the fallen Earl, that sort of thing. And maybe we ought to find me some bit of tottie to fool around with. We want to make it look good...don't we?"

Remy frowned and eyed him with disdain. "Seriously? You want me to find you a piece of ass?"

"You heard the director," Jamie replied with a bored yawn. "It's in your job description. Now run along and have a shower, there's a good man, you're a little on the ripe side." He chuckled softly when Remy turned on his heel and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, muttering to himself. Jamie's grin widened as he heard Remy banging about and cursing loudly and he folded his arms beneath his head on the pillow and said softly, "Let the games begin."

****

Remy stood under the steaming spray, glad that Jamie couldn't see the smile he'd let loose as soon as the door to the bathroom was closed. Find him a piece of ass. So His Lordship thought to play a game, did he? Remy had learned to read the man a bit over the last few days, and that bored, affected, oh-so-very-British attitude Jamie had just used was the one he used when he was feeling defensive. _Or jealous_. Not that Remy wanted Jamie to feel jealous...because he didn't. They couldn't have that type of relationship. And for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what he'd done to bring on this round of attitude. It didn't matter—Remy had already taken care of that little detail. He had no doubt that Miggy would come through with exactly what he'd requested. He couldn't wait to see Jamie's face when he brought him the rent boy.

He frowned at the unwelcome image of some damn twink on his knees, taking that thick, hard cock—he pushed the thought away. The uptight Brit wouldn't let things get that far...would he?

Suddenly anxious to finish his shower, Remy reached for his shampoo and froze. What the hell had he done? He looked around the shower stall and realized his error. When he'd returned from the gym he'd gone straight up to the master suite and undressed while he and Jamie sparred. Shit. This was Jamie's bathroom. Somehow, he'd completely forgotten that he had his own room and his own bathroom downstairs.

****

Remy eased into the open spot in front of XES, flashed his pass at the beefy bouncer-cum-valet, then jumped out to run around and open the door for Jamie. The chrome-colored stanchions were spaced every ten feet and strung together with thick velvet ropes to keep the crowd of partygoers neatly lined up against the brick façade of the old warehouse. He heard the men at the front of the line as they speculated about the Armani-clad, tall, dark, and drop-dead-gorgeous, green-eyed god he escorted. He felt his own eyes go green, and shoved that misplaced feeling of possessiveness back into its cave.

His research and afternoon legwork had paid off. Once he'd spoken to the management at the trendiest gay nightclub in New York, it hadn't been any trouble to acquire a VIP invitation for Lord Fordham and his bodyguard. He'd had a harder time convincing Jamie to wait until it was late enough for them to be seen at the club. It wasn't remotely likely that anyone who moved in the murky world of underground sex was going to be in a nightclub at six in the evening, even on a Saturday night. His Lordship was still running on London time.

The truck-sized doorman opened the door to the club with a flourish, "M'Lord," he muttered. Remy bit his tongue and swallowed a laugh. Before they even stepped inside, a wave of sound washed over them. Remy squinted against the swirling lights and scanned the interior of the club. It was a study in blues and greens. Spotlights with gels were strategically pointed at the DJ, the bar, the dance floor. Behind the giant bar, neon ropes twisted into glowing braids formed the letters X-E-S. Man-sized lava lamps stood sentinel throughout the room.

"Holy fuck," he muttered, looking up. Jamie grabbed his arm and followed his gaze to look up at the ceiling. The overhead space was open to the room below, with exposed ductwork, pipes, and a motorized rail and pulley system. Large see-through blue and green globes glided in a pattern above the dance floor, suspended from the mechanized track. Each ball contained a nearly nude man bumping and grinding to the beat of the music.

As if suddenly burned, Jamie took his hand from Remy's arm, and again there was a flash of a look, a twist of something that crossed the handsome Brit's face. Whatever it was, the distance between them seemed greater than ever. Which was a fine thing, because Remy needed to stay focused on keeping Jamie safe. If everything went according to plan, Mainwaring was about to step into the hell of the illicit underground sex trade, and he needed—no—he deserved all of Remy's attention.

Another of the big burly bouncer-types waited for them just inside the door. "Lord Fordham. It's a pleasure to have you at XES. My name is Charles, and I'm the floor manager, tonight," he shouted over the thrumming techno-beat. "We have a booth for you over here. If you'll follow me." The polite words were a bit incongruous, because the man cut through the crowd like a defensive lineman. He waved his hand in the direction of the bar, then stepped aside to reveal a deeply shadowed, horseshoe-shaped black booth with a tented sign indicating the table was reserved.

"Thank you, Charles," Jamie shouted and slid onto the bench seat. He nodded at Remy, who took the gesture for what it was, and slipped a folded bill into the manager's hand. Charles slipped away and was immediately replaced by a waiter carrying a dink on a tray.

"Dry martini, sir," said the slender young man, wearing black pleather pants, suspenders, and a bow tie. Washboard abs were prominently displayed between the straps that framed his bare chest, and muscles rippled under a faint sheen of oil glistening on his tanning booth skin.

Jamie accepted the drink and offered a toast, the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Ah, excellent. I assume I owe this to you, Remington. Good man." He turned to face the waiter. "Speaking of delicious..."

"Yes, sir. If you would prefer something...different, just let me know," the sexy blonde server added, with a wink.

"Does that include you, love?" Jamie asked, licking his lips, his gaze doing the slow crawl and zeroing in on the waiter's bulging crotch.

The waiter's smile did bad things to Remy's stomach, so he tossed a bill onto the drink tray and leaned in close to make sure his words wouldn't be missed. "He's teasing. You're too old. Now go away, fuckhead."

The waiter's smile faltered as he looked between Jamie and Remy, then his professionally polite mask returned. Remy nodded once when he was sure the server got the message. He grabbed the waiter's arm as he turned to leave. "Bring Lord Fordham a fresh drink every thirty minutes; bring me four bottled waters right now. Other than that, stay scarce. Understand?"

"A bit harsh on the lad, don't you think?" Jamie said, after blondie left the table.

"Try not to be too much of an ass, Man-wearing," Remy drawled. "He's not your type, remember?"

"And you think you know my type?" Jamie asked, and his gaze did that same slow trip he'd used with the waiter.

Remy's dick went hard, but he didn't flinch from the slow perusal. When Jaime's eyes finally met his, Remy closed the space between them. He threaded his fingers into the silky black hair and gave a hard jerk. Jamie's gasp quickly turned into a moan as Remy covered his mouth with an angry, possessive kiss.

Everything leading up to the kiss had been scripted, carefully negotiated before they left the suite in order to leave the impression that the Lord was falling under Remington's spell. But Remy hadn't counted on the sheer wildness that watching Jamie flirt with another man would bring.

Time spun out, the lights and noise of the club washed over them and a throbbing, pulsing beat of desire pounded through Remy, urging him to take what was his. He tightened his fist in Jamie's hair and pulled hard enough to arch the long, slender neck, before he shifted his attention to the taut skin. His teeth grazed Jamie's throat, nibbled, nipped, drawing a moan from the man sprawled beneath him in the booth. He bit down harder and sucked up a mark low on the Jamie's collarbone. When Mainwaring pushed against his chest, Remy slowly, reluctantly, pulled back and let loose of the hair twisted in his hand. He shifted slightly, tracing his fingers over Jamie's jaw, met the beautiful green gaze that swirled with equal parts desire and confusion. He leaned in for one last taste, gently nipped on the full bottom lip that drove him mad, then pulled back.

Remy dug deep to find a smile and forced himself back into the role he was supposed to be playing. "It's show time, baby. I need to go talk with someone. Go dance."

Jamie blinked slowly, and Remy watched as the fuck-me hunger died away, and was replaced by something that looked suspiciously like betrayal, before his spine stiffened. Remy knew he'd hurt Jamie once again, but on the off chance someone was already watching them—well, he was supposed to have Jamie under his spell, wasn't he?

"Yo, mother fucker," a voice growled close behind him as he headed toward the back hall where the bathrooms and private booths were located.

"Goddamn, Miguel, you're as ugly as ever," he said. He kept his eyes narrowed and his face blank. They couldn't be overheard amidst the music, but neither man would give any physical hint that this was anything other than a routine drug buy.

"That your man?" Miggy thrust his chin in the direction of Mainwaring.

"Partner."

"Partner? Never figured you for the settling down type," Miggy said.

"Fuck you," Remy said, shaking his head. "You know exactly what I mean."

"I know what you're saying, and I know what I saw. We both know what it's like to get caught up in the cover," Miggy said, and his gaze slid away.

Remy looked at the undercover cop closely then. He noticed the weight loss, red-rimmed eyes, chapped skin around the other man's nostrils. "Fuck," he said.

"No big deal," Miggy said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Listen, I gotta run, man. Here's your blow." He held out a hand as if for a shake, and they exchanged a bill for a bag.

Remy dipped his little finger into the bag, then rubbed the white powder on his gums. He licked his lips, gave an approving nod, and then slipped the bag into his pocket. "How much longer?" he asked his friend, referring to Miguel's undercover assignment.

"A month, maybe two..."

"You got someone to pull you out?" Remy asked. He knew that Miggy usually worked deep undercover assignments alone, but it looked as if the man had gotten in too deep this time. It happened with the undercover narcs. No matter how hard you tried to avoid it, sometimes the circumstances demanded that you sample the wares or risk blowing your cover. And sometimes that taste turned into something more.

When Miggy shook his head at the question, Remy let instinct take over. "Not sure how long I'm gonna be here, but when this is done, when you're finished...come stay with me in Phoenix. Get out of here for a while."

"Getting fuckin' soft, Remington? You know I don't play for your team." Despite the gruff words, there was a quiet desperation about the other cop. A desperation Remy knew too well, had felt too often. Times when he had worried he was in danger of falling so far into his own cover that he might never get out.

"I wouldn't even fuck you with someone else's dick," Remy grinned. "Besides, we both know you want me to tag your ass," he said, reminding Rojas of just how far back they went and that the secrets between them were sacred. Miguel stared for a long time then nodded, once, his eyes hooded, giving nothing away. He turned and gestured for a slender blond youth to join them. Remy's stomach seized at the similarities between this rent boy and the one he'd taken from the club in London. Slender bodies, narrow hips, long limbs, the fresh-faced innocence of youth. Until you got to the eyes. They had old damn eyes. He recognized the look from his own mirror.

With one last look at Miggy, he took the boy with the ancient eyes by the hand and pulled him along until they were on the dance floor. He pushed past the sweaty, gyrating bodies, ignored the groping hands and the shouted suggestions for him and his friend to join in the fun. He didn't stop until they were next to Jamie and the asshole who was trying to fuck him through his jeans.

This wasn't exactly a part of the plan he'd told Jamie about. Remy blew out a breath as he pulled the kid close and wrapped his arms around the thin shoulders. The song changed to something slower, something seductive, and Remy used the opportunity to draw the boy even closer. He bent his head and pressed his lips against the tender shell of an ear. "What's your name, kid?"

The youth slid his hands around Remy's waist and down lower until he had Remy's ass firmly in his hands. "You can call me Midnight."

Remy didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He'd used that name a time or two himself. Fighting the memories, he stole a glance at Jamie and saw he had his eyes closed while his dance partner ran his tongue along the neck Remy had marked such a short time ago. His hands were pulling Jamie's hips back and forth in a languid pumping motion. Fuck. He'd deal with that in a minute.

Just then, the kid reached between them and his hand found Remy's cock. Remington jerked himself out of range. "Save it for the client. I don't do little boys."

"I'm not as young as you think. I'm eighteen. Miggy said it had to be legal."

"Still not old enough for me, kid. It's the guy right here next to us. Dance a little, make it look good. Then take him to the back. Drag it out, make it last. But no skin. No BJ, no hand job. Tonight is all about the tease—you got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Why don't you fuckin' collar him to mark your territory?"

"Mind your Goddamn business, and remember...no fucking skin. I find his dick in any part of you, I'll cut it off."

"Whatever, but the dude behind your man is gonna blow all over those pants."

****

Jamie's hips moved with the beat, keeping time with the guy he was dancing with, grinding into him. He could feel the hard length of the cock pressed up against his lower back and if he kept his eyes closed, he could imagine it was Remy's arms looped around his waist, Remy's hands on his stomach.

"Take a hike." Jamie's eyes flew open at the sound of Remy's voice and the guy he'd been dancing with stepped away at the undisguised threat in the big man's tone. Jamie stumbled and the young man in front of him slid thin arms around his waist, pulling him close against his nubile body. His gaze flew to Remy's over the youth's shoulder and he felt something deep inside him shatter at the realization that the boy Remy had picked could have been the mirror image of the twink the American had left the club in London with.

Jamie lifted his hand, keeping his expression impassive as he traced the curve of the boy's cheek, his gaze never leaving Remy's. A shudder flowed down his spine and Remy's hazel eyes darkened as he couldn't resist snaking his tongue out to teasingly moisten his lips. Satisfaction uncurled in the pit of his stomach when Remy moved around the boy who stood between them and pressed his body up against Jamie's back. He gasped as the fingers of one of Remy's hands curled into his hip and the others wound themselves in his hair, a sharp tug pulling Jamie's head around.

The lick of Remy's tongue on the sensitive skin behind his ear was nearly Jamie's undoing and his cock strained against his zipper. He was unable to stop himself from turning his head a little more and searching for Remy's mouth. The man drove him crazy and he fucking knew it. Losing himself in Remy's lips on his, he barely noticed the boy bumping and grinding before him, hands wandering over his ass — until Remy released his mouth and whispered into his ear, "Make it good."

The words cut through him like a knife plunged into his chest. Jamie gazed into Remy's eyes hoping to see some sign that Remy really didn't want him to do this. But the shutters had already come down, and Remy's face was a perfectly controlled emotionless mask. Turning back to the blond, Jamie curled a hand around his slender neck and brought their lips together in a deep and dirty kiss. He wanted to vomit. He allowed the boy to take his hand and lead him off the dance floor, not even bothering to look back at the man he had left behind.

Jamie tried to keep up the pretense as he settled into the booth in the back room and the twink crawled in after him. "What's your name?" It was a simple enough question, but judging by the raised eyebrow, the blond wasn't used to having to make polite conversation. Especially as his reply was to simply straddle Jamie's lap and kiss him with abandon. Jamie tried, he really did. He'd drunk way too much, he knew that. He was supposed to have been diluting his martinis with water, but he'd swallowed the first two as though they were lemonade. He couldn't do this. _Didn't_ _want_ _to do this_. How proud his mother would be if she knew that by virtue of his birth, his title, he got to act like a whore in public. Even he was having difficulty hanging onto the thought that it was all an act, and that in the end his actions were for the greater good.

The boy's tongue assaulted his mouth and his hard length ground against Jamie's uninterested dick. He tried to concentrate on the matter at hand, but the boy did absolutely nothing for him, even in his alcohol-fueled state. The blond didn't have broad shoulders, muscles upon muscles, and a mouth that turned his blood into liquid fire. His Brooklyn twang didn't send wave after wave of desire through him, just by whispering his name. It was wrong. All of it was wrong. Fucking Remington-what-the-fuck-ever had ruined him for every other man. He was going to have to join a monastery, or worse, he'd have to spend the rest of his life giving lectures to the blue-rinse brigade of London society.

His stomach lurched as the boy eased himself off his lap and dropped to his knees, slim fingers fumbling at Jamie's belt. Was it rude to vomit on a perfectly nice young thing attempting to give you a perfectly nice blowjob? Because that was what was going to happen any minute. Leaning his head back against the leather cushion of the banquet, Jamie closed his eyes and inwardly cringed at the slide of soft hands on his thighs.

"That's enough!"

****

Midnight jumped as if shot. "We weren't doing anything...I didn't...he couldn't even...I was just trying to get him hard..."

Remy blinked...then staying in character, he said, "You ain't fuckin' young enough. You're showing too much experience. I told you to drag it out, and no skin. Now go wait for me by the front door."

He turned to Jamie. The man was pressed against the bench seat, arms at his sides, clothes askew. His hair was mussed, and his green eyes were wild with some dark emotion.

"We're finished here tonight, let's go," he said and held out a hand. Jamie took the help up. Remy put a protective arm around Jamie's waist and walked as though supporting a well-fucked and fucked up companion.

Remy's hands fisted on the steering wheel and he almost choked on the images tumbling in his head. Jamie kissing the kid on the dance floor. Jamie sprawled in the back room, Midnight between his legs. Even knowing Midnight was eighteen hadn't helped. He was still just a kid, another boy who was making his living on the street, giving BJs for his supper or for a place to sleep. Why had he thought it was a good idea to stay on this fuckin' case?

Jesus. What if Jamie had been hard? What if he'd been all over Midnight in the back room? Remy swallowed, his suddenly tight throat working against the sick feeling. He could have handled it. _Would have_. They were just two cops working a case.

Yeah. I'll just keep tellin' myself that.

****

Jamie threw the keycard down onto the table as soon as he entered the suite and stormed up the stairs, not even acknowledging Remy when the big man followed him. He'd had enough. He wanted to wash the feel of the club off him. The feel of the young man's hands on him. Wanted to be clean. Ignoring Remy completely, he began to strip off his clothes. The other man had obviously followed him upstairs to impart more pearls of wisdom, but he didn't give a shit if he was stark bollock naked while Remy did it.

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on in that prissy little head of yours?" Remy's tone was harsh and Jamie glanced up from unbuckling his belt to see Remy with his hands on his hips, glaring accusingly at him.

"Prissy?" Jamie spat. "Fuck off."

"You've barely said a word since I hauled you out of the back room," Remy persisted. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with me?" Jamie had sobered considerably since Remy had unceremoniously dragged him from the booth, just as the blond was undoing his jeans. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" His voice rose on every word and he didn't care if they had half the hotel staff up here demanding to know what was going on. He stormed across the room and shoved a hand against Remy's chest. "You strutted me around like a fatted calf, looking for the highest bidder. You were going to let him put his hands on me, put his mouth on me, and you didn't even bat an eye, you bastard!"

"What are you talking about?" Remy's gaze was clouded with confusion but Jamie ignored it. "I did what we were supposed to do. We're undercover, remember? Tonight was all about creating the debauched Lord and his particular tastes. What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem is that the only person's particular tastes being met tonight were yours!" Jamie ground out. He stormed across the room and grabbed Remy's bag, reaching into the pocket for the London newspaper. Throwing it at Remy, he grunted in satisfaction when it hit the man square in the chest and then dropped to the floor, forcing Remy to bend and pick it up. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? Is that what you like, Remy? You like 'em young and fresh, barely legal. Or does legal even matter?" He crossed the room in three long steps and knocked the paper from Remy's hands.

"Is that what you think?" Hurt was the last thing Jamie expected to see in Remy's eyes when they locked with his. "You seriously think I would go there with a kid? After what I—"

"I don't know what to think!" Jamie yelled, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "You hide behind that bloody wall you've built. Just when I think it's started to crumble, you build it right back up again. How the hell am I supposed to know what you want, what you need?" The breath left him in a harsh groan as he was jerked against Remy's muscled body and his wrists were encircled by a rough hand and held together behind his back, causing him to arch against the man holding him tight. He made a token attempt at struggling, but all coherent thoughts dissipated when Remy bent his head and growled.

"You wanna know what I want—what I need?" He bit down on the jut of Jamie's collarbone and Jamie groaned, unable to escape Remy's grasp. "I want you. Goddamn me...only you."

To Jamie, it seemed as though everything was moving at warp speed and slow motion simultaneously. One minute his arms were held behind his back and the next they'd been released and were wound around Remy's neck. Then strong hands were lifting him and his legs were wrapped around the big man's waist as Remy carried him across the room and lowered him to the bed.

Their clothes seemed to disappear and before he could draw breath, he and Remy were naked and tangled in each other on the crisp white sheets. "Remy, please." Jamie moaned, his hands moving feverishly over the taut skin of Remy's back, the bronzed flesh burning where he touched.

"Jamie," Remy growled, rearing up on his hands and gazing down at Jamie. "I can't do slow, don't...know how."

Feathering his fingers through Remy's hair, Jamie pulled him down and licked his way into Remy's willing mouth, swallowing the moan that vibrated in the muscled chest against his. When he finally let Remy up for air, he shook his head. "Don't need slow, just need you." He gasped arching into the weight of Remy's body, desperately seeking the friction he craved.

Remy took him at his word and crawled down Jamie's body to take the hard length of his cock between beautiful lips and into the dark heat beyond. "Fuck...Remy...so good." Jamie panted, his fingers curling into the sheet beneath him to try and stop himself from flying off the bed. The sweet torture of Remy sucking him down was coupled almost immediately with the swirl of wet fingers around his hole. "Oh, God yes. Right there...right there!" When Remy's fingers slipped inside him, the burn made his breath hitch in his throat, but when Remy's finger found that spot deep in the dark, stars burst behind his eyelids and he cried out as pleasure washed over him.

Jamie was on fire, his body no longer under his control as Remy pumped his fingers in and out of his channel, stretching the muscle, rubbing his thumb around the rim. Totally incapable of forming a coherent thought, all he could do was hang on and hope that he didn't burn up from the inside out. Remy's exquisite mouth was sending to him heights he had never felt before and his need for release could no longer be held back. "Remy..." he panted, "gonna come..."

"Turn over, on your knees," Remy ordered.

"Fucking hell!" Jamie yelled as in one swift move, Remy released his cock and manhandled Jamie into position. He had a moment to wonder when Remy had time to put on a condom, but the thought was quickly chased away by the single mantra of Remy's name as the big man slid the head of his cock along Jamie's crease, before breaching his hole. He made quick, short strokes, pushing his way deeper with each thrust. Jamie slowly lost his mind from the pressure, the friction, the fullness, as Remy moved within him.

Once Remy was balls deep, long fingers grasped Jamie's hips, digging in with a bruising pressure. Jamie was held firmly in place as Remy pounded his ass. It was fast and hard and Jamie had never felt so alive. When the thick mushroom-ridged head of Remy's cock brushed over his prostate, all he could do was grunt at each deep thrust. "Remy...I can't hold on..." he moaned, his fingers gripping onto the bed sheets.

"Don't hold on...let it go...baby." Remy's voice was as thick as molasses and as hot as the sun and he bit the back of Jamie's neck, a gesture as possessive and wild as any animal. Jamie flew apart beneath him. He didn't think he'd ever come so hard in his life, without his cock being touched once during penetration. Hot streams of white pulsed onto his belly, his chest, the bed. Remy's stroke lost all rhythm and Jamie felt the cock inside him twitch as Remy came, hips fucking mindlessly into Jamie's ass.

Jamie wanted to wrap his arms around the broad shoulders while the two of them came down together and their breathing returned to something resembling normal, but Remy held him face down. Then an iron fist clenched around his gut when Remy sat up and turned his back. He left him, not only physically, but emotionally as well.

_Oh no you don't!_ Rolling onto his side, he grabbed his discarded boxers by the side of the bed and reached out to strip Remy of the condom, neatly tying it and tossing it into the bin under the nightstand. After wiping his stomach and chest, he pushed until the other man fell back onto the bed. Then he hooked one of his thighs over Remy's legs and raised himself on his elbow to gaze down into heavy-lidded hazel eyes.

"What?" Remy said gruffly.

"You do realize there's absolutely no point in running away again, don't you?" Jamie said softly, tracing the curve of Remy's cheek with one finger.

"And why's that?"

"Because no matter how far you run, it won't be far enough. I'm under your skin, Remington, and you know it. So just lie back and enjoy the ride, there's a good man. You're stuck with me."

##  Chapter Nine

Remy lay on his back and looked up at Jamie and wondered what was going on in the Earl's mind. He didn't run. He never ran. Not exactly. It's just he wasn't built for anything more than fast, furious, and anonymous. Now he'd broken his own rule and fucked someone he knew...someone he'd have to see in the morning. _Shit._ He needed to get out of here. He started to get up, and Jamie latched onto his arm with an iron grip.

"You're right, of course," Jamie said, as though answering some unspoken question. "A bath is exactly what you need."

"A bath?" Remy repeated. The idea was so absurd that he momentarily forgot his objective was to leave as quickly as possible. Instead, he found himself trailing behind a very naked Jamie as he led the way to the bathroom. He watched in baffled amusement as the other man opened the spigots and let the water roar into the sunken tub. He added citrus-scented oil from a small bottle on the counter, then gently pushed against Remy's back until he was forced to either step into the tub or push his way out of the bathroom.

Leaving now would look too damn much like running, and he wasn't going to give tall, dark, and smug any more reason to gloat. He stepped into the tub, noting the temperature was just exactly hot enough as he stretched out. He felt like a fool, but then Jamie leaned over and kissed him until he forgot why this was such a bad idea.

"Now relax, I'll be right back," Jamie said softly, flipping a switch on his way out. Jets of water swirled around Remy, surrounding him with the scent, creating more and more bubbles, soothing the tension from his aching muscles.

Remy rested his arms on the sides of the tub and closed his eyes. He could hear Jamie in the bedroom rustling about and he couldn't help but be curious as to what the other man was doing. Of course, Jamie had been right. The moment the post-orgasmic glow had faded and his muscles had stopped twitching, the realization of what he had done had crept through the mellow fog his brain was cloaked in. With that realization had come the instinct to take flight. His lips lifted as he recalled the determined expression on Jamie's face, and how he'd been mentally manhandled into a bubble bath with barely any effort.

"I hope you're not falling asleep on me, Remington," Jamie drawled from the doorway and Remy half-turned in the bath to gaze at him. God the man was beautiful, all alabaster skin and toned muscle, from his jet-black hair to the soles of his slender feet. "The food will be here soon."

"Food?" Remy asked with the lift of an eyebrow, an involuntary gasp leaving his lips when Jamie knelt behind the free standing bath and gently ran long fingers through his hair. The movement of Jamie's hands was quickly followed by warm soapy water being poured over his hair as Jamie urged him to tilt his head back.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little peckish and you're going to need your sustenance for when we head back into the bedroom," Jamie replied, working shampoo into the short strands of Remy's hair, his blunt nails scratching gently at his scalp.

"Is that so?" Remy sighed into Jamie's touch and moaned lowly when more water ran in rivulets over his skin as the other man rinsed his hair thoroughly, stopping every now and then to teasingly lick droplets from his flesh. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," Jamie said, rubbing a towel over Remy's head. "I was thinking, a little food, a little champagne, then round two...I mean, turnabout is fair play after all."

Remy froze and he knew he hadn't been successful in hiding the stiffening of his muscles, when Jamie's hands stilled in their task of towel drying his hair. He knew perfectly well what Jamie meant—Jamie wanted to fuck him. _I can't, not that..._

"Jamie," he shook his head firmly. "I don't...not..." He ran out of single syllable words to eloquently express himself and banged a balled up fist against the side of the bath. "I can't." He glanced down at the water, but felt Jamie's eyes on him for a long moment before the other man spoke.

"It's okay, cowboy." Jamie bent and captured Remy's lips with his. "As long as you know I'm going to have my wicked way with you before you get to tap this fine arse again."

"Tap that fine arse?" Remy was so relieved that Jamie wasn't demanding an explanation, he found himself teasing back. He looped an arm around Jamie's shoulders and tried to pull him into the tub with him.

"You don't think my arse is fine?" Jamie squawked, pulling back with a shake of his head, grabbing, and then throwing a clean towel to Remy and indicating that he should get out.

"I think your ass is more than fine," Remy replied, standing and briskly toweling down his body before stepping out and doing the same to his legs. "Not entirely sure what this arse is that you keep mentioning."

Jamie rolled his eyes and headed back into the bedroom, and Remy followed him, an unbidden smile curving his lips. He felt light-hearted for possibly the first time in his life. Except for when he was a kid—no, this was not the time to revisit those buried feelings. This was the time to concentrate on the warmth that was spreading throughout him at the sight of Jamie, naked as the day he was born, straightening the bed and fluffing the pillows. In a very manly way, of course. "What are you doing?"

"It's called _setting the scene_ , my uncouth friend," Jamie replied, not even looking up from where he was smoothing the sheets.

Remy smiled with satisfaction when he gripped Jamie's waist and turned him around. "I don't need no _setting_ to fuck you, My Lord," he growled, nipping at Jamie's collarbone. "Anywhere's just fine by me."

"Well, not by me," Jamie said with a quick kiss as they were interrupted by a knock on the door. "That'll be the food and drink." He hurriedly thrust his arms into the sleeves of the heavy white robe and knotted the belt around his waist. When he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder at Remy and added, "And who said anything about fucking?"

_We're not fucking? Then what the hell is all this for?_ Remy gazed at the bed and listened to the clank of a tray as Jamie brought the food upstairs and put it down on the table beside the bed. "What do you mean we're not fucking?" he asked, his gaze following Jamie as the man poured two glasses of champagne from the already open bottle. "I thought you wanted to, you know, again and all that."

Jamie handed him a glass and leaned forward to kiss him. "We're not going to fuck, Remington. We're going to make love. I'm going to show you the difference," he said softly. "Because I think this thing, whatever it is that's between us, has gone way past just fucking. Don't you?"

Remy's suddenly nerveless fingers set the glass down hard. Jamie was awakening feelings that Remy hadn't known he'd possessed, feelings he didn't want—and it scared the shit out of him. He was the consummate professional for God's sake...nothing and no one ever got under his skin, not like this irritating, nosy, conceited, sensitive, kind, loving, goddamn-fucking-beautiful, Lord of the Realm.

Reaching out, he grabbed Jamie's shoulders and hauled him into his arms, mouths coming together in a fusion of desire and need. Remy groaned into the kiss when Jamie's soft lips immediately parted and their tongues met in a duel of dominance, neither wanting to give up control of the union. Leaning into Jamie's body, Remy attempted to walk him back toward the bed, but let out a gasp of surprise when Jamie turned and did exactly that to him, pushing him until his legs hit the edge of the mattress.

The determination in Jamie's grip told Remy that he should just go with whatever the man had planned, because he was running the show and Remy was the willing participant. He thought he was going to cream right there and then when Jamie took hold of his wrists and pushed his hands over his head. "What are you—?"

"Sssh, all you need to do is relax and hang on for the ride, baby," Jamie murmured, licking his way into Remy's mouth. "I'm going to do everything."

"Fuck," Remy moaned, as his hands were urged between the spindles of the headboard. Jamie curled his own fingers around the wood and instructed him not to move. This was whole new territory for him. He was the instigator, the one in control, he held all the cards. Never before had he lain himself at another's mercy. But now, here with Jamie, it felt like the most natural thing to do. He felt...safe.

Remy cursed loudly when ice cold champagne was poured over his chest and ran in freezing rivulets down his flanks. But the curse was soon followed by a low moan when Jamie straddled him and bent to lick all trace of the sparkling wine from his flesh, the slide of his tongue leaving a trail of fire where it touched. His cock was a rod of iron trapped between his belly and Jamie's, the friction sending sparks through him, setting his nerves alight. Every time Jamie leaned in, the movement sent a jolt of heat to his cock and he felt the wetness of his own pre-cum against his skin.

"Come on, Jamie," he groaned, his hips lifting off the bed, trying to get more friction to ease the ache in his groin. "You're killing me, man." The sound of Jamie's chuckle floated through the pleasure-filled fog his brain was engulfed in, giving Remy the notion that that was precisely the idea. He thought he couldn't possibly cope with more sensations until Jamie's sinful lips closed around the head of his cock and he was sucked into the moist cavern of Jamie's mouth.

"Christ!" Jamie was driving him insane, as his cock was worked in and out of the dark heat, Jamie's tongue lapping and stabbing at the bundle of nerves beneath the head as he swallowed him down time and time again. When he felt the first circling of Jamie's finger on his hole, his entire body stiffened. "Jamie...no...I won't—"

"It's okay, cowboy," Jamie said softly, his tone reassuring. "I know...I'm just gonna make you feel good. Close your eyes."

Remy didn't think anything could have prepared him for the stark white pleasure that lit up his entire nervous system at the lap of Jamie's tongue on his fluttering hole. He'd always been the top, always, so no one had ever touched him or rimmed him the way Jamie was doing right now. His fingers curled tighter around the wooden spindles he held onto, just to stop himself from flying off the bed completely. There was no way he was going to last much longer. His balls felt so tight they throbbed with the fevered need for release, and he wasn't waiting a moment longer to be inside the man sending so many emotions and sensations through him.

"Jamie, now, on your knees," Remy grunted, releasing the headboard and trying to urge Jamie over. "Jamie, come on." Remy pushed him again, but Jamie held fast to his biceps and flipped him so that the Englishman was spread out beneath him. "What?" he gasped.

"I told you," Jamie panted, his green eyes wide as they gazed up at him, making Remy's gut tighten even more in their intensity. "Fucking is from behind, Remy. Tonight, we're going to make love, face-to-face. I want you looking in my eyes while you're moving inside me. I want all of you, just as you're getting all of me."

Remy swallowed as Jamie slapped a condom into the palm of his hand, followed by a small tube of lube. He'd never, ever fucked face to face. _But that's not what you're doing, is it, Remington? You're about to make love for the first time._ He had never felt as vulnerable, as open, as he did at this moment. What if he couldn't make love? What if he was incapable of doing anything other than a quick hard fuck? His fingers closed around the items in his hand as Jamie took control again and forced Remy over onto his back once more and straddled his hips. He gazed up into Jamie's sparkling eyes and tried to force his face into an expression of impassivity.

"No you don't, Remy Remington whatever your real name is," Jamie said firmly, bending and bringing their lips together, his slender fingers cupping Remy's cheeks. "You listen to me. The past is past, whatever came before, whatever brought us here, none of it matters. All that matters is us, right here, right now, and how we feel at this exact moment."

Remy gasped as Jamie took the lube and deftly opened it, before he squeezed some out onto his own fingers. Remy thought it was possibly the most erotic thing he had ever seen when Jamie reached between his legs to ready himself for Remy's length. But the thought was quickly driven from his mind at Jamie's next words. "Because no matter...what that moronic head of yours is telling you...I'm here to tell you that you are worth it...and I'm going to prove it to you."

It was as though someone had punched him in the gut with a sledgehammer. Remy's breath actually caught in his throat and for a moment, he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. No one had ever said that to him. No one had ever made him feel that he was wanted more than anything else in the world. No one had ever made him feel like Jamie did. _Careful, Remington. Those walls are crumbling..._

Remy ignored the irritating sneer of his inner voice and closed his eyes as Jamie rolled the condom down his cock, stroking his fingers up and down Remy's shaft before bending to merge their mouths once more. Licking his way into Jamie's open mouth, Remy reached down to curl his hand around the base of his cock to hold himself steady as Jamie lowered himself down onto the crown. The intensity was overwhelming as Jamie slid down his cock, inch by glorious inch, until he was fully seated in his lap. Remy tried to concentrate on breathing in and out, as he was assaulted by the emotion in Jamie's gaze as he stared down at him.

"Feel good?" Jamie gasped.

"Fuck yes, you know it does, you bastard," Remy ground out, moaning into the kiss as Jamie brought their lips together again—and began to move in gentle undulating waves against him. "Jamie, fuck, keep doing that."

Before long, Jamie was riding him hard and fast, leaning forward with his hands on Remy's chest to give himself the leverage to bounce up and down on Remy's cock. Remy was lost on a sea of sensation. His instinct had always been to close his eyes and lose himself in the act, almost as if the other person wasn't even there—but Jamie had instructed him to keep his eyes open, and now he was lost in Jamie's darkening gaze and those kiss-swollen lips that kept coming back to his over and over.

"Remy, I'm gonna come," Jamie gasped, his fingers biting into Remy's pectorals.

"Let it go...that's it...come on," Remy grunted in response, gripping tightly to Jamie's hips as his own orgasm spiraled through him. Two more thrusts and Jamie's cock shot hot streams of white all over Remy's belly and chest, his ass clenched around Remy's shaft as his orgasm pulsed in time with his moans. Remy's own orgasm was practically ripped from him and he held on tight to Jamie as he thrust mindlessly into the other man's channel. It was as though he were falling and Jamie was his life-preserver, his one means of survival. The need to hang on raged through him and shook him to his very core.

For what seemed like hours, but was in fact only minutes, the only sounds Remy could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears and Jamie's harsh breaths beside him, where he'd toppled over after lifting himself off Remy's softening cock. While he still had the presence of mind to deal with the condom, Remy stripped it off, tied it and dropped it to the floor, heedless of where the trashcan was. He then quickly grabbed the closest piece of discarded clothing and wiped his chest and stomach, before running the fabric gently over Jamie's cock and belly and then dropping it on top of the condom.

When Remy settled back against the pillow, Jamie immediately curled into his side and rubbed his face into Remy's hair before pressing soft, nibbling kisses onto his lower lip. "Mmm," Remy mumbled against Jamie's mouth. He had never felt so sated, so languid, so fucking complete after sex. But then he'd never made love before. A couple of hours ago he would have told you that there was no difference, fucking was fucking, however you liked to dress it up. Now, he had to admit maybe there was. Jesus Christ, Mainwaring might just be the death of him. He tightened his arm around Jamie's shoulders and dropped a kiss onto his sweat-dampened hair where Jamie had laid his head on his chest, pulling him closer.

"G'night, my Remy," Jamie muttered sleepily, smothering a yawn.

"Colt." _Shit!_ He hadn't meant to say it. It just came out. Remy felt Jamie stiffen beside him.

"What?"

"Colt. My name is Colt," Remy whispered very fast, so fast, he doubted whether Jamie even heard him.

No such luck.

"G'night, Colt."

****

Jamie's eyelids fluttered and then opened slowly. The muscles in his thighs ached, as did his ass, but in the most wonderful way possible, as the memory of the night washed over him. Reaching out an arm, he frowned and turned his head, the bed beside him was quite obviously slept in, but empty. Jamie pushed himself up to sitting, the sheets pooling in his naked lap and gazed around the room. Maybe he'd pushed the other man too far. Forced him to feel things he wasn't ready to explore. _Shit!_ Then his worried gaze fell on Remy's cowboy boots, one upright and one lying on its side near the bedroom door. He let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. Remy wouldn't have left his precious boots. There had been times when Jamie had wondered if they were surgically attached, so it was doubtful that the big man had gone far.

Jamie flopped back down against the pillows and folded his hands beneath his head, a smile playing about his lips. Last night had been wonderful, almost awe-inspiring to see Remy let go like that. His smile grew wider. Not Remy, he corrected himself, Colt. He couldn't resist a small chuckle, Colt Remington, no wonder he'd wanted to keep it to himself. Remy's parents had obviously had a twisted sense of humor. But that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that Remy had shared that with him and Jamie realized it was probably the closest the man had come to expressing real feelings. _But then is it any wonder that he has trouble showing emotion?_

Jamie had felt his heart ache like a weight in his chest when some pieces had fallen into place last night. He hadn't even been looking for any answers beyond keeping Remy by his side. He certainly hadn't expected to figure out so much of the big man along the way. It had been in the bathroom, while he'd been washing Remy's hair and the ferocity with which Remy had refused to bottom, that had had warning signs flashing in Jamie's head and two and two coming together.

The remark Remy had made in London after they'd returned to their hotel from having dinner at the Mainwaring home, about giving the first blow job since he was fifteen and paying for his bed and board. The utter horror on his face earlier when Jamie had accused him of liking young boys, and then the refusal to allow Jamie to penetrate him. That refusal had been the final key to fitting everything together. In his past, Remy had used sex to survive, of that Jamie had no doubt. He also had no doubt that if Remy ever suspected he knew, it would break him.

He was startled from his reverie by a sharp rapping at the door and he grinned like a teenager, surmising that Remy had forgotten his keycard. Jumping from the bed, he grabbed his boxers and threw on Remy's discarded button down shirt from last night, quickly doing up the buttons as he made his way down the stairs. He snorted as he caught sight of himself in the large mirror above the fireplace. Remy was so much broader than him that he looked like a kid wearing his father's shirt. Although it was probably a bit of a passion-killer to mention that.

Gripping the door handle, he turned it, a flirtatious smile on his lips. "Forget your key? And you call yourself a de—Will..." Jamie swallowed, thankful that he'd realized who was standing there before the word 'detective' had escaped into the air between them. "Hey, fancy seeing you here...outside my hotel room...the hotel room I didn't know you knew I was in..."

"I saw your man Remington in the gym, so I thought I'd come up and see if you wanted to have breakfast with me." The suggestion was made casually enough, but Jamie noted the way Will's gaze darted around the room as he tried to see past him.

"I didn't realize you were staying here, too," Jamie countered, stepping aside and beckoning the man in, closing the door behind him.

"I am for the moment, although my room is nothing like this. Holy cow, you Royals sure know how to live, don't you?" Will's tone was filled with awe as he looked around him until his gaze seemed to settle on the door to Remy's room. Jamie needed to think fast on his feet.

"Actually, I'm glad you're here," Jamie began, waving to one of the leather sofas and indicating that Will should sit. "Breakfast fits perfectly with my plans, however, I was just about to order room service, won't you join us?"

"If you're sure I wouldn't be imposing," Will said politely, his gaze traveling over the expanse of naked thighs on view beneath the shirt Jamie had on.

"Of course not," Jamie said, keeping his tone level. "As you can see, I'm not really dressed for receiving guests, so I'll just go and order breakfast and then quickly freshen up. Please, make yourself comfortable."

In the bedroom, Jamie called down to reception and ordered breakfast for three, then took a quick shower, dressing in casual cargo pants and a T-shirt, leaving his feet bare. Running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth the wayward strands into some semblance of order, he wandered over to the balustrade and immediately took a step back. Will Kennedy was paying particular attention to the framed seascape above the mantel, his hands working at something beneath the frame. You crafty sod...why would I be important enough for you to bug my room? A knock on the door heralded the arrival of room service and Jamie squared his shoulders and then trotted casually down the stairs. Will was once again sitting on the end of the couch, his arm stretched across the back as though he had never moved.

"Room service," Jamie smiled at the handsome young bellman standing outside the door. "Breakfast for three?"

"Marvelous," Jamie said with a nod of his head, waving the man in. "Please, come in. Would you set up over by the sofa?" He glanced up as Remy moved with athletic grace toward the room, his white tank clinging to his upper body, sweaty and glistening from his work out, a towel slung around his neck. "Ah, Remington, just in time for breakfast," his gaze widened in warning. "Will and I didn't want to start without you."

"Well, it looks like you won't have to, doesn't it?" Remy made a slight inclination of his head to signal Jamie that his message had been received and understood.

"How was your workout?" Jamie asked, unable to resist running his fingers over the hard muscle of Remy's bicep, noting the way it bunched beneath his light touch. "It was good of you to send Will up to keep me company until you were finished."

"What? I didn't even see Will," Remy said sharply, his gaze narrowing as he stared at the other man.

Will laughed, a tad nervously Jamie felt, but recovered his composure well, turned his back on Remy and kept his gaze firmly on Jamie. The move did not go unnoticed by Remy and Jamie almost laughed as Remy glowered at the other man's back. "I may have stretched the truth a little. I saw your man in the gym, that's true, but I didn't actually talk to him. Forgive me for misleading you. I just thought it would be nice for the two of us to get to know each other a little better...alone." He hung his head in a sheepish manner and looked up at Jamie through his lashes. "I thought we'd be gone to breakfast by the time he got back. I wasn't expecting you to be so generous as to invite me to dine here with you."

Glancing at Remy over the top of Will's head, Jamie pasted on a bright smile and watched the well-groomed man seemingly melt under the wattage. "Please, don't apologize. I'm glad you wanted to see me enough to carry out your little ruse. Let's all sit down and have a nice breakfast, shall we? It smells divine."

"I need a shower," Remy said gruffly, "so feel free to start without me."

Jamie watched him stride purposefully to his bedroom and close the door behind him. The glance Remy threw at him did not go unnoticed by Will. He could practically feel the well-groomed man vibrating in his suit as he held back the questions he so obviously wanted to ask.

Indicating to Will that he should help himself to the array of food set out on the room service trolley, Jamie picked up a warmed plate and loaded it with sausages, hash browns, scrambled eggs and toast, and then poured two black coffees.

"Please, Will, dig in," Jamie said, leaning back on the sofa and putting his plate on his lap. "No need to stand on formality here. Remy won't be long."

"Thank you, Jamie." Will filled his plate and took a place on the sofa. "I apologize once again for the little misunderstanding. I certainly wouldn't want to upset you, or Remington. He obviously cares for you."

Jamie shrugged off the apology with a wave of his fork. "Honestly, Will, don't give it another thought. As for Remington, it's what he's paid for, and he takes his job very seriously." He sipped at his coffee and added another spoonful of sugar. "Why on earth do you American's insist on making coffee so strong. It's a toss-up between having the lining taken off your gullet, or your teeth falling out because of the amount of sugar you need to sweeten it. Anyway, enough about my little British quirks. What's on the schedule for tomorrow?"

"Well, first on the agenda is a meeting with representatives from the UN, the British Consulate, and the US State Department. I'm not sure who they're sending yet, apparently the head honchos wanted to make sure they have the right team of people together." Will smiled laconically. "You know how anal the top of the tree can be."

"Don't I just. What's the meeting about?"

"Our first assignment is to host a huge gala," Will said, around a forkful of bacon.

"A gala?" Jamie's eyes widened, and the sausage he had speared on the end of his fork paused on its way to his mouth. "I was given the impression that my duties would involve something to do with international gay bashing or some other grisly news story of the year."

Will chuckled and downed his coffee, then poured himself a second cup before he answered. "It does, it does. But not for us, Jamie. We're the public face. It's our job to establish working relationships between the nations, raise awareness and funds, of course. The minions who are paid minimum wage do the real dirty work." He smiled slowly and his gaze traveled over Jamie, from head to toe. "Let's face it, Lord Fordham, they brought you in for your pretty face and the title certainly doesn't do any harm." He lifted his coffee cup. "I must admit, I'm rather glad they did."

Jamie raised his cup in return and let his gaze trail over Will, just as he had done to him a few moments earlier. There was something about this man that made his skin crawl. Too suave, too sophisticated, too everything. He just couldn't put his finger on it. "Ah, there you are Remington," he said quickly as Remy padded into the room, his bare feet poking out from beneath his worn jeans. "We were beginning to think you'd been swept down the plughole. Coffee or orange juice?"

****

"Please, sir," Remy said. He brushed his fingers against Jamie's temple as he passed him, knowing that Will was watching the little display. Which was good as far as he was concerned; he wanted the man to wonder at the true nature of his and Jamie's relationship. "Continue with your breakfast, I'll serve myself." He filled his plate and poured himself a coffee then flopped down onto the sofa beside Jamie, close enough that their thighs touched.

"Did you enjoy the gym's facilities, Remington?" Will asked, his tone polite. He took a large bite of toast and started crunching without waiting for an answer.

"Yes, I did," Remy replied. "Nothing like a good, hard workout to get the blood pumping." He rolled his shoulders, and then flexed his biceps beneath his favorite and well-worn gray T-shirt. When he was sure Will's attention was focused on him, he continued. "Speaking of which, please don't take this the wrong way Mr. Kennedy, but if you want to see Lord Fordham in the future, I'd appreciate it if you go through me. Obviously, I can't be with him every second of the day, but his safety is my responsibility."

"Of course," Will said. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes before he dropped his gaze. The man's intention had definitely been to see Jamie while Remy was not around—why? Remy couldn't deny the curl of satisfaction at the flush that crept up Will's neck under the weight of his stare.

Remy shifted his gaze from Will when Jamie said jovially, "No harm done. I for one am happy about your little ruse. You'll have to forgive my man Remington. He's just doing what he does best after all...looking out for my interests."

Remy sat back and quietly listened to the idle talk between the two men, interjecting here and there while he finished his breakfast. As Jamie's "man," he wasn't actually expected to participate in the conversation, which gave him an opportunity to study Will's body language. In a constant state of twitchy, Will adjusted his collar, tugged on his pants leg, and smoothed his hair.

Whenever Remy spoke he noticed Will had trouble maintaining eye contact yet he nearly had to wipe drool from his baby smooth chin when he focused on Jamie. With undisguised attraction, Will fawned on Jamie, alternately calling him by his title or, lowering his voice slightly, by his first name. Trying to give the impression of intimacy?

It was apparent he'd placed Remy firmly in the hired help category, which was exactly where he wanted to remain. Kennedy made his cop radar twang. If he was honest, he knew his reaction was more personal, but he could push that aside. _Would push it aside_. He didn't have relationships, he had work. Remy stood, put his plate back on the room service cart and turned to Jamie.

"Forgive me, sir, but I've made an appointment for you, and he'll be here soon," Remy said, smiling apologetically at Will. "I didn't realize that we would have company. Why don't you go upstairs and get ready while I show Mr. Kennedy out?"

"An appointment?" Jamie raised his eyebrows. "Not the same as last night, I hope."

"No, but why don't we discuss that after Mr. Kennedy leaves?" Remy put emphasis on the second half of his sentence. He knew Will would be intrigued by the exchange.

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry," Jamie replied. He tucked his hands in his pockets, lowered his chin, and curved his lips in a small smile. Remy had to bite back a laugh at the act. Then Jamie reached to grip Will's hand in both of his own. He turned up the wattage on his smile.

"Will, thank you so much for joining me for breakfast. We'll have to dine together again, sometime. I'll see you at the office in the morning." He gave Will's hand a final pat, and then nodded to Remy before he trotted up the stairs to his room.

Remy followed Will and opened the door for him. "Thanks for coming by. Sorry I have to kick you out."

"You obviously care for Jamie a great deal," Will said, avoiding Remy's direct gaze.

"I do," Remy admitted. He swallowed down the truth of that statement before he went on. "Don't take that the wrong way, though. He's my employer. It's my job to get Jamie whatever he wants, whenever he wants it, while keeping him safe."

"For instance?"

"For instance," Remy paused, tilted his head, and grinned, "if he says he wants you, he gets you. Providing you agree, of course."

Will's smile faltered briefly before he pinned it firmly in place "I doubt you'd have any objections from me." With a little laugh, he asked, "Do you think that's likely?"

Remy shrugged nonchalantly. "That's a discussion between you and Jamie. Although, you're not his usual type."

"What type is that?"

They both turned their heads as a young boy who didn't look any older than fifteen, walked down the hallway, his face a mix of awe and cynicism. "Mr. Remington?" The youth's voice was small and unsure as he gazed at the two men.

"Toby?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You're right on time. Come on in." He held the door open and the slender youth passed under his arm. Turning back to Will, he kept his expression impassive. "As I said, that's something you'd need to discuss with Jamie. Have a good day, Mr. Kennedy." He closed the door a little harder than strictly necessary, and Kennedy jumped back to avoid having his toes mashed. Remy didn't resist the smile that tugged at his lips. The look on Kennedy's face as the door swung toward him had been priceless.

"Miggy sent me," Toby said. He rubbed the tips of his fingers with his thumbs and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Remy strode across the room to where the young boy was standing. "That's right, kid. Thanks for coming. When was the last time you ate?" He raised an eyebrow as the youth began to protest and saw the way he puffed up his chest to make himself look bigger. It was a gesture oddly reminiscent of his own youth. He ignored it and simply eyeballed the boy until he got the answer he wanted—a shrug of boney shoulders and the flush of embarrassment in pale cheeks.

"Take a seat and help yourself to the stuff on the cart. And I don't want you to even speak until that belly is full. Do you understand me, son? When that happens, I'll take you to meet the Lord." Remy's smile was soft as he nodded his head at the boy and then took the stairs two at a time to Jamie's room.

He'd barely reached the top stairs when Jamie pushed forward and slanted those sinful lips over his, stealing the very breath from his lungs. Remy reflexively wrapped his arms around Jamie's waist to stop them both from falling. Before he could get carried away, he set Jamie back on his feet. "What the hell was that for?"

"Just because," Jamie replied. He tried for another swift peck, but Remy turned, relieved that those devastating lips smacked nothing but air.

"Knock it off. What's going on?" he asked.

Jamie looked at him for a moment before he answered. "Keep your voice down. While I was up here showering and Will was downstairs, I watched him search the place. He was looking under lamps and behind picture frames, the whole works. Spent a while rummaging in your room, too. I couldn't see whether he planted anything, but I don't think we can rule it out."

"Son of a bitch," Remy hissed through clenched teeth. "Why would he want to bug us? What does he think we'll be doing in here? I think we need to do some checking into Mr. Kennedy's background. Something tells me he's not as squeaky clean as he appears."

"Maybe we've stumbled onto the right track already. Let's just do what we came here to do," Jamie said quietly. "If he did plant a bug, we need to make sure we stay in character and continue to feed the information that we're looking for someone young." He glanced toward the staircase. "Speaking of young, what's the kid doing here?"

"You're not the only one with brains, My Lord," Remy drawled with an exaggerated accent. "Your Mr. Kennedy ain't exactly an expert in subterfuge, whatever the hell it is that he's mixed up in. I saw him watching me in the mirror in the gym. When he headed for the elevators, I followed." Remy took half a step back, putting more space between him and Jamie. "It was too damn much to believe he was staying in our hotel, let alone on the same floor. I figured he was here for a reason. I got here just in time to see the room service guy going in, so I went downstairs to call Miggy." He grinned, quite pleased with himself. "The kid thinks he's here to pick up a package. We'll let him hang out for a while, then send him back to Miggy with a note or something." Remy looked over the railing. "Looks like he hasn't eaten a good meal in weeks."

"Well, well, well," Jamie chuckled. "Who'd have thought it? My cowboy's got a soft center."

"Fuck you, Man-wearing. And I'm not your cowboy." He smiled a little to soften his words, but they needed to get that straight, and sooner was better than later. Neither of them could afford to think what they'd done the night before was anything more than a good fuck. He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he caught Jamie watching at him. The other man's expression quickly shifted to neutral, but not before Remy had caught a glimpse of something else. Something that looked a lot like regret. _Well, good. That makes two of us._

"Let's get back down there and entertain your guest, Lord Fordham. Just in case Kennedy is hanging around."

"Sure, Remington. Why not?"

##  Chapter Ten

"It's me," said Will. "How are the twins settling in?"

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't speak on the phone," said a deep voice on the other end.

"This is a secure line. Besides, you don't really want me coming over there to meet with you about this business."

"No! Goddamn it, I brought you into this because I thought you were smart and I could trust you. This is our last city, don't blow it now. I have a potential buyer for the twins, and the amount we're discussing is three times what we've previously gotten for any single boy. In fact, I'm considering making them our last acquisition. There is no sense in tempting fate," said the senior partner in their little marketing venture.

"Not quite yet. I have one more target and the customer already lined up. He just doesn't know it yet."

"Another target? Do tell."

"Let's just say Toby is so new to the city his shoes squeak. I sent him to a shelter in Brooklyn to keep him well away from the investigation in Queens. Besides, this boy is from Boston. There will be nothing to connect him to an ongoing investigation in another borough. I've arranged to meet him tomorrow. He believes I'm an off-duty cop who only wants to help. I should be ready to take him by the weekend. Is there room at the compound?"

"Of course. The dormitory has plenty of room. I think you should know that I am considering keeping young Aaron for myself. I'm going to be out of town this weekend, but I thought I might start his training the following weekend.

"Listen, Wilton, I know we planned to take a final six boys here in New York, but I can't help but feel our luck is about to turn. The twins were an absolute stroke of genius, however, there is no doubt that their disappearance will be sensationalized. Their whore of a mother is already trying to sell her story to the National Reporter. Fortunately, with their history as runaways, no one is taking her very seriously.

"I've been thinking about this for a while, now. I have funds enough on which to retire and you have received ample compensation for your work to date. With the addition of my latest...protégé, I think perhaps it's best for all concerned if we close down this venture."

_Son of a bitch!_ If they stopped now it would leave them three boys short. With the right customers and the quality of boys they were recruiting, giving up three sales would mean coming in nearly one hundred thousand short. Plus another loss, since the boss wanted to keep Aaron for himself. _Shit._ The money was slipping through his fingers and he'd been the one to risk everything. Hadn't it been his ass out there in Phoenix? Hamburg? London?

"Wilton? Did you hear what I said? I think it's time to step back."

With a clenched jaw, Will gripped the phone hard enough to make his knuckles turn white, but he knew better than to let on his true feelings. The boss might be making noises about retiring, but that didn't make his influence any less impressive. Given the international reach of their jobs and the boss's position, all it would take would be one word in the right ear. Then Will would find himself in Afghanistan working on some damn humanitarian project digging wells, his ass hanging in the wind. He forced himself to take a very long and quiet breath.

"No, I think we're clear on that, Boss." He took another steadying breath and changed the subject. "We're set to meet this afternoon about the gay rights campaign."

"That's a delicate balance there, Will. Remember to use the phrase human rights as frequently as possible. After all, we are still seeking charitable donations from people of all political persuasions. There's no sense in offending conservative sensibilities," the older man reminded him, a note of censure in his voice.

"Don't worry. This idea for the International Gay Rights Campaign is golden. The big money in Hollywood is going to be all over this. We might even be able to filter more than our usual ten percent off the top. There is a real backlash working for us and the left wing liberals are going to dig deep into their pockets in order to be invited to this little gala. Not to mention the upwardly mobile gays and all their disposable income. I'll have some figures for you later. Trust me."

"Yes, I suppose you might be right."

"As to the other, we always said New York would be the last of it. We'll finish up with the boys, take our cut of this easy money, and then you can retire with your little Aaron. After you arrange for my next cushy position, of course. Somewhere far away from New York City. I thought I might like to try Brazil." Will let a smile ease his voice into the soothing tone that always worked well on the old man.

"Listen, we'll talk more about the boys next week, after I've been to the compound and checked on our remaining residents.

"I need to get to work, only..." Will paused, wondering if he was pushing too hard. "This is awkward, but trust me, it's going to play into what we need to do. When we're at the cocktail reception with the organizers this afternoon, I'd like you to treat me as someone with a bright future. Not as an equal, obviously, but perhaps as someone you could trust, someone who can be relied on to discreetly get the job done. I know that goes against the image we've cultivated at other embassies, however, this is important," he said. Will ran a hand through his hair while he waited for the older man's response.

After a lengthy pause, his boss said, "I take it you have another plan in the works. Are you sure that's wise? Treating you as just another one of the secretaries has worked well to keep our association private. I wouldn't want to draw undue attention to our relationship." The clipped words were a clear indication the boss was annoyed. Will pushed ahead, keeping his tone light.

"I'm sure that this is the right time. Especially now that you are considering retirement. This will be a very brief duty station for me. In fact, I think we should refer to this as a temporary duty assignment. Once we finish this business, I'd like to move on and put some distance between us." Will paused. He knew the boss would prefer if he left town.

"Meanwhile, we still need to see to our work here. I told you about the new boy I located. I already have a customer in mind, and he's going to be at the meeting today. I don't want to appear incompetent in any way to the man. This one's going to bring in a healthy fee."

"Someone in the meeting today? How interesting. I thought Sergei was the only one with...an interest. Do tell."

Will smiled into the phone. "He's a Lord and filthy rich." He dangled the title and paused for effect. When he heard the other man sigh, he continued. "Jamie Mainwaring...Lord Fordham, and most recent member of the British upper crust who's been banished to America in order to avoid the tabloids."

"Mainwaring? Why, I knew his father. Are you sure about this? The last I heard, he was with Scotland Yard."

"Quite sure. I've caught the Lord twice now with boys and he couldn't possibly have known I was going to be there either time. His behavior is all the scandal. His mother's disowned him. He only just got his resignation submitted before the axe fell. It seems Jamie's fallen under the influence of a real piece of work, some man named Remington, who serves as a quasi-body guard and personal assistant. He seems to be the main supplier for Mainwaring's sexual appetite."

Will's gut clenched at the thought of the cliché cowboy with Jamie. Although he'd never particularly had an appetite for the young flesh himself, he would love to watch Jamie take Toby. And then he would take Jamie. Will went hard at the thought of the Lord's long, elegant body beneath his. Yes, he thought, adjusting himself with one hand, holding the phone with the other, he would have the pleasure of that fine ass at least once before this was finished.

"Fascinating," said the older man, again. Will forced himself to focus once more.

"No one will be surprised if I make a few discrete inquiries about Lord Fordham and his assistant, given my position as Chair of this little committee. If he checks out, you're right—he can well-afford the price of one of our little toys."

"Good idea, and I managed to plant a listening device in the main room of their suite. We'll know exactly whether we can trust the desires of Lord Fordham.

"Publicly disgraced or not, his father's considerable money and the title all belong to the young Earl. His mother must be having a fit. She would see any bad behavior on his part as quite a dishonor to the family name. As I recall, she was scandalized when he joined Scotland Yard instead of following in his late father's footsteps. I'll take care of the background check and let you know what I find out."

****

Remy pulled the door closed and set his nylon duffle on the table. The anonymous study cubicle at the university's library was perfect for a private meeting. The walls were soundproofed to prevent conversations from disturbing the library patrons. He opened his laptop, avoided the public connection, and instead used the encrypted air card provided by the director. _Must be nice to have all these James Bond toys at your disposal._

"Detective Remington. It's nice to see you," said the technician on the remote end of the secure connection. "Please hold for the director." After a brief flash of the colorized testing sequence, Director Julia Forsyth filled the small display.

"Thanks for meeting me, Director," Remy said after greetings were exchanged.

"I gathered from your message that this was rather important. I was surprised to hear from you so soon. Isn't this Jamie's first day? Why are you not guarding his body or assisting his person?" asked Forsythe. Her tone was light, teasing, but it set him on edge.

"Very funny." Remy kept his expression neutral, but he couldn't help seeing an image of Jamie's body, tangled in sheets, an arm tossed above his head, hair tousled with sleep. Shaking off the memory, he got down to business.

"Jamie doesn't think it's productive for me to sit in the lobby next to the secretary all day while he's in meetings. And it's not exactly keeping in character for me to be in on everything. So, I went in with him first thing and stayed while he was shown around the building and was introduced around. I've got the layout and the main list of players in my head."

"Makes sense. So why are we meeting?" she asked, all trace of teasing gone.

"We're going to need some very quiet and very deep background on an American named Wilton Kennedy. Include a cross-referenced list of all US Embassy and British Consulate personnel everywhere the man was ever stationed."

"All right," she said. She wrote a note before looking up at the camera signaling him to continue. "Who is he and how did he come to your attention so quickly?"

"We aren't nearly as smart as the quick ID sounds. Kennedy is the same man who made contact with Jamie in London the day Jamie accepted this job. He claimed to want to get to know Jamie better because they would be working together in New York, as he'd just been transferred to the same office. He surfaced almost immediately here in New York." He told her about the run-ins at the nightclub and again at the hotel.

"Jamie spotted him planting at least one bug in the living room of the suite. Gonna need a discrete sweep, Director, because we sure don't wanna let on we found it. We just need to know where to have some misleading conversations. If you know what I mean."

"I do indeed. This sounds promising. I'll take care of the sweep and will let you know. What else is going on?" she asked. They spent a few more minutes discussing the illusion of Jamie's rent boys and the likelihood of a second player in a much more senior position within the organization than the one held by Kennedy, if this lead held.

Every time Will's name was mentioned, Remy felt the spot between his shoulder blades tingle, and not in a good way. He thought of it as his cop itch. It was the spot that itched when he knew someone was dirty or when a case came together. Or when he knew he was in the cross hairs. It wasn't exactly evidence he could give to the director.

As if sensing his thoughts, Forsythe said, "Remy, if there's something you're holding back, you've got to tell me. You're there without back up. As much as I want to catch these bastards, it will not be at the expense of my agents."

Remy barked out a laugh. "Sweetheart, you got the wrong cowboy here. I don't qualify to be one of your agents. I'm just a dumb detective from Arizona." He ignored her narrowed eyes. "But speaking of back up, you should know we're not exactly working alone. An old friend is helping us with some of the street level shit we need."

"Detective Remington, I specifically forbade you from contacting any other law enforcement. You have quite possibly exposed the entire operation—"

"Hold on, Director," he said and held up his hand in a stop gesture. "The dude's an undercover cop who's been under for so long, he doesn't even have a handler any more. There isn't anyone he's gonna tell. But I need to be seen buying blow and paying for kids, and just in case you were wondering, I don't do that shit for real. So Miggy it is. He doesn't know who or why, but he's seen Jamie and I'm keeping him informed of our whereabouts." _And I'm keeping aware of his,_ he added silently.

Director Forsythe scowled at the screen, but Remy knew she couldn't argue with the logic of a supplier and a backup to call in an emergency.

"Fine. Send me his details, I'll run a background."

"I gotta run. Need to pick Jamie up from his new job," he grinned and neatly sidestepped her order.

"Fine. We'll play it your way for now. Tell Jamie I'm not sure how much of the tabloid reports have filtered through the diplomatic circles, but the splash the two of you made on your way out of town was impressive. At first, a source close to Lady Fordham reported she was considering legal action to remove Jamie's birthright. Apparently after a little thought or a frank discussion with her solicitor, she's decided against such drastic and public action. Whatever it was that changed her mind, her only response to questions is a very tight lipped, 'No comment.'" I thought Jamie should know."

They ended their call on that depressing note and Remy was lost in thought while he packed up his computer and notes. Had his spontaneous phone call after arriving in New York made Mainwaring's family situation better or worse? With a quick glance at his watch, he realized it was almost time to meet Jamie. He pushed back at the anxiety that furled in his gut. The man was a trained investigator, for Christ's sake. He would be fine on his own for a few hours. Jesus, he hated working with a partner.

****

"Nice office."

Jamie looked up from the paperwork in front of him and smiled at the sight of Will lounging in the doorway. "Mr. Kennedy, fancy seeing you here," he drawled, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands across his stomach. He watched the other man follow his movements and was torn between the curl of satisfaction that Kennedy obviously wanted him—which got him closer to the man—and the twinge of dislike for the smarmy arsehole.

"I thought I'd come down and accompany you to your first meeting," Will said with a grin. "I can't have you going into the lion's den alone."

"That bad, huh?" Jamie said, standing and slipping on the suit jacket he had draped over the back of his chair. "So, refresh my memory. Who am I meeting today?" He followed Will from the room and fell into step beside him.

"The benefit committee who have been commissioned to arrange the ball to raise money to fund the Gay Rights campaign. There are a few envoys, some more important than others, but mostly high brow socialite types looking to win a few points with the Governor," Will said, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walked to the elevators.

Jamie nodded in what he hoped was an interested fashion and stepped into the lift when the glass doors opened slowly. It was quite a squeeze inside and he found himself pressed up against the wall by Will, as the other man was jostled from behind. He looked into Will's eyes through lowered lashes and his lips parted on a breath as he felt Will's cock, already half-hard, against his thigh. The sense memory of the muscled planes of Remy's chest under his fingers hit him hard and fast, so much so that he could almost smell the cowboy's scent in the air. He noted the way Will's gaze dropped to his lips and he forced himself to give the other man a coy smile, trying desperately to rid his mind of thoughts of Remington. A Remington who had so clearly pointed out that he was not his cowboy, even though the remark had been made with a smile. Beneath that smile was the clear warning that he was getting too close for Remington's, or indeed his own, comfort.

"This is our floor," Will said gruffly, taking a step back as the doors opened. He pushed his way out of the elevator, gesturing to Jamie to follow him. "We're down here in the Belmont Suite."

Jamie squared his shoulders as Will pushed open the door, and he pasted on his best beatific smile as all heads turned to watch their arrival. A young woman rose from behind a small desk inside the door and handed them a badge each with their names on, before turning to the room and announcing, "Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Mr. Will Kennedy, special liaison to the US Department of State and the Earl of Fordham, Lord James Mainwearing, special liaison to the UN from the British Consulate. Gentlemen, please help yourselves to wine and the aperitifs, this is a very informal gathering today, a chance for everyone to get acquainted."

"Let's introduce you," Will said casually, taking two glasses of sparkling wine from the waiter who had appeared beside them with a laden tray.

Jamie sipped at the wine and followed Will, his gaze scanning the room and its occupants with his trained cop's eye before coming to rest on the man Will had come to a stop in front of. His badge heralded him as Zachariah Morton, the UN Special Envoy for the International Gay Rights Alliance and judging by the supercilious smile on his face, he already knew who Jamie was.

"Your Lordship," Morton said, holding out his hand and bowing his head slightly, forcing Jamie to bite down on the inside of his lip to stop from laughing out loud.

"Please," Jamie replied, shaking the other man's hand firmly. "Let's not stand on ceremony, Jamie will do."

"Well, it's good to finally meet you, Jamie. I knew your father, quite well. I was stationed in London for many years, and he and I became friends. We lost him way too soon."

"Thank you. It's always nice to meet a friend of the family."

"Will's been singing your praises since you arrived. I trust you are settling into your hotel?" Morton finished the remainder of his wine and signaled to a waiter for another.

"Yes, Remington and I are finding the accommodations more than adequate," Jamie replied, glancing around the room.

"Ah, yes, Remington, your...what did you call him, Will? Your man? It's good to have someone from home soil with you when embarking on a new venture. I guess you could say that Will here is my number one man. He's proving to be an asset to my team. I heard of your recent difficulties in London, and I'd like to offer my sympathies. It can't be easy to be so far away from home, especially in those circumstances."

Jamie accepted the man's so-called sympathies with a nod of his head, surprised the elder statesman would mention the negative publicity. "Well, I don't like to do things by halves," he drawled, "even being disowned. So, who are the rest of our illustrious committee? Any gossip?"

Morton chuckled and nodded to three women huddled together by the buffet table. "That's Melanie Duvall and her cronies, Felicity Andrews and Heather Michaels. Typical bored diplomats' wives with their husbands' money burning a hole in their pockets and nothing to do with their time. Over there talking to the elegant looking blonde is David Kavanagh, Australia's version of you and the blonde is Elkie Jensen, the Swiss representative."

"There's certainly a diverse group," Jamie said, sipping at his drink. "But then when you consider that in all probability ten percent of the population is gay, I'm amazed there aren't more delegates here."

"I don't think we need any introductions," a voice said behind Jamie and he turned, his eyes widening in surprise when he found himself looking into the fond gaze of Sir Thomas Henry. "How are you, my boy?"

Jamie returned the hug the older man pulled him into and clapped the man on the back. What the hell was his father's golfing buddy doing here? He recovered quickly and smiled. "Sir Thomas, what a wonderful surprise. I wasn't expecting to see any familiar faces."

"You'd be surprised where us Brits sneak in." Sir Thomas laughed, hooking his hand through Jamie's elbow. "You gentleman won't mind if I steal Jamie away, will you? Mingling is the key at these things, Jamie, come along." Jamie shrugged at Will and allowed himself to be led away by Sir Thomas, raising an eyebrow as the old codger ground out through gritted teeth, "Can't stand that slimy Yank. Ran into him a few times back when he was at the embassy in London, always something off about him. Too charming if you catch my drift. Even more so than you, Jamie lad. Ah, Melanie darling, let me introduce you to James Mainwaring, Earl of Fordham."

The afternoon wore on and Jamie mingled like a social butterfly, gently gleaning any gossip he could, of which Melanie Duvall was a veritable font of information. As he made his way around the room, he could feel the weight of Will's gaze on the back of his neck on more than one occasion. Glancing across the room at the man, he noted the smoldering gleam in Will's eyes and the way he let his gaze roam Jamie's body. Not caring if anyone saw him, Jamie's lips lifted in a brief smile and he raised his glass in acknowledgement. He had to give the bloke credit for having the balls to make his intentions loud and clear. Jamie watched Will excuse himself from the Swiss representative and stroll purposely across the room toward him.

"I think you're a hit, Your Lordship," Will said with a raised eyebrow, leaning nonchalantly against the wall against which Jamie was resting.

"Will, if you call me that one more time, I may have to punish you," Jamie said softly, flicking out his tongue to moisten his lips and noting the way Will followed the movement.

"Is that so? And what form would that punishment take?" Will teased. "Your Lordship?"

Jamie downed the rest of his wine and set the empty glass on the table beside him. "I'm sure I'll come up with something suitable."

"Perhaps we could find out, say, over dinner tonight?"

Shaking his head regretfully, Jamie sighed. "I would love to but I'm still settling in and jetlag is dragging me down. I need to spend a quiet evening catching up on my sleep."

"Yes, as much as I hate to admit it, the jet lag has me more than a little tired myself. I've been back and forth several times the past few weeks. At least I'm settled in for a little while, this time," Will said, a flash of disappointment showing in the slight downturn of Will's mouth.

"Maybe we can get together this weekend?" Jamie offered. "Remington has found this fabulous club, XES I think it's called. We could all go dancing."

"Dancing sounds good," Will replied, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "But I was hoping you would accompany me to the symphony Friday evening. It's an All-Mozart night and I have box seats."

Jamie bit back a smart retort at Will's obvious preening. If the man was trying to impress him, it would take a lot more than high priced seats at a musical. He nodded enthusiastically. "That would be wonderful. I'd love to, and..." he took a step closer to the other man and stared meaningfully into his eyes, "maybe you'd join me in my suite for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I can't think of anything I'd like more," Will countered, leaning in so that Jamie could feel the warm puffs of his breath on his cheek. "But I'm not entirely sure Remington would be too happy about it."

Jamie stiffened, his brow furrowing in annoyance. "Remington's feelings are neither here nor there," he snapped. "I do what I want, when I want, and with whom I want. Remington is my employee and it would behoove him to remember that." He softened his tone and ran a smoothing hand down Will's tie. "So that's settled then...tomorrow night, my suite, seven-thirty. Cocktails first and then a private little dinner so we can get to know each other a little better before the weekend. I want to know everything about you, Mr. Kennedy."

"So do I, Your Lordship," Will murmured, capturing Jamie's fingers in his. "So do I."

****

Jamie frowned at Remington's back as the cowboy continued to ignore him. He'd been behaving this way ever since Jamie had gotten into the car at the Embassy. Remington had knocked on his office door and Jamie had gathered his belongings and followed the man out to the car. And not a word had passed Remington's lips—not one single word. Now they were inside the elevator at the hotel, traveling up to their room and he was still trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with the arsehole. How could he have done something wrong? He hadn't spoken to the man all day.

"Remy?"

"Shut up."

The elevator ground to a halt and the doors opened onto their floor and Jamie stood open-mouthed as Remington stomped out of the metal box and down the corridor to their room. Jamie shook his head slowly and stabbed at the button to open the doors as they began to close. The door to their room was ajar and he stepped inside, closing it behind him. Tossing his briefcase on the floor he ground out, "What the fuck—?" He didn't have time to finish the sentence because Remy had grabbed his upper arms and slammed him against the closed door.

Remy crashed their mouths together without uttering a word and for a nano-second Jamie thought about protesting...then his hands were in Remy's hair and his tongue danced with the other man's as his mouth was plundered. Remy's fingers pulled his shirt from his pants and Jamie growled when those rough hands kneaded his bare skin. Then as fast as the kiss had begun, it ended and Remy dropped to his knees. "Fuck, Remy." Jamie moaned as his pants were unceremoniously unbuttoned and yanked around his thighs. When Remy's hot, wet lips closed around his cock, Jamie's head hit the door with a thunk, and he tried to remember to breathe as Remy worked him fast and deep, bringing him to the edge of orgasm so quickly Jamie feared for his own sanity. Remy's name became a chant that fell from Jamie's lips on ragged breaths as his orgasm pulsed from him, the feel of Remy swallowing around him exquisite torture.

Remy rose to his feet and Jamie smiled at him lazily, lifting a hand to pull him in for another kiss. He gently nibbled at Remy's lower lip and then licked away the hurt, letting the aftershocks wash over him in teasing waves. His heart was beating nineteen to the dozen and the warm glow in his belly sent a spark of hope through him. After last night and just now, there was no way either of them could deny what was happening between them.

Tucking himself into his pants, Jamie fastened his buttons and followed Remy across the room on legs that felt like wet spaghetti. He sank down onto the sofa beside his lover—because that's what he was now, however you looked at it—and took a relaxing breath. "If you help me upstairs, I'd be happy to return the favor," he teased.

"That won't be necessary," Remy said, his tone brusque as he picked up a file from the table. "I took care of it myself, besides, I have some work to do."

Jamie blinked, stung by Remy's response. "Fine," he retorted, his disappointment that Remy wouldn't accompany him upstairs where they could be completely alone and bug-free was clear in his voice. "I suggest you make sure you have enough to occupy you tomorrow night, as well. I'll be entertaining a dinner date and the last thing I need is you and those shoulders looming over us all night."

"A dinner date, huh?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" Jamie snapped.

"Why would I? You're the boss, fuck who you want." Remy picked up the file and said nonchalantly, "I'll go to the club tomorrow night while you're on your date. And, of course, I'll make arrangements for another boy in case your date doesn't go as planned."

"What would I do without you?" Jamie drawled, knowing they had to play their parts for the benefit of the bug in their room, but the lack of tease, or emotion in Remy's gaze cut through him like a knife.

"Well, if you no longer need me, I'm going to my room," Remy said, turning on his heel and heading toward the door to his bedroom.

"No," Jamie said, softly after the door had closed behind him. "I don't need you."

##  Chapter Eleven

The pulsing music and flashing neon at XES synchronized with the throb in his head. Remy shoved his way through the crowd, enjoying the muffled complaints as he pushed and elbowed people out of his way.

"Watch it, asshole," someone shouted, when his shoulder rammed into the back of a beefy bald guy dressed all in black. Remy just bared his teeth and kept moving. If ever a night called for getting a drunk on, this was it.

" _Oh Will, right on time. Come in."_

" _You look good enough to eat."_

" _Flowers for me? I don't think anyone's brought me flowers, before. Remington, be a good chap and put these in water before you go. I won't be needing you any more tonight."_

Fuckers were probably already in the goddamn bed.

Just as he reached the crowded bar, a skinny little twerp dressed in bright yellow pants, a fuchsia silk shirt, and topped with a lime-green fedora stepped between him and the empty stool he'd been aiming for. _Big mistake._

"Move," Remy said.

"Fuck you, bad boy. I got here first," he tossed back without turning around. "Sebastian, sweetheart, can I get another Appletini? Make it with the Stoli this time, will you love? The last was a little too bitter for my sweet taste." He trilled a laugh that set Remy's teeth on edge.

"Sure thing, Dana. Give me five," the bartender called from midway down the bar.

Remy stopped himself from slamming the twink in front of him to the ground. _Dana. What the fuck kind of name is Dana?_ He pressed against _Dana's_ back and snaked his hand down to cup _Dana's_ balls. He gave a not-so-gentle squeeze and the slight tremble of the other man's slender shoulders telegraphed his new awareness of the vulnerability of his position.

"Unless you want to spend the evening in the emergency room while they try to re-inflate your balls, I suggest you wait for your drink somewhere else, parrot-boy." Then with one hand buried in Dana's crotch and the other firmly gripping a willowy bicep, Remy lifted the boy out of his way, and slid onto the stool. He didn't even bother to look around to see the twink's reaction. He was on the edge, spoiling for a fight, but beating the shit out of some rainbow-colored poster child for the flamboyantly gay wasn't going to do a damn thing to take his mind off Jamie's date.

"What can I get for you?" asked the bartender. His nametag confirmed he was Sebastian, at least while he was here at work. The bulky muscles on display beneath the open black vest and bow tie said gym rat. The high voice and smattering of acne across his nose and chin said 'roids. He'd moved swiftly to Remy, alert for early signs of trouble.

"Grey Goose. Bring a sealed bottle, a shot glass, and a rocks glass, three cubes." He laid a one hundred dollar bill on the bar as he placed his order. "You take the bottle out of this," he tapped the bill. "As long as you keep my glass filled, the rest is yours. Got it?"

Remy approved when Sebastian returned, broke the seal on the bottle, and poured a shot. The icy clear liquid turned to a warm glow in his stomach. He rapped his knuckles twice on the bar and still without a word, Sebastian poured again. They repeated the ritual two more times before Remy indicated with a point and a grunt he was ready to slow down and sip from the rocks glass. Only then did he close his eyes, full of self-loathing for what he'd done to the twink. _What he was doing to Jamie..._

"Where's the boyfriend?" Miggy asked, sliding in next to him at the bar.

Remy opened his eyes, and slid his gaze over to his old friend. "I told you...he ain't my fucking boyfriend. He's a cop."

"Okay, where's your fucking cop? Cause you look like you wanna kick some ass—only you're sitting here getting shit-faced, instead. And ain't nobody watchin' your back, brother."

"Ain't _my_ back needs watching." Remy leaned back to let Miggy step closer, and signaled for Sebastian to bring another glass.

"Salud," Miggy said.

"Yep. Back at you. So what brings you here? You finally ready to admit you want to play for my team?"

"In your dreams, Remington. I've got a deal going down, only it feels for shit, you know? Supposed to meet with one of the Cortez brothers. First time I'm even getting close to the assholes. Been tracking them for over a year now. A little nibble here, a little there, but always with the little guys. Last night I get this message Julio Cortez wants to see me, maybe cut a deal. I follow the protocol, call it in, pick up my stash at the pre-assigned. All like normal."

"Yeah? So what's the problem?"

"The problem is...no one's following me. I can spot a tail a mile off and no one picked up my trail like they was supposed to."

"Maybe they're at the drop site already," Remy said, without conviction.

Miggy turned and leaned his elbows against the bar and his restless eyes scanned the crowded dance floor. "Can't be. You know how it is...call it in and leave a message on the recording. Only what you need and when, no other details in case there's ears on you. Then the backup's supposed to pick up your trail at the drop. Whole team is supposed to be on standby, ready to move if it goes to shit. Only there ain't no backup."

"There is now," Remy grinned. "Where and when?"

"Still gotta couple hours. You want in? Hell, best news I've had all night. Let's get out of here and get some coffee. I don't need no drunk-assed back up. I'll give you the details in the car."

"I ain't even close to drunk. Meet me back at my hotel in thirty. I need my weapon and I can drop off my car."

****

Remy rounded the bumper on his car and stopped in his tracks. There was Toby, leaning against the door, head moving to the rhythm pumping through the ear buds.

"Oh. Hey. Mr. Remington. Sorry, I wasn't sure where else to wait for you. You said to meet you here, tonight."

"So I did. You did good, Toby—and call me Remy. How's it going? You still doing okay, kid?"

Toby's cheeks pinkened. "Yeah, it's going okay. I'm doing...I'm staying...." He trailed off, and looked around everywhere but at Remy.

"Hey, it's okay. Why don't you hop in and I'll take you back to our place and we'll get you something to eat." He extended his hand and pulled the boy to his feet. "Come on, you can tell me what you've been up to on the way."

There wasn't much for Remy to say, because once inside the car, the words started spilling from Toby with all the excitement of a kid who just met Santa. He had a new friend at the shelter who already had a line on getting them jobs in the porn business. When Remy only raised an eyebrow, Toby had continued.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's what I want to do. Really, it's why I came to New York. If I couldn't find a way to do it here, I was going to hitch to LA. Now I don't have to, 'cause Ryker says his friend will take care of me, that he treats his stars right."

"Ryker?"

"Yeah, that's the dude's name. He talked to me and Pepper. Pepper's real name is Duane. Isn't that cool? I need a stage name too, only everything I think of seems dumb." Remy blinked at the rapid-fire conversation, but stayed silent, letting Toby unload.

"Anyway, this Ryker—he's cool. He's a director sometimes, but he says he has to help with everything when they make movies. He told us all about the business. Anyway, Ryker says Mr. Pickard—

"Wait. _Pick-_ ard...or Pic- _ard_?" Remy asked, placing the accent on the second syllable. Was this clown some kind of Star Trek freak?

"He pronounced it _Pick-_ ard. Anyway, he says Pickard is the producer and he gives his actors housing and everything until they earn enough money to make it on their own. He's going to pay me two thousand for the first movie. The only thing, I don't know if...he might not want me because I'm...I mean I never...uhm..." he stammered into silence.

Remy glanced over and saw in the flicker of passing streetlights that Toby was staring straight ahead, his face suffused with color. Remy's heart ached for the kid. For the lost childhood, for the tough road he'd chosen. _For himself._ Jesus, Toby was still under eighteen, so what this Ryker guy was doing was technically child porn. Remy had to put a stop to this. He knew he couldn't risk blowing his cover on the child trafficking case, but he could put a bug in Director Forsythe's ear. She would know how to alert the right people without blowing his cover or Miggy's. Meanwhile, he needed to slow the kid down.

"Listen, Toby, it's not too late. Why don't you go back home. I'm sure your family's worried about you."

The youth's head was already shaking before Remy finished his sentence.

"No way. It's only my mom, and she used to promise her Johns I'd give them blowjobs so she could double her fees. I'm not going back. Ryker says I can get emancipated once I move into Pickard's place and he pays me. I'll be legal in a couple of months, anyway."

"Fuck. Look, I know—" Remy began.

Toby interrupted, his angelic face suddenly mutinous. "No. This is what I want to do. I know I'm small for my age but I'm almost eighteen and I know dudes will pay to see me 'cause I look so young. I can be a star. I'd rather get paid real money for doing porn than sucking a dude so my mom can shoot shit up her arm." He slid his hand over to Remy's thigh. "I can give a real good BJ, I just haven't let anybody fuck me yet. You've been real nice—"

Remy clamped his hand on Toby's wrist. "Cut it out. I don't do boys and you aren't giving anything away right now. Just slow the fuck down." He pulled into the parking space beneath their hotel. "Look Toby, just do me a favor. Give it a day or two; let me look into things for you. You don't want to give away something you can't ever get back. Trust me on this.

"Now, come on. I want you to come upstairs. If there's a guy in there with Jamie, just focus on me, do a little flirting, but don't pay any attention to the other guy. Once he's gone, we'll get you some dinner, then we'll get you a cab to take you back to your shelter. I want to meet with you and Pepper."

"I'm not changing my mind. Me and Pepper talked this over. We're good and we can watch each other's backs. Ain't much that can happen when there's two of us."

As they walked from the car to the hotel room elevator, Remy realized that if Toby had been a couple of years younger, he could be one of their missing boys. With his sandy blond hair, light blue eyes, and the sprinkling of freckles over his nose and cheeks, Toby looked fresh off the farm _. Jesus. The world was a fucked up place._

****

"Wow, that was fabulous," Jamie smiled, indicating to Will that they should adjourn to the couch with their brandy and cigars. He sank down onto the cushion and patted his stomach. "That lobster bisque was to die for. I know a certain chef in London who'd kill for that recipe. How was your steak?"

Will sat down beside him and took a healthy mouthful of brandy before putting his glass on the coffee table. "It was delicious," he replied, "as is the brandy, the cigars, the company."

Narrowing his gaze, Jamie allowed Will to relieve him of his brandy glass and cigar and put them on the coffee table beside his own. It wasn't exactly difficult to figure out where Will was going with this, but Jamie forced himself to let go a gasp of surprise as Will cupped his face and brought their lips together in a soft kiss. Their mouths parted on a gentle snick and Will gazed into his eyes before leaning in again and deepening the kiss.

For a brief moment, Jamie couldn't help but compare Will's lips to another's, but he quickly brushed the thought away and allowed himself to sink into the kiss, his tongue sliding sensuously against Will's. With a strength that surprised Jamie, Will pulled him onto his lap and twisted him so that Will's torso was pressed against his as he lowered Jamie to the couch.

"I've wanted to taste you from the moment I saw you," Will groaned, kiss-biting along Jamie's jaw.

"I thought I was going to go crazy waiting for you to make your move," Jamie mumbled, arching his neck to give Will better access to his throat. He groaned as Will's fingers scrabbled at the buttons of his dress shirt and slid inside. "Will—"

The door flew open and the two men broke apart. Jamie noted the tightening of Remington's jaw as his hazel eyes took in the situation, traveling over their swollen lips and the not so subtle bulge in Will's pants. "You're back," Jamie said casually, standing up and taking his time in straightening his clothes. He noticed Toby behind Remy and raised an eyebrow. "And with company."

Jamie didn't know how to feel when Remy simply turned on his heel and said to the youth, "Sorry kid, looks like we didn't need you after all. Come into my office and I'll pay you for your time."

"I'll say one thing for him," Will said, after the bedroom door closed behind Remy and the boy. "Nothing fazes your man."

Jamie huffed out a laugh and turned to face Will, managing to sidestep the other man's kiss without making it obvious. "It's what he's paid for," he said softly, looping his arms around Will's neck. "Would you hate me if I asked you to leave? I'm absolutely shattered and the alcohol is kicking in." He kept his voice low and teasing. "The last thing I want is to fall asleep on you during the good bits."

To give him credit, Will handled his disappointment with good grace and Jamie was relieved that the man didn't make a fuss. "How could I possibly hate you?" Will murmured, kissing Jamie gently on the lips and releasing him. "The symphony on Friday? Then some dancing afterward?"

"Can't think of anything I'd rather be doing," Jamie replied, strolling across the room to the door and opening it for the other man. "Thank you for a lovely dinner, Will. I'll see you in the morning."

Closing the door behind Kennedy, Jamie ran a hand through his hair and crossed the room to the coffee table, picking up his cigar and lighting it once more. He padded to the huge floor to ceiling windows and gazed out at the view of New York.

In all honesty he didn't particularly like the things, but he needed something to steady his nerves while he waited for Remington to come out of his room with Toby. Remy's gaze had been so cold as he'd stared at them. For a moment, Jamie thought he glimpsed a flash of hatred but whether it was directed at him or Will, he couldn't tell. What the hell was wrong with the man? He'd thought they were heading somewhere, where he had no idea, but somewhere. He knew Remy was scared, had felt it the first time they'd had sex, but was he regretting letting Jamie in?

Jamie focused on the reflection behind him when Remy's bedroom door opened and he came out with Toby, who was folding some cash and shoving it in his pocket. Fingers tightened around his heart as Remy followed Toby from the suite without even a backward glance in Jamie's direction.

****

This whole thing was a bad idea, Remy thought. For one thing, Miggy had no clue if he was still an official part of a drug investigation of the Cortez family. Second, the man wasn't wearing a wire. There would be no record of any deals arranged. No record meant no evidence. And third, Miggy had said the meeting was all about the connections. He had no intention of making an arrest tonight. _Bad fucking idea._

From Remy's perspective, there was nothing he liked better than a bad idea. Especially if it meant he got to kick some dirt bag drug-dealing ass. He'd been an asshole to the parrot-boy...trying to find some outlet for his anger, and the contempt he felt for himself could use a good ass-whooping. Preferably someone else's ass. And kicking ass was better than thinking about what he'd walked in on at the hotel suite. He raked his fingers through his hair and held back the sigh that threatened.

Jamie's kiss-swollen lips and heavy eyes were all the evidence he'd needed that this thing with Will was far beyond a cover story. Ten more minutes and they'd have walked in on the two men fucking. Would Mainwaring even have bothered taking Kennedy to the bedroom? Or had Jamie planned to just whip it out right there on the couch? Didn't much fucking matter, did it? Doing Will in the living room was the perfect kick in Remy's teeth. Because no matter how you looked at it...Jamie knew Remy could have walked in at any time. He'd planned to get caught. The whole situation was a perfect example of why Remy didn't do relationships.

Remy had held it together. He'd gotten Toby out of the suite and put him in a cab with enough money to get to his shelter. He'd extracted a promise that Toby wouldn't go anywhere without talking to Remy first. It was the best he could do for the night. Now, he pushed those thoughts away and took careful stock of their surroundings. From the spray painted tags on the walls of the abandoned warehouses lining a dead-end back alley, Remy knew they were deep in the heart of Cortez territory. He moved in the shadows, a trickle of sweat rolling down his spine in the residual heat of a late summer evening. Miggy would be arriving any minute, and as directed, he would stand in the light cast by the single remaining streetlamp.

With skin that felt twitchy, as if someone might put a blade between his ribs at any minute, Remy moved silently. He knew Cortez's men would be doing the same. Every time he stepped into a new shadow he risked bumping in to one of the bad guys. Not that he minded a fight, he just wanted to be in position first. And he sure as hell didn't want to find out too late that he was stepping into some thug's pre-designated hiding space.

Towering walls, empty but for an occasional back door, a few overflowing dumpsters, two broken streetlights. There weren't a hell of a lot of places to hide. He gazed up to the roofline and saw nothing but the distinctive curl of razor wire. Now that was interesting. It meant these were working warehouses. It also meant that if the big man himself planned to meet Miggy, he would have a sniper on the roof. A nice, clean shot, and there wouldn't be anything Remy could do to save his friend. Yeah, this was a fucking stupid idea. A grin split his face. It was just his kind of plan: No fucking strategy except to stay alive.

Remy crouched behind a dumpster, breathing quietly through his mouth to avoid the eau de landfill cologne that lay heavy on the sultry night air. He shifted his gaze from the mouth of the alley when he heard a rustle of discarded paper skitter on the asphalt from the other side of the green container. As he peered around the corner of his smelly metal shield, he caught the movement of a large rat as it waddled into the shadow with him. _Fuck._

Just when Remy thought he had all the silent drama he could stand, Miggy stepped into the pale yellow streetlight, which lit him as effectively as a spotlight.

Nothing went down the way Remy expected. As soon as Miggy stopped moving, the shadows near the entrance of the alley seemed to melt into dark figures moving in slow motion. Remy scanned the tops of the buildings for the telltale movement of a sniper, but everything remained still. There was no rifle barrel, no scope, and Juan Cortez was never going to show. This wasn't a meeting to arrange a drug deal, but a message from the Cortez brothers to the upstart, drug-dealing Miguel Rojas.

Four men surrounded Miggy, circling like jackals that have separated their prey from the pack. This snick of a blade opening whispered through the night. The man with the knife held it with his fist close to his hip. If he went in with the blade, he was going in to eviscerate Miguel. Another man held a bat. The other two seemed to plan on using their fists. Nobody was messing around.

Remy vaguely registered the sound of Miguel's voice, his placating tone working to resolve the situation without violence. Even as he spoke, the two men without weapons moved in, pinning Miggy between them. The larger of the two grabbed Miggy's arms and yanked them behind his back by the elbows, preventing him from protecting himself. The other man started dancing and throwing jabs and upper cuts, fists thudding against flesh, as though Miggy were a heavy bag and he was preparing for the welterweight championship.

There was nothing he hated more than a bunch of bullies who ganged up on one man. Remy was out from behind the dumpster, moving fast and silent, and aiming straight for the man with the bat. Knife-boy might be more dangerous, but the bat had a longer reach. Remy didn't want to draw his weapon, but he wasn't about to go in against a blade unarmed. The man held the bat in a loose grip, attention focused on the beating. Remy reached him before the others were aware that Miguel had an ally. He yanked the bat free and shoved the man into knife-boy. They crashed together in a tangle of arms. A howl and a muffled curse told him that one of the men had likely met the tip of the blade. He needed to get Miggy free. Four against two was better odds, but everyone was doing damage.

Still moving, Remy took the bat, swung around, and connected with the legs of the man holding Miggy. Miguel took advantage of his captor's downward motion and scream of pain. He let himself fall backwards then kicked up with both feet, connecting with the jaw of the wannabe boxer. Then everything became a blur as fists pounded and men swore. Most of the words were in Spanish, but Remy had no problem understanding. They cursed his mother, which he agreed with and said he would die, which he highly doubted. At least not tonight.

It came as a shock when the knife sliced into his side, deep enough to scrape rib. Out of sheer reaction, Remy twisted and felt the satisfying thud as his bat connected with the knife arm of his assailant. The switchblade clattered to the ground, and Remy dove for it. His head snapped back when the boot of the last man standing connected with his face. Then Miggy was behind him, reaching into the waistband of Remy's jeans and drew the gun from the concealed holster. With an arm around Remy's waist, he pointed the gun at the thugs and started backing them out of the alleyway.

"You tell your fucking boss the next time he sends pricks like you to discuss a serious business opportunity, we will bury them. He wants to do business, he better send a gesture of good faith."

Miggy shoved Remy into the passenger seat and raced around to climb in the driver side. "Fuck, Remy put the towel against your side. You're bleeding like a stuck pig. Goddamn Cortez. Should a known this was a set up. Fuck. We need to get you to a hospital man. That cut needs stitches. _Fuck!_ "

"No. No hospital." Remy reached for his cell phone and sucked in a breath at the sharp pain in his side. He jammed the towel against his ribs and tried to ignore how much blood there was soaking his shirt and jeans. He pressed the speed dial button for the number Director Forsythe had pre-programmed into his phone. This might not relate to his case but it definitely counted as an emergency. After relaying their situation, Remy was directed to a small clinic well away from the neighborhood where they'd had the fight.

Four hours, seventy-odd stitches, and a pint of blood later, Remy sat by the curb in front of their hotel and waited for Jamie to emerge. There was no hiding the marks on his face and arms, but he wasn't saying a word about the stitches or the bruised ribs. He knew he looked like shit, but it couldn't be helped. He just hoped Jamie wouldn't ask too many questions and the whole thing could be written off as a bar fight.

****

Jamie checked his watch again and poured what remained of the coffee on the room service trolley into his cup. _Where the fuck was Remington?_ Probably picked up a piece of ass and was sleeping it off in some seedy motel. Jamie pushed his inner voice to the back of his mind and pulled his suit jacket on, smoothing down his tie with agitated fingers. What was the asshole playing at? They were on a fucking job, not starring in Remington Does New York. _What's up, Jamie? Don't like the idea of someone else touching your stuff?_ "That was business, not pleasure," he ground out into the silence of the room, surprised by the vehemence of his voice. _Don't forget, he's not_ _your_ _cowboy._

"Oh shut the fuck up," Jamie mumbled, picking up the room phone and dialing down to reception. "Hello, this is Lord Fordham, could you arrange for a car to take me to the American Embassy. It would appear my driver is running a little late."

Jamie replaced the handset and checked his briefcase to make sure he'd not forgotten anything and shoved his cell into his pocket. Crossing the room, he yanked open the door and started when he saw Remington getting out of the elevator. "Where the fuck have you been?" he spluttered, stepping back into the room and raking his gaze over Remington's disheveled appearance. "You look like shit!"

"Keep the flattery for someone who gives a fuck," Remy drawled, heading straight for his room.

"What the hell happened? You didn't come back last night," Jamie ground out, leaning in the doorway of Remy's room, waiting for the other man to come out of the bathroom. The cowboy looked like he'd been wrung out and hung up to dry and the red circles around his eyes was an obvious indication of the lack of sleep and the amount of alcohol he must have put away. Jamie didn't even want to think about the slight limp as Remington came out of the bathroom wearing a clean shirt and his suit jacket.

"I was off the clock," Remy snapped. "I went to the club. I didn't realize I had to punch my time card."

"Well, I'm sorry to have dragged you away from your busy social calendar," Jamie growled, standing aside as Remington loped toward the door. "Thank you so much for taking the time to do the job you're paid for."

"My pleasure, Your Lordship," Remy replied nonchalantly. "Now if you're finished, let's go. You don't wanna be late."

##  Chapter Twelve

The coffee shop had been a brilliant place to meet. Will had never picked up one of the kids in such a public place. Discretion had always been key. Now he was looking for a little misdirection. Wearing cowboy boots, faded jeans, and a ratty looking T-shirt, he could've passed for anybody. With the newly acquired Diamondbacks ball cap, he looked an awful lot like a certain cowboy from Arizona. He pushed the shades further up his nose and waited.

"Mr. Ryker, I'm so glad to see you. I'm ready—everything I got is in this backpack. Let's go."

He laughed. "Not so fast, Pepper. Where's Toby? I thought he was coming with us?"

"I don't know about Toby, man. I think he's trying to chicken out. He met some dude last night who told him to wait a few days before he went with you anywhere. He's hanging out around the corner in case you wanted to talk to him."

"Don't worry about it, Pepper. Go get him for me and we'll just talk for a minute. Then we'll get out of here. And please, it's just Ryker."

Will watched as Pepper bounced from the shop on the balls of his feet. No doubt about it, the kid was excited. With his pale skin, jet-black hair, and pretty eyes, the boy looked like a waif straight out of a Dickens novel. Although he claimed to be fifteen, Will would wager he came in at thirteen or under. The boy would bring a handsome profit. It was a shame he wasn't a virgin, but there was no hiding the experience that shaded the kid's eyes.

Toby's reticence didn't really worry him over much. He wondered last night if the youth had caught a glimpse of him on the couch with Jamie. Either way, he was sure he could convince him to join them by telling him they would be spending the weekend with Remy at Pickard's place in the country. Once he had the boys at the compound, they would fall in line quickly. And although Toby might be older than their prime target, he looked young enough. Plus, he was already convinced Jamie would pay top dollar to get the kid.

As he watched the two boys move toward him, Will couldn't help but notice what an attractive pair the two of them made. Dark and light, salt-and-pepper, experience and innocence. They complimented each other, a perfect match. If he could package them just right, maybe His Lordship might be interested in buying them both. Although the man might have had a taste of young Toby, Will was certain no one had tapped the youth's ass. He quickly adjusted his earlier fantasy to include Jamie surrounded by the two lithe bodies now standing in front of him. Yes...he would arrange to watch as Jamie trained Salt and Pepper. Then, one way or the other, he would take Jamie. A nice little going away present to himself, before he left for his new assignment in Brazil. He moved to intercept the boys, confident that this was something he could arrange. After this morning, these boys would officially cease to exist.

****

Jamie leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was eternally grateful it was Friday because it had been a long week. Remington's attitude hadn't exactly improved since Wednesday morning when he'd returned from God alone knew where, limping and looking like he'd been fucked three ways from Sunday. He'd still not offered an explanation of what happened and had spent the last two nights in his own room. Not that Jamie would have complained about that fact in a million years. He might not have a lot of pride left, but he had enough not to go begging to Colt fucking Remington for anything. If Remington wanted to get all caveman about what had happened between him and Will on Tuesday night, that was his own business. If doing his job was enough to make Remington behave like a jilted teenager, far be it from him to steer the ass from his course.

Although Remington hadn't exactly been a joy to be around, the last couple of days at the Embassy had been satisfyingly productive. Wednesday had been another round of chit-chat and planning, mostly to do with the caterers and the entertainment for the upcoming ball and by the time he'd slumped in the back of the limo, his face ached from smiling. Thursday, however, had been rather eventful...all thanks to the lovely Melanie Duvall and a quiet three-hour lunch at Gramercy Tavern, one of the most expensive restaurants in New York City. Sir Thomas had been right, there wasn't anything Melanie Duvall didn't know about Embassy staff and Embassy scandal.

Of course, the most interesting piece of information she could have imparted was the fact that Will Kennedy was known as the "can get you anything" guy. Jamie's ears had pricked up at that, and he'd leaned in, flashing her the pearly whites and refilling her wine glass, insisting that she "tell me more." According to Melanie, Will could get you anything from drugs, to nights at the premier of the latest movies, to tickets to the most exclusive of celebrity parties and had even been known to provide...entertainment of every variety for visiting dignitaries. She'd even heard a rumor, she'd said, that last year he'd managed to obtain some sexual relief for one of the Africans that wasn't entirely legal...if Jamie got her meaning. Jamie had raised an eyebrow and sat back in his chair and sipped at his first glass of wine, while furnishing her with her sixth. Oh, yeah...he'd known what she meant.

Half an hour ago he'd casually wandered down the hall to Will's office and flashed his most charming smile at Anna, Will's assistant. He'd enquired whether or not Mr. Kennedy could spare him a few moments and was advised that Mr. Kennedy was out of the office for the rest of the day on Embassy business. Expressing his disappointment with a pout, he'd shrugged and thanked her before making his way back to his office.

Jamie closed the door behind him and retrieved his briefcase from beneath his desk. Opening it, he pulled out his pick set and the tiny pen camera he'd been furnished with by the boffins at the agency. He should probably give Remy a heads-up, but if he was going to find out anything, the time had to be now. Who knew when he would have another golden opportunity like this one?

Using his cell, he called down to reception and gave them an excuse to get Will's assistant away from her desk and watched her approach the elevators. Checking that he was not attracting undue attention, he walked casually down the hall to Will's office and opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it quietly behind him. Will's office was not unlike his own in size and décor, and Jamie moved around the room quickly. He opened the filing cabinet and flicked through the files there, hoping to find something of interest, but found nothing beyond everyday jargon concerning the benefit. He crossed the room to the closet and rummaged through the spare clothes Will kept at the office, finding some receipts for a local diner, but nothing else.

Closing the closet door, Jamie eyed the large mahogany desk and strolled across the room to take a seat in the expensive leather chair. He leafed through Will's in-tray, taking care to put everything back precisely the way it had been, then he perused the half a dozen or so files Will had on his desk. Finally, he rummaged through the drawers. In the right side he found the usual stationery equipment, a seemingly endless collection of plastic spoons and four boxes of Oreos. Jamie bit his lip to stop the chuckle that bubbled in his throat. He'd never have pegged Will for a closet cookie muncher. The left side of the desk was even less interesting until he reached the bottom drawer. The locked bottom drawer.

Using his pick set, he took his time in jimmying the lock and smiled when he felt the slip of the tumbler and the drawer give. Slipping his pick set back into his jacket pocket, he pulled open the drawer and took out the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon lying there and put it on the desktop. Beneath it was a hefty file, a couple of inches thick. Lifting it out, he opened it and couldn't stop the gasp that fell from his lips. Photographs, too many to count. Recognition of the faces staring up at him was immediate. He'd seen them often enough in the files the director had furnished them with. Not to mention his own files at Scotland Yard. The boys had been photographed in different situations, in different outfits, and also in varying states of undress.

Jamie's gut roiled, anger burning through him in a wave until he was able to taste the bile in the back of his throat. He picked up one of the photographs and stared into the frightened gaze of Aaron Litchfield. _I'm gonna kill him! Putting a bullet through that son of a bitch's brain is going to be the most fun I've ever had in New York._ Jamie ran a shaking hand through his hair and shook his head, trying to clear it. Shooting Will right now would be counter-productive. The bank statements underneath the photos indicated that he was not in this alone. He had regular deposits from the same bank account into his. It was obvious that Will was obtaining these boys for a third party...what happened to them after that, Jamie could only dare to imagine.

The cop half of his brain kicked in and he spread the photos and the bank statements out, painstakingly taking pictures of each one with the pen cam. He would upload them to the laptop as soon as he got back to the suite and send them to the director. How was Will luring the boys? The man was charming, no doubt, but could he gain the boys' trust enough to pull it off? Unless...a germ of an idea put down roots in his brain and his jaw tightened. How the fuck was he going to get through an evening with the scumbag without ventilating his face? He needed to talk to Remy and bring him up to speed, and how the hell was he going to do that with Remy's current mood change and the bug on the lower floor of their suite?

Quickly putting everything back in the order he'd found it in and re-locking the drawer, Jamie pulled out his cell to send poor Anna on another wild goose chase down to reception. He opened the door a crack, and watched her stomp toward the bank of elevators, frustration clear in each step. Once she'd disappeared into one of the metal boxes, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him, strolling casually back to his office, humming a little tune.

****

Mother fuck his side hurt, Remy thought as he dry swallowed a handful of ibuprofen. Along with declining an overnight stay at the private clinic, he'd refused the offer of something stronger to ease his pain. He'd been hurt worse and survived. Besides, what hurt the most was his pride. That and knowing he could have put his partner in danger by not focusing on their own case.

With an extra level of attention to detail, Remy spread the case folders open on the small dining table. His sore ribs made it too uncomfortable to sit on anything except a straight-backed chair—and he figured he more than deserved to be uncomfortable. He opened the envelope sent by Director Forsythe. The top of the list was confirmation of what he had already expected. Wilton Kennedy was a common thread between each of the cities they were investigating. He wasn't the only one; however, he was the only one whose duty stations coincided with the time frames of the missing boys.

Kennedy's employment record was above reproach. However, unlike many of his contemporaries, Will seemed to enjoy taking positions on the lateral career path rather than the upwardly mobile route. He never applied for management positions or for positions with a career ladder with a built in path leading to promotions.

Why would a relatively young man with an excellent academic background, from a prestigious Boston family be content with mid-level temporary secretarial duties within the Department of State?

The director had provided extensive financial records for Kennedy, none of which raised any red flags. The man lived within his means, he didn't own a vehicle or home, which made sense given his worldwide assignments. His typical tour of duty was quite a bit shorter than the average employee partly due to the nature of his assignments. He often went in as a temporary appointee until the permanent employee was brought on board. Then Will moved on to the next assignment.

Although the laptop was open, Remy grabbed yellow legal pad and a pencil. He liked to map out his ideas and sometimes the old-fashioned method was best. His gaze flicked over to the base of the lamp where the insect personnel confirmed the location of the listening device. The room was swept daily, the housekeeping personnel constantly monitored to ensure no other listening devices or cameras were placed within the suite. Nonetheless it was a lot harder to intercept data drawn on a sheet of paper than it was to intercept encrypted wireless transmissions.

With a frown, Remy stood to pour himself a cup of coffee, before returning to the rest of the files. One by one he reviewed the history of the personnel assigned to duties in each of the cities investigated. No one seemed to match all of the cities. There were plenty of people who had been assigned to London, Hamburg, and New York. One married couple had been assigned to both Phoenix and New York, but not during the dates indicated by the missing boys, and they'd never been assigned overseas. Besides, there was nothing to indicate that a married couple was involved.

Everything in Remy's gut told him he was looking for a top-level executive. Someone who worked well with, and trusted, Wilton Kennedy. He drew some circles on his pad, filled in names, then connected the circles with arrows until a pattern started to emerge. He realized that perhaps he'd been looking at this the wrong way. Although it was necessary that Kennedy be in all the locations where the boys disappeared, it might make more sense if the man who was behind it all was more permanently located in one of the cities.

In fact, now that he thought about it, it was very likely that their organization operated a single base from which the boss kept things running smoothly and could arrange placements for each of the boys.

Remy logged into his laptop went to the security protocols and accessed the files he needed. After four hours he was still sore and more certain he was on the right track, but for now all he had was a lot of data and supposition. He needed to get to the man behind the trafficking.

Personal feelings aside, everything Kennedy had done up to this point, both here in New York City and elsewhere, proved him to be a smart adversary. The fact that Jamie appeared to be attracted to Will should not be a factor. Reality jerked at him and forced him to consider the idea of Jamie and Will together. He closed his eyes and thought about everything that had happened since he'd met tall, dark, and dreamy. The look and feel of Jamie, surrounding him as they'd made love, as he'd made love.

On a sharp intake of breath that made his ribs ache and a light sheen of sweat breakout across his forehead, Remy wondered, _don't you have to actually love someone to make love?_ It had certainly been more than fucking. Face-to-face, chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart. The realization hit him. Jamie hadn't betrayed him with Will. Whatever had been going on between the two men had to be related to work...to their case.

Remy had simply seen what he'd wanted to see and walked away from the chance to have a real relationship. He shook his head. He knew he always would walk away. There was something in him that was broken beyond repair. God he wished he and Jamie could talk about this. He wished he knew how.

With a quick glance at his watch, Remy realized he needed to pick Jamie up from his office. He snapped the laptop closed. Gathered the file folders and his legal pad and neatly stacked everything in the safe in his bedroom. He took a last glance around the room to make sure everything was in order, then locked the door behind him on his way out.

When he reached the car, Remy depressed the first button on the key fob to unlock the doors. He pressed the second button to trigger the built-in scanner. It came as a surprise when the little black device vibrated in his hand long after the distinctive snick of opening locks. Remy made as if to check his watch, and took a quick look at the indicator light. Flashing amber. A listening device. Without looking around Remy continued to step inside the car, back from his space and headed to Jamie. He turned the music up loud and hummed along with the radio, and thought about the fact that someone had gone into the garage while he was upstairs working and planted a bug on their vehicle.

Remy pulled into the underground garage and into the line of waiting cars. He was just another chauffeur here to pick up his boss. While he waited, he leaned against the front fender and sent a text message. Their suite would be swept once more just to make sure that the bug stayed downstairs. He and Jamie had to know where it was safe for them to talk.

****

The phone on Jamie's desk trilled and he pressed the intercom. "Yes?"

"Your car is here, sir," the voice of the girl in reception said brightly.

"Thank you, Jeannie. I'll be right down." Jamie shoved his notepad into his briefcase and slipped his jacket back on. He yawned as he crossed the room and flicked off the lights as he closed the door behind him. In the elevator he leaned against the mirrored back wall and sighed heavily. He'd spent the last three hours itching to speak to Remy, but the phone lines at the Embassy for an employee at his level were not secure and he was not stupid enough to put the job in jeopardy.

If he was honest with himself, he'd been itching to speak to Remy for days. To find out what had happened in that stupid Yank's head after they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms. After Remy had softly whispered, "Colt," giving that tiny piece of himself. Jamie had thought they'd made a real connection. That he'd managed to slip a little under the cowboy's skin and, he'd thought, into his heart. Now he had no clue where they were. Remy had reacted like a jealous fool on Tuesday night when he'd walked in on Jamie and Will, and given Jamie hope that his feelings were returned. But how would he know? The asshole had barely spoken to him since, simply shutting himself in his bedroom downstairs with a gruff goodnight and the slam of a door.

The elevator door slid open and Jamie stepped out onto the marble flooring of the huge reception area. "Goodnight, Jeannie," he called, lifting his hand in a wave of goodbye as he pushed his way through the revolving doors and out into the early evening air. Remy was waiting for him, leaning against the side of the town car and Jamie's breath caught in his throat as he paused mid-step at the sight of lean muscles and broad shoulders. If he didn't know better, he'd swear Remy was doing it on purpose. Approaching the car, Jamie opened his mouth to speak and frowned as Remy held out his hand for his briefcase and cut him off.

"Your Grace," Remy said smoothly, reaching out and opening the back door. He leaned in closely as Jamie put his hand on the door to ease his way inside and murmured, "We ain't alone." Jamie noted the almost imperceptible nod of Remy's head toward the car and realization flooded through him. The car was bugged.

Jamie rolled his eyes to indicate Remy's message was received and understood. "Good afternoon, Remy. I trust you had a productive day, besides shopping at Big 'n Tall, that is," he said brightly.

"You know me too well, sir," Remy replied, closing the door behind Jamie and climbing in behind the wheel. Jamie caught his eye and Remy said loudly, "Chopin, Jamie?"

"Thank you, Remy," Jamie said softly. "You always know what I need."

"It's why you pay me the big bucks, sir."

*

Once inside the suite, Jamie closed the door behind them and grabbed Remy's arm, holding a finger up to his lips. "Remington, I'm in need of a little relief," he said conversationally, pulling Remy toward the stairs. "I have something rather pressing that I need your help with."

"Pressing, Your Grace?"

"Yeah," Jamie looped his fingers through Remy's and urged him up the stairs to the bedroom where he knew they would be able to talk unheard. "Pressing against my zipper to be precise." He almost laughed out loud at the look of incredulity on Remy's face at his choice of words and he pressed a fist to his mouth to stem the bubbling laughter.

Inside the bedroom, Remy crossed his arms and stared at Jamie, using his best cowboy drawl as he said, "Pressing against your zipper?"

"It was the first thing that popped into my head," Jamie said, sitting down on the bed. "I need to talk to you about what I found today."

Jamie explained about the photos and records he'd found in Will's office.

"Why would he keep his records there?" Remy asked.

"I wondered the same thing. Seems kind of stupid, but maybe it's only a temporary place to hold his stuff since he's just moved here, or maybe—"

"Yeah, maybe he's just that fuckin' arrogant. Shit. That's good Jamie. I mean, well, hell. We can't use any of it as evidence, since we didn't have a search warrant, but it plays right into the information the director sent today. Will's either visited or been stationed at every location where the boys went missing on the dates in question." Remy went through the rest of the evidence.

"So...Will?" Jamie asked, already knowing the answer.

Remy nodded. "Yep. Wilton-fucking-Kennedy. And the rat bastard sought us out...sought you out as soon as he heard you were going to be stationed together. What the hell is that about? What...we're supposed to believe he's a social climbing, royal fan-boi groupie, as well as a pedophile?"

Sitting back against the pillows and bending a knee, Jamie ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, but I don't care, either. We've got him. Well, we're going to get him. I guess the next step is to let Will know I'd be interested in seeing some young flesh." The words felt like offal in his mouth and he got up to grab a bottle of juice from the mini-bar. Taking a large mouthful, he turned around to see Remy watching him, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a grim line.

"And just how the fuck do you plan to do that?" Remy asked. His voice was low, menacing.

"By any means necessary," Jamie replied bluntly. "We know he knows where those boys are. God alone knows how long we've got before they're not even in the country anymore. Will's obviously the middleman. He kidnaps the boys, but who is shipping them out? We need Will to get to the boss-man, so I will do whatever I have to in order to keep those kids safe."

Jamie strode toward the bathroom and found his progress halted by the huge paw on his forearm as he passed Remy. Jamie's gaze flew to Remy's and a shiver of anticipation tingled up his spine as he met cold hard steel.

"If he touches you, you know I'm gonna have to kill him, right?" Remy said quietly, the warning clear, his voice barely more than a growl.

In that cold gaze, Jamie saw a flicker of heat, of possessiveness...of _mine._ His heart thumped hard, sending his pulse pounding, the steady rhythm loud in his ears. There he was, his Remy, the terrified Remy he'd held in his arms, their hearts beating in time. Remy dropped his gaze and released Jamie's arm, turning away, but Jamie didn't let him. There was no way he was letting the other man run. Jamie lifted a hand and cupped Remy's face, leaning in he pressed their lips together in a tender kiss.

It was like lighting the touch paper, except the last thing Jamie wanted to do was stand well back. Remy's arms wrapped around his waist and hauled him against a muscled chest as the kiss deepened, seeming to Jamie as if all the frustration of the past few days melted away in that meeting of lips. Jamie moaned low in his throat as Remy's fingers scrabbled at the buttons on his dress shirt, pulling his tie out of the way and, just as skin met skin, Remy's cell rang and the sound echoed around the room, forcing them apart.

"It's Miggy," Remy groaned, releasing Jamie and fishing in his pocket for his phone. Jamie frowned as he listened to Remy's curt answers...something was obviously up. He waited impatiently for the call to end and for Remy to fill him in. When Remy opened his mouth, Jamie wished he hadn't. "Toby's missing."

"The kid from the other night? How do you know he's missing?" Jamie asked.

"Miggy says. He would know. Toby was hooked up with some guy who wanted to make him a porn star, but I made him promise not to go anywhere without talking to me first," Remy said.

"You don't think it's related to our case, do you?"

"Hell, I don't know. I hope the fuck not. Toby's a couple of years older than most of our kids, and we haven't had a whiff of a porn connection as a cover. Most of the missing boys have been pretty God damned innocent, not likely to go for a porn hook up."

Jamie swore loudly and gripped a handful of hair on either side of his head. "Okay, you go to Miggy. I'll get ready and take a taxi to meet Will at the symphony and you can pick me up later."

Remy kissed Jamie hard and turned on his heel, heading toward the stairs, stopping at the top and glancing back over his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid. I'll be there when you finish."

"You'd better be, cowboy."

"Yes, Your Lordship."

##  Chapter Thirteen

"When was the last time you saw the boys, Mrs. Fisher?" asked Remy.

The woman narrowed eyes too small for her broad face and looked from Remy to Miggy and back again. Short and squat, she looked like what she was: an expensively dressed, overbearing, self-righteous prig.

"I'm not really sure what your role is here, Mister..." She drug out the word as if waiting for an explanation. Remy couldn't really blame her for her nerves. With Miggy's bruises and his own lack of a badge, she was right to be suspicious.

"We don't have time to make you feel better," said Miggy, pulling back his jacket to reveal the detective shield clipped to his belt. "We need to find the boys. Now let's get this straight. You said the last time you saw Toby, he wore his backpack and was walking with the boy known as Pepper. What time was that?" Remy noticed Miggy was using his strictly for business cop-speak.

With a little sniff, she deigned to answer. "Just past nine this morning. I know, because I was meeting with some potential foster parents who were here for a tour of the facility. These were parents who are willing to take older boys, and I thought Toby might be a likely candidate. When I called his name, he waved and kept going. I didn't want to draw attention to his poor behavior, so I waved back and found one of the other boys to introduce these parents to. Toby is usually a polite young man and I went to some considerable trouble to find this couple—"

"Right," Remy interrupted. "So that was this morning, and you haven't seen or heard from him all day. Is that unusual?"

"Well, not so unusual. I wouldn't have thought anything about it, if the detective here," she thrust her chin in Miggy's direction, "hadn't asked. Toby didn't say he was planning on leaving. His duffle is still in his room. If he's in trouble, I just know that Pepper has talked him into something bad. Toby just didn't look happy getting into that car..." she trailed off.

"Let me make sure I understand. You said earlier that you saw the boys get into a car with an officer? But now that you've had time to think about it, you don't sound so sure."

"Pepper told me he was really excited about something this Officer...Officer...Ryker. That was it. Officer Ryker wanted him to do something. I was hoping the officer would talk some sense into the young man." She stopped talking for a moment, opened her eyes wide and put her hand in front of her mouth, as if to whisper something confidentially. "I think we all know how Pepper gets his cash."

Remy bit back the snarl at the casual way the woman referred to a child who sold his body to survive.

"Anyway," she continued, dropping her hand to play with the button on her sweater. "I assumed when I saw the man take Toby's arm and push him toward the car—"

Remy must have made some sound, because she cut herself off mid-sentence and glared at him. "The kids aren't in prison here, you know," she said defensively, straightening her spine. She looked prepared to offer a lecture about life on the streets. Her silver sausage shape curls vibrated with every emphatic nod of her head. "These boys were runaways before they got here, and they most likely ran away again. I would think two officers such as yourselves would realize the way of life on the street for these kids."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fisher," Miggy said, muscling Remy to turn toward the door. "You have my card if you think of anything else." Then Miggy turned those dark, angry eyes on Remy. "You've got some time. Let's get coffee. Because I sent Toby to you and it looks to me like your fucking case just blew up in our faces. I want an explanation," Miggy said and kept pushing on Remy until he'd effectively steered him toward the popular little coffee stand just down the street from the shelter.

"I need to think about something else for a minute. Tell me about Cortez," Remy said, pushing aside the sick feeling in his stomach. He had an hour before he needed to get back to pick up Jamie. He and Miggy had to talk about the boys, but he wanted some room to breathe first.

Miggy added his customary four packets of sugar and stirred, while looking everywhere around the small shop, except at Remy. "Don't worry about Cortez," he finally said. He replaced the plastic sippy cup lid. "Tell me what's going on with these kids. From the look on your face and the questions you were asking, you think the case you're working on with the Brit got tangled up with the boys? How the fuck did that happen?" Miggy asked.

"It's my fucking fault," Remy said. "I should have realized—Toby was talking about shooting porn with the other kid and some sleezeball director. I made him promise me he wouldn't do anything stupid until I could talk to the prick. I planned to get Toby and his friend out of the shelter and off the streets. Toby promised he'd wait, but I wasn't sure I was going to be able to change his mind. There was never a hint of an undercover talking to Toby. And he's not in the God damn demographics...Fuck!"

"Start at the beginning..." Miggy said, staring toward the window. Maybe he was still hoping to see the boys drive up.

Remy brought him up to speed on the investigation, on their certainty that Kennedy was involved, and finally, on their need to locate the mastermind behind the human trafficking ring. "Honestly, Miggy. I don't think I was being stupid. Pepper and Toby are runaways. But Toby is older than the age range these guys have taken in the past. And I just found out about Pepper, who is definitely young enough, but far more sexually experienced than the kids they've taken before. Shit, this whole fuckin' mess has me twisted up. I think the reason Kennedy went for Toby and his friend Pepper is because of me. Because of this case. I think he's taken them, only to try to sell them right back to Jamie."

"So what are we going to do about it?" Miguel asked, his hand dropping to the shield hanging from his belt. Remy couldn't help but notice Rojas's weapon was missing. No holster, either. Wearing his badge, but no weapon. That was a bad combination for a cop who was on a deep undercover assignment. Which only meant one thing. Miggy's cover was blown and he was in trouble. Rather than answering Miggy's question, Remy figured it was time to ask some questions of his own. And for some hard truths.

"Miguel, you've known me a long time. You know things about me no one else does. I can take one look at you and see you're in trouble. Tell me what's happening." The pause was so long, Remy wondered if Miggy was going to answer. Then his friend took a long breath, blew it out, and started talking.

"Fuck, Remy. The lieutenant put me on administrative leave pending an investigation by Internal Affairs. She took my fucking gun, but left me my shield. She says I didn't follow the protocol, but God dammit, I followed procedure step-by-fucking-step. Someone in the department fucked up, but it wasn't me. They left me hanging out there with Cortez's thugs. If you hadn't backed me up..."

Remy sat forward, his stomach lurching. "Shit, Miggy, you didn't tell them about me, did you? That would seriously blow my cover."

"Hell no! Fuck them. They can take their two-week suspension and shove it up their collective asses. The goddamn lieutenant is a patsy. She can't find her ass with two hands and a flashlight. Somebody up there is dirty. On Cortez's payroll. I've been in too deep, for too long to let this go now. You in? After we get Toby and Pepper, I mean. The kids gotta come first. Then we'll go after Cortez and whoever-the-fuck else he has on his payroll."

Remy turned the familiar white and green paper cup in his hands and thought about how to tell his friend what he needed to hear. "Do you ever wonder why these fancy coffee shops can't just call their cups small, medium, and large? Would that be so hard? Instead they use some fucking Italian words, when all anyone really wants is a cup of Joe."

Miggy turned his gaze from their reflection and faced Remy directly for the first time. His tired eyes were red rimmed and dark with fatigue. He was unshaven and the bruises on his cheeks morphed from a purple so dark it was nearly black around the eyes, to an unhealthy shade of yellow low on his jaw. The skin around his nostrils was chafed and flaking. Remy held his cup in two hands, relaxed, casual. Miggy also used a two-handed grip, but there was nothing casual or relaxed about the tremors that vibrated through his friend's fingers. When Miggy didn't speak, Remy continued.

"I used to hate these damn shops. I thought they were fucking pretentious, overpriced gimmicks to pull in all the yuppies or guppies, or whatever you call those people with too much money and no sense. Then they opened this damn kiosk in the lobby at the PD. At first, I told myself I was just grabbing one as an emergency hold-me-over. You know, get me through the next meeting, the next interview. Then, after I was shot and they moved my ass from the street to ride the desk, I had to pass the place on my way upstairs, so it only made sense to grab the first cup of the day there." Still keeping his upheld cup at eye level, Remy saw Miggy's restless body had gone very still.

"Then someone broke the machine we had in the detective squad and it was too much trouble to collect the money to buy another. Especially when we had that damn kiosk so convenient. Know what I mean?"

Miggy nodded. His gaze darted up to meet Remy's, then away and he moistened his lips before pressing them tightly together.

"So what I hate about these gourmet coffee places," Remy paused and sipped from his cup, "is that it's so reasonable to stop and get that first cup. It's just once, after all. Just to get you through. Then, without realizing it, you need another. And another. Until pretty soon, you have a whole squad Jonesing for their mocha latte cappuccino or some such shit." Then Remy shut up and waited for Miggy to accept the point he was making.

Miggy blinked...coughed...sputtered, and then let out a roar of laughter. Remy felt his own lips twist in response. "Oh, man, Remington. You had me. Seriously, you had me...until...until—" The laughter spilled over once again. Then he wiped his eyes, swallowed his last chuckle, but didn't bother to hide the grin.

"Too much, huh?" Remy asked, when the laughter faded.

"Yeah. Too fucking much. You been hanging out with the suits for too long; it's not like you to talk around anything. What the hell are you trying to say?"

Remy nodded. Miggy was right. He was no good playing diplomacy games. He only knew one way, and that was to put it on the line.

"Okay. Here it is. You're not going to back my play to get the boys, and I'm not going to back your play with Cortez. Not right now. Not 'til you're clean. We both know you've been putting shit up your nose."

When Miggy started to shake his head in denial, Remy cut him off.

"I'm saying you and me, we go way back. I'm not gonna bull shit you. I ain't gonna fuckin' judge you. I understand why you did it. I can even understand how you got to where you are. And now you're going to stop."

****

Jamie rose from his seat along with the rest of the audience as the final strains of music faded around the auditorium. The symphony had been magnificent and the standing ovation was well deserved. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Will beside him, the man's hands banging together as vigorously as his own. Jamie had to hand it to him, Will was a charming date and it shouldn't have been difficult to spend an evening in his company. Unfortunately, he'd carried with him the bitter aftertaste of knowledge in his mouth and it had taken all of his meager acting skills to keep a casual smile on his face.

"Did you enjoy that?" Will asked, leaning in close so that Jamie could feel the warmth of the other man's breath against his ear.

"It was wonderful. Thank you for asking me," Jamie returned, his smile genuine for the first time that evening. He checked his watch. "Remington should be here by now, shall we go?" Will nodded and grasped Jamie's hand, leading him through the crowd of music lovers leaving the auditorium.

Outside, Jamie searched the street for Remy and he frowned when he couldn't find him. He was pulling his cell out of his pocket when he felt Will's arms circle his waist from behind and pull him against a firm chest. "Looks like _your_ man is late," Will murmured in Jamie's ear. "Good. Means I have some time to distract _my_ man." Jamie cringed and schooled his features into impassivity as he was turned in the other man's arms and Will's lips came down on his. Leaning in to the kiss, Jamie slid his arms around Will's shoulders and buried his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of Will's neck. Kissing the man now was an even less pleasant experience than before Jamie had searched his office, and he had to wrestle with the desire to knee Will in the groin, even as he felt the length of Will's shaft hardening against his hip.

The sound of a horn pulled them apart and Jamie glanced over his shoulder to see Remy getting out of the town car and moving around the vehicle to the passenger side. He smiled ruefully at Will and tangled their fingers together as they walked toward the cowboy where he held open the back door. "Your timing is impeccable as always, Remington," Jamie drawled, motioning Will inside first and then locking his gaze with the cowboy. His raised eyebrow was enough communication to have Remy's jaw tightening and Jamie's stomach sinking. Toby had been added to the list of missing boys.

Squaring his shoulders, Jamie slid onto the sumptuous leather seat of the town car beside Will and smiled as brightly as he could, allowing the other man to pull him close. He couldn't help but flinch when the door was closed with a healthy bang, signaling Remy's unhappiness with the move.

"Remington, we'll take Mr. Kennedy home first," Jamie instructed brusquely, as soon as Remy was in the driver's seat. He looked at Will who rattled off his address and a few moments later the car smoothly joined the line of traffic. Before Jamie could utter another word, his lips were covered by Will's once more and warm fingers were easing his suit jacket from his shoulders. As Will bit-kissed a path across Jamie's jaw, Jamie caught Remy's gaze in the mirror and he swallowed at the undisguised jealousy in his partner's eyes and he hardened in response, knowing that Will would think it was for him.

Jamie couldn't exactly blame Remy as the privacy screen slowly rose, cutting him off from the show in the back seat. If he said he wouldn't have had the same reaction, he'd be lying. He gave a token moan when Will's hands pulled his shirt free of his dress pants and kneaded his muscles beneath. "Will," he gasped, knowing he had to play along, but at the same time be coy. "God, Will, this is not...not...I usually..." He trailed off.

"What do you mean?" Will said, easing back to stare into Jamie's eyes.

Purposely lowering his lashes and looking at Will from beneath them, he shrugged as if embarrassed and picked at a non-existent thread on Will's shirt. "It's just...this connection we have...I'm surprised because...well...you're not what I'd call my usual type." Jamie watched as what he imagined Will meant to be a teasing smile curved the other man's lips. Unfortunately, on Will, it came off as bordering on sly. "What's funny?"

"I'm not blind, Jamie," Will said softly, stroking a finger around the collar of Jamie's shirt. "I think I have a good idea of what your," he air-quoted, "type is."

"You think so, do you? Really?"

"Oh, yes, I've gotten a good look at a couple of your...visitors. I know I'm not your usual. I think I might be able to help you...find what you need. Your Remington might find you an hour or two of relief, but I can put your dreams much more permanently within reach."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, I think so. I'd like to show you. Meet me tomorrow at this address," Will reached into his left inside jacket pocket and pulled out a business card and tucked it into the breast pocket of Jamie's shirt. "I've got something special that I just know you'll enjoy...your own personal salt and pepper." Will leaned in and nibbled at Jamie's mouth again, swiping his tongue across Jamie's lower lip and deepening the kiss.

Jamie kissed Will back, instinctively knowing that the conversation was over, but the break they had been looking for had been found. Will had invited Jamie to see what was on offer and Jamie could only hope that the boys were okay. Will's hand was creeping closer to Jamie's cock when the car came to a sudden halt and if it were not for Will's arms wrapped around him, Jamie would have slid off the seat and onto the floor.

"I guess we're home," Will said derisively, straightening Jamie's shirt before smoothing down his own clothing, the outline of his cock clear as he adjusted his pants. "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

Jamie shook his head, his expression rueful. "I'd love to, but I have an early appointment in the morning. But," he traced the outline of Will's mouth with his index finger. "There's always tomorrow." Will smiled and Jamie bid him goodnight, watching the man unfold his tall frame and climb out of the car. Lifting a hand in response to Will's wave, he let out a heavy sigh that could have been mistaken for disappointment to whoever was listening in and leaned back against the seat as Will slammed the door and the car screeched away from the curb.

****

Remy checked the security latch on the door of their suite before he turned to face Jamie. He was torn between wanting to scrub away Kennedy's kisses and wanting to drag tall, dark, and delicious upstairs and pound him into the mattress. Remy forced himself to remain in character while they were in range of the ears Kennedy had placed in their living room.

"Would you like me to go out and find you a boy, tonight, Jamie?"

Jamie turned his green gaze on Remy and stared. He worked his mouth, as if he'd bitten into something exceedingly sour. He shook his dark head, and began to unbutton his jacket. He looked as if he was struggling to find the right words to say. His gaze slid over to the frame of the picture that hid the listening device and then back up to meet Remy's. Then his long fingers moved to the collar of his shirt and started to loosen his tie. Jamie spoke in a voice that was heavy with fatigue.

"No thank you. I really am tired and I have an appointment in the morning. You know I don't like to ask often, but if you'd like to come upstairs, I could use a little massage. Just something to take the edge off." Then Jamie turned on his heel and moved slowly toward the stairs without looking back to see if Remy followed. He needed to check that the mint was on the pillow...the subtle signal from the director's team that the daily sweep for bugs was completed and the situation hadn't changed.

Jamie continued to shed clothes once he was inside his room. Remy leaned against the closed door and watched. There was nothing sexual about the undressing, no hint of a striptease. This was a man worn down by his day. And fuck if it didn't make Remy want to take Jamie in his arms and just hold him.

After pulling back the covers and removing the mint from the pillow, Jamie fell back onto the bed with a groan. "What a seriously buggered day from start to finish," he said and put one forearm over his eyes.

Still fully dressed, Remy moved over and sat on the bed next to Jamie. The other man let his arm fall to his side and stared up, clearly surprised by Remy's move. "Turn over," Remy said. "I don't mind rubbing your back while you tell me what happened tonight."

With a small frown between his eyebrows, Jamie searched Remy's face, and seemed to find what he was looking for, because he turned over and rested his head on his folded arms. While Jamie spoke Remy rubbed the pale, smooth skin and tense muscles. Tentative at first, Remy gained confidence at the moans and sighs that interrupted Jamie's report. While he listened to tales of the evening, the symphony, the people, and finally the invitation they'd been waiting on, Remy kneaded and stroked, rubbed and pulled, until Jamie relaxed underneath his fingers.

When Remy's hands started to cramp with the unfamiliar movements, he paused to rub one thumb against the palm of the other hand, releasing the tension.

"What's wrong?" Jamie asked.

"Hand cramped," Remy said. "Go on, finish what you were saying."

Jamie reached up and turned off the bedside lamp, and then scooted over to make room for Remy. He patted the bed beside him invitingly. "Kick your shoes off and lay back. Tell me what happened with Miggy and Toby."

Remy pushed his shoes off with a thunk and lowered himself carefully to the bed. He felt the pull of the stitches and swallowed the sharp gasp of pain. He would tell Jamie what happened with the boys, but what went on between him and Miggy, Cortez's thugs, the intervention...some things needed to stay private between friends.

The day was wearing on him. Too much had happened. He moved slowly, but without any outward sign of discomfort as he laced his hands behind his head, and looked up at the darkened ceiling. He was trying not to picture Toby as the faceless Ryker pulled him into the waiting car. No, not faceless. Wilton Kennedy. It was unbearable to think that he had contributed in any way to whatever might be happening to Toby and Pepper tonight. Jamie needed to know what was going on, so Remy forced himself to treat this just like a report.

"Mrs. Fisher, the woman who runs the shelter gave a tentative ID of Kennedy as the man she saw with Toby and his friend Pepper this morning. Nothing we could use to get a warrant, nothing to indicate they didn't go willingly. Except maybe a little rough handling of Toby." He swallowed hard against the bile that rose in his throat.

By the time he'd finished telling Jamie all of it, he found himself with an arm wrapped around the other man's shoulders and a glossy dark head nestled against his chest. He drew the comfort of that embrace around him like a blanket, and together, they drifted into sleep.

##  Chapter Fourteen

Remy had the car gassed, washed, and waiting for Jamie to emerge from the hotel. His mouth watered when he caught the first glimpse of tall, dark, and devastating, as Jamie stepped into the morning sun. Jamie paused to slide on a pair of dark glasses, then he turned his face toward Remy. With a tight-lipped smile, Jamie started toward the car, all long limbs and cat-like grace. It was the first time in a week Jamie had been dressed in something other than a suit or formalwear and looking at those long, muscled legs encased in faded denim distracted Remy for a moment. Then he was around the car and holding the door for the man who was going to step into the lion's den.

"Thank you, Remy," Jamie murmured.

Remy stopped him from entering the car by placing a hand on his forearm. His gaze met those gorgeous greens for a long moment before Remy leaned in and whispered into Jamie's ear. "Thanks," he said. He wished he was the type of man who could tell Jamie how much last night had meant, but that one word and a squeeze of the arm would have to do. Then he stepped back and said in a louder voice, "Coffee and croissants in the back, Jamie."

"Thank you, Remy. You always manage to give me just what I need. Do you have the directions to the address I gave you last night?"

"Yep." Remy let his voice come out slow and easy despite the tension he felt about where they were going. This was business. Showtime. Never let them see you sweat. Whatever tacky saying worked, from this moment forward, there was no more room for distractions or doubts. "I already plugged it into the GPS. It'll take us a couple of hours to get there. You just get in the back, relax, and enjoy your snack. Maybe read the paper. We'll get out and stretch our legs in another hour or so. You let me know if there's anything else you need."

The drive out of the city was uneventful, the traffic as calm as it was ever going to get in New York on an early Saturday morning. Concrete and glass ceded the stage, giving way to long rolling stretches of grassy hills, small wealthy enclaves, and working-class farming communities. A little something for everybody, as long as you knew what you were looking for and had the money to afford it.

They stopped in a postcard masquerading as a small town just over the Duchess County line. Remy drove down Main Street until he found a crowded parking lot outside a dilapidated restaurant. The small fifties style diner stuck out like an aluminum-sided singlewide set in the middle of elegantly restored brownstones and vintage brick storefronts. Which was essentially what it was. They took a booth at the back, and waited for their coffee and blue-plate specials before they got down to discussing business.

"You ready?" he asked.

Jamie nodded, but looked paler than usual. "I'll be all right. I'm just more than a little disgusted by this whole business. Kennedy knows what I want...or what he thinks I want. He's ready to deliver the boy— Shit."

Jamie sat back against the padded plastic back of the bench seat, blinking rapidly and looking sick. "It really is our fault he took Toby, isn't it? And not just Toby..." He trailed off and looked at Remy for a long moment before he spoke. "Last night, Will talked about delivering my own personal salt and pepper. I just now realized he was referring to Toby plus his friend Pepper. He really does have them," Jamie said. His voice sounded a little lost.

Unable to find the words to comfort Jamie, Remy nodded, and swallowed another mouthful of eggs that suddenly tasted like sawdust. He chased it down with a quick swallow of strong, black coffee that scalded its way to his stomach. Remy had worked that out for himself the previous evening. He was to blame for bringing Toby and Pepper to Kennedy's attention. If anything went wrong—it made him feel ill to think of the boys, essentially at the mercy of Will and whoever else he had in the house with him. But they were cops. They had a job to do, and fuck if he wasn't going to play his part.

With a heavy sigh, Jamie shifted his shoulders and sat up a little straighter. "We're going to get him back, Remy. Both of them. Hell, all of them. I promise," Jamie said, his voice suddenly stronger. Then as if correctly guessing the dark direction of Remy's thoughts, he said, "This isn't your fault, Remy. You can't take the blame. This man is a buggering pedophile. Hell has a special place for him and the others like him."

"Don't," Remy said sharply. "No promises on this one. We're here to do a job, Jamie. Promises and emotions get in the way and you could get hurt if you're distracted. Now, eat. Have some toast or something. We don't know how long this is going to take, and we have to be prepared for anything."

Jamie looked as if he wanted to say something more about the promises. Instead, he changed directions and focused on the business at hand. "I'm going in alone," Jamie said. Remy snapped his head up at that statement, but Jamie continued, his voice steady and calm.

"Kennedy wants to make a deal. He believes our story. I'm a wealthy Lord, with an unhealthy appetite for young boys. I'm an embarrassment to my family, disowned by my mother, and no longer welcome at the family estate. Between my money and my isolation, there's little danger anyone will discover my...purchase. In other words, I'm the perfect client. We don't know how many young men he still has here, but we do know he just took on two more boys. It can't be easy to broker these deals securely. He's not going to do anything to hurt me. So as I said, I'm going in alone. You use the time to discover as much as you can. I'll try to give you some excuse, once we see the set up."

Remy nodded once. "Good. At a minimum, we need to know how they're keeping the boys there. He must have some type of security and a permanent staff person who stays on site. You haven't heard back from the director, yet?"

"No," Jamie said and checked the display on his cell phone. "She said she'd get in touch when they tracked down the owner. All she knew this morning was the property was managed through a bank in the Cayman Islands."

"All right, let's go. We've kept him waiting long enough. He'll probably be just a little annoyed. That's a good thing. We want to keep him off balance. Maybe he'll get sloppy."

Just before they reached the car, Remy grabbed Jamie by the arm and pulled him in close enough to hug. But he didn't. Couldn't. He just wasn't built that way. They stood like that, Remy's hand on Jamie's arm, close enough that he could smell the clean, spicy scent of Jamie's soap, mixed with the heady aroma of the man himself. The smell he'd awakened to this morning. Instead of the hug, he gave Jamie the best he could offer: a smile and a quick squeeze of the forearm. Then he thought about the way Kennedy had been watching Jamie, and something black curled in the pit of his stomach.

"No fucking Kennedy, Man-Wearing," Remy growled. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but something needed to be made clear. "He thinks you like boys, but are still attracted to him. You need to make it clear you aren't fucking anyone until you have those boys in your possession."

"Agreed."

"Stipulate that you'll only pay if they are untouched and unharmed when you take possession."

Jamie nodded, then looked pointedly down to where Remy's white-knuckled fingers were pressed into his arm. Slowly, Remy released his hold and tried to ignore the feeling he was letting something important slip away.

****

"Jamie! There you are," Will said brightly, pulling Jamie into a hug before pressing a brief kiss to his lips. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"Sorry," Jamie replied with a coy smile. "We got a little lost."

He tried not to show his revulsion when Will leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "You look unbelievable in those jeans. I can't wait to bury myself in you."

"Nuh-uh," Jamie said softly, pressing a finger to Will's lips. "Business before pleasure, Wilton. Don't you know that the anticipation is the best part?" He ran a finger down Will's chest. "Now, what have you got for me?"

"What about Remington?"

"Oh, don't mind him, he's used to amusing himself," Jamie dismissed Remy with a wave of his hand and looped his arm through Will's, purposely leading him toward the large two story farm house. "This place is just fantastic. Tell me all about it."

"Well," Will began as they walked toward the front door. "The house is about a hundred and fifty years old and was purchased by a friend of mine a few years ago. I like it because its location is perfect for my needs."

Jamie followed Will into the house, the front door of which opened straight onto a huge open-plan living space. It was clear the old building had undergone extensive renovations. The kitchen was smack bang up to date and the living space itself was dotted with comfortable couches and easy chairs. "Wow, looks like the epitome of friendly living."

Will chuckled as he led Jamie down a corridor to the left of the kitchen, toward the back of the house. "Yes, it can get very friendly in there." The smug look on his face had Jamie balling his fist in his pocket, the smile on his own face slipping slightly, especially when Will stopped in his tracks and leaned in close, his hot breath against Jamie's ear. "Sometimes, for one reason or another there is a delay in shipping the merchandise to its final destination. It always seems such a tragedy to let the goods go to waste, so we hold the odd party now and then—for a fee, obviously."

Jamie swallowed the rising bile in the back of his throat. He was thankful he had left Remy in the car, although he was sure that's not where the man had stayed. If Remy had been with them, he was certain that Will Kennedy would've been enjoying hospital food for quite some time. Jamie was having enough trouble restraining himself. There was no way Remy would have remained calm. Not at the thought of those boys being passed around like a joint to do God knows what to God knows whom until their spirits were broken beyond repair.

He continued to follow Will down the corridor and into a room on the right. The room was sparsely furnished, apart from a large reclining chair with a small metal table beside it. Jamie worried at the inside of his lip when he realized that on top of the table was a bottle of lube and a box of tissues. Frowning he looked to his left and disgusted realization flooded through him when he saw the one-way glass into the next room. Toby sat on a beanbag, staring into space, his blond hair hanging in his eyes, and seated on the queen-size bed in the center of the room was who he assumed was Pepper. He couldn't believe it. The paraphernalia was for the sick bastards who wanted to wank off while they decided to buy.

"Are they healthy?" Jamie said gruffly, hoping the change in his tone could be mistaken for excitement. His flitting gaze took in the lankness of the boys' hair, the pallor of their skin and the dark circles below their eyes.

"They've both been checked over by our doctor," Will confirmed. "And they're both in excellent condition. They've also been screened for every STD there is and we're just waiting on the results, which we should have by tomorrow afternoon."

"Very thorough," Jamie mumbled, stepping closer to the glass. He didn't exactly have the best of views, but as far as he could tell the boys didn't seem to have been harmed. He swallowed hard, unless the bruises were covered by their clothes. "Have they been...active since their arrival?"

Will shrugged and sat down in the recliner, crossing his hands across his stomach. "Depends on what you mean by active."

"What do you think I mean, Will," Jamie said, his voice rising in anger. "Has anyone touched them since you brought them here? I won't have damaged goods."

"Jamie, Jamie," Will said, reaching out and grabbing Jamie's hand. Jamie was pulled off balance and ended up in Will's lap. "It's okay, they're unharmed. We don't fuck the merchandise. Not unless there's a reason to...train them in certain skills. We don't break them. These boys lived on the streets; they are from abusive backgrounds. We take them in and find them appropriate placements. I know these two will be far better cared for with you than back on the street."

He took a deep breath as much to calm his temper as hide his relief they were untouched, but his voice was clipped as he said, "Can you promise me that they will remain in this condition until they are transferred to me?"

"Of course, if that's what you want," Will said softly, stroking his fingers through Jamie's hair. "You know I'll do whatever you want...whenever you want." Jamie tried not to flinch when Will pulled him in for a kiss and began to slide his other hand beneath the shirt Jamie wore.

"Will," Jamie groaned, reluctance in his tone as he broke the kiss and buried his face in Will's neck. "Business first...pretend I'm just another client." He softened the rejection with a kiss to the flesh of Will's throat. "There'll be time for us after."

"Okay, My Lord," Will caressed the title. Then he proceeded to tell Jamie about the purchase options. It amazed Jamie how the man managed to switch from seducer to businessman in the blink of an eye.

Jamie listened intently, his gaze on the two boys as Will told him how, once transfer was made, the boys would be Jamie's responsibility and he would have to keep them secure. That there were several methods Jamie could use to bring them under control, until they became more pliant. When he mentioned sedation, restraints, and the use of a low voltage TASER, it was all Jamie could do not to cold-cock the man right there and then.

"I can bring them to you wherever you want, as soon as the funds are transferred," Will said, allowing Jamie to stand up, and doing the same. "So, what do you think?"

Jamie walked toward the one-way glass and pressed his hand to the window, feeling the coolness of the pane against his palm. "I'll take them. Both of them." He turned around to face Will, and smiled slowly. "I need to transfer some funds from my trust account offshore, so I can have the money for you Monday." He held out his hand to Will. "Do we have a deal?"

"They're all yours."

****

Remy glanced in the rearview mirror. Jamie sat stone-faced, staring out the side window, his face an ashy shade of gray. They hadn't a moment to speak privately since they'd left the compound. What a nightmare that had been.

Will had walked Jamie to the car and leaned in to give him an exceedingly long and intimate kiss that had Remy fighting back a deadly rage behind a mask of indifference. When Will would have stepped back, Jamie pulled him forward and into another steamy kiss. Remy had forced himself to look away, to try to ignore the moans and quickened breathing from both men in the back seat.

"Thank you, Will. Your selection was very thoughtful. Two, just for me." Jamie smiled and pulled Will in for yet another kiss, just a light brush of lips. "I meant what I said," Jamie whispered, his voice a husky murmur. "You keep those boys just the way I saw them and I'll make it worth any extra effort. I'll see you Monday afternoon. I just need enough time to untangle the funds."

"I won't forget. See you Monday," Kennedy had replied and then closed the door.

Now they were alone in the overpowering silence of the big car, and Remy was unable to talk to Jamie about what he'd seen and heard. All he knew was the little show Jamie had put on at the end mattered a hell of a lot more than Remy wanted it to.

He'd learned a lot about the set up, about the numerous vulnerabilities at the site, and about some upcoming plans for two of the five boys currently in residence. He'd wanted to bust in and take them all to safety right then. It would have to wait until there was back up, but not a moment longer. These boys needed immediate protection. As soon as he got to a secure location he had to call Director Forsythe so she could set everything in motion.

Movement from the backseat caught his attention. Another quick glance in the mirror showed Jamie wiping at his face, which now had a fine sheen of sweat glistening in the low light.

"You okay, Jamie?"

"Pull over. I need to..." He trailed off and looked around the interior then back at Remy. "Pull over, now. Can't wait—" He fumbled with his seat belt and then gripped the door handle as Remy pulled their car as far off the road as he could manage. Jamie was out and running toward the tree line before Remy could get around the car.

When Jamie suddenly bent over, his hands braced on his knees, Remy hurried forward. "Jamie? Jamie...you okay?" he asked. He felt foolish and useless as he patted Jamie's heaving shoulders.

When Jamie's stomach was finished expelling what was left of his breakfast, he shook off Remy's hand and scrubbed at his face. Then he began to pace, his short jerky steps formed a tight circle, gaze locked on the ground.

"God damn! God dammit all to hell." Jamie spit on the ground and kept pacing. Remy said nothing, just let him vent. "He says he doesn't typically do the boys himself, but he understands my desires. My bloody desires! Christ...to him, they aren't anything more than a commodity to be traded. He showed me...showed me the two boys he has for me. Oh God...Oh God...it _was_ Toby. Toby and the boy he called Pepper."

Tears blurred Jamie's eyes, his voice was a choked tangle of harsh breaths, almost sobs, his words forced and practically vibrating with the layers of disgust.

"Dear God, we don't even know for sure how many...how many they've taken. More than the twenty-four? Thirty? Fifty? Boys betrayed by their families, ignored by society, prey for the likes of Kennedy and his deranged bastards. What the bloody hell is wrong with people?"

Remy closed his eyes and his heart against the memories. _Not now. Not fucking now._ He had a job to do. All he could do was get to the boys at the compound. Forsythe and her people would do their best to find the rest. And Remy would go home...get as far away from this disaster of a case as possible, before he allowed the darkness to pull him under.

"We have to stop them." Jamie came to an abrupt halt and looked at Remy with his grief-stricken gaze. "We have to find Kennedy's partner and stop them before another boy is taken from the streets. The boys they've taken...their lives are ruined. Fucking ruined. Even if we get them back...they can't...they won't...never be—"

"Normal." Remy finished. "No, they won't." He kept his face neutral and forced himself not to look away. Jamie's watery green gaze was so full of pain for all the boys forced to grow up too soon, for all the lost boys he didn't know. He wished he could offer some comfort, tell Jamie he was wrong. But Remy knew from experience that he wasn't.

****

"Jamie, Remy, come in. It's good to see the two of you, again. There are a few people I'd like you to meet." Julia closed the door and surveyed the small office suite they'd rented for their operation. Just another anonymous office on an upper floor of a bank building in downtown Manhattan. It also just happened to be a temporary home to an obscure unit of a minor investigative branch of an of an international police organization. And that was just the way Julia Forsythe liked her world ordered. The work her unit took on was quiet by necessity, at least until all the diplomats had been cleared or otherwise removed from the situations they investigated.

"Folks, if I could have everyone's attention. We're not going to stand on formalities, here. You've all been working as a team to bring down a despicable child trafficking ring. It's time we all met, so that we can finish this case and bring those boys to safety." She saw the nods from some and polite interest from others, and in the case of one, a very annoyed expression. She knew that was impatience to get on with things. Well, she couldn't argue that point.

"This is Jamie and Remy. We're not going to stand on formality of titles, you all know their history. You also know these gentlemen have been working in the field, and managed to identify one of the major players in this ring, as well as the location of the most recent victims." She turned and looked at Remy and Jamie, grateful she had had years of practice in schooling her expression to never reveal her thoughts.

"Gentlemen, we might not have had any field officers to give you back up, however, the folks in this room were constantly working to give you everything you needed. This is Andrew," she said, and pointed to the redheaded, freckle-faced man at a large computer terminal. "Next to Andrew, the Nordic-looking fellow is Gustav. Andrew is the wizard at computer surveillance and intercepting transmissions. Gustav is genius at the international banking and money laundering."

Gustav flashed a bright smile, and spoke in a voice surprisingly high pitched for such a large man. "Nice to finally meet you two." He nodded once, apparently finished speaking.

"Diego," she gestured with her hand toward a drafting table covered with maps and diagrams. The dark-haired man nodded, his restless eyes moving over the two new men. "Diego is a top investigator, who came to us in a manner similar to the way you joined our team. He's been with us for five or six years now. Next to Diego, the woman who looks like your sweet grandmother is Yardley, otherwise known as Dr. Sarah Yardley. Yardley is the one who discovered the pattern of missing boys and who flagged your incoming data requests."

"Can we get the fuck on with business now, Julia?" asked Yardley, bristling with impatience.

Julia caught the twitch of Remy's lips as he hid a smile. _Ahh, yes_ , she thought. _Those two will get along famously, if Remy sticks around long enough._

"Boss, I have all the pictures blown up and a map of the property from the information that Remy sent us," Diego said. "We have to move quickly. There is no way were going to leave those boys one minute longer than necessary. We got the coordinates you sent, Remington, and I already have a couple of men in place. The transmitter you placed on the dormitory is working," Diego said, and pointed to the enlarged photograph of the out building where the boys were kept. "I recommend we leave the boys here as long as there's no sign someone is coming to take them."

"Fuck that!" Jamie exploded.

Julia laid a hand on his arm. "Hold on just a minute, Jamie. I assure you no one here will let these boys be harmed any further, but we have to do things our own way. It's part of the mandate for our organization. Hear Diego out."

Jamie nodded, but his gaze was on his partner. Remy crossed his arms and turned stony eyes on the Brazilian, clearly telegraphing his own unhappiness.

"Go ahead, Diego," Julia said.

"All right. As soon as Dawson's in place, he's going to follow the trail Remy marked and see if he can't get eyes on the boys with the telegraphing extension to a remote camera. We have the satellite tracking in place, and the feed will go live with the next pass. There are three more operatives who will be arriving within the next eight hours. Once everyone is in place, we'll move in. Yardley?" he said, passing the conversational ball.

"Our men on site are armed and fully capable of taking out any threat to the boys. We're opting to leave them in place for just a little while, a day, at most. As long as there is no further danger. We are bringing in a medical team including some psychologists to help with their transition. We've confirmed that every child taken by Kennedy and his partners would be better served in some sort of foster care or halfway house. What we can't do is pull them out of whatever environment we find them in and send them back to their homes. And we sure as hell aren't going to let them go back to the streets. These boys were runaways to begin with because of the untenable nature of their home situations."

Remy nodded, in apparent agreement with Diego and Yardley. "What's next?" he asked.

"We think the boys who are most in danger will be Toby and Pepper, just because they're new."

"I told him if anything happened to either boy the deal was off. Kennedy does not want to mess this up. I get the sense this may be their last deal," Jamie said. "Did you have any luck tracing ownership of the property where they are keeping the boys?"

"We've hit a wall in the Caymans," said Gustav. "I'll get through, but it's going to take some time. It would be nice to have confirmation of his partner before we arrest Kennedy, if we can find another way to identify the bastard."

"And that's the real reason for delaying another day before we rescue the boys, if possible," Yardley said. "There is no denying Kennedy is the scumbag who's been taking the boys. But he's not working alone. There's somebody who's been backing him, somebody who's arranged to have Kennedy moved from city to city, and who makes the connection with potential buyers. We have to identify him. We have to stop him. And Director, if you want my opinion, we have to kill the mother fucker." This last was said with an angelic face and complete sincerity.

"Thank you, Yardley," Julia said dryly. Yardley only referred to her title when she was extremely annoyed with a decision. "Jamie, while we're waiting for the next satellite pass and our operatives to check-in, perhaps you could tell us a little about Kennedy's daily actions in the workplace. It's been the one place that's hardest for us to track his movements."

Jamie described Kennedy's routine as best he could, including the employees with whom Kennedy most frequently worked. Julia took notes and thought over what she'd heard...and what she hadn't heard. "Jamie, we need to find some clue that would point to his partner. It has to be here, in the work contacts. Can you think of some interaction that was more than it seemed, a relationship that went a little further perhaps than professional?

"God damn it, Director. What the fuck do you think Jamie's been doing?" Remy asked, before Jamie could answer. He stood rigid at the drafting table, his hands clenched, jaw working in anger. "No offense, I'm sure everyone here has been doing their best. But while you're all sitting in here on your asses, with your fancy computers and shit, Jamie's been the one who's had to get up close and personal with this sick fuck. It's him who's been on the line, not any of you."

Gustav kicked his chair back and loomed to his feet, the grin replaced by lips compressed into a straight line. Diego's quick intake of breath was released on a slow hiss.

"Spare me the fuckin' testosterone wars," Yardley said. "Either whip out your dicks so we can all see whose is biggest, or shut the fuck up."

"It's okay, Remy," Jamie said softly, and Julia didn't miss the look that he gave his partner. "I'm not sure what else I can tell you, Julia."

"Jamie, we all know you've been the one in the most contact, the one that's first in line if things go to hell out there in the field. Believe me, no one is questioning anything you've reported. You're an excellent observer. What I'm hoping is you can describe as many of the conversations you've heard as possible. Even the ones that don't seem to have any relevance. Everyone in this room has studied some part of Kennedy's life. Maybe you can spark some sort of connection for one of us."

"All right, where would you like me to start?"

"How about with the first meeting here in the US and the reception. It seems likely that if Kennedy's connection is as close as we believe, he or she would have made it a point to meet you that first day."

Jamie's lips pursed and he gazed toward the heavily curtained window. "There were three women. Melanie Duvall...she's the one I had lunch with later and gave me the gossip about Kennedy. Let's see, Felicity Andrews and..." he tapped his lip with his finger. "Ah, yes the third was Heather Michaels. I believe they were all there as spouses and volunteers for the cause. Then David Kavenaugh from Australia. Nice young man, we spoke about the Sydney Olympics, but he's too young to be who we're looking for, as this is his first overseas assignment."

Julia raised her eyebrow at Gustav who lowered himself to his chair and then started taking notes. Beside him Andrew feverishly typed names into the data search engine. Oblivious to the sudden scurry of movement, Jamie continued.

"Two of my father's old cronies, Sir Thomas Henry and Zachariah Morton. Judging by the impressively enhanced breast size of his fourth wife, it's not likely Sir Thomas is interested in boys. I assume you've vetted Kennedy's boss."

"His boss? Stefanie Halstead was at the party?" Julia asked.

"Who? Stefanie?" Jamie repeated. "No, my father's friend. Zachariah Morton. The Special Envoy running the show. He said Will was his number one. I assumed he was an assistant or some such—"

"What the fuck?" Remy interrupted, as Gustav's head snapped up to look at Jamie.

Andrew chimed in, "Are you shitting me?"

Julia found herself blinking at the barely suppressed excitement that surged through the room. Something had hit. "What is it? Tell me," she demanded.

Remy was looking at Andrew and Gustav. "It's fucking him. Morton. It's got to be."

The other two men nodded, but more slowly, as if less certain of the tenuous connection.

"Detective Remington!" Julia snapped, and was pleased when he turned to her, his eyes narrowed, not in anger, but clearly putting things together. Then he turned and it was as if everyone in the room held their collective breath while Remy moved to Jamie.

"Jamie, this is important. Tell me exactly what Morton said about Kennedy. About Will," Remy said, his voice calm, despite his apparent excitement.

Jamie closed his eyes in concentration. "We were talking about you. About how it was a comfort to have someone from home with me. I didn't bother to point out you were from America. It didn't seem terribly relevant. Then he went on to talk about Kennedy. Near as I remember he said, 'I guess you could say that Will here is my number one. He's proved to be an asset to my team.'" Jamie opened his eyes and met Remy's gaze. "Is that it? Did we find him?"

"Oh yeah, I think we got him," Remy said.

"Wait," Andrew said. "It's too thin to make that assumption."

"I like it," said Gustav.

"And I'm tired of playing fucking table tennis looking between the three of you." Yardley interrupted. "Do you mind letting the rest of us in on the conversation?"

Remy grinned at Yardley, then turned to meet Julia's gaze. "It's a Star Trek reference. The assholes thought no one would get close enough to them to figure it out. On the show, Captain Picard refers to his Executive Officer as Number One."

Julia's stomach fell at the tenuous connection, but she tried to keep the disappointment from her face. "Ah, yes. Well. Perhaps we're being a bit too hasty making that connection. I mean, on a good day, I might refer to Yardley as my number one assistant. If it wouldn't go to her head."

Yardley flashed a wicked grin at Julia, then turned to Remy. "You have good instincts, but that is pretty goddamn flimsy, Remington. You got any more to go on?"

"I think I could get to like you, Yardley, if you'd ever quit holding back with that mouth of yours. Hell yeah, I've got more. On the show, Number One is named Will. Will Riker. R-I-K-E-R."

"Okay, so you have a connection to Will and Number One, still not impressed, Remington," Yardley said. Julia could tell by the other woman's grin, she was enjoying the banter but was also expecting something big. Julia just let it play out, they would get there.

"All right, try this on for size. When I spoke with Toby, he and Pepper referred to the fake cop as Ryker. R-Y-K-E-R."

"Not bad. Got more?" Yardley asked. The excitement was there in her voice. She was feeling what the others felt. Julia felt it now too. She stole a quick glance at Andrew and Gustav. They were grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats.

"Oh, not enough for you, old wise one? How about Ryker-with-a-Y referring to his contact in the porn business as Pickard. Captain Pi- _card_. Porn partner _Pick_ -ard," Remy said emphasis on the relevant syllables.

"Okay, everybody...I think we just got the break we needed!" Julia conceded over the cheers and fist pumps.

##  Chapter Fifteen

Jamie sat back in his chair and checked his watch again. The money was securely in his briefcase on the desk. All he needed now was for Will to actually show up. Not that there was any doubt that he would. Jamie had already spoken to him twice this morning and he knew that Will was in a meeting with Morton right now but the waiting was driving him nuts. Even though he knew the boys were already safe. Forsythe had the house completely surrounded, with agents ready to move at any sign of trouble. They would be free, or at least rescued, he amended, within a matter of hours. The desire to snap the cuffs that were concealed in his pocket onto Will's wrists, burned through him like a forest fire.

Remy had done his job, he'd passed the schematics of the compound on to the director and her team and they were waiting for Remy's text to let them know they could go in. Jamie knew everything had been planned down to the last second, that the best of the best were rescuing the boys. But until they were safe, he wouldn't be able to rid himself of the sick weight in his stomach.

The sick weight he'd been carrying around since he'd left the boys behind at the compound on Saturday. His skin had been crawling by the time he had climbed into the back of the car and Remy had pulled away. He'd been certain he wasn't going to hold onto his cookies long enough before he tossed them all over the back seat. Thankfully Remy had put his foot down and pulled over far enough up the road so they wouldn't be seen.

He'd felt the awkward pats of Remy's palm as he threw up what he'd eaten in the diner, but the cowboy would never know how grateful he'd been for the soothing motion of that big hand. He'd felt...violated, somehow, and he'd wanted Remy to tell him that the boys would be okay, that they'd pull through this, they'd go on to lead normal lives. But he'd known that Remy wouldn't lie to him...not even to make him feel better. And...oddly enough, he'd been more grateful for that, than he'd been the weight of Remy's hand on him. He wished he knew what was going on in Remy's head. Why every time Jamie felt they'd taken a step forward, Remy seemed to take two back. But he couldn't think about Remy now...all that mattered were the boys...getting them safe.

It was twenty minutes later when the knock he had been expecting fell on the wooden door of his office and Jamie took a deep preparatory breath. "Come in," he intoned, standing up when Will opened the door and stepped inside. "Why, Mr. Kennedy, fancy seeing you here."

"I'm sorry I was so long," Will apologized. He crossed the room and pulled Jamie into his arms for a kiss. "Morton had quite an itinerary to run through. But I was thinking about you the whole time, does that count?"

"Luckily for you," Jamie kept his tone teasing, "shopping always gives me a buzz, so you're forgiven. Are they ready?" He slid his hands up over Will's shoulders, trying to convey excitement, pressing his body against Will's.

"Ready and waiting, complete with a clean bill of health, just as My Lord instructed," Will replied, kissing Jamie again.

Jamie pushed against Will's chest, forcing the other man to take a step back. "And they're coming to me untouched?"

"Exactly as you wanted," Will assured him, guiding Jamie toward the desk and lifting him onto its smooth surface. "I hate to mention something as undignified as money, when all I want to do is lay you across this desk, but I am assuming you have the funds?"

Reaching out behind him, Jamie dragged the briefcase toward him and indicated to Will that he should open it. Jamie slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and felt the cold hard steel of the handcuffs there, and he curled his fingers around them, comforted that they would soon be shackling the other man. The unabashed greed in Will's eyes when he saw the bundles of cash in the briefcase sickened Jamie and he soothed his inner turmoil with the knowledge that it was nearly over. "I do hope you're not going to embarrass me by counting it," Jamie teased, sliding a hand up Will's arm.

"Of course not," Will said with a laugh. "I trust you."

"The boys...when will I receive them?" Jamie said, moistening his lips. "I want to play."

"We can go and collect them now," Will picked up the briefcase and held out his hand to Jamie, palm upward. "I know we haven't discussed this...but, could I watch? The thought of you with the two of them makes me want to—"

Jamie slipped his right hand into Will's and removed the cuffs from his pocket, years of practice making the closing of the metal into its housing so fast that Will barely registered what was happening until it was too late.

"Jamie? What—"

"Will, darling, the only thing you're going to be watching is the rest of your life go by in an eight by ten cell," Jamie said silkily, jerking the man's other hand behind his back and snapping the other cuff closed. "By the way...you're under arrest for the kidnapping and human trafficking of young boys." Then, even though he'd been practicing for hours while he'd waited for Will, Jamie read the words directly from the card. He knew they'd be delivered again by US law enforcement personnel, but no one wanted to let this bastard off on a technicality. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney during interrogation; if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you by the Court. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?"

In an instant Will's lips curled and Jamie got a glimpse of the man behind the false front.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lord Mainwaring. Surely you must have imagined the whole thing. Did I mention I have photographs of you in a certain nightclub with a very young boy? You'll never make it stick. This will prove to be exactly what it looks like...you protecting your own perverted interests by blaming someone else. I'll be home by dinner time," Will snarled.

Jamie shook his head in disgust and pushed the other man toward the door, pulling it open and urging him out into the hall where other members of the director's team were waiting for him. "Get this piece of shit out of my sight," Jamie growled, shoving Will at the other men and turning on his heel, glancing at Zachariah Morton, who was standing next to Remy by the elevators. His relief at the sight of Remy punching buttons on his phone as he sent a text was almost palpable. He thought he saw a flicker of fear in Morton's eyes as their gazes met and satisfaction surged through him. If the asshole was scared now, wait until Remy had finished with him. Jamie walked back into his office and slammed the door behind him, then slowly slid down the wood until his long legs were stretched out in front of him, completely drained.

****

Special Envoy Zachariah Morton stood in the reception area outside his office along with the receptionist and secretaries, watching the small group of black-suited men fan out to surround the elevator. Remy casually crossed the waiting area until he was standing directly next to Morton. As soon as Jamie came out from his office, Remy sent a text to the crew waiting at the compound. The boys were already being secured and would immediately be transferred to a temporary medical facility where their physical and mental health would be assessed and treatment would begin. The emotional scars would take longer to heal, but at least they were safe.

The doors to the elevator were propped open by Alexander, who looked as excited as a kid on his first trip to the zoo. It was probably his first assignment to the field, a special treat to take these assholes down. Two other men Remy hadn't met before took custody of Kennedy and frog-marched him to the elevator, but Alexander didn't move.

"What the hell do you think is going on?" Remy asked Morton. "I mean...what do you think Kennedy did?"

Morton looked down his long nose at Remy, as if he suddenly detected a bad smell. It was a truly impressive effort since Morton was a good three inches shorter than Remy. His face had gone pale and his jawed bunched, as if he were chewing on his own tongue. "Tell me you were not using _that_ ," he jerked his head toward Remy's phone, "to alert the press to a mishap here," the diplomat said in a tone that held more than a hint of hostility.

Remy furrowed his brow and frowned slightly. Then with a little laugh, as if just figuring our Morton's point, he raised his cell phone in the air. "You mean this? No, I don't talk to the press. I had some urgent business to take care of over in the Hudson Valley."

With bared teeth masquerading as a smile, Remy continued, "Did you know they were coming to arrest him? It must be something big—"

Then Remy turned to face Morton directly, as if he'd just remembered something. The man's face was positively ashy, and there was a tick in his right eye. He turned his shoulders, as if he wanted to step away, but his eyes remained on Remy.

"Didn't you refer to him as your number one? Just like the TV show, right?" Remy thickened his accent, so that the soft Texas twang that had nearly disappeared after years in Arizona reappeared with a vengeance. "Yes, that's it...Star Trek, right? Did you ever watch? Me? I'm not much one for TV. But is seems to me if he was your number one...that's just like he was Ryker. Will Ryker. Which I guess makes you Pickard, now, doesn't it?" Remy already had the cuffs in his hand, and slid the first link smoothly over Morton's wrist.

"Zachariah Morton, you're under arrest..."

****

Jamie turned to face Remy in the town car. When they'd left the office, he'd climbed into the passenger seat beside the other man, no longer wanting to ride in the back now that this clusterfuck was over. "You're sure they're safe?" Jamie asked for what must have been the hundredth time.

"They're safe," Remy confirmed again. "The boys have been taken to a halfway house where they'll be given the best care and therapy. It's gonna be a long road, but they've taken the first steps. All we can do is hope that they make it to the end."

"Put your foot down, cowboy," Jamie said gruffly. "I want to get out of this fucking suit and wash this case off me."

"Anything you say, Your Grace."

The ride up to their hotel room was silent and Jamie could feel the air around them crackle as though it were electrically charged. Every fiber of his being ached to reach out and touch the big man beside him, but would he be able to handle it if Remy rejected him? The man had been so up and down over the last few days that he had no idea whether his touch would be welcome.

"You comin'?"

Jamie looked up to see Remy holding open the elevator door with his huge paw. They'd obviously reached their floor, and he hadn't even noticed. "Sorry, miles away," he mumbled, stepping out of the lift and walking past Remy in the direction of their room. As he put his key-card in the lock and the light flicked from red to green, Jamie gasped when Remy's hands slid around his waist and pulled him back against the length of his body.

"Glad you came back from wherever your mind just went," Remy drawled, his breath hot against Jamie's skin. "I've got plans for you."

Opening the door, Jamie allowed Remy to usher him inside and sparks of anticipation snaked up his spine as Remy kicked it closed behind them. "Remy—" His words stilled in his throat as Remy turned him around. He swallowed at the heat in the other man's gaze and his gut tightened. "You gonna fuck me, cowboy? Is that what you want?" He wished his voice didn't sound so plaintive and pathetic, but his heart weighed heavy in his chest at the thought that all Remy wanted was physical release.

Jamie's lips parted of their own volition when Remy's thumb swept across them, a gentle brush that made his thighs tremble, as Remy said softly, "Yeah." Jamie looked into his cowboy's eyes and the tenderness he saw there belied the harshness of the term. His breath caught in his throat and his heart swelled at the possibility and promise in that single stare.

By the time they'd walked the stairs, Jamie was a jangle of nerve-endings, rock hard in his pants and even the way their fingers touched as they walked had him on the edge of orgasm. In the bedroom, Remy turned him around and began to undress him slowly, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to each piece of skin he exposed until Jamie was trembling and naked before him. It seemed to Jamie as though it had taken forever just to get him unclothed and the whole time Remy had avoided his mouth. It was killing him. "Please, Remy..."

"I'm getting there. This is my show, you just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Jamie's gaze followed the path of Remy's clothing as each piece was removed, reveling in the sight of the bronze skin the cowboy revealed. He longed to reach out and caress the taut muscles and bruises—bruises? What the fuck? Jamie stepped forward, ignoring the other man's raised hand as Remy toed off his boots and stripped off his pants. His gaze found a semi-healed wound in Remy's side to go along with the bruises and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice level, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Remy said, grabbing Jamie's fingers before they could touch his flesh. "They're nothing. They're over. They're done." He pulled Jamie close against his body and slid his hands down Jamie's back and over his ass, warming the muscle with his palms, quickening Jamie's heartbeat. "Did I hear you say _please, Remy_?"

Jamie nodded and gasped as Remy walked him backward until his legs hit the mattress.

"Say it again," Remy growled and Jamie was lost.

"Please, Remy."

"Fuck, Jamie, the way you say my name," Remy muttered before he finally gave Jamie what he needed, his mouth, and lowered him onto the mattress.

Jamie whimpered into the kiss, his hands slid into Remy's hair and scrabbled for purchase in the short strands as Remy stole the very breath from his lungs. The swipe of Remy's tongue against the roof of his mouth, along his teeth, and then thrusting in short jabs against his own tongue was driving him completely out of his gourd. He wasn't sure he was going to last. _Can Remy actually make me come from just kissing?_

Remy pulled back and Jamie gazed up into his darkened eyes, his heart beating so hard he was sure Remy could hear it in the silence of the room. "Remy?" The other man was gazing at him so intently, his expression unreadable, that Jamie was afraid Remy was going to pull away from him. "Stay with me," he whispered, tracing the curve of Remy's cheek and his breath left him as Remy smiled slowly and merged their mouths again.

Jamie lost track of time as Remy cherished his body. Cherished was the only word he could think of for the tenderness in the caress of Remy's hands, the kiss of his lips. The big man lavished attention on every square inch of skin on Jamie's body, he didn't think there was a single part of him that hadn't felt the magic of Remy's touch. A touch unlike any other he'd ever felt from the ornery cowboy. A touch filled with gentleness, compassion, and...dare he hope...love? Was showing how he felt rather than saying how he felt the only way he could communicate his feelings? Jamie hoped so. Because he'd fallen hook, line, and the proverbial sinker for this annoying Yank, and he couldn't imagine another moment without him.

When Remy prepared him slowly, all Jamie could do was move against those thick fingers and moan into Remy's mouth. His hands tangled in the sheets beneath him, hardly able to draw breath as the beautiful man rolled the sheath down his weeping cock, and slid into him, inch by glorious inch. Jamie held on to Remy's thighs as he pounded into him. One leg over Remy's shoulder and the other hooked high around Remy's flanks. Even their sweat seemed to drip in time, his heart beating out a mantra that filled Jamie's ears with Remy's name. The connection between them had never been as deep, as raw, as it was right at this moment and Jamie knew...he just knew that Remy felt the same. That this wasn't a brief dalliance, what they shared was real and neither of them could deny it any longer.

When they came within seconds of each other, their name on the other's lips, Jamie clung to Remy as the man collapsed on top of him, their harsh breathing echoing around the room. If he could have frozen this moment in time, he would have, gladly. Anything to keep them here, in each other's arms, right where they were supposed to be.

"I'm starving," Remy complained, padding into the bedroom from the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel after his shower.

Jamie nodded, smoothing down the sheet he had just straightened and stretching, reaching high above his head. "Me too," he replied, crossing the room and looping his arms around Remy's waist, kissing full lips softly. "I'm thinking sushi." He laughed as Remy turned up his nose at the word.

"I'm thinking a twelve ounce rib-eye, extra rare." Jamie shook his head indulgently as Remy closed his eyes and sighed. "With onion rings and French fries and a side 'a bacon. Oh, and a side salad. I gotta think of my waistline."

Jamie wandered back to the bed and flopped down onto the mattress. He'd showered before Remy and the scent of the shower gel assaulted him as he sank back against the pillows. Leaning over, he picked up the phone and dialed room service. He gave their food order and glanced over at Remy who had bounced onto the bed beside him. "And we'll have a bottle of your finest champagne," he added, frowning when Remy waved at him. "Hold on just a moment." He put his hand over the mouthpiece and raised an eyebrow. "You don't like champagne?"

"Get some for you." Remy shrugged, his gaze hooded. "I'll have a beer, preferably Corona, but Bud if that's all they have."

Jamie ordered the drinks and put down the phone, turning onto his side to study the man beside him. He wasn't sure he liked what he saw. Somewhere between the shower and the bed, something had changed, but Jamie couldn't put his finger on what. His gaze traveled down Remy's chest, and he reached out and gently traced the semi-healed wound on his ribs. "When are you going to tell me what happened?" The answer he received was nothing less than he expected.

"Never."

"Should I be worried?"

Remy turned his head and looked at him, the hardness in his eyes tightening the fingers around Jamie's heart once again. "I told you. It's done. It's finished. Nothing to worry about."

Jamie sighed heavily, knowing that was all the insight he was going to get into the cause of Remy's injuries. "Okay," he said softly, stroking his fingers across Remy's abs. "Just do me a favor. Take better care of yourself. If not for yourself...for me?"

Remy gazed at him for a long moment and then hooked a leg over Jamie's, rolling him beneath his long body. Jamie traced the curve of Remy's shoulder and slid his fingers into the other man's hair. When Remy kissed him, Jamie realized that he hadn't answered the question.

****

"You don't waste much time, Director," Remy said. They were back in the nondescript office, but things looked very different than they had the day before. Although the case was barely twenty-four hours old, if you counted from when the arrests were made, the investigative unit was being disbanded. The computer was already crated, the furniture was mostly stacked to one side of the room, and all that remained were a few boxes and several mismatched suitcases.

He and Jamie had come here from the hotel, after a long night of loving and a lazy morning packing. There was a lot left unsaid between them, but it seemed to Remy they were both careful to avoid anything that might spoil the gentle truce between them.

"You're right, Remy," Julia Forsythe said. "We don't waste much time. We can't afford to. You've met nearly our entire team. As I told you when we first met, our work is specialized. It also doesn't always include what might be considered straight police work. There's a lot of diplomacy involved at the international level. That's why I asked for this final meeting before we return to our home offices."

The tension in the room was palpable and Remy was starting to get a bad feeling he wasn't going to like what was coming next.

"We've got planes to catch, Director. Why don't you just tell us what's going on?"

"Come on, Julia. These boys aren't slow and they don't strike me as the type to shy away from things," Yardley said from where she perched atop a large wooden crate.

Remy watched the two women exchange a long glance and realized some silent communication had taken place when Yardley nodded and Julia gave a small smile in return.

"Yardley's right. It's simple, really. In most investigative work, the case extends far beyond the initial arrests. There are witness statements to take, forensic evidence to gather and document, final reports to write. All critical details that must be captured in order for the case to be successfully prosecuted. In the diplomatic world, when cases are prosecuted through the courts, law enforcement becomes frustrated because, more often than not immunity is involved. Our unit attempts to stay in front of that curve. We monitor the data from thousands of law enforcement units worldwide and try to circumvent any investigation that might involve a member of the diplomatic corps. When we find a multi-jurisdictional case, such as the one we just finished, we step in to resolve the case for the benefit of all the governments involved."

Remy glanced at Jamie and noted the frown lines between his eyebrows. When he looked back at the director, she was watching him. Waiting for something. Before he could ask, Jamie's voice, tight with tension, cut across the room.

"Are you telling us that Morton and Kennedy won't go to trial? They won't serve jail time?"

"Yes and no, Jamie. It's not quite that black and white. They will receive punishment for their crimes, but our unit won't be involved. From this point forward, the case ceases to exist for us and an equally obscure branch within Interpol will arrange for their punishment. It is highly unlikely they will have what you would consider a proper trial. All I can assure you is they will not go free. It is as close to justice as we are going to get.

"The records and money will be recovered, the boys are being sought, and the respective governments have promised to work to see that each boy will get the help he needs—"

"I want to see Toby," Remy interrupted. He knew his jaw was set in a stubborn line, but he had to see Toby, had to know he was going to be okay.

Julia waited until he looked directly at her before she answered. "I do understand, Remy. I know there's a part of you that feels responsible for what happened to Toby. You're not. Morton and Kennedy are the bad guys. Toby is in the best hands possible. For now, the doctors and counselors have the boys in a safe place and are giving them the care they need. The goal is to give each and every one of these boys a second chance." She held up a hand to stop Remy, as if she could see the words that threatened to spill over.

"I know, Remy," she said and she kept her gaze steady. "Not all second chances are created equal. We may not be able to help all of them. Not in the way we would want. We can never give back what was taken. But people do recover from horrific childhood experiences and live productive... _normal_ lives.

Remy felt the weight of Jamie's gaze, but he turned away, his heart pounding. Somehow, he felt she did know. _Fuck_. He no longer heard the rest of her words; he was lost in a haze of pain and anger. And shame. He hated that he still felt shame for what had been done to him...what he had done to survive. He was no more to blame for that part of his life than these boys—his arm was squeezed hard enough to jerk him back to the present. Remy looked down to find the pixie-faced Yardley staring at him. Her expression switched from grandmotherly concern to a smirk in an instant.

"Don't be a fucking candy ass, Remington," she said. The comforting pat on his arm belied her words. He nodded and tuned back in to the director's speech.

"Meanwhile, we have the next case waiting for us," she was saying. "We'd like to ask you both to join us. Working as investigators, as a permanent part of the team."

Jamie looked over, his eyes shining with emotion a small smile curving the full lower lip. For a moment, the world was shiny and new, full of possibilities. Remy read it on his lover's face. The clear expectation that they would do this, could do this, and stay together.

For the first time, it occurred to him that everyone in this room knew what he was, knew he was gay and seemed to accept him. Jesus. _Jesus!_ He'd blown Jamie in the fucking living room and hadn't given a thought to his own team listening in. Shame raced through him as he heard Jamie's answer.

"Absolutely, Director. I'm honored. I'll need to take care of a few details, such as actually quitting my job."

"Oh, your resignation at the start of this case was quite official, Jamie. No one is expecting you to return."

Jamie took a small step back, as if from a physical blow, then he seemed to gather himself once more. "All right. I see we have a few details to work out, however I do accept your offer." He turned a triumphant gaze toward Remy.

"I...uh..." he felt the tug at his arm and looked down at Yardley.

"Don't be an ass, Remington," she said so quietly, Remy wasn't sure anyone else could hear her. Then she mouthed the words, "No one cares."

"Before you answer, Remy," Julia said, "you need to know you wouldn't be going back to the same position, either. You are officially assigned to the senator's staff now. He's a personal friend of mine, and we find an exchange of personnel quite useful at times."

"Well, it seems like you take too many liberties, Director." He deliberately turned so that he couldn't see Jamie's face. He wasn't a cruel man, but he knew what he had to do.

"Jamie's gonna make a fine asset to your team. He's a solid investigator, a good cop. Me? I'm just not cut to play inside the lines. I don't know if I'm gonna get along real well with the senator. What I do know is you've got the wrong impression if you think I fit in this illustrious team you've assembled. I'm not much more than a dumb cowboy, and it's time I got back to Phoenix. Maybe find me a small town sheriff job.

Without turning to look, he tossed out the last bit. "Jamie, you settle what you need to with the director, and I'll wait for you in the car. Don't be long, I've got one more stop to make on the way to the airport." Then he pushed his way through the heavy silence and made his escape.

##  Chapter Sixteen

"I should get going," Jamie said quietly, pulling up the handle of his suitcase. "I don't fancy telling the director I've missed the flight. I don't want to test the theory that her bark is worse than her bite." He glanced up at Remy, desperately searching his cool hazel eyes for any sign that he'd changed his mind. But there was none. This was it.

"Yeah," Remy drawled, his lips lifting in a soft smile. "Can't say I'd wanna bet on who'd win in a bare knuckle fight." Jamie followed the path of his hand as Remy scratched his fingers through his close-cropped hair. _How could one be jealous of fingers for God's sake?_ "Do you know where you're going?"

Jamie shook his head and said ruefully, "You know how it works, Remington, old boy. I've got a ticket to London and then I'll receive further instructions. Which will probably self-destruct within five seconds if I choose to take the mission." He shrugged nonchalantly. "So, you've definitely made up your—"

"Don't," Remy countered gruffly, pressing two fingers to Jamie's lips. "You'd better go."

Jamie gasped involuntarily when those fingers were replaced by Remy's lips and he kissed him. A tender meeting of lips, so unlike any kiss Remy had instigated before, that Jamie was sure his heart missed a beat. Before Remy could pull away, he lifted his hand and curled his fingers around the back of Remy's neck and held him fast, not wanting to end this moment. Knowing that this was probably the last time he would see this stubborn cowboy, _his_ stubborn, beautiful cowboy.

He made a small sound that might be called a whimper in the back of his throat when Remy broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. "Do me a favor, don't do anything stupid," Remy growled, his voice thick with emotion.

"Same to you, Colt." Jamie noted the other man's intake of breath at the use of his given name and took a step back, squaring his shoulders and taking his boarding pass and passport out of his pocket. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he forced a grin. "Well, Remington my good man, it's been a blast."

"It has at that," Remy replied, tipping an imaginary hat. "Goodbye, Your Lordship."

Jamie turned, before he made a complete fool of himself by bursting into unmanly tears, and joined the line for security. His gut felt like it was in a vice-like grip as he waited, shuffling slowly forward with the others in front of him.

What was he doing? Were they really going to leave it like this? Unfinished? Didn't Remy know there was more to their story? That this wasn't the end...couldn't be. _Fucking arsehole is going to make me say it first. I know his game. And fuck it, I'm not too proud to prove him right._ Jamie spun on his heel, his mouth already open to shout the words, but his heart sank into his shoes.

Remy was gone.

* * *

The AC blew lukewarm air as Remy sat in the lot watching planes take off and land. He had his radio tuned to the air traffic control tower, listening to the controllers move the planes through the intricate tarmac dance. When he heard the call letters for Jamie's plane, he sat forward, draped his arms over the steering wheel. The screaming roar of the jet engines blew across the acres of asphalt and concrete, vibrating the windows, and pressed against his heart. Remy craned his neck to watch the jet take Jamie away. _Fuck_.

Remy blew out a breath and swallowed hard. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and slipped the dark glasses back on. After a minute, he flipped open his phone and thumbed through the contacts until he found the number he needed.

"Hello?" said a sleepy voice.

Remy glanced at the clock and realized it was probably past the older man's bedtime. Although the case was over, he was unwilling to take a chance on the lines being tapped, so he kept his remarks as neutral as possible. "Do you recognize my voice?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm not exactly senile, you know, young fellow. I even know how to recognize the incoming number." The old man's clipped tones and formal pattern of speech served him well as the gatekeeper for the Earl and his family.

"Good. Save it to your phone, but don't give it out."

"I think I have a little experience when it comes to being discreet."

"Yes, I imagine you have." Remy actually smiled, even when he'd thought never to smile again. "He's on his way."

There was a long pause, and then a very heavy sigh. "You let him go?"

"I'm sending him home."

"You think that was wise?"

"It's the only possible outcome. Take care of him for me," Remy said and ended the call before anything else could be said. He sat with his eyes closed, forehead resting against the steering wheel, and tried to push away the memories. The feelings. The loss.

On a sigh, he sat up, cleared his throat, and put the rental car into gear. He looked into the rearview mirror and locked gazes with dark brown eyes that held too much understanding. "You ready to get the hell out of New York, Rojas?"

"You know, you're a real ass, Remington," Miggy said.

"Save it. I fucked up weeks ago. Today's the first day I've done the right thing since I met him."

How ironic, he thought as he squinted through the late afternoon glare. He was riding off into the sunset...just like a good cowboy should. With a final sigh, he lifted his foot from the brake, eased into the flow of traffic, and headed west.

~~The End~~

## About the Author

Raised in California, Laura likes it hot, which explains why she ended up in Arizona via such diverse places as Japan, Maine, and Florida, and many more places in between. After retiring from the US Navy, she found a niche working for land management agencies, including the National Park Service and the Bureau of Land Management. Though she has held many jobs around the world, her favorite was working and living in Grand Canyon National Park. Working (and eating) in New Orleans was a close second. You will find many of her books are set against the rich backdrops provided by coastal Louisiana and northern Arizona.

When asked how she started writing, Laura tells of waking on Boxing Day a few years ago, with a woman named Elena MacFarland yammering in her dreams, demanding her story be told. Despite never attempting to write fiction before that morning, Laura ignored all of the holiday visitors and the Highland Destiny series was born. She doesn't believe it was a coincidence that the great grandmother who died when Laura was just a baby was named Elena MacFarland. Destiny does play a hand.

Laura became a full-time writer in 2012, and now she spends her time writing, watching her Arizona Diamondbacks, and working on her very own version of the Willow Springs Ranch in northwestern Arizona. She is a multi-published author of erotic romance, mystery, and urban fantasy and her books can be found at all major online retailers.

Connect with Laura at:

Twitter: @LauraHarner

Facebook: facebook.com/lauraharner

Or even better...check out the website at: LauraHarner.com

## Also Available

Oceans Apart, Separate Ways: II

It's been two years since Lord Jamie Mainwaring and Detective Remy Remington worked and loved their way through their one and only case before going their separate ways.

Now Jamie is once again mixing agency business with pleasure as he and his partner, Agent Ryan Whiteside, are assigned to a case involving piracy in the Caribbean.

Remy and his old friend Miggy are still detectives, but they've gone private in Phoenix. When their biggest client sends them to supervise an unusual diamond transfer, they think their toughest challenge will be maintaining their cover as a gay couple on a barefoot-style cruise.

When murder connects the dots between the two cases, the four men must learn to work together as relationships and loyalties are tested amid misunderstandings and memories on the high seas.

~*~

Moving Mountains, Separate Ways: III

It's easier to move a mountain than escape the past.

After the ultimate betrayal results in the death of his lover, Jamie Mainwaring looks to the past for answers, and discovers his entire life is a lie. When uncovering the truth leads to a more devastating loss, there's only one place he can turn for understanding.

When former-detective Remington left the police department, he never looked back. Now, his glory-stealing ex-boss is dead, leaving Remy's real name scratched in the dirt at the brutal murder scene.

Two years ago, Miguel Rojas left New York in the back of his best friend's car, in real danger of falling victim to the same addictions that left his twin sister in bed with the drug lord he'd been deep undercover investigating. When she shows up looking to make amends, misplaced guilt mixed with curiosity open old wounds.

While Remy returns to his police department roots to track down a killer, Miggy and Jamie team up to find the bones from Miggy's past and bury them once and for all.

The truth shall set you free—except when the past is determined to claim you.

~*~

Prevailing Winds, Separate Ways: IV

Coming Spring 2014

Forbidden Love

Detective Danielle Delacroiux is one kick-ass detective with the Généreux PD, and she's got a murder on her hands. By all accounts, Crease Martin was nothing but a homeless drunk and a lousy informant, but Dani counted him as one of hers. Now she'll stop at nothing to find his murderer. With a red silk handkerchief under the body as her first clue, Dani wants a quick break. When a handsome stranger practically strolls up to the crime scene, Dani can't help but notice his expensive Italian suit, red silk tie, and empty breast pocket. Could he be who she's looking for?

Dani is less than impressed when Mr. tall, dark, and yummy is introduced as the newest lawyer in town, and even worse, he's another of the Charbonnet offspring. The deadly feud between the Delacroiux and Charbonnet families goes way back, and there is one thing she knows without a doubt. If Hawk Charbonnet committed this crime, she'll be damned if his connections will do him any good. She'll happily lock his arrogant ass in jail for the rest of his life. Which would be a shame, because she had to admit, it was a fine-looking ass.

~*~

Part of Me

Jason's life hasn't been easy. Feeling responsible for the death of his twin the night they graduated from high school, Jason commits emotional suicide by revealing he's gay after his brother's funeral, permanently severing all ties with his ultra-conservative parents. But when he runs to Hunter Dane for comfort, all he can see is the same rejection mirrored on his best friend's face.

Twelve years later, Jason needs all the support he can get to beat back the cancer invading his body. When Hunter unexpectedly shows up to shift from former friend to caregiver, Jason must battle his attraction even while he's waging the biggest fight of his life.

~*~

Altered States, free prologue for the Altered States Series

New Orleans Police Detective Sam Garrett can't believe his bad luck when he's assigned to investigate a string of gay-bashings turned deadly in the French Quarter. Especially when he realizes Travis Boudreaux, his new, hot, and most-likely-straight partner, plans to use him as bait. The worst part? They've got no back-up because the rest of the city is preoccupied by another series of killings — the victims drained of blood.

~*~

Deep Blues Goodbye, Book One of the Altered States Series

The world might not have been ready for vampires when NOPD Detective Travis Boudreaux had the bad taste to sit up at his own funeral, but two years later, the new cause célèbre is civil rights for preternatural beings and most humans are on the bandwagon. Except whoever is killing vampires and wannabes.

Detective Sam Garrett hates all things preternatural. Having your undead partner try to make you his first meal will do that to a guy. One final screw-up gets Sam banished to the Paranormal Criminal Investigations Unit—the Odd Squad—under the oversight of Detective Danny Burkette.

Now it's up to Burkette to work with Garrett by day and Boudreaux by night as they follow a trail of clues that leads from the historic cemeteries of New Orleans to the bayous of southern Louisiana. Under the all-too-interested gaze of a Master vampire and the local werewolf pack Alpha, they discover some lessons in life—and death—take longer to learn...and not all second chances are created equal.

Warning: In this series the vampires don't sparkle, werewolves kill, and sometimes the men have sex. With each other.

~*~

Ty Hard, Willow Springs Ranch #1

Tyler has used Don't Ask, Don't Tell as a shield against the truth since he was seventeen. Now, Ty finds himself cut loose from his Navy career after months of rehab from a debilitating head injury. At a loss as to what to do with his life, he travels to Willow Springs Ranch in Arizona to visit his surrogate father, only to arrive minutes after his oldest friend's death. Ty must come to terms with the loss while he fights to keep the PTSD from pulling him under. The last thing he's ready to think about is his growing attraction for another man.

Rancher Cass Cartwright's relationships never last more than a few hours, and that's just the way he likes it. Now he's in danger of doing the one thing he swore never to do: fall in love. Can Cass convince Ty to let go of his past or will sabotage at the ranch kill their love before it has a chance to grow?

~*~

Hold Tight, Willow Spring Ranch #2

Sheriff Holden Titus had organized his fresh start down to the last detail. Except for the part about the bomb that blew his plans all to hell. Now he's running out of time, without a job, without a home, and struggling to get back on his feet. Literally.

Despite the impolite rejection, Drew knows he didn't have the wrong impression months ago when he asked the sheriff to dance, but he never expected to have Holden's life in his hands. Literally.

Thanks to some meddlesome matchmaking, the two men are now temporary housemates at the Willow Springs Ranch and Drew is determined to help Holden heal, both physically and emotionally. Even if it means he has to drag the other man kicking and screaming to physical therapy...and out of the closet. In fact, that might be kind of fun.

The problem is, Holden doesn't consider himself in the closet...but not all secrets are created equal.

~*~
