

Is It You?

By Tinnean

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2020 Tinnean

ISBN 9781646564088

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission from the publisher, with the exception of excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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This is for Bob, because...Bob. It will always be for him.

Thank you to Tim Mead and Jim for their unstinting help, and to Gail Morse for her constant, amazing help.

This takes place in 2002. None of the buildings in Boston are as tall as the one that houses Huntingdon's headquarters. Obviously this was done to conceal the real location of Huntingdon. Wills and Sweetcheeks first put in appearances in _Houseboat on the Nile_. The events of this story are touched on in _Not_ My _Spook!_ They both appear in Forever, and eventually we'll get to read Sweetcheeks's story in The Light in Your Eyes duology.

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Is It You?

By Tinnean

# Chapter 1

I suppose, if it came right down to it, Mr. Wallace was the cause of it.

He was the man who ran the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security, and he told me, "Meet Mr. Vincent at the DC morgue," so that was what I did.

Mr. Wallace _didn't_ tell me to follow Mr. Vincent to George Washington Hospital.

But I did anyway.

It was dumb on my part, and maybe a bit egotistical as well. Who the hell was I to think Mark Vincent needed anyone to look out for him?

But in the morgue he'd looked...I couldn't pinpoint it, but it seemed to be a combination of disillusionment, frustration, and sheer pissed off-ness.

And I'd also seen the look in his eyes when he'd thanked me for not giving up on him. Oh, those weren't his exact words, but that was what he meant.

He really hadn't expected anyone to do that for him.

I couldn't see doing anything less, any more than I could have walked away when Mr. Adams told me what I'd have to do on occasion. It was the way I was raised...

But I guessed you could also say that Mr. Vincent had a hand in it as well.

When he turned into the hospital's parking garage, I killed my headlights and let the car inch forward into it as well. Mr. Vincent's taillights were about twenty feet ahead of me. Truthfully, I was proud of myself for having come this far without him spotting me. He really must have been distressed.

But when a van started backing out of its spot, and he zipped around it, I realized I'd been made. The van stalled, and I lost precious minutes waiting for the driver to regain his composure and drive off.

Okay, I had two choices. I could try to track down my boss, or I could get the fuck out of Dodge.

I swore under my breath. No, there was no choice. I had to find Mr. Vincent and make sure he was all right. Only then could I drive home with a clear conscience.

My friend Michael would have called me goody two-shoes, and there would have been an unpleasant edge to his words. Not that that had stopped him from relying on "goody two-shoes" to haul his ass out of hot water, which I'd done more than once.

I sighed. Thinking of Michael always saddened me. So much distance between us. How much longer would we have remained friends if he hadn't died?

Someone rapped on the driver's side window. And I jumped and jammed on the brakes, which screeched a bit, even though I wasn't going more than five mph. How the hell—

I shouldn't have let myself become distracted. I should have known. It was Mr. Vincent. I lowered the window.

"Lost, Matheson?"

"Shi—uh...No, sir." My foot was cramping up from the force I was placing on the brake, and I shifted into neutral.

"Care to tell me what you're doing here, then?"

"Sorry, sir. I know it isn't my place, but I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm okay."

Of course he was. He was Mark Vincent. I sat there trying to look unconcerned, all the while wracking my brains for a graceful way to get out of this cluster fuck.

Abruptly he said, "All right, I'm right over there. Take the next spot."

He was going to clock me. Well, there was no getting around it. I'd overstepped the bounds, and he had every right to discipline me as he saw fit.

I parked my car and got out, waiting for him to punch me in the face. I just hoped he wouldn't break my nose. It was my best feature.

He looked me over, then shook his head and turned to walk away. "Don't just stand there, Matheson. I have to take care of this, and then you can explain why you felt the need to baby-sit me."

"Yes, sir." I breathed out a sigh of relief. Maybe I hadn't totally screwed this up. I hurried after him, through the doors that opened into the emergency department. I wasn't familiar with it. The few times I'd been injured in the line of duty, I'd seen doctors who worked out of the WBIS.

Mr. Vincent, however, knew where he was going.

He crossed to a cubicle and yanked the curtains aside. "Fuck. Haven't they found a bed for him yet?" He looked furious, and I was grateful that glare was not directed at me.

On the bed were two figures, one with disheveled white hair who was sleeping with his thumb in his mouth. The other, obviously the patient, was drowsily stroking the spiky platinum strands. He had been severely beaten. "S'okay, baby."

Baby? Who—

"It's _not_ okay." My boss snarled.

Wait, he was calling Mr. Vincent _baby_? I barely kept my jaw from dropping.

"You've been down here for hours. I'm not leaving until I get you settled."

"You always make such a big thing out of everything." The man in the bed shifted and sucked in a breath.

"You need something for pain?" Mr. Vincent looked around, as if he were searching for a nurse.

"I'm okay."

"You're not, but I won't argue with you."

"Promise?" The injured man closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep.

"He's been doing that on and off since you left." Slouched in a chair was a good-looking man with reddish curly hair. His voice was a warm baritone, and the sound of it was like silk caressing my cock.

I couldn't take my eyes off him. I'd always had a weakness for redheads, but every one of those redheads had been girls. This wasn't a cute, androgynous guy who could just as well have passed for a cute girl. This guy was all male. He was wearing stonewashed jeans, and the way his foot was propped on the lowered railing of the bed drew them tight across his crotch. Was he even wearing anything under them?

I dragged my gaze up and found myself staring at his mouth. His lips were made for kissing—and why had I even thought of that? I'd never kissed a guy. Michael had turned his head away the only time I'd tried to initiate a kiss, and other than him, there had been no one else.

It felt as if something large had wedged in my throat, but I couldn't chance clearing it and drawing attention to myself.

I was relieved my overcoat concealed the sudden interest my body was taking in him. It also concealed the ordinary brown suit I wore. In my early days at the WBIS, I'd been taught not to draw attention to myself, to always dress inconspicuously. It had never bothered me before. Why, now, did I wish I was wearing tight black leather?

I used to laugh when Jill, my stepmom, would fuss about having just the right outfit to wear for my Dad. When had I become her?

I raised my gaze higher. He was watching me, an eyebrow raised, a slight smirk on those lips, as if he knew I wanted to get naked with him.

Oh. I felt my interest begin to lag. I'd met people like him before, mostly women, but some men, who thought because of the way I dressed and looked that I'd be grateful for any attention they paid to me.

Schooling my expression to disinterest, I met his eyes. They weren't just tired. In the light brown depths, I read worry and lingering fear.

I could understand why he looked so tired. I knew what it was like sitting around in a hospital, waiting, although those times had been when Jill was giving birth, first to my brother and then my sister, and that was pretty much a guaranteed happy ending. If there had been a possibility of any other outcome, I'd have been just as worried, just as afraid.

I forced my attention back to the other occupants of the cubicle, but the red-haired man murmured, "Vince's so protective of Pretty Boy, you know." He stood and extended his hand. He was a couple of inches taller than me. "I'm Sweetcheeks and that's Spike. I run this menagerie, as much as these two will allow."

I returned his grip. His palm was cool, dry, smooth, and he didn't try to break my fingers in a half-assed macho display. And then his middle finger stroked across my palm.

In spite of myself, I shivered as if I'd grasped a live wire, and then his words seeped into my muddled brain. That was right. He was a...They were...

I swallowed and freed my hand.

"And when are you going to give it up? This life is getting downright dangerous," Mr. Vincent said. Then he added negligently, "This is Matheson." He pulled out his cell phone. "He's with me."

Sweetcheeks seemed intrigued by that, and I wondered why. Of course, Mr. Vincent noticed. Nothing escaped him. He arched an eyebrow, and I could feel a tide of red start at my collar and flow to my hairline.

I drew in a breath to explain, although I had no clue what I would be explaining, when someone paused by the opening in the curtains.

"I'm sorry, sir, use of cell phones—" The little man with the clipboard gazed at my trainer with horror. "Oh _no_! Not you again!"

His eyes darted to the security guard who was at the far end of the department, chatting with some DC police, but I moved before he could summon him.

"Hi." I slung my arm over the little man's shoulder, glanced at his name tag, and urged him away from the bed. "Edgar?" I made my voice friendly. "Why don't you point me in the direction of the cafeteria, and I'll buy you a cup of coffee?"

"The cafeteria is closed this time of night!"

"Then we'll just go for a little walk."

"Well...I...That is...I..."

I strolled with the little man out into the corridor. I kept him close to my side and leaned down to murmur confidentially, "The gentleman in there has friends in very high places. If he's worried with inconsequential matters, people lose their...jobs. You like your...job, don't you, Edgar?"

"Are you threatening me?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." I smiled at him, and he turned pale. "But a wise man knows when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. What do you think you should do?"

"Fold 'em?" he squeaked.

"Wise man."

He swallowed repeatedly. "If...if you'll excuse me? I'm not feeling very well," he stated plaintively. His gait was unsteady as he made his way down the corridor away from the emergency department.

I sauntered back to the bay where Mr. Vincent's friend was, my hands in my trouser pockets, whistling through my teeth.

The phone conversation had been completed, and Mr. Vincent and Sweetcheeks turned to look at me.

"Some men just shouldn't work around sick people," I announced, shaking my head sadly. "Edgar was feeling a little queasy. He's decided to go home early."

Mr. Vincent eyed me steadily. I was embarrassed. I could hardly admit I was showing off.

But then he nodded in approval. "Nice work, Matheson." He shook Spike awake. "They've found a bed for Pretty Boy. Go wait out in the lobby until they've transferred him."

Sweetcheeks stared at my mouth, and I licked my lips and stared back a challenge at him. He made me feel like little Nell from Hicksville, and I'd be damned if I let him toy with me anymore.

And then the corner of his mouth curled up in a grin. "Vince, I'm going down to get some coffee. Mind if I bring your boy along with me?" He ran his fingers up my arm, closed them over my biceps.

I'd never been anyone's boy, but somehow I didn't mind him calling me that. There was a sexy ring to it.

And he wanted to have coffee with me? I'd sneaked a glance or two at him, and my mouth had flooded with saliva. The way the material of his jeans seemed to mold over his package—I'd wanted to drop to my knees, unbutton the jeans he was wearing, and suck his brains out through his cock.

I didn't have any objection to sucking a little cock. It had been a while, but I figured it was like riding a bike—you never forgot how.

My cock gave a twitch.

Okay, I was a professional; I could have coffee with an attractive man without having a major meltdown.

I could.

I glanced at Mr. Vincent. If he needed me here, then I'd stay here, as much as I wanted to see what having coffee with Sweetcheeks would be like.

"Go ahead, but I expect him back in one piece, Sweetcheeks."

"Sure thing, Vince. I won't even dent the suit." He laughed.

Of course he wouldn't. I had no intention of allowing it.

But then I wound up outside the darkened cafeteria of GW Hospital with a rent boy known as Sweetcheeks, drinking god-awful coffee.

We bantered a bit, chitchatted a bit, flirted a bit.

Theo. His name was Theo. He seemed surprised to have told me, but then his expression became teasing.

"So, you gonna tell me your name?"

"You know my name. Matheson."

Theo took the cup from my hand and threw it along with his into a trash pail a few feet away. When he returned, it was to stand in front of me. My gaze swept the corridor, making sure it was empty.

He threaded his fingers through my hair, and the feel of his fingertips on my scalp was so erotic I hummed, closed my eyes, and leaned into his touch.

"I don't intend to call you by your last name when I kiss you." His voice was husky, and my eyes flew open. He wanted to kiss me?

Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice that sounded remarkably like Michael's was saying, "This isn't for you, you dope. This is for any man who has the price."

Determinedly I ignored the voice. No one had ever wanted to...Oh, sure, the girls did, but that was when I was in high school, when we both knew that was all they would do. The women I'd slept with had been so worldly I'd worked overtime to pleasure them, sometimes at the cost of my own climax. Still, I'd wondered afterward why they'd agreed to have sex with me. I was Mr. Matheson's little boy, William. Granted I'd taken care of them and made sure they had the best orgasm possible, but they didn't know I would beforehand.

And the hell with that. Why wasn't Theo kissing me, if he really wanted to?

He stood there patiently. Right. He was waiting for me to tell him my name.

"William."

"William? Billy?"

I scowled at him. I hated "Billy." Michael would call me that whenever he wanted to see how far he could push me.

Theo gave his head a tilt. "So, not Billy." He reached into my overcoat, unbuttoned my jacket and rubbed his palms over my torso. "Wills? Open your mouth," he whispered against my lips, his tongue lightly tracing first the top lip, then the bottom one, and finally the seam, not demanding entrance, but asking.

His lips were nothing like the lips I had kissed previously—girls' lips, women's lips—so yielding they needed to be caressed gently.

And kissing him was like nothing I'd ever done before. His lips brushed from one side of my mouth to the other, nibbling and nipping until I opened with a gasp. I expected him to thrust his tongue past my teeth and try to determine if I still had my tonsils, which I did, but his kiss was almost delicate, almost tender.

I shivered and let myself sink into the kiss, so lost in the sensations that I'd have let him take me right there in that corridor.

He pressed me back against the wall, and I didn't even feel my Glock dig into my back, not with Theo's fingers flexing in my hair, massaging my scalp. His hips rocked lazily against me, his cock nudging the bulge of mine. I was so hard I thought I was about to explode.

He pulled his mouth off mine long enough to nip the tendon in my throat. Meanwhile, his hands were busy elsewhere. They'd slid into my trousers, and one was rhythmically squeezing my butt cheeks and tracing the crevice between them while the other stroked my dick through my shorts.

Oh, God, I'd never felt anything that good before, not from the women I'd had in my bed, and definitely not from those infrequent encounters with Michael. I didn't have time to worry if he should reach up and realize I was packing; I just knew I needed more of what he was doing to me.

I took Theo's face between my palms and brought it up, then ran my tongue over his lips, teasing them into opening.

He was a little taller than me, but not so much so that I couldn't comfortably rest my forearms on his shoulders. This was wonderful. This was the best. This was—

"Holy shit!"

Dammit! I'd been so wrapped up in kissing Theo that my attention had only been on him, which could have gotten us both killed.

I had Theo's hands out of my pants, had him spun behind me, and had my gun out before he realized I was moving.

Spike, the youngest rent boy, stood at the end of the corridor, his mouth gaping like a hooked fish as he stared at the Glock that was cocked, aimed, and ready to be fired at his head.

"Don't shoot me! Don't shoot me!" he shrilled.

The man at my back gave a snort of laughter, and leaned forward and stuck his tongue in my ear. "Don't shoot him, Wills."

I hunched my shoulder and shivered again when his warm breath tickled the sensitive shell of my ear.

I frowned at the kid and tucked my Glock back into its holster. Fuck it, what was the matter with me, pulling a gun on a civilian? How was I supposed to explain this to Theo?

How the fuck was I supposed to explain this to _Mr. Vincent_?

"Uh...some of the neighborhoods I work in are really dangerous," I mumbled, cringing. In the back of my mind I could hear Mr. Vincent saying in that cold, flat tone of his, 'Never explain.'

"Uh huh." Spike's eyes were enormous. He appeared fascinated with a spot below my waist. Oh shit, had I leaked precome through my shorts?

But no, a quick, surreptitious glance down just revealed my shirttail was out of my pants. I was tempted to pull my overcoat closed, and the only reason I didn't was because I thought that would be too obvious.

"You down here for a reason?" I snarled. I'd never been so into a kiss, and I resented like hell that Theo and I had been disturbed.

"Vince sent me to get you guys. He said Pretty Boy's being transferred up to room 412, and he wants you there."

That brought me down to earth with a thud. I'd completely forgotten my boss was in the house. "Okay." Time to pull myself together. "Thanks." I headed for the stairs, tucking my shirt in.

"Hey, wait a second! The elevator's over here!"

I gave him a look over my shoulder. "I'm taking the stairs."

"So am I."

I'd been fumbling with the buttons of my jacket, but I whipped my head up at that. I'd been kind of worried Theo was playing with the straight—well, kind of straight—boy, but even though he was grinning, there was an expression in his eyes...My erection, which had vanished at the first sign of perceived danger, was back with a vengeance.

Theo grinned at me, and I knew—I _knew_ —that once we were in the stairwell he would have his hands all over me. I liked that idea. I liked it a lot, and I was pretty sure my smile told him that.

Spike chewed irresolutely on his lower lip, then rushed across the space between us and threw himself at Sweetcheeks. "What if he...what if he dies?" His voice was thick with tears.

"He isn't going to die." They both looked at me in surprise. I shrugged. "Mr. Vincent won't allow it. Let's get going, all right? I don't want to hang around a hospital basement all night." Not that we were in the basement. I just didn't want to tell them that while Mr. Vincent was their friend, he was my boss, and he'd have my ass if I didn't ask how high when he said "jump."

I opened the door and began to jog up the stairs. I could feel Theo right behind me, although he didn't touch me, dammit.

_Had_ he been toying with me?

And then I realized why he was keeping his hands to himself. Right behind him was Spike, griping unhappily every step of the way.

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# Chapter 2

Spike told on us. "They were making out!" he stated indignantly, and if it was to anyone other than my boss, I'd have laughed.

"Tattletale!" Theo accused, but he was snickering.

Mr. Vincent looked me over, the corner of his mouth quirking in a grin, and I swallowed hard. It was known throughout the WBIS that if Mark Vincent smiled, it wasn't a good sign.

But he just turned those laser eyes on Theo and crooked an eyebrow. Theo didn't seem fazed in the least, and I had to wonder if he was very brave or very stupid. Or maybe he was just confident in his friendship with Mr. Vincent.

"I only dented his suit a _little_ , Vince." Theo's nimble fingers worked over the front of my suit jacket, and I realized with embarrassment that I'd buttoned it wrong. Was that what Mr. Vincent had found amusing?

I didn't think I wanted to know.

"Oh, my God, there's more of them!"

What the—? I'd noticed the old man in the bed by the door, but he seemed to be minding his own business, so I'd ignored him. Apparently I'd been too quick in doing so.

"Sir?" I had my jacket open and my hand on the butt of my gun.

Mr. Vincent looked annoyed but shook his head.

I took my hand off my gun but didn't relax.

"Nurse! Nurse! Mama!" The man was becoming panic-stricken.

A nurse came in with a wheelchair. "Let's go for a ride, Mr. Barnes." She blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs and sent Mr. Vincent an apologetic glance.

"I won't stay in that room! Do you have any idea who I am? My senator will hear about this! I won't be—"

She murmured soothingly to him, and what he "wouldn't be" was lost as she got him out of the room and I closed the door on them.

"Homophobic shit." Mr. Vincent dismissed him and turned back to us. "Okay, pay attention. I've got to go—"

I reminded him he'd agreed I could attend the autopsy, and he reminded me that if I threw up during the autopsy he'd see I was docked for conduct unbecoming.

I didn't care. Theo had kissed me.

And when Mr. Vincent left, Theo's eyes dropped down to my mouth, and I had the feeling he was thinking about kissing me again. I felt almost giddy. No one had ever made it so obvious he...or she...wanted to kiss me.

I ran my tongue over my lips and started to lean toward him, then forced myself to stop. Pretty Boy had lapsed into a drug-induced doze, but was the other rent boy watching?

I straightened, tugged my jacket into place, and asked casually, "Are you ready to go?"

Spike leaned over and kissed the sleeping figure gently on the mouth. "I love you, Paul," he said quietly. "I'll be back tomorrow as soon as visiting hours start." Then he turned to me and nodded. "We can go now."

We went down to the parking pavilion, and I studied the dimly lit expanse, keeping my hands loose. No matter how safe an area might be, there was always the possibility of some druggie nutzoid jumping out with the intention of scoring cash for his next hit.

There was no one around, but I stayed alert as I unlocked my car with the remote.

"Shotgun!" Theo sang out, and I shook my head, grinning. I didn't have to worry about coming across as besotted. My expression was hidden by the darkness of the garage.

I got behind the wheel, and Theo slid in beside me, his hand splayed out on the seat, almost inviting me to touch.

I didn't, of course. My Dad had taught me to always keep both hands on the wheel.

And there was Spike in the back seat. Through the rearview mirror I could see him fussing with his seatbelt, adjusting and readjusting it, glancing out the window, and finally staring pointedly back into the mirror.

"Are we going?"

"Yeah." I turned on the ignition and put the Dodge in gear.

* * * *

# Chapter 3

Theo gave me the directions, and within twenty minutes we were in front of what looked like an antebellum mansion. If I'd passed it in the normal course of the day, I'd have taken it for a museum.

"This is where you live?" I blinked at what I could make out of it. The street lights didn't reveal much, beyond the fact that it was _big_.

"Yeah. Oh, not the whole house. We're up on three."

Spike made a noise that sounded like a snort, and Theo reached over the seat and swatted him, then smiled at me.

He made no effort to get out.

Did I invite myself in? Did I wait for him to invite me in?

The stalemate was finally broken by Spike. "I'm going to bed," he mumbled. "You two can do what you want." He slammed the car door behind him and climbed the steps to the outer door.

"Do you want to come up?" Theo finally asked me.

My mouth went dry. Okay, crunch time. "I'd like that. But..." I had that autopsy in the morning, and never did I regret more having something work-related come between what I wanted to do and what I had to do. "I can't. I can't stay."

"I can set the alarm. I'll even make you breakfast." Was it wishful thinking on my part, or did he really seem to be clutching at straws to get me to spend the night?

I turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. Theo was already waiting on the sidewalk. I didn't have much cash on me, and I wondered how much this was going to cost me. Did he take Visa or MasterCard? Or would an IOU suffice?

I wasn't going to let anything stop me, though; I'd get a second job, wash dishes if I had to.

He laced his fingers through mine and tugged me along after him, and I followed him like Mary's lamb.

The apartment was gorgeous—not that I had the chance to study it. We went straight through to his bedroom.

He began stripping, and believe me, I studied that. His pecs, his nipples erect and each sporting a tiny barbell, the smooth expanse of his upper torso, his nicely defined abs.

I swallowed to keep from drooling.

"You're...you're wearing shorts. Your jeans were so tight...I wondered..." I was babbling, but I couldn't seem to stop. I licked my lips and reached for my tie. I didn't want him to be the only naked—well, near-naked—person in the room.

"I don't usually go commando unless I'm working." He slid his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and eased them down over his hips, then sauntered over to me, so close I could breathe in the warm scent of him.

In spite of my arousal, I was careful removing my weapon. I wrapped it in its holster and set it aside.

Theo didn't ask about it, to my everlasting relief. I still wasn't sure how I could explain it.

I began unbuttoning my shirt, fumbling as I tried to get buttons through buttonholes.

When had I become so butter-fingered?

A slow smile curled Theo's lips. It wasn't cruel or triumphant, the way Michael's could sometimes be. It was like he was pleased.

"Let me," he whispered, and brushed my hands away. The buttons came free like magic, my shirt and undershirt were gone, and his nimble fingers began working on my fly.

Somehow, before I knew it, we were both naked.

The shyness gene I hadn't known I had kicked in, and I started to cover myself. He looked so good, and I...I was just me.

"No" He stopped me. "Let me see." His eyes were fastened on the area below my waist, and I held my breath.

I made my hands stay at my side, but when he reached for my cock, "No." I forgot everything but the fact I had to stop him.

"Problem, tough guy?" He scowled at me.

"If you..." I felt like an idiot, and I clenched my fingers into fists to keep from reaching for him. "...if you touch me, I don't think I'll be able to hold on."

"No?" For some reason he looked as if I'd given him the world's best present. Well, I guessed it would make any guy feel good to know a single touch would cause his partner to blow his wad.

"All right." He tugged gently at my earlobe. "We can go exploring later."

Later? I was a realist; Theo was a professional who could have anyone he wanted. I wouldn't let myself think of all the partners he'd brought pleasure to with his educated fingers, but—there was going to be a later? I kept myself from doing a fist pump, but just barely.

Jesus, how old was I? I gave him my best rakish grin instead. Right now he wanted me, and I was going to take that and run with it.

He grinned back at me and found a condom. "Hold still and I'll just roll this on you."

My cock twitched. This was a chance for me to have something it was unlikely I'd ever have the chance to ask for again.

"Will you...Will you fuck me?"

My request seemed to surprise him. "You don't want to fuck me?"

"Well, yes, I'd like to try that too." And hopefully I wouldn't screw that up too badly. I'd made love to a few girls, and it was okay, but something had always seemed to be missing with penetration. Oral sex, on the other hand, had been better. Maybe it would be better if I went down on him instead. I just didn't want to blow it with him. "But right now, I want this."

"You trust me not to hurt you?" The expression on his face—Hadn't anyone ever asked for that from him before?

"Of the two of us, I think you're the one who knows the most about the mechanics of this thing."

"I know the most...?" He looked as if I'd pointed my Glock at him and told him I was going to blow his nuts off. "Fucking hell, you're a virgin?"

"I didn't say that."

"Have you ever been fucked up the ass?"

Jesus, could he be any more blunt? "No." I'd never been touched there, other than by my doctor for a prostate exam, which I'd first had a few years before, and I didn't think that counted. Come to think of it, I was due soon.

And why was I thinking of something so stupid?

"Then you're a virgin, Wills!"

"Look, if this is a problem...if you'd rather not..." Michael had always said that having a virgin was not only a lot of work—you had to teach them what you liked—but it was like making some kind of commitment, that the chick would then assume he actually cared about her and saw a future with her.

Was Theo worried I would react that way? I was mortified.

"Shit, this was not a good idea. Where're my clothes?"

"Oh, no, tough guy! I've been fantasizing about having sex with you since you walked into the emergency room behind Vince..." He had? Really? I'd always been the one who'd taken the lead, who said the pretty words, and I shivered and grew harder. To not have to do anything..."...and you in my ass is only slightly better than me in your ass. Get on the bed, baby. We're gonna rock and roll!"

_Yes_! I'd done some reading, and I knew being on my hands and knees would be the most comfortable position this first time. I didn't care so much about me...No, of course I did, but what I really wanted was to make sure Theo liked it so much he'd want to do me again.

It was only as I settled on Theo's bed that I remembered the scars that covered my body. The one on my ass wasn't too bad, and I didn't think he'd notice the one on my calf—his eyes should be further up my body—but the one on my back...

Theo tucked a pillow under me. Maybe he hadn't noticed?

I didn't want him to see my back. My family didn't care about the long scar that curved from my shoulder blade to above my kidney—all that mattered to them was I'd survived—but it had skeeved more than one potential sex partner.

It would have been nice if Michael had fingered the one on my butt the way Theo was—I'd discovered by accident that it almost seemed to be hotwired to my cock—but he never had, not even when he'd had a few too many and decided it would be a good time to fool around.

I held myself tensely, waiting for Theo to gasp, to gag, to draw back with a sound of disgust.

For what seemed like the longest time, he didn't do anything.

"Theo?"

"I'm here, baby."

Baby. No guy had ever called me that. I...liked it.

But his "being here" and his actually doing something were two different things. When was he going to—

I jumped when his fingertips traced the line of the long scar. Then his lips followed it. But he didn't ask about it, and I almost sagged in relief.

"You don't have to—" Unlike the scar on my butt, the nerve-endings here seemed to have been destroyed. I could feel the light pressure, but beyond that...

"Shhh." He nipped the curve of my ass, and my cock became even harder. I braced my weight on one hand and shoved the heel of my other hand into my mouth to stifle a groan. And then he stroked his lubed finger across my hole, and the groan escaped, a sound like nothing I'd ever uttered before.

_Shit_! Michael always hated when I made any kind of sound—he'd snap at me to be quiet often enough, afraid our frat brothers would hear—and in spite of myself I tensed even more, waiting for Theo's annoyed reaction.

Theo seemed too busy with my body to berate me for the noise I'd made. He didn't push his finger in, but he didn't take it away either. "You okay?" he asked in a husky whisper as he kept rubbing around and over the muscle, gradually loosening it.

"Ye-yeah." I couldn't believe he was overlooking what I'd done.

"It's okay." Theo stretched up and ran his lips repeatedly along the side of my neck, petting my torso with his free hand the whole while. "Relax."

He slid his finger into me, and I began shaking so hard I wasn't sure I'd be able to stay on my hands and knees. He drew his finger out, then pushed it back in and curled it, and this time he hit my prostate. I liked how that felt, and I began thrusting back against him.

"That's it." Somehow he'd gotten a second finger in me, and then a third, and I breathed through the burn.

But it felt so good, being stretched, filled. What would it feel like when he replaced his fingers with his cock?

As if hearing my thoughts, he licked a shoulder blade and said, "Okay, baby, here we go."

I knew Michael used to call his latest girlfriend that whenever he couldn't be bothered remembering the girl's name. And Theo probably had had so many men, men who were more experienced than me...It made sense he'd use a generic pet name.

But I didn't have to like it, and I didn't have to accept it.

"Say my name." I tried to keep my voice firm. I didn't want him to know how close I was to begging him to let me know I was more to him than a random fuck, a...a one-night stand.

"What?"

"I'm letting you fuck me. I know you'll be good—this is what you do for a living. But I need to know _you_ know whose ass you're in."

For a minute he didn't say anything, but before I could kick myself for ruining this—what guy wanted reality dragged into it when he was having sex? At least that was what Michael had always told me when he tried to explain why he was breaking up with another girl.

"How could I not know?" Theo whispered. "Wills."

He brushed the hair away from the back of my neck and dropped a kiss there, distracting me for a second.

"Wills," he said again. He licked the side of my neck, and I this time I gave a full body shudder.

I could feel the blunt head of his cock at my hole, and I shivered. Okay, this was it. I concentrated on staying relaxed.

"Wills." He kept one hand on my hip while the other explored my torso. A fingertip dipped into my navel, and then he curled a hand around my cock. His thumb brushed back and forth over the crown, smearing it with precome. His fingers danced down the length of my shaft, brushed through the hair that covered my balls, and rubbed the spot where his cock was about to enter me.

I thought I'd go up in flames, and I couldn't wait. I backed onto him, and he slid in.

His being inside me felt weird. No, not weird, just—I didn't know how to describe it. The sensation of fullness was a little uncomfortable, a little disconcerting.

And then he nailed my prostate and lit up my world. I saw stars and fireworks, and as corny as it might sound, I swear to God I heard the Halleluiah Chorus.

* * * *

By the time Theo was done with me, I was completely wrung out. I could feel the slight stings from where he'd left love bites all over my back, shoulders, and neck and my ass felt well and truly taken.

I was enjoying the afterglow when I remembered all the sounds I'd made. "Was I too..." God, Michael _hated_ it when I did that! "...too noisy?"

"Never, Wills!"

I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. I'd have better control the next time.

He dropped a kiss on the back of my neck and started to get up.

I rolled over and reached for him. "Don't go!"

"I'll be right back."

I must have nodded off for a second, because the next thing I knew he was wiping me down with a damp washcloth. "Feels nice," I murmured. "Set the alarm for 6, will you? And come to bed. I've got to get some sleep."

I froze. I'd never invited myself to stay overnight with anyone. Why had I done that now? How was Theo going to react to such a blatant assumption on my part that I was welcome?

"Goodnight, Wills." He spooned up behind me, the warmth of his body along every inch of my back. "Pleasant dreams."

* * * *

# Chapter 4

Theo was in the kitchen, putting together some kind of breakfast for me, and I was in the bathroom, taking a quick shower. I didn't like the idea of putting on the clothes I'd worn the day before, but I didn't know Theo well enough to ask him to loan me a shirt.

Oh well, I didn't have time to worry about it. I'd just use an extra dollop of his body wash and suck it up.

I needed to leave soon—I had that autopsy at the District morgue to view. I'd seen some dead bodies, but I'd never seen one cut up, not professionally at least.

I'd made my first kill a few months after that car accident I'd supposedly been in—car accident my ass. It had been a training exercise, Mr. Adams' idea. I'd ducked; I just hadn't ducked in time.

I dried off and went into the kitchen. I didn't want to think of that now, not when Theo was standing there in sleep pants that hugged his hips and ass, not after having spent the most awesome night with him. He'd only fucked me once, because he'd said I'd be too sore in the morning. I'd always been the one who looked after my partner, and to have someone looking after me...

And he didn't care a fuck how loud I was, even seemed to encourage me.

The only thing that would have made it better was if he'd let me blow him.

He handed me a cup of coffee, distracting me.

"Thanks."

"And take these saltines with you. They should settle your stomach if it gets queasy."

"And you'd know this how?" I hadn't expected anything like that. I thought it was...sweet that he'd be concerned. "Theo?"

He'd been smiling, but for a second his expression froze. I took a step toward him, and he shook his head, his smile relaxed once more.

"I just don't want you getting docked. I'm easy, but I'm not cheap!"

That brought me down to earth, with a thud, and I lost my appetite. "Speaking of which, how much do I owe you?" I finished the coffee, crossed to the sink and put the cup on the drain.

"Well, now, you see, I don't rightly see how I can charge you, when I was the one who fucked you."

I felt myself turn red. "Just out of curiosity, what do you usually get?"

"Five hundred a night. I don't do hourly rates any more."

"Five—" I felt as if a ton of bricks had been dropped on me. "Jesus!" I made a decent salary, but how was I going to afford that?

"Don't worry about it. Last night was on me."

"Well, thanks. But what about other nights?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'd like to see you again—"

"Oh, yes?" His eyes were wide, and he looked more like the seventeen-year old I'd mistaken him for the night before. "I mean..." He cleared his throat. "Uh...sure. That would be nice. Here."

"What's this?" I stared at the paper he shoved at me.

"Directions to the morgue from here."

"Thanks." I didn't tell him the Dodge came with GPS. I pretended to scan the paper, then something caught my eye. At the bottom was a string of numbers. His phone number? I could have found it for myself with very little trouble, but how cool was that? He really did want to see me again.

I memorized it and set the paper down on the table.

"Look. I've got to go." I shrugged into my overcoat, put the saltines in my pocket, and fished for my car keys. "We'll set something up. Dinner, maybe."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" He rubbed the back of my neck, hummed against my lips, and I groaned. If it was anyone but Mr. Vincent...

"I'll call you!" A glance at my watch showed me that if I didn't get a move on like _now_ , I'd need the god who looked after agents making sure I hit every single green light from here to the morgue.

I kissed Theo once more, then wanted to kiss him again, but I knew if I did I'd never make it to the morgue on time. I ran down the stairs and out to my car.

* * * *

# Chapter 5

The autopsy wasn't bad. At least I didn't disgrace myself by throwing up. Not that I'd expected to. This was nothing compared to shooting a man in the face at point blank range and watching his skull disintegrate as his face come out of the back of his head.

Mr. Vincent called it short when he received a message from headquarters. He spoke to Mr. Wallace, spoke to his secretary, Ms. Parker, then turned to speak to me.

"Matheson, I have a job for you."

"Yes, sir."

"Let's go take a ride."

We went out to the parking lot and got in his car, the same make and model as mine but a newer year. Once we were on the road, he started talking.

"If I recall correctly, you lived in Cambridge for a time, so you're familiar with the Boston area."

"Yes, sir."

"Someone in Huntingdon's Boston HQ is screwing with the computer programs, most especially for accounting. That one was supposed to contain a simple debugging program, but instead of running a scan and making any corrections automatically, it's exponentially increasing the errors."

"Not good." And whether the guy doing the screwing was a freelance or from one of the many alphabet agencies that littered DC made no difference. A good portion of our funding came to us through Huntingdon. It was a deep, dark secret that Huntingdon fronted for the WBIS; as such we couldn't let anyone or anything take advantage of it.

"No. It's actually increasing the problems to the point the entire office is pretty much at a standstill."

"What do you want me to do, sir?"

"Fix it. Whithers is your contact. You'll meet him on the concourse. He'll have the identification papers you need to claim your ticket and get you onboard with the pistol he'll give you."

Shit. I hated this kind of job. When he'd first mentioned computers I'd thought—

Never mind. This was my job.

The pistol would be cold; with all its serial numbers filed off, it would be untraceable.

"I know the building, Mr. Vincent, and it shouldn't take me long to get there from Logan. How far do you want me to go?"

"I want him taken out with extreme prejudice."

"Yes, sir. Do you want any messages left on the body, sir?"

"I believe I'll leave that up to you."

I reached for the door handle.

"Just one thing, Matheson. Don't get caught."

"No, sir." I expected him to drive off, but he didn't. Was this some kind of test? Well, whether it was or not, I had a job to do.

I went into the terminal and began looking for a man who'd look like the last thing the average person would expect to see as an agent.

* * * *

# Chapter 6

I had a seat by the emergency exit. The extra space gave me room to stretch out my legs, which I needed, since I must have pulled a muscle in my thigh the night before I crossed my feet at the ankles and rested my head against the back of my seat. The flight attendants would be coming around soon with the beverage service. Even if it hadn't been barely midmorning, I would have restricted myself to a tomato juice on the rocks. Once in Boston, I'd need a clear head to accomplish the first mission my superior had assigned me as a special agent, and I had no intention of blowing it.

Blowing it...That brought to mind the talented rent boy who had fucked me into the mattress the night before. I smiled, remembering how much I'd enjoyed it.

I'd have to call him when I got this business at the Corporation's New England headquarters squared away. Maybe we could have dinner when I got back to the Capital.

Maybe we could do more than that.

The night before had been everything I'd hoped—had been even more. Michael had always demanded silence when we had sex, no matter where we were, whether it was his beat up old car, against the wall in the alley outside our favorite bar, or in our rooms at the Alpha Omega Chi frat house. Although we didn't do it often, it was a lesson that stayed with me.

But Theo seemed to relish the sounds I made. He had pushed me so high that I hadn't been able to contain the groans, and gasps, and whimpers of pleasure. He'd stroked my cock and fucked my ass, and I'd come apart under him, biting the pillow in a futile attempt to muffle the sounds.

I had no doubt that if it weren't for the fact my ass would have been grass if I'd missed that morning's appointment with Mr. Vincent at the morgue, Theo would have flipped me over onto my back and run his tongue up and down my dick before deep-throating me. Again.

I shifted, this time to ease the constriction of my trousers.

The flight attendant interrupted my reverie when he brought my tomato juice and a package of animal crackers. Reluctantly I set aside all thoughts of Theo.

I began getting myself into the proper frame of mind to deal with the problem in Boston. Once that was done, it would just be a matter of formatting a plan

* * * *

The flight was only an hour and twenty minutes, and the attendants had no sooner gone through the cabin collecting plastic cups and wrappers than the pilot announced we'd be landing at Logan shortly.

Once we touched down, it was simply a matter of hailing a cab and giving him the address.

Near Boston Common was a very large, very old building. The New England headquarters of the Huntingdon Corporation were not housed there, although that was where I directed the driver. I paid the fare, gave him the correct tip so I wouldn't be remembered for having tipped too little or too much, and casually crossed the street and entered the building.

I found an empty men's room and went into a handicapped stall. After I took a piss and washed my hands, I put on a pair of black-framed glasses which would slightly alter my appearance, then opened the briefcase Whithers had given me. To avoid the possibility of leaving fingerprints behind, in case some over-zealous cop arrived on the scene before it had been gone over by in-house security, I put on a pair of latex gloves. I screwed the silencer onto the barrel of the gun, loaded it, and slid it into my pocket.

The briefcase was so ubiquitous I would have stood out without it, so rather than burying it at the bottom of the trash receptacle, I took it with me.

With that done, I made my way to an exit on the north side of the building, then continued north on Charles Street. I'd worked at Headquarters for about eight months before the powers that be decided I was suitable for the big leagues, and I made the transfer to Washington. But while I was there, I'd learned all the ins and outs, plus the idiosyncrasies of the security guards.

I glanced at my watch. If things hadn't changed, the guard at this particular entrance would be taking his lunch break in about six minutes. He tended to be an impatient man, and if his relief didn't show up on time, he headed for the cafeteria anyway.

It went like clockwork, and once inside, it was easy to blend with every other working stiff. I looked at the elevators, then at the door to the stairwell beside them, and almost whimpered.

I could just picture myself climbing those stairs to the seventy-first floor, where IT had its offices, and I straightened my shoulders and took the first elevator that arrived.

Funny thing about elevators. Everyone stood facing the front, and nobody met anybody's eyes. I stood at the back of the car and watched everyone staring at the floor numbers that flashed by.

When the doors opened on sixty-nine, there were only a few other people still on. They got out with me but hurried off in different directions. I found the stairwell and jogged up the remaining two flights, then headed down the hall to a small office with John Jones stenciled on it. Most of the geeks just had cubicles, so this guy had to be pretty high up the food chain. It also explained how he could install the program without being hassled.

I didn't knock, just turned the knob to let myself in.

The geek at the computer was hunched over the keyboard. He jerked nervously at the sound of the door closing, and his head shot up. He didn't look more than twenty, although he was probably closer to my age. His skin had a sallow caste and was pocked with acne scars, and his puffy eyes were magnified behind coke bottle glasses.

"Can I—" His voice broke in a squeak as I twisted the lock, and he swallowed noisily and cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

I rested a hip against his desk. "I dunno. Can you?"

He licked his lips. "Uh...I don't think you're supposed to be in here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Are you?" I shrugged as I took another pair of latex gloves from my pocket and pulled them on. "No problem. I do have a question for you, though. How much are you being paid to sabotage the Corporation's computers? I'm sure selling out your employer in today's market is worth more than thirty pieces of silver."

"What? I don't know...That's a...Fuck you, man." He reached for his phone, to call security, I supposed, but it was too late for him.

"Uh uh uh," I chided as I rested my hand on the receiver. The movement revealed the Glock in its shoulder holster.

"Wait!" He jerked his hand away. "Don't do anything you're going to regret!"

"I never do. You're the one with the problem."

"What are you talking about? I haven't done—" His eyes were on the Glock, and he never saw me reach for the cold pistol.

"You didn't really think you'd get away with this, did you?"

"Away with what? I haven't done anything!"

"Haven't you?" I had the pistol out and pressed hard under his chin, forcing his head back.

"No! Please, no! I'll tell you everything!" His eyes were wild with panic.

"Yeah?" I eased the pistol back. "Start talking then."

He spilled his guts, naming names with abandon.

"Interesting. But how do I know you're telling the truth?" Especially since one of the men he named was lying on a slab in the DC morgue.

"Proof! I've got proof!" My bored look told him I wasn't buying it. "There's a concealed space in the lower drawer of my filing cabinet."

"Access it."

He did, shaking so hard he dropped the papers a couple of times before thrusting them at me.

I glanced through them. They looked legitimate, and I tucked them into the briefcase.

"All right, sit down."

"You—you're going to leave now, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I have one more thing to do." The geek was a leftie. I forced his hand to hold the grip beneath mine and began to tighten our fingers on the trigger.

"No! Please, no! I've told you everything!"

Mr. Vincent hadn't said anything about making him sweat, so I squeezed the trigger. There was a muffled 'pop'. The top of his head exploded, and brain matter splattered all over the wall behind him. I let his hand fall, dropping the gun. An autopsy would pick up the grains of powder imbedded in his skin. I picked up his right hand, extended his forefinger and began to tap out a message on his keyboard, watching as it appeared on the monitor.

When I was finished, I regarded it thoughtfully. _I've betrayed those who trusted me, and I can't live with myself anymore. I'm sorry._ Yes, that should convince any outside authorities who might be called upon to look into this that it was simply a suicide. If it didn't...Well, the Boston office would have to deal with it, unless Mr. Vincent ordered otherwise.

A sheet of paper was under the desk. Had the geek really been stupid enough to think I wouldn't have noticed?

I put it in the briefcase, along with the used gloves, then checked my suit to make sure there were no stains on it, although I didn't think that was likely with the angle of the pistol aiming away from me.

I unlocked the door and walked out of the little office, found the nearest staircase and went down three flights before exiting to take an elevator the rest of the way down. It never hurt to cover as many bases as possible, although I was certain no one had really _seen_ me.

As I reversed my path and went south on Charles Street, I checked my watch. I had a couple of hours before my flight was scheduled to leave.

Although Theo had ironed my suit while I'd been in the shower, the shirt I was wearing was less than fresh. I'd need to start keeping a spare one in my office. Mr. Vincent did that, but my promotion had been so recent I hadn't been able to take a page from his book just yet.

It would have been...intimate...to borrow one of Theo's shirts after I'd showered, but even though we'd had sex, we'd only just met, and I didn't want to appear as if I expected more than I had a right to.

There was a little shop where Charles intersected Mt. Vernon Street. I should have enough cash to buy a shirt there; I didn't want to use my credit card and leave a paper trail.

* * * *

Back on Boston Common, I removed the glasses and caught a cab to Logan. It would still be early by the time the jet landed in Washington.

I'd call Theo. If he didn't have anything planned, I'd take him out to dinner tonight.

And maybe—if I spent the night with him—I wouldn't have nightmares.

* * * *

What an absolutely amazing night. I sat at the breakfast table, my socked feet up on the other chair, and watched as Theo poured batter into the waffle iron.

I'd been right. No nightmares, but a whole lot of sex.

The coffee he had brewed was hazelnut, freshly ground from beans he told me he'd bought from the Koffee Klatch. I took a sip and slid lower in my chair. There was a pleasurable ache deep in my ass, and my cock was half hard. "You're a wonder, Theo."

He smiled at me over his shoulder and put a small pitcher of syrup into the microwave to warm. "Why? Because I like to cook?"

Because he was doing this for me, but I didn't say that, just returned his smile and took another sip.

"I'm glad Vince changed the time of your meeting."

I went very still. "I said nothing about who I have to meet."

"No, but I've heard the way you address him. It had to be Vince."

I didn't respond to that aloud, but wondered if Mr. Vincent had ever considered recruiting the rent boy to the WBIS. Theo was nothing if not on the ball.

Mr. Vincent had called the night before, managing to catch us just after we'd returned to Theo's apartment after a quiet dinner in a family-style restaurant. It had been too late in the day to make reservations for a fancy restaurant, so I'd thought we'd go to Ruby Tuesday, or someplace like that, which was just as well. I'd thought I'd have plenty of time to write up my report, get home to shower and change, and get to Theo's place, but first the flight was held up because one of the passengers had a panic attack and tore out of the jet as if the hounds of hell were after her. We'd had to wait while her luggage was found and taken out of the cargo hold. Then, after we'd landed in Philadelphia, the pilot of the connecting flight refused to take the jet up because he wasn't happy with some mechanical aspect of it. There were no other flights available, and so we were bused to DC.

By the time I arrived at Theo's apartment I was forty-five minutes late and any reservations we'd had would have been lost.

Theo forgave me for keeping him waiting. I smiled to myself. Oh, _boy_ , had he forgiven me!

We'd returned to his place after dinner, and he'd let me crowd him against a wall in the foyer. His thigh was high between my legs, and I'd ridden it hard, rubbing my cock against it. I'd wanted this since he'd opened his door to let me in and I'd seen the way he was dressed.

Or maybe it was just him in those clothes. The preppy-look had never done anything for me before.

I'd imprisoned his hands by his head and was frantically biting at his mouth, almost on the verge of climaxing, when my cell phone rang.

I didn't even think of not answering; it was the ringtone reserved solely for the WBIS. "Matheson," I panted.

"Vincent." Fuck. "My office, tomorrow morning." Fuck, fuck, and more fuck!

"Tomorrow is Saturday, sir." If my mind hadn't been so fogged with lust, I never would have made such an obvious statement.

"Yeah. What's your point?"

"No point, sir. Eight o'clock?" If he was calling at this time of night, it stood to reason he'd want an early meeting.

"Ah, Wills, _no_! I was gonna make you breakfast..." Theo was behind me, tugging my jacket off my shoulders, nipping at my throat. His palms were warm as he slid up and down my chest, and he began to unbutton my shirt.

"I'm sorry, Theo." I covered the receiver. " _Stop_ that! You want to get my ass..." I managed to swallow a groan.

"Yeah, tough guy. I _want_ your ass." He went back to sucking the skin on the side of my neck.

"Matheson." My superior sounded impatient. Oh, Jesus, had he heard me? What was I thinking of? He was Mark Vincent. Of course he had heard me. "Make it ten." He hung up, and I barely had time to shut my phone. I locked my knees, but it was touch and go as to whether I would remain standing when Theo unzipped my trousers, and had my cock out of my shorts and in his mouth.

The phone fell out of my hand. Fortunately there was the wall behind me, and it kept me upright. This was too new, too special, and I knew I was going to come too soon. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I loved the intensity of the orgasm Theo had given me; it was the best sex I'd ever had, and I wanted what Theo was making me feel.

But I was too close to coming, and I didn't want to come yet. I began trying to extract the square root of some random number.

Abruptly, Theo pulled his mouth off my cock. Breathless, I stared down at him as he knelt before me, his lips slightly swollen, my cock glistening with precome and spit, and I moaned.

"Wills," he growled, "what the fuck are you doing?"

"I...I was figuring out the square root of...of a number."

"Why the fuck _why_?" He looked hurt.

"Didn't...didn't want to...to come too fast."

His eyes glittered. "What number, Wills?"

"Four...four hundred seventy-four."

His grin was rapacious. "Twenty-one point seventy-five. And change." Theo swooped down and swallowed my cock to the root. At the same time he reached past my balls to press against my anus, and I began coming so hard I almost passed out.

"Fuck, Theo!" I groaned as I slid to the floor. " _Fuck_!"

"Yeah, tough guy! You'd better believe I'm going to!"

* * * *

# Chapter 7

It was time for me to leave. Before I could open the door, Theo pulled me to him for a brief kiss. "Come back to my place tonight?"

I nodded, wanting nothing more than to deepen the kiss, but knowing if I did I'd be tempted to let him drag me back to bed.

He stroked my hair. "Go on to work."

I walked out the door and practically danced down the stairs, then jogged the six blocks to where I'd had to park my car.

It was ten on the dot when I tapped at the door to Mr. Vincent's office.

"Come in."

I looked to see if he wanted it closed behind me. At his nod, I shut it and crossed to stand before his desk. His eyes were cool as he waved me toward a chair, then went back to his monitor. I sat, flinching a bit, then forced myself to sit still. I waited for him to tell me why he had called me in on this Saturday morning, and took the opportunity to examine him unobserved.

He was dressed more casually than I had ever seen him, in slacks and an open-necked Henley. Just to the side of his Adam's apple was a bruise. It took me a second to realize it was a love bite. I coughed lightly, forcing my eyes off that spot, my fingers wandering to an identical mark on my neck. Mr. Vincent having a life outside the WBIS? What a concept.

"All right, Matheson," Mr. Vincent started. I jumped, and he frowned.

"Sorry, sir." I braced myself for a dressing down, and was shocked when he waved my distraction aside. The new deputy director of interior affairs was known to have little patience for inattention. If he was willing to overlook my bemusement, he must be feeling decidedly mellow. Determinedly, I did not think of what could have made him so mellow.

"How was your trip to Boston?"

"Uneventful, sir." Hadn't he read my report? "I met with the hacker, and he's been taken out of the equation."

Mr. Vincent stared at me, his expression anything but pleased. "Are you deliberately being coy with me?"

I felt myself go pale. I shook my head and kept my mouth shut. I didn't know how I had fucked up.

"Who's your trainer, Matheson?"

What? Was this some kind of test? "You, sir."

For a second I thought he was going to snarl at me. However, when he spoke, his voice was contained. "Who _was_ your trainer?"

"Mr. Adams, sir."

"Adams? James 'Bond' Adams?"

I moistened my lips. "Yes, sir." Mr. Adams had always insisted we couch our responses ambiguously, and I knew that some of the other, more senior agents, had mocked him behind his back, hence the nickname, James Bond.

Mr. Vincent ran an impatient hand through his hair, and my gut tightened. I wondered if he was about to tell me I had blown my first mission, that I didn't have the stuff to follow in his footsteps. "Matheson." If I expected him to criticize my former mentor, I was wrong. Mark Vincent had never been part of the group that had done that. Come to think of it, he didn't belong to any of the factions that tended to second-guess the activities of other agents. "We're in WBIS headquarters. If there's a safer place to speak plainly, I don't know of it. Now tell me in words of one syllable: is the geek dead?"

"Yes, sir. I blew out the back of his head. I also left a suicide message on his monitor."

"That was a nice touch." Mr. Vincent's eyes glinted with satisfaction. "More importantly, the authorities bought it. You did a good job." I tried not to let him see how relieved I was. He turned to his monitor, moved his mouse and hit a key. "I have another job for you." He got to his feet and crossed to where his printer was hissing quietly as the features of a young woman were gradually revealed. "This is Diane Coyne. She's an intern on Senator Franklin's staff."

"I've...uh..." For a second I thought I would toss my cookies as the autopsy hadn't made me. "I've never canceled a woman, sir."

"You won't be now. This is a simple tail."

"Yes, sir." I tried to hide how relieved I felt.

He took the paper from the tray and handed it to me. I examined it carefully. She was in her early twenties and looked almost anorexic. Her hair was a brown streaked with blonde, in an effort to duplicate the sun's effects on it, and her eyes were a pale blue. She wore large-framed glasses that seemed to dwarf her features. The lavender-tinted lenses did nothing for her complexion, and in fact made her appear sickly.

"I want to be kept aware of her activities until she boards a jet bound for home. Senator Franklin is having someone in his office work on getting her out of the Capital before the beginning of the week. And I want to know if she meets with Daren Curtin."

"Daren Curtin, sir?" The name didn't mean anything to me.

"He's one of the ones who're behind this plot to make the WBIS lose our funding. Howard's keeping an eye on him. Okay, now I've already sent her file with all the pertinent information to your computer."

"Yes, sir."

"I just want you to watch her. She is not to be erased." He waited until I nodded agreement. "Very well. You have my cell phone number." He dismissed me, and I went to my own office. I peeled off my suit jacket and draped it over the back of my chair, then logged on to my computer and downloaded the attachment that contained all the background data on Senator Franklin's intern. I'd add it to the folder that held information about the rest of his staff later.

Meanwhile, I scrolled through her profile. Diane Coyne, age twenty-two. Graduated the preceding May from Bryn Mawr with a double major in creative writing and classical and Near Eastern archeology. My jaw dropped when I read that. Wouldn't economics, or maybe political science, have been more germane to a career in the public sector? A notation indicated that her father, Alvin Coyne, was a close, personal friend of Senator Franklin.

Ah. Got it. That was why she had been given the position of junior intern. And that was why Mr. Vincent didn't want her to simply vanish.

I scrolled further down. She had dated a Korean her freshman year, a Native American when she was a sophomore, a Greek...Hmm, a Greek? Now that was interesting. I wondered what he had taught her. Obviously, she hadn't thought much of it. Her senior year she had dated a _woman_.

According to a recent addition to her dossier, she had been seeing a computer analyst since the beginning of the year. Was that what they called it these days? I gazed at the photo that had been scanned into her file and felt a jolt. The name was the one Mr. Vincent had mentioned, but the face—I had seen him once, when Michael had invited me to join him and his coterie of friends for a night out on the town. Michael had hinted if I sucked the guy's cock, it might give a boost to my career. I concealed how his words hurt, eyed the man, then turned to my friend, my lip curled in distaste.

"I don't think so."

"Suit yourself." He'd shrugged and left me standing there. I shook my head and went home.

What the fuck had Michael been involved in? I buzzed straight through to Mr. Vincent's office.

"Yeah?" his voice growled in my ear.

"Sir, this Daren Curtin. I've seen him before. Michael knew him. Michael Shaw. I don't know how friendly they were; that was around Super Bowl time in January." The last thing I'd admit was Michael trying to hook me up with the man.

"You've confirmed the connection. Nice work, Matheson."

"Thank you, sir. He didn't see me, there were too many people milling around at the time. The only reason why I noticed him was because of the jacket he wore. It was for the New England Patriots." The Rams had been heavily favored, and everyone else was wearing stuff with the St. Louis logo.

" _Very_ nice work." He hung up.

I grinned stupidly, prouder than if I had won the lottery. It soothed the pain of the memory of what Michael had tried to do—had done to us. I went back to work. I had no doubt Mr. Vincent would deal with Daren Curtin. Meanwhile, _I_ had to deal with his girlfriend.

It seemed she was a creature of habit. Every Saturday she went shopping, at either The Shops at Georgetown Park, Union Station Store, or the Eastern Market, three of the most upscale malls in the DC area. She'd be going to Union Station today.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost eleven. Although the stores opened at ten, she liked to make a late start and spend the entire day there. I took out my PDA and keyed in her address. She was sharing an apartment with two other girls who interned for...Senator Wexler. _Very_ interesting. The Senator was also on the appropriations committee. I took a couple of minutes to upload their information into my PDA and then shut down my computer.

I'd have just enough time to make it home, shower, and change into casual clothing before finding a parking spot near her apartment complex. She'd be taking the Metrorail. Her file indicated she used the Metro to get to work, and she had a twenty-eight day fast pass, which gave her unlimited travel. I needed to be at the stop to buy my pass before she arrived.

* * * *

# Chapter 8

The weather was warm for this time of April, and I wore a Georgetown U. sweatshirt over a pair of soft, faded jeans, and Jordache running shoes that were well-broken in. My hair was spiked up, more my brother Jar's style than mine, and I had gelled it to keep it that way. As long as no one bothered to look into my eyes, I appeared to be a college student. Even as a college student, however, I wasn't young enough to just go to the Mall to hang out. I knew it was likely that I'd have to make some purchases, and I carried a good deal of cash in my wallet. Once again I didn't want to leave a paper trail if I could help it.

I was in the Metro car right behind hers, and by lounging near the doorway that led to the short space between the two cars, I was able to keep a discreet eye on her. She got out when the train pulled into the Massachusetts Avenue station, and I was eight paces to her rear.

The first shop she went into was Victoria's Secret. I could feel color rush into my cheeks. I didn't have a girlfriend to buy something frilly for, and I didn't think they carried anything suitable for Theo. He might be able to get away with wearing net, but lace was just a little too over the top for him.

While Diane Coyne entered a fitting room to try on some rather heavily padded, underwire bras, I wandered through the front of the store. One of the salesladies approached me.

"Can I help you?" she asked coolly.

I was standing before a display of peignoirs, surreptitiously glancing toward the fitting room, and I smiled at her, giving her my best sheepish look. "Please? I need to find something for my mom, but...um..." I tried to appear adorably helpless. Jill had always said a certain expression of mine was guaranteed to melt a girl's heart.

Hmm. Would it melt Theo's?

I pushed thoughts of my lover from my mind—I was on the job—and gestured toward the short, satin robes. They were beautiful, a shimmering rose pink with matching lace inserts at the neckline, and if I was serious about a girl, I'd definitely get one for her, but it wasn't something a guy bought for his mother, not even his stepmother.

"Of course." She returned my smile with more warmth, now she knew I wasn't some pervert who got off fingering ladies' unmentionables. "We have some lovely terrycloth robes." She led me to a table where a headless mannequin was perched, draped in pale aqua. The lapels were decorated with coral-colored, satin appliqués.

"I like the color of this one very much." I didn't say it would bring out the warmth of Jill's eyes; how many college kids paid that much attention to their moms?

"A nice choice, sir. The size?"

My brow furrowed as I tried to picture my father's petite wife. "Small, I think." She found one and held it up, and I nodded. "This should be perfect."

"Well, if it isn't, keep the receipt. We'll be more than happy to exchange it."

"Thank you. You're so kind."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Diane Coyne emerge from the fitting room. She was giggling, "Oh, I like the way this one makes me look!" She thrust out her chest and stroked the sides of her breasts. "Now do you have it in black with a front clasp?"

How the fuck long was this going to take her? I sighed silently as the woman who was helping me took my money. She put the robe in a bag with the store logo splashed across the side, and handed me my change and the receipt. I thanked her warmly and walked out to the store across from Victoria's Secret, watching the entrance through the window's reflection.

* * * *

If they made shopping an Olympic sport, she would have taken the gold, no question. By the time she made her way to B. Smith's, the restaurant on the main floor of the station, it was after five, and my ass was dragging.

I recognized the man who greeted her at the entrance to the restaurant: Daren Curtin, the shithead who was stupidly making things difficult for the WBIS, and by extension for Mr. Vincent. I was close enough to hear her squeal, "Daren!" She threw herself into his arms, hitting him with her packages, and he grimaced, unseen by her.

"Hi, Deedee," he murmured. "Come on, they're holding a table for me."

Was he trying to play big man? The place was empty, most of the dinner patrons not having arrived. B. Smith's had just reopened after closing at four to prepare for the evening rush.

While a hostess showed them to their table, I waited patiently at her station, making a note of where they sat.

I was led to a table that was a few places down from where the couple sat perusing their menus and sank down gratefully into my seat. I'd bought a pretzel earlier in the afternoon, but I was starved. The ache in my ass was no longer there, and I found I missed the reminder of what Theo had done to me.

My waiter approached with a huge smile, eying my sweatshirt. "You go to Georgetown, dude? How cool is that? I'm taking cognitive science there! Maybe...uh...maybe later we could get together to talk about classes? I get off at midnight."

"I don't go to Georgetown," I told him, putting a touch of regret in my voice. "I borrowed this sweatshirt. It's my boyfriend's."

He sighed. "Bummer. Oh well, can I bring you a beverage?"

"Ice water with lemon, please?" They had no beer, and I didn't want to take a chance on wine or one of their specialty drinks. I glanced briefly at the menu, then closed it. "And I'd like the Sweet Spiced Wings."

"I'll bet you're sweet and spicy. Like I said, I get off at midnight, just in case you change your mind. And your boyfriend doesn't need to know." He cocked a hip and batted his eyes.

"No, but I'd know." I couldn't believe it. Somebody wanted to go on a date with me? I kind of liked the fact that I didn't have to make the first move, but I was seeing Theo. "I couldn't do that to him."

"Why are all the good ones taken?" He sighed again, shaking his head. He took the menu and hurried off to place my order.

Michael would have made fun of me for turning down a sure thing. I frowned and pushed thoughts of him from my mind.

People were starting to wander into the restaurant, but it still wasn't very crowded when my waiter brought the wings with a side of celery sticks and bleu cheese dressing.

I dipped and munched and kept a surreptitious eye on the pair a few tables away. Their salads came, and they ate and chatted. Or rather she chatted while Curtin listened.

The opening bars of "My Heart Will Go On" suddenly filled that part of B. Smith's, and I wondered who had programmed their cell phone to play the sickly-sweet love theme from _Titanic_.

Then I cringed as I heard Diane Coyne's rather strident, "Hello?"

I listened in, not that I had much choice. She made no effort to lower her voice.

"Senator Franklin! Is something wrong?"..."You want me where?"..."Ooo, Darry! I'm going to be on Senator Franklin's committee to re-elect!"..."Your secretary made my flight arrangements?"..."Already? But I'm having dinner with my—"..."Oh, okay, Senator, I understand you need me there as soon as possible. I'll go right home and pack, but what about the rest of my things?"..."She will? Kewlness! Bye bye." She snapped her phone shut and put it back in her purse, talking absently to her date. "I have to go. Senator Franklin's secretary is going to see that everything else in my apartment is sent! Isn't that wonderful, tiger?"

I risked a glance at Curtin. For a moment he looked as if he'd like nothing better than to shoot her.

"Deedles," he started to protest. "We haven't even had our entrees. Can't you at least—"

She shook her head and looked around, trying to find their server. "Yoo hoo! Waitress! I'd like this to go, please!" "This" was the twenty-ounce Porterhouse steak and Asiago-Parmesan mashed potatoes. Curtin's expression was dark. I'd be pissed too. That sucker was the most expensive item on the menu, and I was willing to bet he had almost swallowed his tongue when she ordered it. He'd probably agreed to it, hoping to get lucky.

If I brought Theo to this place and ordered him the Porterhouse, would _I_ get lucky? I'd let him have my ass, and I figured it was my turn to have his.

My waiter, who stopped by just then to see if everything was okay, saw my hungry grin and, sighed again. "They're _always_ taken."

* * * *

# Chapter 9

I waited until I was in the Metrorail station before pulling out my cell phone and calling Mr. Vincent. Because it was so early on a Saturday evening, I knew the odds of my conversation being overheard were minimal. Still, I kept it innocuous.

He answered on the first ring. "Vincent."

"Matheson, sir. I've finished shopping."

"Yes?" His voice was cool, and I couldn't help shivering. "Our sick friend would love to see what you bought."

"But what about...uh..." I couldn't name names.

"Don't worry about it. It's under control."

"Yes, sir. I'm on my way."

On the train ride back to my car, I accessed flight data on my PDA and was interested to see the only jet out to the Senator's home state was at 9:45 the following morning. Unless Daren Curtin went over to spend the night with her, it didn't look as if Diane Coyne would have an opportunity to meet with her lover before she left.

Would Mr. Vincent want me to listen in to the bugs that had been planted in her apartment, or would he have someone else take care of that? I dismissed the worry. He'd let me know soon enough.

Half an hour later I walked into Pretty Boy's hospital room, to find his bed occupied by an old man with thin, graying hair. A number of people were gathered around his bedside, and they watched as I came to an abrupt halt. "Sorry."

I strode to the nurses' station. "Where's the patient who was in 412?"

"Hmm? Oh, he's been transferred to a private room, 420. It's just down the hall." The ward clerk gestured vaguely in the general direction, and I left while he was on the phone with the pharmacy. "No, I'm telling you, it can't be a suppository! The medication is supposed to be given _orally_!"..."Yeah, well, you come up here and administer it, then."

I found 420 and entered. It was a long, narrow room with a door about halfway along one wall that opened into the john, which had its own shower. The bed was against the opposite wall. At the far end was a window; the blinds were cracked, and light from the hospital security lights filtered through. The only other illumination was from the television. The four men in the room were staring up at the screen watching Entertainment Tonight. Three of them seemed enthralled, but the fourth watched briefly, then brought his attention back to the door.

It suddenly hit me that these men were friends of Mr. Vincent's, that in spite of the lengths he might go to deny it, he would guard them and keep them safe. I tucked that bit of information away, slightly envious. I'd never had a friend who would watch my back like that.

An actor known for his extremely macho roles spoke with the weekend host. "This movie has a very strong message to impart," he was saying earnestly about his latest project. "Our young people need to see this. The role our military plays is vital, and I feel very privileged to have been chosen to portray this character."

"He's just so gorgeous," Spike sighed. "I'd love to have him do me."

" _I_ did _him_!" The man in the bed laughed softly.

I looked again at the man on the screen. He didn't do anything for me.

A low whistle brought my head around. Theo had seen me and was studying the way I was dressed with interested speculation, and my cock started to harden. "I can get you two and a half bills an hour, right now, no questions asked."

"What?"

"You didn't need to take me literally, Matheson." Mr. Vincent's voice was dry.

"What? Sorry, sir. Excuse me?" I followed his gaze down to the bags in my hand. I had brought them up to the hospital room with me. "Oh, uh..." I could feel the blood rush up into my cheeks.

Just then a resident in green scrubs and white lab coat walked in, flipping on the light switch by the door. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I'll need you to leave for a few minutes. I'm going to check Mr. Stark's dressing and chest tube."

"Mr. who? Oh, Pretty Boy. Um, yes, ma'am." Spike was reluctant to leave, but Theo shepherded the youngest member of their stable out into the corridor.

He winked at me in passing. "I like the way you've done your hair."

The blush had just been starting to recede, and it swept over my cheeks again.

"Matheson. With me." I followed Mr. Vincent as he walked out the door and went in the opposite direction. When he was sure we were alone, he nodded and said, "All right. What did you learn?"

She had fucking weird taste in clothing, is what I'd learned. I shuddered as I thought of The White House/Black Market. The various shades of white had given me a headache, while the blacks had simply depressed me. "Senator Franklin got in touch with her while she was having dinner with the demon spawn."

"With _who_?"

"Sorry, sir." But he could see I wasn't, not really. "Daren Curtin." I could have spent the day in bed with Theo if it hadn't been for Daren Curtin. Business was business, but this wasn't a foreign agency threatening the security of the country; this was a freelance operative fuck who had a personal agenda against the WBIS.

But how had he found out the WBIS and Huntingdon were connected? I looked into Mr. Vincent's eyes and knew whoever had leaked that information was a dead man.

I thought of Director Sperling. Then again, perhaps he already was.

And Mr. Vincent was waiting for me to continue.

"The Senator is having her flown home tomorrow. She's at her apartment now packing."

"Good work." Mr. Vincent regarded me contemplatively, examining the jeans, sweatshirt, and running shoes, and my spiked hair, but said nothing about it. He noticed I was chewing my lip. "Problem, Matheson?"

"No, sir." I flushed. I'd been wondering if there was a possibility of spending the night in Theo's bed.

"Take the rest of the night off."

"Sir?"

"I'll have another agent keep the girl under surveillance." Mr. Vincent must have seen the confusion in my face, because he smiled, just a lightening of the expression around his eyes. "It's called delegating, and if you live up to your promise, and if you survive, this is what you'll be doing one day." He went back to the room.

Spike was hovering over the man in the bed, who looked a little pale and sweaty. The resident was straightening the sheet that covered Pretty Boy. "Your tube is still draining, Mr. Stark, but your vitals are stable, and I'm sure your doctor will be very pleased with your progress." She nodded politely. "Good evening, gentlemen."

Mr. Vincent walked over to the bed. "I have to leave, Pretty Boy. I'll be in sometime tomorrow to see you, but I have plans for the afternoon, so I'll probably be in late."

"No, Vince, that's okay." He spoke softly, but I had no trouble distinguishing his words. "You've been taking care of so much; it's all right if you miss a day. If there's anything I can do to repay you..." His grip tightened on Mr. Vincent's wrist. "Thank you. _Thank you_!"

Mr. Vincent's hand came up to cover Pretty Boy's. "You're welcome. If you really want to do something for me, keep an ear out for a vacant apartment. That fuck of a complex manager is throwing me out."

"I should have realized you'd need to look for another apartment. They get kind of testy when you blow up their rentals." Mr. Vincent looked affronted, and the man in the bed laughed softly, then winced as the sutures in his chest pulled. "Your old apartment above us is for rent again, if you want to take it for a while."

"It's empty, or are you going to evict someone?"

I looked curiously at Theo, and he edged closer to me. "We own the building. One of our clients was in stocks, and he got us some great tips."

"You have money?" I felt my gut clench. I'd been daydreaming of taking Theo away from all that, but if he had money and still peddled his ass...

His expression became cautious. "Some. I mean, we're not Bill Gates or anything, but we do pretty good."

"Yeah." I turned away from him. "Mr. Vincent, is it all right if I leave now?"

"No." Flatly, no embellishments. I fumed in silence, but made sure I kept my face blank. "Spike and Theo will need a ride home." He waited until I nodded my reluctant acquiescence. "I'll most likely accept your offer, Pretty Boy. It took me a long time to find what I was looking for the first time. And DC is even more crowded now. Thanks." He cleared his throat and made a show of looking at his watch. "I want to stop at my place and pack some things. You have my number if you need me. Matheson. Why don't you display your booty?"

" _Excuse me_? Oh, you mean what I bought. Yes, sir. Of course." I knew I had to be blushing furiously.

He left, shaking his head.

Spike looked interested. "You went shopping? Where?"

"Um, Union Station." I thrust the bag from Sam Goody's at him. "Here, you may as well have this."

He peered into the bag, then pulled out the CDs. "Metallica? Black Sabbath? Def Leppard?"

I was about to apologize. To avoid drawing attention to myself, I'd been browsing the stacks, and selected the groups at random.

"Ooh! Twisted Sister! Dude, this is so cool! I _love_ the oldies!"

Pretty Boy laughed at my expression. "Makes you feel old, doesn't he? What do you say, baby?"

"Thank you, sir," the youngest rent boy recited dutifully. That _really_ made me feel old.

"Don't mention it," I mumbled, glad that at least he wasn't going to offer sex in exchange.

"What else did you get?"

They wanted to see what I had purchased? I shrugged and pulled out the tee shirt I'd found in a little T-shirt shop near Tschiffley Pharmacy, when the woman I was tailing had gone in to White House Black Market.

Theo fingered it. " _If you can't stand the heat, don't tickle the dragon_?"

I shrugged. "I like dragons."

"Uh huh." His mouth curled in a grin. "Show me more."

So I displayed the bathrobe I'd picked out at Victoria's Secret. Theo admired my taste, but I was still cool to him, and he regarded me curiously.

"Excuse us a minute, guys." He pushed me into the bathroom and shut the door behind us. "Okay, Wills, what's got your shorts in a twist? I thought you were okay with my profession."

I looked anywhere but his eyes. "I was. Until I found out you didn't _have_ to do this." I ran a hand through my hair, regarding the gel that came off in my palm with distaste. I looked around for something to wipe it off on—I wasn't going to use my sweatshirt—and I yanked some toilet paper off the roll. "If you really had to sell your tail to survive, I could accept it, really I could. I wouldn't like it, but...Look. This is my problem. Just give me some space." My gut felt like it was churning out a ton of acid. We were so new. Was it going to be all over so soon? "I need a couple of days to deal with it, okay?"

"No. It's not just your problem, I won't give you any space, and it's not okay. It bothers you that much that I do this? Fine. I'll stop."

I blinked in confusion. "Just like that?"

"No, not just like that." He waited expectantly. It took a few minutes, but the light finally dawned. Slowly I began to smile.

"Theo. I don't want you to hustle any more. Would you please stop?"

His lips found mine. "Yes," he sighed against them. He pulled back slightly. "I want you to know something."

"What?" I didn't really care. I had my fingers buried in his hair and nuzzled the line of his throat to his chin.

"I never...oh, God, that feels good, Wills. I never kissed any of them."

"Really? Good. Otherwise I'd have had to go find them and kill them." He started to laugh, and then his expression froze. "Just kidding," I murmured, and he relaxed.

He didn't have to know I wasn't kidding.

* * * *

# Chapter10

Since I'd met Theo, I'd spent most of the nights in his bed, a few times even being able to stay for breakfast, but for the first time since I'd known him, I'd been the fuck-er rather than the fuck-ee. And I'd liked it.

"C'mon, Wills," he'd teased. "Don't you want to know how it feels to be buried balls-deep in a guy's ass?"

"A guy? No. But your ass?" My mouth went dry. I hadn't said anything, but I'd been thinking about it. Often. "Oh, yeah!"

I had no intention of rushing this. My hands were shaking as I touched him, but I kept my touches light so he wouldn't realize that I was continually on the verge of coming, especially after I slid into the overwhelming heat of his snug opening. The only thing that saved me from embarrassing myself by climaxing too quickly was the computer I fixed in my mind. Theo might be a whiz at extracting square roots; I was pretty damned good at what I did.

And even so, I held onto my control only by teeth and toenails.

Afterward, as we lay in a sweaty, trembling tangle of arms and legs, Theo told me I'd gotten him off without a touch to his cock. "That was great, Wills!" His sigh was sated, and he ran his palms over that scar on my back and down to my ass, squeezing it. " _You_ were great!"

I didn't stop to wonder if he said that to all the men he took to his bed. I was the one in his bed now, and he'd agreed to give up hustling. I was satisfied with that.

Sometime after dawn, Theo woke me out of a sound sleep, thrashing and flailing, his words broken and almost indistinguishable, his voice that of a young teen. "Please...don't cut me...Franky, please...be good...promise I won't...oh, God, don't...so much blood...Jesus...dead...musta killed him...run...gotta run...gotta..."

"Shhh, baby. Shhh. It's all right." He was freezing. At some point he must have kicked the blankets off. I pulled them around us and held him snug against me, and stroked his hair. "I'm here, babe. I've got you."

"Wills?" My name was a sigh on his lips. He burrowed into me, and as he absorbed my warmth, he finally slid into a more peaceful slumber.

I, on the other hand, was wide awake.

I glanced over at the clock. The alarm was set to go off at 5:30, and although it lacked a little more than an hour until then, I knew I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, so I stayed awake, running a hand soothingly over his back, mulling over what I had heard. This wasn't the first time Theo had spoken in his sleep, but it was the first time he had mentioned someone by name. As soon as I was able, I'd go online and see what I could find out about this Franky character.

The next time I looked at the clock, it was almost time to get up. I eased my arm from under my lover, shut off the alarm and rolled out of bed, heading for the bathroom. After I flushed, I caught sight of my image in the mirror and sneered. Bed hair. I turned on the shower. My mouth didn't taste too good either. How did Theo stand me? I brushed my teeth while I waited for the water to reach the temperature I preferred. I'd been raised in the Northeast, and I liked my showers _hot_.

As the water beat down on me and I ran the soap over my body, I started to hum. I usually sang in the shower; it freed my mind to puzzle out various and sundry matters that intrigued me. Or in this case, disturbed me. While I sang something at random, I mused over what Theo had mumbled in his sleep.

I'd already learned Theo came from Tarpon Springs, in Florida, and that his father had thrown him out for being gay. My own father was going to be disappointed when I told him it looked like I'd be swinging that way from now on, but I couldn't see him reacting so violently, especially since my Uncle Pete swung that way also.

My mind wandered to something else that concerned me. On the nights that I stayed the whole night with Theo, I had to make sure I had enough time to drive home and shower before going to work the next morning. I liked having his scent all over me. On one of my few days off, I even went the whole day without showering, occasionally rubbing my nose against my shoulder and inhaling, but if I went to work smelling of my lover, I had the feeling Mr. Vincent would not be overjoyed, simply because it was unprofessional. Theo had already made some room in a drawer for the underwear he had bought me. I wondered how he would feel if I asked to leave a suit and a couple of shirts in his closet. And maybe a razor. And a toothbrush.

I shut off the water and stepped out of the tub, and I suddenly realized what I was singing. I shut up fast, unable to believe that of all the songs I knew, that was the one my subconscious chose, with the damning line, " _Do you mean that I could fall in love perchance..."_ Perchance, hell. I was on the fast track to falling in fact. I just hoped the sound of the water running had drowned out the sound of my voice. Or maybe Theo was still asleep?

I wrapped a towel around my waist and stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

Theo was awake, but he didn't say anything, he just stared at me with those champagne eyes of his...

All my life I'd seen what love looked like.

When I was about nine years old, I came down with a really nasty case of strep throat. It was at the end of the school year, and I not only missed out on the last two weeks of school, but my plans to help with the school garden went the way of the dodo as well.

Grandma Elaine, Dad's mother, took care of me during the day, while Dad was at work, but at night, it was just Dad. He'd wipe me down with tepid water, make sure I gargled with that god-awful stuff Dr. Jim ordered—and when I did, it was a toss-up whether I'd be able to gargle or upchuck—and made sure I took the medicine.

After one particularly bad night—I'd gotten a nose bleed that wouldn't quit, and then when it finally did, I'd sneezed and started it bleeding again—I was so miserable that he sat in bed with me, cradling me against his side.

" _Daddy, tell me a story." I hadn't called him Daddy since my Mom died. He'd been so devastated I knew I had to be a man about it, but right then I didn't feel much like a man._

" _Okay, sport. Once upon a time—"_

" _No, tell me a really truly one. About you and Mom?"_

He grew quiet, and I was afraid it hurt him too much to bring up those memories. She'd been gone four years, but there were still times when he got really quiet and stared off into space, and I knew he'd be thinking about her.

But then he smiled and started talking.

" _She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. No one believes in love at first sight anymore, but let me tell you, sport—I fell in love with her the first time I saw her..."_

" _That was when she and Uncle Tony and Grandma Josie and Grandpa Greg moved next door."_

" _That's right."_

I thought about my Mom's family for a second. Grandma Josie always said everything happened for a reason, and when I'd asked Dad what was the reason for my Mom dying, he'd stroked my hair and said, "There is none, Will. But thinking that helps Grandma Josie deal with losing her baby."

That was when I realized that no matter how old you got, you were always your Mom and Dad's baby.

Grandma Josie and Grandpa Greg had moved down to Florida, and I'd been down to see them over the Easter vacation, since it was too hot in the summer and they weren't spring chickens anymore. I didn't know what chickens had to do with it, but it was one of Grandma's favorite sayings.

Uncle Tony...I sighed. He'd changed after Mom died, and we didn't see him much. I knew that bothered Dad, since they'd been best friends. I did get to see my cousins, and that was fun and a change. There were all girls on that side of the family, in contrast to all the boy cousins on Dad's side.

Dad ran a hand over my hair. "You've got your Mom's coloring, you know."

I knew. Mathesons not only ran to boys but to blue-eyed blonds. I was the only one in the family with brown hair and eyes, and there were days when I was glad to have something that made me stand out from all my cousins, but there were also days when I was sorry I didn't look like the rest of the family.

" _Tell me about that day."_

" _Well, the Schaefers had lived there for ages, but then Mr. and Mrs. Schaefer filed for divorce—and boy, was that a nine day wonder. No one had ever gotten divorced in our neighborhood before. Mrs. Schaefer moved to Connecticut where her folks lived, and Mr. Schaefer wound up in San Francisco. The house stood empty for the longest time. We thought no one was ever going to move in, but then one day, this moving van as long as the block pulled up in front of it."_

" _When did you see Mom?"_

" _She got out of the back of Grandpa Greg's Chevy, and..."_

I smiled and snuggled up against him, and fell asleep to the comforting sound of his deep, rumbling voice.

I knew what love looked like. Not only my Dad with my Mom before she was killed in that car accident when I was five, but with Jill, my stepmom. I'd seen my Gram and Gramps, uncles with the women they'd married—or in the case of my Uncle Pete, who was gay, the man he'd partnered with—cousins...

More than anything, I'd wanted that for me too. I hadn't been in a real rush, though, and work had kept me busy.

Now I leaned against the door jamb and smiled at my lover. He was sprawled out on the bed, hugging a pillow. The sheet was low on his waist, and his back was a smooth, tanned expanse, not scared like mine. He turned his head and peered at me through the hair that fell into his eyes.

"Is it you?" I asked softly.

"Wills?"

I tensed. Had he heard me? Had he heard what I'd been singing? "Yes, Theo?"

"Tell me something, babe?"

"Mmm?" I crossed into the room, dropped the towel, and took a pair of shorts from the drawer he'd emptied for me.

"How'd you get that bullet scar on your butt?"

I laughed, and as I got dressed, I told him about my cousin Harry, who couldn't shoot straight to save his life, but who'd still managed to nail my ass with a nail gun.

* * * *

On my way to work, I stopped at a McDonald's drive-through for coffee and a cinnamon roll. It was a good thing I didn't have to get out of the car, because I'd been hard since Theo had whispered against my lips, "I love kissing you." I'd never kissed a guy before Theo, and kisses I'd shared with women had been brief and careful, because I was always afraid I'd hurt their tender lips. I had no fear of that with Theo; he drove me wild, and he liked it the wilder I got.

Once I pulled into my parking spot, I reined in my lustful thoughts, and by the time I arrived at my office, I was only half hard.

My secretary wasn't at her desk yet. A blue-eyed blonde with Marilyn Monroe curves, Miss Jones had presented herself to me with a vapid smile, fluttering lashes, and the simple statement that she was my secretary. If she was as dumb as she appeared, the WBIS would never have hired her.

And this was the reason why I hadn't been able to go back to bed with Theo. Something unusual was going on, and I needed to get to the bottom of it. My intention this morning was to find out who she really worked for. I hung up my jacket, turned on my computer, and logged on.

Twenty minutes later, I was aggravated, frustrated, and just plain pissed off. My secretary was supposed to rate only level one security, yet I couldn't get into her file in personnel. I was getting that feeling at the back of my neck, the one that warned that I'd better watch my ass.

I stalked into the outer office. Miss Jones still hadn't arrived at work. It _was_ early, but I knew Mr. Vincent's secretary was almost always there before him. Methodically, I went through Miss Jones's desk, finally finding what I was looking for by sheer blind luck. She had a floppy disk in the case that held blank CDs. I went back into my office and inserted it into my computer.

I stared at the screen in shock. Fucking hell in a handcart. This was _not_ good. How had she managed to get a copy of that file? I took the disk out and headed for Mr. Vincent's office, not even bothering to clear it with his inestimable Ms. Parker.

* * * *

I was disappointed I wouldn't be the one to discover who had Miss Jones in his pocket, but there just wasn't enough time.

Mr. Vincent had a job for me, and after clearing off my desk, I needed to get home, pack the work clothes and tools I would need for this job, and get to the airport.

He had his secretary waylay mine while Miss Jones was in the ladies' room as was her normal routine when she got in to work, and I was able to replace the disk in the CD case. I didn't bother wiping it for prints; both Mr. Vincent and I had been careful handling it, and if anyone was suspicious enough to check for them, the fact the disk had none at all would be damning.

I was in my doorway when she came strolling in. "Ah, Miss Jones. I was just looking for you. Get me a cup of coffee, would you?" If it had been Ms. Parker, I would have added 'please.'

"Of course, Mr. Matheson. Regular, right? Milk and two sugars?" Her voice was soft and breathy.

_I_ wasn't the one who took his coffee that way. "Black, Miss Jones," I corrected gently. "No milk. No sugar."

"Oops. That's right. My bad." She giggled and turned to hurry out into the hall, where the coffeemaker shared by the junior agents in this wing of the WBIS was located. It seemed she gave her hips an extra wiggle, and I wondered if her next set of orders would be to try to seduce me. Not that she would have succeeded, even if I wasn't involved with someone already. Miss Jones was too much of a man-eater, in spite of that little girl demeanor she tried to project.

She quickly brought my coffee, fluttering her long lashes at me. I gave her a tight smile and went back into my office. It took me about an hour to get everything in order, and then I set up precautionary firewalls. If anyone tried to get into my computer, they would be in for a nasty surprise, an electrical shock being the least of it. They would also have to explain why every computer of every senior director had suffered a meltdown. I gave a grim smile of satisfaction, logged off, and shut it down.

Miss Jones was on the telephone, and she looked uncomfortable to see me. I turned to lock my door. "You can return to the typing pool, Miss Jones. I'll let you know when I need you again."

Her lips pursed into what I imagined she thought was a provocative pout. "Why? Are you going somewhere? How long will you be gone? When will you be back?"

I arched an eyebrow at her, a perfect imitation of Mr. Vincent's reaction to such impertinent questions. Her gaze darted away to linger on my door, and she worried her plump lower lip uneasily.

"Good morning, Miss Jones." As I left she turned off her computer and reached into the lower drawer of her desk to gather her belongings.

* * * *

It didn't take me long to change into jeans and a chambray shirt, and to pack. Then I reached for the phone. Fortunately, Mr. Vincent had given me permission to let my lover know I had to cancel our tentative plans for the evening.

Theo and I had been seeing each other for a couple of months, and his number was on speed dial, right after Mr. Vincent and the house in Cambridge, and I pressed three and waited impatiently for the call to go through.

" _Hi. You've got me. Now tell me what you want to do with me!"_

I'd been hoping to actually speak to him, and I was so disappointed when all I got was his answering machine that the message I left was brief and stilted. "Hi, Theo. It's me. Um...I can't make it tonight. I'll call you, okay?" I couldn't think of anything else to say, and I hung up.

I'd have to fly to Phoenix from New York, to back my story of being a tin knocker from a New York local. The WBIS had inserted another identity into the union records, and for the next few weeks, I would be Matt Williams. Since Matt Williams wasn't licensed to carry a weapon, I had an ingenious little gadget, almost like a kid's Transformer, that appeared innocuous but twisted into something lethal. Mr. Bradicich of Ordnance was very proud of his people for coming up with it.

I put on my denim jacket and slid it into a pocket.

After a final check to make sure the television and lights were timed to go on at specific intervals, making it appear I was at home, I slung my carry-on over one shoulder, the case that held my laptop and cell phone over the other, and left.

* * * *

The assignment was completed. It had taken me a day short of the anticipated three weeks; there were no loose ends and nothing to tie the WBIS in to the disappearance of Fitzwilliam. Mr. Vincent would be very pleased.

On the trip home, I changed my itinerary so that I had a stopover in St. Petersburg rather than Cincinnati. There was a little something I needed to take care of in Tarpon Springs.

* * * *

# Chapter 11

I was running on fumes by the time I got back to Washington, but I went directly to the building that housed the WBIS. I typed up my report and saved a modified copy to my hard drive, as per Mr. Vincent's instructions. Then I went to his office to debrief.

He listened in silence, all the while studying my face. When I'd finished, all he said was, "You look like shit, Matheson."

"Thank you, sir." He waited, but I had no intention of having my head bitten off. I wasn't going to explain that I hated jobs like the one I'd been sent to do, and I had _no_ intention of telling him the trip home had too many connecting flights.

"Very good." He looked pleased. "Now, about your connecting flights..." Oh fuck. Had he learned what I had done? "One of them was to Florida, and you spent nine hours there."

I sighed. Why was I surprised? Of course he had. He was Mark Vincent. "Yes, sir. There was a layover in St. Petersburg. I took that opportunity to rent a car and drive up to Tarpon Springs."

"Why?"

I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair. My eyes felt like a beachful of sand was in them. I hadn't slept since I'd left Phoenix, and just prior to that I'd been working seven twelves, seven days a week, twelve hours a day. That was why the Phoenix local needed out-of-town workers, called travelers. It was a big job, and they were hiring all the men they could get.

"Tarpon Springs has the largest Greek community in Florida, Mr. Vincent." I met his eyes. "Theo came from Tarpon Springs. Did you know he used to sing the chants in Agios Giorgios Greek Orthodox Church? He's been afraid to go home because he thought he killed the man who whored him."

"He didn't?"

"Mr. Vincent, Theo was fifteen. He was small for his age, scared out of his mind, and he had no clue how to use a knife. It glanced off the scumsucker's ribs, and the wound bled like a son of a bitch, but it didn't kill him. When the asshole fell, he hit his head and knocked himself unconscious. Theo panicked and ran. Now on the other hand, I am an adult." The only thing that scared me was an unhappy Mr. Vincent. "And I was taught by a master how to handle a knife."

"Mmm hmm. I take it the world now boasts one less scumsucker? I approve, Matheson."

I was able to breathe a little more freely. "Thank you, sir. I wasn't sure you would, considering it was strictly personal."

"But you killed him anyway."

"He was pimping another boy. Mr. Vincent, I have a younger brother that kid's age."

"Half-brother," he corrected sharply. Of course he would know my family background.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the fact that JR's mother isn't my mother is immaterial. He's my brother."

"All right, Matheson. I understand why you acted as you did. Just this once I'm going to overlook it. If you had gotten caught, the WBIS would not have bailed you out, you know."

"I'm aware of that, sir. It won't happen again." It wasn't likely that Theo would be in that position again.

"See it doesn't. By the way, Miss Jones won't be your secretary for too much longer. I have someone else in mind, who I think will suit you much better." His hazel eyes glinted with humor, and I hoped whoever he gave me was as competent as Ms. Parker. "Okay, you may as well take the rest of the day off, and tomorrow as well. We'll need a little time to put our plan into motion." Our plan. That made me feel good. "Get some rest. I'll want you at the top of your game. The coming days are going to be...busy." He checked his desk calendar. "You're scheduled for this weekend off, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I have no plans, though, and if that's a problem, I can come in."

"No. I don't foresee any difficulties." He bared his teeth in a grin, but this time his eyes didn't reflect it, and I suppressed a shiver.

* * * *

# Chapter 12

I unlocked the door to my apartment and let myself in. It was dim, the air warm and close from having been shut up for all this time. I dropped my carry-on next to the alcove that held the washer/dryer combination, put my laptop on the desk, and went to raise the blinds and open the windows.

A soft May breeze blew in and began to chase away the stuffiness.

I went into the bathroom, stripped and took a shower, then wrapped a towel around my waist and emptied my carry-on into the washing machine. While the jeans and work shirts were washing, I went to call Theo. I'd missed him, and not just my dick. Maybe I could interest him in coming over. Although he'd been here once, I was reluctant to have him back. My apartment wasn't anything special, just the place where I slept, and I'd been too busy making my way in the WBIS to be bothered doing anything with it. Still, he might be willing to overlook the blandness when I showed him just how comfortable the bed was.

The light on my answering machine was flashing, indicating I had messages. "Your mailbox is full," the female voice told me. Fuck. The telemarketers must have had a field day with my poor, defenseless answering machine. Soliciting calls were the only kind I got, which was why I never bothered to retrieve my voice mail while I was away. I sighed and pressed the button to play the messages.

"Hi, babe, it's me." Theo? I sank down into an overstuffed chair, grinning like an idiot. "Damn, I guess I missed you. Give me a call when you get this, okay?" According to the female voice, this had come in just after I'd left for Phoenix.

I listened absently to the next three messages, which were soliciting calls. I didn't need storm windows, car insurance, or my rugs steam cleaned, and I erased them immediately.

And then the fifth message played. "Wills? It's me. Theo. You're still not home? Call me, will you?"

The sixth message was from him also. "Wills, are you there? Is everything okay? Shit. We need to talk. I...I miss you, babe. Call me."

And interspersed with more telemarketing calls—why did they think I needed a break on my mortgage?—were others from him as well. "Where the fuck are you, Wills? Look, Vince told me you were away..." He'd gotten in touch with my boss? Why? "...but I know you know how to get your messages, so obviously you're avoiding me. Are you avoiding me?" He sounded distressed. "Call me, okay?"

"All right, fine. You don't want to talk to me, I don't care! I don't need...Aw, fuck, Wills. Call me! Please!"

"Listen, Matheson. I don't have to have a ton of bricks fall on me to get the message! You had my ass, and now you don't respect me anymore. If that's the way you feel about it, fine." He was breathing heavily, and then, almost plaintively, "I didn't mean that! Call me?"

"'kay, 'at's it," he slurred through his last message. "'m through beggin'! Have it y' own way. 's far's I'm concerned, we're through."

My jaw dropped and I stared at the phone.

"S' do me a favor," his voice cracked, and he sounded abruptly sober. "Don't come around anymore! Ever! Bastard." The receiver slammed down.

Fuck. What the hell had happened? When I'd left, I'd thought everything was fine between us. Suddenly I was no longer exhausted. Theo thought he could brush me off just like that? Not. Fucking. Likely. I stalked into the bedroom and ripped open dresser drawers.

When I had gone to Theo's building to do some work on Mr. Vincent's apartment, I couldn't help but notice Theo's reaction to the clothes I had worn, a black pocket tee shirt and a pair of 501 jeans that were so worn they were faded to almost white over the crotch, thighs and butt. I pulled them on. The tool belt would have been overkill; so would the work boots. I went with Doc Martens.

The answering machine was still playing out messages when I stormed out of my apartment and ran down the stairs to the underground parking.

I kept finding myself increasing the speed of the Dodge that the WBIS had given me, and I would swear and slow down. The last thing I needed was to be ticketed for reckless driving.

There was a strange car in front of the building, and I became rabid. Who the _fuck_ was parking in the spot that was _mine_? I steered the Dodge into the nearest spot, turned off the ignition and got out of the car, and slammed the door so hard I wouldn't have been surprised if it had bounced.

Spike met me at the top of the steps. "Uh...Sweetcheeks doesn't want to see you."

"Too fucking bad." I picked him up and physically moved him out of my way. He squeaked.

I ran up to the third floor to find Pretty Boy blocking their front door. "He doesn't want to see you, you bastard," he hissed at me.

"Tough shit, because he's going to."

"Matheson, you can't go in there! He isn't alone!"

"Listen to me, Pretty Boy. I haven't slept in almost two days. In the past twenty-four hours, I've been in three different time zones, six different airports, flown four different airlines and driven the rental car from hell. I get home to find out I've been broken up with over the tele-fucking-phone, and I no longer have a lover. Now, you're Mr. Vincent's friend, and he would hate it like hell if I hurt you. So I'm advising you, for both our sakes, to get the fuck out of my way, because if you don't, I _will_ go through you!"

The door opened. "Wills?" Theo looked awful. His skin was pasty, his eyes were bloodshot, and I could smell the alcohol on him from where I stood. "What do you want?"

"I want to know why you're throwing away what we had."

"All we had was some hot, sweaty sex."

"You can't believe that!"

"Don't you tell me what I can or can't believe, you cocksucker!"

"But I've never sucked your cock, have I?" I planted my palms on his chest and shoved. Theo stumbled backwards, and I followed him, pausing to glare at Pretty Boy over my shoulder. "Find somewhere else to be. Theo's gonna be tied up for quite some time." And I shut the door in his face and locked it.

"What are you doing?" Theo backed away from me.

"You need a bath." I grabbed his arms and gave him a shake. "You smell like a brewery."

"Well, it's your fault," he said sulkily, tugging in a futile attempt to free himself. I wasn't about to let him go, not yet. "Why couldn't you tell me to my face if you didn't want to...if you wanted to break up with me?"

I came to a dead halt. "What?"

"Vincent told me you weren't available, but I _saw_ you, goddammit! You were walking away from me down Massachusetts Avenue, and you—you _fucking_ ignored me when I called your name!"

"Theo." I blew out a breath in exasperation. "Did it ever occur to you that it might not have been me? Why wouldn't I answer if you called?"

He avoided my eyes, his expression miserable. "Because of my past."

"What? Never the fuck mind. Get in the bathroom and get those clothes off."

"Wait a second. Where are you going?"

I'd been heading in the direction of his bedroom. "Pretty Boy said you had company. I'm going to find him, beat the shit out of him, and throw him out. And then I'm going to whale the tar out of you too."

"What? _I_ didn't do anything. I wasn't the one who cut and ran. And there's no one else here but me and the guys."

"Is that what you think I did? It was work, Theo. I left you a message. And what do you mean there's no one else? That isn't what Pretty Boy said."

"He was just trying to protect me and get you to leave. The message you left wasn't worth shit. 'Hi, Theo. It's me. Um...I can't make it tonight. I'll call you, okay?'" His tone was mocking. "Only you fucking _didn't_. What was I supposed to think?"

"You're an idiot, you know that, Bascopolis? You've known Mark Vincent for what, ten years, twelve years now? You know when work is involved he can disappear at any time and be gone for weeks. That's my job too. If you can deal with him being away, why is it such a problem with me?"

"Because I don't fucking love him!" he shouted, breathing hard, and when he realized what he had said, his eyes widened in dismay, and he smacked himself in the head. "Oh, _fuck_!"

I'd been winding myself up to a good head of steam, but that knocked it all out of me. "So, that means what? You love me?"

"Don't let it bother you, Matheson. I'll get over it."

"Yeah? You think I'll let you?"

"Huh?"

I crowded him back toward the bathroom. Now that I knew there was no one else in the apartment that I would have had to kill, I could concentrate on Theo. "I've got a newsflash for you, babe. If I couldn't get things sorted out with you," I reached into the shower and turned on the water, "I was going to make you return something of mine you've got." I stripped his clothes off him and gestured for him to get into the tub. He did reluctantly.

"What are you talking about? I don't have anything of yours."

I shed my own clothes and followed him under the water. "No?" I braced my forearms against the tile and leaned in to lick at his lips. "My heart, Theo. You've got my heart." I slid to my knees before him and took his cock in my mouth. It was soft, but it wasn't soft for long.

* * * *

Between the long hours I'd put in on the job in Phoenix, my recent lack of sleep, and the incidental fact that Theo and I kept at each other like manic minks the whole night, even if I had remembered to set the alarm, I'd have slept right through it.

It was the heady fragrance of freshly brewed coffee made from freshly ground beans that roused me. I angled myself up on my elbows and sniffed appreciatively. Before I could pry my eyes open, the warm rim of a coffee cup was pressed to my lips.

"Careful, babe. It's hot."

"I like it that way." I took a sip. "Like I like my men," I added innocently.

"What you mean 'men', gay boy?"

"Fuck, Theo, don't make me laugh when I have a mouthful of coffee."

He laughed softly as he put the cup on the night table and then climbed on the bed and settled himself beside me. "We're...we're okay then?"

I opened my mouth, about to toss out a teasing remark, then saw how hopeful he looked. "Yeah, babe. We're okay." I took a deep breath. The air in the bedroom was warm and redolent of our night of lovemaking. "Theo, what are you doing for Memorial Day?"

"Usually, we'll visit the memorials during the day, and if we're not working on Sunday evening, we try to catch the free concert on the West Lawn of the Capitol. Want to come with me this year?"

"Actually, I was thinking of going up to Cambridge to spend the weekend with my family." The family always had a humongous barbecue for the holiday, and this year Dad and Jill were going to host it.

"Oh. Sure. Well, maybe some other time—"

"Theo, I'd like you to come with me."

His mouth opened and shut, and he swallowed. "What will your family say?"

"'How do you do?' Truthfully, I don't know. I've never brought anyone home to meet them."

"What, not even when you were in college?"

"Nope. So, will you come? And no double entendres, wiseass."

"I'd...I'd like to, Wills—"

"Cool. I'll call my stepmom and let her know we'll be there."

"You have a stepmother? Are your parents divorced?"

I was looking around the room. I knew it was silly to need to be dressed, but I didn't feel comfortable speaking to either of my parents while I was naked, even if it was over the telephone. "No, my mother was killed in an accident when I was five. Jill's the best. You're going to love her."

"If you say so." But he seemed doubtful. I wasn't worried, though. "Wills, what are you looking for?"

"What in freaking hell did I do with my shorts? I can't find them anywhere."

"You didn't wear any."

I froze in the middle of the floor. "That's right. I was so pissed with you, I forgot all about them."

Theo went to the dresser that held some spare underwear and tossed them to me. "Well, I have to say I approve of your choice of wardrobe." He picked up the jeans and tee shirt and ran a hand over them.

"I thought you might. I chose them with you in mind, you know. I liked how you responded to them the last time I wore them." He looked up sharply, his eyes glowing with remembered heat. I pulled the jeans up my legs and over my hips with slow, undulating movements.

He realized I was teasing him and licked his lips. "Know how I'd really like to see you dressed, babe? In a hardhat and tool belt and work boots." He pulled me against him and slid his hand over my ass, tracing the crevice, pressing against my hole.

I felt myself grow hot. "And that's all?"

"Hmm." He pretended to consider it. "Well, maybe a pair of cutoffs. Maybe."

"Kinky." I was finding it hard to breathe.

"Babe, you ain't seen nothing yet! Here." He handed me the phone, then ran his palm over my chest, pausing to tweak a nipple. His grin was slumberous as he watched it peak and become pebble hard. "Make that call. In the meantime I'll make you some lunch. What sounds good to you?"

"You?"

"Comments like that will get you soundly kissed."

"I've got the day off, and I'm not going anywhere."

Turned out I didn't make that phone call for quite some time.

* * * *

# Chapter 13

Theo retreated to the kitchen to put together some soup and sandwiches for a late lunch while I dressed again and called Cambridge. The phone rang for so long that I was getting concerned, and then a young, female voice picked up. "Hello? Um...Matheson residence."

"Hi, munchkin."

"It's Wills!" she screeched in my ear, and I winced. "Mom! Mommy! Hurry! Wills is on the phone! Guess what, Wills! Princess Kimba had her kittens on my birthday!" Princess Kimba was one of a breeding pair of American Bobtail cats my stepmother raised as a sideline.

"That's great, Marti. Do you have families picked out for them yet?"

"She only had three this time! Mom says we can keep them! And guess what!!"

"Marti, you can hang up now, Mom has it."

"But I was going to tell Wills—"

"Hang up now, Marti." My stepmom waited until the extension clicked. "Hi, sweetie. How are you?"

"Is everything okay, Jill? How come Marti's home? It's the middle of the week."

"Everyone is fine, Wills; it's after three, of course she's home. What about you? Is everything all right with you? How come you're calling in the middle of the afternoon on a workday?"

"I did good on an assignment, and my boss gave me the day off."

"Ah, that's great. Wait until I tell your Dad. He'll be so proud of you."

The pride in her voice was evident, too. "Cool. Listen, Jill, I'm calling about the family picnic." There was one every year for Memorial Day. "I'll be there, and I'd like to bring someone home with me."

"That's great, sweetie. You know any friend of yours is more than welcome. This house has enough bedrooms to house a platoon."

"The thing is, I...uh...I think I'm going to need you to run interference with Dad for me, Jill."

"Oh? Is something going on that I should know about?"

"Um..." Jill was easy to talk to, but how did I explain to my stepmom that I was sleeping with a guy?

"Maybe you'd better tell me about this friend of yours, sweetie. Is she blonde? Brunette?"

"Redhead."

"And why am I not surprised?" She sounded delighted, but for how much longer?

"Actually, Jill, he's a guy. And he'll be sleeping in my bedroom." There was silence on the other end of the line. "Jill?"

Theo was suddenly in the doorway, looking tense. "What's wrong?" I shook my head at him.

"Wills?" My stepmother's voice was soft. "How do you feel about him?"

"I...I've never felt this for anyone before. He means a lot to me."

"Oh, Wills!"

I could hear tears in her voice and for a moment I clutched. I wasn't sure if they were happy tears. I should have known better.

"It's about time you found someone, sweetie. Now, tell me everything: what his name is, where you met him, how long you've been seeing him, what he does for a living. Come on, tell, tell."

I smiled at Theo and shooed him out of the room. "His name is Theo Bascopolis. I met him when I was...visiting someone in G.W. Hospital a couple of months ago, he's not working right now, and if my apartment wasn't so cruddy—" Compared to Theo's place, it was the pits. "—I'd invite him to move in with me."

"If that's all that's stopping you, babe, you can move in here," Theo called from the other room, revealing that he'd been listening in.

"I heard him, Wills," Jill's voice was warm in my ear. "He sounds nice."

"He's more than nice. He's..." I was starting to sound fatuous, so I shut up. Another time I would tell her he was the one I didn't think I'd find. "So, Jill...can you talk to Dad for me? Kind of prepare him? You know how he reacted when JR decided he wanted to go Goth. This will make him go ballistic."

"Wills, your bringing home a boyfriend is nothing in comparison to your brother getting numerous body piercings. A Prince Albert! Can you imagine?"

"No, thanks, Jill. Just the idea makes me want to cross my legs." The thought of having my dick pierced held no appeal to me.

"Imagine your father and I." She chuckled in sympathy. "Keep in mind we'd have to give our permission."

"So you think Dad would be cool with me bringing Theo home?" More importantly that Theo would not only be sleeping in my room, but he'd be sharing my bed.

"Your father is a good man, and all he wants is your happiness. It's not as if you're a little boy anymore. I'll bring it up to him, and if he starts fussing, I'll just make him dinner."

"But Alice—"

"Oh, she's gone down to New York for a visit with the grandkids, but when I tell her you'll be here for the weekend, she'll be back in plenty of time."

"Is that going to cause a problem with Ginny?" Alice's daughter had been fairly okay with her living with us when we lived in Seaford, but when we moved to Massachusetts and Alice came with us, things had changed drastically. Ginny was constantly calling, demanding her mother come home for one reason or another.

"I hate to sound unsympathetic, but Ginny treats Alice as if her sole purpose in life is to help Ginny. Well, enough of that. Alice will deal with her. Now, what can I cook that will knock your father's socks off?"

"Um...Jill, do you think that's a good idea?"

"Why ever not? You know I love to cook."

Jesus, my poor father, "Uh...Jill—"

"Let me get going, Wills. I'll need to come up with a suitably romantic, candlelit dinner that will be guaranteed to turn your father's mind to mush. We'll see you and your friend on Saturday, sweetie. Love you."

"Love you more," I responded automatically. "Bye." I hung up and turned to find my lover hovering in the doorway, and briefly I forgot about the ordeal my father would be facing. "Jill thinks you sound nice." I grinned as he actually blushed. "She'll let my Dad know how things stand between us."

"Will he be all right with it, do you think?"

I sighed. "He will when Jill gets done with him."

His brow furrowed. "What am I missing here?"

"Jill is going to make dinner for Dad."

"And?"

I walked up to him and pulled him into my arms. "My stepmother is great, and she loves to cook," I told him as I nuzzled his throat. "She's got a shelf filled with cookbooks by Julia Child, Emeril Lagasse, Wolfgang Puck—she collects them, and she has binders filled with recipes she cuts out of newspapers and magazines. She really intends to try them sooner or later. The only problem is she couldn't find her way around a kitchen if her life depended on it. She can't even boil water without scorching it. She burned spaghetti. That's why we have a cook."

"I'm sorry, I still don't get it."

"Jill has no idea. She's the most wonderful woman in the world, but she has this blind spot—she really thinks she's a good cook."

"Wills, I'm a good cook. I am."

"Damn straight, you are."

He relaxed in my arms. "Will it work?"

"If Dad doesn't have to wind up getting his stomach pumped. He's not stupid. As soon as he gets a clue that Jill intends to visit the kitchen, he'll pay attention to whatever she has to say, and I'm pretty sure he'll at least give us a chance. "

"I wish...I wish my family had been as accepting. Oh, well, I guess if wishes were horses, I'd have a stableful." His smile was a little wistful, and it almost broke my heart. He stepped out of my embrace and left the bedroom. "Let's have some lunch," he said over his shoulder.

I didn't know what to say to him. I'd had my butt swatted as a child, been sent to my room or grounded for a week, had the car keys confiscated as I grew older, but no matter what foolish or rebellious things I'd done, I'd never feared I would be thrown out like so much trash. I knew how much Theo still loved his father, he had talked about him in his sleep.

Otherwise, while I was down in Florida, I'd have offed him as well as the creep who had turned my lover into a whore.

I pulled myself together and followed Theo into the dining room.

* * * *

# Chapter 14

The next day I was at my computer, working on something Mr. Vincent had given me. Odd things seemed to be going on in Europe. A group calling itself Prinzip had suddenly shown up on the radar of the various intelligence communities. So far, two WBIS agents and six CIA operatives who had assignments on the Continent had gone missing.

The buzz of my intercom jolted me out of my intense concentration. I keyed the response button. "Yes?"

"Mr. Matheson." It was my secretary. "Mr. Davies wants you in his office immediately!"

The senior director of public relations. A frisson of anticipation ran up my spine. It was show time! "Tell him I'll be with him shortly."

Unlike other government organizations whose very lifeblood depended on how the public perceived them, the WBIS used its department of public relations to make certain the public never learned of its existence. Even most high-ranking government officials were unaware there was such an agency.

Along with his own department, however, Davies seemed to have a finger in just about every pie in the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security, and word was he had been close to Robert Sperling. When Sperling had blown himself to kingdom come trying to break into Mr. Vincent's apartment, and I had refused to believe the body was Mr. Vincent's, he had been quick to agree with the insinuation there was something physical between my superior and me. I hadn't informed Mr. Vincent of this, because once I'd found him alive and in the company of a certain rent boy, quite frankly I'd forgotten all about it.

I logged off my computer, put in a quick call to Mr. Vincent, then reached for my suit jacket. After a quick tug to make sure it hung properly and I was presentable, I left my office.

Earlier, Miss Jones had come into my office, ostensibly to bring me my coffee. She extended the cup to me, and when I would have taken it from her, she let her fingers drift over mine. I stared into the cup; she'd got it wrong again.

"I take it black, Miss Jones. If you can't remember a simple thing like that, then perhaps you should go back to the typing pool."

"Oh, but—"

"I'm sure you have something that needs doing at your desk?"

She'd gone a little pale, then turned on her heel and stalked out as if she had a corn cob up her butt.

Now she stiffened slightly, her color high, but she didn't meet my eyes, and she continued keying information into a requisition form. She didn't know it, but by the end of the morning, Miss Jones would no longer have a position on the seventh floor.

I went to the stairwell and trotted up to the tenth floor, where Public Relations was located. When I reached Mr. Davies's office, it pleased me to note my breathing wasn't even slightly accelerated. I opened the door and stepped into the outer office.

His personal assistant peered at me over pale rose-tinted, wire-framed glasses. "Yes?"

"I'm Matheson."

His lip twitched into a sneer, and he sniffed. "Mr. Davies will see you shortly. Take a seat over there, please."

Instead of sitting where he indicated, I propped a hip on the edge of his desk, plucked a rubber band from the tray that held supplies, and began to play with it, forming a cat's cradle. I kept my eyes on his and said nothing, just wound the rubber band in and out of my fingers.

Suddenly his intercom crackled to life, fracturing the thickening silence, and he jumped, then stabbed at it. "Sir?"

"Send Matheson in."

I dropped the rubber band back into the tray and rose from the desk. Keeping my movements easy and contained, I entered Mr. Davies' office. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

If I'd never seen Mark Vincent scowl, the expression on Anson Davies's face might have alarmed me. However, when he saw I was not reacting as he'd probably intended, his scowl darkened, and he tossed a sheaf of papers across his desk toward me. "Would you care to explain this to me?"

I picked them up and glanced through them, then raised my eyes to meet his. "This seems rather cut-and-dried. What, exactly, did you need explained, sir?"

The sound of his palm coming into contact with his desk was sudden and loud, and I fought back the urge to flinch, simply permitting myself a blink. "Don't toy with me, Matheson. You were in Phoenix earlier this month."

I said nothing. Mr. Vincent had made it clear that assignment was completely under his jurisdiction and strictly classified. No one was supposed to know about it.

"No response, Matheson? Maybe this will loosen your tongue." "This" was a grainy 8x10 photo of Theo and me. It must have been taken with a high-powered telephoto lens.

It was right after Mr. Vincent's apartment had been blown up. Pretty Boy had offered him an apartment in the house the rent boys owned until he could find something else. Mr. Vincent had to go out of town for a funeral, and Theo had mentioned that since the place needed some work done before Mr. Vincent could move in, this would be the ideal time.

"I'll just hire someone to deal with it." The place hadn't been empty for too long, but it needed some refurbishing and a few repairs.

"No need to waste money on someone who'll only do a half-assed job. I'll take care of it for you, babe." I had volunteered, more as a chance to show off my handyman skills to my lover than to impress my superior. I'd gone over wearing the 501 jeans and a tee shirt, my tool belt slung low around my waist, and I'd 'rocked a couple of walls, replaced some plumbing fixtures and cleaned out the traps, and run a cable line so my boss could have high speed internet access.

Theo had been so impressed he'd pulled me into his arms, as sweaty and covered with plaster dust as I was, and thoroughly mapped the interior of my mouth. If whoever had taken the picture had waited a few more minutes, he would have gotten an even more eye-popping shot. Quickly removing my tool belt and letting it drop to the floor, Theo had undone my jeans and shoved them down past my hips, then spun me around, bent me over and with one hand tight on my cock, he'd fucked my brains out.

I raised my eyes from the photo and let the corner of my mouth curl into a grin. "Mind if I keep this?"

"That's a copy," he snapped.

"I'd still like to keep it." I decided to lob the ball back into his court. "I'm sorry, Mr. Davies. I don't understand why you think this picture should disturb me."

"That young _man_ you're kissing in this photo is a whore!"

"I would think that's more my worry than the WBIS's." Than his. "And I still don't see where you're taking this."

He was out of his chair so quickly it went spinning back to hit the wall behind him. "The WBIS frowns on its employees indulging in such activities."

I took out my wallet and withdrew a slip of paper, which I handed to him.

"What's this?" he demanded irritably.

"This is a list of the ladies who are available for a...mmm... how should I put this? A less than long-term relationship? It was supplied to me by Human Resources."

"Women are perfectly acceptable! Men are not!"

I thought of Mr. Vincent, who I'd learned was sleeping with a man. I hadn't tried to find out who it was; that wasn't my business.

It suddenly occurred to me that Mr. Davies was so concerned with my sex life that the Phoenix matter might have completely slipped his mind. Keeping my relief hidden, I decided to see if I could confuse matters further by throwing out a red herring.

"Sir, if you refuse to allow me my Constitutional rights, I'll have no choice but to bring a suit against the WBIS, and you personally."

"Are you trying to get yourself killed? You don't threaten this organization in that manner!"

"Did it appear that I was issuing a threat? I'm so sorry, Mr. Davies," I said unctuously. "That was certainly not my intention. And of course, the WBIS could have me killed at any time. But then they'd have to go to the trouble of finding someone else with my talents, recruiting him, and spending the next three years training him."

"And _I_ would be pissed as hell." Mr. Vincent. I almost sagged in relief. Davies wasn't Mr. Vincent, but he was still a senior director. "Give it up, Davies."

"What are you doing here, Vincent? This has nothing to do with you! It's between your boy and my department." He dropped back into his chair.

"If it involves _my boy_ , then it involves me." He strode across the room and stood next to me. "What's this?" He took the photo from my fingers and examined it. "Uh huh. Are you sure you want this?" he asked, revealing how much of the conversation he'd overheard. At my nod, he shrugged and handed it back to me. I caught a glimpse of his eyes as he regarded the man before us. They were flat and cold, and I was glad they weren't directed at me. The director of Public Relations very audibly ground his teeth. "Keep that up and your dentist will be very upset with you." Mr. Vincent flashed his own teeth at him in the grin that had gotten him labeled a sociopath.

"You and your cloak-and-dagger maneuvers, Vincent! This isn't the Cold War anymore," Mr. Davies snarled, his level of frustration a notch higher. "We are aware that Matheson was in Phoenix at the same time Bill Fitzwilliam disappeared. As you should know, Fitzwilliam was an irreplaceable contact for the WBIS."

"No one is irreplaceable, Davies. Surely you've worked here long enough to have learned that simple fact? And what gave you the impression that Matheson was in Arizona whenever it was you think Fitzwilliam went missing?"

"'Impression' my ass!"

Mr. Vincent let the PR man see his amusement, but Mr. Davies went rushing on, almost frothing at the mouth at this point.

"It's a goddamned _fact_ , Vincent, and you should be the one aware of it if anyone is!"

"Mr. Davies thought I might be interested in this, sir." I handed my boss the papers the senior director had thrust at me. Mr. Vincent took them and thumbed through them casually. What he held was a detailed account of my time in Phoenix, from the time I stepped off the jet at Sky Harbor International until the afternoon I ran into Fitzwilliam in a local gin mill and spent the next couple of hours feeding him carefully doctored drinks.

"Hmmm. This says that Matheson got Fitzwilliam back to the building that's under construction for Huntingdon, knocked him out and dumped him where a pylon was going to be set, and then dumped about five hundred yards of cement on top of his body. Is that what you did, Matheson? I forget."

"I did not do that, Mr. Vincent," I assured him earnestly. I faced Mr. Davies. "I'll be willing to take a lie detector test to that effect, sir."

"Do you think I don't know you're capable of passing a lie detector test, even when you're lying yourself blue in the face?"

I attempted to look as if my feelings were hurt. In this case, at any rate, what I spoke would have been the truth. That was not how I'd disposed of Fitzwilliam's body.

"Of course, you can always get a court order to have that pylon removed." Mr. Vincent considered the man before him. "The floors above it will need to be shored up. Not sure how long that will take, but it's a big job. Once that's done, it should only take about eighteen hours to break apart the foundation and get down to the base using jackhammers. That will set back the completion of the building by about another eight months on top of the five months it's already behind, _thanks to Fitzwilliam_ , and the cost of the over-run will be at least an additional seventy-five million dollars. And all that would be found would be rubble. The CEO of Huntingdon would not be pleased with you, Davies."

Davies' face grew purple with thwarted fury. "Fitzwilliam is dead, and this debrief proves it!"

"No, Davies. That debrief is a tissue of lies. All it proves is that we discovered your spy, and she discovered a carefully laid out plan. Matheson."

"Sir?"

"Wait outside."

I left the office, closing the door behind me. Mr. Davies's assistant stared up at me, his eyes wary. The voice of my superior came over the intercom, which had been left switched on.

"—a bullshit employee. Accept the fact that he was screwing us over. The fucking son of a bitch had a nice little business going on the side—he sold the weapons that were slated to be stockpiled for the WBIS in that building to the Russian Mafia and replaced them with fourth rate hardware that was guaranteed to misfire at the crucial time, getting our people killed."

"Impossible! He checked clean!"

"Jesus, Davies, you desk jockeys give me a pain in the ass." Mr. Vincent sounded disgusted. "Next time you need to investigate some asshole, talk to me. I'll get someone who knows what he's doing."

"But Fitzwilliam is dead!" Mr. Davies reiterated stridently.

"Are you sure of that? Knowing that I..." He changed his words smoothly. Had he done that on purpose? I couldn't help admiring the man. "...that the WBIS was onto him, what makes you think he hasn't just decided to cut his losses and run?"

"No! He wouldn't...It's not...That's impossible!"

"Is it? You should leave the _cloak-and-dagger_ tactics to my department. Tell me something, Davies. Why is Public Relations involved in this?" The other man was silent. Mr. Vincent on the attack was not a man to fuck with. "Why was Miss Jones tampered with? Whose idea was it? What's _your_ connection to Fitzwilliam?"

"These are unfounded allegations." The PR director's voice was hoarse. Stress? Nerves? "I deny them vehemently. You have no proof!"

"But I have no doubt that if I start looking for it, I _will_ find it. And when I do, The Boss—"

"Trevor Wallace will never believe you over me!"

"Maybe." I could picture Mr. Vincent shrugging, that cocky grin on his face. "But Mr. Wallace is a big believer in delegating, and knowing that, why would I bother him with a matter that falls under my jurisdiction in the first place? You've known me a long time, and you know I've earned my reputation." His voice grew low, as if he leaned closer to the senior director, and deadly. "I'd have no qualms in turning the tenth floor into a wasteland. Now give me the tape."

"What—You—I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't. Did you think I wouldn't realize you'd try to record this meeting? C'mon. Oh, and one other thing, Davies. I don't like having my people interrogated without being informed of the fact. I'm overlooking it this time. Next time I won't be so easy-going about it."

I stared pensively at Davies's assistant, then extended my hand, waiting for the backup cassette to be dropped into my palm. "It would be better if you gave it to me. You really don't want to deal with my boss." He fumbled with the micro-recorder, finally getting the tiny tape out of it.

Mr. Vincent came out of the office, ignoring the man behind the desk, who eyed him with shocked horror, his face ashen. "Matheson." Mr. Vincent indicated with a jerk of his head toward the door that I was to follow him. The assistant held himself very still, as if his very motionlessness would render him invisible.

"Geez," I groused as we walked down the corridor to the stairwell. "You'd think the guy had never seen members of Interior Affairs before."

That surprised a laugh out of Mr. Vincent, and he paused before opening the door. "You're sure you want to keep this picture? It really doesn't do you justice."

"That isn't my best side." I ran my forefinger over the image of the man who was embracing me. "But it's a damn good shot of Theo."

He stared at me, then his mouth quirked into grin. "I think I could get to like you, Matheson."

I handed him the backup tape, and he slipped it into his pocket, and we returned to the seventh floor.

* * * *

By the time I got back to my office, Miss Jones was gone. In her place was a brunette who reminded me vaguely of a young Ingrid Bergman.

Later that day, word came down that Mr. Davies would be taking an extended leave of absence, due to a sudden flare-up of a chronic ulcer.

And that night, Theo got me onto my hands and knees, pushed into me, and pounded unrelentingly against my prostate, jerking me off as well until I exploded and filled his hands with my semen. Afterward, while he was spooned up behind me, nuzzling the spot below my left ear that always made me melt like butter, he murmured, "Wills? You awake?" I was half asleep, but he took my mumbled grunt as an assent. "I've been thinking, babe. Paul wants to go home, and I'm buying out his share of this building. He and Spike will be moving to California to live. I'll be here by myself." I was abruptly wide awake, and I held my breath. "It sounds like you really don't care much for your apartment. It isn't the best, and it's kind of dumb to keep it when you're over here most of the time anyway. There's plenty of room; we could convert one of the bedrooms into an office for you, and you can have your own bedroom too, for...you know...if we have a fight, and you need some space?" Theo was asking me to move in with him.

"Yes."

He was surprised by my immediate agreement. "What, _yes_?"

"Yes, I'll come live with you and be your love..."

* * * *

So there it was: Mr. Wallace had ordered me to watch Mr. Vincent.

And Mr. Vincent had told me to follow him into the hospital.

But in the end, the reason I'd wound up in Theo's bed—the reason I stayed there—

That was all Theo.

He was bent over the oven, pulling out the pork roast he'd made for our dinner. He didn't see me watching him, didn't see me smiling.

But the answer to my question? It was him.

THE END

* * * *

ABOUT TINNEAN

Tinnean has been writing since the third grade, where she was inspired to try her hand at epic poetry. Fortunately, that epic poem didn't survive the passage of time; however, her love of writing not only survived but thrived, and in high school she became a member of the magazine staff, where she contributed a number of stories.

Starting a family resulted in the writing being set aside, although throughout those years Tinnean did continue to keep a journal. Once the kids were old enough to do their own thing, she was able to dabble in writing again. It was with the advent of the family's second computer—the first intimidated everyone—that her writing took off, enhanced in part by fan fiction, but mostly by the wonder that is copy and paste.

While involved in fandom, she was nominated for both Rerun and Light My Fire Awards. Now she concentrates on her original characters and has been published by Nazca Plains, Dreamspinner, JMS Books, Wilde City Press, and Less Than Three Press.

Tinnean is what you might call a hopeful romantic, and if you see her name on a story, it will have a happy ending.

Her signature line, a quote by Ernest Hemingway, says it all: "Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it."

A New Yorker at heart, she resides in southwest Florida with her husband and three computers.

* * * *

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!

