L.A. Heat

by P. A. Brown

  How long ago?”

  “Months,” Chris murmured. “I don’t remember exactly.”

  David drew out a second photo and studied it, trying not to think of the way Blake had looked when the killer got through with him. “Good-looking guy.” Jason Blake had matured from the scrawny, too-thin kid David had first seen in his high-school photo to a sleek-looking, dark-haired man who must have stirred a lot of libidos, male and female.

  Chris stood up. “Let me check to see if the coffee’s ready.”

  David almost let him go, then abruptly changed his mind. Maybe it was time to put some pressure on Mr. Christopher Bellamere. He followed him into the kitchen. It was all brushed steel and granite countertops, totally out of place with the rest of the house. It had all the warmth of a meat locker. Chris must have seen him staring because he grunted.

  “Kyle’s idea of ultrachic. I always feel like I’m in a giant tin can when I come in here.

  What do you take in your coffee?”

  “Nothing.” David quickly amended that. “I mean, no thanks. I don’t need anything.”

  Chris shrugged and filled a large mug and threw in a splash of Hazelnut-flavored cream. He came to stand beside David, who shifted uncomfortably at his nearness.

  “What do you really want from me?” Chris asked. There was a plaintiveness to his question that stirred a longing in David, which he quickly suppressed. Chris was a suspect, for heaven’s sake. And even if he wasn’t, Christopher Bellamere was way out of David’s league, now or ever.

  “What do I want?” he asked. “Try the truth.”

  “I’ve told you the truth. I barely knew the guy.”

  “Then tell me anything you can—”

  Des reappeared. “Kyle wants to go to bed,” he said. “Do you have any more questions, officer?”

  Monday, 8:40 pm, North Palm Drive, Beverly Hills Chris sipped his cooling coffee while David slipped out of the room. He looked over to find Des grinning at him.

  “What?”

  “Did you see it?”

  “See what?” Chris scowled. “Okay, what’s so funny?”

  “You really didn’t catch it?”

  “Catch what?” Chris felt like shaking him. “Des.”

  “That guy had such a boner for you.”

  “Who— what? The detective?”

  “Yeah.” Des smirked. “Him. Come on, you know I have the best gaydar in the state.

  Have I ever been wrong?”

  “Well, there was that UCLA football halfback—”

  “Oh honey, just because he wouldn’t admit it doesn’t mean he wasn’t.”

  “Honey,” Chris said acidly. “The man broke your arm. He came damn close to breaking your neck. If it hadn’t been for me you’d have spent the next term in traction.”

  “Oh pish.” Des dismissed his words with a scented wave of his hand. “Maybe I misjudged him, but I’m right about this one. He’s got a boner for you.”

  “Would you stop saying that.”

  Des sniffed. “Just you wait and see.”

  *****

  As long as Chris had known him, Des had collected Hollywood memorabilia. Nearly every inch of wall outside the kitchen was covered with movie posters. Horror flicks mingled uneasily with frantic comedies. Chris knew some of the posters were worth thousands. An ancient, carefully framed Gone With the Wind had been rumored to be valued at nearly a hundred grand. David perched on the edge of the sofa beside Kyle, who was hunched over, holding the melting ice pack to his eye. The look of concern on David’s rough face seemed genuine. He touched Kyle’s shoulder and when the younger man looked sideways at him David smiled. Chris was amazed to see Kyle smile in return.

  He was still smiling when he caught sight of Chris. The smile died and David looked up. He rose.

  Kyle stumbled to his feet. “I’d like to go to bed.”

  David frowned. “Of course, Mr. Paige. I can see my own way out—”

  “Good.” Kyle brushed past Chris and Des, barely acknowledging his lover’s “Hey—”

  “Listen,” Des said to Chris. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Right now I just want to make sure Kyle is okay.”

  “Sure.” Chris barely nodded. He was still holding David’s gaze. “Call me.”

  Chris studied David. Could Des be right? Did it mean anything if he was? The man wasn’t his type. Even if he was intriguing as hell. It sure as hell didn’t mean Chris wanted to sleep with him. Really, it didn't.

  “Are you done, then?” Chris asked.

  “Yes.”

  David eyed the wall full of posters. “Mr. Hayward is in the industry?”

  “Des owns a clothing store. Mind you, it’s a store in Beverly Hills. He lived with an assistant director once, if that counts.”

  “You’ve been friends a long time.”

  “Did Kyle tell you that?” Chris could just imagine that conversation. Kyle couldn’t seem to forgive Des for having a past that didn’t include him. He sighed. “You going to take me back?”

  “If you’re ready.”

  Chris stepped closer to the much taller man. He wasn’t used to looking up to anyone; at six feet he was eye-to-eye with most men. David made him crane his neck. His mouth was at eye-level. Chris dropped his gaze to the plain gray cotton shirt covering David’s broad chest. It was buttoned almost up to his throat and finished with a sedate blue and gray tie he had tugged open, providing a glimpse of a mat of black chest hair. Chris wasn’t normally into bears, but he found himself wondering what David looked like under all that cotton.

  He smelled damned good.

  “Why are you always following me?” he said softly.

  “You said that before.” David folded his arms over his chest, making himself look even more massive. His mustache bristled. “What makes you think I’m following you?”

  “Is that a cop thing?”

  “What?”

  “Answering a question with a question? Never giving a straight answer—pardon the pun.”

  David’s eyes narrowed. The thick muscles of his forearms bulged. “I’m not following you.”

  “You won’t even admit it to yourself, will you?”

  Spinning around Chris stalked toward the front door. He wasn’t really surprised when David followed.

  “What does that mean?” David demanded.

  “Buried in the closet like you are, it must get pretty damned stuffy when you never come up for air.”

  Chris was nearly at the front door when David wrapped one big hand around his elbow and pulled him to an abrupt stop. Chris eyed the wall of flesh in front of him and fought the urge to step back. Not that the grip on his arm would have allowed it.

  He glared at David, ignoring the way the heat from David’s fingers scalded his flesh.

  “Why do you think I’m following you?” David asked. “Doesn’t that strike you as a bit paranoid. I am conducting a homicide investigation.”

  Chris dismissed his words. “It’s pretty obvious.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Nobody can be that thick.”

  When David would have moved away, Chris slammed his hand against the wall, blocking his retreat.

  “You don’t understand?” Chris cupped David’s head in both hands. “Maybe you’ll understand this.”

  He rammed his mouth over David’s.

  David went rigid with shock. Chris froze. David’s mouth was closed, shut tight against Chris’s invading tongue. Oh, Jesus, now he’d done it. David was going to bust him for assault. If he didn’t break him in two. How the hell could he have listened to Des?

  Des and his stupid gaydar. How could he have thought David was queer—

  Massive hands closed into fists around the material of Chris’s T-shirt and David growled. He shoved him back against the wall, at the same time his lips opened and his tongue filled Chris’s mouth. The coarse bristles of David’s mustache and his incipient beard chafed Chris’s face. Beside them a coat rack crashed, flinging umbrellas and jackets
across the floor.

  Chris barely noticed. His heart was pounding so hard he swore the wall behind him vibrated. He closed his eyes and hung on to David just to stay upright.

  Pinned to the wall, Chris matched David’s sudden fervor. Flashing between them was raw lust as uncontrollable as a river roaring downhill. David pressed against Chris with his hard body, his erection pushing into Chris's stomach. Chris went after bare skin, shoving his hands up under David’s shirt, clutching warm flesh, mindlessly tracking over writhing muscles.

  “What the hell is going on down there? Dammit, I’m trying to get Kyle to sleep—shit, I—oh damn—I’m sorry—sorry...”

  Chris dragged his mouth off David’s in time to see a red-faced Des backpedal down the hall.

  Des fled. His feet thumped as he tripped on the stair riser and he grabbed the banister to keep from falling. He took the short flight of stairs two at a time.

  “Oh man,” Chris muttered. He blinked and met David’s glazed eyes. Then his gaze wandered back down to David’s half-open mouth. His thick dark mustache looked delicious enough to chew on.

  He wanted to kiss him again. Damn Des for interrupting.

  David’s breathing was ragged, and Chris could see a pulse beat in the five o’clock shadow under David’s chin.

  He leaned forward. “David—”

  “Don’t.” David shuddered and backed away. He stooped down and grabbed the coat rack, fumbling to pick up the umbrella that had popped open in its tumble to the floor.

  “We’re going to pretend that didn’t happen.”

  “No—” Chris reached for David, his hands skittering across skin where he had pulled the shirt out of David’s pants. “How can you say that wasn’t real?”

  David jerked away as though scalded. “Let me take you back to your vehicle, Chris.

  I’m calling it a night. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Come back to my place,” Chris said. “We can talk—”

  “I’m on duty.” With that he pulled completely free of Chris’s touch. He was breathing hard, which was some consolation. When Chris moved toward him, he stepped back.

  That wasn’t good. Damn. The man had a hell of a lot more willpower than Chris had.

  “David...” With a sigh Chris scooped his jacket off the floor and slipped it on. “Forget it. Fine, I’m ready.”

  David already had the car started when Chris climbed into the passenger’s seat; he grabbed the seat belt when David shot out of the narrow driveway.

  Chris glanced at the dashboard clock. After midnight. He felt a crushing exhaustion; he should have been home in bed by now. Which is exactly where he wanted to be.

  Only not alone.

  He peered sideways at David, taking in the grim set of his jaw and knew talking wasn’t going to work. He tried anyway. David wasn’t the only one with a stubborn streak.

  “If you don’t want to go back to my place, why don’t we grab a coffee—the Flip Side is just down the street.”

  “Forget it, Chris.”

  “Can’t.” Chris tried to keep it light, hoping that would break through David’s stiff-necked pride. “Anyone ever tell you, you make quite an impression? You—”

  “Don’t.”

  Chris was silent while David maneuvered along the nearly empty streets of Beverly Hills. He only spoke again once they passed through the more boisterous Boystown and turned onto Sunset.

  “We need to talk, David.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. Whatever you think happened, didn’t. End of story.”

  “End of nothing. God, you’re so deep in denial it’s scary. How the hell can you live like that? What do you think they’re going to do if they find out?”

  David didn’t answer. But Chris could see the tension in his shoulders and the stranglehold grip he had on the wheel.

  Finally he ventured, “Are you going to keep telling yourself you didn’t kiss me back?

  Or that you aren’t as hard as I am right now—”

  “Don’t you know when to leave something alone?” David swung the car into the curb and slammed on the brakes. Headlights washed the back of Chris’s SUV. “Just let it go.”

  Chris opened his mouth to retort, then bit his lip. He threw the car door open and scrambled out, slamming the door.

  He didn’t watch as David peeled away from the curb. Down the sidewalk light flared when someone emerged from the Nosh Pit. Chris glanced at his SUV. He should go home, get some sleep...

  The Nosh Pit was still hopping, but now there was a familiar tension to the place. The desperation of the still-single clung to everyone present.

  Chris nearly stumbled over a groping couple in the dim front vestibule. Muttering that maybe it was time to take it home, he passed into the bar. Behind the counter Ramsey raised his eyebrows. Chris lifted his hand in greeting but didn’t go over, knowing the bartender would only want to know why he had returned.

  He spotted Bobby at the same time the younger man saw him.

  Bobby bounced to his feet, ending the conversation he’d been having with an older queen, who looked pissed at the interruption.

  “Hey, man.” Bobby grabbed Chris around the waist. “Thought you were gone for the night.”

  “So did I.”

  “Come on, buy me a drink and cheer yourself up.” He squeezed Chris’s still semi-hard dick through his jeans. “I’ll make it all better, I promise.”

  Return to Contents

  CHAPTER 12

  Tuesday, 7:25 am, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles

  “YOU GET LUCKY last night, perro Viejo,” Martinez said from his desk. He never looked up from the file he was studying.

  David nearly tipped his second coffee of the day into his lap. He opened his mouth to snap a retort, then shut it again. Martinez wasn’t even listening.

  “Gotta hand it to you,” Martinez finally said. “You got more balls than me, spending the night with a bunch of joto—”

  “Stop saying that!”

  “What?”

  “Jotos. Jotos! You act like they’re not human.”

  “Hey, it’s just an expression—”

  “Yeah, the same one those punks used last night before they tried to kill one of them.”

  “What the hell—”

  He told Martinez about the gay-bashers.

  “Idiotas. Don’t they know they should stay down in the barrio?” He shook his head, then caught David’s look. “Dios, you don’t think I’m like that, do you? I told you, it’s just an expression.”

  “An ugly one. Do me a favor and stop using it.”

  David liked Martinez, respected him as a cop, and for all his blatant displays of intolerance, Martinez was a good cop. He treated everyone, doer and civilian, with a mild contempt that was almost casual in its delivery.

  Still, David could all too easily imagine what Martinez would say if he found out what had really happened last night.

  David couldn’t believe what he had done. Letting a suspect get through his guard like that. Letting himself be kissed—worse, losing it and kissing the guy back.

  Tuesday, 9:40 am, Cove Avenue,

  Silver Lake, Los Angeles

  Chris woke amid a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. He blinked away sleep and groaned when the bedside phone rang. Who the hell would call this early—then he looked at his clock.

  “You planning on coming in today, Bellamere?” Becky’s voice was pitched low as though to keep someone from overhearing. “I’m holding Petey at bay with some story about you talking to clients off-site, but he’s getting nasty. Wants to know when you’re checking in. You sick?”

  “Jesus, Chapman, why’d you wait so long to call.”

  “Last time I checked, Bellamere, you were old enough to wipe your own ass.”

  Chris groaned.

  “Must have been some night,” Becky said. “You fit to work?”

  “Let me go stick my head in a bucket of water. I’ll be right the
re.”

  Fifty-five minutes later he nearly ran down Tom Clarke as he stepped off the elevator.

  “You expect everyone to get out of your way, Bellamere?” Tom glanced at his watch.

  “Running late?”

  Becky wrinkled her nose when she saw him. “Wow. Who was he?”

  “Nobody!” Chris snapped. A sudden image of David flashed through his head. Could he have been wrong about the way David responded last night? Had he misread things that badly? “Maybe I just overindulged.”

  “Ha, Bellamere.” She popped a stick of Juicy Fruit in her mouth. “So, who was he?”

  “Don’t go there, Chapman.”

  Chris spent the morning fielding phone calls from various clients. At lunch he settled for take-out, chiles rellenos from a nearby Mexican place. His phone rang. He let it go to voice mail.

  He got iced tea out of the vending machine and ate half the chiles, then played his messages. Damn, that last call had been from Des.

  Chris had his speed-dial on the BlackBerry, so he grabbed that. Des picked up on the third ring.

  “I was right?” Des giggled. “That cop’s gay? Man, he looked like he was ready to do you right in my front hall. So, you guys go back to his place? I know you didn’t go home, I called often enough.”

  Chris rubbed the back of his neck, sorry now he had called. He really didn’t want to talk about last night. “Maybe I wasn’t answering the phone.”

  “You took him to your place? I want gory details. Give me the dish, boyfriend.”

  “Nothing to dish,” Chris sighed and popped the last batter-covered Anaheim chili into his mouth. “He dropped me at my car. I went home.”

  “Right. So, are you going to see him again?”

  *****

  The phone rang as he let himself into his house later that afternoon. “Chrissy, you’re a hard man to find.” Trevor’s smoky voice smoothed Chris’s nerves, even though he hated being called Chrissy. “I’ve been calling for hours.”

  “Gotta keep the tax man happy. What’s up?”

  “I was hoping we could get together, but I’m heading out of town on a job.”