by Jamie Craig
Though Duke slipped them into his pocket without further questions, his inquisitive gaze remained steady on Scott. “Thank you. This makes things easier for me.”
“You’re welcome. My life will be considerably easier when you realize I’m right.” Scott sipped from his drink and glanced at his watch. “Oh, I’ve kept you out late.”
“No, I’m probably going to have a late night. But this is probably a good point to call it quits for now. I can get working on these, and maybe you can salvage the real dinner date you had.”
“If not the dinner, then maybe the dessert,” Scott said lightly, though he was a little disappointed. He wanted to stick around for a bit longer. See if he could catch another small smile, or be surprised by another little joke. He might have suggested another drink, but Duke was already standing. Unwilling to just watch him leave, Scott added, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Duke cast him a curious glance, but didn’t argue, leading the way through the subdued bar and out onto the street. The evening had grown cooler, the sky a dusky pink and purple where the setting sun streaked across the horizon.
“Here.” Duke’s voice pulled Scott’s attention away from the sunset to see him offering a business card, caught between his index and middle fingers. “I’m not at my desk very often. This has my cell number in case you need to get hold of me.”
Scott plucked it from his fingers, but not before letting his finger casually brush against the back of Duke’s hand. It was a ridiculously small moment of contact, and it only served to make Scott wish he could have more.
“Thanks. Let me give you my cell, too.” He pulled his business card from one pocket, and a pen from another. He was just writing the first digit when a crack like thunder boomed down the street. And then the world turned upside down.
The pen went flying as Duke shoved him to the ground. His knees and palms scraped against the sidewalk, but that was nothing compared to the sudden weight slammed against his back. Another crack split the air, closer this time. He twisted his head toward it, but Duke’s hand clamped over the back of his neck, forcing his face to the concrete.
“Stay down.”
The words were hard and even, much like the line of Duke’s locked jaw. In a liquid motion, he reached inside his coat and pulled out a gun, the weapon a natural extension of his arm. It swept along several inches before Duke followed it with his body, his weight disappearing from Scott’s back. James rolled toward the building in time to see Duke take off at a dead run down the street.
He remained motionless, too stunned to move. His heart thudded in his ears, and the bitter taste of adrenaline rested on the back of his tongue. He wanted to chase Duke down. He wondered if he should call the police. He thought he might throw up. Scott never got flustered. He liked to think he had every situation under control, even during the chaos of a criminal trial when anything could, and would, happen. But at that moment, he was flustered. Worse than that, he was a little bit scared. Because he didn’t think the shots had been meant for Duke.
He finally forced his watery limbs to cooperate with him and pushed himself to his feet. He had his cell out of his pocket, his thumb hovering over the nine when he saw Duke’s familiar form. Alone. Disappointment crashed through him. He didn’t know how he had expected Duke to chase down a car on foot, but it never occurred to him that he would be returning empty-handed.
Duke stopped in front of him, shadowed eyes raking down his body. Though he hadn’t broken out in a sweat, his forehead shone from his exertion, his breath a little faster than it had been inside.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Nothing hit you, did it?”
Scott didn’t feel any pain, but all that meant was that he could be in shock. He looked down, checking for the dark shadow of blood on his clothes, but there was nothing. Everything appeared to be normal. “I’m fine. Just a little…rattled.”
“I got a partial on the license plate. I’ll run it, but I don’t know if it’ll come back with anything useful. Any idea on who would take a shot at you?”
“No, but I could have a partial list of enemies to you by the morning,” Scott said, only half-joking.
Duke didn’t smile. “Has this happened before?”
“Have I been shot at before? No. I have received some threatening letters from disgruntled former clients. But nothing that’s ever been a serious threat.”
“This was serious.” Gripping Scott’s arm, Duke forced him to turn around and look at the wall behind them. A single hole at eye level stared back at them. “That first shot missed you by inches. Probably because we were walking, or you bent your head while you were writing down the number, or the driver accelerated, or something like that. Whatever it was, you were lucky.”
“It’s an occupational hazard,” Scott said, sounding far more casual than he felt. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about those, detective.”
“No.” His eyes bore into him. “But some occupations shouldn’t be as hazardous as others.” His head jerked to the side when the Isis’s hostess stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Have you called 9-1-1 yet?” At her wavery yes, he nodded. “Good. Do you have a private room I can keep Mr. Scott until a car arrives? Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.”
“Are you going to lock me up until they arrive to take my statement?” Scott asked wryly.
A muscle twitched in Duke’s cheek as he followed the hostess into the club, his grip still firm on Scott’s arm. “I’m going to keep you safe.”
Scott bit back more sarcasm—it was nothing more than a defense mechanism. He didn’t like being vulnerable at the best of times. He certainly didn’t enjoy the sensation in front of a man like Duke. On the other hand, he could certainly do worse than having a man like Owen Duke watching his back. Especially since he had no idea just who was lurking behind him.
Chapter 6
Reviewing evidence always calmed Duke. He liked the routine. He liked the repetition. Puzzle pieces turning around and around to find patterns, to see holes, to create new puzzles to fathom out. It helped give him such a terrific record, because he was willing to take the time to consider a problem from more than a single angle.
Sitting in Scott’s darkened apartment, listening to the property manager’s interview on borrowed headphones, should have worked.
It didn’t.
He lounged in one of the two cream leather chairs, his weapon resting within reach on its wide arm. No lights were on, but the curtains were pulled back from the windows running the length of one wall. During the day, Scott would have an amazing view of the bay, though Duke doubted he got much opportunity to enjoy it. Now, it stretched like ink into the night, lights from the city sparkling atop its surface. The original artwork that filled the walls might as well have been blank canvases for what he could see, but Duke was not spending the night to enjoy the scenery.
If somebody tried taking another shot at Scott, Duke would stop them. End of story.
It had been an easy decision. For all his joking with the uniforms who arrived to take their statements, Scott had been wan and jumpy. His usual abundant energy translated into eyes that refused to settle on any one thing, feet that refused to stop moving whether he paced or sat and jiggled a leg. The longer it went on, the more worried about him Duke got. He didn’t like seeing Scott’s confidence this shaken. It felt unnatural.
Insisting on escorting him home and spending the night to keep a lookout did not. Duke couldn’t do much of anything about the following day, but he could make sure Scott relaxed enough to get a good night’s sleep to better face it.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, finding out Scott was gay had changed the way Duke looked at him. Until that point, he’d been angry that Scott was attempting to manipulate him through his sexuality. Isis was a commonly known gay wine bar, built for intimacy. Duke hadn’t called him on it when he’d first suggested Isis for drinks because he wanted to appear flexible. But he’d assumed Scott meant to try and get his defenses
down by using flirting and sex as weapons. It was still possible that he’d lied about his orientation, but Duke didn’t think so. He was an expert at knowing when someone was lying to him, but more than that, Scott was right. He had an honest face. He’d been telling the truth.
But that opened a door Duke hadn’t expected. Scott had an unmistakable boyish charm, and an appealing intellect that fascinated Duke. Once he knew Scott was gay, his thoughts started to stray, considering the man on levels beyond the case, beyond anything that was suitable for their positions. They were only random moments—catching a glint in his hazel eyes, noticing his strong fingers during his continuous touching of his water glass—but they were enough for him to confess he might not necessarily have turned him down if they had met under different circumstances. Duke didn’t date much. Few men understood his dedication to his work. But for Scott, he thought it might have worked out.
Might have. Or possibly in the future. Not now. Not while they were working the same case. The last thing he needed was for Captain Sager to discover a conflict of interest that might damage their case against Hector Young.
Duke thought the volume was low enough, but he didn’t hear Scott approach. He didn’t even know the other man was up until he was practically standing on top of him. “Do you plan on sleeping tonight?” Scott asked good-naturedly.
He paused the recorder and pulled the headphones down to hang around his neck. “No. Why are you up?”
“I don’t know.” Scott ran his hand through his hair. “Still feeling a bit…wired. I keep trying to figure out what happened. Who it was. All that.”
“You’re wasting energy.” Though Duke knew he was wasting breath telling him that. He gestured toward the couch, grateful the darkness hid most of Scott’s details from view. Instead, he saw the outline of a bare, broad chest and silk pajama bottoms glistening in the stray moonlight filtering through the window. “You can sleep out here if it’ll make you feel better.”
Scott’s lips twitched. “I don’t know if I should be amused, offended, or touched that you’re giving me permission to sleep on my own couch.”
“I thought that was better than ordering you back to bed by reminding you who has the weapon here.”
“Then I guess I’ll skip right over amused and offended, and go right to touched.” Scott crossed over to the couch and settled in the deep cushions with a sigh. “So would you play sentry for any lawyer that gets shot at?”
“If he was shot on my watch, yes.”
“Oh, I thought maybe I was special.”
Duke wasn’t going to touch that one, not now, not ever. He knew Scott was only kidding around, but he also knew that if he answered honestly, Scott would never let him forget it.
“I like your apartment.” The change of subject was safer. “I’m not sure I’d work as many hours as I do if I had your view.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it? I’m subletting it from a guy who used to work at the firm. He moved to DC last year, and he gave me a pretty good deal. Before that, I lived in this tiny little shoebox with a view of a wall. I worked so many hours, anything bigger seemed wasteful.”
“Don’t you still work that many hours?”
“Yes. But now I have a nice place to entertain guests. And trust me, I would have been stupid to walk away from the deal he offered.” The couch creaked as Scott turned on his side. “Do you want a tour? It might be nicer than sitting here in the dark.”
“I don’t think I should be too distracted.” Even though he already was. Scott’s new position slashed a jagged silver beam across the lower part of his face and his upper chest, revealing a smile, a defined muscle, a dark nipple. “You get used to the dark after you’ve been on a few dozen midnight stakeouts.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” Scott shifted on the couch again. “Maybe you can help me get my mind off things. If you wouldn’t object.”
“That depends on what it is. You’re not going to make me sing a lullaby to put you to sleep, are you?”
“No, but maybe you could set aside a bit of that stoicism and tell me about yourself. I mean, you are staying the night in my apartment, and I’ll probably cook you breakfast in the morning. I should know more about you than just your name.”
“You don’t have to cook me breakfast.”
“Yes, I do. That’s a house rule. If you stay up all night to guard my life, you get breakfast. Nice deflection, by the way.”
Not nice enough, apparently, because Scott still seemed to expect him to just open up and bare his soul. Duke fought not to fidget in his seat as he wracked his brain from some sort of safe response. “I run training exercises for the cadets in addition to my case load. Not now, actually, but I’ll go back to it once this case is closed.”
“Why? Were you assigned to that or did you volunteer?”
“One of my old teachers approached me about running a specific exercise a few years ago. It turned out so well, they asked me again. I just kept on doing it.” He paused, the last exercise replaying in his head. “It’s a lot of work, and sometimes it’s frustrating, but…it’s fun. I like knowing I helped make the cadets better.”
“Yeah, I can see why that would be satisfying.” Scott paused. “Do you do anything for fun outside of work?”
When the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile, he wondered if Scott could see it. “I suppose you’d consider the gun range work.”
“Yes, I think that technically counts as work. I’m looking for something that has no relation at all to the department.”
“But it’s fun, and I do it when I’m off-duty,” he argued good-naturedly.
“Okay, let’s say you’re going out on a date with somebody you really like. Where would you take that person?”
“Is it a first date?”
“Yes.”
“Am I trying to impress, or casual?”
“You definitely want a second date.”
He knew he shouldn’t answer. It wasn’t any of Scott’s business. They weren’t friends, this wasn’t a social environment, and his personal life was his own, not anybody else’s. But he liked Scott’s easygoing manner, and the back and forth was—dare he admit it?—fun. So he answered anyway, knowing full well he would probably regret it later.
“Sutro’s at the Cliff House.” His favorite restaurant, not necessarily for the food, but for the panoramic views of the Pacific. It was too expensive for anything but special occasions. The last time he’d gone was for his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary. “Then we’d walk over to the Camera Obscura to look at Seal Rock and take a walk along the trails.”
“That’s…a really, really good first date. Not that you need my approval or anything.”
“Well, you said to impress. What would you do?”
“The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art,” Scott answered promptly. “After that, a cruise around the bay. Unless my date gets seasick, of course. And then a nightcap back here, where I would make my world famous banana fosters and ice cream for dessert.”
The chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. “Somehow, I’m not surprised your specialty is a dessert with its own show.”
“Well, I’ve got to do something to make sure they’ll come back for more.”
“That’s not really an issue, is it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t invited anybody here without making banana foster for them at least once.”
It dawned on Duke—and oddly enough, for the first time that evening—that he had no idea if Scott was in a relationship where Duke’s presence overnight might create a problem. He didn’t think so. Scott didn’t act like he had a boyfriend, and surely he wouldn’t have toyed with the notion of them being on a date that night if he did. But what about the mysterious late dinner date? That could have been somebody important to Scott. Somebody who might show up in the morning a little bit put out that another man had spent the night in Scott’s living room.
There was only one way to find out. Duke didn’t want to be the
cause of unnecessary strife, even if the reason for the impromptu sleepover was legit.
“Do I have to worry about your latest banana foster conquest letting himself in with a key? I’d hate to shoot your boyfriend by accident.”
Scott chuckled. “No, there’s no banana foster conquest with a key. In fact, I haven’t had one of those conquests in…far too long. Tonight constitutes the most time I’ve spent with another person outside of work in at least three months.”
“It was still about work, though.” Not entirely true, but asserting it made Duke feel better.
“Well, I get that you’re still at work right now, but I’m not.” Scott rolled off the couch, bouncing to his feet. “So it counts. Do you want something to drink?”
“Water sounds good.” His throat was dry. He would have preferred coffee, but if someone tried breaking in, the smell would be a giveaway.
“Water? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Duke watched as Scott wandered into the kitchen. The apartment had an open floor plan, and the only thing that separated the two rooms was a long counter. He filled a glass with water from the front of the fridge, and then got a smaller one from the cupboard. The fridge spit out ice instead of water, and Scott poured whiskey over the top.
“What time does your shift begin tomorrow? Will you get the chance to get some rest?”
“I’ll take a nap over lunch, then probably call it an early night after the meeting with Young.” He felt funny being waited on, even if it was just for water, and stood, sliding his weapon back into its holster. He met Scott at the edge of the counter and gratefully took the glass. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Look…I appreciate that you don’t want me to die. But you don’t have to spend your whole night here. Really. Or, if you do, at least take the guest bedroom.”
His mouth twitched. “Sleeping defeats the purpose.”
“I think chances are good that you could sleep through the night and not miss anything.” Scott took a long swallow from his drink, the ice clinking against the glass. Duke couldn’t help but notice the way Scott’s throat worked as swallowed. “It could be that I wasn’t the target at all.”