Pas de Deux

by Jamie Craig

  Then, Duke sighed and shuddered. His eyes opened and locked with Scott’s, his hand straying down Scott’s back to cup his ass. He lifted his head the fraction of an inch necessary to seal their mouths together and silently urged Scott to press deeper.

  Slow. Slowly. Slow. Give him time. Let him adjust. Slowly.

  The constant mantra helped. Duke’s mouth against his did not. In fact, the dance of his tongue only served to make his head spin. Duke pulled him deeper and deeper, the two of them working together to gain an inch, then another inch. As Duke’s heat surrounded him, pulsed round him, Scott suspected that he was never going to find quite that level of satisfaction with anybody else.

  Duke only tore from their hungry kisses when Scott felt the light nudge of his balls against hot skin. He panted for breath, but didn’t otherwise make any sign of discomfort, even going so far as knead the tense flesh of Scott’s ass.

  “Remind me when we’re all done that my gut has fantastic ideas sometimes,” Duke said.

  “I will. Especially when your gut is telling you to agree with me.”

  Scott gave Duke plenty of time to adjust to him, and also plenty of time to raise any sort of protest or point out that Scott was hurting him. When he didn’t, Scott began to move his hips. He didn’t want to lose an inch of the heat, so he didn’t slip from Duke’s tight body. He kept himself buried, relying on the rocking and gyrating of his hips to create the friction they both needed.

  Beads of sweat formed on Duke’s brow, dampening the dark hair at his temples. Scott stretched to kiss it away, but when the salty fluid made his mouth water for more, he returned to Duke’s mouth, unable to resist. Duke locked his other hand over the back of Scott’s head, as if fearful James would pull away.

  “I do not remember it feeling this good,” Duke murmured between kisses.

  “Me, neither,” Scott admitted. Or tried to admit. The words were caught on his breath, and the three simple syllables were almost impossible to utter. Their stomachs slid together, Duke’s cock trapped between their bodies. His skin was smooth, and sweat coated his chest. The smell of sex was already starting to fill the room, drifting around them, and then there were the sounds. Skin moving against skin. Moans. Harsh breaths. At some point, Scott decided he loved Duke’s couch.

  Duke was the one to goad him into longer strokes, writhing beneath him until Scott had to move or go crazy from the friction. The first time he pulled out nearly all the way, the cooler air coiled around his cock so surprisingly, he drove harder into Duke’s body than he intended, earning a low grunt that vibrated through both of them. An apology sprang to his lips. It died when Duke swallowed it down with a kiss that put all its predecessors to shame.

  His stomach twisted around itself like a snake. When he thrust forward again, it was with the same amount of force. That earned another hard kiss. Scott was a pretty smart guy. Always had been. He didn’t need any more encouragement to finally just give in to what he wanted. To what they both wanted. He forgot the mantra of slowly and drove into Duke’s body again and again.

  He kept expecting Duke to reach between their bodies to jerk himself off, but that shift never came. One hand remained firmly on Scott’s head, the other on his ass, only slipping when sweat interceded and loosened the hold. But even then, Duke resumed his position, effectively trapping Scott inside the circle of his arms. He held on with a sense of possession that might have scared Scott under other circumstances, but now, just felt incredibly right. Like this was where they belonged.

  Scott loved the way Duke felt beneath him. So wonderfully alive, his body flexing, his muscles moving beneath his taut skin. Scott was careful not to touch the stitches on his side, but he let his hand drift everywhere else over his body. Occasionally, he broke the kiss long enough to look at Duke’s face, contorted and vulnerable with his pleasure. He was always so perfectly composed and put together, but Scott knew that he would never think of Duke that way again. Not now that he had seen Duke like this.

  Duke lifted his head and captured Scott’s mouth, catching Scott’s bottom lip between his teeth. The sting was slight, but the feeling behind it unmistakable. Scott groaned and fell into the kiss, his balls tightening against his body. His hard rhythm didn’t slow, didn’t vary. Even when he felt his cock jerk and lights and sparks erupted behind his eyes.

  Beneath him, Duke sucked in a sharp breath, and the arms around Scott locked. Fresh warmth coated their stomachs, and new shudders finally tore Duke’s mouth away. His eyes were squeezed shut, swollen lips parted. They moved to form a word, but without the benefit of air, nothing came out. Even when he tried again.

  He finally gave up and sought Scott out again, his kisses shaky and broken as he rode out the end of his orgasm.

  Scott kept himself from collapsing his full weight on Duke’s frame, but he did drop his brow to Duke’s shoulder, still gasping for breath. “See? We had just the right amount of room.”

  Something brushed across the top of his head. A kiss, perhaps. He really liked that image, for some reason. “Now I’m glad I didn’t buy the love seat.”

  “I don’t know. A love seat could have been fun, too.” Scott sighed and forced himself to straighten, though he didn’t want to abandon the heat of Duke’s body. “Though this couch isn’t going to be comfortable for long. Let me take you to bed.”

  “Eventually. I need a shower, and I’m finishing that coffee and sandwich first.” He caught Scott’s wrist before he could pull completely away, his dark eyes warm and twinkling. “And I need to tell you thank you.”

  Scott tilted his head. “For what?”

  “For being there. Being here.” His mouth slanted. “For not writing me off as an arrogant, know-it-all asshole.”

  Scott snorted. “I could say the same thing to you. In fact, that’s how I’m known around the office. As in, ‘Can you believe that arrogant, know-it-all asshole just drank the last of the coffee?’“ He smiled. “I like that you’re probably smarter than me.”

  “Well, you’re definitely smarter than I am about some things.” His grin widened as he swung his legs around and sat up. “But don’t expect me to tell you that very often.”

  “You don’t have to tell me how smart I am, but you should mention what a great lover I am. Often. With great detail.”

  That elicited a laugh, a real laugh, one that lit Duke up from the inside out. “Because you don’t have a big enough head already.”

  “I just do my best work when I’m praised.” At that point, though, he didn’t need to be praised with the words. The sleepy satisfaction in Duke’s eyes, the genuine smile lighting his face, the relaxed line of his shoulders, all told Scott exactly what he needed to know. He just wished his gaze didn’t keep drifting to the bright white bandage on Duke’s side. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to stop seeing that, even when he closed his eyes.

  Chapter 17

  Long after Duke fell asleep—full of food, sated, and doped up on pain killers—Scott stared at the ceiling, considering what he knew, his analytical mind putting each detail in place until he finally had a view of the broader picture. Hector Young and Tana Mayfield were unlikely friends. Maybe he loved the girl, maybe he only viewed her as a sister. Either way, Tana gave something to Hector that he never had before. Hope. Faith in himself. No doubt, Hector believed she gave him a chance to start over fresh. And it was that very hope that left him so vulnerable to the rot and corruption he suddenly found himself in the middle of.

  The second known fact was Tana Mayfield’s murder. Before, they lacked anything resembling a motive. Now Scott wasn’t so sure. Tana hadn’t been raped or otherwise violated. All ten of her nails had been broken, and there were bruises on her knuckles, indicating a struggle before her expiration. A mugging, perhaps? Or maybe she had walked in on somebody tearing her apartment apart.

  Which fit in nicely with the fact that her apartment had been torn apart. The burglarized apartment coupled with the body being discovered in the bay, rather th
an her own home, pointed to one of two scenarios. She was killed in a third location, her body was disposed of, and then the murderer ransacked and robbed her place. Or, far more likely, she was killed in her own home, her apartment was torn apart, and then the body was dumped. Bodies could float in the bay for days or weeks, and eventually be lost at sea. Dumping the body there had its risks, but those were heavily outweighed by advantages. However, if that had happened, then she had invited the murderer into her apartment, because the lock had not been busted.

  That led Scott to the fourth fact. She personally knew one of the most high-profile officials in the city. Who wouldn’t open the door to the district attorney? Especially if said district attorney had crucial connections and clout in their chosen profession. And why would Horan choose to visit that dingy little apartment?

  Because of fact number five. Tana had something on Horan. Scott didn’t know what that was, or where it could be, but that was completely immaterial. Regardless of what she had on the man, he thought it was critical. He was desperate to get it back. It was difficult to imagine Horan arriving at her apartment, demanding the item, and when she didn’t hand it over, he got more aggressive. By the end of the night, he would be burdened with the dead body of a beautiful, connected girl, and he would still have left her apartment empty-handed, for all intents and purposes.

  But Horan knew a few facts of his own. Like the one about Tana and her relationship with a no-good, twice-convicted loser who probably wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Horan was a powerful man in the city who had made a number of important friends long before he became the district attorney. He could pull a few strings, call in a few favors, and suddenly, fact number six exists. Tampered evidence.

  Scott was completely certain Duke hadn’t brought the tampered evidence to anybody’s attention yet. He hadn’t mentioned an internal affairs investigation, and heads would be rolling by now if there were an investigation going on. Horan directed all the attention toward Hector Young, certain he wouldn’t be fingered for the murder, but still lacking in the one thing he had wanted the entire time. So he kept Hector dangling while he put the wheels of justice in motion—this time hoping they would crush Hector and the remaining evidence with it. That probably would have worked, except for two things. Scott taking the case and fighting on behalf of Hector. And Saucedo suffering a heart attack, giving Sager no other choice but to assign Duke to the case.

  But Horan was in too deep to let those two things happen without some sort of response. Scott didn’t quite believe that the DA wanted him dead. Another murder would only complicate things to an untold degree. But that wouldn’t stop him from literally firing a warning shot. When that didn’t work, he had no choice but to add to the body count in order to keep Hector in jail.

  Now the one person who could literally blow the case wide open, who had all of the facts if not quite the evidence, was sleeping with several stitches in his flesh and a bandage taped to his side.

  Scott wasn’t going to give DA Horan a chance to hurt anybody else. He got his shot at Duke, but he was only going to get one.

  He slipped out in the pre-dawn hours, sorry for abandoning Duke like that, but knowing he was doing the right thing. If he told Duke his plan, the other man would only try to talk him out of it. He would caution him to move slowly and advise that they just lay low and collect the evidence. That was a fine plan if Scott wanted justice, but for the first time in his life, he was looking for a little revenge.

  He went home first, showering and changing as quickly as he could before ducking out again. Horan’s office was located at the Hall of Justice on Bryant, which meant more driving, more walking, and more time to rehearse his words, as he waited for the elevator to take him to the third floor. Though the building was mostly empty at the moment, it wouldn’t be long before it was buzzing with people. Jury trials typically started at eight. If he knew Horan, though, the man would already be in. Scott’s lack of appointment wouldn’t be a drawback. Horan was far too interested in his cases to ignore him unnecessarily.

  Just as he’d thought, Horan’s secretary was already at her desk, though she frowned when Scott approached. “Can I help you?”

  He turned the full wattage of his smile on her. “I’m sorry, I don’t have an appointment, but I need to speak to DA Horan. Is he in?”

  “He is, but he’s preparing for court.” She turned to her keyboard. “Maybe I can pencil you in for this afternoon?”

  “Actually, no. I have my own court appearance this afternoon. It’s a bit of an emergency. Could you tell him that James Scott is here to discuss Hector Young? He might find he has time for me after all.”

  She nodded without further comment and pressed a button on her phone. Her professional demeanor relaxed when Horan responded to her announcement, and she disconnected the call with a smile at Scott. “You can go on in, Mr. Scott.”

  “Thank you.” He flashed her another quick smile. “You have a good morning.”

  He strode into Horan’s office like he was walking into his own. This wasn’t the first time he had entered a hostile environment, and he refused to behave like he was on the defensive. Horan sat behind a huge mahogany desk. The placement of everything from the lamp to the pens revealed a certain fussiness that didn’t surprise Scott at all. He didn’t stand as Scott entered the room. Just glowered from his deep, leather chair, his brow thunderous. Scott recognized that look. He had seen it in the courtroom enough times. It was designed to intimidate. It wasn’t going to work.

  “Good morning,” Scott greeted pleasantly, sitting in the chair opposite Horan before the DA had the chance to offer the seat.

  “I’m not interested in plea bargaining for Young,” Horan said, cutting straight to the chase. “So unless you’re here to hand me a signed confession, I suggest you go tilt at windmills someplace else.”

  “I’m actually more interested in the sort of deal you’ll be requesting to save your own ass. I wouldn’t count on anything, though. The governor has to look tough on crime, after all.”

  Horan didn’t even blink. “As per usual, you’re making absolutely no sense. Is there an actual purpose to this impromptu meeting, or are you just hoping to annoy me to death?”

  “There are several actual purposes for my visit. First and foremost, we need to discuss the little chats you’ve been having with my client. I’ve already reported you to the state bar on suspicions of an ethics violation.”

  “And suspicions are all you’ll ever have. You have no proof.”

  “No, no proof. Except for the security footage that doesn’t match the visitor’s log at the jail. You’re not the only one with friends.”

  His leather chair creaked as he leaned back. “I’m assuming Young told you about our meeting.”

  “Meetings. Plural. All of them. In an exceptionally detailed deposition.”

  “It couldn’t have been too detailed. He barely has a fifth grade education.”

  “His education has nothing to do with his memory.”

  “No, but it has everything to do with how articulate he is. Which isn’t very.”

  “He doesn’t need to be articulate. He has me for that. And the state board isn’t going to be grading his deposition. They’re going to be more interested in the fact that you’re using not one, but two murder victims as bargaining chips.”

  Horan’s gaze turned flinty. “Just because I didn’t have enough to hold Young for Tana Mayfield’s murder doesn’t make your client any less guilty, Scott. The evidence is out there. It’s just a matter of finding it.”

  “Evidence?” Scott ran the tip of his tongue over his top lip. “You won’t find any evidence for a crime he didn’t commit. However, I’m fascinated by the evidence that IA will uncover. Now, visiting Young? That would probably result in a quiet slap of the wrist. But after that investigation, you’re probably going to need a good attorney.”

  “Your information’s faulty. There is no IA investigation linked to Young.�
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  “No, sir. There is no IA investigation linked to Young yet.”

  That did it. For the first time since walking in, he saw a chink in Horan’s armor, an infinitesimal twitch followed by a slight narrowing of his eyes. “IA won’t find anything. I had a few unauthorized visits with Young in hopes of getting him to deal. Tana deserves justice.”

  “How well did you know Tana?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Was your mother a ballet dancer?”

  “And she danced with the same company Tana did. Do you have a point, Scott?”

  “And you’ve remained a local supporter of the company, haven’t you?”

  “I’m still failing to see your point.”

  “Humor me and it’ll get me out of your hair faster.”

  Horan sighed. “If you’re asking the question, you already know the answer. It’s a matter of public record. I’ve been donating money to the company ever since I graduated from law school.”

  “You are no doubt aware that the company had recently decided to update their records, beginning with culling the names of the people who no longer offered donations. Tana Mayfield herself had suggested and spearheaded this project. Do you recall speaking to her?”

  “She would have spoken with my accountant, but that’s beside the point because my donations were never in question.” Abruptly, Horan sat up. “Cut the bullshit, Scott. Obviously, you think you know something, so either spit it out, or get out.”

  “I just can’t work out when she got it. Was it through the dance company? Or was it through Woodson?”

  Horan went utterly still. Only because he’d been watching him so intensely did Scott notice. It took everything he had not to let his glee show. “Don’t tell me Young gave it up to you.”

  “I’m not actually telling you anything. I’m giving you the chance to do the right thing before I bring down hell on your head.”