Love on the Rocks

by J. P. Bowie

  “Well, is there?” Now Miles sounded pissed. A tone Riley remembered very well.

  “There could be.”

  “Oh. You don’t seem very sure.”

  “I’m not. We’ve just met and it’s probably a bit too soon to be sure.” And that was putting it mildly. Joe was in a hospital bed. They’d shared one kiss. A nice kiss that held the promise of maybe more, but right now just the one, nevertheless.

  “Well, if I came down to see you this weekend, would you let me take you out to dinner?”

  What? “Uh, I don’t know, Miles. You kinda set me adrift when you walked away without warning. It’s taken me a while to get over it, but right now I am…over it that is, and I’m okay with things the way they are.”

  “Just okay. Is that enough for you? Look, I know I was a bastard the way I just left you high and dry, and I’d like to make it right with us. No strings. I’m not trying to get back into your life…or your pants.” Miles laughed lightly. “Sorry, that was cheesy.”

  Riley chuckled. “Not much chance of that, I’m afraid. I’m very careful who I let into my pants these days.”

  Silence again, then, “I’m sorry I hurt you, Riley.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Miles, but hey, that’s water under the bridge and all that. If you find yourself down in Laguna, give me a call. We can grab a coffee or something. Dinner’s a bit too…uh, formal, maybe.” Riley couldn’t see himself walking out on a dinner date no matter how rotten their meeting went, but a coffee place didn’t have the same restrictions. In his mind, anyway.

  “Oh, okay.” Now Miles sounded deflated. Not something he’s used to feeling, I know.

  “So, what prompted this call?” Riley asked. “Your new guy not doing it for you?” Riley didn’t mean it to be quite as nasty as it sounded, but too late to retract it.

  “He, uh, he’s in jail.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, he was stupid and got caught.”

  “Doing what exactly?”

  “Commingling funds at the real estate company we work for. I had nothing to do with it, of course,” he added too quickly for Riley to believe him.

  “Oh, Miles.”

  “I didn’t! Except I suppose I should’ve sounded the alarm sooner. Anyway, he’s gone for three years, less with good behavior, if he knows how.” Miles sighed. “I do worry about him, of course, in there with hardened criminals. He’s so fey.”

  Riley had never met the man who’d stolen Miles from him. Didn’t even know his name. Yet he shuddered at the thought of him in that vulnerable state.

  “Sorry, Miles. That has to be rough. What’s his name?”

  “Kyle… Kyle Marriott.”

  “Like the hotel?”

  “Yes, but no relation unfortunately.” Miles sighed again. “I’d really like to see you, Riley. Catch up. You know, mend fences, that kind of thing. I miss you.”

  “Miss you, too.” Riley had no idea why he’d just said that, because truth be told, for the past few months he hadn’t missed Miles much at all. When he’d thought of him it was with bitterness, not fondness or a wish to see him again. But he couldn’t just give him the brush-off, not with the way he sounded, all depressed and miserable.

  Of course, I was depressed and miserable and he didn’t give me a second thought at the time.

  But he was better than that. “Okay, let me know when you’re going to be in town and I’ll meet you somewhere for coffee and we can talk some more.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch soon. Bye, Riley.”

  “Bye.” Riley shut off his phone with a sigh of relief. That had been uncomfortable, and as sorry as he was for Miles’ plight, he didn’t want to get involved with him again. Not after the heartache Miles had put him through.

  God, you really are a wuss, Riley. You should’ve said ‘no way José’ and hung up. Let him wallow in misery for a bit.

  Yeah, right, that was so not him.

  * * * *

  Joe shifted irritably in his hospital bed and clicked off the TV. He was itching to get out of this place and had grumped his disapproval of the doctor’s dictate that he needed at least another day or two before he could be released. It hadn’t helped that Rachel, his sister, had been in the room at the time.

  ‘Listen to your doctor,’ she’d berated him. ‘Don’t be a stubborn ass.’

  ‘But I feel so much better,’ he’d protested. ‘Look…’ He’d raised his arm up and down, hoping the wince he felt surfacing wasn’t too obvious.

  ‘Another two days, Detective, at least,’ the doctor had intoned. No fooling him, I guess, darn it.

  Rachel had fixed him with a belligerent stare. ‘How come I had to find out from your sergeant where you were? You couldn’t even call your own sister?’

  ‘Rachel, I was out of it for four days. I couldn’t even think straight when I first woke up from all the drugs they gave me. I was shot, for Pete’s sake. Where’s the sympathy from my darling sister?’

  They’d both laughed at that and Rachel’s visit had helped put him in a better mood.

  Romero had been by, along with McKenna, but there was still no news of Murdoch’s whereabouts. That guy was slippery as an eel. No wonder he’d gotten away with so much for so long. In the time Joe had been lying there in bed, festering, he’d begun to wonder just what else the dirty cop had been up to over the years. The ease with which he’d shot Joe and the kid made him think that maybe Murdoch was no newbie to the murder game.

  When I get out of this hellhole I’m gonna be checking his records from day one until four days ago. There has to be more to this story than just this one aberration.

  His cell chiming had him reaching for it impatiently. He squinted at the ID screen before answering. Riley Peterson…

  “Hey, Mr. Lifesaver, what’s up?” he said, pleased as punch that the cute paramedic was calling him.

  “Hi, Detective, hope you don’t mind me calling this late. I just wanted to let you know Barney is doing real well. He and Champ are getting along just fine. How are you?”

  “Busting a gut trying to get outta here, but the doc in all his wisdom says another two days, at least.”

  Riley chuckled. “Yeah, it’s got to be tough on you wanting to get back into the action, which of course you can’t do for a few weeks more.”

  Joe groaned. “Don’t rub it in, please. Somewhere out there there’s a guy who shot me and needs to pay big time for that dastardly deed.”

  “Dastardly deed?” Riley’s light laughter made Joe smile. “You sound like someone from The Three Musketeers.”

  “Do I? As a matter of fact, I love those derring-do movies. I watch TCM any time they’re showing those old Errol Flynn classics.”

  “Me too. How about that scene where he uses a knife to slice his way down the sail and—”

  “Uh, think that was Douglas Fairbanks, Riley.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure. The Black Pirate. Hey, what say we check it out once I’m outta here and… Shit, sorry, presuming much?”

  “No, no, that sounds like fun. We can rent the DVD or something if we can’t catch it on TCM or Netflix. To be honest, I don’t know anybody else who’d want to watch it with me.”

  They laughed together. “Okay, it’s a date, once I get outta here,” Joe said, feeling one hundred percent better than he had five minutes ago, before Riley had called. “And, hey, thanks for looking after Barney for me. I really appreciate it. You let me know how much I owe you, for food and stuff.”

  “That’s a big zero. I swiped his food from your place. Just get better, okay?”

  “You keep calling, the better I’ll feel.” Shit…did that sound needy? The next thing he heard was Riley clearing his throat. Fuck, I embarrassed him. Way to turn a guy off.

  “Good to know. I’ll drop by and say hi tomorrow.”

  Okay, maybe I didn’t blow it yet. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “G’night, Detective Brady.”

  “G’night, a
nd thanks.”

  Chapter Five

  Bob Murdoch cursed under his breath as the freeway traffic he was caught up in ground to a halt, again. Fuck, middle of the night and it’s like a parking lot. He should have left Orange County as soon as he’d dumped Brady and the kid, but he’d had collections to make, and he wasn’t in a mind to leave without the sizable amount of money owed him by the thugs he was ‘protecting’.

  He’d had to put up with a bunch of squawking from a couple of the younger ones who claimed they didn’t have the money yet, but a rap on the side of the head from the butt of his gun had persuaded them to change their tunes quicker than spit. The more established outfits had his share ready, but it had still taken close to four days to make all the calls. Four days when he’d had to keep a low profile and monitor every cop car he saw in his rear-view mirror.

  They wouldn’t have a description of the car he was driving. He’d ditched the vehicle he and Joe Brady had shared and was using a Honda he’d purchased the week before off a second-hand lot in San Clemente. He’d been planning this for some time, but Brady and his goddamn nosiness had forced him into this hasty getaway. And the son-of-a-bitch didn’t die!

  Murdoch had almost imploded with rage when he’d heard that first radio report of how an off-duty paramedic had found Brady alive among the rocks he’d been sure nobody went near because of the danger signs. And now, instead of looking all upset around the precinct because his partner was missing presumed dead, he was on the run, or would be if this freaking traffic would get a move on!

  The sight of flashing blue lights ahead made his stomach clench. Shit, looks like they’re actually checking vehicles. He glanced at the small suitcase on the passenger seat. It looked ordinary enough. No reason for them to ask him to open it. Depends on what they’re looking for, of course. He moved it off the seat and under the dash. Just in case. He noticed the cops were only checking out what appeared to be, as much as he could tell in the dark, black cars like the one he and Brady had shared.

  Yep, they were looking for him all right. Checking license plates, asking for IDs. With any luck they’ll just wave me on, seeing as how I’m driving a silver-gray Honda Civic. Nevertheless, as he neared the spot where two Highway Patrol cars were blocking all but one lane, his breath quickened with apprehension. Three cars had been pulled over onto the shoulder. If he could avoid it, he didn’t want to have to shoot his way out of this situation. Most likely it would not end well for him with all these witnesses around.

  The young cop who had just finished checking the car in front of Murdoch’s turned and stared his way. The beam from the cop’s flashlight made it hard for Murdoch to know if he was actually staring at him or at the driver of the car behind him. Even in the dark it looked like a black car. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding when he got the signal to proceed, which he did slowly enough that he wouldn’t glean any unwanted attention. The cop didn’t even look at him as he passed. Murdoch chuckled nastily. Asshole…

  Once he was able to pick up some speed, he took advantage of it. In an hour or two, traffic willing, he’d be in Los Angeles where he could lose himself in the sprawling city. Despite his impatience, he kept his speed within the limits. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled over. If that happened, he just might be forced into shooting his way out.

  * * * *

  Riley groaned as he became aware of hot doggy breath on his face. “Go away,” he muttered, pushing at Champ’s muzzle then burying his face in his pillow. Breath was followed by a paw kneading his shoulder. “Champ,” he whined. “It’s too early for walkies.” Shit, should not have said that word…

  Now two big dogs were on the bed with him, tails wagging a mile a minute, paws trampling on his chest. “Oh, for— All right.” He swung his legs out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. “I have to pee first, you know,” he told his charges, who jumped off the bed and tried to crowd into the tiny bathroom with him. “Out, out!”

  He washed his hands and splashed some water on his face. He stared blearily at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror.

  I look like hell…and it’s all that hunky detective’s fault.

  He’d dreamed of Joe last night, reliving over and over the moment when they’d kissed. Except in the dream they went much further and Riley had wakened, stickiness covering his thighs and stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a wet dream. For sure not while he was with Miles, but maybe because he’d been getting a fair amount of sex on a regular basis back then. Or was it fair sex, on a regular basis? By the time he’d gotten out of bed and washed himself, he’d been wide awake. He’d lain in bed, mulling over the possibilities of Joe and him doing the deed. His imagination had taken him to the point of sporting another hard-on and what choice was there but to take care of it?

  It seemed as if he’d only just fallen back to sleep minutes before the Champ and Barney alarm clock. That was quite a dream…so real…so fantastic.

  He couldn’t help wondering if the real-life Detective Brady could possibly live up to the expectations Riley now had of him—should they ever get that far, of course. Amazing what the memory of one hot kiss could do to his libido. When he closed his eyes, it was as if he could feel Joe’s muscular arms around him and the combined heat of their chests pressed together. He glanced down. Yep, hard again, but he couldn’t keep the dogs waiting while he jerked off. They were already complaining on the other side of the door.

  “Okay, guys, I’m coming.” Not… He chuckled as he slipped on a T-shirt and the pair of sweatpants he kept on the back of the door for early morning walks. The thrill of anticipation at just the thought of seeing Joe again put a definite bounce in his step as he and the dogs hit the sidewalk.

  * * * *

  Joe rattled the newspaper he was reading. It had irritated him that he’d had to dig through the entire thing to at last find a narrow column near the sport’s page on the follow-up about Bob Murdoch’s attempt to kill him.

  “Yesterday’s news for sure,” he grumped to himself. “And still no leads as to where that s.o.b. could be hiding out.” If I were a dirty cop and an asshole murderer, where would I head once I was out of town? Nearest big city’s L.A., and if I had connections there, which I’m sure that slimebucket has, that’d be the place to go.

  But Los Angeles was one majorly big city, sprawling over five hundred square miles. Lots of places to hide, even live in anonymity. The one mistake he might make is if he sends for the wife—if they’re still on talking terms.

  According to Romero, wifey had been pissed that Murdoch had ducked out, but that could be a ruse. Perhaps they were still in touch and she was just waiting for the word to join him in Bel-Air so they could live in luxury off all his ill-gotten gains. Ha!

  Joe could not wait to get out of the hospital and start a search of his own. He knew he’d be off-duty for a few weeks—hopefully not too many—but he was determined to use that time to try to track Bob Murdoch down. If it was the last thing he did, he wanted Murdoch to pay, not just for shooting him and the kid, but also for aiding and abetting drug pushers. Who knew how many lives and families he’d helped destroy over the years? Romero might want to think that Murdoch had only recently gone bad, but Joe wasn’t a fan of that opinion.

  In his book, Murdoch had been rotten for a long time, and maybe, just maybe because of that longevity, it might prove to be easier to hunt him down. He had to have made a lot of enemies along the way, and now that he was on the run, those enemies might want some payback. Finding some of the dealers Murdoch had been in cahoots with could be a good place to start his investigation.

  He threw the newspaper aside as Rachel walked into the room. “How’s it going, brother mine?”

  “Oh, just the best, y’know. It’s like being in a five-star resort. All these people running after me, the food’s great, the view…”

  “All right, all right, so it’s not the Waldorf, but they’re not catering for cops that get themselves shot these da
ys.” She gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “They caught the bastard that did it yet?”

  “No, and it may not be that easy. If I’m right—and you know I’m hardly ever wrong”—he ignored Rachel’s snort of derision and continued—“Bob Murdoch isn’t stupid. Well, he is in thinking he’d get away with this, but my bet is he’s been planning to disappear for a long time. He’s put all his ducks in a row, collecting what he’s owed from the scum he was protecting, picking out a flight plan—not necessarily on a plane, but they’ll be checking the airports—and he’ll already have lined up a place or places to hide out in until he figures the coast is clear. However long that might take.”

  Rachel nodded. “I’m just glad you’re here and not careening after him and getting shot all over again.”

  Joe shifted his head on the pillow and winced. “Damn… Nope, not careening with my shoulder in this kinda shape.”

  She threw him a look of sympathy. “It must’ve been scary, waking up at the bottom of a cliff, bleeding to death. I’d like to get a hold of that bum myself and squeeze his rotten neck.”

  “You always were my protector,” Joe said with a fond smile at her. “Remember when we were kids and Bernie Foxworthy used to beat up on me? You’d leap all over him. Poor guy never had a chance.”

  “Yeah, who’d have thought that he and I would date for a while?”

  Joe chuckled. “Guess he liked you leapin’ all over him by then.”

  “Smart-ass. And who’d have thunk that you, a ninety-pound weakling, would grow to six-one and be a cop. Bernie almost peed his pants when you came back from college after graduation. You were so tall, and he wasn’t.” She laughed aloud at the memory.

  “Thank God you didn’t marry him, the little shit.”

  “Our father which art in hell took care of that,” Rachel said with a tight-lipped smile. Poor Bernie walking into one of Dad’s drunken rages had him heading for the door. He told me he could never marry into that kind of family. No big loss.”