"So he takes off then changes his name. Because he'd had to have done that, since your people found no record of him under his real name. Why go to all that trouble? It's not like I'd have gone looking for him, and I'm sure he knew that."
"People are strange, Clay. They do things that seem right to them that make no sense to most of the rest of the population."
"I suppose." Clay tapped Matty's name on the list. "I wish we knew more about him. He really was pissed off when he saw us kissing."
"Hard to find out about him when we have no last name. So I'll send a couple of my men to talk to the people who work at the club, to see if they know. I'll need one of the sketches you did of him."
"Hang on," Clay replied, getting up. He was back a minute later, handing Quint the drawing and a folder to keep it in.
Thanking him, Quint tore the list he'd made out of the sketchpad then after a moment's thought, circled Matty's and Lamberton's names, saying, "The top two suspects in my book—Matty for obvious reasons, Lamberton because of the connection to the gallery. Travis is a close third, although I'm beginning to think you might be right. Despite my arguments to the contrary, three years is a long time to wait, especially if he actually did go to all the trouble of taking on a new identity." He chuckled. "Maybe 'Travis Nelson' was his alias and he was really an undercover cop investigating your ties to an art theft ring."
Clay grinned. "Damn, you caught me. He found out that I made a big scene about breaking up with him so people would think he'd gotten pissed and left town. Then I killed him and tossed his body down a mineshaft up in the mountains."
"There you go again, making a joke." Quint leaned back, looking at him. "This entire night has been an eye-opener as far as what you're like. I think the whole curmudgeonly thing you have going is just a front and tonight was the real you."
"No," Clay replied. "The curmudgeon, as you put it, is me. It's just that tonight… I don't know. You, the club, the dancing…"
"The kiss?"
"You were the one who instigated it."
"But you responded. Boy, did you respond. And when we were dancing… Clay, there was nothing subtle or withdrawn about how you moved. If we'd stayed out there for much longer…" Quint's gaze was predatory. "If we had, we'd have missed seeing Matty, because I was about ready to drag you out of there, take you to my place, and find out if you're as sexy in bed as you are on the dance floor."
"Does it have to be at your place?" Clay asked as he leaned over, wrapped his arms around Quint and kissed him hungrily. When Quint opened to him, Clay delved his tongue into the detective's mouth, eliciting a deep groan of desire that was matched by one of his own.
"It doesn't have to be," Quint said long moments later when they'd broken apart.
It took Clay a puzzled second to understand Quint was answering his question. Then he smiled, getting to his feet. "The bedroom is…"
"I know where it is. So why are we standing here?"
"You're not—standing, that is. And I'm not carrying you in there."
"Your lack of romantic gestures—"
"Has to do with the fact that you're a hell of a lot bigger than me." Clay took Quint's hands, pulled him to his feet, then wrapped his arms around him to kiss him again as he walked him backward out of the kitchen.
"Keep this up and we won't make it to the bedroom," Quint pointed out breathlessly when they reached the living room.
"The rug is soft."
"The bed's undoubtedly softer and more comfortable."
"Only one way to find out," Clay replied as he began unbuttoning Quint's shirt.
By the time they'd made it to the bed, they were naked, their clothes littering their path.
Despite the situation, which was fraught with sexual tension, Clay had to ask, "Are you sure you…" His question was answered when he found himself sprawled on the bed, Quint's body over his as the man took his mouth in a heated kiss that sent every nerve afire with need. "I guess you are," Clay managed to say before Quint set out to prove the fact.
By the time Quint made it down to Clay's throbbing cock, having stopped along the way to tease each of Clay's nipples with sucks and light nips, Clay was certain he was a close to heaven as he'd ever been with any man in his bed. And he hadn't even come yet.
"Where…do you have—" Quint asked.
"Nightstand," Clay replied breathlessly.
He heard the nightstand drawer open, then, seconds later Quint had sheathed him and was doing incredible things with his lips and tongue to Clay's thoroughly engorged member.
Suddenly, everything seemed to stand still. Then Clay came with a delirious cry of exultation. When he was able to think again, he realized Quint was watching him, his gaze both pleased and hungry as it raked over Clay.
"Ready for part two?" Quint asked, just before he dove in to kiss Clay quite soundly.
"If it means you fucking me, damned straight I am," Clay told him, starting to turn over.
"No, stay on your back. I want to watch you while I do it."
Clay had no objection to that. He pulled his legs up while Quint found the lube and another condom. Soon enough, Quint's finger pierced Clay's entrance. When Quint began stroking Clay's gland, Clay closed his eyes, savoring the pleasure flooding through him. Soon Quint pushed in a second finger, stretching him. Clay let out a moan when Quint stopped—pulling his fingers away but doing nothing more. Opening his eyes, Clay saw Quint was grinning down at him.
"I suppose you want this," Quint said, running his hand slowly up his own now well-lubed and rampant cock, "in here." He touched Clay's hole.
"Would be nice…for both of us," Clay managed to reply.
"That it would. But first"—Quint leaned in to kiss Clay—"if I hurt you, you say so. Understood?"
Clay barely managed to nod before Quint slowly pushed his thick cock into him. Clay tried to conceal a wince at the momentary pain and knew he'd failed when Quint paused, saying, "What did I tell you?"
"I'm fine. Damn, Quint. Just do it before…" Clay lifted his hips to take more of him in.
Quint apparently got the message, since moments later he was buried balls-deep inside Clay. Then he began to ride him, slowly at first until need predominated for both of them. Wrapping one hand around Clay's once-again engorged cock, Quint pumped it in time with his hard thrusts. Clay fought his own impending orgasm, wanting to allow Quint all the pleasure he was seeking. Still, in the end, he came first with another cry of elation. Quint continued riding him for a moment or two more. Then he exploded as well, his entire body vibrating as he collapsed on Clay with a barely whispered, "Damn."
* * * *
Several minutes later Quint regained some of his senses. Pulling out reluctantly, he planted a gentle kiss on Clay's lips. Clay returned the kiss softly.
"That wasn't bad for a first time," Quint said as he slid off his lover to rest on one elbow, smiling at him.
"You think there'll be a second?" Clay asked with mixture of interest and disbelief in his voice and in his expression.
"Time will tell, but honestly I hope so. You're good. We're good together—at least in bed."
"A decent start for a sexual relationship, I guess," Clay replied, sitting up and stretching before climbing out of bed.
"Where are you going?"
"To clean up, which you should do too."
"Such enthusiasm," Quint muttered as he watched Clay disappear into the bathroom. He had a strong feeling at this point that that's all it had been for Clay—a good bout of sex because they'd both been horny after their time at the club. Not that he really objected. He had nothing against some down and dirty lovemaking on occasion. And if it happens again, and we're still compatible and interested, why not let it become something regular in our live? Screwing someone you get along with doesn't have to be anything more than that.
Quint gathered up his clothes and when Clay left the bathroom, Quint went in, got rid of the condom then washed and dressed. He came back into the bedroom to find
it empty and went in search of Clay. The man was in his studio, wearing only jeans, contemplating the unfinished painting of Quint with a thoughtful expression.
"Having second thoughts about it?" Quint asked.
"No." Clay turned to smile at him. "Not about the painting."
"About what we just did?"
"Not that either."
"What then?"
"Are you really willing to put your life on the line by having me finish this and hanging it in the gallery?"
"We've talked about this before. If the killer's watching you—and you know he has to be—I might already be in his sights just by visiting here over the past few days and going to the club with you."
"I know. I just—" Whatever Clay was going to say was interrupted when Quint's phone rang.
"Detective Hawk? This is Captain Palmer of the St Helens, Oregon, police department. I hope I didn't wake you."
"No. But given the hour, you're working late." Quint glanced at the time, surprised to see it was only eleven, meaning ten Palmer's time.
"Too late," Palmer agreed, "but I have some information on a man you're looking for. Travis Nelson."
"You've located him?"
"Yes. Although his ID says he's Gerald Franks—or I suppose I should say was Gerald Franks."
"He's dead?" Quint heard Clay move and turned to see him coming over, obviously trying to figure out what was happening.
"According to the coroner, he's been dead for somewhere in the neighborhood of two-and-a-half years. His remains were unearthed at a construction site very early this morning. Of course the body was just bones, but his ID survived, since it was laminated."
"How did you connect this Franks with Nelson?"
"The ID was a Texas license, obtained three years ago, and they require a thumbprint. We sent it off to IAFIS and they made the match. When I ran a search with NCIC I found out you were looking for him. I figured you'd want to know as soon as possible. I called your precinct and they gave me your number."
"Thanks." Quint frowned, saying, "The coroner can't narrow the time of death down any closer than that?"
"No. We'd have to get a forensic anthropologist to look at the bones."
"If you would, please. His death may connect with several murders here. Could the coroner at least come up with a cause of death?"
"Yes. His skull was crushed by your proverbial blunt instrument. Of course, he can't tell what that was. I'll send the bones to Portland. They're the closest city with a full forensics lab."
"Thank you. If you could have them fax me the results as soon as they have them." Quint gave Captain Palmer the number and they hung up.
"Travis is dead," Clay said tightly. "They're sure it's him?"
"They are." Quint told him what Palmer had said.
Clay sank back against the table, a disconsolate expression on his face. "I was glad when I broke things off and he disappeared from my life, but I never wished him dead."
"I know." Clay looked so upset that Quint wanted to hold him but thought Clay might not appreciate it if he did. "At least we know he's not the killer, if that's any consolation."
"I suppose it will have to be." Clay sighed deeply before saying, "Would you mind…?" Then he shook his head. "It's late. You need to get home and sleep. I'm sure with this happening you'll be busy tomorrow."
"If you were going to ask if I'd stay with you, I will. I can sleep here just as well as at my place."
Clay looked up at him thankfully. "I know I'm being a wuss about this, but—" He chewed the corner of his lip.
"Once upon a time Travis meant something to you. Finding out he's dead…murdered, is a shock. Come on." Quint held out his hand. When Clay took it, they walked back to the bedroom, turning out the lights along the way until the only one left on was the one on the nightstand. They undressed down to their briefs then got under the covers.
"If it was the murderer, the one who… If it was him who killed Travis, then this started a long while ago," Clay said, resting his head on Quint's shoulder.
"I agree. But we are not going to talk about it now. Understood?"
"Yes," Clay replied quietly. There was a long silence and Quint thought Clay had fallen asleep. Then his lover said, "I know it wasn't my fault, but still I can't help feeling guilty that Travis is dead."
"You wouldn't be human if you didn't," Quint assured him, pulling him into a loose embrace. "You just have to remember that whoever did this is the guilty one, and we will find him and stop him."
Clay nodded, curling up against Quint. "I hope… I hope before he kills again."
CHAPTER SIX
Clay slept restlessly, his dreams filled with images of the men in the Element paintings—and of Travis. So he wasn't surprised when he woke up feeling as if he'd barely slept at all. He also wasn't terribly upset, after checking the time and seeing it was close to eight, to find out he was alone in bed. He figured Quint was already at work. Stumbling out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom and took a long shower, hot then cold, hoping it would help his body and his brain start functioning. When he came out, with only a towel wrapped around his waist, he stopped in shock.
"What are you still doing here?"
"Making breakfast, now that you're up," Quint replied. "I figured we could both use it and…" He shrugged.
"Thank you," Clay said fervently. "Give me a minute to get dressed and I'll help. You'd better have made coffee."
"I did. It's ready, so get a move on."
Clay didn't need any more urging. He tossed the towel over the rack, ignoring the fact it slid off onto the floor before he walked across the bedroom to the closet, intent on grabbing the first pair of jeans his hands touched. He turned when he had a pair to find Quint eyeing him with more than a touch of lust.
"Uh-uh," Clay said. "First food then you have to get to work." His thoughts immediately went to why that was necessary and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "What happens now?" he asked as he began dressing. "I mean…about Travis. Why was he there, of all places? He was a big city boy, born and bred."
"One of the things we have to find out," Quint replied, leaning against the doorframe as he continued to watch Clay. "Oregon, Texas. He got around in the six months after the two of you split up."
Clay started to put on his shoes then figured the hell with it. He wasn't going anywhere other than the studio. He started toward the door, pausing when Quint didn't move. Suddenly Quint wrapped him in a tight embrace. As quickly as it happened, it ended.
"Just thought you needed that," Quint said quietly. "Now, coffee and food."
The two men didn't talk much until they'd made inroads into the pancakes and sausage Quint had prepared.
Finally, Clay said, "None of the men on our list could have killed Travis. They didn't even know about him when it happened."
Quint waggled his hand. "Yes and no. How long has Lamberton been trying to get you to take his work at the gallery?"
After a moment's thought, Clay replied, "On and off since it first opened. Sure, he might have seen Travis there, since he picked me up sometimes, but why follow him all the way to Oregon then kill him? Especially since Travis apparently changed his name. It's not like I'd have known that happened, all things considered, and been frightened into taking Lamberton on as one of the gallery's artists."
"True. Had you ever seen Hank Rivera or Matty before the first time you met them at the clubs?"
"Not that I'm aware of. Hank was just a man I hooked up with that night because he seemed interesting and interested in me. We both knew it probably wouldn't go beyond a few nights together, if that. And it ended up being just once."
"And Matty?"
"Toppers is just one of several clubs I go to. To the best that I can remember, I never saw him at any of the others and never noticed him at Toppers until the night I sketched him."
"That doesn't rule out the fact he may have seen you and fixated on you."
"But I didn't go to clubs much after I met Tra
vis. He tended to be jealous of any man who paid attention to me."
"Did you meet him at a club?"
Clay nodded. "At Toppers, actually. It was another 'it was supposed to be a one-night-stand' hook-up. It didn't turn out that way. We really hit it off, and I, for one, thought I'd found someone to share my time with on a regular basis. For a while it worked and he moved in. Then—well, as I said, he was the kind of man who thought my whole world should center on him. I began to feel smothered and broke it off. End of story."
"Except that someone murdered him less than six months later."
"You know that doesn't have to have had anything to do with me."
"I know, and quite probably it didn't, but I'm not counting it out either. Now back to Matty. You don't remember seeing him before you met Travis?"
"Nope. You think he might have had a thing for me before then? If so, why did he wait so long to try to come on to me?"
"Very good question. If we discount Travis's murder in all of this, it shortens the time frame to the last five or six months." Quint finished his coffee and checked the time. "I should get going."
"And connects everything to the men in the Element paintings somehow," Clay said as Quint stood. "Jealousy because I painted them? Somehow thinking there was more to my choosing them than just as subjects for the paintings?"
"Possible." Quint started to the front door of the loft, saying, "Stay here until you hear from me, and keep the door locked."
"I will. I have no plans other than working on your painting." Clay paused when they got to the door as something occurred to him. "Do you think he's going to come after me?"
Quint nodded. "One way or another. Otherwise, why kill those men? He's either trying to frighten you, or he's sending you a message that you had better stay clear of any man on a one-on-one basis."
"If he wants me afraid, he's getting his wish. I just don't see what that could gain him."
"He steps in at some point and becomes your protector."
Clay shot him a look of amusement that he really didn't feel. "Given those parameters, that puts you on the list too, since that's what you're doing."
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