by Lisa Worrall
"Damon, Cal, this is Turner, Harrison, Cassidy, and Bates. People, this is my cousin, Damon Hall and his partner, Cal Perry," he began by way of introduction and waved his hand at the two men.
"You remember the murder/suicide over at Laurel Heights a month ago?" Glenn leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach as he stared at his detectives. "Damon and Cal live in Laurel Heights, and they were friends of Jon and Cory, the accused and the victim. I know it looked pretty much open and shut, but Damon and Cal aren't so sure and, now, neither am I." Turning to his cousin, he smiled softly, uncaring if his affection for the other man was clear to anyone else in the room. "Damon, you wanna take it from here?"
Scott leaned against the bookcase he was standing next to and watched Damon from beneath lowered lashes, as the other man stood up and walked over to the window. It was obvious that the man was upset and by the shake of his shoulders, Scott surmised that Damon wanted to regain his composure before speaking. While they waited, he took the time to study the couple.
Hall bore a slight resemblance to his cousin, but only in the twice-removed kind of way. Whereas Hall's hair was a shortly cropped, rusty brown, liberally sprinkled with gray; Damon's was black, and fell in a widow's peak across his forehead. His eyes were blue, as opposed to smoky gray, and he was clean-shaven with full, pouty lips, whereas the Captain liked to sport a neat beard and mustache. His gaze fell to Cal Perry, who still sat in the chair, watching Damon anxiously. Cal was a very striking man, with skin the color of ebony, limpid brown eyes, a thin mustache and neatly trimmed, barely there goatee. Scott felt the man's genuine concern for his boyfriend, rolling off Cal in waves, and he watched the way he twisted his hands nervously in his lap while he waited for Damon to speak.
No one needed any explanation regarding Laurel Heights itself. The purpose-built, five-house cul de sac was famous in White Plains before the incident last month; now it was the 'in' topic on everyone's lips. Laurel Heights was an exclusive gated community in the leafy suburb of North White Plains, seventeen miles outside of White Plains, and in a very sought-after area to live, by the wealthier population of the city. There was, however, one stipulation to owning a property in Laurel Heights. You had to be a couple and you had to be gay.
The murder/suicide had happened just over a month ago when Cory Philips had, apparently in a fit of rage, shot his partner, Jon Webber in the head at close range. In his grief, Philips had turned the gun on himself. The other residents of Laurel Heights had been interviewed and had testified as to the volatile nature of Jon and Cory's relationship, and the fact that they had been fighting on and off the day of the incident. As the Captain had said, open and shut. Scott watched Damon slowly turn from the window and waited patiently for the man to collect himself before he began.
Damon wiped futilely at the tears still coursing down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick and raw as he took the clean tissue that Cal held out to him. "It's been very hard." He took a deep steadying breath and began again.
"I know the other residents of Laurel Heights said that Cory and Jon had a volatile relationship, but it's simply not true. They were young, in love and deliriously happy." He wiped at his nose and sank into the seat beside Cal before continuing. "They were the sweetest couple I've ever seen, and I just don't believe a word of it. There is no way that Cory would have done that to Jon. No way on this earth. He would rather have cut off his own hand than hurt that boy. He loved him."
"Mr Hall, why would the other residents lie about the nature of Mr Philips' and Mr Webber's relationship? What reason would they have?" Will's deep voice echoed around the room.
Cal reached out for Damon's hand as the man dissolved into more tears and picked up the story. "Detectives, I know that Laurel Heights is, shall we say, an unusual community, but there is more that goes on behind those closed doors than you or anyone else realizes." He glanced at Hall for affirmation and took a deep breath when his boyfriend indicated his acquiescence. "Look, we're not ashamed of it, although it is not to everyone's taste. There are certain practices once a month at Laurel Heights. We don't always indulge, but we have done, and we know that Cory and Jon did too. We think whatever happened that night had to do with the part of Laurel Heights that only the residents see. That there was a reason they had to be silenced."
"When you say "events", Mr Perry, what exactly do you mean?" Julie asked politely, a reassuring smile on her lips.
"Orgies, partner-swapping, that sort of thing," Cal replied, his gaze unwavering as he looked at Julie, obviously waiting for the slight woman to judge him in some manner. His gaze softened when he realized that he was looking for contempt where there was none.
"And you say that Cory and Jon indulged in these monthly gatherings?" Grace asked, leaning forward in her chair to face Cal. "Were you and Mr Hall at any of these "events" at the same time as Cory and Jon?"
"We did indulge in some partner-swapping with Cory and Jon," Damon replied with a nod of his head, his fingers still entwined with Cal's. "That's how we know they could never hurt each other. Jon was with me and Cory was with Cal and neither of them could do anything. They were happy to participate in the orgies or the soft bondage when it was the two of them being together, but not if it involved another person. They were so in love with each other, that although they were happy to have sex next to you, they wouldn't have sex with you."
"Basically," Hall piped up, leaning forward to place his elbows on his desk and look at the four detectives in front of him. "We need to have a root around in Laurel Heights and find out exactly what's going on behind those closed doors. Apparently, there is a rigorous interview process that the Resident's Committee puts you through to get a house in Laurel Heights. Damon and Cal have got you a foot in the door and the Committee is looking to rent the empty property." He apologized quickly for his thoughtlessness as Damon burst into fresh tears and handed him more tissues.
"So, Harrison, Turner, you have an appointment at three tomorrow afternoon. That should be enough time to get your stories straight. You know the usual; how you met, how long you've been together, what the other likes to eat for breakfast, all that sort of shit." He jabbed a finger at Grace and Julie. "You two are gonna work together here, liaise with the boys while they're in situ and get them any information they need."
Will cleared his throat and a confused frown creased his brow. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not following."
"Jeez, thought you were supposed to be top of your class…" Scott trailed off when he was hit with a glare from Hall.
"You two listen to me, and you listen real good. Every other male detective in this department is either married or too old for this community. You two are the only ones who fit the bill." Hall pointed his finger agitatedly at the two men. "I'm sick of hearing you two bitch about each other and I'm here to tell you right now, I don't care. You hear me? I don't care if Harrison stole your marbles or Turner took your lunch. I have no interest in your pathetic squabbles or playground scuffles. You will suck it up and you will pull this off. I wanna know if someone pulled the trigger for those boys. Do you understand me? My family is in there and I want them protected. You're going undercover boys and you will act like you think the sun shines out of each other's asses, do I make myself clear?"
Will and Scott did the only thing they could do when Hall had that tone in his voice—they nodded.
Chapter two
Will cupped his hands under the running water and splashed his face. Lifting his head, he gazed at his reflection. He reached out for a paper towel and dabbed the moisture from his skin. This was not happening to him. This couldn't happen to him. He'd worked so hard to build this persona. For God's sake, as far as everyone in the department was concerned, he'd been in a committed relationship with Amanda for three years and they were living the perfect apple pie life. No one knew the girl in the photograph he kept on his desk was the model who came in the photo-frame.
He'd been fourteen when he'd realized he wa
s more interested in the way the T-shirt stretched across his best friend's chest, than with the way the buttons almost popped off on some of the tight blouses his older sister's friends wore. Sixteen when Matt Hayes popped his cherry in the back of Matt's pick-up truck on Lookout Point; eighteen when he came out to his family.
After the initial shock had worn off and his mother had taken a couple of moments to mourn the loss of the grandchildren he would never give her, she'd gone back to her needlepoint and his father had turned the sound back up on the Super Bowl; thus further cementing his belief that he had the coolest parents in the world. It had been later that night that his father had sat on the end of Will's bed and talked about what being openly gay in the police force might mean for him.
"Not that I would ever suggest you deny who you are, son," Frank Harrison had said softly. "As far as your mother and I are concerned, it doesn't matter whether you fall in love with Betty or Bob. I'm just saying that there're folks out there who would go out of their way to make things difficult for you, just because you prefer Bob, if you get my meaning."
Frank had been right. Will had realized that the moment one of his roommates, Billy Roberts, had admitted to being gay. Some of the other cadets in their class had set up a campaign of ridicule and torment that had the man packing his bags after three weeks. Will had walked into their room when Billy had been packing his suitcase. He'd moved around the room in silence, handing Billy clothes from the drawers and helping the other man gather his belongings, knowing he wouldn't talk Billy out of his decision to leave. "I'm sor—" Billy had stopped Will's apology with their first and only kiss. He would never forget the look on his friend's face when he closed the lid of his suitcase and took one last look around the room. Billy had pulled Will into his arms for a brief hug and murmured into Will's hair, "Don't tell them, Will. Don't let them take away your dream, too."
Billy's words hit home, and from that moment on, Will had become Mr All-American. He had a picture of his 'girl back home' on his dresser and laughed along with the ribald stories of the other cadets. Not that he would have been able to find a girl's g-spot with a road map and a flashlight. He'd sailed through the academy with flying colors and graduated in the top ten of his class, and no one had any idea he was planning on spending graduation night in a hotel room with his boyfriend, rather than at the big party with the rest of the guys.
Will had begun his career in the Greenwich Police Department, working his way up to Detective. Eight months ago, he had been promoted to Homicide and transferred to White Plains, where he'd been introduced to his new partner, Julie Bates. It had been the first time he'd really be relying on a partner and, after six months of working together, and deciding that if they were to be holding each other's lives in their hands they should know everything about each other, he told her he was gay.
Of course, he'd stressed to her that he wanted it kept a secret, that everyone else thought he was straight, and he wanted to keep it that way. His private life was his own and he didn't want some homophobic colleague trying to force him out of a job he'd worked damn hard for and was damn good at.
Julie had been extremely laid back about the whole thing, informing him with a twinkle in her eye that he wasn't telling her anything she hadn't already figured out for herself. At his incredulous expression, she had reassured him that he played his part very well and no one else in the department had any suspicions. Her brother, who was a paramedic in the Fire Department, was gay and she understood only too well the prejudice that was still rife in both the police force and the fire department. She'd watched her brother go through a tough time after he first came out to his colleagues, and she totally got the reasons why he wanted to keep it a secret. She'd thanked Will for taking her into his confidence and he'd known that no one would ever find out from her.
Now, now everything was going to hit the fan. How the fuck was he supposed to pretend to be gay? More importantly, how the fuck was he supposed to pretend to be the yin to Scott 'asshole' Turner's yang? Will gazed into his own eyes and saw panic, bordering on unabridged terror reflected back at him. Running a hand over his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He wasn't going to be able to do it. He'd never pull it off. They'd see through him like a pane of glass. How the hell was he supposed to convince a room full of strangers he was in love with Scott 'I'm so far up my own ass I can see what I had for breakfast' Turner?
He remembered the first time he'd seen the other man. Hall had taken him around the department and introduced him to everyone. Turner and O'Malley, another detective, had been in the middle of a ribald conversation about Turner's conquest the night before. Will had remembered how uncomplimentary Turner had been about the poor girl, who had probably thought she'd found her knight in shining armor, and his stomach had turned, forcing him to swallow against the acid that burned in the back of his throat. Unable to help it, all he'd managed was a curt nod when Hall had made the introductions and had quickly moved on to the next desk. Turner was everything he despised in a man. Cock-sure, brazen, thought he'd done it all and knew it all, ruffling his feathers and strutting around like Cock of the Walk. The man was just an ass who got by on his dark, devilish looks and his charm, and nothing the man had said or done in the last eight months, had made Will change his mind.
Will shuddered inwardly and rubbed at the throbbing in his temples. He couldn't imagine what Turner would do with the information that he was gay. The asshole would have a goddamn field day. Leaning his forehead against the mirror, Will's shoulders slumped in defeat.
This was never going to work.
Scott stared at the coffee machine as if he were trying to commit the menu to memory. What the fuck was he going to do? The captain had just thrown him into a nightmare situation. Part of him wondered if the vindictive son of a bitch knew the truth about his homosexuality. And that for the last eight months he'd craved Will 'I'm fucking beautiful and don't I know it' Harrison as if he were Scott's own particular brand of crack.
He remembered the first time the man had walked into the department. Scott had nearly swallowed his tongue as one hundred and eighty pounds of tight abs and lean hips had sauntered across the floor with the captain. He'd been talking with O'Malley, doing his best to convince the man that he'd been with some nympho-maniacal redhead the night before, when he'd glanced at the approaching men and his words had stilled in his throat.
Scott didn't think he'd ever seen anything like Will Harrison. The guy was about the same height as him, but Will's broad shoulders, made it seem like he towered over Scott. His instant reaction had been to wonder what it would be like if Will put all that muscle to good use and he'd been dreaming about it ever since. At first glance, he'd thought maybe he would be able to find out; that he'd seen something flicker across those incredible dark brown eyes, as he'd been unable to prevent his gaze from raking over the man in undisguised admiration. Then he'd heard Will talking with Gracie about a girlfriend and Scott had felt disappointment unfurl in his gut. He'd cursed his stupidity for getting the hots for the straight guy. He should have known someone that hot would be out of his reach. Burying how he really felt behind a veil of sarcasm and snappy rejoinders, he had become so good at it he had everyone, including Will, convinced that Scott couldn't stand him.
He'd seen Will's look of disgust when the admin girls had fawned over him at the Christmas party, and anger had burned through him. Who the hell was Harrison to look at him that way? To judge him. The look on Will's face had Scott giving the girls even more of a show than he'd intended. Hell, he was a man after all, and attention was attention. Especially when you wanted to hide the fact that you'd much prefer six foot of Will Harrison rubbing up against you instead of Tina from the typing pool. Scott had become extremely adept at maintaining the facade he had created for himself. God knows he'd had enough practice. Until Grace, he'd only made the mistake of coming out once before.
"Goddamn queers."
Scott didn't take
his gaze off the eight ball. If he made this shot, he would beat the great Paul Turner for the first time in his seventeen years. "Ssh," he hissed through his teeth, his tongue sneaking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. "If you're trying to distract me, Pop, it's not gonna work. I'm taking you down."
"Who do they think they are? Coming in here and flaunting their perversions."
Scott sighed and lifted his gaze from the ball to the object of his father's consternation. His stomach lurched when he saw the two men at the end of the bar. Everyone who knew Paul Turner was aware of the man's bigotry—especially his son. Not that Paul wasn't an equal opportunities bigot, he was. He had something to say about all minorities, but if he had to pick the one he reviled the most, it would be homosexuals. Or fudge-packing, shirt-lifting, ass-loving abominations of God, as he liked to call them.
Which was probably why Scott felt it best not to let his father know that last Friday night his mouth had been around Jake's, the taller man of the two, cock while his face had been fucked with lust filled abandon. Yeah, that would go down really well. Or the fact that, after he came, Jake then pounded Scott's ass so hard he felt him for the best part of a week.
His gaze locked with Jake's and his stomach lurched again when the other man raised surprised eyebrows in recognition. Scott gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head, letting go of the breath he'd been holding when Jake's eyes flitted from him to Paul and back again. Message received and understood—thank God.
"You know they even let 'em into the factory now?"
"What?" Scott looked up at his father again, a frown creasing his brow. "Are you gonna let me take this shot or not?"
"The queers. We've got one of 'em working at the factory," Paul repeated, downing the rest of his beer, his fifth Scott noted, but then he was counting. "Fucking fairy."