by Mary Calmes
It took me a second to process what he was saying. "I'm sorry, what?"
He chuckled, then leaned in and kissed me so hard and so deep I got light-headed.
"You cook on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I cook on Monday and Wednesday and Friday."
"What?" The kiss had muddled my brain.
"And Sunday my mom cooks." He went on like I was following him.
"Sam... what?"
"Yep. It's perfect. We can't afford to eat out every night so... I'll be home between six and seven. I'll call if I'll be any later."
"Okay."
"So your ass needs to be here."
"What?"
"Since you need to cook." He grinned at me.
"I'll be here."
He was silent a minute.
"What?"
"Just happy," he said, his hand trailing down my chest, then lower under the blanket, gently rubbing circles on my stomach.
"Me too."
"Are you?"
"Yes."
The growl that came out of him, pure contentment, made me smile. I understood at that moment how much he loved me, needed me, and truly wanted me around.
"So feed me," he said, kissing me again, his tongue instantly deep inside my mouth, tasting me, moving lazily because he knew I belonged to him.
I whimpered at the loss when he pulled back. I wanted him to stay.
He rose over me, his hand in my hair before he leaned back down and kissed my forehead. "Stay outta trouble, J. I'll see you tonight."
I could only nod, I had no voice.
"You know, moving in would be so much more convenient."
My smile came on its own. The man was determined to drive his point home.
"Or I can move in with you."
"Give it a rest."
"What? I'm just thinking of you."
"Like hell you are."
The bed lifted as he stood up, and I watched him go. I stayed awake for a while even after I heard the front door close.
* * * *
End of Book Three
A Matter of Time: Vol. 2
by Mary Calmes
Book Four
* * * *
Chapter One
My phone woke me at eight.
"It's Saturday morning," I complained to whoever it was.
"Oh, now you answer your phone? What about last night, asshole? You totally blew us off."
I processed the voice, tried to think of what I was supposed to have done on Friday night instead of being out with my boyfriend, Sam Kage, his partner Chloe, and her boyfriend Jason. It took me a couple of minutes for my brain to kick in and remember. "Oh, Ev," I groaned. "You had a guy for me to meet."
"That's right, I did," my friend, Evan Rheems, scolded me.
"C'mon, Jory—if you didn't want to go all you had to do was tell me. You know I would never make you meet somebody who's not cool."
"Oh no? I have two words for you—Mark Benassi."
There was a long silence before, "Screw you, J, that's not—one pervert does not negate my entire record of great hook-ups."
I chuckled because he was being very defensive. "You suck at setting me up and you know it."
"But that's no excuse to—"
"I'll make it up to you," I soothed him. "How 'bout I take you and your lovely boyfriend Loudon out for dinner tonight?
I promise to—"
"No," he grumbled. "We've gotta pick up Loudon's mom at the airport. She's in from Ames for a week."
"Ames?"
"It's in Iowa."
"Oh." I couldn't stifle the laugh. "Well, I am sorry I blew you off. I didn't mean to, but Sam's back and I—"
"What?"
"Sam."
He caught his breath. "What?"
"Evan," I warned him.
"You know another Sam?"
"We both know I don't."
"Oh God."
"Stop."
He was starting to breathe hard. "So the Sam."
"Yep."
"The police detective Sam."
"Yes."
"As in the-guy-I-hate Sam?"
"You don't hate him."
"Oh no, I'm sure I do hate him."
"Well stop, 'cause he's gonna move in," I said, deciding at that moment that he could. What was I waiting for, a shining light from heaven? Just because Sam Kage had come charging back into my life after a three-year absence did not mean that I was not still madly in love with him. He was, in fact, the only man that I had ever loved. To make him wait through a period of dating to move in with me was a stupid waste of time. The man wanted to be with me—who was I to say no?
"Jory!"
"Sorry, Ev," I smiled into the phone.
"He's moving in?"
I chuckled.
"Jory... catch me up."
"It's too early for this." I laughed, because he was starting to hyperventilate. "Sam Kage is back and I'm gonna live with him since I love him. So you don't hafta worry about me anymore, you don't hafta set me up on blind dates anymore.
Call me when Loudon's mother leaves and we'll all have dinner, okay? Okay. Bye," I said and hung up.
It took him all of twenty-three seconds to call back.
"What?"
"What? Are you kidding?" He was yelling. "Are you kidding?"
"Evan, don't have a—"
"Sam Kage? Are you kidding?"
"You're repeating yourself."
"Sam Kage?" He wheezed. "Ohmygod... Sam Kage?"
"Evan, you know I love him."
"He nearly killed you last time, and I mean literally almost killed you! It was his fault you were shot and kidnapped and—"
"Evan, you—"
"Ohmygod are you serious? Sam Kage!"
It took me a half an hour to get him not to pass out, and the phone was finally taken away and I was talking to his boyfriend Loudon, who had to have me explain the whole story to him before he could offer his partner any solace.
Three years ago I had witnessed a murder and met Sam Kage, the detective, who was working the case. Since I had refused to enter witness protection, Sam became the man in charge of keeping me safe. In the middle of it all, we had fallen in love. But being gay and a vice detective was hard for Sam, and as a result, it was a roller coaster for me. We were apart and together so many times, and all the while I was running from men who wanted me dead instead of on the witness stand. The end came when Sam's partner at the time, his best friend, Dominic Kairov, had kidnapped me. The Internal Affairs Division was investigating Dominic and it turned out that he was working for the men trying to kill me.
He was a dirty cop, and he had kidnapped me to tie up loose ends. But Sam knew his partner, knew how his mind worked, and so was able to find me before I was killed. In the chaos of that moment, though, the moment when he found me, I ended up taking a bullet meant for my lover fired from Dominic's gun.
I spent eight days in ICU with Sam never leaving my side.
But once I was no longer critical, he left to track down the people responsible for both the contract on my life and for Dominic's initial corruption. Dominic had started off as a good cop and a driven vice detective. Sam was determined to make those people pay for hurting me and corrupting his best friend. The task had taken him from me. He had promised to return, but without a word for three years I had given up hope of ever seeing him again. And then he was suddenly back and ready to pick up where we'd left off.
I had fought him off much longer than I would have thought, almost a week, before succumbing to the pull of my heart, the needs of my body, my brain buried under an avalanche of emotion. It was hard to try and explain to anyone else how I could still love Sam Kage after all we had been through, but I tried to make Loudon understand over the phone. If I could get through to him, he would in turn get through to Evan. As usual, in direct contrast to Evan's drama queeniness, Loudon was his logical, thoughtful self. He would reserve judgment until he met Sam. As soon as his mother left, they would have us over for din
ner, as inquisitions needed to be performed in private. In the meantime, there would be a moratorium called on blind dates for me. When he hung up the phone, even after all the talking, I was still able to roll back over and go to sleep. It was a gift.
* * * *
I had gone home to shower and change and was getting ready to leave my apartment when I heard Sam come through the front door. I had given him a set of keys the day before.
"Hey," I called out from the bedroom, straightening my tie, buttoning up my suit jacket. "I thought I wasn't gonna see you until tonight?" He had left me at three in the morning, called out to some crime scene.
He appeared in the doorway; I saw him in the mirror, but he didn't say a word. He just stood and stared at me. After a minute I smiled as I turned around to look at him.
"What are you doing here?"
He looked me up and down, absorbing me, his eyes pained, his jaw clenched.
"Sam? What's wrong?"
He moved suddenly, really fast, and as soon as he could reach me, yanked me forward into his arms and clutched me so tight he squeezed the breath right out of me.
"Sam, you're scaring me."
He held on, pressing me close, his face buried in my hair.
"Honey, what's wrong?" I soothed him, laying my head on his chest. "Please tell me."
He shoved me out to arm's length, his hands digging into my biceps. He was tense and worried and his breathing was shaky.
"Sam?"
"Listen to me." He dragged in a breath. "Do you remember back when that whole thing was going on with Dominic, and during that time your old apartment got broken into?"
Did I remember that? It was blurry. "Yes," I said after a few minutes because I sort of did.
"And the new tenant got killed? You remember all that?"
That I remembered. "Yeah, but that was just Dominic. He killed that guy because he thought he was me."
He shook his head. "No, J. I know Dom. There's no way he makes a mistake like that."
I stared into his eyes. "Okay, so then maybe it was one of Roman's guys." Roman was the man who had wanted me dead. He had been there the night I witnessed the murder.
That I could place him at the scene was the reason I needed to be eliminated. "I remember you saying that they thought I was dead but there was a leak that turned out to be Dominic and—"
"No. When we tapped Roman's father's phone, we heard someone call him—it turned out to be Dominic—and tell him that you were still alive. We thought they killed that kid in hopes that it was you, but it turned out they were just reporting on the second failed attempt on your life. Neither Dominic, Roman's old man, or Roman ever knew anything about the murder in Oak Park."
"Oh." The hair was starting to stand up on the back of my neck.
He was searching my eyes.
"You're sure about that?"
"Yeah, we're sure."
"Okay." I tried to smile. "So why the sudden interest in something that happened three years ago?" He was staring holes in me and holding on so tight.
"'Cause we found another guy this morning, cut up just like that kid was."
"Cut up?"
"Yeah. Just like the first and the two others."
"Others?"
He ignored my question. "We found your driver's license in his wallet."
I was suddenly freezing.
"When did you lose your wallet, J?"
I racked my brain. It had been ages. "I dunno, right after you left, at least three years ago."
"I figured. It still had the Oak Park address on it."
"Sam, what's going on?"
"I'm not sure," he breathed, letting me go, walking to my bed and sitting down on it. "All I do know is that it has nothing to do with the Brian Minor case at all."
Three years ago my friend Anna was married to Brian Minor. He was an abusive asshole, and when she had finally decided to leave him, she had called me for one little favor.
She needed me to go to her house and pick up her dog. It had seemed like a nothing errand, and because I wanted her out, I went to her home without hesitation. When I got there, however, my world turned upside down. Brian Minor shot someone in front of me and thus made me, in the span of seconds, witness to a murder. I would have been killed myself, but it so happened that this was the night the vice detectives had decided to finally bust my friend Anna's husband for extortion, racketeering, and a list of other crimes. They saved me, and I ended up flat on my back in the middle of the street with Anna's beagle, George, licking my face. It was the first time I ever laid eyes on Sam Kage.
Towering above me, he was scowling down at me with his gorgeous steel-blue eyes, asking me who the hell I was and what the hell I was doing there.
"Jory?"
"Sorry," I said, looking at him. "So are you gonna get in trouble for being with me, since it sounds like I might be in the middle of another case?"
"No. It's been three years and I went away. Nobody's around who cares anymore."
"Cops care, Sam."
"My partner Chloe doesn't give a shit that I'm gay. My new captain doesn't either. It's different now, you gotta trust me."
I nodded. "If you say so, but—"
"Jesus Christ, J, who gives a shit about me?" he yelled, raking his fingers through his hair. "You're the one I'm worried about! You're the one everybody... shit! Did you fuckin' hear what I said? We found your license on this guy, J.
Your goddamn license!"
"I heard you," I said softly, walking around in front of him, stepping between his legs so he had to lean back and sit up straight, tilt his head up to look at me. "Tell me about the others."
He took a deep breath. "Well, besides Trey Hart—"
"Is he the one that was killed in my old apartment?"
"Yes."
"Sorry, go on."
"All in all there have been four murders."
"Okay. Tell me about them."
His sigh was deep. "Well, for starters, they've stretched over a three-year period."
I looked at him. "And?"
"And nothing. Four men are dead, but because it seemed random and the gaps between the killings were so long... no one made the connection."
"Until now."
"Until now."
"Why now?"
"The FBI got involved when you were kidnapped the first time by Dom. I guess they stayed involved, and when we pulled that kid out of that dumpster this morning, it hit somebody's radar in Quantico."
"What does that mean?"
"The profilers say that the murders are the work of a serial killer."
"How can that be?"
"All the men were killed the same way and they all looked alike."
"But you said it was random... you said there was a lot of time between."
"Which is why no one here took notice of it, but the feds...
the feds, they load everything into computers and there's guys that watch this stuff and look at patterns and time and everything else and crunch the numbers, and so if they tell us we have a serial killer on our hands, we gotta believe them."
"Okay." I tried to absorb everything he'd said. "And who are the guys that got killed?"
"Two of them were hustlers."
"What about the others?"
"The others were just regular guys."
"Yeah, but who were they?"
"The guy today was a teacher, here in Chicago for an art seminar from Pittsburgh, and Trey Hart, the first guy, was a student who'd just moved here from Atlanta. They were both random guys, and if you add them in with the rent boys, I mean, it's like, shit... it fits no pattern at all... it makes no sense."
"If they're so random, then besides Trey and the teacher—who was he?"
"Glenn McKenna."
"Okay, so besides Glenn and Trey, how do you or the department or the FBI know that they have anything to do with each other?"
"Because the common thread is you."
"How?"
"One of the rent boys
lived in the same building as you, just not at the same time."
"Which building?"
"The one your brother owned, across from the jazz club."
"Okay, it's weird but it's still just a coincidence."
"Maybe," he allowed, "but the other hustler, he was employed by the catering company that worked Dane's engagement party."
My brother, Dane Harcourt, was a prominent architect in the city, one of the top in the country; all his events were huge, sprawling affairs.
I shook my head, raking my fingers through my hair. "It's just weird, Sam, nothing else. I think you're looking for things that aren't there. I mean, some guy who lived in my same building but not even when I was there, some random waiter at a party Dane threw... it's crap."
"The FBI profilers don't think so. The only connection they find between the murders is you."
"So am I a suspect then?"
"No, they believe you're the target."
"And how come none of this was in the papers or on the news?"
"The murders all made the news and the papers, J, but they're so spread out—three years between the first and the last—no one in the press has made the connection."
I nodded. "But they might."
"They might."
"Okay, but have you checked out all the—"
"Baby, it's not my case. It'll never be my case, 'cause I'm way too close to you. It's all about you, so I hafta stay on the outside looking in. All I can do is ask Hefron and Lange what they've got and what I can do. If they hadn't called me this morning, I would still have no idea what was going on."
"Will they talk to you?"
"'Course. We're all detectives, and they're friends of mine."
"Will they still be your friends once they find out about you and me?"
"They already know about you and me, J, that's why they called me, and yes—they're still my friends. You're not the only one with good people in his life."
"I didn't say I was."
We were quiet for several minutes.
"Sam."
"What?"
"I remember you saying when Trey was killed that whoever did it wrote something on the wall about me. What was it?"
"A word."
"What word?"
"Just... it doesn't matter."
He really didn't want to tell me. I felt like my stomach had dropped out of my body. "What was the word written in?"