On The Hunt: Gay M/M Mystery Romance

by Marina Lander

  Stephen laughs again, and this time it sounds a little more real. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Hunter nods, then goes to get a beer. Or five. He doesn’t plan on leaving his bedroom for the rest of the night.

  ~

  It happened after Hunter convinced himself he wasn’t actually in love with his partner. He respected him, trusted him implicitly, but love was just something brought on by too much adrenaline and late nights and Hunter relying on someone for the first time to save his ass on a daily basis. He was confusing love for something else.

  A few months after his shooting, Hunter was at his desk catching up on a few case reports that had never been filed since his stint in the hospital; Stephen’ greatest flaw as a partner was his inability to do paperwork, and Hunter had learned quickly that this flaw wasn’t going to be fixed anytime soon. He was lost in thought, eyes growing a bit blurry from staring at a computer screen all day, when a feminine voice asked, “Excuse me, do you know where I might find Detective Stephen?”

  Hunter glanced up to find an elegantly dressed young woman standing beside him. She was wearing a suit and heels, her hair falling gracefully around her shoulders. Her accent was soft, lilting, and British.

  She was quite lovely, and Hunter, for some reason, felt instantly wary of her.

  “He’s in a meeting with our captain at the moment,” Hunter said, waving his hand toward Frederic’s office. “He should be done any minute now, Miss...?”

  “Wellington, Rebecca Wellington. I’m with the district attorney’s office—Detective Stephen worked with me several times while he was still with vice.” She smiled as Hunter shook her hand. “We also happen to be childhood friends, if you can believe it.”

  Hunter blinked in astonishment. Stephen had always made it sound like he’d travelled too much as a kid to make any lasting friendships. “You’re from South London?”

  “Close enough. Daniel and I went to school together until sixth form, when his parents moved him to the States.” Her voice curled around Stephen’ first name lovingly, too intimate to be platonic. Hunter couldn’t remember ever thinking of Stephen as Daniel; it just didn’t feel right.

  Or maybe he’d just never earned the privilege.

  “Well, you’re welcome to wait for him if you’d like,” Hunter replied briskly, heart skipping sharply in his chest.

  Rebecca tilted her head to one side, her smile widening. “Oh, you must be Daniel’s Hunter.”

  His cheeks instantly grew hot. “Yeah, I’m Detective Morris, his partner.”

  “I didn’t even know you had a last name,” Rebecca laughed. “I swear, you’re all he ever talks about these days.”

  Is that before or after you fuck? Hunter thought before he could stop himself. He knew he had no business being concerned with Stephen’ private life, but he couldn’t help wondering how long they’d been involved, if Stephen disappeared to Rebecca’s place on the nights he begged off drinks with the rest of the department, if all the looks that had passed between him and Hunter over the last several months have all been in Hunter’s head.

  He didn’t really know what to say, outside of jealously grilling her for more detailed information about Stephen that he’d never know. It shouldn’t matter, he wasn’t really jealous, anyway, it was just—just a knee-jerk reaction to being territorial about his partner, and—

  “Rebecca, darling!” he suddenly heard Stephen exclaim across the squad room. “I didn’t think you were coming for another hour!”

  She beamed at him, all perfect white teeth and flawless lip gloss. Yeah, Stephen was definitely in love with her. “I got out of court early, so I thought I’d stop by and finally get a look at your new digs. And yes, I’m well aware you’ve been with homicide for nearly ten months, don’t start.”

  “I would’ve had Hunter tidy up if I’d known you’d be early,” Stephen drawled, eyes crinkling at edges as he laughed and took Rebecca’s hand to kiss her knuckles. He looked devastatingly young and giddy for a moment, and Hunter found it hard to breathe.

  “Yes, well, Hunter and I were just catching up. I’m sure he could tell me all sorts of horror stories.” She winked at Hunter, who was beginning to feel rather lost.

  Stephen pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt as he walked up behind Hunter’s chair. “Hunter would never betray me in such a way, would you, love?”

  And then, he cupped his other hand over the back of Hunter’s neck and squeezed, his thumb skimming over the hyper-sensitive spot below Hunter’s ear. In all their months together, Stephen had never touched him so casually, so affectionately, and Hunter had no idea how to process such a touch. He froze, looking up at Stephen with wide eyes.

  Stephen caught the look. Instantly, he dropped his hand, his expression going sheepish as his cheeks went a little pink. “Ah, anyway, shall we be off? Morris, you don’t need me around for the rest of the evening, do you?”

  Morris. Stephen only called Hunter by his last name when he thought Hunter was angry at him.

  “No, I’m good. It was nice to meet you, Rebecca,” Hunter replied, turning back to his case reports. His neck still felt hot from Stephen’ palm.

  He kept his eyes glued to his computer screen until they were both gone, but he heard Rebecca whisper to Stephen on their way out, “He’s really quite lovely, Danny. I don’t blame you at all.”

  “It’s nothing,” Stephen said, but there was a strange wistfulness in his voice.

  Hunter stayed at the station until well into the night. It was close to ten by the time he finished up the last report and sent it off to Frederic, and by that point his brain was fried and he had a dull headache right behind his eyes. He waved goodnight to the detectives on the night shift and promised himself he’d head home and get some real sleep, something he hadn’t done in weeks.

  He was almost to his car when he heard, “Christ, you’re just now leaving?” Stephen was standing on the sidewalk, his topcoat flapping in the cool night air. Hunter was a little obsessed with Stephen in that coat, and the way it made him look like a character out of a 1950s film noir.

  “Just finished up the reports someone never got around to writing while I was stuck in the hospital,” Hunter replied with a good-natured smirk.

  “Pssh, I’m shit with that stuff. You’re far more eloquent than I could ever be.” He bumped his shoulder against Hunter’s, eyes bright and playful, and Hunter just...wanted.

  “Did you have fun with Rebecca?” he asked, trying desperately for nonchalance.

  “Oh, always. I haven’t seen her in months. She recently convicted one of my old drug cases, which of course meant I owed her a drink.” Stephen leaned close and added in a stage whisper, his mouth barely brushing over the shell of Hunter’s ear, “It’s best to keep the DAs in good spirits, for god only knows how easily they can fuck over your case in the end if they see fit.”

  It was pathetic how easily Hunter went breathless at the mere suggestion of Stephen’ mouth against his skin. Which was probably why Hunter asked, “How long have you two been together?”

  Stephen jerked back in surprise, then burst into laughter. “Oh my god, Hunter, you didn’t actually think—fuck, that’s like asking how long I’ve been shagging my sister. Well, if you exclude the fact that we dated for all of three months when we were seventeen.”

  Hunter felt his stomach twist with embarrassment. “Sorry, I just figured—I didn’t know—”

  “No, it’s all right,” Stephen chuckled, “I’m just glad Rebecca’s not here, she’d be dying over this.” His sheepish grin was identical to the one he’d smiled earlier in the station.

  “Sorry,” Hunter said again, grateful for the dim street lights that made it hard to see his blush.

  “I always know when you’re too exhausted to stay upright—you start apologizing for everything, even things that are not your fault.”

  Hunter let himself smile at that, and it was sloppy, affectionate, full of things he tried to never show Stephen. “You don
’t hear me apologizing for the fact that you’re a lazy shithead who can’t do his own paperwork.”

  “Touche’.” Stephen’ expression softened, then he lifted his hand, dragging his thumb gently down the line of Hunter’s jaw.

  And Hunter, tired and punch-drunk and stupidly in love with his partner, leaned into the touch and sighed, his eyes sliding shut.

  Stephen’ hand stilled. “Hunter,” he whispered, and it sounded like both a question and warning.

  Hunter realized suddenly that he’d been wrong. The shooting had not been their moment of truth—it was now, on a sidewalk in the middle of the night.

  “I’m going to do something that I’m most likely going to regret,” Hunter breathed, his hand pushing inside Stephen’ coat to splay over the front of his shirt. “And you should stop me now.”

  Stephen paused, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath Hunter’s hand, but he still didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Hunter held his breath and waited, because he wouldn’t be the one to back away. Not now.

  “And if I don’t stop you?” Stephen asked roughly.

  Hunter curled his fingers tighter. “Then I’m going to completely ruin our partnership.”

  To Hunter’s shock and overwhelming relief, Stephen pressed closer and cupped his hand over Hunter’s cheek. “I think, love, that it’s been ruined for some time now,” he whispered, and finally their mouths met.

  The kiss was achingly slow, open and wet, everything Hunter wanted but still not enough. Stephen tasted like whiskey and peppermint, and Hunter thought, I want more.

  “Come home with me,” Hunter gasped, sucking sharply at Stephen’ lower lip.

  There was no smirky comment or drawled innuendo. There was only Stephen groaning into Hunter’s mouth before he pulled back and said in a broken, gorgeous voice, “God, I thought I’d never hear you ask me that.”

  ~

  Hunter lays awake in the dark for hours, listening to the distant, muffled sounds of Stephen typing at his laptop. Sonny is a warm weight at his feet; he’s always been a better sleeper than Hunter.

  As usual, case files are scattered all over the bed and the floor, but Hunter gave up trying to focus over an hour ago. It’s next to impossible trying to concentrate when he can hear Stephen padding quietly to the kitchen to shuffle around in the refrigerator, like he remembers every little detail, right down to where Hunter keeps his stash of Coke Zero.

  It’s too familiar. Hunter doesn’t need familiar right now.

  The sharp ringing of his house phone startles him enough to accidentally kick Sonny off the bed.

  “Sorry, buddy, sorry,” Hunter mumbles, his thoughts a little hazy with the first wisps of sleep. He yawns and paws around for the cordless, not bothering to check the caller ID before answering.

  “I’m not dead yet, Frederic, if that’s why you’re calling,” he says as he collapses back onto his mound of pillows, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes.

  There is a long pause, and then a low, smooth voice replies, “Should you be?”

  Hunter’s eyes fly open. “Who is this?” He pulls the phone away from his ear to check the read out.

  The number reads Barton, Hunter.

  “You don’t really need to ask that,” the voice says smugly.

  Call Stephen, get a trace, do something, Hunter’s brain screams. He sits up slowly, his knuckles going white around the receiver.

  He whispers, “You’re awfully sure of yourself this time.”

  “No, I’m just having a little more fun. Your fed is very clever—is it all right if I call him that?”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what you do.”

  “Oh, Detective Morris, you’re always so single-minded. You never do your homework right, and then all my notes go to waste. At least I can count on Agent Stephen to set you straight.”

  Hunter realizes with a start that he never wants to hear Stephen’ name spoken in such a sinister, vile away again. “Is that what this is? You’re giving me lessons?”

  “It’s not all about you, Detective Morris. And incidentally, you really should brush up on your case law more. Tell your fed I said good night.”

  The line goes dead in Hunter’s ear.

  “He called from Barton’s phone, didn’t he?”

  Hunter jerks his head up to find Stephen standing in the bedroom doorway. His shirt is untucked, the edges wrinkled.

  “Yeah,” Hunter says tightly. “How long were you listening?”

  “The whole time.” He walks over to the bed and carefully slides the phone out of Hunter’s hand. He dials a number, watching Hunter with his jaw set in a tight line. “Talbert, it’s Stephen. I’m calling on Detective Morris’s home phone, get a trace on the last incoming call to this number ASAP.”

  “He’s just going to dump the phone, you know that, right?” Hunter says when Stephen hangs up.

  “No, I don’t. He called you at home, Hunter, obviously he’s not the least bit worried about being caught. And you’re going to tell me every goddamn word he said to you.” Stephen’ voice rises, until he’s just shy of shouting. Hunter remembers the tone well.

  “He said I’m too single-minded.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No, then we shared fucking recipes—yes, that’s all.” He hates the slight tremor in his hands. Tell your fed I said good night still plays over and over in the back of his mind.

  Stephen sighs harshly. “I should take you off this case,” he says, looking somewhere over Hunter’s shoulder.

  “What you should do is calm down and let me handle this.”

  “You—” Stephen points a finger at him, jaw clenched as if fighting against the words. He slowly curls his hand into a fist. “Christ, Hunter, he probably knows exactly where you live. He’s taunting you, just like before, and yet you still think he can’t get to you.”

  “He’s playing a game, that’s all! He called you my, my fed, like he thought that would piss me off—”

  Stephen’ eyes go wide. He’s suddenly in Hunter’s space, hand gripping his arm. “He mentioned me?”

  “Yeah, but it’s—”

  “Where’s your gun?”

  Hunter waves his hand at his nightstand, where his Beretta sits beside his reading glasses.

  “Is it loaded?”

  “What kind of question is that? Yes, of course it’s loaded.”

  Stephen huffs out a sigh of relief. He’s yet to let go of Hunter’s arm, and Hunter realizes he’s forgotten what it’s like to have Stephen touch him.

  He’s also forgotten what it’s like see Stephen’ protective streak, which was once solely reserved for Hunter.

  “I’ll be okay tonight,” Hunter says in a quiet voice, all the fight draining out of him. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to add, “We’ll both be okay.”

  Stephen shakes his head, finally dropping his hand. “I used to think I was past letting this lunatic get to me, but as it turns out, I still want to strangle him with my bare hands. And he no doubt expects it.” He looks utterly exhausted as he rubs a hand across his face, tired lines creasing the corners of his eyes.

  Hunter remembers a time when he would slide his arms around Stephen’ neck and simply hold him close whenever he got that look, placing soft, careful kisses along his jaw and whispering for Stephen to come to bed, to sleep off the days’ demons with Hunter wrapped around him. There was a time when Hunter wanted nothing more than to fight those demons himself.

  He swallows tightly, says, “You should get some sleep.”

  Stephen snorts. “Fat lot of good that’ll do.”

  “There’s a detail out front, and you’ve got at least three separate firearms in the living room. The Scholar isn’t getting in here tonight.”

  “You still trust my shot?” The corner of Stephen’ mouth quirks up, and Hunter, goddamn it, feels a familiar warmth stir in his chest.

  “I have to,” is all he says in reply.

  He almost gets a full-blown smile.r />
  “I won’t make any promises,” Stephen says before turning to head back down the hallway, Sonny trotting along at his heels.

  ~

  Hunter wakes the next morning to the smell of coffee. It’s something that hasn’t happened to him in years, and for a second he thinks he’s dreaming.

  But the weight of a large lug of a dog is sprawled against his side means he’s still in reality, and his alarm clock says it’s just past seven in the morning. He can hear bits and pieces of what sounds like the local morning news show playing on the television in the kitchen.

  Whether he slept or not, Stephen was always the morning person.

  Hunter finds him hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table, shirtless and clutching a mug of coffee. The mug is Hunter’s favorite, bought from a gift shop in Paris. He doubts Stephen has forgotten this fact, seeing as how he bought the thing for Hunter.

  “You made coffee.” It’s more of an observation than a question. He’s not awake enough to have Stephen half naked in his kitchen.

  Stephen startles a bit, giving Hunter a sheepish grin. “Couldn’t resist taking advantage of that NASA space station you’ve got sitting on your counter.” He nods toward the Krups coffee machine and grinder Hunter adores like an expensive sports car.

  Unfortunately, the smell of freshly brewed Intelligentsia breakfast blend isn’t enough to distract Hunter from the memories prompted by every one of Stephen’ tattoos.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles, digging a knuckle into his eyes. If he could, he’d dig the memories straight out of his brain. Then his fingers wouldn’t automatically twitch with a Pavlovian urge to trace thick black lines etched into solid muscle.

  He starts to trudge to cupboard for his own, non-Parisian mug, only Stephen says absently, “Yours is by the sink. I didn’t add the half and half, your fridge is sadly lacking.”

  And sure enough, there’s a fresh cup sitting beside the sink, along with a spoon and the sugar pot.

  “How did you know I’d be up?” Hunter says.

  Stephen shrugs, not looking up from his laptop. “I didn’t.”