by A. R. Barley
They might not share blood, but they were family. Brothers. Touching him? Fantasizing about him? It wasn’t just a bad idea. It was a sin.
Dante was a sucky Catholic. He didn’t believe in much, but he knew that truth down in his bones. He was going to hell.
“So, Luke—” Finn grinned “—come here often?”
Apparently Dante’s bad night was only beginning. He needed a drink. Something stronger than beer.
For the rest of the night Luke flirted like a champion, first with Dante’s new partner and then—when Finn abandoned him to play pool with some of the other firefighters—with a cop who was more than willing to be appreciative. Taps on his ass turned into slow gropes and stolen kisses. Every time Dante looked in his direction they were hugging, kissing, laughing.
One drink turned into half a dozen until the bar took on a distinctly fuzzy aspect.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
Mistake. Adrenaline spiked through his body and instinct took over. Dante’s entire body rippled and he leaped into action like a spring-loaded jack-in-the-box. His stool fell to the side. He twisted to one side, arms coming up at an angle as he combined jiujitsu with Brazilian capoeira. His hands clenched into fists and he prepared to swing, hard.
He couldn’t.
Not when the scent of oatmeal soap surrounded him like a blast from the past. Dante’s anger fizzled and died. “You shouldn’t grab a guy from behind. You never know how he’s going to react.”
“Some guys like it when I grab them,” Luke said.
“I think you’ve proved that tonight.” He slumped against the bar. “You decide which one you’re leaving with? You wouldn’t have to go far with the dude in the back. He looks like he’d be happy to blow you in the alley.”
“Kenny’s a nice guy. He’s a patrolman down in Park Slope.”
“I’m getting him reassigned to the Bronx.”
“You’re drunk.” Luke didn’t have to look so happy about it, but there was no avoiding his shit-eating grin. “You’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”
Anything to blot out the image forming in his mind of Luke and Kenny tumbling into bed together. Dante grabbed his glass and—
Luke stole it before he could take another sip. “Sorry, sailor, you’re cut off.”
“I’m not a sailor,” Dante slurred the s. “I’m a cop and you’re a thief.”
“Because I took your drink?” Luke cocked his head to the side. “Not exactly the Hope Diamond.”
“Stole my drink, stole my car, stole my—” Dante couldn’t think of the last thing Luke had stolen. His heart. Not possible. He didn’t have a heart, hadn’t for a long time. Not since his mother—
Dante slammed a hand down on the countertop, using the loud bang for emphasis so he didn’t have to enumerate any of Luke’s other crimes. He turned his head up to stare into Luke’s glittering eyes. Damn, they were pretty, like tiny constellations.
Dante broke the connection first, shaking his head. He sighed. “Fuck, I need to go home.” He pushed himself up onto his feet, swayed, and sat back down. “Think one of the bartenders will make me a cup of coffee if I ask nice?”
“I don’t think you’re capable of asking nice.”
“That guy shouldn’t have grabbed your ass.”
“He was just trying to make me lose the game.” Luke slid an arm around Dante’s waist, bracing himself carefully before helping him up onto his feet.
The strong grip should have had him throwing punches or at least jerking away. Instead, he enjoyed the friendly warmth as Luke dragged him through the bar.
“Don’t bother with the coffee. I’ll get you a cab home.” Luke shouldered the door open and they stepped out onto the street. “You want to tell me where you’re living? Or, would that be breaking some kind of asshole code? Can’t have the people who care about you know where you live. They might send you flowers if you get hurt or—worse—visit.”
The SRO near Alphabet City. Dante’s head swam. That wasn’t right. He’d only been there for a couple of weeks before the neon-haired teenagers at the nightclub next door had driven him around the bend with their raging electronica. Now he was in a shared apartment in the Bronx. No, that had lasted a month. One of the other tenants had worked the early morning shift, and she’d been loud while she was getting ready.
“Inwood,” he finally said.
“You ever think about settling down one of these days? You could find a place to call your own. Hell, you’ve got a decent job. Unless you’re a total idiot, you saved some money while you were undercover. You could buy something in New Jersey.”
“You’re a real estate agent now? Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? You’re looking for a commission?”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too. If I want to settle down somewhere permanent, I’ll get a dog and a wife to keep in it. For the moment, I’m single and I’m fine the way I am.” The Inwood apartment was nice. A one-bedroom with a small office in a quiet building. “I’ve stayed in worse places.”
“You’ve been saying that since I was nine.”
“Still true.” His hands shook as he tugged his hat down further over his ears, from exhaustion or the crisp spring air, he couldn’t be sure. In front of them the New York skyline stretched out like a box of children’s toys tumbled out against the floor. Bright lights flickered. There was an alley to their left and the subway entrance was...
“Help!” someone was shouting in the distance. “Help!”
Dante yanked away from Luke and stood up a little straighter. After the cries in the darkness, he heard screams like someone was being hurt. “Go back to the bar.” He started to run. “Get Finn. Call for backup.”
“Like hell.” Luke matched him step for step as they hurtled off the street and into the narrow alley. “You’ll probably run off in the opposite direction.”
“I’m a good cop.”
“You’re good at running away.”
The tall brick buildings on either side created a wind tunnel that turned the spring wind coming off the main road into an unholy gale. Dante’s shoulders hunched forward under his thin black blazer. His fingers were cold. His feet were freezing in his shiny black work shoes.
The combination of cold air and adrenaline was better than ten cups of coffee when it came to sobering up. Dante’s legs stretched out in front of him. The screaming was louder now. They were almost there.
They rounded a sharp corner behind two New York skyscrapers and—
There. A man in a black hoodie standing over two men. Metal glinted from a security light over a nearby door. A gun or a knife? Gun.
Dante’s mouth went dry. His service revolver was locked in his desk at the department. His off-duty pistol was strapped to his ankle. He couldn’t reach for it. He might feel sober, but that didn’t mean he was ready to pull a gun.
Instead, he drew the only weapon left in his arsenal. His badge. “Stop!” His voice boomed. He held the metal shield in front of him like it might actually protect him from something. “Police. Drop your weapon, now.”
One of two things always happened when a gun-toting baddie was confronted by a cop. Either they turned the gun on the intruder or they ran.
This guy chose to run.
Thank God.
Dante slid to a stop in front of the two victims. “Hiyah. You two okay?”
There was a long pause. The closer man grunted twice, then pushed his way up onto his feet. “Shouldn’t you be chasing him?”
“Right.” He started to do that.
“Nope.” Luke grabbed his arm and pulled him back in close. It felt good. Warm. Comfortable. He leaned back into the motion, frowning when Luke pulled away after a few seconds. Right. Luke was angry at him. He couldn’t remember why, but he probably deserved it. “Sorry, dudes, b
ut we’re not going after an armed attacker without backup or a gun.”
“I have a gun,” Dante said.
“You have a gun but you decided to run up to a bad guy with your badge drawn?” The stranger was around five foot eleven and lean. He had fluffy hair. His jeans were green. Green jeans. That rhymed. “What kind of cop are you?”
“A drunk one.” Luke stuck out a hand. “Luke Parsons and my sloshed friend is Dante Green.”
“Are we friends?” Dante liked that.
“I may have overstated things for effect.” Luke’s hand was still sticking out like a flag in a stiff breeze.
Green Jeans didn’t shake hands. He was too busy helping his friend to his feet. Side by side they were a matched pair, slim and well dressed with floppy brown hair. Green Jeans had a bloody nose. His friend’s pupils were dilated like he’d been hit over the head. Hard.
“We should call an ambulance,” Dante suggested.
“No,” Green Jeans said. “No ambulance. Ryan’s parents kicked him off their insurance.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Alex is still at the bar. He can give these guys a quick once-over.” He stepped away to make the call.
Green Jeans was starting to sway. Dante mentally cursed stubborn mugging victims. He shoved his cold hands into his pockets and took a deep breath, using the icy night air to sober himself up. “Can you answer some questions while we wait?” He grimaced. “You’ll probably have to repeat yourself to a patrol cop later.”
“Do we have to report this?” Green Jeans asked. “I mean—it’s just a mugging.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened and let me make that decision?” Dante tried to think of a relevant question and failed. Talking to victims and sweet-talking witnesses wasn’t his strong suit. He was more comfortable with criminals than civilians, which had been mighty useful as an undercover officer, infiltrating gangs, and making nice with drug dealers. It was less useful working cases as a detective.
“Your name,” he said. “What’s your name?
“Liam O’Malley.” Underneath the spray of blood, pink slick colored Liam’s lips. Silver cuffs glittered in each of his ears and dark liner rimmed his eyes. He was dressed in a button-down black shirt, but the cut was just a little bit nicer than something Dante might pull off the rack, and his jeans were just a little bit tighter. When he finally extended a hand, it was wearing a rainbow-striped glove.
“You can tell a lot of things about a man by the way he shakes your hand,” Charlie Parsons liked to say. “And he can tell a lot about you.”
Liam’s lips were beginning to thin out. His expression was growing cold. Another few seconds and any rapport they’d built up would be gone. Dante reached out and grabbed his hand.
A few seconds and Liam’s hand dropped away. His rainbow-striped glove was bright against his dark pants. The two men weren’t holding hands, they weren’t even touching each other, but there was something about the way they leaned into each other.
Dante made a quick guess: “And your boyfriend? He got a name?”
“Ryan Ruiz,” the other man said softly, but there was something about the way the skin around his eyes tightened. Yeah, we’re gay. You going to make something of it?
Dante’s shoulders shrugged in a way that he hoped would complete the silent exchange. I don’t give a fuck if you’re gay, straight, or get off watching porn involving two guys, a girl, and a purple alien named Fred. I’m a detective with the NYPD, and I’m going to do my job. No matter what.
Some of that must have gotten across or else Luke gave some kind of secret hand signal behind his back because Ryan brightened.
Dante nodded. “What are you guys doing out here tonight? Did he force you into the alley?”
“He didn’t force us in here.” Liam exchanged a meaningful look with Ryan. He flushed. “We were walking home from the club.”
“And you decided to take a shortcut through the alley?”
“It’s a nice alley.” Liam patted the brick. “Private. At least, it was empty when we got here.”
“So you were getting private when you were attacked?”
Ryan muttered something about how his parents were going to kill them. Dante frowned. How old were the pair? He’d been guessing early twenties but the dim light made it hard to tell. He took another look and revised his estimate downward. Liam was probably twenty-one—if that—and his boyfriend was younger.
“Don’t worry.” He tried smiling again. “I’m not calling anybody’s parents.”
“Neither am I,” Luke said. “We don’t want to get anyone in trouble. We just want to make sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else.”
“Exactly,” Dante said. “Can you describe the guy who did this to you?”
“I—uh.” Liam shifted uneasily. His ears were bright red. From the cold or embarrassment? “I dropped a quarter. I was looking for it when he hit Ryan in the back of the head. Fucker kneed me in the face. I didn’t get a good look.”
Looking for a quarter—it was a nice euphemism. He’d been down on his knees giving the other boy a blow job and they’d both been taken by surprise. Dante tugged on his hat. He didn’t expect much, but he had to try. “Any detail could be useful. Did he move in a certain way? What kind of shoes was he wearing?”
“Taller than me.” Ryan’s voice wavered like he wasn’t quite sure.
“Tennis shoes.” Liam was firm. “Ugly ones. Bright red with blue laces.”
“Good.” It was more than Dante’d expected. He wouldn’t be able to find the doer unless the guy was still hiding in the alley, but he could make a full report. Was it a hate crime? “He asked for your wallets. Did he say anything else?”
“Not really.” Liam shook his head and sparkles danced around his nut brown curls. Glitter. Teal and pink. “Sorry, man. He just wanted our wallets and cell phones. I don’t even think I’d be able to recognize his voice if I heard him again.”
“My ring,” Ryan said. “He took my ring. Do you think you’ll be able to find it?”
“Probably not.” Dante didn’t even know if he’d be able to track down the mugger. No witnesses. No clues. No leads.
“Don’t worry.” Liam was patting Ryan’s shoulder. “I’ll buy you a new ring.”
“It was an antique.” Ryan frowned. “Silver and turquoise. It belonged to my grandfather before he died.” He blinked and tears pooled in his dark eyes. “My dad gave it to me when I turned eighteen.”
Shit. Dante frowned. “I’ll try my best. Can you give me a description?”
“Silver. It had an engraving.” Ryan stared at him for a long moment like he wasn’t sure if Dante could be trusted. He must have decided to take the chance because he unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off. His body was whip-thin but muscular. His hands were clumsy from the cold. He rolled up his sleeve, displaying well-formed biceps and the crisp black lines of a Celtic knot tattoo.
The tattoo was clean and well executed. It took him a moment to make out the secondary image picked out in green ink running between the black. “A clock face?”
“‘May you be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you’re dead,’” Ryan explained. “It was Granddad’s favorite saying. He was a badass back in the old country. When the Garda came for him, he only had an hour to run. He got the ring made his first week in the States.”
Dante should be writing some of this down. He patted his pockets before finally pulling his cell phone out of his back pocket. “You mind if I take a picture?”
“If you think it’ll help.”
“Maybe.” Silver signet rings were almost as common in New York City as Celtic knot tattoos, but Dante could still pass the photo around to the local pawn shops. He took a quick pic then stuffed his phone back into his pocket and asked a few more questions.
By the time
Luke’s friend arrived—it turned out Alex was the blond with the wandering hands—Dante was positive the pair didn’t know anything else.
And they still didn’t want to file a formal report.
“A little advice.” Dante wasn’t going to let them off without some kind of a warning. You’re young, you’re horny. I get it.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date. These days if he wanted companionship, he didn’t look any farther than his right hand. That didn’t mean he was pure as the driven snow. “But next time get all the way home before taking off someone’s pants.”
Luke grinned at Dante. “You need help getting home?”
“I was going home, to my warm bed, with my boyfriend.” Alex glared at Luke. “You want me checking out guys off the clock, you’ve got to help. Weren’t you the one who wanted extra first aid training?”
“That was more of a bucket-list-type thing. Before I die, at ninety, at home in bed.” Luke shrugged but he allowed himself to be badgered into taking Liam’s pulse.
“You want me to stay?” Dante asked.
“I’ve got them.” Alex’s fiancé had been introduced as Troy Barnes and he moved like someone who knew how to handle himself.
Luke didn’t bother answering. He just turned so his back was facing Dante, the muscles in his shoulders bunched tight, his head tilted up. Angry. Defiant. Beautiful.
Which left Dante to find his way out of the alley and flag down a taxi alone.
Not that he minded.
Much.
Chapter Three
Someday Luke Parsons was going to stop asking Dante Green for help. It was a promise he’d made to himself countless times over the years. Even after Dante’d disappeared from his life, when push came to shove he could always leave a voicemail message and cross his fingers that Dante wasn’t halfway across the country battling the forces of evil. The kicker was he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t come through.
Unfortunately, that day wasn’t going to be today. Not when he could still hear the mugger’s voice in his nightmares.