by A. R. Barley
“Maybe. There’s something off about the reports. No one saw anything, but it doesn’t feel right. I want to find someone new. He’s gone back to some of the clubs a few times. I thought we could go there, maybe find someone who didn’t report their encounter.” Dante cleared his throat. “Find his mistake.”
“How do you know he made a mistake?”
“They always make a mistake.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we don’t find them.” Dante shrugged. “Don’t worry. This guy’s smart enough to hide his tracks, but he’s no genius. He’s made a mistake.”
His words weren’t exactly reassuring.
Luke frowned. “Did you have a particular nightclub in mind?”
The night had brought with it a cold snap. Dante’s skin was pale. His shoulders were stiff, but his hands were shaking. “I asked Finn if he had a suggestion, but—”
“Finn’s no club rat.”
“How do you know?”
“He doesn’t have the vibe. He’s the kind of guy who goes out on Friday night with friends, the same place every time. He’s not hanging around the clubs.”
Dante’s hands stilled. “Finn doesn’t hang out at gay clubs, but you do?”
“Gay, straight, in-between.” He shrugged. “I’m not picky.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You don’t know a lot of things about me anymore. That’s what happens when you avoid your family for ten years. You know I like to dance.”
“I remember that much.”
Luke groaned. Coffee. He needed coffee or booze. Neither one was available on the street corner. He started walking. How many times had he danced barefoot in his father’s kitchen only to turn and see Dante watching him? Hundreds? It had started when he was too young to think anything of it and continued until Dante moved out of the house.
Then there had been those other rare nights: Luke with his shoes shined and his hair slicked back, wearing his best black pants with a bright button-down shirt and a fresh flower from the market down the street.
He’d gone to a dozen school dances over the years, with girls and—eventually—boys.
And each time Dante had sat on the stairs, watching him preen in the mirror.
Dante had only ever gone to one dance: senior prom. He’d worn Charlie Parsons’s navy funeral suit and a crisp blue shirt that matched only one of his eyes. His shoes had gleamed.
It had been Luke’s turn on the stairs, wishing he could go too.
Prom started at eight and went on until eleven, but Dante had been back by ten-fifteen. “I guess dancing’s not really my thing.” He’d put on a movie and they’d sat on the couch, with Luke’s legs draped inelegantly across the overstuffed arm. His head had ended up practically in Dante’s lap.
Practically but not quite.
He kept walking, one foot in front of the other, and Dante fell into step beside him. Around them New York City gleamed and glittered. The skyline hung overhead like a jeweled necklace winking in the moonlight.
Down on the ground things were darker. The air was crisp. They turned onto a busier street. People bumped into them going either direction. Half of the stores were closed, but the restaurants were still open. At the end of the block food trucks clustered around a small park were selling tacos, shawarma, coffee, and pie.
“We should head downtown,” Luke said. “If we’re going to go club hopping. Not that we’re dressed for it.”
He glanced down at his clothes. He was wearing a green sweater, a white shirt, and a pair of jeans worn soft by one too many rounds in the washing machine. If they were going out then he’d need something else.
Dante would definitely need something else.
Luke might appreciate the normcore look Dante had going on—a crewneck sweatshirt and a pair of jeans that would fit him better if they were a size smaller—but he wouldn’t get past the bouncer at The Golden Bow. “Maybe we should do this tomorrow. That’ll give you some time to buy club clothes. I’ll text you a list.”
“I have gone undercover before. I know what to do.”
“No, but you’re—” Tall and handsome. Straight with an air of disapproval every time he looked in Luke’s direction. Luke stubbed a toe on the broken sidewalk. It’d be so easy to turn toward the coffee cart. He could order something hot to drink, take the time he needed to marshal his thoughts. He kept walking. “The places you’re talking about going... If you walk in with the wrong kind of attitude, no one’s going to talk to you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“It’s a good thing I’m going with you.”
Dante stopped short. “Finn and I are going. You’re consulting from somewhere safe.”
“If you want my help, I’m going, and you’re going to need my help.”
Dante snorted.
Jerk.
“Do you know the bouncers at the most popular clubs? The bartenders? The regulars?” Luke refused to back down. “I know them all and they know me. Even if you don’t stomp all over them with your bad attitude, no one’s going to want to talk to you. Not about getting attacked. They’ll talk with me.”
“Because you know them?”
“Because they know me.”
Some of them better than others. How many former lovers did he have scattered around the city? He’d lost count. He dated occasionally, relationships that lasted weeks or months before turning sour. Mostly, he danced with pretty boys and handsome men or—at other clubs—beautiful women. He fucked in other people’s apartments. When it was over he went home to Long Island alone.
If they kept going in the same direction they’d get to the train station. He could catch the light rail out to Long Island and Dante could get on the subway to Inwood. He’d probably catch a cab instead. Public transportation was the lifeblood of New York City, but Dante almost never used it.
The fact was small but intimate like a hundred other things Luke knew about him. Luke probably knew him better than any other man on the planet. But he still didn’t know his secrets.
And he never would.
They’d do this bit of work and go back to their regularly scheduled lives. Dante would continue apartment hopping until he found a wife or a knife wound he couldn’t escape. Luke would go home to Long Island. It didn’t look like Dante was taking undercover assignments anymore, so maybe he’d finally show up to the occasional Thanksgiving dinner.
It wasn’t like he’d ever expected anything else, so why did the thought leave him so damn hollow inside?
“I’ll meet you at The Golden Bow,” he said. “Tomorrow. Ten o’clock. You can even bring your partner, if he feels like dancing.”
“What about tonight?” Dante asked.
Luke shrugged. If he headed back in the other direction, he could be at Alex and Troy’s in half an hour. He knew of a dozen different bars that were closer. At some of them he might even be able to find companionship, male or female, to help him pass the lonely hours. Anyone to make him forget Dante and all the years they’d lost.
But if he squinted, he could see the lights of Penn Station. “It’s been a long couple of days. I need to go home.”
Chapter Ten
Ryan Ruiz lived in a small tenement in Harlem. “Fucking cops,” he swore when he spotted Dante loitering outside his building door. In the bright light of day his clothes were just a little too colorful and his attitude was much more brash. “You don’t have anything better to do with your time. Got to harass innocent crime victims?”
“Thought I’d talk to you again, see if you wanted to change your mind about pressing charges.”
“Nah, man.” Ryan’s eyes darted around like he was looking for a ghost, or maybe the parents who’d kicked him off their health insurance and wouldn’t approve of him being out with Liam.
Shit. This wasn’t Dante’
s area of expertise. He wasn’t a social worker, and he definitely wasn’t Luke, who seemed to have the whole city eating out of the palm of his hand. Luke would know how to talk to a scared kid, but Dante had...nothing.
Except Luke might be charming, but he didn’t know what it felt like to be abandoned and betrayed by the people who were supposed to protect him. He didn’t know what it was like to sleep hard. He didn’t know what would matter most to a kid like Ryan or what would make him feel safe.
Dante reached for his wallet, then paused. Twenty dollars could be a fortune to the right kid, but Ryan’s clothes were clean and he had a roof over his head. The money might help him, but it wouldn’t be so essential that he’d risk his own safety by following a stranger. His fingers bypassed the soft leather of his wallet, connecting instead with the hard exterior of his badge. He brought it out and handed it over. “Take a picture. Send it to a friend so they know who you’re with in case anything happens—not that anything’s going to happen—then I’ll take you out for breakfast.”
Ryan held still for a moment. Then he nodded. “Okay.” He pulled out a cell phone with duct tape holding the sides together and took two quick pictures. He texted them before flipping the badge back to Dante. “If you were going to come hassle me, you could have at least brought the cute one from the other night.”
“The cute one?” Dante frowned. He wouldn’t call Troy cute. Alex wasn’t his type, but between his curly blond hair and big eyes he could see where someone might think he was freaking adorable. “He’s a paramedic, not a cop. You break your ass falling off the sidewalk, he’ll be there to scrape you up. But he’s engaged.”
“Not the blond,” Ryan corrected. “The cutie who was propping your drunk ass up.”
Luke. “Pretty sure your boyfriend wouldn’t like to hear you were asking about other men.”
“I don’t want to fuck him, pendejo. Liam and I are exclusive. I just want some eye candy while you ask me stupid questions.”
“How do you know they’re going to be stupid?”
“You’re a cop and a drunk—”
“I’m not a drunk. I was drunk the other night. It’s not habitual.”
“That’s what you keep telling yourself,” Ryan said like he didn’t really believe him, like he’d met enough drunken assholes in his life that he’d never really believe him.
It was okay. Dante didn’t need to prove anything to him. He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, except for maybe Luke. He could still hear the pain in Luke’s voice when he’d insisted that Dante didn’t see him, the anguish when they’d been at dinner and Luke thought he was being ignored. Fuck, he had a lot to make up for.
He’d start doing that as soon as they wrapped up the investigation. When there wasn’t this craziness between them, they’d be able to focus on rebuilding their relationship...or they could just skip that part and build something shiny and new.
Becoming Luke’s foster brother was one of the best things that had ever happened to Dante. He’d had a safe place to sleep, plenty of food, and the caring and respect of good people. It was more than he’d ever hoped for, but it had been years since he’d needed someone to provide him with safe harbor. These days he had all that and more, earned through his own hard work and determination.
Even so, it wasn’t enough.
Not after so many years spent fantasizing about Luke in his arms.
Not after finally running into a grown-up version of his fantasies, all muscular and strong, a man who could take everything Dante had to dish out and leave him panting for more.
Not after that kiss the other night, a flicker of lips against skin that he’d never be able to forget.
“Where do you want to get some breakfast?”
When Ryan suggested a food truck two blocks away, Dante almost said no. He wasn’t a fan of outdoor eating. It was dirty and crowded. There were too many people. It was almost as bad as going down into the subway.
But Ryan seemed determined so Dante followed him over. It was a good thing too. Between the fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and the custom roasted coffee, the place was better than half the bakeries in the city. It wasn’t a metaphor—the cinnamon roll really did melt in his mouth.
Absolutely freaking delicious.
He should buy a dozen and bring them down to the station. It might not make up for months of bad attitude, but it’d definitely earn him some points with the booking sergeants.
If he bought two dozen then he could drop some off at the fire station for Luke.
Probably not a good idea. Dropping off cinnamon rolls was the kind of thing done by a lover. It wasn’t the act of a sibling trying to get back in his brother’s good books.
Even if they weren’t really siblings and he’d happily murder for one night in Luke’s bed.
He finished off his cinnamon rolls, sucking the last fragments of sugar off his fingers, then wiped his fingers clean on a napkin. Trash went in the trash. He sucked down some coffee. It was almost as good as the pastry.
Ryan was calmer with breakfast in his belly. His muscles weren’t quite so tense. He was almost smiling. “You find my ring?”
“My partner checked with most of the pawn shops and jewelry stores in the city.”
“They always say that on TV. He really knock on the door of every place in town?”
“Nah. In the old days we used to do it by fax. Now it’s all email. We send out a description. They get back to us if they’ve seen anything that matches. No one called, that means it hasn’t been seen.”
“Or someone’s got an overactive spam filter.” Ryan considered for a long moment. “I guess it’s better than nothing.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not the only lead we’re following.” Dante took another sip of his coffee. “I know you told me everything the other night.” He’d reviewed the conversation in his mind a hundred times, at least. Everything from the mugging to the vague description of the attacker was pretty standard, but that didn’t stop the itch at the back of his brain. There was something he wasn’t seeing. “Tell me again.”
Ryan’s lips curled down. “Liam and I walked into the alley. We were getting busy. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly puts a gun to us. We gave him everything we had. The end.”
“Uh-huh. Do it again with more detail this time.” Dante had Ryan tell him the story three more times before he was satisfied. No matter how many details Ryan added back in, the bones of the story didn’t change. They ducked into the alley for some privacy and the attacker appeared just when things were getting interesting.
Dante frowned. The thought he’d been grasping at for days finally materialized.
Ryan and Liam had been looking for privacy. They hadn’t been obvious about their intentions, and in a city as busy as New York it should have been impossible for the mugger to find one couple in the crowd. Maybe if he stalked alleys near nightclubs on the regular he could find the occasional couple, but then there’d be at least as many straight victims as gay ones.
The victimology was too specific.
The crimes were too frequent.
“He didn’t stumble on you in the alley,” Dante said. “He followed you from the club.” This hadn’t been about a random pair of boys. It had been about Ryan and Liam. Something they’d done had attracted the man’s attention, but it hadn’t been on the street. It had been on the dance floor.
The same kind of dance floor Luke would be boogeying across in less than eighteen hours.
Dante’s gut clenched. He couldn’t change what was going to happen. Luke was a stubborn bastard. If Dante told him to stay away, Luke would kick his ass and then go dancing anyway.
Just like when they were kids and Dante had told Luke he was too young to sneak out to a ball game...
Too smart to get caught smoking cigarettes behind the high school gym...
Too sweet to ever trust some
one like him...
“Tell me again. Start at the beginning of the night. Tell me everything you did between when you left your apartment and when we found you. Don’t leave anything out. If you ordered regular water and the bartender gave you sparkling, I want to know it all. Understand?”
Ryan didn’t argue and he didn’t wait. He licked his lips and started talking, spilling every detail of his night out on the town.
If Dante was lucky it would be enough to find the attacker.
If nothing else it would help him keep Luke safe.
That was the most important thing.
Chapter Eleven
Luke slid up to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila. “You want something to go with that?” The bartender was young and gorgeous with peat-moss eyes and sultry lips. Luke had run into him before at a couple of different clubs, but this was the first time he’d seen him at The Golden Bow. The club’s uniform did nice things for him, a butterscotch T-shirt in a deep V-neck that showed all sorts of pretty skin along with a horseshoe tattoo. “Maybe my phone number?”
“Just the tequila is fine.” He dropped a ten-dollar bill on the bar top. “And the tip is for the service. Not the flirting.”
That earned him a laugh. “If I wanted to shake my ass for cash, I’d be working at the strip club with my cousin. I’ve been watching you on the dance floor. Very hot.” Skin crinkled around the corners of his eyes. “So, how about that number?”
“I’m waiting for someone.”
“I guess it’s true what they say, all the good ones are gay and taken.”
“The guy I’m waiting for—” Luke swallowed hard. “It’s not like that. Not really.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s complicated.”
It wasn’t like all of Luke’s teenage dreams had suddenly been answered and his gorgeous straight foster brother had suddenly decided to switch teams. They were hunting a violent asshole. A shudder ran down his spine. When his drink landed in front of him, he took a quick gulp and turned toward the doorway.
He’d gotten to The Golden Bow half an hour before the arranged meeting time to get the lay of the land. On Friday night the place would be packed to the rafters. There’d be multiple bouncers at every entrance and a twenty-dollar cover charge. Thursday was quieter. The crowd was mostly college students celebrating their last day of classes for the week and men in suits ordering bottle service after a good day on the trading floor.