"Want to come over to my place for some coffee before you head home? Mine isn't as good as what Millie serves, but it'll keep your eyes open."
"Sure," Monte said. "I can get my car and follow you from the restaurant."
Monte was mildly surprised to find Jeff rented not an apartment but a small house toward the edge of town. From what he could see by the headlights and a streetlight down the block, the exterior and yard were nothing to brag about--not quite dilapidated, but barely better.
Inside, though, everything was tidy and clean, even if the furniture was a "Goodwill Modern" variety and nothing really matched. Jeff might not be an interior decorator, but he seemed to value comfort. He had two massive recliners covered with Mexican style blankets sitting in front of a big screen TV and a nice music setup in an entertainment rack flanked by a couple of shelves full of an eclectic collection of books.
The small, old-fashioned kitchen was equally neat. Monte waited in the doorway while Jeff made coffee. Dressed tonight in faded jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a well-worn T-shirt, the other man looked every bit as good as he did in his delivery uniform. Monte feasted his gaze and enjoyed every second of it. For a minute he held a vague wish Jeff would turn around, come over and grab him.
"Hell, you really don't want to go home to an empty house tonight, do you?"
Had he heard those words or only imagined them?
Chapter 3
* * *
Part of Jeff, the disciplined, trained agent, stood back aghast at what he'd just said, while the rest of him, the man who'd been fighting the urge to touch Monte, to kiss him almost from the first, just acted. All at once, he couldn't wait another moment, could no longer resist the urgent need to feel Monte's body against his, to taste the boyish smile and find out whether the sizzle of their few accidental touches was a fluke or the real thing.
He set the two coffee mugs on the counter and crossed to where Monte leaned in the doorway. Even before he got close to the other man, his arms already reached for him. A man has a head at each end of his spine, and when one is working, the other isn't. The old adage slipped through his mind, as if from a distance.
No question, his cock, and maybe something else, was in the driver's seat now and he could no more control their demands than he could fly. He'd known in the back of his mind this very thing was a risk, but he'd thought he could suppress it. He'd been wrong.
He grabbed Monte by the shoulders and dragged him close. Monte's mouth opened in surprise an instant before Jeff's collided with it. Lips and tongues began a frantic duel, reaching and searching, driven by need too urgent to deny. They both clasped and clutched at each other, bodies straining to get closer, stiffening cocks thrusting against the confines of their jeans.
Jeff's conscience still protested. I can't do this. I've got to stop, back off, calm down.
But it was like trying to stop the wind, a flash flood, an implacable force of nature. There was nothing sane and rational about it at all. The power of lust, primal and ravenous, raged through him, its demands too forceful to contain.
Finally, Jeff slacked his grip, pulled back enough to break the lock-lipped kiss and to see Monte's face as other than a blur. Monte's eyes reflected the stunned sensations Jeff felt. In spite of that, a silly grin tugged at his lips and a similar urge seemed to be twitching Monte's mobile mouth.
"Oh, man, I..." Jeff struggled for words, unable to frame his jumbled thoughts into anything coherent.
"Did you read my mind? And did you say something about staying just before you turned around, or did I imagine that?" At least Monte seemed to be able to speak.
"The urge just hit me, all at once. It seized total control. I know I came on like a runaway train. Are you all right with this? Do you want it as much as I do? I began to speculate about you and this right off when we first met, but I wasn't sure how to ask, what to say."
"Me neither. I thought I sensed some interest. I suspected, but I've been wrong before. It's really humiliating to make that mistake." His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, then he looked back up at Jeff. "But I'm more than all right now. Where do we go from here? Whether it's the bedroom or the living room rug or up against the wall doesn't matter to me, but there's no way I'm leaving now."
Jeff released his hold on Monte completely, suddenly not sure what to do next. He was still shaking with the intensity of his desire, but close to paralysis as well. As his hands dropped to his sides, Monte sank to his knees right in front of him. Before Jeff fully realized what the other man intended, Monte lowered the zipper of Jeff's jeans, released his belt buckle and pushed back the denim to free Jeff's prick. With a touch almost reverent, Monte wrapped his hand around the engorged shaft and stroked from base to head and back.
When Monte's mouth engulfed him, Jeff struggled to keep his legs from buckling. Somehow Monte stayed with him as he backed a long step to brace himself against the counter. With arms extended behind him, he managed to stay on his feet. Then, working with an amazing, nimble tongue and a deep throat, Monte administered the most amazing blow job Jeff had ever experienced. He came in an explosive burst that shot cum down Monte's throat and shook his whole body with climactic tremors.
"Man, where did you ever learn to do that? You just gave me the most incredible BJ I ever had in my life."
Monte looked up at him, a smile on his moist, shining lips. "I don't know. I've just wanted to do that from the moment I saw you get out of your truck the first time. I didn't think I'd ever have the chance, but when it came, I had to take it. I hope you didn't mind."
"Mind? Do you think I'm totally stupid? It was fantastic."
Monte stood then, as easily as if he were not shaken at all, but vulnerability shone in his expressive eyes.
Jeff studied him for a minute. "So what can I do for you in return?"
Monte's expression changed in a flash from satisfied to troubled. Seeing the shift, Jeff realized that, if not a real sub, Monte was far from a dom. He was not comfortable asking, much less demanding. He might be aching with need, but he couldn't come straight out and voice his desires. He took whatever a partner chose to give, and gave back more than he got every time.
Just as Jeff reached for him again, Monte's cell rang. It didn't stop ringing. Monte grabbed for it. "Fuck, I forgot to set it to silent and voice mail only."
"Better answer it. Doesn't look like they're going to accept no answer."
Jeff watched a sick pallor sweep over the other man's face as he listened to a one-sided conversation. Uh-oh, it's gotta to be really bad news.
"I'm in Junction City, but I'll be there as fast as I can. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes." With an unsteady hand, Monte hit the off key and fumbled the phone back into its holster.
"Somebody broke into the store. It must've happened right after I left. Apparently, a cop passing by noticed the front door was not quite closed and went to check it out."
When Monte's gaze met Jeff's, his eyes held total misery. He was the mute one now.
Jeff settled a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Get going, then. I'll be right behind you. We'll pick this up later. Right now your business is more important. Come on...let's go."
* * * *
Monte stepped through the door of the Sportsman's Stop, flipped the light switch and came to a total halt. The place was a mess. I didn't have this much stuff. I couldn't have. The whole floor was littered with items of sporting goods, scattered boxes--mostly split open--and torn paper and plastic, a few shards of glass or ceramics.
He hesitated a moment, looking around. "There wasn't much in the till, maybe fifty in small bills and change, but I guess I'd better check it." He had to kick things aside to get to the counter where the cash register sat. He heard Jeff following him.
To all appearances, the register had not even been touched. He entered the code to unlock it and the drawer slid open. As near as he could figure, not a penny was missing. "Guess they weren't after the money." He shook his head, trying to und
erstand the weird situation. It really didn't look like anything had been taken.
Clambering across more of the litter, he stuck his head through the door into the back storage room. Things were no better there. He stopped, slumping as the impact soaked in. Could he--and maybe more important should he--even attempt to press on at this point? Instead, should he cut his losses and walk away?
Jeff's hands settled on his shoulders, squeezed and then rested there, warm and stabilizing.
"What do you want me to do?"
After a moment, Monte shrugged free of Jeff's touch. He didn't want to. He could have stood there all night, letting someone else share his burden. But that was wrong. I have to stand alone in this, on my own two feet and not count on anyone else.
"You may as well go on home, Jeff. I might stick around here a while and get a start on cleaning up. I know I'm too wired right now to think about sleeping. May just throw a sleeping bag on the floor when I run down. But you have to work tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep."
As if he sensed Monte's withdrawal, Jeff backed away. "You sure you'll be okay? Do you think they might come back?"
Monte twitched one shoulder in a half shrug. "Why should they? They don't seem to have found what they were after. Maybe they were just trying to tell me I'm not welcome here. Coming to a conservative little town might have been a mistake, but no, I'm not afraid or anything. I don't think anyone will be back tonight."
The one cop standing guard had left as soon as they arrived. Monte wasn't sure how much of an investigation had been done or if more was planned, but it really didn't matter. To small-town law enforcement, this was probably not a big deal. They'd probably call it vandalism unless he reported considerable stolen property. They knew it would take him some time to take an inventory and find what, if anything, was missing. Until they had that, there wasn't much else they could do.
Despair sat in a sodden lump behind his diaphragm.
"Go on, Jeff. The fact you came along to support me means a lot, but there's nothing else you can do now. I'll probably see you tomorrow. I'll need a coffee break about the time you usually hit town."
He didn't watch Jeff leave, but the soft footfalls sounded very final, as did the click as the door shut behind Jeff's back.
* * * *
Jeff fidgeted while Sherlock, Barton's detection dog, checked the day's deliveries. He wanted to get on the road, head on up to Cameron Creek and see how Monte was doing. He'd sensed the other man's dismay was deep enough to slip easily into real depression. That was not good. Monte had said he was struggling to keep his business afloat. This might be the final hole in a leaky rowboat for him.
Just then Sherlock froze, his black nose twitching, along with the very tip of his stiffly extended tail. He strained upward toward a large box on the middle shelf. A small whine escaped.
"Good boy." Barton dragged a Kong toy out of his pocket and handed it to the dog after the animal stepped back and sat down. "Good boy. You did well." Sherlock took the toy and began to lick out the peanut butter filling through the larger hole. Barton lifted the box down. He fumbled in another pocket for a retractable razor knife. With a few deft slashes, he cut the tape.
Peering over his shoulder, Jeff read the label. His heart sank. It was going to the Sportsman's Stop.
Oh, shit, no. Damn it, no. But there was no denying the stark black lettering. Inside the box they found a jumble of things--packages of golf and tennis balls, a pair of bowling shoes, a couple of baseball gloves, some ski wax. Barton took the items out one after the other and set them on the floor until he reached the bottom. Then he halted, peering intently at the box. In a moment Jeff noticed it, too. The inside depth seemed less than the height of the box from the floor to the top.
Barton pried at the folded flaps. They came up easily, not secured, as the real bottom would have been. Underneath them was another batch of merchandise, one that stopped both men cold. Dozens of small Ziploc bags, each one full of white powder. It could be flour or talc or corn starch, but something told Jeff it wasn't. A jagged chunk of ice seemed to settle low in his gut, cutting like shattered glass. Oh, fuck it anyway. Why, why, why?
Barton looked up at him, a question on his rugged face. "What do you want to do now?" His responsibility ended when his dog either found the goods or gave an all clear sign. Now it was up to Jeff, or if he couldn't decide, up to their supervisor.
"Go ahead and put the stuff back. I'll deliver the package and insist the guy open it to check for possible damage. Seeing how he reacts will tell me a lot, maybe all I need to know."
Barton hesitated. "You sure you want to handle this alone, no back up?"
Jeff nodded. "Yeah. It's what I get paid those big bucks for, right? If I need help, I'll holler. I've got my fake iPod so if you get an SOS signal from me, you can come charging in with the crew."
He pulled out, headed through the alley and onto the main street, operating on a kind of autopilot. None of this seemed real. Last night... No he couldn't think about that, but Monte had seemed like such a gentle guy, considerate and careful, not quite timid but hardly the criminal type.
And just what is the criminal type, genius? You spot them every time, right?
* * * *
Monte heard the truck before it pulled up to the curb outside the shop. He straightened slowly from a crouch and filling yet another box so he could get the showroom cleared. He had not opened up today, much as he hated not to. So far, no potential customers had showed up, but several people he'd met the night before had said they'd be coming up to look around in the next few days. Could he possibly get ready for business again before it was too late? He'd made inroads into the mess, but it was such a slow, painful effort.
His heart gave a little skip as he watched Jeff climb down from the van and turn to hoist out a large box. Monte met the other man at the door. His welcoming smile slipped when he saw the granite set of Jeff's expression. He stepped aside to let Jeff enter, confusion and concern replacing his joy and relief at the sight of his friend. Jeff took a few steps before dumping the box on the floor with a thud.
Monte swallowed a sigh. "Just what I need, more stuff. I didn't think I had any more merchandise due in right now, though."
Jeff shrugged. "The box looks like it might have been tampered with, broken or torn open, then taped back. You better check and see if it's all right so you can file a claim if you need to. I'll wait while you check it so I can certify the claim forms."
Monte knelt, took out his pocket knife and started to slice away the tape. There was a lot of it. Maybe Jeff was right. There seemed to be at least two different kinds and colors of tape on the box.
Once he had the top open, he folded the flaps back and began to take things out. The box held a strange mismatch of items, not what he'd normally include in one order from one company or distributer. This was not making sense. Finally he had the box empty. Then he noticed a discrepancy in the inner and outer dimensions. Was there a second layer beneath the apparent bottom?
He glanced up at Jeff. The other man's face was still impassive. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, just watching. The jovial, easygoing friend Monte thought he knew was not present today. This stern, controlled man was a total stranger, one Monte almost feared.
"What's wrong?" Jeff's tone was flat yet held a sharp query.
"I'm not sure, but there's something strange about the box." Monte reached in and tugged at one of the bottom flaps. It came up with no effort, as did the opposite one and then the two beneath that.
Halfway through that second opening, he heard Jeff's sharp intake of breath. He glanced up, but Jeff's carefully impassive face told him nothing. But was there something else in the other man's eyes, just for a nanosecond? It vanished before he could be sure, leaving him wishing he was telepathic
Monte froze as the contents of the second compartment appeared.
What the fuck?
"Some special merchandise?" Jeff's satirical question sounded
so cold Monte's ears burned.
"I--no. Not anything I ordered anyway. What the hell is going on?"
Then all at once everything fell into place. This was what the break-in was about, what the unknown burglar had been seeking. The package had probably arrived one day later than expected. Oh, shit, I'm in trouble up to my eyeballs.
Rocking back on his heels, he looked up at Jeff. "I swear I don't know anything about this. I guess it could be harmless, like a bad joke, but something tells me it's what we both think it is. That means I'm in big trouble."
Jeff nodded. This time his tone was laconic. "Yeah, I'd say you are. Somebody was expecting it, weren't they? That's why they tore the store apart--wanting to find a fortune worth of coke and get it out of here. But, of course, you had no idea it was coming, right?" The last sentence held something so close to a sneer Monte cringed.
He started to reply, but he couldn't find any words. The laidback delivery guy was gone. In his place, a hard-faced stranger stood, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a grim line. Who was Jeff Hardesty and which persona was the façade?
Monte drew his fear and frustration into at least a pretense of anger. "Just who are you? What are you? Seems to me you have some explaining to do, too. You knew what was in this box, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did. And I had a reason to know." Jeff reached into his shirt pocket and took out a small leather case. He flipped it open with a deft motion to reveal a badge and a laminated ID card. The card identified him as Jeffery H. Ware, special customs agent, Homeland Security.
Monte struggled to his feet. He wanted to run out the back door, to sink through the floor, to simply go out like a light but he could do none of those things. Fury and fear froze him in his tracks. This can't be happening. I've been set up. Oh, God...help me! Still, he had to stand up for himself.
Special Delivery Page 3