Paradox Lost

by Libby Drew

  None of the tension left Reegan’s face, but softness crept into his eyes, tinged with the inescapable need Saul was feeling. “Never let it be said I turned down an offer like that.” He gripped Saul’s biceps, squeezing the firm muscles there. “At least something’s going my way tonight. Come here, gorgeous.” He slipped a hand behind Saul’s neck, kneading the soft hair, and leaned forward to nip his chin. “You like kissing, Saul Kildare?”

  Saul’s misgivings coalesced into a bone-deep arousal. Nobody had touched him since that horrible, drunken night he’d let Ron talk him into an “experiment.” Before that, he couldn’t even remember. Self-preservation had kept him in check for a decade, but the need for discretion had disappeared with his job and friends. Screw it. If he couldn’t get drunk, he’d get laid.

  “Yeah,” he grunted, voice graveled. “I like kissing.” And vodka. And vindictive closeted men. Not a winning combination however he played it.

  “Excellent.” Reegan stepped between Saul’s spread legs, but he didn’t just kiss him. He stalked and captured Saul’s mouth, just as his attire suggested he might. Any illusion that Saul controlled the moment evaporated when Reegan hoisted him up by the hips and set him on the edge of Cammie’s desk. The large hands returned to cup his face, holding it steady for Reegan’s probing tongue.

  Eventually Saul broke away, gasping for breath, but Reegan didn’t let him go far. His fingers slipped into Saul’s short hair and tipped his head back. The air Saul had managed to inhale left him in a rushed moan as Reegan nuzzled up the line of his neck, pressing his nose against the soft skin behind Saul’s ear.

  The gentle scrape of teeth was his undoing. Arching his hips, Saul pressed his full, aching cock into Reegan’s thigh. The reality of an aroused man in his arms overwhelmed everything else. He groaned, and Reegan echoed it.

  “Whoever sent you definitely did me a favor,” Saul panted.

  Reegan’s biting kisses paused. For a long moment, he stood breathing against Saul’s cheek. “Shit,” he muttered.

  Saul tried to wiggle closer. “What?”

  “Nobody sent me. Okay, that’s not exactly true, but I am here to hire you. If you’re willing to start immediately, be discreet, and don’t mind being paid in small bills.”

  Saul pushed against Reegan’s chest until they could look each other in the eye. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes. I’m serious.”

  He’d just molested a client. A potential client. He shoved Reegan off and away. Two deep breaths cleared his head, even if his cock ignored the message. “I don’t even know what to say. I thought you were…someone else.”

  “Why don’t we skip this awkward part and move on.” Reegan adjusted the bulge in his pants. “At least you have an excuse. I knew exactly why I was here.”

  It rubbed, having the responsibility removed for what had been very mutual. Saul slid clumsily off Cammie’s desk and gestured Reegan into his office. “Whatever.” He stepped around the shattered glass and puddle of vodka. “Watch yourself.”

  Reegan skirted the mess and took one of the two seats in front of Saul’s desk. “Did I interrupt a party?”

  “It was going to be a party of one, so no. Your timing was perfect.” He’d been one twist away from throwing away seven months of sobriety. For some reason, the need that had strangled him just minutes ago had evaporated, but the knowledge of how close he’d come made him sick with shame.

  Reegan threw a wry smile at the destroyed bottle of Stoli. The red and gold label was torn and battered, but intact. “You know what they say about people who drink alone?”

  “Yeah, that they’re alcoholics. There’s a reason they say that.” Saul sat forward in his chair and met Reegan’s surprised gaze without flinching.

  The several second standoff ended with Reegan removing his hat and scratching his fingers through his hair. “I’ve got a problem. A missing person.”

  The chair creaked when Saul leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I’m listening.”

  “I’m not going to mince words. I only have a few days to find her.”

  “Why?”

  “She doesn’t have her medicine. Without it, she’ll die.”

  Saul digested that. “Okay. How long has she been missing?”

  “About two hours.” Reegan reached inside his jacket and pulled out a picture, which he slid across the desk. “That’s her. Silvia Panitierre. We were watching the speech together on the Mall in front of the Air and Space Museum. I took my eyes off of her for five minutes.” Frustration rang in his voice.

  “She ran away.” Saul didn’t phrase it as a question since Reegan had already implied as much. He spun the picture around and drew it close. Recognition shot through him. “Hold on. I saw her.”

  “What?” Reegan came halfway across the desk. “When?”

  Saul held up a finger while he calculated. “A few minutes before nine. She was running. Nearly knocked me down.” She’d looked scared, as though something was chasing her. He didn’t share that with Reegan. “Why did she take off?”

  “That’s a bit tricky. But let me assure you I’m not overblowing the danger.”

  Tricky. He might as well have said illegal.

  “If she’s in serious danger of dying, then I suggest you go to the police. They can get her name and picture out there. The more exposure, the better.”

  “No. The less exposure the better. Believe me.” Burying a frustrated sigh in his palm, Reegan slumped in his chair.

  Saul sat back and watched Reegan mentally readjust his story. He didn’t want this case, but he didn’t have the balls to turn it down either. Not when eviction was imminent.

  “Listen,” Reegan said. “The more you expose her, the greater the threat.”

  “Are you the threat?” Saul made sure the quiet question had penetrated before sliding the picture of Silvia back to Reegan.

  Jaw tight, Reegan shook his head. “No.”

  When sober, Saul was an excellent judge of character. He nodded. “I’ll need more details. Why did she run away? Does she know anybody in the city? Which credit cards would she use? Is there anybody she might call for help?”

  Reegan’s hands curled into fists on his knees. “She had a…fight with her husband. She knows nobody. I don’t know if she’d have credit cards.” He frowned, as if the probability worried him. “Probably cash.”

  “How much cash is she carrying?”

  “I have no idea. But she’s…she’s unfamiliar with the culture around here. She’ll stand out because of it.”

  “Unfamiliar how?” Saul voice grew sharp. This story smelled worse by the second. He didn’t appreciate Reegan twisting the information. “If you want to find her, you’re going to have to be more upfront.”

  “Yeah, I was afraid of that,” Reegan muttered. “She’s a foreigner. Of sorts.”

  “Of sorts? Is English her first language?”

  Reegan bobbed his head. “Absolutely.”

  “She’s an English-speaking foreigner. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. McNamara, but the city is full of visitors at the moment. To stand out among some of the folks I’ve seen walking the streets the past few days, she’d have to be eight feet tall with rainbow-colored hair and the ability to fly before people looked twice at her.”

  “Good point.” Reegan rose from his chair, stepped gracefully over the broken glass, and stalked to the window.

  Saul gazed at his midnight visitor. “Does she have valid I.D. of any sort?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, you said she wasn’t a U.S. citizen, so…a passport?”

  Reegan started to shake his head, then made a face. “I don’t think this was a spur-of-the-moment thing for her. So yes, it’s possible she has period-authentic identification.”

  “Period what?”

  “It’s possible she has ID, I said.”

  That wasn’t what he’d said. Saul filed the lie away. “Anything you can tell me about her would help. What d
oes she do for a living? You were with her right before she ran, right? Did she say or do anything out of the ordinary?”

  “She doesn’t work anymore. She used to sing.”

  “Professionally?”

  “In bars.” Reegan’s gaze grew wistful. “She liked blues music. Ruth Brown especially.”

  “Is there anything else?” Saul prompted when Reegan didn’t continue.

  “I talked to her right before we left to watch the speech. She said she didn’t get out much. Once in a blue moon.”

  Saul felt a tingle. A connection that was probably more hope than reality, but that was his business, wasn’t it? He’d used to find this kind of thing a challenge. A pleasurable challenge. It said much about his long fall that the work he’d once loved held so little appeal these days.

  “Mr. Kildare?” Reegan sank onto the narrow windowsill and curled over his knees. “This lady will be in real trouble if she doesn’t get her medicine.”

  Then why run away over a petty squabble with her husband? Unless… Saul braced himself. “Is she your lover?”

  Finally he’d caught the guy by surprise. Reegan straightened and gaped at him. “No.”

  The relief he felt was in no way emotionally healthy. Angry at himself, Saul barked, “No? You sure?”

  “She’s not my type.” Reegan’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I thought I’d already made that clear.”

  Saul tipped back in his chair, laughing. “All you made clear is that you’re not picky about who sticks their tongue in your mouth.” He smirked at the dangerous, flinty glare he got in return.

  Reegan broke first, swiveling back to the window. “Guess I deserved that.”

  Saul frowned at the self-deprecating tone. He wasn’t even positive he’d been meant to hear the quiet confession. He nudged a large wedge of glass with his shoe. “Okay. I’ll take the case.” If it turned out to be a mistake, it wouldn’t be his first. “Let’s discuss my fees.”

  Reegan grimaced. “Hope cash is okay.”

  Saul extracted a small notebook from his desk drawer. “That’ll work.” Flipping to the middle, he scrawled Reegan’s name at the top of the page. “I have no official fee schedule. Things are rarely that neat and tidy. I require a two-thousand-dollar retainer.”

  Reegan snorted. “To start with, right?”

  Okay, if that was the way they were going to play it, Saul was game. “That depends. Did you want me on this 24/7 or nine to five?”

  Reegan reached for his wallet and started counting out hundred dollar bills.

  Saul made sure he looked everywhere but at the cash. “I’ll keep you abreast of my movements in as timely a manner as possible. What’s your cell phone number?” He waited, pen hovering over the notebook. Silence answered back.

  Saul clicked the button on the ballpoint a few times. “Mr. McNamara, your cell phone number?”

  “I think…”

  Oh, Christ. Saul knew that tone. Dreading what he knew was coming, he lifted his gaze in time to catch Reegan cross his arms and purse his lips. “I think I should come with you. That way if you have any questions, I’m right there to answer them.”

  “True,” Saul answered. “Or I could just call you if I have a question.”

  “I like my idea better.” Then the bastard smiled.

  Saul flipped his notebook shut, listening with half an ear to the stomp of boots and peals of laughter in the hallway. His neighbors returning from McAfee’s speech. He raised his voice to speak over the noise. “I don’t take clients to work with me. Sorry.”

  Tapping his finger to his lips, Reegan peered behind the bookcase next to the window, then reached into the narrow space to emerge with a cobweb-covered broom. As though it were perfectly normal—perfectly acceptable—he started herding up the glass. “I understand.”

  Strangely hypnotized by the sight of Reegan working the broom, Saul blew out a relieved breath.

  “However, in this case, you’ll have to make an exception.”

  Unbelievable. Two grand on the table, and he was going to have to refuse the case on the grounds that his client was crazy. “I don’t make exceptions,” Saul said, enunciating each syllable. Unless the exception was giving his closeted partner a blowjob in a back alley. Saul wouldn’t be mentioning that breech of common sense.

  He listened to the tinkle of broken glass scraping across the floor and waited for Reegan’s answering volley. This battle wasn’t over, and if the man negotiated as well as he kissed, Saul might have already lost. He grew warm remembering the strength Reegan kept simmering below his polite surface.

  Reegan grabbed the dustpan that was also wedged behind the bookcase. Stepping over the growing pile of glass and damp dust bunnies, he handed it to Saul. “I’ll offer a three-thousand-dollar bonus if we start looking tonight.”

  Saul squeezed the copper handle hard but kept his voice even. “Three thousand dollars.” He couldn’t sound too greedy. Or worse, too needy. Three grand would certainly help his sad financial situation. Five would stretch further, and Reegan looked desperate enough to pay it. Torn, a bit sick that he was considering asking for more, Saul sank into a crouch and held the dustpan in front of the pile of broken glass. “You’re pretty desperate to find her.”

  “Yes. I don’t want her dying on my watch.”

  Rather than ask for an explanation of that, Saul dumped the shards into the bin under his desk. He didn’t want this lady dying on his watch either. He’d seen in her in the flesh. She wasn’t some stranger he could delegate to paper and ink, a two-dimensional person who couldn’t be scared or hurt. Or killed. He straightened with a sigh. “Fine. We’ll start tonight.”

  “Right now?”

  The last traces of vodka, swept into parallel streaks by the broom, were already evaporating. Saul gave the stains one last look before nodding. “Right now.”

  Chapter Five

  “This is your car?” Reegan asked. Saul had led him down the street and around the corner, pointing to a dented and scratched Range Rover parked in a paved nook that might have been an alley. Once. Now it was closed off on one end, and a plastic playhouse and a red tricycle sat at the base of the chain link fence that sectioned the area off from the adjoining block. A floodlight mounted high on the brick edifice illuminated several cars hugging one side of the building, parked back to front.

  Saul gave the Rover a critical once-over. “Yeah.”

  “I love it.”

  Of course it sounded strange. Reegan realized that as soon as he said it, but he’d just have to play it off now. Saul hit the button on his keychain, and Regan squirmed between the wall and the car, squeezing into the passenger seat. The interior was stuffed with fascinating objects. He poked into the glove compartments and consoles. Examined old foam cups, some still half full of cold coffee. Pushed buttons on the dashboard navigation system until it beeped its displeasure. Despite the insanity of his situation, he was still a historian. Faced with trappings of a different time period, it was hard to keep his hands to himself. He didn’t own a car. His father had known how to drive, and Reegan vaguely remembered long trips down lonely roads, when the old man had given in to the urge to abandon the city for a day. Other than those times, Reegan had only ever ridden in vehicles that navigated themselves.

  Digging between the seats unearthed an antique MP3 device and a set of grimy ear buds. “Music!” Delighted, he shook the player in Saul’s face. “What kind do you like?”

  Saul pried the MP3 from Reegan’s fingers and tossed it in the backseat, then eased the Rover expertly out of the alley and onto the empty street.

  Reegan eyed him for a minute, searching for signs of honest irritation, then resumed his explorations. The compartments on the door were a treasure trove, and eventually Reegan’s search turned up an empty gun magazine. He held it up to the dash lights for a better look.

  “Hey.” Saul made a swipe for it. “Keep your hands off my shit.”

  It took Reegan a moment to realize what he was holding
. As soon as he did, he dropped it as though it were on fire. Saul snatched it before it hit the console.

  “Sorry. I can’t help it. I love antiques.” Reegan eyed the magazine still clutched in Saul’s fist. “But I know more about furniture than guns.”

  “Antiques?” The overhead streetlights washed everything to a dull amber, but illuminated the inside of the car enough so that Reegan could see Saul’s expression. His wide eyes matched his incredulous tone. “This is a thirteen-round magazine for a Glock 23. Last I checked, you couldn’t buy one at the corner flea market.”

  Reegan cursed inwardly. “No, of course not.”

  After that, he kept his hands to himself and his mouth shut, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Saul. Not only was the man easy on the eyes, but their attraction had been instant and powerful. Shame it walked a dangerous line of impropriety. With so many lies stacking up between them, all on Reegan’s side—or so he assumed—their mutual sexual connection might be the most honest thing they shared at the moment. Too bad they couldn’t capitalize on it.

  Watching Saul slam the car into gear and pull into traffic shouldn’t have been a turn-on. His brooding expression and show of anger shouldn’t have driven Reegan to distraction, but they did. D’arco’s threats were far-off dangers at the moment. Nebulous and intangible. It all spelled trouble for sure. Maxie would laugh his ass off if Reegan’s dick got him killed. It was exactly the kind of poetic justice the guy adored.

  Reegan hadn’t lied. He despised guns, and it was the idea he’d most likely be seeing more in the near future that finally wrestled his libido into submission. For now. If the opportunity arose, he knew he’d finish what they’d started. Screw all that propaganda he spouted to the tourists about nothing in the past being real. He’d recited it so much over the years he’d begun to believe it himself, but nothing could be further from the truth. The way Saul had felt in his arms was as real as it got.