by SJD Peterson
“I’ll have the usual,” Granite said, ducking back into his room, laughing, before Hutch could launch the pen he’d picked up at him.
“Pot of coffee,” Byte yelled from the other room, his voice muffled, no doubt leaning over his computer. At least he’d better be.
“You sure you don’t want anything to eat? The kitchen closes in—” He glanced at his watch. “—thirty minutes, and you’ll have to wait till morning.”
“There’s always the vending machines,” Granite called out, proof he was listening in on their conversation, the bastard.
Hutch pushed up off the bed, stomped to the door adjoining their rooms, and slammed it. “So?” he asked as he turned once again to Noah. Jesus. Would you put some clothes on?
He focused on the phone across the room and headed to it.
Noah must have heard Hutch’s silent plea, because he took his gathered clothes to the bathroom, tossing over his shoulder, “Burger and fries is good.”
Hutch slumped down on the bed and picked up the phone, adjusting his semi-stiffy. He hadn’t been laid in weeks, Christ, more like months; it was his only excuse. That and Noah has a thick, muscular chest and arms just like you like. And that ass…, a little voice inside his head reminded him. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, all that too,” he grumbled and punched the button for the front desk.
TALK ABOUT tragedy turning into thanking his lucky stars. Noah wasn’t only being protected by the sexiest man alive, he was sharing a room with him. He’d walked out of the bathroom in just a towel on purpose, curious as to how Hutch would react. He’d thought he’d seen attraction shining in Hutch’s eyes before, but he couldn’t be sure. Now he was sure Hutch had been checking his ass out when he’d been bent over the bed. He was also sure Hutch had liked what he’d seen. Thank you, crazy deranged killer.
He rolled his eyes at his reflection, which was sporting a goofy grin. He was seriously disturbed.
Pulling on worn, comfortable jeans and a gray T-shirt with a large white swoosh on the front, Noah quickly shaved and brushed his teeth. He tried to get his unruly mop to cooperate, but it was a losing battle. He hung up his wet towel and tidied up a bit before giving his reflection one last once-over.
“Not bad,” he whispered with a wink and then scowled. He didn’t need to be concerned about his looks, and he damn sure shouldn’t be thinking of how Hutch could send a surge of heat through him or a jolt to his groin with just a glance when the man smiled.
He shook his head rapidly. Nope. Nope. Nope. “We will not be thinking about such things. Now behave,” he chastised himself as he pointed a finger at his reflection. Gathering up his personal belongings, Noah flipped off the light and rejoined Hutch.
Hutch was standing at the door to the other room. Noah could hear Byte’s muffled voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying. The first thought that popped into Noah’s head was he didn’t care what they were talking about as long as they kept talking so he could ogle Hutch’s ass for a while longer. He sighed in frustration at his own lack of control and rubbed his eyes, forcing his gaze away. Instead he folded his dirty clothes—something he never did; hell, he rarely folded his clean clothes—and shoved them into his bag along with his shaving kit.
A knock on the door gave Noah something else to focus on rather than Hutch’s backside, and he headed to answer it.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” Hutch growled.
Noah stopped dead in his tracks and looked over at Hutch, blinking in confusion. “Umm… answering the door?”
“The hell you are,” Hutch snarled as he pulled his weapon.
Hutch stomped over to the door, scowling at Noah, and then peered out the peephole. He held his gun near his thigh as he opened the door. “Just leave it there,” he said, pointing to the center of the room, and then stepped back to allow the bellhop to enter pushing his cart. Hutch stayed partially shielded by the door as he watched the server with a critical eye. From his vantage point, Noah could see the weapon in Hutch’s hand trained on the man as he began removing covers.
“We’ll take care of that,” Hutch informed him curtly. “Thank you.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“No, that will be all,” Hutch responded. He stayed tense as he signed for the meal.
Noah expected him to relax once the door was closed and the lock engaged, but instead, to his bewilderment, Hutch rounded on him. “What the hell is wrong with you? You do realize that you may be in a wee bit of danger here, right?” Hutch asked as he shoved his gun into the back of his jeans.
Hutch’s tone was both angry and sarcastic, which caused Noah to bristle, but he clamped down on his irritation. “Your dick is showing,” he responded calmly.
He glanced down at his waistband and then glared at Noah. “What?”
“Remember our conversation in the car?” Noah grabbed a fry from one of the plates and popped it into his mouth. “You’re being a dick again. Seriously? Do you really think I am so stupid that I’d just open a door without checking it out first? Don’t insult my intelligence.”
The sound of clapping caught Noah’s attention, and he turned to find Granite standing at the doorway between rooms, a big smile on his face. “I like this guy,” he snorted. “It took months before I got to see your dick.”
“That’s because I would have let you open the door,” Hutch grumbled.
“I saw it the first day I met him,” Byte hollered from the other room. “A big dick! Quite impressive, really.”
Noah bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
“Now put your big dick away and apologize to Noah,” Granite muttered drolly as he picked up a bun off one of the burgers, inspecting it. Apparently satisfied it was his, he grabbed the plate and one of the sodas, then took it to the small table within the room.
It was obvious from the gruff expression on Hutch’s face that he’d been properly chastised and was smart enough not to go toe to toe with the three of them. Noah winked at Hutch and smiled broadly. He took his plate and sat across from Granite. He held up his hand, and Noah slapped it.
“Oh, knock it off, you two,” Hutch chided.
His attempt at a reprimand had the opposite effect. Noah and Granite burst out laughing.
Chapter 20
BRIGHT LIGHT streaming into the room caused Noah to pull his covers up tighter around himself and bury his head beneath his pillow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night or awoken feeling this good. He was warm and snuggly and content to stay wrapped in his little cocoon.
Burrowing farther into the soft mattress, Noah began to doze back off and then jerked upright to the sound of a muffled voice. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his blurry vision. Disoriented, panic began to race through him at the unfamiliar room. Hotel room. Hutch. Right.
Noah flopped back on the mattress with a satisfied smile. Now he remembered why he felt so good; being around Hutch brought out the pleasant sensation. He was still shocked at how well he’d slept. He hadn’t done that in years. The only explanation for the full night of uninterrupted sleep had to be attributed to Special Agent Hutchinson. Noah could get used to waking up like this every morning.
He raised his arms over his head and grasped the headboard, clutching it as he stretched and yawned. Noah tried making out what the guys were saying, but wasn’t really caring until he heard the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his jeans, slipping them on as padded across to the door between the two rooms.
Byte was in the same position he’d been in the night before, bent over his computer, but he must have been up for some time, as he looked showered and put together in different clothes. Then again, maybe the guy woke up that way; just from the couple of times he’d met him, Noah already knew Byte was meticulous in his appearance. His first impression of Byte had been that he’d be much more natural in front of a camera, gracing the cover of high fashion mags, rather than ty
ping away behind a computer screen.
He really must have slept hard, because Granite and Hutch both appeared showered and dressed. They sat at a table with a man who looked vaguely familiar, but Noah didn’t really try to place the stranger, his gaze on Hutch. Noah quietly leaned against the doorjamb; he wasn’t eavesdropping, he told himself, he simply didn’t want to interrupt and was taking a little more time to ogle.
“Speak of the devil,” Granite announced when he spotted Noah.
Noah’s belly flip-flopped when Hutch looked over at him, meeting Noah’s gaze and smiling broadly. “Good morning,” Hutch drawled. “There’s coffee and danishes on the counter. Help yourself and then come join us.”
“Thanks.” He held Hutch’s gaze for a moment longer until his cheeks heated and then added, “Oh, and good morning.”
Noah shuffled over to the counter, the allure of caffeine calling to him. He grabbed one of the to-go cups, added cream and sugar, and then snatched a cheese danish. “Good morning, Byte,” he muttered as he passed by.
“Mornin’.”
“This is Sergeant Struk,” Hutch informed Noah as he joined them. “He’s been unofficially working on the case with us.”
Noah set his coffee and danish down, wiped his hand along his jeans, and then accepted the offered hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Sergeant Struk. I thought I recognized you. Jefferson County, right?”
“Call me Carson. How’d you know I was from Jefferson?”
Noah took a tentative sip of his coffee, then took a bigger gulp when he determined it wasn’t too hot. “Recognized you from the precinct.”
“Suspect or witness?” Carson asked with a smirk.
“Neither, just doing a little research.”
“Noah here is working on his PhD in criminal psychology. He’s got a real knack for getting in the head of a serial killer,” Hutch added.
The praise from Hutch caused the flip-flopping in Noah’s belly to go nuts, fluttering wildly. His cheeks heated again with the compliment. He liked the way Hutch looked at him, the way he smiled, the way he was beginning to consume Noah’s thoughts.
“Interesting career choice,” Struk commented.
“It’s an interesting subject,” Noah responded with a shrug and popped a bit of the pastry in his mouth. He’d never been comfortable with being the focus of attention or with praise, so he steered the conversation in a new direction by asking Struk, “Hutch mentioned you were here in an unofficial capacity. Why?”
“Because I don’t agree with how they are handling the case,” Struk said casually. “I’ve known for some time we had a serial killer on our hands, and everyone kept blowing me off. Hutch confirmed my suspicions.”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll lose your job if they find out?” Noah inquired.
“Fuck them,” Struck spat. He pulled his hands into fists, staring down at the table as if he were trying to get himself under control. After a few heartbeats, he looked back up with intensity shining in his eyes. “I don’t care if they do fire me. What they are doing is wrong. The public has the right to know that there is a predator hunting gay men, and if they won’t get the word out to the public, then I will.”
“That’s what we were discussing when you woke up,” Hutch informed Noah. “We’re going to do a press conference. Byte’s contacting the media now.”
“I think that’s part of the reason he’s contacting you,” Noah said to Hutch. “He knew you’d give him the recognition he thinks he deserves.”
“It doesn’t explain why this whack job is deviating from his normal MO and tormenting you,” Granite interjected. “He normally hunts effeminate gay men.”
“It’s not a complete deviation. I am gay,” Noah announced.
“So are a lot of other men currently in Chicago, including Hutch. Byte is too, although he’s too busy with his online shopping and hair products to actually date. He’s like a pseudo-gay.”
“Fuck you,” Byte snorted.
Noah wasn’t paying attention, though, too busy studying Hutch’s response. He’d thought Hutch might have swung his way by the way he’d looked at him earlier while he was in his towel, but now he wasn’t so sure, having convinced himself it had been a bit of wishful thinking on his part. Hutch didn’t seem to react at all to the announcement of his sexuality. Nor was there any response from Struk except a quick, shocked glance toward the agent, but absent was the disgust that Noah usually saw on the faces of law enforcement when dealing with a homo. No one was making an issue of it, simply stating it as a fact.
“Still doesn’t explain why he’s coming after you,” Granite reiterated. “You’re a bit beefy to be a twink.”
“I have a theory,” Noah admitted as he continued to munch on his breakfast.
When he didn’t make any further comments, Granite huffed. “Are you going to share it with the rest of the class, Dr. Head Shrink, or are you waiting for a formal invitation? If you’re waiting for me to beg, you’ll be sorely disappointed. I don’t beg, big guy.”
“You beg to see Hutch’s ass,” Byte blurted.
Noah arched a brow at Granite. Were all three of them gay? Is that why they formed a special group working outside the bureau? But Granite must have seen the thoughtful expression on Noah’s face and guessed at what he was thinking.
Granite quickly put the notion out of Noah’s mind when he rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not. Well, I might swing the other way for Hutch. I mean seriously, Noah, have you ever seen a finer ass than on Special Agent Hutchinson?” he asked.
Hutch jerked and swatted Granite, who pulled his arm back quickly while laughing and scooching his chair away from Hutch. Noah couldn’t see what Granite had done beneath the table, but he assumed he must have pinched or grabbed the fine ass in question. Noah chose not to answer the question, at least not there with an audience around.
“Your theory?” Hutch asked, steering the conversation back to the case.
“I don’t think it’s me he is after. He’s still playing a game with you, Hutch. He’s impressed by you, enough to change his MO and take chances by staging the last crime scene. He knew you would recognize it for what it was. I believe he has been watching me, taking the pictures to impress you. He is showing you he is watching you, taunting you, because as intelligent as he finds you, he has to prove that he’s smarter than you.
“If it was about me, he wouldn’t have snuck in to take a few pictures. He would have killed me or lured me somewhere, tortured me, and then killed me. But, I’m not his type, and he isn’t changing the prey he seeks. This is a show for Hutch’s benefit.”
“It’s working,” Hutch grumbled. “This bastard is smarter than I am, because I can’t figure out how in the hell he’s getting such intimate photographs without anyone seeing him. It’s as if he’s a fucking ghost.”
“He’s not a ghost, and he damn sure isn’t smarter than you,” Noah said adamantly. “He’s simply one step ahead of you. I have no doubt that he’ll eventually stumble, and you’ll be right there to nail his ass.”
“Thanks,” Hutch responded sheepishly as he waved off the compliment. “The problem is the ‘eventually’ part. This guy normally strikes every twelve weeks. We know why he killed again so soon, but anyone got any theories on why the twelve-week timeline?”
No one offered one, including Noah. He’d noticed the same thing but couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t plausible that the urge to kill was on a specific timeline. There had to be a reason, but that reason eluded Noah.
“Okay, with a couple new brains in the mix, let’s see what we can figure out,” Hutch announced and pushed away from the table. He walked over to the other side of the room, grabbed an eraser from the nightstand, and cleaned the whiteboard before grabbing a marker. He scribbled “known” and “unknown” at the top of the board, then drew a line between the two. In the unknown column he wrote twelve-week intervals. He then turned to the rest of them. “So, let’s hear them.”
“White male, th
irty to forty years of age,” Granite responded readily.
“Actually, those aren’t facts,” Noah corrected. “While we can surmise his race and age based on date and probability, I think we’d be fools to rule out any age or race, since there are always exceptions to every rule.”
“Noah has a point,” Hutch agreed. “While we believe he falls into the criteria, it’s still speculation and not fact. Let’s stick to those.”
The five of them sat there silently, glancing back and forth at each other.
“C’mon, guys, help me out here,” Hutch said imploringly.
“We don’t know shit about the guy,” Byte complained bitterly. “We know everything there is to know about his victims, right down to the name of their kindergarten teacher, but we don’t know jack shit about who killed them.”
The anger and frustration was evident on the somber faces of everyone in the room. Noah was feeling it too. He racked his brain, trying to come up with something, anything on the killer, but each thought was rejected since, like everything else they thought they knew about the sick bastard, it was conjecture at best.
“We know one other fact about him,” Struk offered. “He’s fixated on Hutch. We can use that to our advantage. He’s obviously watching both him and you.” He pointed to Noah. “Let’s give him something to see, piss him off, and draw him out.”
“We tried that,” Hutch said, sounding dejected. “Noah practically called him a fucking loser in his last lecture.”
“He didn’t respond,” Noah added.
“Oh yes, he did. I’d say taking a picture of you while you were sleeping is a hell of a response,” Granite said. “Think about it, he’s basically saying ‘you’re not worthy’ or ‘who am I trying to impress. I can take you out anytime I see fit.’ It’s Hutch who has to piss him off.”
Noah didn’t like the idea of Hutch putting himself in further danger. As he watched Hutch toss his marker aside and chat with Struk about setting up a press conference, Noah’s gut began to churn with worry. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Hutch was a very good, extremely well-trained agent, but Noah still didn’t have to like the idea of Hutch becoming bait for a madman. However, Granite was right. Hutch was the only one who could do this.