by A. R. Moler
The sun was dipping toward the horizon, and Mason had barely moved a muscle in past half hour. All the information churned through his brain. Could he do anything to alter the options? He hadn’t had time to talk to Peter Vithoulkas yet, the senior healer at Division P. Maybe there was some hope there.
A hard shiver ran through his body. Damn, maybe he ought to go someplace a little warmer to drown himself in his internal angst. He pushed away from the railing and began to walk slowly back in the direction of the parking garage near the hospital. Turning his cell phone back on would probably be a good idea, too. As the device played its little boot-up tune, he noticed there were four text messages and two missed calls, all from Cam. Mason thumbed his lover’s cell number. No answer, it flipped over to voice mail. That could mean anything from Cam was on his motorcycle to he was in a meeting on base. Mason scrolled down through the menu and started popping open the text messages.
- ONCO MTG OVR?
- GNEWS? BNEWS?
- IM THINKIN BAD
-U K?
Mason heaved a sigh and guiltily tucked the phone back in his pocket. Obviously Cam was worrying about him. He decided to try calling again in fifteen minutes or so, which then reminded him of the early evening traffic snarl clogging the roads near the hospital. There was really no point in even getting in his car. A cup of coffee in the hospital cafeteria was probably as good as any other ploy to kill some time.
~
Scanning the faces of the people in the hospital cafeteria was really more a habit than a necessity. This close, the tug on Cameron Bradshaw’s talent for finding what he was after was an unmistakable pull. He saw his lover sitting alone at a table, chin resting on a hand, coffee cup before him, long graceful fingers wrapped around it. His cell phone lay in front of him. The idle play of those fingers along the edge of the cup told a story of tension.
Cam crossed the room and laid a hand on Mason’s shoulder. The doctor looked up at him, with a slightly startled expression, then relaxed.
“If it was anybody but you, I’d ask how you knew where to find me,” said Mason. Cam set his helmet on the table and sat down beside his partner.
“Better than Lo-Jack and GPS combined,” he said with a smile, then sobered a bit. “I’m guessing the meeting went badly?”
“The meeting was fine, but yeah, I know what you meant,” replied Mason.
“I’m sorry.” Cam wanted to put his arms around his lover and offer him comfort. He settled for brushing his fingertips against Mason’s where they were curled around the coffee cup.
“I’ll... figure something out,” said Mason. “I tried calling you back a little while ago... I had my cell turned off during the meeting.”
“Answering my phone while I’m riding...”
“Yeah, I wondered if you might be on your bike. Not exactly a safe option,” Mason said as he sat back and crossed his arms.
Cam recognized the maneuver. When they were in public, Mason would often do something to remind himself that careless touches were a bad idea. God, when had he become so attuned to such tiny indicators in Mason’s body language? Probably right about the time he had finally admitted to himself that he was hopelessly in love. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Mason said.
“I know, but you’ve been really bent out of shape about this kid. I figured you could use some company. And I didn’t want to tell you over the phone that I have to go to Philadelphia for a couple of days. Division P stuff.”
Mason grimaced faintly. “Is this going to involve you getting shot at?”
“I think the risk is pretty low. I’m being loaned to the FBI to help them find some money stolen from a bank three days ago. Apparently they’re clueless.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tonight at ten pm. You could come with me...”
“This involves an airplane right?”
“Um, yeah.”
“No, thanks. You know my opinion of flying.”
“Thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. It’s only a couple hours flight. We could go to the airport bar and get you really drunk first,” Cam teased gently, knowing that Mason’s fear of flying bordered on phobic.
“I’m sure that would go over well. Not to mention showing up with a friend in tow probably wouldn’t exactly wow the FBI I’m sure,” said Mason.
“You are Division P. An all-signed on the dotted line and mostly trained agent.”
“Christ, that makes me sound like James Bond, instead of some doctor who got roped into something I haven’t decided whether I like or not.”
Cam looked at him for a long moment. “Do you regret your contract with them?” he said slowly.
“No. Yes. Hell! I don’t know. I like having Peter to openly compare notes with. I’m probably better than I used to be at ‘that stuff’ for the training they’ve given me. I like having a place where you and me doesn’t matter. But it all comes with a price doesn’t it? Peter’s been hinting about sending me on official business for a couple weeks now. Did they ask you to tap me for this?”
“Danny suggested that sending you as a sort of trainee might not be a bad thing. The FBI doesn’t even have to know what you do for P. All they have to know is that you’re one of us,” said Cam.
Mason braced his forehead against the heels of his hands. “God, I hate flying,” he whispered.
“Is that a yes?”
“I guess so. Part of me wants to claim that I need to stay close to my patient. But the other part knows that if I do this, I might be able to get Peter to willingly help me figure out a way to fix Jason Ambers. And a weekend’s probably not going to make a difference in the end result anyway.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah, probably... I keep trying to convince myself that maybe what I can do, my gift, can save him. But I just don’t know.”
“Come on. Traffic’s hopefully let up a little by now.”
~
They walked out of the hospital and across the street to the parking deck. Mason was about two-thirds of the way to where he had parked when it occurred to him, that he had no idea where Cam’s bike was.
“You don’t have to walk me to my car. I can find it by myself, honest, I’m a full fledged grown-up,” Mason said, in a teasing tone.
“I’m parked one space away from your Mustang. There was some Toyota thing parked between us when I left it.”
Mason opened to mouth, shut it, then finally said, “Hon, sometimes you are just plain scary with that stuff.”
Cam let out a snort of laughter. “This from the guy who can turn off pain like a light switch and seal up skin like it’s never been torn?”
“Mmm, yeah,” muttered Mason. True to Cam’s word, his motorcycle was one space away in the deck, one car parked between them. Mason unlocked his car door. “How do we do this?”
“Go pack enough stuff for a couple days. I have to get my gear from my quarters on base. Danny Valentine’s picking me up at eight, then we’ll swing by your place. The game plan is to make sure we’re in Philly and all ready to go by nine-ish tomorrow morning,” said Cam.
“Suit and tie? Business casual? Jeans?”
“Uh, I usually opt for the middle unless I know it’s going to be something really filthy.”
“You taking uniforms?”
“No. Unless it’s a job that’s a direct spin off of Navy stuff, I’m officially Division P and not military.”
“Oh.” Thoughts of the flight combined with his last somewhat involuntary “mission” involving Naval Intelligence churned through Mason’s head. That had been a real nightmare. As he opened the car door, his fingers trembled a little at the memory of the woman he had killed to save Cam’s life. Beside him, Cam must have sensed his stress. Strong fingers curled around the side of his neck and Cam’s thumb ran along his jaw.
“Nothing about this op is personal. This is what I usually do. Out on assignment for a couple days, then back to flying. Business as usual,” said Cam.
�
��I guess,” replied Mason. Feeling Cam's fingers against his skin was a welcome touch.
“Are you okay with this?”
“I have to be, don’t I? I signed away my right to refuse.”
“You could tell Peter you’re not ready.”
“No, I can’t. Not if I want him to help me with Jason Ambers.”
Chapter 2
In a garage in Philadelphia, a man set a can bearing a label that declared it to be black rifle powder on a work bench. He proceeded to pick up a length of copper pipe and clamp it in a vise, then pound one end flat with a large hammer. A drill, a battery, a model rocket engine igniter, and several other items lay further down the bench. He worked in silence except for the noises of the tools.
~
Cam hadn’t been kidding when he mentioned getting Mason drunk in the airport bar. Well, not exactly drunk, but definitely a little less wound up. He had convinced Mason to have two rum and cokes before they left, and it was probably about the only thing that kept Mason from outright hyperventilating when they took off. Blissfully, the flight was smooth and relatively short. They would be landing in about ten minutes.
The plane was relatively full, but judging from the number of people who seemed to be snoozing, it appeared to be mostly business travelers. As they began their descent, Cam watched Mason fidget and twist in his seat, fingers intermittently clenching around the arm of the seat and balling into fists in his lap. In the darkness of the cabin, Cam couldn’t tell if Mason was really as pale as he looked in the dim lighting. Cam pushed the arm rest between them up out of the way and slid an arm behind his partner. He pulled Mason closer to him.
“Chill, you’re safe,” he whispered in Mason’s ear. He could feel the hard thud of the man’s pulse. Cam cupped a hand against his lover’s cheek and turned Mason's face toward his own. Cam kissed him softly. Soft lips were bordered by the rasp of razor stubble. Cam could feel the anxiety churning through his partner. “Focus on me,” he murmured and curled his hand against the back of Mason’s head, pulling his lover deeper into the kiss. He nipped gently at the delicious mouth against his and pressed his tongue against the doctor’s teeth. Mason’s mouth opened to him and Cam put his best effort into being a complete distraction. It worked until they hit a pocket of turbulence.
“Shit!” gasped Mason, and his fingers dug into Cam’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. It’s just bumpy getting down,” Cam tried to soothe his lover. He hugged Mason’s head down against his shoulder.
“I’m such a fucking wuss,” Mason mumbled as his fingers tightened on Cam’s thigh.
“We’re almost down. I promise,” replied Cam.
In another five minutes, the plane landed.
~
Two people met Cam and Mason at the airport. A stunning blond woman in a charcoal gray business suit waited with a stocky man bearing a small placard with Cam’s name written on it.
“I’m Cameron Bradshaw.”
“Madison Carthage, director of the FBI’s Philadelphia office,” replied the woman holding out a hand. Cam thought she had a sort of predatory look. He guessed it took that sort to run with the big boys. “I was under the assumption that you were coming alone,” she continued. Her eyes raked down the length of Mason’s body, where he stood a couple of feet away.
“This is Mason Flynn. He’s one of Division P’s trainees,” said Cam.
“And what’s his specialty?” she asked.
“Sorry, that’s classified.”
“Oh. I’m afraid we only made arrangements for one hotel room,” she said.
Cam could detect a hint of annoyance. This was a woman who obviously didn’t like either surprises or secrets.
“That’s fine. We’ll cope.” Cam glanced at Mason for any sign of disagreement. Mason shrugged.
“Very well. Agent Buchner will be taking us to the hotel. You’ll be collected at 8:30 and brought to the federal building for a briefing.”
“Okay. Got it.” They all began to walk toward the baggage claim area.
“Mr. Flynn, how long have you been with Division P?” the Director fished. Her gaze had taken on a sort of sultry look.
“About five months,” said Mason. He glanced at Cam.
“And what did you do before?”
“I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I still have an active practice.”
“Oh? I suppose I should have called you Dr. Flynn then,” said Madison.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“If we’re going to work together, I hate to get started off on the wrong foot,” she smiled.
~
The triage bag that Mason grabbed off the belt at baggage claim weighed quite a bit. What the hell was in it? Bricks? He grunted a little as he slung over his shoulder. Peter had sent it to him via Danny Valentine when he had been picked up prior to the flight. Mason couldn’t really fathom why he was supposed to bring it, but he wasn’t about to argue after the fiasco at the Meridian Air Station back at the beginning of the summer.
Mason already had his garment bag. They were waiting for Cam’s to make an appearance. Cam gave Mason a glance as Madison chattered away beside him. Ten minutes later, they were all headed off to the hotel.
Standing in the hotel lobby, Ms. Carthage was confirming that a room had been reserved for Cameron Bradshaw and could the concierge please see if a second room was available. Regrettably, the Concierge said the hotel was full due to a convention occurring in the area.
“I’m so sorry,” Madison said, looking at Mason.
“It’s fine. We’ll manage,” Mason replied.
“At least the concierge assured me that there are two beds,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gave Mason a warm smile, to Cam she nodded and left with Buchner trailing after her.
In the elevator, heading toward the tenth floor, Mason saw Cam look at him with a smirk on his face. “That woman is just dying to get into your pants,” said Cam.
“If only she knew how absolutely non-existent her chances are,” said Mason. “Or that the second bed is going to go sadly underused. Unless you really want to sleep alone...”
“Not if I have another option. Although it is almost one am. I’m not sure much more than sleeping’s likely to occur.”
“You still sore?”
“A little.”
“I’ll fix it for you,” Mason promised.
The elevator made a soft chime and the doors slid open. The two men walked down the hallway to the room and Cam popped the key card into the lock.
The room was fairly generous in size and furnished with two queen size beds. Mason set down the gear bag and his garment bag then flopped on the bed. He still wasn’t sure how he had gotten maneuvered into coming to Philadelphia with Cam. It’s a bargaining chip, he told himself. Cam crawled onto the bed and knelt over top of him, looking down into his eyes.
“I’m sorry I’m such a total flake about flying,” Mason apologized.
Cam just grinned at him and eased down to lie on top of him. “We could pick up where we left off before we landed...” Cam suggested softly. Mason tugged at the back of Cam’s shirt, untucking it from his slacks. He laid a hand against the hard muscles at the back of Cam's waist and opened his shields. He could feel the nagging ache of abused muscles and the faint burning discomfort that was a result of the previous night.