“Danny,” he whispered. He didn’t know what he was asking for, but it seemed Danny did because he shifted on the couch, bringing one knee around to encompass Miller between his legs. Danny lifted his hand and passed his finger along Miller’s jaw line, the same path as yesterday but this time not stopping, bringing his thumb forward to slide across Miller’s lower lip.
“I want to kiss you,” Danny breathed. He moved forward, his mouth a heartbeat from Miller’s. “Can I?”
Miller moaned, a strained, growling noise breaking free of his seized-up windpipe. He couldn’t bring himself to say the word, but his body answered for him, rocking toward Danny, his protesting mind drowned out by his body’s rising chorus of yes, yes, yes. Danny kept his hands on the sofa, balancing there as he brought his mouth down, drew Miller’s bottom lip slowly between his own.
Miller tried to keep his eyes open; it would feel less like surrender, less like passion if he didn’t close his eyes. But his eyelids fluttered down of their own accord, his mouth opening under Danny’s, the kisses soft and quiet, experimenting, tasting. He felt one of Danny’s hands come up, cupping the back of his head, Danny’s fingers raking through his hair, pulling him forward. Miller went with it, swaying into Danny, bringing his own hands up to rest on Danny’s waist.
Even with the gentleness of the kisses, there was no pretending it was a woman’s mouth against his. Danny’s stubble scraped like fine sandpaper against his chin, the hand cradling his head large and strong. Miller could taste beer and Chinese spices on Danny’s lips, nothing he hadn’t sampled from a woman’s mouth before, but it was different this time, something in the taste of Danny himself that was fundamentally male.
Danny pulled back slightly. Miller could feel him breathing against his lips but he didn’t open his eyes. His tongue sneaked out of his mouth, licking his own lip just as Danny pushed forward again. Open mouths met and Danny groaned, his tongue slipping against Miller’s, gaining entry, running hot and strong over Miller’s teeth, against the inside of his cheek, the roof of his mouth, wrapping around Miller’s tongue and sucking lightly. Miller’s hands left their resting place, coming up to bookend Danny’s face. His thumbs stroked against the stubble, his tongue forging a path between Danny lips. The kiss was not gentle anymore.
Danny’s legs tightened on Miller’s waist, the muscles in his thighs holding him prisoner. Miller twisted his torso, moving himself forward, and he felt Danny’s hardness against his hip. He suddenly felt like he had as a boy when his mother had taken him to the park and he’d fallen off the swing, landing spread-eagled on the ground, all the air bursting from his lungs in one huge whoosh.
Miller’s jeans were tourniquet-tight between his legs, his hips straining to thrust forward against Danny’s stomach, his breathing torn and broken as it whistled from his throat. The hand Danny had threaded through Miller’s hair clenched violently, the stinging tug against his scalp unfurling fiery tendrils to race down his spine as Danny forced their bodies closer.
Miller wrenched his face away, chest heaving, sweat prickling on his forehead. Danny’s cheeks were flushed, his mouth open, one finger still drawing lazy figure eights against the nape of Miller’s neck. The eyes Danny laid on him were stunned and vulnerable, scaring Miller more than if Danny had lunged at him and ripped off his clothes.
Miller stumbled backward, falling down on his hands, backing away on all fours. He scrambled to his feet, holding his arms out in front of him when Danny stood.
“I… we… I—”
“Miller,” Danny said gently.
“I’m not gay, Danny,” he burst out, running a hand across his kiss-swollen mouth.
“Are you sure?” Danny’s voice was not accusing, just asking.
“I’m sure! I’m not like you!”
Danny’s face closed, his eyes taking on that aloof, cocky look Miller had first seen in the interrogation room. “Oh, yeah?” Danny breathed. “’Cause what you had pressed into my stomach just now? That wasn’t screaming ‘let’s be friends’.”
“I… I didn’t—” Miller shook his head.
“Is that your only objection? That you’re not gay?” Danny asked, moving toward him. “Because if it is, I think we can take care of it pretty quickly.”
“No, goddamn it,” Miller said, anger fueling his words as he slipped behind the numbing comfort of his job. “It’s not my only fucking objection. I’m an FBI agent, Danny, and you’re a criminal informant on my case!”
Danny’s eyes narrowed. “Is it the criminal part that really sticks in your craw? Or the fag part? Or the breaking-the-fucking-rules-for-once-in-your-by-the-book-life part?”
Miller slapped his hand down hard on the table. “I’m not that kind of man. I’m not going to risk my case or my career, not on someone like you!”
Danny flinched, fielding the verbal blow like a punch. “It must be nice to always be so damn sure about yourself,” he spit out. “To always know you’ve got the moral advantage in every fucking situation. Too bad life isn’t as black and white as you like to pretend. I’ll bet you’ve ruined plenty of people’s lives playing your little FBI games. It’s not only guys like me, the ones pulling the triggers, who are guilty of that.”
Miller cocked his head like an animal sensing a distant threat… or an investigator hearing the confession just behind the words. Back up a minute. What was that? No violent crimes on his record. Never heard rumors about it on the street.
“You’ve pulled the trigger?” Miller asked softly. “Have you killed someone, Danny?”
Danny took a deep breath, the storm of anger replaced by the weight of old ghosts hanging their heavy shadows in his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve killed someone. But not in the way you think.”
“Danny, what—”
Danny turned away, his voice distant, talking to a stranger now. Miller was just another man with a badge. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It was such a long time ago.”
“HE SAID he killed someone.”
“What?”
“He said he killed someone,” Miller repeated, keeping his voice low. Danny was in the shower; Miller could hear drumming water even with the door closed, but this conversation was private. “He said it wasn’t in the way I thought. I don’t know if that means he wasn’t directly responsible or if he just meant it wasn’t a shooting. We were talking about pulling the trigger at the time,” he explained.
“How did the subject come up?” Miller could practically hear Colin’s mental gears whirring.
“It’s a long story.” And one I’m never going to tell you.
“Well, it’s news to me,” Colin said. “I’ve never gotten any information about Butler committing murder.”
That’s what Miller had figured. Colin Riggs had been on the drug task force for fifteen years, and if there was a rumor out there, he’d heard it.
“Did he give you any more to go on? A name, maybe?”
Miller let out a short laugh. “No. He didn’t exactly talk his way into a murder conviction.”
“Yeah, stupid question,” Colin conceded. “I’ll ask around, but don’t hold your breath.”
“Okay, listen, there’s something else—”
The bathroom door opened, Danny riding out a wave of steam and not even glancing in Miller’s direction as he stalked to his bedroom. At least today he was wearing a shirt.
“I can’t talk right now,” Miller said. “Can you meet me later?”
“Sure. Give me a couple hours. How about The Quaff around five? We can grab a beer before I head home.”
“See you then.”
Five o’clock couldn’t arrive fast enough for Miller. He was exhausted from trying to ignore Danny in an eight-hundred-square-foot space, Danny’s presence eating away at him even through a closed door. As hard as it was for Miller to admit, he missed the camaraderie he’d been starting to feel with Danny, the easiness in his presence that felt dangerously close to friendship. But that path was dark and uncharted, nowhere Miller wanted t
o travel. He preferred to stay on the well-lit road of professional distance.
But you miss the sound of his voice—his real voice, not the guarded one he uses with you now.
Miller crossed over to Danny’s door, pounding out his frustration with a rough fist. “Danny? I need to talk to you.”
“What?”
“Get out here,” he commanded, refusing the indignity of talking through the door.
Danny brushed past Miller to throw himself on the couch. “Well?” he sneered, arching a brow.
Miller took a seat in the recliner. “What were you talking about the other night? About having killed someone?”
Danny raised bored eyes to Miller’s. “Nothing.”
“Danny, don’t bullshit me, I—”
“I’m not a fucking moron, Miller. You’ve made it crystal clear what your role is here. FBI Agent Extraordinaire, right?” Danny smirked. “I’d have to be pretty goddamn stupid to tell you anything more.”
Miller blew out an impatient breath. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about that, then let’s talk about Hinestroza. How’d you get involved with him?”
“I already told you.”
“No,” Miller corrected. “You told me the watered-down version. Now I want the whole story.”
Danny stood up. “This requires a beer.” He didn’t offer to get one for Miller, but Miller still anticipated the favor. He pulled his arm back self-consciously when Danny returned with only a single bottle clutched in his hand.
“You told me you were working in a car wash, right?”
“Yeah, they recruit from car washes a lot. They must know how shitty that job is; guys are desperate to do just about anything else.”
“Did he recruit other kids when he got you?”
Danny looked away, taking a long swallow from his beer. “No,” he said finally.
Miller waited but Danny didn’t offer any additional information. He wasn’t lying, exactly, but there was something going unsaid. Miller would have put money on it.
“So what happened after you got in the car?”
“I was in back with Hinestroza. There was a driver up front. We went to an old warehouse in a rundown part of town. They pulled the car inside. And Hinestroza explained what my job would be. It was obvious I didn’t have the option of saying no.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Danny stared at his hands. “I told Hinestroza maybe I’d changed my mind about a job. But he said now I knew where the warehouse was, so there was no going back. I was in. I was eighteen. I was scared.” Danny smiled, sad and wistful. “And it turns out I was good at the job.”
Miller imagined Danny, young and terrified, caught in a trap with no way to see himself clear. Is that all it came down to sometimes? One bad choice to ruin a life?
“What did he have you doing at first?”
“Just petty shit.” Danny shrugged. “Delivering small amounts to dealers, helping load and unload trucks. Nothing that involved giving me control over lots of cash or drugs. He didn’t trust me yet.”
“What kind of money did you make?”
“Not much, but more than the slave wages at the car wash. He upped it slowly but steadily until I had a nice apartment, a new car. Where else was I going to find a job that paid that well?”
“He seduced you with the money.”
“Yeah, and the responsibility. The fact that he started trusting me, having faith in my abilities. He’s a smart guy, Miller. He could tell how much I needed someone to be proud of me and he used it.”
Miller caught Danny’s gaze; he felt compassion for the boy Danny had been, the man he’d been forced to become.
“Who’d you work with?”
Danny’s eyes danced away. “Another kid.”
“What was his name?”
Danny hesitated. “I can’t remember.”
“Is he still in the operation?”
“No.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.” The lie played smoothly off Danny’s tongue, but Miller caught it anyway, the telltale flush on Danny’s neck proving he’d be a shitty poker player.
“What aren’t you telling me here, Danny?” Miller pressed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Everything about Hinestroza is my business.”
“No,” Danny said, his voice firm. “I won’t talk about it. Not with an FBI agent.”
“You don’t have any privacy anymore, Danny. Whatever you know, it’s my information. And I want it.”
“Bullshit. You don’t get open access to me, Miller. I’ll tell you exactly what you need to know to nail Hinestroza and not one damn thing more.” He paused, gave Miller a sly, sideways grin. “But maybe you want to make a trade? Tit for tat? You tell me something about you, something private, then maybe I’ll talk.”
Miller sat back, eyes cool on Danny’s, choking down the disappointment he felt that they had returned to game playing. Games are fine, Miller. It’s all part of the job. Just don’t tell him anything too personal. Play by your own rules.
“Okay,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel. “What do you want to know?”
“How about the real story behind why you became a cop? What about that? What are you hiding from behind that badge?” Danny shot his questions out rapid-fire and Miller realized that Danny had been storing this ammunition, waiting for the opportunity to use it. Whatever he’d meant about killing someone, he was definitely skilled at aiming his shots.
“Danny, I don’t—”
“Or what about Rachel? And don’t give me any crap about not having time to get married. I can’t believe she falls for that line.”
“I don’t have to listen to this shit,” Miller retorted, jerking out of the recliner. Danny stood with him, the two of them facing off, Danny’s eyes blistering with resentment.
“Paybacks are hell, aren’t they?” he mocked, reaching out and clasping Miller’s forearm when he tried to move away. “Hold on. I’ve got one more question for you. Remember when you stuck your tongue down my throat and then tried to pretend you didn’t like it? At least I don’t lie to myself about who I am. I know I’m a queer with a felony record. But who the fuck are you, Miller?”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Miller growled, pivoting away from Danny and his arrow-tipped words that found festering homes in all Miller’s weak places.
COLIN RIGGS was the closest thing to a friend that Miller had, besides Rachel, of course. And that was pretty fucking sad, when Miller thought about it, considering he hardly ever saw Colin outside of work and they never discussed anything other than the job.
Miller spotted Colin across the crowded bar, his prematurely gray hair glowing silver in the neon lights against the wall. Colin was in his early forties, a career FBI man with a wife and three kids he hardly ever talked about. He kept his personal life separate from the job.
“Hi,” Colin grinned when Miller sat next to him at the bar, gesturing with one hand for a beer. “How are you doing?”
“Fine. Hate this babysitting duty, though.”
“Yeah,” Colin nodded. “It always sucks.” He waited until the bartender deposited Miller’s beer before continuing. “I asked a few contacts about Butler. Nobody’s heard shit.”
“I’m not surprised. There’s something there, but he’s not budging.”
“What else did you want to talk about?”
Now that Miller was here, sitting next to Colin, he found the topic harder to breach, wasn’t sure how to initiate the conversation without giving too much away. “You’ve done a lot of hand-holding with informants, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Anne always gets so pissed when I’m stuck in an apartment for weeks on end, hardly ever get to come home.” Colin took a pull from his beer. “Why? This one really getting to you?”
“Yeah.” Miller drummed an offbeat rhythm with his fingers. “You ever become friends with someone yo
u’re watching?”
Colin turned on his bar stool to give Miller an appraising look. “It’s happened. But it’s never a good idea. That distance is there for a reason. I had one guy I was babysitting, my first assignment. We were holed up together for three months. I was young and green and thought we were friends. He ended up selling me out and I almost got killed. But it can work the other way too. I know someone whose informant got murdered and he was a wreck for months. It never pays to make friends with them. They’re a tool of the job and you have to think of them that way. Nothing more.”
“I know,” Miller sighed. “It’s just—”
“Believe me, I understand,” Colin interrupted. “You go into it already knowing almost everything about them. You start seeing their human side, start believing you’re friends. And it’s just the two of you, day after day. It’s natural to want to talk. It’s a fine line, and not everybody has the chops to handle it. There’s nothing wrong with chatting, shooting the shit. But don’t let it go farther than that. Nothing personal exchanged. Don’t let him inside your head.”
Miller smiled ruefully into his beer bottle. He could just imagine what Colin would say if he knew all the secrets Miller had already given away—about his past, about Rachel, about the job.
Not to mention kissing him while he was half naked.
Miller tossed his head upward like a horse shooing away a pesky fly, trying to throw off the relentless internal voice.
“You want me to switch you out?” Colin asked, dropping peanuts into his mouth one by one from his closed fist. “I can get someone else to watch Butler.”
Miller knew what his answer should be, yet he found himself shaking his head. “No. It’s fine. This is my case. I’m going to see it through.”
Colin smiled. “I knew you’d say that. You’re one stubborn son of a bitch, Sutton.” He motioned for another beer. “Hey, you know who you might want to take a crack at, as far as the Butler-killing-someone angle goes? That Griffin Gentry guy. He was Butler’s cellmate, right? He might know the story.”
Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits Page 51