Out Of My Mind

by M. L. Rhodes

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  OUT OF MY MIND

  by

  M. L. RHODES

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  Out Of My Mind

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

  http://www.amberheat.com

  http://www.amber-allure.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2007 by M. L. Rhodes

  ISBN 978-1-60272-151-7

  Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by M. L. Rhodes

  After Hours

  Always

  The Bodyguard

  The Bounty Hunter

  Couplings

  Falling

  Hearts & Bones

  Heat

  Lords of Kellesborne

  Magic

  Masks

  Never Let Go

  Night Shadows

  The Professor's Secret Passion

  Souls Deep

  Take It On Faith

  True Of Heart

  Well Hung

  Dedication

  To P, P, and A...who gave me hugely

  appreciated support while I was writing this one.

  Chapter 1

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  In the crisp, salty tang of the October New England Saturday morning, seagulls swooped and soared in the cerulean sky, dive-bombing for barnacles, mussels, and garbage that boaters inevitably left behind on the dock. Amidst the cacophony of their raucous screeching, Rafferty Jones pretended interest in the helm controls of his old but lovingly refurbished thirty-foot fishing boat.

  What truly held his gaze captive, though, was the sight of his partner on the Cavanaugh Bay police force climbing out of his Toyota 4Runner in the parking lot next to the dock.

  In that heartbeat of a moment, Rafferty knew this had been a bad idea. Bad, bad, bad. He felt his control slipping already and wondered how he was going to make it through the weekend without giving anything away.

  As he watched, Nick Tucker, looking every inch the "hot young hunk" the gals in dispatch had labeled him, walked around to the back of the vehicle and began unloading bags in the morning sunshine. The pale golden rays glinted off his sunglasses as he moved with his usual lean, athletic grace. Even from this distance Rafferty could see how Nick's jeans hugged his runner's thighs, could see the stretch of his long-sleeved black T-shirt across his back and shoulders. And, as had so often been the case recently, every move he made, no matter how trivial, kept Rafferty riveted.

  You already can't stop checking him out and he's not even on the boat yet. You're too old for this shit, Jones. Too old and, for God's sake, man...too straight! What in the name of all that's holy has gotten into you lately?

  It wasn't like he hadn't seen Nick doing these exact things half a dozen times prior to this morning. They'd made several trips on the boat during the summer...sometimes for day trips, and a couple of times for the weekend. And long before Rafferty had gotten the boat seaworthy, he and Nick had worked together, played softball in the cop league, camped, drunk, worked out together. They'd been partners and friends for almost four years, through thick and thin. Nick had been the one who'd stayed by his side after the car accident fifteen months ago that had shattered the bones in Rafferty's left leg and put him through several surgeries and too many months on crutches to count. Nick had also been there for him when Rafferty had caught his wife Candace--ex-wife, he corrected himself--in bed with her lover and had filed for divorce.

  But all that had been before.

  Before...

  A burning knot in Rafferty's chest warred with the troublesome and confusing ache in his groin.

  He watched Nick reach above his head to pull down the back door of his 4Runner and slam it shut, then gather up the items he'd taken out of the vehicle and head toward the dock.

  How was he going to act normal through two days and a night in close proximity on the boat? It had been hard enough at work recently, but there they were always busy, on the go, with other people around for the most part and plenty to keep Rafferty otherwise occupied. For the next two days they'd be alone.

  Oh, my God.

  Nick must have seen Rafferty watching...he smiled and nodded in greeting as walked toward the dock.

  Rafferty's pulse raced at having been caught looking. He just hoped Nick didn't realize he'd been gawking at him like a schoolboy with a crush.

  Damn it. How and when did everything get so complicated?

  He wanted to blame everything on Candace...after all, she was the one who'd first put the bug in his ear that maybe he liked spending time with Nick just a little too much.

  But he really couldn't blame her. When she'd made that comment, she'd done it out of spite because the last couple of years of their marriage they'd drifted so far apart the truth was, he'd looked for any excuse to avoid her. Sometimes he'd used his job as his escape, sometimes working on the boat, sometimes Nick. Oftentimes Nick. He would a thousand times rather have been shooting pool with Nick at their favorite bar, or watching Sunday afternoon football at his house, or just about anything rather than have to go home after work and on the weekends and listen to Candy. She'd bitched and moaned about everything from money (the lack thereof, so she claimed) to how she wanted to travel, move to a bigger house, and buy a timeshare in the Bahamas, to Rafferty's lack of enthusiasm over the constant social engagements she planned, his love for his "useless boat," and his declining performance in the bedroom.

  It had apparently never occurred to her that his lack of enthusiasm during sex had little to do with his ability to get it up and keep it there, and more to do with her constant criticism, frequent "headaches" and how she'd gotten in the habit of just lying there and letting him do all the work, then either rolling over and pretending to go to sleep right away afterward or springing up out of bed like a Jack-in-the-box and rushing to her computer to check her email or IM with friends.

  In the back of his mind he'd suspected for months she was seeing someone else--the night of the car accident no one had even been able to reach her. She hadn't shown up at the hospital until the next morning, with the excuse she'd been hanging out with one of her girlfriends and had fallen asleep at her place. "Oh, and sorry, I guess I had my cell phone turned off." So it had come as little surprise to him to catch Candace at home one afternoon last winter on the daybed in the guest room with her legs spread and the hot-shit twenty-four-year-old loan officer from the bank where she worked pumping hard between them. Rafferty, still on crutches and exhausted from the constant pain and physical therapy, had barely even been able to work up a rage over it. Mostly, he'd just felt relief that he finally had an excuse to call it quits.

  She had, of course, over the next few months, done everything in her power to squeeze him through the wringer, challenging and criticizing him at every turn, hurling accusations at him quicker than the fast-pitch machine at the batting cage he and Nick had used so many times. Which was when she'd made the comment about Nick and him...and how maybe there was more going on betw
een them than the good folk of Cavanaugh Bay would deem appropriate.

  He hadn't even bothered to deny it. At that moment in time it had just been another cheap shot tossed out with the sole purpose of riling him. Fighting back over that or any other issue would only have provoked her. He'd put it out of his mind--he'd thought--almost as soon as she'd said it.

  In the end, in the divorce settlement, he'd finally agreed to give her the house and most everything in it just to shut her up and make her go away. That had been in early August. He'd moved in with Nick temporarily until he could find a place to live.

  And that's where the trouble had begun.

  It turned out Candace's words hadn't, in fact, fled from his mind as he'd thought. He'd discovered that, instead, they'd embedded themselves in his brain like a bothersome grain of sand in a shoe that rubbed and rubbed until a blister formed. That, combined with his and Nick's close proximity living in Nick's house... and his imagination had begun to create scenarios that had shocked the hell out of Rafferty. Things that a thirty-something, set-in-his-ways straight man shouldn't have been imagining.

  He'd cut short the stay with Nick, finding a rental and moving out after just a week, running scared from his own uncomfortable thoughts.

  In a manner of speaking, he'd been running ever since.

  "Hey, old man," Nick called with a grin as he approached, lugging plastic grocery bags and a black duffel.

  Rafferty schooled himself into a calm demeanor--one he'd had weeks to practice, since he wore it like a protective cloak whenever he was around Nick nowadays. "Smart ass. Did you bring the beer?"

  Nick yanked off his sunglasses and looked up at Rafferty. "How many times've we been out on this boat now?"

  Rafferty fiddled with the controls at the helm again, trying to pretend he hadn't been affected in any way by those warm hazel eyes. "I don't know...six, seven times."

  "Yeah. And I have I ever forgotten the beer? Has there ever been a single time I've forgotten to bring the fricking beer?"

  A smile curved Rafferty's face. "Just testing you, kid."

  Nick rolled his eyes at that.

  "Here, pass me your stuff."

  Nick handed him his duffel bag, and Rafferty did his best to ignore the jolt of awareness that slid through him when their hands brushed for just a moment.

  This hadn't just been a bad idea...it had been the mother of all bad.

  Jesus fricking Pete.

  What had he been thinking, asking if Nick wanted to take one last weekend trip in the boat before he winterized her? He'd been doing his damnedest to keep his distance from Nick outside of work. Or, at least as much as possible without making Nick suspicious.

  Then, as they'd been investigating the murder/suicide of a local shopkeeper on Thursday afternoon, out of the blue he'd opened his mouth and the invitation had emerged. One second they'd been standing in Arlo's Butcher shop staring down at the police-drawn outlines where the bodies had lain on the floor of the walk-in freezer, the next Rafferty had been looking into Nick's frowning face as he pondered a detail of the crime and been struck by the raw sex appeal the man oozed, even when he was all seriousness and on-the-job. Before his brain could catch up to his mouth, he'd offered the invitation.

  "You okay?" Nick asked, as he stepped onto the deck holding plastic grocery bags. "You look a little shaken this morning."

  The concern on his face was real, and Rafferty wasn't pleased with himself that he'd obviously let something of his emotional state slip.

  "Yeah, I'm fine."

  Nick's brows drew together for a brief second, as if he weren't convinced. But he didn't say anything else. Instead, he moved past Rafferty, ducked, and went down the two steps into the cabin, where Rafferty heard him putting groceries away in the tiny galley.

  Rafferty followed him to stow Nick's duffel next to his own in the closet. But the moment his feet landed the bottom step, he suddenly realized just how small a space the cabin was, and how he felt Nick's physical presence, so close and warm, in a way he'd never noticed before. Oh, no. Not good

  "Do you have everything, or do you need to go back to the 4Runner?" he asked.

  "It's already locked up. I'm good to go."

  Rafferty nodded and escaped up the steps, needing the fresh air to get the scent of Nick's low-key, clean, spicy scent out of his head. It had worked like a drug, spreading through his system in seconds, stirring to life both fantasies and body parts that damn well didn't need to be stirred.

  Taking several deep breaths to regain control, he keyed the engine and let the comforting rumble calm him.

  When Nick came back up on deck, he automatically began pulling up the fenders...a job he'd claimed as his own the first time they'd gone out on the boat. Nick had joked about the fact he'd grown up in landlocked Kansas and, since he knew nothing about the ocean or boats, pulling up the soft plastic fenders that protected the side of the boat from scraping against the dock was probably going to be the extent of help he'd be able to offer.

  When he'd finished, Rafferty eased the boat out of its slip and into the channel that led out to the bay.

  The weather forecast had predicted a beautiful fall weekend with daytime temperatures around sixty degrees. A cold front from Canada was supposed to blow through Sunday evening, but the nice weather was slated to hold until then.

  "Which way are we headed?" Nick asked, sinking into the padded chair next to him at the helm.

  He'd put his sunglasses back on, and Rafferty had donned his as well...hoping they'd help hide any more odds and ends of the churning confusion inside him that might escape. Back when they'd first met, Candy had told him his eyes were a dead giveaway to his emotions. Rafferty thought that as a cop for the past twelve years he'd developed a pretty damn good poker face when necessary, so he hadn't ever really believed her. But he wasn't going to take any chances today. The last thing he needed was to give away anything to Nick.

  "I thought we'd head up the coast apiece, maybe explore some of the islands."

  Nick nodded. Then his lips quirked in a smile Rafferty saw out of the corner of his eye. "So...I know the first few times we took the boat out, you were testing it, making sure it was seaworthy and all that. But clearly it's proven itself now."

  "And?"

  "Well, you've got the fishing boat, you spent like two years refurbishing it--"

  "Three," Rafferty corrected.

  "Okay, three. And you finally launched it a few months ago. So I'm wondering, at what point do you plan on actually...you know...fishing from it?"

  Rafferty eyed him askance. "I don't."

  "You don't?"

  "Nah. My da was a good New England fisherman. You know that."

  "Uh, yeah, which is why I figured that was the whole point of this." He swept a hand through the air.

  "No, hardly. I used to go out with my da all the time when I was little. Loved being on the ocean, loved the feel of the boat beneath my feet. But I hated fishing. Hated baiting the hooks, which was always my job when I was with him. Hated the boredom of waiting for the fish to bite. And hated handling them when they did and we reeled them in. 'Raffahty,' he used to say, 'the sea is in yah blood. One of these days yah'll leahn to love it like ah do.'"

  Rafferty smiled at the memory as he guided the boat through the wakes of other, larger craft and headed out into the bay. "The thing was...I did love the sea. Still do. Just not the backbreaking life of being a fisherman."

  Nick was quiet for a moment, then huffed out a soft, incredulous laugh.

  "What?"

  "It's just...I'll be damned. The son of a fisherman...the fishing boat... I just assumed. Amazing how you can be around someone for so long and still manage to be surprised by things about them you never knew."

  Rafferty shrugged and smiled. But under his outward façade, a flutter of unease stirred in his stomach. What was even more amazing was when you discovered things about yourself you never knew.

  He risked a glance at Nick, who was gazing of
f toward the rocky shoreline as if he were lost in thought. Taking advantage of Nick's attention being elsewhere, Rafferty allowed himself to more closely study his friend and partner.

  Almost six years younger than Rafferty, Nick, at twenty-nine, was one of those men who seemed to have everything going for him. He was wicked smart--had worked his way up from a uniform to a position as a police detective in just a few short years. He was athletic, had a good sense of humor, was kind to old ladies, children, and animals. He usually wore his light brown hair short and spikey and nearly always had a day or two or three's worth of facial hair, which he claimed was simply due to the fact he hated to shave, yet it always managed to look hip, as the kids liked to say, and--Rafferty hesitated to use the word because it somehow implied an intimate familiarity he wasn't sure he was comfortable with, but it was stuck on his tongue anyway--sexy.

  Nick's face was an interesting contrast of sharp planes and angles that almost made him appear too serious...until he smiled. And then his dimpled grin lit a fire behind his intelligent gray-green hazel eyes...a grin Rafferty had seen soothe many a witness and suspect alike.

  Still...what was it about this man that was keeping him tied up in knots? For God's sake, they'd worked side by side for years and until recently he'd never felt this way, never felt so drawn to him.

  But Candace's words kept coming back to haunt him.

  As always, he tried to analyze his recent reactions with a critical eye. Okay, maybe he hadn't always been so blatantly obsessed by Nick...but he and Nick had hit it off right away when they'd first met. And Rafferty had always enjoyed spending time with him. Hell, he'd preferred Nick's company over his own wife's. Of course, that didn't say anything definitive. Toward the end of his disastrous marriage, he'd have preferred carmudgeonly Chief Kramer's company over Candy's.