by Aiden Bates
Oliver blinked at the screen. He'd been doing something for the past twenty-four hours. He'd be hard pressed to say what, but apparently his body had gone through enough motions while his brain was shutting down that he'd gone somewhere. "Vital records for the Marsten family, originally of Salem, Massachusetts." He bit the inside of his cheek. "I was looking into property records last night, apparently. I was having trouble sleeping."
"Oh." Jake tilted his head. "Do you always just do work when you're in a brain fog, without knowing what you're doing?"
"I don't think I touched anything in the lab." He picked his head up, panic rushing through his veins. "I didn't touch anything in the lab, did I?"
Jake patted his back. "You didn't touch anything in the lab, bro. You've been staring at the computer. That's all. You're not supposed to be in the lab right now. Remember?"
"Yeah. Sorry. I'd just hate to screw something up because I was mooning around over your dad."
Jake's whole face twisted in revulsion. "Ugh. Can you maybe not put it like that? I mean like ever? So you went to the vital statistics because you didn't find anything in the property records, I take it."
"Sounds about right. It was Sam who pointed out that this had all the hallmarks of half a vendetta." Oliver's heart fluttered, in spite of his heartbreak and disappointment. Nenci—Sam, for crying out loud they'd kissed—was so knowledgeable about these things. Oliver might be able to tell him a million little details about arson, but Sam could tell him why. "When the current head of the family brought up the Marstens, I figured I'd see what there was to see."
"And since the Couchers don't seem to be burning down apartment buildings, there had to be something to trigger the attacks. Good thinking. Have you shared it with Nenci yet?" Jake leaned back in his seat.
Oliver threw his hands up in the air. "I don't have a lot to show for it yet. I've got a death right before the Cooper Block fire, and one right before the gas explosion, but neither of those deaths were ever explored as anything other than accidental." He glanced at his own notes. "Car accident and overdose."
"Please." Jake scoffed. "How often have we seen car wrecks and overdoses that turned out to be something else entirely?"
"More often than I'd like to think about." Oliver looked down at his notes. "It shouldn't be too hard to get those autopsy records. And I'll dig deeper. I just don't want to go to him with nothing, especially after what happened."
Jake rolled his eyes, and then he sighed. "I'll go with you this time. Okay? You keep digging, and tomorrow you dress nice and professionally. We'll bring what you find down to him tomorrow morning. Have you let him know that's the angle you're taking?"
Oliver shrunk in on himself again. "I sent him a message, just a quick one. He didn't respond."
Jake snorted. "Typical. Okay, well, it's fine. Don't worry about that. We'll get you all nice and set up. Let me get some food into you and then we'll see where you go from there."
Oliver followed Jake down to the cafeteria, where they grabbed a quick bite to eat. Jake was right. Getting food into his belly helped Oliver focus and helped him to keep control of his emotions much better. When he returned to his workstation, he was able to tease out the deaths that he was looking for much more easily, and he had plenty of confidence in the conclusions he was drawing at this point.
No family was this unlucky.
The next morning, he dressed in his most professional attire. He wore his crispest white dress shirt, and his most demanding, I-am-an-expert tie. This was the one he wore on the witness stand, the one that made the jury sit up a little straighter. He wore dress pants with a crease so sharp that he could have sliced meat on it, if he'd been so inclined.
Then he grabbed a printout of his findings, put it into a file folder, and marched down to Cold Case with Jake in tow. He walked right into the Cold Case squad room and strode directly to Sam's desk. He didn't have to announce himself to his erstwhile partner. Sam looked up as he approached, probably alerted by Oliver's scent.
Their eyes met, and for a moment Oliver's knees went weak. He wasn't strong enough for this. He was too mild, too meek. He was just a little omega, just a lab tech. He needed to go back to his safe lab and probably never stick his nose out again. Then Jake elbowed him, and he remembered that he had a spine. He had every right to be here. He was right to be here. "I did some digging into the Cooper Block case."
Sam moistened his lips. "I—I heard that you were doing some digging."
"Yeah, I did a little digging." He slid his file across the desk. "You were right about there seeming to be a vendetta. All of the deaths in the Marsten family are labeled as accidental, but the pattern is too clear and there are too many accidents striking one family for it to be a coincidence."
Sam flipped through the report. "I get the feeling that modern forensics would probably give us more clues. But we've got enough of a pattern here to show that there's an issue, if nothing else." He tapped his pencil against his desk, eyes against the far wall. "I wonder, though. The Marstens were one of the families that the Couchers suckered when they bought the Cooper block. That's not enough to make someone kill fifty people, though. I mean, that was deliberate."
Oliver nodded. He couldn't look away from Sam's soft gray eyes or his perfect pink lips. "It was absolutely deliberate. But wouldn't the kind of guy who would kill fifty people, especially that way, probably not need a whole lot of prodding?"
Sam wrinkled his nose. "If he were just a firebug, maybe not. But this is part of a feud between families, see? Wealthy families, building their wealth. They're ruthless, but they're not unstable. Not the kind of unstable that kills fifty people without provocation unstable anyway; I don't know them personally." He gestured to his monitor, where he had tax records for the Marsten businesses displayed. "They wouldn't be able to grow their empire if they were."
"I see." Oliver pursed his lips and leaned a little closer, to get a better view. He thought he heard a little hitch in Sam's voice and backed away. "That makes sense."
Nenci's eyes narrowed, and he scratched at his chin. "How long did it take you to come up with all of this?"
Oliver shrugged. He wasn't about to admit that he'd spent the better part of a day staring at a computer screen without blinking because of their kiss and its aftermath. "A couple of hours, once I decided what I was looking for. Why?"
"Because I can't shake the feeling that there's something earlier. You don't just start out with that kind of carnage, not even if there was an 'accident' immediately before. What if we take it back another twenty-five years? There's not going to be anyone left to prosecute, I think. Not for anything that early. But we will be able to get back to the why, which will help when the case gets in front of a jury." Sam smiled up at him. "We can maybe get together at my place to compare notes and see what we come up with."
Oliver knew that he shouldn't go to Sam's place. It would smell too much like Sam. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything but his bearded, handsome alpha—the bearded, handsome alpha who didn't want him and hadn't enjoyed their kiss. Still, there was only one answer he could ever give, to a request that Sam made of him. "Yes. Yeah. That would be fine. I'll go get my car and meet you out there."
"Sounds good. It'll give me time to make sure there's food in the place." Sam grinned.
"Make sure it's takeout," Tessaro advised. "Your cooking sucks, Nenci."
Sam flipped his colleague off. "It's better than yours, Tessaro. Hey, when's the last time you had a haircut?"
Jake and Oliver made their escape while the two squabbled.
Once they were out in the hallway, and out of the alphas' earshot, Jake cackled. "Oh, man. I can't believe you're going to his place!"
Oliver elbowed his best friend in the chest. "Would you give it a rest? We're going to do work. On a case. With a body count that's probably over a hundred by now. That's not a recipe for sexy times, even if he didn't think I kissed like scrod."
"Dad only stammers when he's nerv
ous. He'd only be nervous about inviting you over if he was, you know, nervous." Jake suddenly blushed bright red. "Oh, God, that's my dad. Stay out of my room!"
Oliver's cheeks burned even hotter than Jake's looked. "Dude. Nothing's going to happen, and even if it did it wouldn't happen in your room. That's creepy."
"So is the fact that I'm coaching my best friend about my dad, but here we are. Anyway, stay out of my room."
Oliver huffed out a little laugh and humored Jake. Then he returned to his workstation. He wanted to be so prepared for this meeting that Sam would praise him to anyone who would listen.
He had no illusions about how the meeting would go. He'd be a tongue-tied mess, sitting near Sam and going through the case like that. Preparation would be the key. At least then even if he did prove to be useless in the face of true love or true lust or whatever it was between them, he'd still have contributed.
Jake clearly had other ideas, but Oliver was fairly certain that his friend was just trying to wind him up. For his own part, Oliver wasn't sure if he hoped that his friend would be right or wrong. He decided that he couldn't afford the distraction of hope. If Sam was going to suddenly find him interesting, he'd have done something about it before now.
The memory of that kiss, before the devastation of the aftermath, sprang to his mind.
He banished it, immediately. He should find a way to kill that memory forever. It wasn't something he could have, and he knew it. He needed to focus.
He barreled through the research and wrote the report. At quitting time, he rode home and grabbed his car. He did not pause to change into something more comfortable and he did not pause to change into something sexier. Instead, he headed out to Hopkinton just as he was: professional. He had a job to do, damn it.
***
Sam looked around his living room. It had never bothered him before. He'd owned the house since 1990, for crying out loud. He and Chris had chosen those curtains, that couch, those chairs, that chandelier. Okay, maybe the couch and chairs had been replaced, but only by an exact copy of the original. He'd never thought of the place as dated. It was always just home to him.
He'd never had any serious dates, either. Not after Chris died.
This wasn't a date, either. This was just a work meeting. He couldn't let himself think of Oliver that way, no matter how much he wanted to. Sure, Oliver's lips had felt perfect against his. And Oliver's slim body had lined up perfectly against his own. Oliver was also Jake's best friend. There were so many levels of wrong layered into that that Sam couldn't begin to count them all.
Funny how they all went right out the window when Oliver was around.
He had enough time to get takeout, after a furtive and half panicked text to Jake to find out if Oliver had any food allergies. He could almost hear Jake's mocking laughter over text, but he ignored those echoes and concentrated on the fact that he'd gotten the information he wanted. By the time Oliver showed up, he'd gotten dinner set up on the coffee table and had notes and his laptop set up nearby. This was a work meeting. That was all.
"I hope you like Chinese food. Jake said you didn't have any food allergies, and this is one of the better take-out places in town." Sam gestured to the table. "Come on in. Grab a seat, make yourself comfortable."
"Thanks." A couple of spots of color appeared in his cheeks. "I can give you a couple of bucks for it." He reached for his wallet.
"Don't worry about it." Sam waved a hand. "My treat. We've got a lot of stuff to get through." He tore his eyes away from Oliver and shuffled toward the couch.
Oliver settled in as far away as he could while still reaching the table. He carefully avoided looking directly at Sam, and part of Sam felt bad about that. He wanted Oliver to look at him and see everything that he had to offer. That wouldn't be right, though. It wouldn't be right for the case, and it wouldn't be right for Oliver.
"Okay." Oliver cleared his throat a little and pulled another report out of his bag. "I went twenty-five years back. We've got some more fires and some more property damage on the Coucher side. We've got some more deaths on the Marsten side that I'd consider suspicious."
Sam took the file and looked at it. Oliver had organized the incidents into six groups—Coucher fatal, Coucher non-fatal, Marsten fatal, Marsten non-fatal, Other fatal, Other non-fatal. "What's with the other?" he asked.
Oliver reached for the takeout. "I wanted to make sure that we accounted for similar incidents that weren't related to the families. If areas with feud-related incidents happened to be going through an exceptionally violent or accident-prone period, it would show up in that column. Note that the numbers aren't really proportionate. That other column is for the entire North Shore. That's thousands of people. The average overdose rate should be higher than the average overdose rate for one family." He bowed his head. "Which dish is yours?"
Sam told him, and Oliver crouched down near the coffee table to dish the food onto a plate for Sam. He stayed in that position to pass the food over to Sam, and the sight made Sam's jaw drop. "What's wrong?" Oliver asked him, furrowing his brow with concern.
"Nothing." Sam knew that his voice sounded strangled. "Nothing. Just—that's good, the way you noticed the statistical rate there." He shuddered a little as his fingers brushed against Oliver's when he took the plate from him. "This might not have been the best idea."
Oliver turned his head away, shoulders rounded. "I'll take off. We can meet up tomorrow at work, with people around."
"It's just… I mean, look at you." Sam put his hand over his mouth.
Oliver turned his head even further away. "I get it, Sam. I'll head out." He rose to his feet, graceful even in dejection.
Sam put his plate down and rose. "You get that I have sons your age."
Oliver huffed out a little laugh. "It's not like they haven't both been in my apartment, Sam. It's not like I haven't been right here. To see Jake." He shook his head, sending his dark curls swinging. "It's okay."
"It's not okay." Sam blew out an explosive breath, too frustrated to be a sigh. "It's not okay for an old guy like me to sit here and make passes at my sons' friends like that. It's just not."
Oliver narrowed those beautiful silver eyes of his. "Okay, and if I were some young kid, your argument would have some validity. We're both adults, Sam. It's not like you knew me when I was a kid either. You don't have weird memories of me on the playground or something. You've only ever known me as a full adult."
Sam bit his lip and stifled a groan. "Don't remind me. I think about that a lot." He turned his head away. "I shouldn't have admitted that."
"Of course you should. It's a fact." Oliver paused, and then he stepped forward. "Look. I'm going to accept your decision, and I'm not going to push. I guess I'm glad that it's not because you think I kiss like a dead fish —"
Sam stepped forward and grabbed Oliver's shoulder. It was a tactical error on his part, because now he was close enough to feel the heat radiating from the beautiful young omega. His scent was overwhelming, too. "You don't kiss like a dead fish," Sam hastened to tell him. "No. Your kiss is like, like holy water or something. I don't know."
Oliver grinned a little, his cheeks getting pink. "Holy water?"
"Sure, why not?" Sam let his hand down to rest on Oliver's hip. He should step away. He knew he wasn't going to. "I'm a cop, not a poet. I just don't want to be a dirty old man."
Oliver snorted. "You're hardly a dirty old man if you're with an adult who wants to be with you." He looked up into Sam's eyes, just for a moment. It was enough. All that Sam could see there was trust and love.
He bowed his head and touched his lips to Oliver's. This time the kiss was measured, controlled. He took the time to fully experience it, to let himself engage with his lover's mouth. Since Oliver was expecting it, the kiss should feel better for him, too.
Oliver let out a happy little moan, so soft and quiet that Sam almost missed it. Small, soft hands reached up to cradle Sam's face, and Sam let his other hand reach out
to caress Oliver's hip.
He'd been fighting this for too long. He'd hate himself later. He was too old for Oliver; he was no good for Oliver. Still, Oliver wanted him. He'd said so, looking into his eyes with those shining silver orbs of his, and told him that he wanted to be with him. Sam could feel his heat under his skin, underneath those battle armor dress pants and that oh-so-crisp white shirt of his.
They sank back down to the couch. Oliver laced his hands behind Sam's and molded his body to Sam's. He just gave himself over to Sam, abandoned himself to the alpha just like that, and Sam could have sworn that someone was messing with the thermostat. The room had heated up by at least fifteen degrees. He ran his hands down Oliver's long, slim sides. "Can I?" he whispered into Oliver's ear, already untucking the dress shirt.
"Please." Oliver nodded. "I want your hands on me." He blushed after he said that, like he'd been bolder than expected, and Sam wasn't sure what to think about that. A man should be able to say what he wanted. After all, Oliver hadn't been hesitant to say anything earlier. Still Oliver watched as Sam carefully unbuttoned his shirt and helped him peel it off, and then he let Sam peel his undershirt off and toss it to the side.