by Susan Lain
Yet he really, really wanted to do just that.
"We could do a few more face-to-face queries, you know, in case," he offered.
Eliot grinned. "Cool." He walked to the door and opened it, then halted and turned around. "Good night." Then he was gone.
Alek stared in the direction the young man had disappeared. A lump formed in the back of his throat and he had to gulp hard. Alek had considered suggesting they dine together. Alek wasn't the type to fraternize with his colleagues, or even befriend them, since he was a lone wolf and an alpha male type. But he wouldn't mind getting to know Eliot a bit better. Alek wouldn't have minded one bit to forge the lovely hothead into his very own submissive, if Eliot was up for it.
Grimacing, Alek quelled his desires and snubbed the errant thoughts in the bud. There was no point even considering having an affair with Eliot, let alone acting on his sensual impulses. They had other matters to attend to. Work things.
Sex was a complication; dominance and submission even more so.
With a deep sigh, Alek meandered out of the CEPA building. The drizzle from earlier had escalated into a severe downpour that soaked his coat through before he slunk into the safety of his car. Rainomalies hammered the roof of the car. Yet their singsong buzzing sounded quite musical. Violent melodies.
Finally seated, Alek wiped water out of his eyes, started the ignition, and drove deeper into the dark streets of D.C., heading home.
*~*~*
"Hi, guys. Miss me?"
Alek smiled a little as soon as he entered. The sounds of excited barking and nails scraping parquet floors warmed his heart. Then a pack of puppies ran toward him, wagging their tales and yapping, flurries of movement. Alek knelt and welcomed the little black dogs into his arms. They licked his face and hands, all trying to get a hug at the same time.
"Easy, babies. I've missed you too." He bussed the nose of one puppy with reddish ears. "Oh, Adjule, what have you been up to today?" Their dog breath suggested they'd been outside in the park again, thanks to Ms. Appleby from across the hall.
For the next half an hour, Alek had no time to think. He added fresh water and food to the nearly empty bowls, threw the disposable dog potties into the trash, gave the puppies a bath, and put them to bed.
He checked the flowerbeds on the balcony floor. They were intact, if somewhat ransacked. The view from the penthouse aerie he inhabited never ceased to amaze him. The rain eventually did force him to retreat back inside. Then he closed and locked all doors and windows.
Only then did he start on his own dinner. Vegetable soup and rye bread sounded good. The heat freak in his stove hissed but complied. Perhaps he and the voltaic devil were having a good old time synergizing. After not too long Alek had a hot meal in front of him. A glass of white wine was a bonus.
As he ate by the counter, because he was too lazy to sit at the dining table on the opposite wall, he switched on the television and watched the news. An African-American anchor with smart glasses kept a civil tone even when the topic turned grim.
"A candlelight vigil was held tonight at the Loreblast site at Erect Rock Reservation in remembrance of the seventy-one lives lost in the eruption of the Montana Pass Pipeline and the emergence of the energy-based lifeforms known today as mythkin. Both the president and the vice president attended the ceremony."
Was it Alek's imagination that the anchor's voice seemed choked during his speech or that he was blinking hard? Images of tens of thousands of people standing still on a barren prairie in the dark, stars shining above them, candles burning low in their hands, held emotional weight. Alek gulped and blinked back tears too.
Alek remembered watching the site in anticipation of problems arising between protesters and the army corps of engineers or the secret service. He'd feared the worst. Violent arrests proved the vile inhumanity of the regime. Alek had felt ashamed of working for them, even indirectly as a police officer.
He recalled seeing the corrupt president and members of his rotten cabinet standing by the oil pump drilling into the underground shale oil field, laughing and having fun. Then the ground had quaked, and they stopped laughing.
Then the oil pipe had cracked and the earth burst apart, and they'd run away screaming.
Alek wished he could forget all he'd seen. The gigantic smoldering crater full of tar sands oil bubbling like a volcanic cauldron, dozens of unrecognizable bodies scattered around the area, every living thing around for hundreds of meters decimated and scorched to ashes.
Shaking his head, Alek shut off the TV, finished his dinner, washed the dishes, and hopped into the shower. Thankfully water wraiths didn't much care for plumbing; baths and showers were still relatively safe.
By the time he climbed into the bed, snuggling under the covers, the puppies had already claimed their own areas. Alek couldn't move his feet much in fear of accidentally kicking a dog overboard. So he did what he always did: made himself comfortable in whatever available space he had left and tried not to have nightmares.
Picturing Eliot helped—until the sultry vision in question hovered at the foot of the bed, a shadow of lust, his pale skin tantalizing, beckoning to be touched. Alek blinked and the apparition faded. But he knew he'd have blood-red, feverish sex dreams that night.
Chapter Six
Alek watched Eliot toss his head back and close his eyes the next morning. Even when lounging in his office chair like a limp noodle, Eliot looked good enough to eat. Alek let his gaze linger on Eliot's fair hair curling below his ears, his slender neck and high cheekbones, his porcelain skin, and his petite, whip-thin body.
"The third complainant on the list is—" He checked his notes, looking away from Eliot. "Duquesne Arrington."
Eliot whistled low. "I didn't take his complaint. One of the other clerks did. You do know who he is, don't you?"
Alek frowned and shook his head. Names of people, famous or infamous, weren't his specialty. These were case numbers to him, nothing more.
Eliot smirked. "Arrington's a republican politician, an ex-congressman, or maybe he was a senator? Oh, I can't recall. I didn't vote for him; I'm a democrat." Eliot stood and pressed his palms on the small of his back, arching and stretching. "Oh, Arrington goes by the nickname Duke. Yeah, you guessed it, he's a pompous idiot."
Alek snorted, rising from his seat too. "You think you can handle idiocy today?"
Eliot gave him a wicked smirk. "I handle you, don't I?"
Alek contemplated throwing a case file at Eliot's head—or throwing the guy over the table and fucking him till he begged for mercy. He did neither.
*~*~*
Half an hour later, they reached the affluent McLean district in North Virginia where wealthy republicans had established a base decades ago. Stately homes and lavish mansion appeared on both sides of wide, quiet suburban streets. Woodsy parks peeked through on occasion, adding green touches to the otherwise manmade city. Since this Duquesne Arrington was a rich republican ex-senator, it made sense for him to live in the area, Alek concluded with indifference.
After Loreblast, the republican party had disintegrated. Now there were rumors circulating that the two-party system was dead and gone; America seemed headed toward a new multi-party system. The newly planned government surely couldn't do a worse job than the old one.
A white, three-story mansion opened up beyond wrought-iron gates, welcoming Alek and Eliot to the Arrington estate. Immaculately cut lawns and tall deciduous trees created a green, lush environment but one that had been tamed by man's heavy hand, not a blade of grass out of place.
The structure screamed opulence. No expense had been speared. The colonial style mixed with old-world empire, creating a familiar look that communicated wealth above all else.
At the door they were met by a tall man with a goatee and a grumpy attitude. He seemed to be the butler, since he let them in, told them to wait in the parlor, and then disappeared into the vast labyrinthine house.
"Bet he's never read any of these," Eliot com
mented with a snort, gesturing at the filled-to-the-brim bookcases stacked against the walls in the parlor. Heavy dark red curtains, brown leather lounge chairs and couches, dark wooden dressers and coffee tables, black and white photographs of famous people—it all added to create an oppressive old-world mood.
Alek grunted in agreement. "Studies and libraries filled with books are the type of thing a man in politics should own. They're signs of wealth and cultivation. Whether he reads them or not is beside the point."
Eliot rolled his eyes. "How can he be cultivated if he never reads?"
"That's snobbish."
"And realistic. A person who reads and learns has a better chance of—"
"A man can read. That doesn't mean he ever learns anything. Ours is a society of quoting. We use the poetic words of wiser, more sophisticated men and women to give the appearance of learnedness, refinement and understanding. When, in fact, that is the farthest thing we are."
Eliot gave him a cool once-over. "Speak for yourself, Agent."
"What is this about, gentlemen?" A man walked in to meet them, harrumphing in obvious vexation, vibrating with impatience. He was a large, fat man with a round face, chubby cheeks, pouting lips, and ruddy skin, being otherwise pale. Alek guessed the man was a heavy drinker and a lover of fine dining. He had neatly-combed silver hair, equally neatly-trimmed silver sideburns, shockingly blue eyes, and a stubborn jut to his chin.
As he walked past Alek, the scent of expensive cigars and equally fancy, sickeningly sweet cologne floated in his wake. Alek gulped, nauseated, but kept up his polite veneer.
"Mr. Arrington?" Alek confirmed with a question, though there could be no doubt as to the identity of this man who ruled this dominion.
The man harrumphed, his bushy eyebrows lowering in a frown. "Obviously. What is your business here?"
"I'm Agent Saroyan of MERF and this is my colleague, Mr. Tate, with CEPA. We're here to talk about your gremlin troubles." Alek ambled closer to the desk behind which Arrington stood opening a box with cigars. He hoped the man wouldn't light one.
Arrington's frown dissipated and he snapped the lid of the cigar box shut. "Ah. Have you a solution?"
"Double checking information and comparing notes at this stage," Alek explained, though he felt it was unnecessary to do so. "How did the problem occur?"
As expected Arrington scoffed and sat in a comfy leather armchair by the window, an irked glance at his steel wristwatch.
"It happened on my way to the club." He didn't look at either Alek or Eliot, his gaze fixating onto a point on the back wall. He didn't elaborate more on the club, not even to give it a name. "I was in the back, you understand and my chauffeur, Leslie, pointed out that the car was stalling. I was angry, but he assured me he'd just had the car overhauled two weeks prior."
"What's the make and model?" Eliot asked, his tone decisive and firm. Alek was mightily impressed, not having expected a civil servant to ever threaten to bite the hand that fed. But then again, Eliot worked for CEPA which was beyond the control of a single ex-senator.
Arrington snorted. "I have no idea."
"It's a Bentley Continental GT," another man answered, startling both Alek and Eliot.
A red-haired bruiser type, broad-shouldered and burly, stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at everyone in the room. Either the senator's bodyguard or the chauffeur or both, Alek surmised. The interruption left him jolted, and he didn't like that. He was well practiced enough that none of that showed in his expression, though.
Arrington blew out an impatient breath. "There you have it, gentleman."
"What happened after the car started to stall?" Alek asked, back in control.
"We had to stop, naturally. As soon as we did, though, everything was fine. We were able to drive back here but the incident repeated itself…how many times?" Arrington's lightning-sharp gaze landed on the other man.
"Three."
Succinct, wasn't he, Alek thought dryly.
"We got back here," Arrington continued. "I ordered the car to be taken to the best repair shop in town. Leslie did so. I reported the incident to CEPA. And that's the end of it, gentlemen. I have three other vehicles at my disposal in the garage, so I wasn't terribly upset. No hindrances to my life whatsoever."
Alek suppressed a sigh. The story matched the others to a tee. "Did the gas gremlin make a noise before the car stalled?"
Arrington blinked in confusion. "I've no idea. I heard nothing in the back. Leslie?"
But the chauffer shook his head. "Neither the gas gremlin nor the oil hellion made a single peep. I would have heard it."
Alek and Eliot exchanged glances. That was new. A silent gremlin? Unlikely.
"If I may ask, Senator Arrington," Eliot spoke with an oddly hushed, reverent tone that told Alek it wasn't Eliot's real voice. This was silky smooth. A strategy? "When you served in the Senate, were you for or against oil and gas lobbies?"
Arrington frowned again, studying Eliot like a bug under a microscope. Then he shrugged. "If you must know, if you believe it's relevant, and since my opinions are on public record…I have made no secret that I've been in favor of fossil fuels." Suddenly he grimaced and anger rose to his voice, giving it a tinny tone. "But not anymore. Not since…Stump."
Eliot and Alek exchanged glances again, this time surprised instead of knowing. What the heck?
Arrington sighed, shaking his head. "He seemed like a good idea in the beginning. Then he proved everyone wrong. I stopped believing in him. The republican party became a group of cheering morons and silent conformists."
Leslie walked up to his boss and handed him a drink, whiskey by the smell and color of it, which Arrington downed in one gulp. Leslie took the glass and retreated back to the doorway into his quiet vigil.
"After that I assessed Stump's successors." Arrington slumped, cringing. "Again, I was disappointed. Problems with being in the same room with flowers; unnatural love for smutty right-wing literature; kleptomania from the poor; and so on. Not one worthwhile person in the bunch."
Eliot snorted. "Excuse me, Senator, but if you disagreed with these people's ideas so, why were you a republican in the first place?"
Alek had to bite his teeth real hard not to laugh out loud. You go, Eliot.
Arrington scoffed, disdain in his entire physical and vocal repertoire. "Once upon a time, the republican party stood for something."
Alek kept his sneer hidden inward. Arrington was one of those republicans who longed for the good old days when the land overflowed with milk and honey—a golden age that never existed except in the minds of people who either didn't remember things correctly or who lived in a fantasy of their own making. Alek hated people like that because they always thought the world should conform to them, instead of them fitting into the world.
Leslie brought Arrington another drink and moved off. This time the ex-senator stared into the maroon liquid, sloshing it around in his glass, nursing it, seemingly ruminating. "Maybe I'm a pie-in-the-sky dreamer. My time has come and gone."
Then he went silent, his gaze turned inward, his drink and his guests seemingly forgotten.
Leslie leaned down to whisper in Alek's ear, "Time for you to leave, agents. You can try again later, if you didn't get everything you needed."
Alek nodded. Arrington had withdrawn into gilded memories, gazing through rose-tinted glasses, never bothering to remove them. As he stood, Alek met Eliot's gaze—and was surprised to see sympathy there.
Was it the change in the man's attitudes toward republicans? Maybe.
Before walking away, though, Alek asked Leslie, "Where exactly did the car stall and you had to pull over?" He wondered if he'd hear either the Washington or the Dupont Circle.
"Logan Circle, if I recall," Leslie replied vaguely, as if not wanting to give away more. It seemed the exact location of the ex-senator's club or the destination of their trip was something of a secret.
Another traffic circle, Alek mused. This was s
ignificant, if mystifying. What attracted the gas gremlins to circular intersections? And what made them act up so severely inside them? It was a puzzle.
Leslie stepped aside and gave room for Alek and Eliot to leave the parlor.
The winding staircase to the second floor opened on their left, and Alek caught sight of a young, extremely slim woman descending in a flurry of movement. A vision of vintage beauty, she had big and haunting hazel eyes, soft features, and long, ponytailed hair the color of bronze patina in old paintings.
At the foot of the stairs, she halted, cast a brief glance at both Alek and Eliot, clutching an oversized portfolio to her chest, and then darted into one of the corridors, vanishing into the dusk.
"That's Shiloh," Leslie explained vaguely as he escorted Alek and Eliot to the front door. "She's the Senator's only child. Please, excuse her. She's an artist, you see, and a bit flaky and absentminded."
An artist? Alek had caught a glimpse of the young lady's portfolio. Despite the hastiness of the contact, he'd seen a familiar image, drawn in black-and-white with crayon. The depiction was of the Great Serpent Mound, the largest snake-shaped effigy mound in the world. The site in Ohio was a national historic landmark that Alek had visited in his late twenties. Shiloh must have appreciated cultural earthworks too.
As Alek hurried to his car, with Eliot in quiet tow, he replayed the look Shiloh had given him. Indifferent, yet charged somehow. Alek worried his bottom lip, getting behind the wheel. He got an awfully strange vibe from her. Tension, passion…or obsession? All fit the characteristics of artist types, yes, but Alek had learned long ago to trust his instincts. Something was off. Did it have a connection to the reticent Duke? What was happening in that household?
He hated stumbling about in the dark. He needed more than a candle of insight. He needed a sun lamp of knowledge. Since none existed in real life, perhaps he could find something else that created illumination to light up the darkness of ignorance.