by J. P. Bowie
“Nosy neighbors can be great spies for the police,” Nick said. “I’ll bet she already saw me roll up here and my car being parked in your garage.”
“That is of no consequence,” Garcia told him. “When I am done with you, Angelina and I will leave. It may be several days before anyone ever discovers you, and poor Mario, here.”
Nick smiled up at him. “Well, see there’s a slight glitch in all of that. Two FBI agents tailed me here. They’re probably sitting outside, waiting for me to leave, so they can tail me again. They don’t like me much. I was kinda rude to them earlier.”
“You are bluffing, of course.” Garcia strode to a window and looked out into the empty street. “There are no FBI agents parked outside, Mr. Fallon.”
That figures, Nick thought. They’re as thick as two planks. He paused as he felt the rope loosen around his wrists. Careful now. Gotta get him by surprise.
Angelina was looking at Garcia, her expression pinched and concerned. “I don’t like this, Francisco. What if he’s right? What if that woman didn’t believe me, and calls the police? What if there are FBI agents out there just waiting for us to leave?”
“Be quiet.” Garcia spun to face her, his gun coming up under her chin. “I will not have a whining woman by my side. Do you understand me? Now, go and get dressed and pack a few things. We are leaving as soon as I have disposed of this pervert.”
As Angelina ran to obey him, Garcia turned the gun once again on Nick. “Now, before you die, I want to hear from your lips that you lied about my son. Admit it and I will kill you quickly.” He pulled the knife with which he had killed Torres from his trouser waistband. “Cling to your lies, and you will die a painful and ignoble death.”
Nick bowed his head as if in acquiescence. He let his shoulders slump as though he realized he was defeated and had no choice but to give in to Garcia’s demands.
“Quickly,” Garcia muttered. “Say it—now.”
The muscles in Nick’s legs bunched as he slid his feet forward just a fraction. He was now balanced on his toes. The pose of total dejection caused Garcia’s lips to curl in disgust.
“Say it—say you lied!”
With a roar, Nick sprang forward, carrying the chair he was tied to with him. His head connected with Garcia’s stomach with such ferocity that the big man stumbled backwards and sprawled in a clumsy heap, his head cracking against the tile floor. For a moment he was dazed, giving Nick enough time to free himself of the ropes and the chair. Then, as Garcia struggled to sit up and reach for his gun, Nick was on him, wrestling him onto his back. The knife was still in Garcia’s hand and he brought it up in a vicious move toward Nick’s ribs. Nick parried the blow, grasping Garcia’s wrist and forcing his arm to the floor. He slammed his knee into Garcia’s groin and felt a deal of satisfaction as Garcia screamed with pain. He rolled off him and grabbed the gun.
“On your feet, Garcia…”
The next moment, Nick was on his knees, stunned by a blow to his head. Wincing, he looked up to see Angelina standing over him with a fire-iron clutched in both hands. Garcia clambered to his feet, reaching for the gun while a dazed Nick tried to fend him off.
“Get the gun,” Angelina screamed, raising the fire-iron again over Nick’s head. He had just enough strength to ram his elbow into Angelina’s knee, causing her to screech like a banshee. She staggered back before collapsing in a heap, clutching her knee and moaning in agony.
Garcia, cursing wildly, threw himself on top of Nick, and the two of them threshed and rolled around on the floor, each one straining for the upper hand until Nick managed to land a lucky punch on Garcia’s jaw, dropping the big man onto his side. As Nick grabbed for the gun again, a furious rapping at the door assailed his ears. Before Garcia could get to his feet, Nick ran for the door and pulled it open.
The sight of a tall, bare-chested, blood-spattered man carrying a gun was the last thing Angelina’s nosy neighbor expected to see. She let out a scream that Nick was certain would be heard up on Coast Highway—a scream that intensified in volume as Garcia loomed behind Nick and grabbed him a headlock.
“Call the cops!” Nick croaked, struggling to free himself. “Now!”
The woman, her eyes bulging with terror, sprang away and ran with the agility of a teenager toward her house. She let out a high pitched squeal as she was almost run over by a black sedan that was cruising by at that precise moment.
“Holy shit!” Johnson slapped Tomlinson’s arm. “Stop the car! It’s Fallon and some guy. What the hell is going on?” Both men jumped from the car, guns drawn.
“FBI!” Tomlinson roared. Garcia, once more in possession of the gun, pushed Nick to one side and fired at the agents. Johnson went down, grasping his shoulder. Garcia jumped back inside the house and slammed the door, just as three bullets from Tomlinson’s gun splintered the doorframe.
“Call for backup,” Nick yelled at him. “That’s Garcia in there. He mustn’t get away!” As Tomlinson yelled into his cell phone for backup and an ambulance, Nick knelt by Johnson’s side. “You okay?”
Johnson looked at him through pain-filled eyes. “No…” Anything else he might have said was drowned out by the sounds of an engine roaring, the crashing and splintering of wood and metal as Nick’s rented Lexus careened out onto the street, carrying the garage door with it.
“Shit!” Nick ran out onto the street. “He’s getting away. Tomlinson, stop him!” But the agent was too late to fire off a shot that might reach the car’s tires or fuel tank. Nick swore out loud as he watched the Lexus turn the corner and disappear. “Quick, get in the car. He can’t get far. He’s going to run into traffic up there.”
“What about Johnson?” Tomlinson asked, looking down at his fallen partner.
“I’ll be okay,” Johnson told him through clenched teeth. “You called an ambulance, right?”
“Come on,” Nick yelled, heading for the agent’s car. Just then, the sound of police sirens filled the air, and suddenly the street was completely blocked by black and whites, lights flashing furiously. “Oh, great.” Nick almost jumped up and down with rage as he saw there was now no way they could follow Garcia. “Just fucking great!”
“Hold it, right there!”
Nick found himself surrounded by uniformed police officers, all with drawn guns. He began to laugh, suddenly realizing that he must look something akin to a mass murderer, standing there, shirtless, covered in blood, a wounded man at his feet, and Tomlinson next to him, holding a drawn gun.
“Okay, officers…” Tomlinson showed them his badge. “FBI.”
“What happened here?” one of the cops asked, looking at the wrecked garage door.
“Someone was in a hurry to leave,” Nick said wryly.
“Who’s this guy?”
“He’s a private investigator,” Tomlinson told him. “We’re not sure just what happened here, but he can fill you in on all the details.”
“I think you’d better take a look inside,” Nick said. “Garcia killed a man in there and I don’t know what happened to his wife.” Two police officers entered the house, Nick and Tomlinson following.
“Christ.” Tomlinson gaped at the scene that met their eyes. Mario Torres’ body lay where he had fallen, the pool of blood that had leaked from the open wound on his neck now congealing on the tile floor. Nearby, Angelina was sprawled out in a manner she would have found extremely unbecoming—if she were alive. Her wide-open but lifeless eyes stared up at Nick as he stood over her. A bullet hole in her forehead gave testimony to the manner of her death. Nick felt no sympathy for her. She had been ready to pull Eric into the same trap she had set for him.
He picked up his shirt and slipped it on. “Get these guys to put out an alert on the car Garcia used to get away,” he told Tomlinson. “He’s most likely heading for the border.”
The agent nodded. “I’ll let the border patrols know also. Don’t worry Fallon, we’ll get him.”
Nick sighed as he retrieved his jacket. Where h
ad he heard that before?
Chapter Fourteen
Eric and Andrew, driving down Coast Highway on their way back from the gym, were suddenly riveted by a breaking news report on the radio.
“Police were called to a residence in upscale Corona del Mar this afternoon when a neighbor reported screams coming from a nearby house. Apparently, the neighbor went over to investigate and was met at the door by what she described as a wild man covered in blood and brandishing a gun. Police found two bodies in the house. A man, identified only as a private investigator operating out of Laguna Beach, is currently helping police and the FBI with their investigation…”
“Didn’t you say Nick had an appointment in Corona del Mar today?” Andrew asked, glancing at Eric, who had gone decidedly pale under his tan.
“Yes. Let’s swing by the office and see if he’s there. Shit, what has he got himself into now?”
“Well, you don’t exactly know it’s him they’re talking about.”
“Oh yes, I do. How many Laguna Beach private investigators d’you suppose had an appointment in Corona del Mar this afternoon? It’s him all right. God, Andrew…covered in blood, the reporter said.” He pulled his cell phone from his workout bag and punched in the number for the office.
“Monica, it’s Eric. Have you heard from Nick?”
“Yes, the police are holding him down at the Laguna Niguel station. Routine questioning. He said he’d call me, soon as they let him go.”
“Is it about that incident in Corona del Mar?”
“Yes.”
“Is he coming back to the office?”
“No, he said he had to go home and shower. Apparently, he’s pretty messed up.”
“Oh my God, he’s hurt,” Eric moaned.
“No, he said he’s not hurt, just needs to shower. Eric, they’d have him in the hospital if he was hurt.”
“Right. Okay, thanks Monica. I’ll head over to the apartment and wait for him there.” He closed his phone and looked at Andrew, a hint of anger in his eyes. “Why the hell couldn’t he call me?”
“He probably didn’t want to worry you.”
“Yeah, always so fucking concerned about worrying me,” Eric said, his voice filled with sarcasm.
“Eric?”
“I’m tired of this, Andrew.” He looked out the car window to hide the tears that had sprung into his eyes. “I’m tired of Nick’s macho attitude. He has to take it all on himself—mustn’t worry poor little Eric. No matter that I was right there with him Saturday night when that maniac tried to kill us both. Now he’s trying to keep things like this from me. I’ll bet you anything he’s hoping I don’t hear about this on the radio or the TV. It’s amazing he didn’t tell Monica not to say a word to me about it!”
“I’m sure he’s intending to tell you all about it when he gets home,” Andrew said quietly. “I mean, you don’t think he was going to call you and say, ‘Please come hold my hand at the police station’ now do you?”
“Yes, but…” Despite himself, Eric’s lips twisted in a rueful smile at the thought. “You’re right,” he sighed. “I guess I’m overreacting.”
“You’re scared for him. That’s understandable.” Andrew pulled up outside Eric’s apartment building and gave his friend’s arm a comforting squeeze. “Want me to come up till he gets home?”
Eric slipped off his seat belt. “No. You have a bunch of appointments this afternoon. But I want you to know how much I appreciate your friendship. Peter told me once that you were the best friend anyone could ever have, and I agree with him. You always seem to say the right thing at the right time. I’m sorry if I was acting like a drama queen.” He reached over and hugged Andrew tightly. “David’s a lucky guy,” he whispered.
“So are you,” Andrew said, hugging him back. “Nick is a very special man, Eric. So maybe he’s a tad over protective when it comes to you, but in my book, that’s a good thing. It means he loves you. Don’t fight him—let him be himself.”
Alone in the apartment, Eric threw off his workout gear and stepped into the shower. Soaping himself vigorously, he thought about what Andrew had said. Of course, he was right. Nick was a very special man. Never mind that he could be a giant pain in the neck, at times sullen and uncommunicative, causing their relationship to be challenging now and then. Eric had been there before with his previous lover, and he’d had none of Nick’s more redeeming qualities. Nick was not perfect, not by a long shot, but who the hell really wanted Mr. Perfect as a lover? Eric chuckled to himself—way too much to live up to!
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the front door open and close, and through the glass of the shower door, he saw a tall figure walk into the bedroom. “I sure hope that’s someone I’m gonna be happy to see,” he called out.
“It’s me.” Nick’s voice was strangely flat and hollow.
Eric pushed the shower door open and gulped, startled at Nick’s appearance. “Oh, my God.”
Nick gave him a lopsided grin. “That bad, huh?”
“Jesus, Nick. What happened to you?”
Eric reached for him but Nick took a step back. “Don’t touch me till I’ve showered for at least one hour.” He pulled off his shirt. “I gotta burn these clothes,” he muttered.
“You’ve got blood all over you,” Eric said weakly.
“Not mine, so don’t worry.” He pulled off his pants and briefs and headed into the bathroom. “They wouldn’t let me clean up at the police station.”
“Why not?” Eric followed him.
“I think they got a rise out of seeing the private eye look like he got his.” He stepped into the shower and turned on the hot spray.
“McKenna?”
“He wasn’t there.”
“Let me help, Nick.”
“No.” He paused, seeing the hurt in Eric’s eyes. “Okay. I guess I could use a good scrubbing down.”
“You’re covered in bruises,” Eric said as he gently rubbed a soapy sponge over Nick’s chest and shoulders. “Tell me what happened.”
Nick closed his eyes and sighed as the hot water and Eric’s gentle ministrations helped to ease the tension in his body.
“Garcia was at the house where I had the noon appointment. The owners were old cronies of his and when I walked in, there he was, large as life, holding a gun on me. Christ, I was so stupid to walk straight into his trap.”
“But how could you have known?” Eric poured some shampoo onto the palm of his hand and rubbed it into Nick’s scalp.
“I should have— Ow! Jesus, that hurts.”
“What did I do?” Eric jumped back in alarm.
“Not you—that bitch, Angelina Torres, whacked me on the head with a poker.” He looked at Eric ruefully as he rubbed the back of his head. “Shit, twice in three days I almost get my skull cracked open, and twice in three days I get my car stolen. I got my Beamer back, but now he’s got the fucking rental!”
They looked at each other for a moment and Eric wasn’t sure if Nick wanted to laugh or go on venting. Then Nick started to chuckle and before long they were holding each other and laughing out loud.
“Christ,” Nick said through his laughter. “I’m beginning to feel like the original sad sack. I just can’t seem to get anything right, anymore.”
“Nick.” Eric wrapped his arms around him and laid his head on his shoulder. “You are amazing. After what you’ve been through today, a lot of guys would be climbing walls.”
“Yeah, well I’m not that far behind them. One more day like this, and I may actually start to get pissed off.”
He held Eric close, and for a while they let the hot spray beat down on them, then Eric said, “Come on.” He opened the shower door. “Let’s get dried off, and I’ll give you a massage. Your shoulders are so tense.”
Nick flopped down on the bed with a happy sigh. He groaned with pleasure as he felt Eric sit astride him and, after rubbing some oil between the palms of his hands, began to knead the hard muscles on Nick’s back and shoulders
with skillful fingers.
“Feels so good,” he murmured. He let himself drift, and found himself thinking that if things had turned out differently, he might never have seen Eric again. It was nothing short of a miracle that he was not lying dead in some morgue. Thank God for nosy neighbors—and dufus FBI agents. He chuckled softly as he remembered.
“What?” Eric asked, moving his hands over Nick’s lower back.
“I’ll tell you all about it later. Mmm… Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Eric shifted so that he was now sitting astride Nick’s legs. He kneaded the twin, firm mounds of Nick’s buttocks, eliciting another groan of happy pleasure from his lover. He bent and kissed each cheek then ran his tongue into the warm, moist cleft between them. Nick writhed sensuously beneath him and Eric smiled, letting his hands glide over Nick’s thighs and calves. Not once in the two years they had been together had the sight of Nick’s lean, powerful body failed to turn him on. Now as his hands caressed and massaged Nick’s strong runner’s legs, he felt the lust that welled within him become almost overpowering.