“Stop making up words. I would so beat your ass at Scrabble.”
Chuckling, she said, “So where do we go from here?”
“Back to the office, where we will dutifully fill out reports, drop off that spoon, and then, hopefully, get home at a decent hour.” He hadn’t slept enough last night, and the food and beer had made him sleepy.
Artemis paid the bill and they left.
ARTEMIS lived in a fourth-floor walk-up a few blocks from the precinct. He’d been there several years. As neighborhoods went, it wasn’t the safest, nor was it the most crime-ridden. The locals knew he was a cop and left him alone. The rest took one look at him, felt his quiet authority, and gave him a wide berth.
He stripped off his jacket and shirt, tossed them aside, and poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniels. Three swallows and it was gone. He poured another, sipping it this time as he moved around the apartment, kicking off his shoes, undoing his belt buckle, reaching down past it to give himself a quick feel. Yup, still there, but work drained so much out of him, it surprised him. He went days feeling sexless, neutered, a human vessel that worked to solve crimes and did nothing else. How long had it been since he’d come?
Naked, he got into the shower, making it as hot as he could stand, seeing amethyst-colored eyes in his mind, recalling the taut lines of strong muscle under a soft white pullover, and remembering a golden tuft of chest hair in the V. He jacked himself, bracing one hand against the tiled wall, steam rising around him. He remembered blue jeans stretched snugly over narrow hips, and he vividly saw the outline of Talis’s cock under worn-smooth material. Rachel had been right. Talis was hung. Saliva flowed at the thought of taking that dick into his mouth, of sucking on the head and tasting him.
Need intensified, and his breath caught in his throat as his balls tightened and rose. His cock leaped as his hand moved faster, blood beating in his temples, everything turning inward, and then he was coming. He embraced it, gasping in pleasure, muscles going weak as he trembled with release.
He stood under the hot water a long time, eyes closed, counting the days since Richard had left him. “Five months,” he muttered, water running into his mouth. “Jesus.” And no one since then, not even a pickup. He’d buried himself in work, which had served him well until he’d met Talis.
Was he involved in these murders? There was no evidence yet, but Artemis felt in his gut this particular path led to the tall blond man. He wanted Sherlock Jones to be in the office early tomorrow, run the prints on the spoon against those they had from the murder scenes, and tell him… tell him what? What did he want to hear? That Talis had been at the scene? Because that was all a print match would get him. Well, not all. They would then have cause to request a DNA sample from him, and if that matched….
Somewhere deep inside, he didn’t want Talis to be involved. He wanted Talis…. The thought trailed off but still echoed. I want Talis. The man had awakened the buried hunger within him. His skin itched, his blood burned. For the first time in more than five months, he yearned. How he missed touching and being touched, and the feel of someone’s hard body against his!
Stupid, being celibate this long. I can’t think straight. I must be missing something, some small thing that will take me straight to the killer.
He turned off the water, dried himself, and pulled on a pair of black Calvin Klein underwear. In bed, he spread out the files of the three victims and went over them again.
Three men in their early twenties, all gay, all beautiful, killed after sex by means that remained undetermined. It was Nolan’s opinion that their hearts had simply stopped, but what had caused that, he didn’t know. No signs of struggle, all found lying peacefully dead.
The scratches on their legs were a mystery, and they’d all had them. They hadn’t been made by human nails, according to Nolan, and there’d been no match made to any known knife or tool. Sherlock Jones had humorously suggested the possibility of aliens. It was as good an explanation as any.
He pushed the files aside, turned out the light, and slid down under the blankets, adjusting the pillow until it satisfied. He admitted it, there in the darkness of his quiet bedroom: he was lonely.
Work wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted someone to come home to, someone to talk to at the end of the day, someone who welcomed him with hugs and kisses and a hard cock.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, imagined someone curled around him, and tried to sleep. AN HOUR later, he gave up, got up, slid into tight jeans and a snug-fitting shirt, and went to a nearby gay bar, something he hadn’t done in a long time. The usual suspects were hanging out, eyeing everyone in the room, and at this hour, a faint scent of desperation hung in the air.
Artemis ordered a scotch on the rocks and looked around. He was here for one reason and one reason only: he wanted to get laid. Wanted? Hell, he needed it.
This was usually pretty easy. He was good-looking, in great shape, and gays didn’t dance around the question the way straights seemed to.
He finished that drink, ordered another, and looked around, spotting a pretty blond man gazing back at him from across the room. Good enough.
Artemis gave him “the look,” and seconds later the man sidled up next to him. “Hi. Want some company?”
He looked clean and not stoned or too drunk. “Could be. Convince me you’re thelove of my life… for tonight, anyway.”
He shook the blond hair back from his face and laughed, revealing straight white teeth. “Playing hard to get?”
Artemis stuck a hand between the man’s legs and gently squeezed. “Want me to?”
They left a couple minutes later.
“WHAT’S your name again?” Artemis asked, kneeling over
him as he ripped the condom open with his teeth. Had he even asked? The man had a nice ass, and it looked particularly attractive from this angle, jutting up in the air in front of his erection, the hole shiny with lube and ready for Artemis.
His head buried in a pillow, he mumbled, “Dan. Just how drunk are you?”
Not drunk at all, Artemis thought as he guided his cock into Dan’s ass, and when was the last time I did that? I’m missing all the fun stuff in life lately.
He’d chosen Dan because he had blond hair and a mouth that reminded him of Talis. Yes, he could be that shallow sometimes. They were in Dan’s bedroom, which was moderately neat, and Artemis wasn’t wasting any time.
Dan groaned and made noises as Artemis thrust into him, his knees bouncing a little on the mattress. Sweat broke out on Dan’s back as he quivered beneath Artemis. The light outside shone through the window blinds, striping their moving bodies dark, light, dark, light.
The scotch and late hour had slowed Artemis down. Hard, yes; on the verge of coming, no. “Talk to me,” he urged, still pounding into Dan. “Say something.”
“I… love your… cock.”
“Yeah, that’s good. More….” Artemis moved faster, felt the burn start, noticed Dan was jerking himself, bit his lip, closed his eyes, and came. A few seconds later, still mouthing obscenities, so did Dan.
Gulping for air, muscles twitching, he grasped the condom at the base as he withdrew. Dan fell flat on the bed, right on the wet spot. Artemis stripped off the latex sheath, tied it off, and pitched it into the basket beside the nightstand. “Very nice. Thanks.” Sliding off the bed, breathing almost normally, he reached for his pants.
“Going already?” Dan sounded disappointed.
“I have to work tomorrow.” The zipper sounded loud in the silent room. Artemis sat on the bed to pull on socks and shoes.
“I’d like to see you again,” Dan offered hesitantly, reaching out to touch him lightly on the hip.
“Keep an eye open for me.” Artemis stood, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and keys. “See ya around, Dan.”
He was out the door in seconds, letting it bang shut behind him, walking home as fast as he could, hands shoved deep in his pockets. It was a humid summer night. The city buzzed around him, still
awake.
Why the hell did I do that? He was a nice guy and I used him.
He was under stress. Richard had left him. And even though he knew it was wrong, he wanted Talis more than he’d wanted anyone in a long time. Dan just hadn’t measured up, not to Richard, not to Talis.
Back in his apartment, he stripped and showered for the second time that evening before crawling into bed and finally falling asleep.
Chapter Five Talis
I was involved, deeply involved, in a deception… I have deceived my friends, and I had millions of them.
—Charles Van Doren TALIS was enjoying breakfast Friday morning at the table near the sunny window when Ammon appeared and set a stack of paper at his elbow. He raised his eyes, asking the question silently.
“What I have thus far discovered about Detective Gregory,” he said. “Some I found online, other things I paid for.”
Talis nodded. It was only money. He finished his goat cheese and herb omelet and fresh-squeezed orange juice before wiping his fingers on a napkin and picking up the papers. He paged through slowly, reading here and there, before moving to the couch in the sitting room to go through the information more thoroughly.
Half an hour later, he knew a great deal more about the detective, but this did not quell his anxiety. He had very little time to woo the man, and it wasn’t as if he could shrug it off if he failed. A thousand years of history and knowledge and experience would go up in flames. What a waste that would be.
Artemis. A lovely and uncommon name. Adopted son of Janelle and Thomas Gregory. There were pictures: Janelle had brown hair and an open Midwestern face with smiling eyes. Thomas looked serious, even stern, and had salt-andpepper hair and brown eyes. His arm was around her shoulder, and he appeared to be touching her almost gingerly, as if the photographer had said, “Get closer to your wife!” and he’d resented it. A later entry noted Thomas Gregory had died of a heart attack four years ago.
Artemis as a boy: reserved, with bold eyes and a sweet mouth. Even then, there’d been something intense about him. A picture of him around the age of ten showed him staring straight into the camera, his expression challenging. Talis looked at that photo for a long time, seeing the man superimposed over the boy.
Talis had never gone to school and wondered what it was like to sit in a classroom all day, having knowledge pounded into you. He wondered if Artemis had had many friends. Had he been in the popular group, or had he been one of the shadow students who skulked along the edges, head down, attending classes, remaining mostly silent, never volunteering information?
This boy would never be ordinary, he thought fiercely. He isnot ordinary. He is my soul mate, the one I’ve been searching for. Now I’ve found him, and I will not let him go. Together, we begin anew.
Hand shaking slightly, he turned the page. Artemis had been raised in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, relocated to New York City with his parents at age fourteen, graduated high school with honors, attended college in NYC, become a cop. This would indicate a highly developed sense of ethics and morality. It wouldn’t be easy to win his affection. He would have to utilize all the warmth and charm at his disposal, and he had plenty.
Talis knew where Artemis lived, where his mother lived. There was very little privacy left, thanks to the internet. Credit scores, criminal history, phone numbers… everything was available if you wanted it badly enough.
Placing the papers on the coffee table, he sat back, resting his hands on his thighs. He was expected at the loft in one hour. Final rehearsal would absorb most of the day. Tomorrow would be spent in Central Park as they readied for the evening concert.
Within the week, they would be traveling to California. “It can’t be done,” he said aloud mournfully. “Not enough time.”
Ammon appeared in the doorway. “Satisfactory?”
Talis let his head fall against the back of the couch. “More. I want more. His real parents? Find out who they were.”
“That will take time. Such records are locked.”
“Everything I have is at your disposal. Use it.”
“As you wish.”
“I need to see him, Ammon. Suggestions?”
“Their tickets and backstage passes have not yet been messengered over.”
“I’ll deliver them.”
“To the police precinct?” Ammon’s tone alerted Talis.
“Perhaps not.” He thought about it. “I will take them to his apartment. Tonight.”
A moment later, Talis felt strong, familiar hands on his shoulders, kneading the muscles there. He sighed with pleasure. “You are so good at this, Ammon.”
“It is my pleasure to serve you, Talis.”
He leaned back into probing fingers. “Does it ever bother you? What I am? What I do to remain human? Because it does bother me. Sacrificing lives is antithetical to my main purpose.”
“You are the only one of your kind. You are to be treasured, protected, and so you must have a guardian. You honor me by accepting me in that role. My father served you, and his father before him, back in an unbroken line for five hundred years. I am here out of love, not obligation. One may as well question the ocean tides or the orbit of the Earth around the sun.” He spoke with a sureness that did not invite questions. “As to the other… you must survive, and so you do what is necessary. All living creatures do the same. Remove your clothes and lie down.”
“I am expected at final rehearsal.”
“They will wait upon your arrival, as always.”
Talis did as requested, removing his shirt and pants and lying down on the couch while Ammon leaned over him, massaging his golden flesh with reverence.
“Ammon, there is something I want you to do for me.” He proceeded to explain. “Can this be done?” he ended.
Ammon’s voice flowed over him like water. “It can. And Detective Wayland?”
“If at all possible, do not harm her.”
“I will not… if at all possible.” He dug in along Talis’s spine. “I am to cancel the California tour dates?”
“All of them.” They were scheduled to play in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Sacramento. “Refund the ticket money. Tell them I died.” He sighed and turned his head to the other side. “If this doesn’t work, it will be the truth.”
Chapter Six Artemis
Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal.
—Russell Lynes RACHEL was waiting for him when he got to work Friday morning, lounging outside the material lab door, cup of steaming coffee in her hand.
“Just got here,” she said, shifting her weight to the other hip. “Someone from Interpol is waiting in the Lieutenant’s office. They want to see us immediately.”
“Interpol? What the hell.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, and he said, “Not until after we talk to Sherlock.”
Artemis pushed open the lab door and went inside, Rachel on his heels. Sherlock Jones was bent over a microscope, stained lab coat open over a hipster striped shirt and black skinny jeans. The place smelled of chemicals and chicken sandwiches.
Artemis moved to stand at his shoulder, talking as he went so as not to startle the guy. “Sherlock, have a chance to get to the spoon I dropped off last night?”
Sherlock made minute adjustments to a knob on the ’scope. “First thing.” He didn’t take his eyes off the eyepiece. “Your note said, ‘Match it to the prints found at the gay guys’ crime scenes,’ and I did and it does. The user of the spoon was there.”
Artemis exchanged a look with Rachel. “Looks like we’re on the right track after all.” Damn it. He’d really hoped Talis wasn’t involved. “We’ll need a DNA sample from him.”
She nodded. “We’ll go after it as soon as we’re free here.”
Talking to Sherlock, Artemis said, “What about the feather that was turned in yesterday? The one from the Carlson murder scene. Find out anything?”
That
got Sherlock’s full attention. He sat up and spun on his stool to face them. “That feather is the most interesting thing I’ve seen in ages. It belongs to no known bird genus. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s not a sparrow or wren or raptor or anything else we call a bird, yet it shares common characteristics with them.”
Artemis thought about that. “Well. This appears to lend credence to your theory that aliens did it.”
“Told ya.” Nodding, he spun back to his ’scope. “Nolan’s report is waiting in your office.”
THEYdidn’t get a chance to see it before being whisked into Lt. Numbnuts’s office. His real name was Ed Munlutz, but he was only called that to his face. This series of murders was making him and the department look bad, and when they walked in, he scowled. Not a good look on him, as it accentuated his jowls and incipient double chin.
“About time you got here.” He gestured to the woman
sitting across the desk from him. “This is Liz Blackstone, Interpol, London division. Liz, Artemis Gregory and Rachel Wayland. They’re heading the task force on this one.”
Liz stood and stuck out her hand, which they both shook. She was average height, average weight, and in nearly all other respects, average. Maybe standing out in Interpol wasn’t considered a good thing. “Hello,” she said in an almost fruity upper-class accent. “The case you’re working on. It’s possible I can give you some assistance.”
Without being asked, Artemis dropped into the chair opposite hers. “We’re starting to make some headway ourselves. We’ve matched fingerprints at the scenes to a name.”
Liz regained her seat, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Excellent. We can aid one another, then.”
Rachel perched on the desk between Artemis and Numbnuts, arms folded. “You start.”
Artemis hid a grin. Other enforcement agencies were always anxious to acquire information even as they made every effort to avoid giving any in return. This kind of bullshit psychological gaming often stood in the way of crime solving; Artemis despised it and knew Rachel felt the same way.
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