by LAURA HARNER
Chapter Six
Given the new ranch duties Cliff had temporarily assumed here at the WSR, Ryan was unsurprised to find himself alone in the casita. What did surprise him was how good he felt despite how much he’d had to drink. Skipping the team R and R in Hawaii meant it was up to him to rebuild his tolerance for alcohol alone. It made him a cheap drunk. He snorted, then moaned as a spike of pain shot through his temples.
Okay, maybe declaring I feel good is a bit premature.
Wincing, he padded into the bathroom, rummaged in the medicine cabinet, and found some ibuprofen. After dry swallowing four, he turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature to one degree below scalding, then stepped under the pounding spray. Ryan stood unmoving for close to five minutes as the water beat against his shoulders and back, his mind filled with nothing but the pleasure of a perfect shower. Hot water was almost always in short supply on a mission.
As he soaped his body, his mind was hit with memories of the night before, of Cliff on his knees…
Those familiar lips in a completely unfamiliar and unexpected position: wrapped around his cock. As if in response to the thoughts, his dick started to fill. He owed Cliff an apology. For nearly twenty years it had been a running joke between them that a man knew how to give a better blow job than any woman. Looked like his old friend was right.
Now just where the hell am I supposed to put that knowledge?
He hurried through the rest of his shower, before he was tempted to jack off to the image of Cliff taking a pounding like he’d never even tried on another person. Did Cliff have any idea how fucking hot he was on his knees, submitting to Ryan?
Blowing out a breath and firmly banishing all thoughts of the previous evening, Ryan stepped from the shower, quickly ran a towel the size of a sheet over his body, before throwing on the uniform of the day: jeans and a T-shirt. He could seriously get used to that.
Once he dressed, he stood in the kitchen, studying the contents of the refrigerator. It was fully stocked, mostly with fruits, vegetables, and salad as far as Ryan could tell without digging.
Where the hell was the bacon? He flicked a glance at the grinder next to the coffee pot and decided he deserved to have someone else care for him in his weakened state. He might not know Ty as well as Cliff did, but the man was a damned fine cook—and there was sure to be coffee. Maybe there’d be leftover chicken wings from last night’s party, too.
Pushing his way outside, Ryan squinted in the bright sunlight. He absently reached for the sunglasses normally hanging from his collar only to remember they were clipped to the sun visor in his Jeep. Circling back around, he retrieved his dark aviator-style glasses and slipped them on. The second Jeep that had been in front of their casita yesterday was gone. Huh. Where the hell did Cliff go that he needed to drive? Didn’t cowboys ride horses?
His gaze flicked to the three Gator ATVs lined up outside the barn, giving lie to that stereotype. Remembering at the last second to not shake his head and disturb the fragile well-being attained in the shower, Ryan headed for the main house.
As he walked across the hard-packed dirt, he slowed his steps while he debated the merits of a front door versus back door just-dropping-in visit. Since he was clearly intent on food and coffee, it seemed the kitchen was the easier target. Just as he veered in that direction, the door swung inward and Ty waved him over.
The man stood in the door in stocking feet, worn blue jeans, and a T-shirt…obviously he’d gotten the same memo about the uniforms.
“You look like shit,” he said as Ryan made his way inside.
“Yeah, thanks. Feel like it too. Any chance of some coffee? And I don’t suppose you could whip up a couple of one-eyed jacks?”
Ty laughed. “Don’t suppose, huh?” He pointed to the bench just inside the door. “Put your shoes there, then come on in. We’ll see what we can find.”
While Ryan sat to remove his boots, Ty headed into the kitchen, followed by the sound of clanging pots. Ryan sauntered inside and took a good look around the industrialized home kitchen. The counters were all business stainless steel, the appliances restaurant grade, the organization and cleanliness totally Ty’s Navy background.
“Grab yourself a cup of coffee. The urn in the dining room has standard grade, this pot here”—he pointed to a small coffee maker on the counter—“will put hair on your chest.”
Ryan stretched the collar of his shirt and peered down at his chest. “Too late,” he mumbled. He crossed to the kitchen pot and poured the thick hot brew into his cup, then blew impatiently across the surface before cautiously taking the first sip.
“Ahhhh,” he moaned. “I might just live to fight another day.”
Ty’s mouth quirked up on one side. “One of the best things about returning from a mission,” he said, his voice laced with laughter. “That and a…”
Their gazes met at the old joke. “Shower,” they finished in unison.
“Give me a couple of minutes…” Ty strode to the freezer and removed three frozen hamburger patties. They sizzled when he dropped them on the hot grill before he returned to the refrigerator for three eggs. “Cheese?”
“Oh god, yes please,” Ryan said with a little whimper for effect.
Ten minutes later, Ty put a plate in front of him with three sliders, each burger topped with a fried egg and a thick slice of cheese. Ryan squeezed some ketchup onto his plate, used it to dip the edge of the bun before taking his first bite. His eyes closed in ecstasy. “Ohmyfgdn,” he mumbled around the mouthful of food.
Ty refilled their coffee cups then leaned against the counter to watch Ryan wolf down his burgers.
When Ryan had cleaned his plate and tossed down the napkin in a show of victory over the monstrous pile of food, he looked up at Ty. “Thanks, man. That might have been the best I’ve had to eat…well, other than last night—but I can’t tell you the last time I had a one-eyed jack.”
“Haven’t made ‘em since I was in…” He took a swallow of coffee as his gaze drifted to the kitchen window. “Afghanistan,” he finished softly.
“Yeah…fucking sucks,” Ryan said. He pushed to his feet and brought his plate around to the sink, but in truth, Ty’s comments set off a chain reaction of feelings too big to hold while sitting in one place. Ty had received a medical discharge after sustaining injuries…but his reputation among the SEALs he’d served with was solid. The dude was a stone cold killer who could cook.
“Did you feel pushed out too soon?” Ryan blurted, thinking of Cliff and the lack of choice his friend felt.
Leveling his blue-eyed gaze at Ryan, Ty nodded. “Yeah, definitely.” Then following Ryan’s train of thought, he added, “It’s not the same for Cliff, though.”
“Why, because he’s older than you?”
“That might be part of it,” Ty conceded. “But honestly, this shore duty assignment was killing him—and he’s been restless for a couple of years. Just because he doesn’t exactly know what he wants to do next, doesn’t mean he isn’t ready to move on.”
The words seemed to itch inside Ryan’s brain. Maybe because he hadn’t known Cliff felt restless…then again, they hadn’t been around each other as much over the last two years due to their different duty assignments. They both were still stationed in Coronado, but serving on different teams made their regular off duty time more difficult to schedule. Or maybe the itch was because they so closely echoed his own thoughts about his current situation.
“I got offered Six,” he confided.
Ty straightened. “Yeah? Did you already pass the board?” Ty asked, referring to the intensive screening every candidate endured as part of the assignment process before starting training for the DEVGRU.
“Nah…haven’t given them an answer yet. I have…” He looked at his Luminox dive watch. “Seventy-two more hours before I need to tell the old man.”
“Gonna take it?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it sorta depends on Snides…”
“What do yo
u mean?”
“I’m thinking about asking the skipper to reconsider his decision to have Cliff retire. Obviously there’s a need for shooters on Six, and Snides and I are one of the best two-man strike teams around. If I could—”
Ty was shaking his head. “You know that’s not possible, Ryan. He told you what happened—right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Look, Cliff is more ready to retire than you think he is—but just say he did stay in, nobody’s going to put the two of you together on any mission.”
“What the fuck? Why would you say that?” Ryan’s temper spiked. Ty didn’t even know him, not really. What the hell did Ty know about how he and Cliff worked together?
Ty blinked at him, and suddenly Ryan felt like he was under a microscope. After a long moment of study, Ty sighed. “You’re too emotionally attached, Rhino.”
“Emotionally attached?”
“Okay, call it love, then. If I were in charge of a mission and the two of you were on my team, I’d avoid putting you in harm’s way together because your judgment might be impaired by a need to protect Cliff—and vice versa.”
“What the— Love?” Rather than repeat the WTF words, Ryan took a different tack. “We’re brothers—like any team members would be—but mission always comes first.”
Shaking his head, Ty disagreed. “Maybe once…not anymore. How long’s it been since the two of you were assigned together?”
“Five years, but—”
“I bet command was talking about it even then…probably assumed you were lovers on the down low from DADT before it got rescinded.”
Ryan started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. “Shit, Ty…people have been talking about us for ages.” His smile remained in place as he thought of Mad Max calling them an old married couple.
“There’s a major problem with that theory. I’m straight. Hell, I even have an ex-wife to prove it.” He grinned and shook his head at how off base Ty was.
“I didn’t know you were married—that doesn’t work out for a lot of special forces…” Ty said. “Were you and Cliff friends then?”
“Sure. It wasn’t long after BUDs training.”
“How’d your ex feel about Cliff?”
Ryan snorted. “She was jealous as hell of all the time we spent—” He shook his head. “Oh no—nice try, cook boy. That is not why we got divorced and it wasn’t that kind of jealousy. I was too young and stupid to know better. I was just looking for someplace… Something…” He stopped sputtering for a minute, wondering if he even knew what he’d been looking for all those years ago.
“You’re twisting my words, Ty. I’m not gay,” he said quietly.
“Does the label matter? Look…” Ty paused and stared at his coffee cup for a long moment, then looked at Ryan. “I’ve known I was gay my whole life, but hid it for a variety of reasons…but being gay didn’t stop me from having sex with women. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Kinsey Scale. Sure some people are only drawn to partners of the same sex. Others are completely heterosexual. But most people fall somewhere between the two extremes.”
Ty turned away to retrieve the glass carafe, filled both cups with coffee, then continued. “My point—which seems to be taking a long time to make—maybe you’re not gay or straight, but bisexual. There’s nothing to say you aren’t genuinely attracted to women, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be attracted to—or fall in love with—a man. With Cliff.”
“You think I’m in love with Cliff?” Ryan asked and wondered if Ty noticed the breathy quality of his voice. Surely that was just because of the odd misconception Ty had. Wasn’t it?
Ty shrugged his big shoulders. “I don’t know…maybe. I’d say you spend an unusual amount of time preoccupied with thoughts of him, for someone you claim is just a friend. Even a best friend. You were certainly pretty close to a panic by the time you tracked Cliff here. And you’d been CONUS—what? All of twenty-four hours?”
Ryan caught himself about to nod, then shook his head instead. “I don’t see myself that way…”
“That way? What way is that? Some preconceived notion of how a gay man is supposed to act? Let me tell you what I saw last night. I saw two men who obviously care a great deal about each other. The two of you were joined at the hip, clearly happy to be reunited after your tour of duty. Neither of you hesitated to touch the other on the arm, the back, the thigh…and your gaze was glued to his backside whenever he walked across the room. You brought each other food and drinks without needing to ask what the other wanted—hell, you finished each other’s sentences half the time and had the silent conversation thingy going on with your eyes. You two acted like more of a couple than many of the couples in the room.”
“We’ve been told that before,” Ryan admitted.
Ty laughed. “No doubt. The thing is, you’re more free with the touching than he is. Cliff is…careful. I imagine he’s gotten used to remaining hands off—a lot of gay men in the military are that way. It keeps things a lot less complicated when you don’t send mixed signals. Hell, you’d probably have to make a pretty big first move—like maybe a two-by-four over the head—just to convince him you’re serious.”
“But I don’t—” He rubbed his chin, trying to figure where the hell he’d been going with that thought. Listening to Ty’s rapid delivery observations and taking it all in was like trying to swallow water from a fire hose. He was spilling a lot more than he could absorb at this moment.
“It’s something to think about,” Ty said with a shrug. “I guess I’d tell you not to take too long, though. You need to let the Navy know what you’re going to do—and Cliff needs to move forward with the rest of his life. With or without you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean…and where is Cliff this morning, anyway?”
Shaking his head, Ty clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Don’t you tell each other anything? What the hell did you do last night after the Super Bowl?”
With a casual shrug of his shoulder, Ryan leaned back and curved his mouth up on one side. There was no way he’d tell Ty what he and Cliff had done last night. He still hadn’t decided how he felt about it, and now, given Ty’s assertion that he and Cliff had feelings beyond friendship…
“Didn’t do a thing except crash. I was pretty wiped after the travel and the margaritas. Why?”
“Oh man…you might be trained to withstand hours of enemy interrogation, but you’re shitty at evading someone who has a pretty good idea of the truth.”
Frowning, Ryan raised his cup and sipped his coffee. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Listen, I’ve got to get back. Where did you say Cliff was working today?”
Laughter spilled out and Ty had a hard time getting his words out between chuckles. “Cliff went back to San Diego—”
Ryan straightened and set his cup on the counter with a thunk. “What the—”
“Chill. He had to meet the detective on the shooting case this morning and tomorrow he’s finishing his retirement paperwork. He’ll be back by dinnertime tomorrow night. It’s a funny thing, but Cliff had almost the same reaction as you when I asked him what you two did last night.” Ty walked to the refrigerator and removed packets of lunchmeat and a couple of storage containers and tossed them onto the counter then retrieved a cardboard box from the walk-in pantry. He started filling the box with what looked to be a very promising assortment of goodies. “I’m not going to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong—”
Ryan snorted. “Too fucking late for that. Honestly, Ty, I appreciate what you’re saying, I just don’t know if I can…well, you’ve given me a shitload to think about.”
“Here, take this,” he said, sliding it across the counter toward Ryan. “Cliff has all that health food crap in the fridge. I figure you can use real nourishment. Of course you’re welcome here any time. As far as what to do about Cliff?” Ty grinned. “Google free gay porn—you’ll figure it out.”
Chapter Seven
“Master Chief Sn
yder? I’m Kam Wagner. Nice to meet you. Thanks for agreeing to look at more photos,” the man said, flashing an ID card and a bright smile as they briefly shook hands. Kam gestured for Cliff to follow him through the electronically secured door, and they walked along the fluorescent-lighted bowels of the thirty-year-old San Diego Police Headquarters building.
Kam moved with quiet confidence, his strides long, each step rolling him up on his toes so he almost bounced as they passed through the long hallway. When they entered an open bullpen of desks and detectives, several pairs of eyes followed their progress. He exchanged a look with Detective Kingston—the man who’d interviewed him on his previous visit to the SDPD. The detective’s mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile as he glanced from Cliff to Kam and back again. Huh. Wonder what that’s about?
Ignoring the looks, Kam led the way to one of several glass-fronted offices that lined the back wall and gestured unsmilingly for Cliff to step inside. The impersonal space was a step up from the interrogation room with the two-way glass where Kingston had taken him to look at the mug books shortly after the shootings.
Closing the door, probably to give a small illusion of privacy, Kam looked up at Cliff. “Sorry about that. Nothing like taking you through a parade of gawkers to put you at your ease, huh?”
Wagner’s voice held a hint of sarcasm, and he figured this was the round of good cop, since Kingston’s homophobic attitude had clearly put him on the side of bad cop—and not in a good way.
Several notebooks were stacked on one end of the oval conference table, so without waiting to be asked, Cliff squeezed his way around Kam and rested his hand on the tall-back office chair. He gazed out through the windows at the sea of desks, catching more curious gazes. After a moment he turned to study Detective Wagner. Probably standing at five-ten in his boots, the man’s face was smooth, unlined, with no trace of a beard. His dark brown hair was worn long, the loose curls just touching his shoulders. The sleeves of his olive green Henley were pushed up to reveal smooth forearms, his jeans were worn long enough to fray where they caught on the heel of his heavy boots.