by Jay Hogan
Mark had called Michael as promised on Tuesday afternoon, only to inform him that the car park security footage had given them nothing more to work with, so there was little more they could do at that point. They still wanted him to look through their digitised mug shots, so he’d obliged by going in after work but hadn’t been able to nail an ID as yet, although he’d only made it through about half the images so far. He was going back tomorrow. And shock horror, he’d even exchanged a few texts with Josh, who’d contacted Michael to ask if he was okay. What the fuck was he gonna say to that? No, and he’d really love it if the sexy man could find time to drop by and hold his hand, or something else, for a bit? Hardly. Still, the fact he’d checked on Michael at all had left a not-unpleasant warmth simmering in his chest. One that had remained hard to shift.
Home at last, Michael had crashed out on his couch, watching a rerun of a Bulls-Celtics game, glad he only had one shift left in the week. He was still debating whether to go to the young cop’s funeral on Friday—not something he’d usually do, but he felt a strange urge to attend. Sunday was a late shift, so he’d be able to make softball practice. It surprised him how much he was looking forward to that, and he tried not to delve too deeply into the whys of that, like seeing Josh again. The man had featured in one too many of Michael’s jack-off sessions as it was. Still, at least he’d come in useful for something.
Scout was curled in his lap having forsaken his family home yet again, busy kneading Michael’s thigh, uncomfortably close to his groin.
“Unsheathe those claws and you’re in big trouble,” he warned the cat, covering his balls. The cat fixed him with a bored expression and continued his mission unabated.
“Enough.” He carried the cat through the open sliding doors and deposited him on the flagstones outside. “Home, mister.” He flicked Scout’s tail and shooed him toward his neighbour’s apartment. The animal promptly turned tail and headed off in the complete opposite direction.
Before sliding the door closed, Michael caught sight of another tenant hauling his trash to the bins in the car park. Damn. Collection day. He grabbed his own bags and followed his neighbour’s example, then locked the glass slider behind him and collapsed back on the couch. The Celtics were ahead by six points. Things were looking up.
Seconds later, as the Celtics point man was wrapping up a three-pointer, Michael felt his neck prickle. He glanced up in time to catch a moving reflection in the glass sliders opposite. Someone behind him. Shit. He spun but failed to register a damn thing before his head exploded, and he was slammed to the floor, taking half the couch with him.
A rain of blows and kicks pummeled his stomach, kidneys, and thighs from several directions at once. More than one person—had to be. Agonising pain lanced through his body, sometimes from two directions at once. He couldn’t breathe, let alone think, with no time to recover between the blows. A strangled cry spewed from his throat, all he could manage under the blitz of kicks. He dragged himself forward only to be booted to his side, rolling to his stomach to try and protect his face. Fuck. It needed to stop. Goddammit.
He wrapped his arms around his head to protect himself from the heaviest of the blows, but the force of the beating made its way through regardless. His ear split under one particularly vicious kick, and his skull rocked as another connected with his temple. His head reeled, and he was a whisper away from blacking out.
The half-empty beer bottle he’d held seconds ago lay in sight of his faltering gaze, its contents soaking the floor close to his head. If he could only get to it…. Then it was gone, and the glass coffee table exploded above him. Shards rained down on him, more than a few finding their way into his skin with stinging accuracy. Then things went quiet.
Footsteps landed close to his head, glass crunching underfoot. “Should’ve listened, Doc,” a muffled voice spoke close to his ear.
He vomited blood and bile onto the rug, too stunned to lift his face clear. The room dipped in and out of focus. He knew he had to remain conscious but… fuck, everything hurt. And nothing in his body goddamn worked. Then his head was jerked back, and a pair of Converse, blue with white laces, came into view along with a hand wrapped around the neck of a broken bottle.
“If you don’t want that pretty face shredded….” The words came to Michael with startling clarity. Shit. He tried to shout only to choke instead as blood and saliva poured down his throat and he threw up again. No….
“No one to blame but yourself, Doc,” the muffled voice continued, the jagged bottle twirling ominously before Michael’s eyes. “All you had to do was pay attention. No cops, no statement, no ID. Simple.”
Someone tilted his chin up and blood ran into his one remaining open eye. Half a face swam in and out of view, crimson, smiling, mouth covered and sunglasses in place.
“A shame to mess with such a pretty face. Not sure your patients will want you anywhere near them after we’re done. Your cruising days are over. Best you’ll hope for is a pity fuck. Or maybe I’ll sell your arse to some gang as a fucking glory hole. Lots of options.”
Michael hacked up another stream of fluid, and damn near choked on it. He tried again to shout but all that came out was a low groan.
“Hold his head,” the voice directed, kicking the collapsed steel frame of the coffee table aside.
Oh God. This was it. Michael felt his body hauled off the floor and someone pulled his head back. Three or four men, Michael decided. The hand holding the bottle drew back, and Michael cowered in on himself, praying to anyone who might be listening.
“Michael!” A voice at the door.
The bottle froze in place. Thank Christ.
“Michael?” Same voice.
God, yes. Scout’s owners. Michael tried to shout. Sobbed instead.
“Michael, what the hell’s going on? Donna’s called the police. Are you okay?”
“Fuck.” The bottle disappeared. “Later, Doc. You best change your attitude and shut your fucking mouth, or we’ll be back to finish this.”
Michael heard nothing more as his head exploded and everything went black.
VOICES SWAM in his ears, distant murmurings. A hand on his arm, a weight on his leg. He tried to pry his eyes open, but his body refused to cooperate. He lifted his arm, but something pushed it back down again.
“You’ve an IV in there, dickhead,” a familiar voice chided gently.
Cameron. Oh fuck. Fuck. Thank God.
“Welcome back.” The charge nurse patted his arm. “Jesus Christ, you do have a flair for the dramatic. Hold still.”
His eyes were wiped, his face cleaned. “Ow!”
“Baby,” the charge nurse scolded, but the man’s voice was anything but steady. “Try your right eye, it’s the better of the two. You took a fair whack above the eyebrow, same one you kissed the asphalt with, by the way, shiner’s probably gonna be awesome. The leather boys will love you.”
Michael groaned. “Don’t make me laugh.” He tried to shuffle upright in the bed, but everything hurt. It felt like he’d been hit by a freight train. “Fuck me.”
Cam snorted. “Not the way you look, sunshine.”
“Shut up.” He finally got his right eye cranked open. “What the fuck happened? Scratch that, I remember. Jesus, someone got into my apartment. Must have been when I took the trash out.”
Cam said nothing, continuing to clean his face as the washbowl water turned a fetching shade of deep red.
He winced. “Ow, ow, ow.”
Cam apologised. “You took a fair few blows and a particularly good one in the head. Lucky for you it probably glanced off your thick skull. They said the coffee table frame was covering half your body or it could’ve been worse. Jesus, Michael. Some arsehole’s taken a real dislike to you.”
The nurse set the cloth down and patted Michael’s cheek affectionately. “At least now you look less like you’ve just finished five rounds in an MMA ring.” He checked Michael’s IV and added a syringe of something to the chamber. “I take it y
ou think it’s the same motherfucker from the car park?”
Michael frowned, and fuck, even that hurt. “You know about that?”
Cam simply arched a brow and eyeballed him.
“Sorry. It was stupid of me not to tell you.”
“It was.”
Michael glanced at the syringe. “What was that?”
“Antibiotics.”
“Which one?”
“A good one. Now stop being a pain in the arse and let us do the medical shit for a change.” He started tidying and cleaning the room.
Michael frowned. “You don’t do this bedside stuff anymore, Mr Very Important Charge Nurse.”
The man’s hesitation was brief, and Michael would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention. Keeping his back to Michael, Cam bundled the bloody sheets into the linen trolley as he answered. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in getting your sorry arse back to work as soon as possible and leave it at that.”
“Hey,” Michael spoke softly. The charge nurse sighed and turned to face him, those expressive tawny eyes moist, their copper liner smudged. Now that was a first. Michael held out a hand.
Cam took it. “Okay, I admit it,” he said quietly. “You scared me. You were pretty messed up when they brought you in, bloodied face, clothes ripped, bruising from shoulder to hip, not to mention you’d been out for the count in your apartment. You were a fucking mess. So, yeah, I’ve been a bit… concerned.”
Michael managed a smug, painful grin. “Aw, you really do like me.”
“Fuck off.” Cam prodded Michael’s good shoulder. “I just can’t afford to replace you at the moment.”
“Right,” Michael chuckled and then winced with the effort. “Now tell me what shape I’m in other than a slightly fat eye and… fuck, my ear hurts. What’s with that?”
“Leave it alone.” Cam brushed Michael’s hand away from his dressed ear. “Basically, you got the shit beat out of you, but nothing life-threatening. You woke up pretty quick in your apartment but have been nodding on and off ever since, plus we gave you some analgesia after the scans and radiology were clear. Whoever it was didn’t have much time with you, from what I gather. Your neighbour got to your door quick. Said his cat leapt a metre in the air from the sound of the glass exploding.”
Michael made a mental note to get some fresh meat for Scout.
Cam continued, “Your right side took the brunt. Right forehead, split ear, but nothing you won’t heal from, though the bruising is gonna be awesome. Some contusions on your shoulder, stomach, and right kidney, but you aren’t pissing blood, so that’s a bonus.”
Michael scowled. “Yeah, fucking fantastic.”
“You spit up some blood, both in the apartment and again in the ambulance but nothing for the last hour, and the scans and stomach washings don’t show anything major, so we’ll just keep an eye on it. Bloods are fine. The team wants you to stay overnight, but I figure without due cause that’s got little to no chance of happening, right?”
Michael looked at the man sideways. “None.”
“Figured. So, once this antibiotic is through, we’ll allow you to go, under a couple of provisos. One, you aren’t on your own tonight. Concussion, remember? And two, you get your butt back here in the morning for a check-over. Oh, and you’re off for five days at least.”
“Five days! But—”
“Shut it or I’ll make it ten.” Cam’s eyes blazed. “Aside from the fact you couldn’t run a cardiac arrest to save yourself, you need to get all this police shit sorted. I won’t have my staff under threat because you’re in some bad guy’s sights.”
Michael swallowed an angry retort. The man was right. “Agreed.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and nearly blacked out.
“Whoa there.” Cam steadied him. “My point exactly.”
Christ almighty, his body felt like every nerve had been set on fire. “I’m okay. Just moved a bit quick, that’s all.” He held up the arm with the IV. “Can I get this thing out?”
Cam flicked the empty chamber and ran a little fluid through to chase the drug. “Yep. All done.” He removed the cannula and put pressure on the site. “You want an elephant Band-Aid?”
Michael sent him a withering look.
“So, that’s a no.” The nurse taped some gauze in place and stood back. “The police want a chat before you leave.”
Michael groaned. “Of course they do.”
“And you’re not setting one foot out that door without me knowing exactly who’ll be with you tonight. I’d offer my couch, but I’ve got family staying.”
“I get the message. I’ll sort something.” God knows how. Michael knew few people he could impose on like this. “Tell the cops to come in.”
Cam smirked in a way that prickled Michael’s neck. “Your clothes are in a bag under the bed. Had to cut them off, sorry. But you can borrow the scrubs, the colour’s quite good on you.”
He threw a pillow Cam’s way, but the charge nurse dodged, and it was caught by Mark Knight poised in the doorway.
Cam waggled his eyebrows at the detective. “I expect a dance next time I see you at the G, Mark. You’ve been avoiding me.”
Mark grinned. “You’re on, gorgeous. And I would never avoid you, you make me look good, I can’t dance for shit.”
Cam laughed. “Right. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to fix my makeup.”
Mark placed the pillow on the bench and took a seat. It was only then that Michael noticed the second man standing behind him. Josh. Fuck. He really, really didn’t have the energy for this.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Batman and Robin,” he sighed. “I guess you want the story in triplicate, detective?” He spoke to Mark, ignoring Josh.
“That, and we thought we’d come to offer you our frequent flyer card.” Mark smiled. “Every third assault gets you a free ride in the police vehicle of your choice and a gift box set of handcuffs. I’m sure you could find a suitable use for them.”
Michael laughed in spite of himself. “I’m sure I could.” He glanced at Josh. “What’s he doing here?”
“He lives close to you. We used Paris to try and pick up a trail.”
Oh. “And?”
“As far as the next road, where they must have had a car waiting.”
Shit. “Surprise, surprise.”
“However,” the detective continued, “we did get a description of one of them from a guy parking his car outside the apartment block as they ran past. Parts of it gel with the one you gave us of the man at the club. European, six foot, dark hair, and a tattoo of some description on the right side of his neck, but nothing more. Yours is better, but at least they tie up.”
“I guess that’s something,” Michael muttered. “There were more than two of them, I think.”
“Go on,” Mark encouraged.
He told his story while the two men listened without interruption. It was like he was almost disconnected from the whole thing, like he was talking about a movie he’d watched. That was until he spoke about the broken bottle. That’s when his voice cracked, and he had to ask for a glass of water while he got himself under control. If the other men noticed, they said nothing, for which he was grateful.
Christ. How could he have forgotten that? How different things could have ended. He gripped his hands together to quell the shaking and managed to finish. Mark clarified a few details and they all sat in silence as the detective added to his notes.
Michael was acutely aware of Josh Rawlins’s constant scrutiny. He flicked a glance the man’s direction, absurdly pleased to see him flush and look away. Not interested, my ass.
Mark tucked his notebook in his pocket and pinned Michael with a sober gaze. “I don’t have to tell you that you were damn lucky tonight. This guy clearly means business and that implies someone higher up the gang hierarchy than we’d thought. High enough to garner support and muscle to shut you up. A low-flying gangbanger couldn’t do it. He’d be hung out to dry by his bos
ses rather than risk further attention from the police. And then there’s the vexing question of how they even knew you’d been in to view the ID photos.”
Michael raised a hand. “Before you ask, no one I know, including Cameron, knew anything about that. I wasn’t about to advertise after the note. I’m not stupid.”
“Okay, so that’s a potential problem.” Mark nodded thoughtfully. “Unless they had eyes at the station. We may have a leak.” Mark flicked his gaze to Josh, then back. The other man had said nothing as yet. Whatever.
Mark got to his feet. “The doctors say you’re okay to leave but you need company the next twenty-four hours. You also need to ramp up security on your apartment before you contemplate returning or find some temporary accommodation elsewhere. For the time being, your apartment is off limits anyway, until forensics is done. Is that going to be a problem?”
Michael cocked a brow. “You’re not offering me protection?”
Mark snorted. “This is New Zealand, precious, not Hollywood. Budget won’t stretch to that. Currently you’re just a witness providing a description. If you can positively ID the guy, then the powers that be might be more forthcoming.”
Michael’s stomach sank. “Fuck. So what if he comes back to finish the job?”
Mark glanced Josh’s way again. “That’s why we suggest you stay somewhere else in the interim and get security to accompany you to and from your car here at work. Cam is organising extra security around the ER as we speak. I’m sorry, but it’s all we can do at the moment.”
Fuck. He should’ve just said no to the damn photo ID. Yeah, never going to happen.
“So, any thoughts on where you’ll stay? We’ll need an address,” Mark asked.
Michael blew out a sigh. “To be honest, no. I haven’t been here long enough to have people I can call on like that. I’ll just do a motel.”