Straight to the Heart

by S. J. Coles

  Leo tightened a hand on his shoulder and breathed his name, the sound whisked away on the waves. His breathing sped up and James fumbled his own fly open so he could work himself at the same time as tasting, seeing and hearing Leo come undone. Remembering their first time together, he pulled back long enough to suck two of his fingers, shift Leo’s legs farther apart and slide his hand behind him, seeking that warm, tight place.

  “Oh God, what—” Whatever else Leo might have said was lost in a wordless cry as James pushed in deep, seeking the spot that had reduced Leo to a quivering mess last time. His knees went weak and he clung onto James like a lifeline.

  James didn’t let up, stroking him inside while sucking and swallowing him outside. His own climax was gathering under his belly, white fire building and burning hotter with every noise Leo made.

  He made one last sweep and the younger man staggered and forced out a strangled warning, but James pulled him deeper into his mouth. Hot, salty fluid spilled into his throat. James heard his own moan as if from far away, barely detectable over the rushing wind, crashing sea and the sound of Leo coming apart at the seams. The fire in James’s belly exploded outward and down, warmth spattering into his hand and onto the sand.

  He got shakily to his feet, leaning in for another kiss, the heat and the cold and the smell and the taste all combining to rob him of words. But Leo ducked away, leaning against the wall as he fumbled his jeans back up.

  “No. No, I won’t do it again.”

  “Do what?”

  Leo pulled his coat round himself and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth like he could wipe the kisses away. “Fall for you, you asshole.”

  James’s heart fluttered. “Leo—”

  “No.” His eyes flashed in the dark. “You can’t just suck me off and think that undoes everything.”

  “I didn’t do it for that.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  Leo pushed the long strands of hair that had worked themselves free of his ponytail out of his face, glaring into the shadows, his flushed skin paling and the heat in his eyes cooling and hardening.

  “I promise I will never accuse you of murder again.”

  “You think it’s funny?”

  Cold chased away the warmth in James’s chest. He shook his head. “No. Sorry. It’s not funny. I just…” He ground his teeth. “I didn’t think the worst of you, Leo. I realize that now. Not at any point did I think you did it. I just couldn’t trust myself around you. My instincts were all over the place. It…frightened me.” He made himself stay where he was, even though he wanted to touch Leo again so badly it hurt. “I’ve never felt that way before—not with Glen, not with anyone.”

  Leo examined him for a torturously long time then dropped his gaze to the sand. “I didn’t plan on hurting anyone.”

  “You haven’t,” James insisted. “People have hurt you…including me. But I, for one, would like to try to make up what I can.”

  Leo shook his head, like he didn’t want to believe it. “What the hell are you still doing here, anyway? They flew Torez outta here yesterday.”

  “I had to give you the letter. And besides, I wanted to check out the live music you were telling me about,” he said, nodding toward the bar.

  “Try another one, James.”

  James sighed. “I’m on suspension.”

  Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Suspension?”

  James tried a lopsided smile. “Misconduct review. I fraternized with a witness.”

  “‘Fraternized’?” A corner of Leo’s mouth turned up. “That’s the dictionary definition, is it?”

  “It’s the FBI’s definition,” James said with a shrug. “It’s not mine.”

  “So what’s yours?”

  By way of an answer, James drew Leo closer with a gentle grip on his wrist. This time he came willingly. After the barest hesitation, Leo kissed him, gripping James’s hair, as though he was afraid he’d pull away. James didn’t until the need to breathe had his head spinning more than the kiss.

  Leo laughed softly. It re-lit a fire in James’s belly to see his mouth reclaiming its smile. “This is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m not that fucking stupid.”

  “Does it feel wrong?”

  “You don’t even live here.”

  James shrugged. “There’s a field office in Middletown. That’s only an hour away. I suspect I’ll be busted down to desk jockey after all this anyway.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “I think I could be,” James murmured, leaning in again, but Leo pulled back.

  “No. You’d resent it. You’d resent me.”

  “You know I’m only in the FBI because Dad was. You figured that out pretty much straight away.”

  Leo narrowed his eyes. “Did I?”

  “Sure you did. You had me all figured out by the end of that very first conversation.” James smiled. “You’d’ve made an amazing cop yourself.”

  Leo snorted. “And have to wear a suit? And follow a bunch of stupid rules?”

  “We don’t all wear suits,” James reasoned, holding out a hand. “And we don’t all follow the rules either.”

  Leo eyed the hand for a long time. “Why?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly like he was making himself say it. “Why me?”

  James dropped his hand but didn’t break eye contact. “You’re true to who you are—who you really are—even when it costs you.” Leo frowned and opened his mouth but James cut him off. “Things like this don’t just happen to me either. There’s something here, Leo. I want to find out what it is.”

  Leo examined James for a long time before a grin spread over his bruised mouth. “I think you may finally be being honest with me, James Solomon.”

  James smiled back. “I’m no good at hiding things from you. But I don’t want to anymore.”

  Leo put his head to one side, a boyish light brightening in his eyes. “Alright, James,” he said in a voice James had never heard him use before. “I’ll let you buy me that drink. But the jury’s still out.”

  “I’m good with juries,” James said, leading the way back to the stairs. “I think they’ll come down on my side.”

  “You’re very confident for a guy who’s just asked out a guy he had thrown in prison for twenty-four hours.”

  “That was Gibson.”

  Leo snorted. “You didn’t stop her.”

  James took Leo’s face in his hands. “Let me have those twenty-four hours,” he murmured, “before you make up your mind.”

  “That’s all you think it’ll take?”

  “That’s all it took for you to win me.”

  Leo turned up one corner of his mouth. “Okay, Agent Solomon. You’ve got one day. Make it good.”

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  Blood Winter

  S. J. Coles

  Excerpt

  Sparks waterfalled to the concrete floor, spattered, guttered and died into nothing around my boots. The air was filled with the firework smell of welding and my face was sweaty and itching under my mask. The radio twittered away on the shelf but I hardly registered the newsreader’s dull, professional catastrophizing. I rarely did. The real world didn’t intrude here and that was just the way I liked it.

  “You’ll need to grind that back.”

  I straightened and accepted the mug Clem held out without replying. I knew it needed grinding. He knew I knew. I’d stopped being Clement Dalgleish’s apprentice and become his partner more than a year before, but the old man hadn’t changed much more than a pair of socks in all the time I’d known him.

  I sipped the coffee, grimacing at the slightly oily taste, and checked over the rust repairs on the 1969 Morris Oxford, my sweat rapidly cooling in the chill air. When further commentary wasn’t forthcoming, I looked up to see Clem staring at the radio, his heavy white brows drawn together

  “What’s wrong?”

&
nbsp; “Nothing,” he grumbled, glaring into his own mug. “Just this shit.”

  “The coffee?”

  He grunted and jerked his head at the radio. I made myself focus on the flat, English voice.

  “Whereas there has been no direct link established between the disappearance of what are now being called ‘Blood dealers’ and any registered haemophiles, anti-haemo protest groups are labeling them ‘revenge kidnappings’, executed in retaliation for the capture and abuse of haemophiles at human hands. Haemophile Blood-dealing is still a highly controversial topic, sparking heated debate on both sides with no satisfactory resolution in sight. The public is now demanding a review of the investigation into Shelly Morris’ murder, which is still popularly believed to be an act of haemophile violence.

  “Haemophile spokesperson Ivor Novák has assured the government that all haemophiles registered in the UK abide by their registration laws and would never take matters into their own hands, but the human public remains far from reassured.”

  I switched the channel. A jaunty pop tune rattled out of the tinny speaker. It set my teeth on edge, but the round lines of Clem’s large frame eased. He ambled back to the open bonnet of the 1964 Austin Healey and bent into the cavity. I stared at the radio a moment longer, something unwelcome ghosting under my belly, then shook my head and strode across the workshop to turn the bar-heater on.

  “Any idea what that’ll do to the electric bill?” Clem grumbled from the depths of the Austin’s engine.

  “It’ll be snowing before the end of the month,” I replied, taking the air filer from the tool rack. “Personally, I’d struggle to work if my fingers dropped off.”

  “Wear gloves,” he retorted, but he was staring into the Austin’s engine and I knew he wasn’t even aware he was arguing with me.

  I started to file back the weld on the Morris, relieved that whatever had been unsettled in the air had gone.

  “Alec. Alec.” Clem had to bark my name twice before I heard him over the grind of the filer.

  “What now?”

  Clem nodded toward the front door. A dark, heart-shaped face framed by black curls was pressed against the glass, frowning into the dim interior. She waved as I approached the door, a smile warming her face.

  “We’re closed.”

  “Very funny,” came her muffled reply. “Let me in, will you? It’s bloody perishing out here.”

  I unbolted and opened the door, shuddering in the gust of winter air that rushed in with her. “What are you doing here, Meg?”

  “I’m on my way back to Glasgow,” she said, smiling that wide, brilliant smile of hers. “Been up to Inverness for a meeting.”

  “You’re a long way off the A9.”

  “So even social calls aren’t allowed anymore?”

  My gaze slid over her shoulder to where Clem stood chewing on something and watching our exchange with interest. I nodded to an interior door and led her through to the cluttered kitchen.

  “Uh, drink?”

  “I’d kill for a coffee.”

  I fired up the coffee machine. It rattled and shuddered as Meg shed her powder-blue coat and cashmere scarf.

  “You’re looking thin, Alec,” she said. “Is everything okay?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “You’ve not been ill? The damp in that old place—”

  “Meg”—I cut her off—“I’m fine. Was there something you needed?”

  She pressed her lips together, her sloe-black eyes full of concern. “It’s just been a while. That’s all.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I said, pouring coffee into our least filthy mug.

  She wrapped her hands around it but didn’t drink. “So business is picking up?”

  “It’s steady.”

  “Well, that’s good news.” She raised the mug, sipped and her face twisted.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s all the Aviemore Co-op stocks. But it’s strong.”

  She took another careful sip. “I’ll need it if I’m gonna stay awake long enough to get home.”

  “How’s everything with you?” I said, because all I could hear in the silence that followed was her waiting for me to ask.

  Her smile broadened. “Good, thanks. Really good. I got the division leader position and we’re expanding. I get to hire an assistant.”

  “That’s great.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t even remember me telling you about the division leader job, do you?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “’Course I do. You mentioned it the last time you rang.”

  “Which was?”

  “I don’t know. A few weeks ago?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Try three months, Alec.”

  I fought a sigh. “I’m sorry. This place… It keeps me busy.”

  “It keeps you isolated. Well, that and your nonexistent broadband.”

  I clamped my mouth shut on the immediate reply. “Okay, Meg, you’ve checked in on me and I’m clearly alive. Is there anything else?”

  She set the mug aside. “I just can’t get my head around why you barely come down anymore. It’s been forever since you and David—”

  I scowled. “Meg—”

  “Let me finish,” she said, firmly. “It was painful, sure. He hurt you. I know that. But cutting yourself off from all human interaction isn’t healthy.”

  “What about Clem?”

  “He barely qualifies as human.”

  “And what if I’ve decided I don’t like humans?”

  She sighed. “Believe me… I know how much my brother can screw people up. But when I think of you out here…” She cast her eyes around the messy kitchen then out of the window to the rolling hillside and the gray sky hanging low over the black mountains.

  I took another long moment to marshal my response. “I like it here.”

  “You never used to.”

  “It’s different now.”

  She nodded, but I could tell it was more in acknowledgement than agreement. “So long as you’re happy.”

  I schooled my face. “I’m happy.”

  “All right. I believe you. Just do me one favor?”

  I eyed her warily. “What sort of favor?”

  She flashed her smile again. “Get your best suit dry-cleaned. You’re coming to a club opening with me at the end of the month.”

  I blinked at her. “I’m what?”

  “A new nightclub. Lure. It’s opening right in the middle of Glasgow, a super-exclusive, members-only deal. It’s the Ogdell-Paiges’ newest project. The likes of Angus Mackie and Mayor Frederick are going.”

  “Who?”

  She tilted her chin. “Don’t be obtuse. This is a big deal, Alec.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Don’t you think we’re a bit old for nightclubs?”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “We’re the same age.”

  “Uh, excuse me. I’m a full six months and four days younger.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know—”

  “Seriously”—she cut me off—“some of the top legal firms in the country are sending people, not to mention the politicians and business executives going for the social kudos. And I was the one who got the invite. Me. Not Bryce, not Sofia, but me, Megan Carlisle from Nowhere, Newtonmore.” Her face grew serious. “This is my chance to bring in some big-name clients of my own. It’s important, Alec.”

  “Why do you need me?”

  “For moral support. Because you know how to talk to these sorts of people. And, well”—she gave an awkward shrug—“because they want to meet you.”

  Heat rose to my face. “They what?”

  She held up her hands. “Don’t bite my head off, okay? Word got around that we were at primary school together. I met Olivia Ogdell-Paige at a conference and you came up in conversation…”

  “The only reason anyone like that would want to meet me—”

  She made an impatient gesture. “No one’s going to make a move on Glenroe, Alec. We’ve already
established that legally no one can, though you still haven’t convinced me that it wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  I made an indignant noise.

  “It’s not about the estate,” she said in a gentler voice. “They’re just interested in you.”

  “I’m not interesting.”

  “You’re coming with me, Alec,” she said firmly. “I want you to spend time with people. Real people. And, well”—her eyes softened—“I miss you.”

  I chewed on that for a moment whilst glaring at the wall.

  “Please?”

  I let out a breath and nodded.

  She beamed. “That’s the spirit. Here.” She produced a fountain pen and marked the Autospares calendar with a large X on the last Saturday of the month. “It’s official. And no hotels. Stay with me. Come for the whole weekend. We’ll make a proper thing of it. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She screwed the lid back on her pen in a deliberate manner. “Try not to jump too high in excitement, Lord Aviemore. You’ll pull a muscle.”

  I fetched her coat but paused before opening the workshop door.

  “What is it?”

  I took a breath. “Have you heard from David?”

  A pause. “Why?”

  “Have you?”

  “Please don’t put me in this position, Alec.”

  “I just want to know he’s safe.”

  “Safe?”

  I ran my hand through my hair. “I heard on the radio that dealers are going missing in London.”

  “Blood dealers. David was never into Blood. Was he?” she added, eyes widening slightly.

  “No. But he was headed down a bad road.”

  “He’s many things, but he’s never been a dealer, Alec…of any sort.”

  “I know that,” I said, hearing the lie.

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a long moment, her dark eyes haunted. “He’s fine,” she eventually said, “as far as I know. But we don’t talk much these days.”

  I nodded and opened the door. Meg strode across the workshop floor, her neat heels clicking on the concrete. She turned at the front door, eyed Clem warily then leaned in and said in a low voice, “Look after yourself, you hear?”