Dancing in the Dark by Jamie Hill
Phaze www.phaze.com
Copyright ©2008 by Jamie Hill
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Dancing in the Dark by Jamie Hill
CONTENTS Dancing in the Dark Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five About the Author ****
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Dancing in the Dark by Jamie Hill
Published by Phaze Books Also by Jamie Hill "Heads or Tails" from Phaze Fantasies, Vol. III "Let the Sunshine In" from 413 Remembrance Lane Deep Obsessions Stocking Stuffers "A Night at the Inn" from Coming Together Under Fire Change of Plans Head Over Heels Giving Chase Nothing But Trouble **** 4
Dancing in the Dark by Jamie Hill
**** This is an explicit and erotic novel intended for the enjoyment of adult readers. Please keep out of the hands of children. www.Phaze.com
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Dancing in the Dark by Jamie Hill
Dancing in the Dark a Phaze Rocks novella by JAMIE HILL [Back to Table of Contents]
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Dancing in the Dark by Jamie Hill
Dancing in the Dark, Copyright 2008 by Jamie Hill All rights reserved under the International and PanAmerican Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. **** INSERT IMAGE "Phaze-logo.jpg" HERE **** A Phaze Production Phaze Books 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222 Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC. 7
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To order additional copies of this book, contact:
[email protected] www.Phaze.com Cover art © 2008 Debi Lewis Edited by Stephanie Balistreri eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-009-6 First Edition—October, 2008 Printed in the United States of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter One "Hey, good looking, how about another round over here?" Nick D'Amato tossed a twenty on the passing waitress' tray. She paused at their table, shoving wavy red hair behind one ear. Jutting out her ample chest, she glanced at the three empty beer mugs on his table. "Sure. You drinking the light stuff?" "We are," Nick's friend, Gil Gates, spoke up in a gravelly voice. "And I resent the fact that you know that. Do we look like we need to drink light beer?" Her eyes widened, and she stammered trying to answer. "Never mind." Nick touched her arm. She was a new employee at Houlihan's, their usual hangout, and probably didn't realize how much guff a bar full of cops, unwinding on a Friday night, could give her. "Three light beers on tap will be just fine." "Thanks." She smiled appreciatively, and hurried off. Gil picked up the small napkin in front of him, tearing it into tiny shreds as he spoke. "I do resent it. All of a sudden, we're three middle aged guys who need to watch our weight and our cholesterol. When the fuck did that happen?" "Seems like overnight." Sam Nielson shoved his empty glass back. "Used to be, someone like her would check us out. Now, I feel more like her old man." "Or her grandpa," Gil teased, and they all laughed. "You two are pathetic." Nick shook his head, looking at his friends. His friends were barely forty, nowhere near old. "Why 9
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so glum? I know it was a hell of a long week, but it's Friday night. No special plans?" "I haven't had special plans in months." Sam muttered, running a hand through his short brown hair. "Christ, it's been so long, I actually considered picking up a hustler." "Ooh!" Gil made a face. "That is desperate. Before you do something drastic, talk to Nick. Working in Vice, he can tell you how nasty some of those types can be. Am I right?" He glanced to Nick for support. "You're right," Nick agreed. "I know I'm right! Some of that shit might make your pecker fall off." Sam rolled his eyes as the young, scantily-clad waitress returned. She set the steins in front of them, and removed their empties. "Here you go. Three light beers on tap." Glancing at Nick, she added, "Your change?" He raised a hand. "Keep it. And do me one more favor, will you?" He tucked two dollar bills into her hand. "Play a couple songs on the jukebox? Some Springsteen, maybe something from the Born in the U.S.A. album?" She looked at him blankly. Nick smiled. "Okay, anything Springsteen." "That's Bruce Springsteen," Gil added. "He's an old guy like us." "I know who Bruce Springsteen is," the waitress replied haughtily. "My dad listens to him." She walked off toward the jukebox. 10
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The three men burst into laughter. "Was I right?" Gil snorted. "You were right." Nick nodded, picking up his beer and taking a gulp. The first sip of a beer on tap was usually so cold, it virtually burned going down. He took another long drink. "That's good." "Light beer," Gil muttered, raising his glass to imbibe. "So, what about you two?" Sam chugged half his beer, then set it down. "How are things in the romance department? If I can't get any, I might as well live vicariously through you." "Nothing new for me to report." Gil shook his head. "Eight years with the same person, ho hum." "Stop it," Nick nudged his arm. Music started in the background and The Boss's gritty voice belted out remembrances of Glory Days. Nick glanced at his friends, amazed that the young woman got it right. They all smiled and nodded as he went on, "You have what everyone's looking for: a serious, steady relationship. What are you complaining about?" Gil shrugged. "Eh, you know me. I can't complain, but sometimes I do anyways. Things are fine at home, just a little dull." He slumped back in his chair. "Maybe you need to spice things up a bit," Sam suggested. "There's an adult novelty shop down on 149th by the Hub— they have stuff like you've never imagined. Take Jerry with you, or better yet, surprise him. I saw this leather whip, almost like a riding crop. Damn, that could be interesting. You 11
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wouldn't even need to buy handcuffs. One of the perks of being a cop." "A cop in uniform, too," Nick agreed, needling his friend. Gil was the most straight-laced of the three men, steadfast about wearing his blues every day, and his sandy blond hair in a military-style high and tight cut. "Every man loves a guy in uniform. Start out fully dressed, that leather whip flying, and see how long it takes Jerry to rip those clothes right off you." They stopped talking when a couple cops from Nick's precinct walked by and nodded. The three friends nodded back, sipping their beers. The officers moved on and Nick muttered, "Maybe we should find a gay bar to hang out at. This gets to be kind of a hassle every couple weeks." Gil shook his head. "I'm not going to any gay bar. The wrong person sees us in there, and it could be all over." "Okay." Nick ended the subject that usually cropped up when they got together. Gil was a captain in charge of NYPD's fiftieth Precinct, and probably had more to risk than any of them. Nick and Sam were both detectives at the forty-first. Neither one thought their life would come to an end if word got out they were gay. Gil felt differently, and always had. "So what do you think? Want the address of that novelty shop?" Sam teased Gil. Nick smiled into his glass. "Are you fucking nuts? I'm not going into a place like that. Things are fine between me and Jerry. Just don't you worry about us. Pick on D'Amato for awhile." Sam glanced at him questioningly. 12
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Nick raised his hands. "Don't pick on me. Nothing to report here." "No hot young stud knocking down the defenses of Detective Nicholas D'Amato?" "Not lately." Nick loved his two friends like brothers, but he was not going there. Gil downed the last of his beer and belched loudly. He set the stein down with a thud and grinned. "What's D'Amato?" Sam tossed back his beer and let loose an equally loud burp. "Nothing. What's D'Amato with you?" Nick polished off his drink and stood, tossing more cash on the table. He picked up his black leather jacket from the back of his chair, and smiled at them. "You two are assholes. Always have been, always will be." "Now we're older, wiser assholes," Gil agreed. "Speak for yourself." Sam stood, adding some cash to the tip pile. "I'm horny enough to act like a kid, and let wisdom be damned. If you need me, I'll be trolling the gay bar a few blocks over." "Be safe." Nick looked at his friend seriously. "I always am, good buddy. You take care of yourself." He pointed at Gil, still seated at the table. "You, too. Take it easy out there." "Always do," Gil agreed. "See you both in a couple weeks." Nick slipped into his jacket. "Next time, no 'old man' talk. You're forty, for Christ's sake." "Some days, I feel so damned much older." Gil pressed a hand against his back, as if he was having a pain. 13
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"Jackass," Nick muttered, and nodded at Sam, who headed out the back. Parked in front, Nick smiled to himself as he walked out. Sam and Gil were his two best friends on earth, and had been since they met in the police academy twenty years earlier. It hadn't taken them long to discover they were three gay men in an otherwise heterosexual boy's club. During their weeks at the academy and afterward, they shared many nights of wild, hot, group sex. Once the novelty wore off, the men realized they were better suited as friends. Close friends, closer than most, Nick mused, still smiling to himself. They continued to be there for each other through the ups and downs of life the last few years. Recently, they'd settled into a comfortable routine of meeting for drinks every other Friday night. Nick's position in Vice usually sent him in a different direction than Sam, working Homicide. They had offices in the same building, but didn't see each other every day. Gil's precinct, in Northwest Bronx, was thirty minutes away, and in a much nicer neighborhood than their South Bronx department. The forty-first had been nicknamed Fort Apache years ago, because of the bad neighborhood and rundown precinct. Unlocking his black SUV, Nick climbed inside. Checking his appearance in the rearview mirror, he nodded, satisfied. He still had the thickest head of hair in the group. Slightly overgrown, brown wavy curls wisped around his face and neck. His eyes were a clear, dark brown. He needed glasses to read, and it pissed him off, but otherwise, he didn't feel his age. Daily workouts at the gym kept him in good physical 14
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shape. He was content, and wasn't sure why Gil suddenly felt so old. He fastened his seatbelt and pulled out into traffic slowly, driving with extra caution. He'd only had three beers, but didn't want to take any chances. His record was spotless, and needed to stay that way. The sunset cast an orange hue across the city, and he reached for his sunglasses. Slipping them on, the last of the blinding glare disappeared. Nick liked that time of night. He enjoyed cruising the neighborhood, watching the activity. Some New Yorkers preferred not to drive, taking busses or the subway everywhere. Nick loved being behind the wheel, having the freedom to go wherever he pleased. He passed the Hub; the retail center of the South Bronx. Groups of people strolled casually down the sidewalks, taking advantage of the mild spring evening. Everything seemed quiet, without incident, and he drove on. Several blocks further along, he spotted two men talking under a street lamp as it flickered on. Nick slipped into a no parking-loading zone at the corner, so he could pull up next to them. He pressed a button, lowering his passenger side window. "What's going on tonight?" The heavier of the two men leaned into his vehicle. "What are you looking for, sweetie?" He was greasy-haired, effeminate, and homely as hell. Nick clucked his tongue and started to speak. "He's a cop, Sandy," the man on the sidewalk muttered. Sandy's hands flew into the air as he scrambled back from the SUV. "I didn't suggest anything. I just said hi." 15
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"It's a bad idea to stand around on street corners, Sandy," Nick told him, raising his sunglasses with one hand. "Maybe you ought to get on home." "On my way." The man took a jogging step down the sidewalk, then stopped and looked at his friend. "You coming, Squeak?" Nick glanced at the tall, thin man. His hair was short and spiked in front, cut up over his ears, but long, to his shoulders in back. "Nice mullet. I need to see your ID." Squeak rolled his eyes at Sandy. "Apparently not. Looks like Barney Fife wants to give me some shit before I go." He leaned into the vehicle. "Do you have a hard-on for me, or something?" "Show me ID, or get in the car," Nick said firmly. "Sorry, Squeak!" Sandy ran down the sidewalk, vanishing around the first corner. "Fuck me." Squeak opened the door and got in. Nick took off without speaking, readjusting his sunglasses and driving purposefully down the road. He turned left, went a few blocks, and turned right. He finally tossed a sideways glance at his passenger. "Was that an invitation?" "Oh, yeah." Squeak smiled. "You never answered. Do you have a hard-on for me, or what?" "Come see for yourself." The younger man leaned across the console between their bucket seats, and grabbed Nick's crotch. "Whoop, there it is! Just for me?"
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"Only you." Nick cupped the back of his head, caressing. "Damned, new fangled automobiles. A roomy front seat used to make sex in the car so much easier." "My place is close," Squeak whispered, rubbing Nick's erection through his jeans. "Your place is a room, and you share the bathroom with six other guys. It's disgusting. No thanks. We'll be at my house in a few minutes." "All right, then. We'll just have to make do." He tugged at Nick's jeans, popping the snap open. Squeak unzipped the fly and slipped his hand inside. "Jesus!" Nick groaned, sliding down in his seat to give the hand better access. "Like that?" His fingers circled Nick's bulging cock and squeezed. "Duh. Yeah." Squeak chuckled, pulling Nick's cock out into the open air. He drew the skin up and down. "You do like that." With his other hand, he reached for the cock head and swiped a drop of pre-cum from the slit. He sucked the finger into his mouth seductively. "Christ, babe. Don't make me come, yet. It'd be a fucking mess." "I know." Squeak released his staff. "And you'd rather make your mess fucking. I can live with that." He moved back to his side of the car. "We're almost there." He turned onto his street in the quiet, older neighborhood. "I'll shower fast." 17
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"I might join you." Nick pressed the button on his garage door opener, and drove straight in. He lowered the door, relieved he didn't have to shove his cock back into his jeans. They got out of the SUV and Squeak smiled at Nick's package, dangling over his zipper. "That looks dangerous." He flicked the zipper tab. "Back off, buddy. The only dangerous thing will be this cock, impaling your sweet ass." "Ooh, promises, promises!" Squeak started stripping as he entered the house and finished at the bathroom door. "Give me five minutes and then join me. Bring the lube!" "You got it." Nick smiled as the bare-assed man disappeared into the bathroom. He always wanted a few minutes in the shower alone, ostensibly to cleanse the street grime from his body. Nick left a toothbrush and paste in there for him, along with the younger man's favorite soap and shampoo. He strolled to the fridge and grabbed a can of beer. Popping it open, he looked at the red light blinking on his answering machine. It wouldn't be an emergency, because the department used his cell phone. Anything urgent came through on his cell, including calls from Sam or Gil. No, the message was from someone like his mother. Someone he didn't want to talk to with a throbbing erection springing from his pants. He tossed back the last of his beer and set the can on the counter. The message could wait. His hard-on couldn't. Five minutes had passed. He stroked his cock. He was primed and ready. 18
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Nick stripped in his bedroom, grabbing a small tube of lubricant. He entered the steamy bathroom. "You ready for me?" "Come in and find out how ready." He pulled the curtain aside, stepping into the back of the tub-shower combo. Adjusting the liner to hold in water, he faced the other man. "Well, let me see." Squeak turned to him, his long, full erection swaying as he moved. "Oh, yeah." Nick eyed it appreciatively. He ran his hands over the man's wet hair and face. "God, you smell all minty fresh and clean. I smell like beer." "I love the way you smell. Beer never tastes as good as it does on your tongue." He stepped closer, pressing his lips against Nick's. Nick groaned, pulling the wet body closer. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue down the man's throat. "Mmm," Squeak pulled back. "You're a hungry man tonight. Me likey." "I like the transformation from Squeak to William," Nick murmured, caressing everywhere he could reach on the man's body. "You're the only one left in the world who calls me William." He jutted his pelvis out encouraging Nick to cup his cock and balls. "Will." Nick sighed, cradling the organ lovingly. "No more Squeak here tonight." "No more," William agreed. 19
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Their eyes locked. "Have you been safe?" Nick hated to ask, but had to. "Every time." "Even oral?" Nick searched his face. "Even oral. Every time someone touched me, I wore a condom. None of them broke." Nick dropped to his knees. "Guess it was just mine that busted, then." He grasped William's thighs and drove his mouth forward. The long cock slid easily, familiarly, down his throat. William gasped with the sudden onslaught, steadying himself against the tile wall. "That's just you. The size of the monster you tried to sheathe." Nick chuckled, his mouth pleasantly stuffed, unable to speak. He knew William was being generous. Both of them were well endowed, but neither could technically be called a monster. He didn't mind hearing it, though. A little egostoking never hurt anyone. Gripping the firm thighs in his hands, he bobbed his head back and forth, alternating sucking with swallowing, letting the cock slide down his throat. Snaking one hand around the man's tight ass cheeks, he pried them open. He froze when he felt a solid, plastic plug where William's asshole should be. Nick pulled back, releasing the cock. "What did you do?" "I put in a butt plug for you. Save you a little stretching time."
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"Christ!" Nick groaned, more aroused than ever. "That's the fucking sexiest thing I've ever seen. I could come, just thinking about it." "You could? I've been horny since I put it in. I need relief, babe. Suck me off, then I'm all yours." "With pleasure." Nick slid his mouth over the tip of the wet organ again, and sucked. They were always in a hurry, the first time each night. Once their lust was sated, the next round could go slower, last longer. Nick gobbled and sucked with abandon. Soon he was rewarded with shudders, and groans. Pulsing spurts of warm, sticky cum shot down his throat. Nick swallowed then sucked some more, coaxing the last few streams loose. "Fucking-A!" William hollered. "You could make a bundle with that mouth if you'd join me on the dark side." Nick laughed and rose, switching their positions so he was in the water stream. He held his face under the showerhead for a moment, letting the warm spray douse him. He adjusted the handle, making the water hotter, then faced William's backside. "Nah." He fondled both ass cheeks. "I don't take direction well. I like to do my own thing." William squirmed. "I like to do your thing, too. Pop that plug and put your thing in me. I want it, bad." Nick grinned, stroking slick lube over his shaft. He tugged the butt plug from William's ass and set it on the ledge. Using one slick finger, Nick inserted it where the plug had been. "Hot damn. You're open and ready for me."
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"Told you. I used the biggest plug I had. Nothing compared to your gorgeous cock, of course. Ram it in me, baby. Let me feel it." "Just a sec..." Nick ground three fingers into the fluttering anus, making sure his lover was indeed ready. He eased his hand out and nudged his cock head to the puckered opening. "Here we go." "Yes!" William backed against him. "Hold still, sexy. Let me work this in." Nick's cock pushed past the tight outer ring, and the rest sank in easily. "Oh yeah, there we go." "Good." William clung to the slick wall, panting. "Feels so good." Nick wrapped one arm around the man's stomach and pulled him close. "You telling me the truth," he whispered in William's ear. "You always say you want it bad—or tell me how good it feels. I only have sex with you. You have it every day, with multiple partners." William turned his face to meet Nick's. "I've told you before, it's different with you. Much different, much better." Nick sighed. He had told him that before, almost every time they made love. Nick asked the same question, William gave the same answer. He needed to hear it as much as William needed to say it. He rammed his cock deep, felt his balls churning with a huge, pent-up load of cum, and an intense, much needed orgasm. "Fuck, yeah," he muttered, as the waves of pleasure washed through him. "Fill me up!" William called, holding on as his body accepted the pummeling. 22
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Nick gasped as he shattered. He heard a piercing moan in the distance, finally realizing it was his own voice, crying out with release. "That was incredible," William whispered, when the shuddering stopped. "I came again, all over the shower wall." Nick chuckled as he eased his cock from the clasping anus. He reached around and heated up the water one last time. "We'd better clean up while there's hot water left." William faced him. "Was it good for you?" "It was perfect." Nick kissed him gently. "Now hand over that soap. I'm not in the mood for a cold shower." William grinned and passed the soap. **** After another intense round of fucking, they lay sprawled across the bed. Nick dragged William into the circle of his arms. "God, you're good." He kissed the top of the younger man's head. "We're good together," William agreed. "I look forward to seeing your number on my cell phone." "I wish it could be more often. My schedule is so goddamned quirky, and you're not available the other half of the time..." he paused. "I hate that." "I know. All I can say is give me as much notice as you've got. I'll try harder to make myself available. But a man's gotta earn a living." "I hate that, too," Nick murmured into the top of William's head. "I want you to quit turning tricks." 23
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A soft chuckle came in reply. "I know you do. And you know why I can't—I'm an unskilled thirty year-old man. I refuse to make minimum wage flipping burgers, when in one week I earn enough to pay my bills for the month." "You have skills." "Sure, I do. But excellent sphincter control and a nonexistent gag reflex aren't things you put on a resume." "Stop it." Nick swatted his arm. "You always make fun of my concerns. But you know—" "Shhh." William pressed one finger to his mouth. "I know. It's a dangerous profession, and I need to be careful. I have myself tested regularly. No one touches me without latex, except you." "It's dangerous in a lot of ways. You look half your age, and that attracts some real nut-jobs." William raised his head and smiled. "Yeah, I hear ya. You attracted me, too." Nick grinned. "Not because of that mullet. I'm not with you because you look young, and I'm never going to beat the crap out of you. Another guy might." "Don't worry so much." William patted Nick's chest. "I've got the trusty taser you gave me. I never leave home without it." "Good. That's a start, anyway. If you lived in a better neighborhood—" "If, if, if. If a frog had wings, he wouldn't thump his ass when he jumped. I'm putting away a nice chunk of change by keeping my expenses down. Maybe, one day, I'll have enough to try something new." 24
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"I'd help you, you know. Anything you wanted to do. Go back to school—" "Stop!" William rose above him on the bed. "I'm not going to be your kept man. I'll make my own way in this world, like I always have. Quit giving me shit about it, and do something useful." He leaned down, putting one of his flat nipples in Nick's face. Nick licked the nub until it puckered, grazing the tip lightly with his teeth. "You're not going to be my bitch?" "Nah, I'll be your bitch, anytime you want. Just on my terms. Suck my tit." He growled with pleasure and sucked the nub into his mouth. When it was taut and crimson, he switched sides and worked on the other. "God, I love that," William murmured. Nick wound his hand around William's shoulder-length hair and tugged. With his mouth pressed against the flat chest, he said, "I like hearing that from you. I want to make you feel better than anybody ever has." "You do." He jumped as Nick bit the nub he'd sucked into his mouth. "Ah, yes, you definitely do." "I'm going to fuck you, now. This is going to be a good one. I want you on your back, with your legs spread wide. I can play with your dick and your tits that way." "Yes, please." William scrambled onto his back and assumed the position. Nick grabbed the lube and crawled up between his lover's wide-open legs. He squirted a blob into his palm and stroked it over his turgid cock. "I haven't gone three times in one 25
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night since college. Until I met you, that is. Your sexy body keeps me hard as a rock." "Yeah, baby," William groaned. "I love it when you're hard as a rock. I'm in heaven when I'm sucking your cock—or being fucked by it." Nick eyed the puckering rosebud, and slowly inserted a greased finger. He hesitated. Bending down, he licked a circle around the hole, then tongued it. William's body shuddered, the tight outer ring resistant. Nick grinned to himself as he pushed forward. He'd win this battle. He always did. The hole relaxed and his tongue slid inside. It closed around him in the most deliciously tight sensation. Tongue fucking his gorgeous ass was one of the many things Nick loved to do to William. He pried the butt cheeks apart further, pressed his face deeper. William kicked his legs in the air, his moans loud and probably audible to anyone within a half-block range. He jerked his ass up and down frantically. Nick glanced up and saw the man's cock weeping pre-cum. That was probably the only thing that could get him to leave his comfortable position. He eased his tongue out, past the anal ring, and breathed deeply when he could. Reaching for the shaft above him, he licked the cream oozing from the slit and dripped down the shaft. "You're fucking killing me," William muttered. "Perfect." Nick chuckled, stroking his own aching cock. Denied for too long, his rod leaked a long, sticky stream of jism. He swiped one finger across it, reached up, and stuck the finger into William's mouth. 26
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"Mmm." He licked and sucked like it held ambrosia. "You're ready, too. Come on, baby. You promised me a fucking I wouldn't soon forget." "Yes, I did. And I always make good on my promises." He rose to his knees, spreading the grease on his shaft once more before inserting his cock head at the entrance to his fluttering anus. "Your ass is ready for me. It's not even putting up a fight." "Why bother?" William smiled up at him. "You always win." "Remember you said that. Maybe I should tape record it for posterity." "You're probably the one who doesn't want a tape recorder on during our sessions, Detective D'Amato." "Oh, yeah." Nick scratched his head. "I forgot. What the fuck. Get ready, baby." He pressed his cock forward, until it was fully seated. Drawing it out again, he pushed back in, repeating the agonizingly slow movements over and over. William squirmed beneath him, thrashing out as Nick grabbed his nipples and twisted. He reached for his own cock and pulled on it anxiously. "Come on," Nick grunted, driving his rod in and out repeatedly until he thought neither of them could take any more. William's cock erupted white, sticky cum over both of them. Nick marveled in the sight, and in the deliciousness of the situation. He exploded, spurting load after load of hot cum into the tight channel that held him a willing captive. He seemed permanently attached to the man beneath him, and it felt glorious. "Damn," he murmured. 27
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"I second that," William whispered hoarsely. "That was something." "Not sure I can move." Nick panted, trying to catch his breath. "Stay, then. I feel fucking fantastic, just like this." "Me too. That was great." The chilly night air rapidly cooled the spunk on Nick's stomach, and he needed to clean up. "I'm going," he finally muttered, pulling his cock out slowly. "No..." William's legs flopped open and closed. "Never wanted you to leave." "I know the feeling. Let me clean us up, and I'll be right back." He stood, glancing at the clock. Three-thirty a.m. "You don't have to go, do you?" Nick looked at William nervously. "Nah, I can stay the night. Especially, if you promise me another ride like that in the morning." He grinned up from the bed, looking sweaty, sticky, and sexy as hell. Nick smiled, heading to the bathroom for a washcloth. He liked that idea very much. "You got it, babe." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Two The cops in the Homicide Division of the forty-first precinct didn't like calling Vice cops for anything, let alone help. Nick thought the rivalry was stupid. He called who he needed, when he needed them. It satisfied him to know Sam felt the same. "Got something I think you should see," his friend said into the phone the next day. "I'm not working. I'm at the grocery store, for Christ's sake. My head feels like a fucking gong exploded and my mouth's full of cotton." Nick thought about adding and my balls are sore from a night of hot sex, but he knew better. While Sam liked to talk about his conquests, Nick didn't. He didn't need the inquisition, or the grief he'd get when the guys found out he was boinking a hustler. Some things were better left unsaid. "Let me rephrase that. I got someone I think you should see. She's one of yours." "Excuse me?" Nick's head instantly cleared as his cop instincts kicked in. One of yours meant a prostitute. Sam knew he was acquainted with a good many of those who trolled their part of the Bronx. "She's messed up. We hoped you could help us I.D. her. Actually, we might need dental records." "Shit." Nick looked into his nearly empty cart. He could shop later. The girl couldn't wait. "Where are you?" 29
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Sam gave him the address, and he jotted it down. "Ten minutes." "Try coffee and a couple aspirin. Works for me." "Yeah, thanks." Nick disconnected the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He abandoned the cart and headed out at a brisk pace, stopping only long enough to buy a black coffee from the coffee bar up front. Aspirin, he kept in his glove compartment. He tossed a portable flashing light on the top of his SUV and took off, driving as fast as he could with coffee in one hand. The location Sam gave him was in Hunt's Point, a particularly bad section of town for prostitution. It wasn't far from Longwood, where he lived, and had picked up William the night before. There were lines most people knew not to cross. William wouldn't hang out in that neighborhood. If Nick ever found out he did—he hesitated to think about what might happen. A crowd had gathered, and uniformed officers tried to control them. Nick parked and downed the last of his coffee. He pulled out the leather wallet holding his badge and hurried to the cordoned off area. Flashing the shield at a uniform, he lifted the plastic tape and ducked under. "Hey." Sam approached him. "How you doing?" "Better." Nick looked past him, at the body lying like a twisted doll on the sidewalk. "Until this." "Yeah. She's bad, Nick. They took some pictures to show around and help us I.D. her, but we have to be careful. The pictures aren't pretty. Show the wrong person, you'll be cleaning up puke." 30
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"I won't be." Nick pressed past him, moving closer to the body. "Jesus." He winced. Judging from her clothing and body type, the woman was young, probably early twenties. A bloody halter top barely covered her exposed breasts. There was no hiding dozens of thin red slice marks across her entire chest area. Her face looked the same, but the cuts were deeper. She'd been slashed beyond recognition. Nick leaned down, squinting to get a closer look. Congealed blood matted her long brown hair, but something golden and shiny lay beneath it. "What's that?" "What?" Sam moved closer. "There." Nick pointed. He glanced around, spotting a stick nearby. Picking it up, he used it to reach into the woman's hair and retrieve the object. A gold locket on a thin chain dangled from the end of the stick. "Son of a bitch!" Nick brought it closer. Sam examined it without touching. "Good eyes, man. I couldn't get past the face." He turned to another officer. "Grab an evidence bag, will you?" "Take a picture of this, too." Nick let the chain slide off his stick into the clear plastic bag the officer held open. "We could show it around. Some of the other girls might recognize it." "Sure thing." The officer carried the bag away. Nick looked back at the body. "What the hell did he use, a machete?"
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Sam shook his head. "Not sure. He obviously didn't leave the weapon behind. The medical examiner said she died between two and four a.m., roughly." "Did you run her prints?" "Of course. Nothing matched." Nick looked at him. "If she'd been arrested as a hooker, she'd be in the system. So either she's brand new, or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time." "Unlucky girl." "No shit." Nick sighed. "Third hooker to turn up dead in South Bronx in as many weeks." "I know. It's hard to believe it's the same guy, though. His M.O. changes every time." They stared at the body for a few minutes, before Sam nudged his elbow. "So, what were you doing between two and four a.m.?" "Why, you like me for this one? I've never really been into knives." "Aw, shut up. I was just gonna tell you what I was doing then. Or should I say, who I was doing then. His name was Brian." Sam grinned. Nick winced again. "You shut up. Nielson, you're a sick man. Anyone who can think about that, while looking at this..." He shuddered. Sam bumped shoulders with him. "You're just sore because you can't remember the last time you got any."
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"Okay, yeah, right. I'm getting out of here. Where can I get some pictures and a description of this girl? I'm going to hit up some contacts on the street." He motioned to his partner, standing by an unmarked car. "Jeff can fix you up. I tell you, D'Amato, you don't know what you're missing. I woke up feeling like a million bucks this morning." Nick looked at Sam's devilish grin. He'd always been a good looking man, with the sexiest dimple in the cleft of his chin. And then there were the eyes. Piercing blue, they could look right through a person. They sparkled like gems when Sam smiled. There was a time when Nick thought the sun rose and set in those eyes. He was over that now, but occasionally, when Sam looked at him just right, his heart still clutched. Smiling, he couldn't resist throwing Sam a bone, though he knew he'd never hear the end of it. "Don't feel too sorry for me." He walked toward Sam's partner, Jeff. "Hey!" Sam shouted, running to catch up. "What are you talking about? Are you seeing someone? Who is it?" They reached the car, where Nick motioned for Sam to be quiet. He turned to Jeff. "Hey, Sloan. Got some pictures and information for me? I'm going to hit up a few contacts, see what I can find out." "Perfect, thanks D'Amato. Here's what we've got." He handed over pictures and a printout with vitals on the woman. "You might be careful who you show those to." "I know. Cleaning up puke. I got it." Nick glanced through the photos. They were obscene, but necessary. It was vital to 33
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identify this girl as quickly as possible. "Got one of the necklace in here?" "Yeah, it just printed out. Should be the last one." He found it. "Great. Okay guys, I'm off. I'll call your cell if I make a hit, Nielson." "Yeah, you definitely need to call me." Sam stared at him pointedly. "See ya." Nick smiled and walked off, under the police tape and back to his car. Getting in, he shut the door, and buckled up. Pulling out his cell phone, he decided to send William a text message rather than phone him. He tried typing on the small buttons, then swore and pulled out his reading glasses. Slipping them on so he could see the keypad, he typed, Where R U? Less than a minute later, a reply popped up on his phone. He accessed the message and read it. Working. What's up? Tapping buttons carefully, he answered, Need to C U. PD business. It took two minutes for the final reply, and Nick forced his mind to think about anything other than what William was doing, during those long minutes. His phone beeped, and he read the message. Meet me @ C-Store @ eleven. He breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing he cut William's trick short, made him happy. Who visited a hustler at ten-fuckingthirty on a Saturday morning? Nick headed toward the convenience store they frequented, parked out front and started inside. He could use another cup of coffee while he waited. 34
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As he pulled open the front door a boy charged out, running straight into Nick's waist. "Hey! Watch it, there." He grabbed the kid by the shoulders to keep him from falling. "You okay?" "Let me go!" The black haired boy jerked away. "Take it easy, kid. I'm a cop. Just wanted to make sure you were okay." Startled dark eyes met his, and the boy clutched his jacket tight around his waist. "I'm fine." He tried to move around Nick. Sensing something amiss, Nick placed a hand firmly on the boy's shoulder. "You sure? You're acting kind of wonky, kid." He flicked his wrist, backhanding the boy's jacket loosely. His hand met a solid thud. "Hmmm. What do we have here?" Against the boy's resistance, Nick unzipped the jacket and a Playpen magazine fell to the ground. He raised his eyebrows at the boy, who stared up at him with fear. Nick leaned down to pick up the magazine. "Tony!" he hollered into the store. "Did the young man purchase this item?" The tall, thin clerk stepped to the front door. "Rotten little bastard! Hell, no, he didn't pay for it." The boy cowered as if he were about to be hit. Nick didn't miss the subtle movement, and wondered how often the kid had been hit in his approximate ten years. "Throw the book at the little thief!" Tony yelled. The child cringed as Nick laid a hand on his shoulder. "Now, I don't think that'll be necessary. What's your name, kid?" "Joey." 35
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"Joey what?" Nick asked patiently. "Joey Ramirez." "Okay, Joey. My name is Detective D'Amato. I work with the Vice Squad, arresting the most dangerous, rotten criminals in this neighborhood. I don't think that's you, is it?" "No, sir." He shook his head vehemently. "I didn't think so. I tell you what I'm going to do. I'm putting your name in the system, Joey Ramirez. Next time you get caught stealing or breaking any laws, this will show up, and you'll have two strikes. You know what happens when you get three strikes, don't you?" He shook his head fearfully. Not much in the state of New York, but the kid didn't need to know that. "You don't want to know. Keep your nose clean, and you won't have to worry about it. And spread the word among your friends. Tony here presses charges. Next time someone gets caught stealing, he won't get off as easy as you did." "I will." He nodded, still nervous, but looking slightly relieved. "Get out of here. And remember what I said." He released his hold on the kid, who took off. The boy ran half a block before stopping to look back. "Thanks," he called. Nick smiled, stepping into the store. "Christ, they start young, don't they?" He opened the magazine to the centerfold and folded it out. A buxom blond wearing nothing but a smile spread her pussy lips for the camera. Nick gave a low whistle. 36
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"Give me that!" Tony snatched it from his hands. "Supposed to be in a plastic bag. Little shit must have ripped it open." Nick shrugged. "So how's it going, Tony? How's the family?" "Fine. Rosa's going a little stir crazy, staying home with the twins, so she usually stops by here every day. If she caught me looking at this, I'd be a dead man." "Better get it put away, then. Wouldn't want those babies to grow up without a daddy. I'm just here after a cup of coffee." "Help yourself." Tony motioned toward the pot as he returned the magazine to its shelf. Nick filled a paper cup and reached for his wallet. "It's on me, Detective." The clerk raised a hand. "That was a six dollar magazine." Nick raised his eyebrows. "Price of pussy's gone up." "Tell me about it." Tony leaned against a broom. "The piece I got cost me food and diapers for two babies." Chuckling, Nick glanced toward the front door. "Worth every penny, my friend. You treat Rosa right. She's a sweet girl." He watched the door open, and William walked in. The younger man didn't acknowledge his presence, just walked to the back of the store. Nick raised his cup. "Thanks for the coffee." "Anytime, Detective." Tony returned to the counter. Nick strolled to the back of the store, where William studied boxes of crackers. He'd changed clothes since Nick dropped him at his place, and styled his hair using gel to 37
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make the front stand up, big and spiky. The back fell to his shoulders in true mullet fashion. "Hey. What's with the eighties hair?" Without looking at him, William smiled. "I was in an especially good mood this morning. Felt like doing it up snazzy." "You look like the lead singer for Whitesnake, or was that Motley Crue?" "I don't follow eighties bands, metal or otherwise. I only know Springsteen because he's always on your CD player. So, what's up?" "Who the fuck uses a hustler at ten-thirty on a Saturday morning?" Nick muttered. "A very wealthy businessman whose wife is out for the morning, shopping. He spends as much as she does, and I must say, probably gets more for his dollar." "Fuck." Nick looked down. When he started this line of questioning, it never ended well for him. He wished he could get past it, but didn't see how. "Whatcha need, D'Amato?" William asked softly, trying to change the subject. After eight months, it was obvious he knew how Nick felt about his chosen profession. "Another hooker was found dead this morning. This one was sliced up pretty badly." "Shit. Got an I.D.?" "Nope. That's why I'm here." "Got pictures?" "Yeah. They're bad, Will. Just so you know that." William inhaled, nodding. "I can handle it." 38
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Nick passed over the stack of pictures. "Approximately five foot two, one hundred pounds, early twenties. Long dark hair, possibly wearing the gold locket in the last photo." "Lord almighty." William shuffled through the stack quickly. "It's going to be hard identifying her from these. I can spread the word, though. Find out if anyone matching her description comes up missing." "That'd be great. The M.E. can use dental records, if they have something to match them to. She must have a family somewhere." William looked him squarely in the eye for the first time. "Not everybody has a family, D'Amato. You should know that by now." "I do. I'm sorry, Will. I wasn't thinking." "You're always thinking, Detective. Your mind is whizzing a hundred miles an hour, right now. I can almost hear it." William spun one finger in a circle. "You apparently have a great deal to think about." "I guess you're right. You're a pretty smart guy, you know that?" "I do know that." He took a few steps, adding a wide sway to his hips. "Some of the choices I've made in my life have been damn near brilliant." He winked at Nick. "I'll let you know if I come up with anything." "Will I see you later?" Nick hated the whine in his voice. It was pathetic, even to his ears. William didn't stop, just kept walking toward the front of the store. "I'll call you." He pushed the glass door open, and stepped outside. 39
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**** Brilliant choices. Nick glanced into his rearview mirror. Had he made any decisions in his life that he deemed brilliant? Growing up gay in an Italian Catholic home hadn't really been a choice. He hadn't chosen to be gay anymore than he'd chosen to be Italian or Catholic. The three labels were thrust upon him. He'd never been much for going to church, like his mother, or researching his heritage, like his father. He had chosen to actively pursue the gay lifestyle, rather than hide from it, like some guys he knew. His family was supportive, though they didn't talk about it much. Both his brothers and all three sisters were married, with varying numbers of children. They seemed to love having him around, and often said what a good uncle Nick was. His mother was a spunky gal who raised six children on a cop's income. He could talk to her about anything, and she'd listen with calm understanding. She repeated often, she only wanted him to be happy. His father was a retired Captain with the NYPD, and held the same attitude about gay cops the department did—don't ask, don't tell. Nick was used to that, and could live with it. He tried to show interest in the things his father liked, though sports had never been his thing. He faked a lot of interest in the Yankees, whose stadiums—both old and new—were located just minutes away. A guy living in South Bronx had to love the Yankees. 40
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A few of his co-workers knew he was gay. It would have been impossible to keep something like that from his partner. Trace Bennett was a good old country boy, redneck through and through, caring more about NASCAR and his souped up truck than his partner's sexuality. Both men knew they had each other's backs, and that's what counted. Nick cruised the streets of Hunts Point, watching people warily. Everyone was a suspect in this murder investigation, until the cops could narrow it down. His phone beeped with an incoming text message, and he pulled over to read it. It was from William. See Candy @ Quickie Mart on Southern Blvd. She might know something. He punched buttons on his keypad in response. Thx. Call me later. He waited for further communication, but there was none. Nick turned his car around and headed back to Longwood, and the Quickie Mart convenience store. His mind raced on the drive back. Thoughts of the three dead girls interspersed with thoughts of William, and how he hadn't been so lucky in life. His mother was a strung out hooker. He had no idea who his father was, but the man she lived with took it upon himself to provide discipline in the household. After one too many beatings, William ran away from home at the age of fourteen, turning to the only thing his mother had taught him, how to survive on the streets. Nick was amazed he hadn't succumbed to drugs, which cut short so many lives in that world. William swore he never wanted to be like his mother in that regard, and had avoided the junk like the plague. 41
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He was remarkably well-adjusted for someone in his situation, Nick thought. Given a little more time, and using the persuasion tactics which served him well in his job on the streets, Nick hoped, one day soon, to change William's line of work. It was his number one goal in life. His number one goal that day was to identify hooker number three. He forced his thoughts away from his lover and back to the job at hand. He approached the Quickie Mart, and noticed three women standing in a cluster out front. Nick parked and approached them slowly. A thin, scraggly blonde, smiled at him through heavily painted lips. "Hey sugar. Looking for something special?" "Yeah, Candy." A tall brunette moved next to him. "I'm sweet as candy, baby." Her deep voice clued him in to the fact that she was a man, dressed as a woman. Razor stubble on his chin confirmed it, poking through thick pancake foundation. "I'm sure you are. I'm actually looking for a girl named Candy. Squeak said I might find her here." "Squeak is one straight up dude." The third woman, a young, pretty African American, stepped forward. "I'm Candy." "I'm Detective D'Amato with the forty-first. We're investigating the murder of a working girl in Hunts Point. She was about five foot two, maybe a hundred pounds, and young, like you. She had long dark hair," he pulled out the last photo from his stack, "and might have been wearing this gold locket." 42
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She studied the picture. "I don't remember the locket, but she sounds like a chick I met, not too long ago. She hung around the Mickey D's over at the Point. Couple days ago, she doesn't show up anymore." Nick nodded. Lots of new, young hookers spent time on restaurant row in Hunts Point. It also made sense that the perpetrator might have kept the girl for a few days before killing her. He hated like hell to think about that, but it was an unsettling fact in many of these cases. "Got a name?" Candy shrugged. Nick's voice softened. "She was messed up pretty badly. I understand you don't like getting too friendly with cops. But right now, I'm not interested in anything except identifying this girl. Whatever we find out may help get this creep off the streets." Candy fidgeted, and finally said, "It might be Chelle. Michelle. Something like that." Excitement coursed through him. He could usually tell when a snitch was bullshitting him, and this girl looked sincere as hell. If anything could make working girls cooperative with the police, it was the possibility of a serial killer targeting them. "Michelle, or Chelle. Is there anything else, Candy? Any little piece of information that might not have seemed important at the time?" "Well, I don't know. She bitched that Mickey D's charged her for water. Said back in Jersey, cups of water were free." "Jersey? That's good! Anything else?" She seemed to think about it, before shaking her head no. 43
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Nick pulled a twenty from his jeans, tucking it in the front pocket of her shorts. "Thanks, Candy. This might just be the break we need." "Sure." She glanced quickly at the bill in her pocket, then up into his eyes. "Thanks. You want a blow job or something?" He smiled. "Tempting, but I'll have to pass. I want to get this information to the Homicide cops ASAP. You take care now." He looked at all of them. "Be safe out here. Stay in groups, if you can." "We will," Candy nodded, and the others concurred. They murmured good-byes as he climbed into his SUV and phoned Sam. "Nielson," his friend snapped into the phone. "Hey, Sam. I might have a lead for you." "God damn, I'll take it! I'm hitting my head against a fucking brick wall, here. What you got?" "She could possibly be a girl by the name of Michelle, or Chelle, who'd been hanging around restaurant row in the Point. She disappeared a couple days ago." "Michelle, or Chelle," he repeated. "It's a start. Got anything else?" "She mentioned Jersey. That was all my informant could remember." "Hot dog!" Sam whooped into the phone. "Now that is something. I'll get on the horn to the boys in Jersey, see if they have any missing persons matching her description. Thanks, D'Amato. Sorry for all the rotten things I said about you." 44
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"You didn't say anything rotten." "Oh, I was thinking them, then. Never mind, I take them back." "Asswipe. Keep me posted, okay?" "I will. Thanks again." He disconnected the call. Nick snapped his phone shut and looked at it. He was surprised to discover it was barely two p.m. It felt much later. With nothing left to do at that point, he was at loose ends. He wanted to call William, but resisted the urge. He had to stop acting pathetic, and get on living his life. William said he'd call. So Nick headed toward the grocery store, to finish what Sam's morning call had interrupted. **** It was nine thirty that night when Nick's phone rang. He'd just polished off his fifth beer, settling in for a long night alone. "Yep," he answered. "Nick, it's Sam. We got a hit on that description. I just spoke with Michelle Hanson's mother. She lives in Jersey City, and her daughter took off two months ago. Get this—the kid is seventeen. A fucking minor." "Seventeen? I thought the M.E. said she was in her twenties?" "He estimated, I guess. The mother couldn't identify the clothes, but she gave her daughter a locket matching our description for Christmas a year ago, and the kid always used to wear it." "Sounds like a possibility." 45
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"Yeah. The mother is preparing for the worst, anyway. She and the girl's stepfather are gonna go wake up their dentist, get the dental records, and head this way. They'll be here tomorrow." "Christ. That's going to be a rough one." "No joke. Not sure I'll sleep tonight, thinking about it. Damn." "Anything I can do? I'd be there, if you think it'll help." "Thanks, pal. You did your part. We'll know tomorrow if it's the right girl. Then all we have to do is catch this fucker." "Piece of cake, for the boys in blue from the forty-first." "Right." Sam snorted. "Take it easy. I'll talk to you tomorrow." "Good luck." Nick punched off his phone, tossing it aside. He felt good about possibly helping identify the last victim, and felt lousy at the same time. Lousy for her folks, who had to see her slashed beyond recognition. And strangely enough, a little sorry for himself. He tried to decide if he was melancholy about being alone on a Saturday night, or was it something more. You did your part, Sam had told him. The Homicide boys didn't need his help solving the case; they were prepared to handle it on their own. For some reason, that stung. He was back to feeling lousy. His phone rang again, and he snatched it up. "Yeah." "Hi there." William's dulcet tones caused his cock to stir. "Well, hey. Where are you?" "Just getting ready to call it a night. I wanted to hear your voice before I turned in." 46
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"It's early. Want to come over?" "I'm beat, babe. If you recall, I didn't get much sleep last night. It's been a busy day. I just want to pass out." "A busy day, huh?" Nick scowled. "And then there's that. I'm too tired to deal with it tonight, Nick. I just want to grab a bite to eat, and crash." "I could make you something." His voice was taking on a pleading sound, and he tried to quell it. "Thanks, but like I said, I just want to sleep." "Come here. I'll fix you a steak, you can have a shower, and get some shut-eye. Don't you rest better here, than there?" "I do. I just want to make sure you understand—" "I understand. I'd come get you, but I've had a few too many. Grab a cab?" "Sure. See you shortly." He hung up. Nick smiled. He set his phone down and stood, heading into the kitchen to fry up some food. **** "That was great." William shoved back his plate. "You're a terrific cook." "I prefer chef," Nick informed him, clearing the plates. "Oh, yes sir, chef, sir. Well, thanks for the fabulous meal. I'm going to hit the shower." "Help yourself to whatever you need." "Thanks, babe." William gave him a quick kiss, then headed to the bathroom. 47
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Nick loaded the dishwasher, then stripped off his clothes on the way to his room. He'd finished two more beers while preparing the food, and could barely keep his eyes open. He wanted to sleep, and forget the worries of the day. He vaguely heard William enter the bedroom after his shower. Nick yawned and rolled onto his back, tossing open the covers. "Feel better?" "Much better." William crawled between his legs, nibbling up one thigh, then the other. "What are you doing?" Nick's eyes were closed. He was almost asleep. "Just a little something to help you sleep. You've had a long day, too." "I have," Nick agreed, squirming as warm breath reached his balls. "I had so much to drink, I probably can't get it up." "Let me worry about that," William murmured, his mouth covering Nick's semi-flaccid cock. He licked and sucked until a solid erection filled his throat. "There, we go. I knew you could do it." "I think you did it." "We both did. Now I'm going to do this..." he sucked the staff firmly, "and we're both going to enjoy it." "I know I will," Nick sighed, allowing his lover to satisfy him in a most pleasing way. He still felt woozy, and a little groggy, but a new emotion had crept in. Arousal tugged at his senses as William licked and sucked him generously. In a matter of minutes, the need to come surpassed all other feelings. "Christ on a crutch, that feels good." 48
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William chuckled, his mouth too full to speak. He quickened his pace, driving Nick toward an intense orgasm. His mind floated, balls churned, and cock erupted in a spew of creamy white seed that William ingested greedily. When the younger man had finished, Nick's genitals were clean as could be, and he was happy and satisfied. "Thank you," he murmured, more asleep than awake. William crawled up and into his arms. "You bet. Sleep well, lover." "You too." Nick closed his eyes, settling in comfortably. He heard William reply softly, "I always do, when I'm in your arms." Nick smiled, and drifted off. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Three Nick woke to the aroma of bacon, eggs and coffee. His head pounded, and he threw the back of one arm over his eyes to block the morning sun. "Too bright," he grumbled. "Hey, good morning, sunshine. How you feeling, or need I ask?" William's cheery voice grew louder as he approached from down the hall. Nick opened one eye and looked at him. He wore nothing but boxers, and a wide, cheesy grin on his face. "What are you so fucking happy about?" "It's a beautiful day, and I didn't have too much to drink last night. What's not to be happy about? Say, I hope you don't mind, I threw some clothes in the washing machine." Nick tossed his legs over the side of the bed and stood. "I gotta pee. Of course, I don't mind. My house is your house. I used to know that in Spanish, but now I only remember the word casa." He went into the bathroom, used the toilet, and washed up. When he returned to the bedroom, William was there, with a plate of food and a cup of coffee. "Don't know Spanish, either. Course, I barely know English. Guess I shoulda finished high school, huh?" He grinned, handing over the plate. He set the cup on the nightstand. "Get back in bed. Relax." "This looks good. Thanks." He sat and started eating. "It is good. And you called me a great chef." William shrugged. "I can do breakfast. Eggs are easy." 50
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"I'm never up early enough to fix breakfast. When I am, I'm usually grabbing something on my way to work." "I've got lots of time in the morning." He smiled, sitting at the foot of the bed. Nick shot him an irritated glance. "Speaking of which, what you did last night? It was nice—better than nice, actually, but you didn't have to do it. I didn't invite you over for sex. I told you that." "I know. You made me a nice dinner, and I wanted to thank you." "Some people think the words 'thank you' are enough. You don't have to pay back every little gesture with sex." He shoveled in a few more bites of food. "Christ, that Candy chick yesterday—I tossed her a twenty for her help, and she offered me a blowjob, right there on the spot." William smiled. "Did you take her up on it?" "Hell no!" Rolling his eyes, Nick sipped his coffee. "You know better than that." "What?" William stood, pacing the room. "No one ever said we were exclusive. You're free to fuck whomever you want." "I'm not wired like that, and you know it. There's only one person I'm interested in fucking these days." "Oh really?" His eyes lit up. He shoved his boxers to the floor, and his cock sprang up. William stroked it back and forth a few times. "Anybody I know?" Nick slid his dishes onto the bedside table. "Get over here, you little cocksucker. You start waving that thing in my face, you know I gotta do something about it." 51
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"Oh yeah?" William took a step back, a wicked grin on his face. "Just what do you plan to do about it?" Nick stood, kicking off his own boxers with one smooth motion. "I can think of a few things." He moved toward William, stroking his own rod. Laughing, William backed all the way into the living room, with Nick following him. They fondled themselves, maintaining eye contact, until William hit the sofa, and couldn't move back anymore. Nick stepped close to him. "Got you cornered, now." "So, what are you going to do about it?" "Depends." They were touching, but each still fingered his own erection. "I could suck you off, and then fuck your brains out, if you like." "Mmm, I like. But let's skip the blowjob for now, and get straight to fucking. Remember the other day, the butt plug?" Nick nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. Slapping his butt, William said, "I'm ready for you, stretched, lubed, horny as hell, ready to explode." "Jesus," Nick panted, feeling the same way. He grabbed a small blanket from the back of the sofa and spread it out. William turned around and bent over the blanket. He rose on tiptoes, so his ass was the perfect height for Nick. "Sweet Jesus," Nick repeated, caressing the smooth butt cheeks. He spread them wide and saw the plastic plug in William's anus. "Damn, that looks nice." Working it loose, he fucked the younger man with it a few times before removing it. "Oh, yes! Please..." William groaned. 52
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"Want more of that? How about something bigger?" "More," he breathed, as Nick reamed his ass with one finger. The plug held some lube in the tight hole, but not enough. "Shit! Hang on." He eased his finger out, went for a tube of lubricant, and returned quickly. "Here we go." Greasing his throbbing cock, Nick nudged it against the puckering hole. "Oh yeah. That's what I want." "You got it, babe." Nick pressed forward, past the tight anal ring, until his staff was fully encased. "Holy hell. You're so fucking tight, I'm not gonna last long." William hugged the sofa, thrusting his ass higher. "Fuck me! Come on, make me feel it." Nick grabbed his hips and obliged, working into a quick, pounding pace. He'd worked up a sweat, by the time his balls churned with imminent release. "I'm close." "Yeah, oh yeah. Give it to me! Give me all you got!" Nick pummeled the hot ass beneath him, exploding as waves of seed pulsed into the tight channel. He gasped and held tight, until he was sure he could stand on his own. "Son of a bitch," he murmured. "Yeah. Me too. Hope this blanket is washable." Chuckling, Nick pulled his cock from the fluttering hole and stepped back. "Have a little accident, did we?" "Not an accident. Planned. Definitely planned." William picked up the wet blanket and wiped his sticky cock with it. Nick glanced down. "I must say, I do enjoy your plans. But this is a hopeless cause. You're gonna need a shower." 53
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Circling one hand around his neck, William pulled Nick's face close. "I won't be in there alone, I hope." Nick smiled. "Not a chance." **** It was early afternoon when Sam finally called. "It's a positive match. Hooker number three is seventeen-year-old Michelle Hanson." Nick exhaled. "Good news, I guess. Not so much for her parents." "Yeah, that was tough. They're nice people. They get to go home and plan a funeral." "Hell." Nick rubbed one hand down his face. "We need to catch this fucker, Sam." "We're working on it. We actually had another lead come in overnight. The boys are checking it out." "I'd like to help. Anything at all I can do—" "I told you last night, you've done your part, buddy. We appreciate it tremendously. We'll handle it from here." He sighed. "Can you at least keep me posted? I'd like to know if anything breaks." "I can probably do that. Thanks, Nick. Enjoy the rest of your weekend." "Yeah, you too." He snapped his phone closed, knowing neither of them probably would. Nick paced around his house for awhile, unsettled and on edge. William was gone. Nick had no idea when he'd be back. Suddenly, he didn't care for their arrangement anymore. 54
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The image of slashed, seventeen-year-old Michelle nagged at him. Nick dressed, deciding to drive to his parent's house. Various family members gathered there on Sunday afternoons. They'd probably be watching baseball, but he didn't care. He had the urge to be with family. **** The work week dragged. Nick settled into some semblance of a normal routine, trying to put other worries out of his mind. It was easier said than done. He hadn't seen William, but they talked once a day, and planned to meet Saturday. Late Friday afternoon, when the office was normally winding down, activity picked up. Their lieutenant raced through, slamming doors as he went. Nick looked at his partner. "What's up with that?" "Beats me." Trace shrugged. He stood, stretching his legs. "I'll touch base with Stacy up front, see if she has any idea." "Yeah, any excuse to chat up Stacy works for you," Nick teased. Trace slicked back his hair and smiled as he strolled to the receptionist's office. Nick rocked back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs. Another long night loomed. The slasher case remained forefront in his mind most of the time. He felt uneasy, dissatisfied. After speaking with his mom last weekend, he had pretty much figured out what he needed to do. He had to talk to William. "Holy crap!" Trace hurried back to his desk. "That wacko got another one. Right here in Longwood, a couple blocks off 55
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the Hub. Get this—it was a guy this time. A hustler, like the others—young, thin, good looking. Or so they think. He doesn't look so hot now." Nick's heart leapt into his throat. He struggled to yank his cell phone from his pocket. As he punched buttons, he asked, "Did it seem like the guy kept him a few days, like before?" He'd talked to William yesterday, but not yet today. Trace shook his head. "Don't know any more details. Might check with your friend Nielson. He's on the scene right now." Nick grabbed his keys. "I'll do that. Thanks, buddy. Have a good weekend." Rushing out the door, he raised the phone to his ear. Voicemail clicked in. "It's me," William's message said. "You know what to do." Beep. "God damn it, Will," Nick barked into the phone. "The slasher got another one, a guy this time. Call me back the minute you get this, I don't give a fuck what or who you're doing. Call me!" He punched at the phone and shoved it into his pocket as he jogged to his car. The Hub was minutes away from the department, but late Friday traffic moved at a crawl. Nick thought for a moment about parking and running to the scene, but tried to maintain composure. He eventually got there, parked, and rushed to the police barricade. "No one past this line." A rookie uniformed officer with beady eyes folded his arms across his chest. "I'm a detective, God damn it," Nick muttered, pulling out his shield and flashing it in the man's face. 56
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"Sorry, Sir. Go ahead." The man's face reddened, and he stepped aside. Nick slipped under the plastic tape and hurried to where the cluster of cops huddled. He strained to get a glimpse of the body, with no luck. Pushing past a few people, he finally reached Sam. "Hey," he said, still trying to see the corpse. "Hey." Sam glanced at him. "Good news travels fast, I see." "Want to tell me what's so good about this?" "Not one damned thing. He's messed up worse than the girls were. Looks like the guy may have had him a few days, torturing him, before finally putting him out of his misery." Nick put a hand on Sam's shoulder and moved him aside to get a look. Long, bloody brown hair was the first thing he spotted, and he choked in a breath. Relief washed through him. His phone rang, and he stepped back. "Sorry," he told Sam, and moved away from the crowd. "Hey," he croaked into the phone. "Nick, what the hell's up?" William spoke in rushed tones. "I got your message. The slasher got a hustler?" "Yeah. When I couldn't reach you, I nearly broke my neck, trying to get to the scene. The kid has long, dark hair, is all I can tell. The rest is a bloody mess." "Shit. Sorry to hear that, man. What a nightmare." "It's my nightmare," Nick growled into the phone. "If this asshole is going to start torturing guys—right here in Longwood—then you and I need to talk. I can't handle this." "Sounds like we should talk. I can rearrange my schedule, if you want to come pick me up." 57
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"So, what? You'll pencil me in for tonight instead of tomorrow night?" "Please don't start this shit with me, Nick. I know you're upset. I'll be waiting out front of my apartment building. How soon can you get here?" "On my way." He snapped his phone closed, shoving it in his pocket angrily. Glancing over at the crime scene, he saw Sam was busy, and probably wouldn't notice he was gone. He slunk off, back to his car, squealing his tires as he peeled out. William stood waiting for him on the sidewalk, and climbed into the SUV as soon as it pulled to a stop. Nick stared at him sullenly. "Drive," William instructed. "I know you're mad as hell, but I don't want to do this here. Just please drive." Without a word, Nick slammed the car into gear and headed home. It was a quiet trip. When they arrived, he pulled into the garage and lowered the door. Stomping into his house, he went straight for the fridge, and grabbed a beer. "Can you hold off on that for awhile?" William crossed his arms. "If we're going to talk, I'd like you clear-headed." "I'm not so sure you would." Nick slammed the can on the counter. "I think some beer might take the edge off." "Nope." William shook his head. "You got something to say, just say it. You're acting like I fucking killed that guy." "Is that what you think?" Nick took a step closer. "You think I'm upset about some kid I've never met? It sucks, absolutely, and I wish to God it had never happened. But I'm upset about you, Will. That could have been you." 58
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"But it wasn't. You can't live your life worrying about what might happen. You might get in a car wreck tomorrow. A lot more people die in car wrecks than get killed by some crazyass serial slasher." "I'm careful. As careful as I can be, anyway. You put yourself at risk every damn day, Will. All of a sudden, that's not acceptable to me anymore." "What are you saying, Nick? You want to break it off? I'd understand if you did. Although usually it's the lover breaking it off with the cop—because cops put themselves at risk, every damn day, too. Some people don't choose to live with that, either." Nick took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He touched one palm to William's cheek. "Of course, I don't want to break it off. I've given this a lot of thought. Seems like I've had nothing to do but think, all damn week." William leaned in to the hand. "There goes that mind, whizzing again." "Always." Nick caressed his face. "We've been seeing each other almost nine months now. At first it was exciting, dirty fun. That's all I thought it was." William smiled. "Dancing in the dark. That's what you said you wanted. Nothing more." "I don't feel that way anymore. I want more. I want you, Will." He gazed into the younger man's eyes. "I love you." "I love you, too, baby. But what we've got has to be enough. I don't have any more to give." "Sit down. Please." Nick settled them both on the sofa, and held William's hand. "I've been thinking about this. We'll 59
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move. I can change precincts. We can go to Northwest Bronx, if you want, although I'm not sure I want to work for Gil. But there are other cop shops up there. We'd still be close to my family that way. Or, if you'd rather, you can choose another borough, and we can move there. I'm not too crazy about living in Manhattan, but I could adapt." "What are you talking about?" William shook his head. "We'll get away from here," Nick insisted. "We can go wherever we want. We'll be together. I'll even put a ring on your finger, if that'll make you happy. I'll help you find another job—" "What makes you think I want another job?" William stared at him blankly. "Or a ring on my finger? You're really jumping the gun here, D'Amato." Nick went on. "I sort of talked to my mom about you last weekend. No names, job descriptions, or anything, of course. She'd love to meet you. She even thinks my father would accept you into the family—he might give you crap about your hair, and will probably try to drag you to a Yankee's game, but—" "Nick, stop it." William stood. "I'm not sure where all this is coming from. I know you're embarrassed about my line of work, but I'm not. I don't need a change, or a family to take me to ball games. You gotta understand that, right now." "How could you not want to change your job?" Nick blinked in disbelief. "I'm giving you a way out, here. We could go somewhere that nobody knows you, and start over." "Somewhere that nobody knows you, you mean. Are you prepared to leave your friends Gil and Sam? Would you really 60
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rather leave, than let them discover you're fucking a hustler on the weekends?" Nick stood next to him. "No, I'd really rather be able to fuck you whenever I damn well please, and not have to worry who's doing you when I'm not. And worry about what they're doing to you." He reached for William's hands. "I want to come home to you every night, and make dinner together, and sit on the back porch and watch the sunset." "What if that's not what I want, Nick?" William blinked back tears. "What if that sounds so God damned boring, I'd probably go crazy if I had to live that lifestyle?" "Oh." Nick dropped his hands. "I guess I never considered that. You don't want a normal life?" "No, I don't." William moved toward him. "That doesn't mean I don't want you. I want you, very much. The way things have always been." "And what if I don't want them that way anymore?" Nick swiped the back of his hand over his face. He'd be damned if this kid would see him cry. "Sure you do." William smiled, wrapping his arms around Nick's waist. "You love me. You love fucking me. Show me, baby. Show me how much you love it." He pressed his lips against Nick's mouth. "God damn you," Nick muttered, sinking into the kiss. This wasn't what he wanted at all. And it was the only thing he wanted on earth. Fisting his hand around William's long hair, he tugged the man's head back, devouring his neck. "Oh, yeah." William fumbled with Nick's buttons. "This is what we both want. What we both need. Fuck me, baby. 61
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Throw me on the sofa and fuck my balls off. I want you to make me scream." Nick couldn't envision anything else. They ripped at each other's clothes, and when they were both naked, he grabbed the lube from the drawer where he'd left it the last time. His cock was aching and ready, oozing pre-cum when he stroked slick lube from base to tip. William scrambled onto his back on the sofa, raising and spreading his legs wide. Dropping to his knees between them, Nick suckled each of his lover's nipples roughly before pulling up, and looking him in the eye. He worked his cock into William's tight opening, saw the man flinch at his abruptness, and forged ahead anyway. William wanted to scream. Nick was damn sure going to give him what he wanted. "Oh, Jesus," William moaned, when Nick's balls slapped against his ass. "You sure know how to take a guy seriously." "You asked for it," Nick grunted and thrust. "I'm not sure what the fuck you want out of this life, but I am sure what you're gonna get right now. Hang on, baby. You asked for this." William's eyes rolled back in his head as Nick pounded into him. "Fuck, yeah," he muttered, deliriously. "That's good. It hurts so good. Do it, baby! Do it!" Another few deep thrusts and William's cock erupted in a shower of creamy cum. He shuddered and gasped as he came, and Nick watched every second of it. When he finished, Nick gave in to his own release and let go, shooting a load of seed deep into his lover's ass. He pummeled a few more 62
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times until he was spent, then collapsed on William's thin frame. They lay motionless for several long minutes. Nick finally turned his head and whispered into William's ear, "I'm sorry." "Don't be." William cradled Nick's face with both hands. "That was just what I asked for. Just what I needed." "I don't understand," Nick murmured. "I know you don't. Just hold me. Everything's gonna be okay. I love you, baby." "I love you, too." Nick worked to calm his breathing. His pulse raced, and his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest. At that moment, he didn't see how anything was ever going to be okay again. **** Their next lovemaking session was slow and gentle. When they were both spent, drained, they lay flat on their backs in bed, head to feet. Each rubbed fingers lightly over the other's legs and genitals and they talked quietly. "What's got you so upset these days?" William asked carefully. "Everything. Nothing. I don't know." Nick inhaled and blew it out. "My birthday's next week. I'm going to be forty." "So? Didn't you tell me Gil and Sam were already forty? They seemed to have survived that particular rite of passage." "I guess. Gil's bitching about getting old. Sam fucks anyone with a cock that smiles at him. I don't want to end up that way." 63
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"You are not your friends." William rubbed Nick's thigh firmly, then patted it. "You're a great guy. You should probably be looking for someone to settle down with." Nick yawned. "Don't want to think about that now. Just want to lie here, with you." He nuzzled William's foot. "We can do that," William agreed, and they were quiet for awhile. He finally asked, "So, what do you want for your birthday?" "I've got all I need, right here." He squeezed William's leg. "I heard Springsteen's tour runs through New York soon. Maybe you'd like to go see him." "I've seen him six times. It's a great show." He raised his head, looking William in the eye. "Unless you'd like to go with me? It'd be fun to take you there." "Um, probably not so much. Not sure about crowds, and all that." "Okay." Nick dropped back to his pillow. "The shows are probably sold out, anyway. I'd have to find a scalper, which is illegal. I'd really hate doing anything illegal." William laughed. "That's why I've never accepted money for sex with you. Didn't want to corrupt you into breaking the law." "Thanks for that. And all this time, I thought it was because the sex was great." "Of course it was." William grabbed Nick's foot and jiggled it. "I was just joking." The night was quiet, their moods calm. Nick decided to broach the subject one last time. "I think it's great, too, Will. I just don't know why you don't want to be monogamous with 64
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me. I'd try not to be boring. We could do whatever you wanted in the evenings. If you'd only—" "Nick, stop." William sat up. "I wasn't exactly truthful with you before. The kind of life you described doesn't sound boring, it sounds wonderful. Just not for me." He rolled up onto one arm so he could see William's face. "Why, not for you? Are you embarrassed about the life you've lived? Because if we moved—" "Nick." William gazed into his eyes. Nick froze. Something wasn't right. "I'm sorry, Will. I still don't understand." "I hadn't intended to get into this with you, but I guess I need to, if we're being honest with each other." Nick simply stared. "I'm an addict." "An addict," he repeated, trying to process the thought in his mind. Over the past nine months, he'd never once seen an indication of such a thing. "What drug?" He glanced at William's forearms. They were smooth and clear. He hadn't visibly injected anything. What could it be? "What?" he snapped louder. "It's not exactly what you think." Nick lunged forward, grabbing William's arms. "Tell me!" "I'm a sex addict, okay?" He blurted it out, waiting for a reaction. Nick was nonplussed. "Are you yanking my chain?" "No. Sex addiction is a real disease, with support groups and the works. I've got to have sex, more often than most people." 65
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A slow smile spread across Nick's face. William scowled. "Before you say you can handle that, hear me out. It's not just sex, but the kind of sex. I need excitement, and, okay, I'll say it, danger. Sometimes things get rough and raunchy as hell. Here's the part you're really going to hate." He looked down, then up into Nick's eyes. "It has to be with all kinds of people. Different people every day. Strangers are preferable." "You are fucking kidding me." Nick stared at him, but neither man smiled. "I didn't want to tell you. I never dreamed you'd start to get serious about me." Climbing off the bed, Nick paced around the bed. "You're not the only one who never dreamed..." He didn't finish his thought. He could barely comprehend what he'd just heard. "I'm sorry," William said quietly. "I'd like to think this doesn't have to change things between us, but I'm afraid it will." "Now you're joking, right?" Nick shook his head. "This changes everything." "Damn it." William rose from the bed and went to the front room. Nick followed, watching him gather his clothes and dress. "What are you doing?" "I'm leaving, of course. You don't want me here." "I never said that. I'm in shock right now. I need time to absorb this."
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"I'm sure you do. Take all the time you need. You know how to reach me, if you want to talk." He headed for the front door. "Will, wait. I do want to talk. You said something about support groups—have you considered anything like that? Maybe I could help you." He paused, one hand on the doorknob. Glancing back at Nick, William smiled sadly. "I thought about it, sure. But I kept coming back to why bother? I mean, who am I hurting, really? It's kind of like being gay—it's not something I chose, but it's my reality. And actually, it's a hell of a lot of fun." "You seriously feel that way?" Nick's body began to shake with an emotion he couldn't quite place. Rage? Indignation? He gripped the sofa to steady himself. "Yeah, I do. I like my life, Nick. I'd like it better if you remained a part of it, like you have been, but I'd understand if you can't. Think about it. Call me when you're ready to talk." He opened the door. "You can't leave at this hour. It's the middle of the night, for Christ's sake." Nick stared out into the pitch black. "My favorite time." William smiled. "I've always felt something like a creature of the night. Good-bye, Nick. I love you." He slipped out, closing the door behind him. "Will!" Nick shouted, but the door remained closed. Should I go after him? What would he say? He really did need to process the information he'd just received. Flopping onto the sofa, he cradled his head in his hands. He wasn't entirely surprised to find out about the sex addiction. He'd heard it said before about prostitutes. 67
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Something wacky in their mindsets enabled them to have sex with strangers day after day. The idea that William enjoyed it—actually wanted things dangerous and dirty—floored him. That's what he had to wrap his mind around. He started to shake, and realized he was still naked. Grabbing an afghan from the end of the sofa, he wrapped it around him. Too much to process. Too much to understand. He wasn't sure he'd ever get through it. William's words rang in his mind. 'Why bother? Who am I hurting?' Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he buried his face in his hands. He didn't have many answers, but he definitely had one. "Me," he said aloud. "You're hurting me." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Four Nick's detective skills helped him solve most problems facing him. The ones he couldn't solve, he chose not to think about. It was a simple system that made his life much easier. Usually. He stared at his phone the following Friday afternoon. Since William walked out of his house, the week before, they hadn't spoken. Nick was stubborn; he knew William was equally hard-headed, if not more so. Neither of them wanted to be the first to cave in. Some leads on the serial slasher crossed his desk. Leafing through the notes, a surge of panic gripped him. He'd been so irritated and angry with William, he'd forgotten to worry about him. Before this week, they'd spoken every day. If he didn't keep in contact, and William disappeared, would anybody else notice? He glanced around the nearly empty office, pressing William's number in his speed dial memory. It rang several times. Nick held his breath. He really didn't want to go out and track him down. If William didn't answer, he'd have to. "Yeah." The voice who answered sounded glum and unhappy, not like William at all. "Will?" Nick bit his lip. "Yeah." His voice softened. "Hey, D'Amato. What's up?" "I, uh..." He suddenly felt stupid as hell. The truth sounded like a lame excuse he'd cooked up to phone the man. "Aw, damn it. I was worried about you. I just got some information 69
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about the slasher, and I realized I hadn't talked to you in days. If anything happened to you, would anyone know it?" "Of course," he scoffed. "Sandy and T-Bone stay over most nights. Sandy's pimp kicked him out. I tried to tell him no pimps, but some guys are afraid to call their own shots." "Who's this T-Bone?" "He's new, a skinny black kid with long dreads. He's gonna have to cut them off, though. They're getting kind of skanky. Hard to maintain hygiene on the street, sometimes. I let him shower here, when we have hot water." "This is the life you've chosen," Nick murmured under his breath. "What?" "Nothing. I'm glad you guys are watching out for each other. There's safety in numbers. You still have your taser?" "Yes, Detective D'Amato," William said dutifully. "I'll be fine, sir. Oh, get this! T-Bone's the lucky one. He found a sugar daddy for the weekend. Guy offered to pay him a grand to come home with him for three days. Lucky shit." Nick bit his tongue. He'd offered William a hell of a lot more than that, but apparently, it wasn't what the confused man wanted. "Hope he saw the money first. Sounds like a scam to me." "Course he did. We're not stupid, D'Amato. We get paid up front." "No, you're not stupid." Nick needed to end the call, before saying something he'd regret. "I can't help it if I worry about you. Do you mind if I call you every couple of days, just to check in?" 70
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"If you want. Take it easy, dude." William ended the call. Nick squeezed the phone in his hands. If William was in front of him, he could imagine squeezing his neck, trying to shake some sense into the stubborn, sick man. He stood, shoving the phone in his pocket and heading from the office. He was meeting Sam and Gil at Houlihan's, and he felt like tying one on. Maybe getting good and drunk would make him feel better. He knew it wouldn't, but he decided to try it anyway. **** "Hey, you start without me?" Gil approached the table. Nick had two empty steins in front of him, and was working on the third. "Thought that damn waitress would have cleared these away by now. Sit down. You have some catching up to do." "What are we celebrating?" Gil raised his hand to the waitress, and motioned to Nick's beer. "We're celebrating life. And how much it sucks." Nick tossed back the last of his beer. He raised one hand and snapped his fingers, without making eye contact. "You got her trained?" Gil grinned. "I do if she wants a tip. She knows what I'm drinking." Gil watched their usual waitress approach with two foamy mugs of beer. "Apparently, she does. Evening, Donna." "Hey, Captain." She set their drinks on the table and removed Nick's empties. "This one's in a mood tonight. I'll keep bringing him beer, if you promise to drive him home. If he thinks he's going to drive, I'm cutting him off." 71
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"I'll see he gets home," Gil agreed. "In fact, give me your keys, D'Amato." He held out one hand. "Fuck you." Nick chugged half the new beer. Donna put one hand on her hip. "I don't even have to dial nine-one-one. This place is lousy with cops. And the fact that you carry a shield isn't going to win you any favors, Detective. So hand over your keys, and behave like a nice young man, if you want to continue to drink here tonight." Nick scowled at her as he pulled his keys out, tossing them at Gil. "There. Happy?" "Yes." Gil pocketed the keys. "Yep," Donna turned to walk off. "Now, just keep your pants on. Anybody that starts streaking in here might have to deal with Guido, the bouncer. Just remember, Guido pinches as he helps you get dressed again." Nick looked into his beer stein. "She's threatening two gay guys with a sexy, Italian hunk named Guido? That's funny." "I believe she's just threatening you, buddy." Gil crossed his arms. "Now come on, tell me what's got you so riled up tonight. Life didn't suck two weeks ago. And last time I talked to Sam, he told me you'd been holding out on us. He said you've got somebody on the side. Now, we can wait for Sam to get details, or you can start talking to me. One way or another, you're going to spill it." "Nope, nobody special." Nick felt pleasantly tipsy, but sober enough to keep his secrets about William. He wasn't ready to talk about it, because he didn't know what was going to happen. The thought of losing William hurt like hell. The 72
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thought of learning to live with him, the way he was, didn't feel much better. "That's not the way I hear it." "Neilson's full of shit. I didn't tell him anything." Nick glanced up in time to see Sam reach the table. "I just got here, and already I'm in trouble. What did I do?" He shrugged off his jacket and sat. "Hey, Donna's back." He raised his voice. "Hi Donna! Can I get a beer over here?" Gil looked at Sam. "D'Amato's in a mood. Apparently, life sucks, and all that. Just so you know, I have his keys. One of us will be driving him home." "What's up with that?" Sam glanced at Nick. "If anyone's in a funk, it should be me. I thought we had a lead on this slasher son-of-a-bitch, but it fell through. We're back to not a god-damned thing." "Fuck!" Nick swore. If they caught the serial killer, he'd have one less thing to worry about. "Watch it." Donna appeared from behind him. "There's a lady present." She set Sam's beer down. "Hey, Detective Neilson. Hope you're in a better mood than Grumpy, over here." Nick plastered a forced smile on his face. "Another beer would help." "Better slow down," Donna muttered, walking off. "Where's that waitress with the red hair and big tits?" Nick looked around. "She was an airhead, but at least she kept her opinions to herself." "What's up, Nick?" Sam asked seriously. "This isn't like you." 73
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The urge to spill his guts, unburden his soul, surged through Nick. He decided to tell his friends a little bit of what bothered him. "All right. You guessed it. Guy problems." "What else?" Gil muttered, exchanging glances with Sam. "Yeah," Sam agreed. "Men. Can't live with them, can't kill them—when you're a cop, anyway." Nick shook his head. "But sometimes, you'd just like to take one by the balls and shake some sense into him." "Who is this guy?" Gil asked. "His name's Will. We've been seeing each other for almost nine months." "Nine months?" Sam blurted out. "You're kidding me! You've kept this guy from us, for nine months? What kind of friend is that?" "There were reasons," Nick said calmly. "He's shy. Never really wanted to go public. I was okay with that, for awhile. Recently, I started thinking that I wanted more. Had this whole fantasy built up in my mind, in fact. Shit, I was talking about rings, and introducing him to my family." "No." Gil's eyes widened. "Yeah. Then sadly, I discovered it was a one-sided fantasy. He likes things just the way they are. He has no interest in my family, a ring, or anything as boring as suburbia. Shocked the hell out of me." "Damn," Sam said softly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, man. That does suck." "Doesn't know what he's missing," Gil murmured. They sipped their beers quietly for a few minutes, until Gil spoke 74
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again. "Well, if it's any consolation, my life sucks right now, too. Jerry left." "Left?" Sam repeated. "What do you mean, left?" "Pretty much what it sounds like. Packed his stuff and moved out. Eight years was about his limit, I guess." "Shit," Nick muttered. "I'm sorry, Gil. That sucks, too." "Eh." He shrugged. "We were more like roommates at the end, than partners. He was unhappy, and I wasn't all that thrilled. I just didn't want to rock the boat." "You can do better," Sam told him. "It doesn't have to be so crappy. I found out, these past couple weeks, life can still be pretty damned exciting, if we just allow it to happen." "Oh, yeah?" Nick raised his eyebrows. "What's-his-name, Brian?" "Brian." Sam nodded, a goofy grin on his face. "He's incredible. He's thirty-two, and hot as a firecracker. I'm not fooling myself that it's forever, but for now—things are good." "That's nice." Nick nodded. "Yeah," Gil agreed. They grew quiet again, each sipping their beer. Gil finally said, "Somebody has a birthday this week. Any special plans?" "Nah." Nick sunk into his chair. The beer was catching up to him. He felt drowsy, and had to pee. "Nothing special." "Going home to your folks?" Sam prodded gently. "I told Ma I'd be working. I might see them the following weekend." "Well, listen." Gil slapped a hand on the table. "I know you're down in the dumps just now. But, if you decide you 75
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don't want to be alone, call me. I'll take you out for a big steak dinner with all the trimmings." "Will you take me out, too?" Sam grinned. "I'll split the tab with you. But you can tag along, sure." Gil teased. "Steak sounds good." Nick yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Have you eaten anything?" Sam nudged his shoulder. "Nope. I forgot. I was going to get something here." "That explains a lot," Gil nodded. "I'll order some burgers. Why don't you two go freshen up? Don't forget to come back." "I gotta pee," Nick agreed. "Come on." Sam helped him stand. "I'll make sure you get there without starting a fight." "Who, me?" Nick feigned surprise. Sam shoved him toward the restroom in back. "So this Will, guy. You going to hang in there, or move along?" "I don't know." Nick used the urinal and washed his hands. "He's different from anybody I ever met. He's had a rough life, and I see why he is how he is, but Jesus..." Sam crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "What?" Nick faced him. "He's got a really great heart. And he's young, but he has the soul of an old man." He shook his head. "He's special." "Then, hang in there. Do whatever you have to do, to keep the guy." "You may be right." Nick walked out, Sam on his heels. "But right now, I'm starved. You want to eat?" 76
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"Hell yeah." Sam patted his shoulder, and they went back to their table. **** The sun rose and had almost set again before Nick got up the next day. He got up long enough to pee and swallow three aspirin, then fell back into bed. He covered his eyes with one arm, and thought about calling William. He hated to seem like he was clinging, but he truly worried about the guy. He decided to shower and grab a bite to eat, and call a little bit later. Freshly clothed, he poured some sugar-sweetened cereal in a large bowl and dumped in half a carton of milk. He was part-way through it when his cell phone rang, and he snatched it up. "D'Amato." "Nick, it's Sam. You wanted me to keep you posted on this slasher case. Another body turned up this morning." Nick choked on his last bite of cereal, and coughed to clear his throat. "You okay?" "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Male or female?" "Huh?" "The victim," Nick repeated without much patience, "was it male or female?" "Oh, male. Another long-haired kid." His heart thumped wildly in his chest. "Got any description for me? Hair color, that kind of thing?"
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"Actually, we have a positive ID on this one. He sported some pretty massive tattoos. Black kid, name of Jones. Tyree Jones." "Black kid," Nick repeated, exhaling with relief. "Yeah. I heard he went by the name T-Bone. Had a tattoo on his arm that said that. And long, filthy dreadlocks." He stopped breathing again. T-Bone, with dreadlocks? It couldn't be a coincidence. William's newest roommate was the killer's latest victim. "I might know someone who knows that kid. Let me check with some of my contacts." "That would be helpful. Call me anytime. I'll be working on this late tonight and probably most of tomorrow." "You got it. Thanks, Sam." Nick disconnected the call, and dialed William. "It's me. You know what to do." Beep. "Will, call me. I need to talk to you, police business." He punched off the phone, and entered the same words as a text message. He waited ten minutes, with no response. "God damn it!" Tossing the rest of his cereal in the sink, Nick stomped into the bedroom, looking for his shoes. He'd have to track William down. On a Saturday night, that might not be easy—or pleasant. Grabbing his leather jacket and keys, he climbed into his SUV and drove toward William's apartment. He scoured the streets and sidewalks, stopping for a minute to leave another voicemail message. At the rundown boarding house, Nick pounded on the door long enough, the neighbors looked out to see what the 78
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commotion was all about. "You seen Squeak?" He asked one man. The guy shook his head and closed the door quickly. Nick wondered if he had the word cop tattooed on his forehead. He trudged back out to his car, driving the streets for two more hours, until it was dark. There was no sign of William, and virtually no other hookers hanging around anywhere. Word must have gotten out. People were scared. They should be. **** Sunday Nick left five more voicemails for William. By late afternoon, he couldn't decide if he was more angry, or beside himself with worry. He drove around the neighborhood, encompassing a wider area than he had the previous night, but still no luck. William wasn't home, and no one answered his door. By Monday, William's voice mailbox was full, and not accepting any new messages. Nick had meetings most of the morning, but headed to William's place shortly after noon. There was no answer, but as he was leaving, Nick spotted a familiar face. "Sandy!" he called. The chubby hustler he'd met once before, strolled down the sidewalk toward him. He appeared startled to hear his name, and unhappy when he saw who spoke it. Turning quickly, he headed in the other direction. "Sandy, wait!" Nick jogged after him. "Listen, I need to talk to you." The shoddily dressed man picked up his pace. 79
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"It's about Squeak. I think he's in trouble." Sandy hesitated, then kept walking. "T-Bone is dead, you know. It wasn't fast, and it wasn't pretty." He froze, but didn't turn around. "I'm worried about Squeak. I haven't been able to reach him for a couple days. Have you seen him?" Sandy faced him slowly. Nick saw fear in the man's eyes, and something else. He was filthy. More disgusting and dirty than the last time Nick saw him, which was interesting. He doubted smelly hustlers raked in much money. "Have you seen Squeak, or talked to him?" "No," Sandy finally said. His eyes darted right and left nervously. "I been looking for him." "Yeah, I have too. He's not in any trouble or anything, but he's kind of been helping me out. I'm Detective D'Amato. We met one time, remember?" Sandy nodded. "We've been trying to ID the victims of this serial creep, and Squeak knows a lot of people. He gave me his cell number, but he hasn't answered since Friday." "I ain't seen him since Friday morning. He lets me and TBone crash with him some nights." "And take a shower." Nick nodded. "Yeah." Sandy mumbled. "I can't believe T-Bone's gone. I saw him before he took off for the weekend. He was so happy." 80
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"You saw him?" Nick raised his eyebrows. "You didn't see the trick that gave him a grand for the weekend, did you?" "Yeah. Well, sort of. I saw his car, and some of his face." "Sandy!" Nick grinned. "You could be just the man we need to talk to. Would you be willing to come down to the station and give a statement? Anything you remember could help us catch the scumbag that killed T-Bone." "I don't think so." He shook his head. "I gotta go." "Wait." Nick took a step closer. The man stunk to high heaven, but Nick knew he was scared, and needed reassurance. "Listen, Sandy. Squeak trusts me, and I want you to trust me, too. I might be able to help you out a little bit. Are you hungry? We could get you some food, and maybe a shower; some clean clothes. Whatever you need, for a couple hours of your time." His eyes lit up. "I am hungry." Nick nodded toward his SUV. "We could drive through the Burger Barn on our way to the station. You can eat again later, after you get cleaned up. What do you say?" He glanced around warily. "Squeak trusts you?" "He did." Nick's gut hurt, remembering just how much William did trust him. I hope I haven't let him down. "I guess I have a couple hours." "Perfect." Nick ushered him to the passenger side of his car. "Hop in. We'll get you something to eat and drink before we go to the station." "Thanks." Sandy climbed in the car. Nick was amused to see him carefully fasten his seatbelt. A law-abiding young man, this one. He drove to the nearby fast 81
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food dive, and let Sandy have his pick from the menu. Eighteen dollars later, they were on their way. Nick talked as Sandy scarfed his food. "It's not like Wi-Squeak, just to take off like this. You have any idea where he might be?" "No. Last time I saw him, he said he'd see me at his place Friday night." Sandy's mouth hung open as he chewed and talked. Nick tried not to look. "He didn't give you a key?" "Nope." "What about T-Bone? Do you think he had a key to Squeak's place?" "No, only Squeak. He was funny that way. Like he wanted to keep track of his stuff, or something." No doubt. Nick bit his tongue. He was more worried about William than ever. His closest—friend? Associate? Whatever Sandy was, he had no idea where William had gone, Nick was certain. The guy seemed a bit of a simpleton, not an experienced liar. Sandy finished his food, wadding the trash into a ball. He took a noisy slurp of his soda. Nick pulled into the police lot, and his regular parking space. He glanced at Sandy. "At least he had a taser. That's one thing he had going for him." "Um, Detective?" Sandy's expression changed to one of guilt. "What?" Nick asked nervously. The man pulled a shiny black taser from his jacket pocket. "Where did you get that?" Nick hollered, grabbing the weapon. 82
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Sandy shrank against the door. Nick looked over the taser, finding the police department markings. "This is the piece I gave Will. How did you get it?" He looked confused. "Squeak?" "Yes, Squeak," Nick spouted, irritated. "We traded! Honest, he gave it to me!" "What could you possibly have to trade for this? He relied on this weapon. He carried it all the time." "About a week ago, one of my johns tried to stiff me. Squeak helped me out." "And?" Nick waited for an explanation. "The dude wanted to pay me with concert tickets. I freaked out. What the hell was I supposed to do with Springsteen tickets at Madison Square Garden? I got no way to get there." Nick's heart sank. "Springsteen? A trick wanted to pay you with concert tickets?" "Yeah! Squeak got all excited. He wanted them real bad, but he didn't have any cash. So we traded the taser for the tickets. I figured he'd probably be able to get another taser, wherever he got this one." "You're probably right." Nick closed his eyes. William got him Springsteen tickets, most likely for his birthday. Nick would have gotten him another taser. He would have done anything for William—would still do anything for him. He had to stay positive, and focused. "Come on, Sandy. I've got some detective friends you need to meet." He led the hustler into a conference room, and cracked a window for fresh air. Cluing Sam in to the information he'd 83
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already ascertained, Nick left them alone to see what more they could get. In the men's room, Nick splashed cold water on his face and tried to steady his breathing. William was in trouble, he sensed it. He prayed to God he was wrong, but the niggling feeling in his gut wouldn't go away. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Five It rained all day on Nick's birthday. The sky was as gloomy as his mood. It'd been three days since Sandy gave the homicide cops a decent description of the man who'd picked up T-Bone the week before. He provided an excellent description of his car, an aging sedan with gray paint peeling away, revealing orange rust spots. The detectives were more encouraged than ever that this was the break they needed, but Nick couldn't feel anything except nausea from constant worry. "Why don't you go home?" Sam paced around the war room the cops had set up for the slasher case. Photos of the victims adorned the walls, along with maps and other small pieces of evidence. "Why don't you solve this case?" Nick flopped on to the lumpy sofa against the wall. "I can't go home." "It's your birthday, for fuck's sake. Call that guy, Will, wasn't it? Make up with him, and go have hot, monkey sex. You need to get your mind on something else." "I can't," Nick insisted, dying on the inside, merely thinking about it. "I've got to focus on this." "This isn't even your case. What's up, D'Amato? I know you're compassionate toward these street people, but you can't save everyone." Nick gritted his teeth. "I can sure as hell try." He'd submitted a missing person's report on William after fortyeight hours. For the first time in memory, he'd falsified a 85
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record, claiming someone else had made the report. He couldn't tell the truth. Why would he be keeping such close tabs on a street hustler? It was a huge fucking mess, and Nick hadn't slept soundly for days. Sam dropped onto the sofa next to him. "You're not satisfied in Vice anymore, are you?" "I guess I'm not. It seems so damned petty, with everything else going on." "Maybe you should think about transferring to Homicide." "Now there's a depressing thought. I could look at pictures like these every day." He motioned to the victim wall. "We make a difference, Nick. You might not feel like it, but you do, too. You've been instrumental in this case. If we catch this guy, based on Sandy's lead, it's because of you." "Small comfort." He folded his arms across his chest. "No placating you tonight. Turning forty hit you like a brick, didn't it?" Sam nudged his knee against Nick's. "Yeah, I'm a fucking mess." Nick tapped his knee back, finding the first consolation he'd felt in days, in that small gesture. **** He was typing a report into the computer the next afternoon, making more mis-strokes than actual words, when his phone rang. "D'Amato." "Nick, listen carefully," Sam's voice was a harsh whisper. "We got him. I'm not supposed to be calling anyone, because they don't want a media shit storm down here yet. So sneak 86
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over here as quietly as you can." He gave Nick an address in nearby Melrose. "What do you mean, you got him? Is he holed up somewhere?" "Better. The fucker is dead. Tried to play cowboy with the cops, and came up a loser." Nick's heart leapt. "And you're sure it's him?" "Abso-fucking-lutely sure. Caught him red-handed with a vic he hadn't dumped yet. Poor son-of-a-bitch." "Another guy?" His heart stopped again. This was going to kill him yet. "Yeah, another long-haired pretty boy. Sadly, not so pretty anymore." "God damn it, Neilson. Give me a description on the vic. Hair color?" "Blond, cut kind of weird. That's all I can tell; he's a mess. Hey, I gotta go. Get over here, man!" Sam disconnected the call. Nick's hand clenched tightly around his phone. It would take twenty minutes to drive to that address—the longest twenty minutes of his life. He jogged to the parking lot, slapped the flashing lights on top of his car, and took off. Traffic was with him, and he made the drive in twelve minutes. A block-long barricade of police cars alerted him to the location. He parked and ran. Melrose was patrolled by the fortieth precinct. Nick knew some of their cops, but not all. He flashed his shield as he ran by the first row of uniforms. In front of the address Sam gave 87
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him were two ambulances and a morgue wagon. Why were there ambulances? Probably just a precaution. He searched the crowd for Sam, but was diverted by two attendants wheeling out a body in a dark, plastic bag. "What have you got?" He put a hand on the gurney to stop them. "This is the perp. He's one weird-looking S.O.B. Did you want a peek?" "No, thanks. Where's the vic? I heard it was a blond-haired kid." The attendant nodded toward their wagon. "The first one's already loaded. EMT's are with the second one." "There are two?" Nick thought his head might explode. "One's alive?" "Looks like it." The second man shrugged. "Hang on a second." Nick crawled in the back of the morgue vehicle and stared at the zipped black body bag. It took all the strength he could muster to reach over and unzip the case, exposing the victim's face. Tears sprang to his eyes when he saw the brutally slashed man, a stocky fellow with a thick neck. He could never be mistaken for William. Out of sheer relief and old habit, Nick made the Catholic sign of the cross over his forehead, shoulders and heart. He swiped at his face and climbed out of the wagon. "Thanks," he told the drivers, and headed toward the house. His vision blurred, and he stopped to rub his eyes again. Two EMT's wheeled a gurney with another man out of the house and toward one ambulance. Nick froze. "Will?" 88
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The man on the gurney looked at him, his face bloodied and beaten. "Nick!" he mumbled. Relief tinged with horror tore through him. He followed the medical personnel, watching as they loaded the gurney into the ambulance. He grabbed one EMT by the arm. "How is he?" "Who are you?" the attendant asked. "Detective D'Amato with the forty-first. This is one of my contacts." "He's been through some shit. One arm is broken, and he's got a fractured ankle. He's was beaten and cut up some, but he should heal." "Thank God!" More relief flooded his system. "Could I talk to him a minute?" "This isn't the time for questioning, Detective." "No questions. He's a friend, actually. He's been missing for days. I've been going nuts." "Take a few." The driver nodded, and stepped aside. Nick climbed into the ambulance. Will's face was an agonizingly colorful mix of purple bruises and red, bloody cuts. Nick was dumbfounded, still couldn't believe what he'd feared had actually come true. "Oh, my God. Oh, Jesus, and Mother Mary." "When did you get so religious?" William teased through clenched jaws. "The day you went missing, you damned, fool-headed—" William raised one hand. "I know, I know. Save it. You were right. I was wrong." 89
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"That's the last thing in the world I care about." Nick knelt next to him. "You could give me a kiss, you know." His voice was shaky. Nick glanced around furtively. No one was watching, but he pulled the ambulance doors closed anyway. Returning to William, he knelt again, placing a gentle kiss on his bruised lips. "God damn. I don't know where to touch. Everything looks sore." "Wait until you see the rest of me. Ralphie wasn't a shy boy." "Ralphie's lucky he's dead." Nick looked at the bruised face again and winced, almost afraid to ask his next question. "They said you have a broken arm and ankle. Anything else I should know?" "Nothing that won't mend, with time." "Thank God, thank God," he murmured, rubbing one hand over William's good arm. "I'm so sorry." "What do you have to be sorry about? None of this was your fault. I was an idiot." "No." Nick shook his head. He ran his free hand through William's shaggy, short hair. "You cut your hair. Or did he do it?" "I did it, before any of this happened. I knew if I was going to meet your father, I needed to look decent. Guess it's going to be awhile before I look decent again." "Meet my father?" Nick held the back of William's neck gingerly. "What are you talking about?" 90
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"I've been so wrong, Nick. I thought about it the whole week we were apart. And the last few days, I've done nothing but think. This isn't the life I want. It never was. I was just too afraid to change it." "After what you've been through, I don't think you need to be afraid anymore. You faced a demon and won." "Barely." William chuckled. "I wasn't sure I'd make it out of there alive. I heard T-Bone didn't." "No, he didn't. But your friend Sandy got a look at this Ralphie guy, when he picked T-Bone up. Sandy's the reason you made it out alive." "I think he had some help." William smiled at Nick, squeezing his hand. "Thank you." "The best way you could thank me, would be to give up this crazy lifestyle and marry me. If we need to work some twelve-step program, we'll do it. We can do anything, as long as we're together, Will." "Yes." He gripped Nick's hand again. "That's exactly what I want. I'd like you to do something else for me, too. Since I'm going to need some time to heal, I thought it might be a good opportunity to check myself into a rehab center for a couple months. Could you find something, maybe upstate, for me? I don't want to be too far from you. If you're willing to do this with me, that is." Soothing happiness swelled inside Nick. For the first time, he knew things were truly going to be okay. "Damn straight I am. I'll make some calls. We'll get you into the best place we can find. I'll use that time to find another job, and a place for 91
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us to live." He leaned down and pressed the softest kiss he could muster on William's lips. The ambulance doors opened and Sam cleared his throat. "Excuse me." Nick pulled back slowly. He didn't care who watched at that moment. He was the happiest man on earth. Turning to the door, he smiled. "Hey, Sam. I'd like you to meet my fiancé, Will. Will, this is my friend Sam Neilson. He's one of the cops that saved you." "Thanks, Sam," Will replied. "I've heard good things about you." "I haven't heard nearly enough about you!" Sam raised his eyebrows. He glanced at Nick, then back at Will. He winked. "Glad to meet you, kid. Very glad, now I know the reason my buddy's been a nervous wreck this week. You see, he can be a real ass. Doesn't share his problems with his friends, and all that." "We'll work on it." William smiled. "Oh, and as for the cops who saved you? Nick's number one on the list. We couldn't have done it without him." "I knew that," William said softly. "Nick's been saving me from day one." "He's a good man to have around," Sam agreed. "Just don't let it go to his head." Nick swiped the back of his hand across his face. He'd never felt so damned weepy in his life. "Hate to break it to you, but you're going to have to learn to live without me. Will and I are leaving South Bronx. We're going to make a fresh start of it somewhere, maybe north." 92
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"Leaving Fort Apache?" Sam made a shocked face. "Not going too far, I hope. Maybe Gil could find you something in the fiftieth." "Like I could work for Gil." Nick mimicked his horrified face. "I'm sure I'll find something. I thought I might try working with kids—anti-gang task force, maybe." "That sounds perfect for you." William squeezed his hand. "It does." Sam nodded. "We'll still have Friday nights, right? Once things get settled, of course." "Yes you will." William looked from one man to the other. "Nick loves his Friday nights." "I think Nick found something he loves more," Sam replied. William smiled, and winced with pain. "We need to get you to the hospital," Nick cradled his head one last time. "We can continue this love-fest later." "You bet we will," William nodded. Nick leaned in for one last kiss, and whispered, "Every day, for the rest of our lives." [Back to Table of Contents]
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About the Author Jamie Hill was born and raised in the Midwest, where she continues to live with her husband and two sons. She juggles her spare time to include writing every day, freelance editing, reading as she finds time, tinkering on the computer, listening to country music, as many naps as possible, and watching movies (especially scary movies) with her family. For more information please visit her website: www.jamiehill.biz.
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