A Reason to Believe (16 page)

The TV show came after the first three tours.

Aidan’s been managing me from the beginning, and

trying to keep me out of trouble.” Kiernan gave

him a small smile.

“What, like you’re some sort of delinquent?”

Matt teased.

Kiernan’s grin ripened. “No, but it’s where the

story about Seattle comes in. I’ve tried really hard

not to be a burden to her. She’s been so amazing

all of this time.” He grimaced self-consciously.

“Problem is I’ve made some bad choices.”

“Bad choices?”

“In men.”

“Ah.”

“Mmm.” Kiernan looked down at the floor. “My

first real boyfriend turned out to be a user. He said

he wanted to help manage the tours, and I

convinced Aidan to let him. He waited until all of

the deposits for the venues had been made to the

bank and then cleaned out the account and

disappeared. The one after him could be perfectly

charming, until he’d had too much to drink. Then

he liked to use me for a punching bag.” He looked

amused, even though Matt couldn’t imagine why.

“Aidan went after him with a steak knife and told

him if he ever came near me again, she’d give him

unanesthetized sex reassignment surgery.”

“Good for her.”

Kiernan shot him quick smile. “The one after

him was a completely decent guy, he just…

couldn’t deal.” He shrugged negligently, but Matt

saw he wasn’t as casual about it as he wanted to

appear.

“Couldn’t deal with…?” he prodded.

“Me. With this thing I do. With what I am, who I

am. It was all just too weird for him.” His eyes

were mild, but Matt could see he’d been hurt.

“And then there was the one in Seattle. He

tipped off the press where I was, what floor I was

staying on, and the fact that he was doing me. He

managed to secure a deal with a tabloid for a five-

figure sum if he could manage to maneuver me in

front of a window and provide their photographer

and his zoom lens compromising photos.” His eyes

shifted to Matt, the expression in them surprisingly

untroubled. “They were very compromising. He

earned his money.”

“The son of a bitch,” Matt muttered, infuriated

and disgusted.

“Yeah. And poor Aidan has been there through

all of it, cleaning up each of my messes, putting me

back together again every time someone has

broken my heart. She says for a medium with

connections on the other side, they tell me

appallingly little about these losers before I sleep

with them. She has a point. She’s also told me

more than once I have no business falling in love,

because I’m lousy at it.” He sent Matt a hooded

look. “So, that’s why Seattle is a sore spot.”

“I still don’t get why she looked at me.” Matt

found Kiernan attractive and was drawn to him in

a way he hadn’t been to anyone in a long time. But

he thought he’d done a pretty good job of hiding it.

There was no mistaking the humor sparkling in

Kiernan’s eyes as they looked at him. “She knows

me. And she’s trying to remind me what’s

happened when I’ve been attracted to people in the

past.”

Matt wasn’t sure what he should say. His pulse

sped even as Kiernan continued to study him

impassively, a small smile curving his full lips.

“Kiernan,” he managed finally. “I…” He

stopped, at a loss.

“Relax, Matt. I didn’t say it to make you

uncomfortable. I’m merely trying to explain why

Aidan looked at you the way she did. It isn’t you.

She knows I like you, and she’s trying to remind

me these things tend to end badly.” He stood and

gave Matt a fond glance. “Don’t let it keep you up.

I won’t jump you in your sleep. Not that I’m not

tempted, mind you. I do find you…” his eyes

moved over Matt’s face, feature by feature, “…

really attractive. And I refuse to apologize for it.

But I can also tell you’ve got stuff you’re dealing

with. I can respect it enough not to press. Too

much.” He winked at Matt before he turned and left

the room.

Chapter Seven

Sheila turned up at his house the next morning,

pink-cheeked and bright-eyed and unwilling to be

put off any longer. She was also clearly delighted

to find Aidan and Kiernan Fitzpatrick there. Matt

couldn’t exactly order her out, though the thought

did cross his mind as he watched her pull off her

gloves and introduce herself to his houseguests.

The prospect of explaining everything to her later

made him tired just thinking about it.

When he entered his kitchen after dressing, the

women were plotting ways of getting the siblings

back into their hotel. Since it looked as if the

airport wouldn’t reopen any time soon, they were

discussing other possible options. Matt knew they

couldn’t stay indefinitely, and he tried to ignore the

ache in the center of his chest at the thought of

never seeing Kiernan again.

“There’s always the train,” Sheila said. “Or the

bus. I’m sure they’re running.”

“The train, I think.” Aidan wrote something

briskly on a note pad. “At least that way we might

be able to get a private berth.”

Kiernan ignored them as he made his way

through a bowl of Frosted Flakes. His hair was a

bird’s nest of cowlicks, his jaw dark with stubble,

and he was still wearing his flannel pajama

bottoms and the irreverent T-shirt. His eyes

widened when he saw Matt and he whistled softly.

“Wow, look at you,” he said with a dimpled

grin.

Matt flushed and checked to make sure his shirt

was tucked in all the way around and his tie was

straight. He’d pulled one of his good suits out of a

dry cleaner bag. If he was about to get canned, he

didn’t want to be dressed like a bum. He’d even

briefly considered his blues, but thought it might be

overkill. Already wearing his shoulder harness

with his service revolver safely strapped in, he set

his badge on the counter, ready to tuck in the

pocket of his jacket when he donned it.

He could feel eyes following him as he poured

himself a cup of coffee.

“A gun and everything,” Kiernan teased. “Very

impressive.”

Matt shot him a quelling look over his shoulder,

but Kiernan didn’t look intimidated.

“You look very nice,” Sheila said. “Very

professional.”

“He looks hot,” Kiernan said, still grinning.

Sheila looked between them with ill-concealed

delight.

Wonderful. Just what he needed, Sheila on a

mission.

Kiernan leaned back in his chair. “But then, I’ve

always had a thing for a man in a suit. The gun is

just icing.”

“I doubt Branson will care much how I look,”

Matt said dryly.

Kiernan’s expression was impish. “Straight,

huh?”

Sheila laughed. “Oh, he’s straight, all right. And

not particularly bright. Matt’s the best he has, and

he’s had him riding a desk for over a year.”

“That’s enough, Sheila.” Matt slipped into his

jacket, dropping his shield into the hidden pocket.

“They’re not interested in my employment woes.”

“I am,” Kiernan countered. “Why’s he had you

riding a desk?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Matt picked up the long

wool overcoat and shoved his arms into the

sleeves, buttoning it closed.

“It matters to me,” Kiernan persisted.

Matt ignored him as he found black leather

gloves in the pocket and pulled them on.

Finally Sheila leaned toward him. “He’s got

issues with how Matt conducts his personal life,”

she whispered.

Matt sent her an ominous look, but she wasn’t

cowed.

“Ah,” Kiernan said. “He’s a homophobic

asshole.”

“Precisely.” Sheila smirked into her cup.

Matt headed toward the door, then hesitated, his

eyes on Kiernan. “I…um. I need to go.”

“I figured.” Kiernan replied.

Matt still didn’t leave. “It’s been—interesting.”

Kiernan laughed, straight white teeth shining.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Matt fidgeted, ignoring Sheila’s amused

expression. “If you get tickets out, and I don’t get

to see you before…” He stopped. “Well, I…it was

nice to meet you.”

Kiernan’s eyes warmed. “You too, Matthew,”

he murmured, and the soft intimacy of his voice

filled Matt with a surge of longing. “You’ve got

my number still. I hope you’ll use it.”

Matt felt his cheeks heat even as he studied the

handsome face. After another few moments, he

excused himself and went out through the door.

During the extremely slow drive to the station,

in spite of his best efforts, Matt’s mind kept going

back to tousled black hair and sleepy eyes. He

didn’t want Kiernan to leave and fervently hoped

the trains wouldn’t be running and the buses would

be stranded in the terminal. He and Aidan could

stay at the house for a few more days. Maybe that

would give him time to figure out what it was he

was feeling. As the traffic crawled, Matt

constructed a detailed fantasy involving the curling

black mass of hair against the white of a cotton

pillowcase, blue eyes half-lidded with arousal

instead of sleep. He wondered what the compact

body might feel like beneath his, a leg riding high

on his bare hip, an answering hardness pressed

against his own.

From the moment Kiernan had admitted he was

attracted to Matt, his own feelings had been

impossible to ignore. He felt things in his body,

longings he hadn’t had since Brad died, and the

voice in his head that had reminded him of his

bereavement was strangely silent.

Sheila would be thrilled to know his libido had

reappeared. She’d been trying to get him to go out

for months.

“You need to meet people,” she’d said one

memorable Friday night. “Go to a club, pick

someone up. Get laid, for Christ’s sakes. Brad

died, Matt. You didn’t.”

At the time, he’d been so angry at her they

hadn’t spoken for two weeks, their longest

estrangement ever. Now he was no longer angry,

but he doubted it would matter. By the time he got

done with Branson, Kiernan would probably be on

his way out of town.

When he arrived he found the detective’s squad

room mostly deserted. Eddie wasn’t at his desk,

Matt noted with a twinge of disappointment. The

only man in the large room glanced up and looked

away pointedly. Dale Conrad had never liked him,

so Matt wasn’t surprised. Matt squared his

shoulders and straightened before walking

resolutely to the back of the room. He was at least

five inches taller than Conrad, and he had no

problem reminding the self-conscious man of it.

He might be queer, but he was a tall queer. He

paused before Branson’s office door and glanced

through the glass. The room was empty, and he

looked at his watch. It was eight-fifty-eight. He

hesitated before turning back.

“Any idea where Branson is?” Matt asked the

top of Conrad’s head. “I’m supposed to meet him

here at nine…”

Conrad shoved back from his desk, his chair

legs dragging loudly on the floor. “It’s not my day

to watch him,” he snarled without looking up. He

scooped up the file he’d been working on and

stalked out of the room.

“You’re a prick, Conrad,” Matt said, loudly

enough that his voice carried through the door after

him. Left alone, he scowled and settled into one of

the chairs outside Branson’s office.

He crossed his ankle over his knee, bouncing his

foot in irritation. Branson had ordered him to

present himself at nine, but apparently felt no need

to adhere to the schedule himself. Matt checked his

watch every few minutes, growing more irritated

as time passed. Nine-fifteen came and went, and

nine-thirty. By quarter to ten he was actively

considering walking out the door when he heard

the elevator slide open out in the hall. Male voices

drifted to him through the quiet building and he

straightened in the chair. His heart sank when

Branson strode purposefully around the corner. He