Blind Spot (7 page)

“Yeah. Well you ever hear of texting or calling first?” Nathan grumbled.

Eric laughed. “I did, my man, but you didn’t answer. What did I do, interrupt something? You do have a well-fucked look on your face.”

Sam rounded the corner and took in the scene.

The guy stood around six foot two, Nathan’s height, though he probably outweighed Nathan in muscle mass. He wore a sleeveless shirt to show off sculpted, tattooed arms, and his dark hair was cropped military style. The overall effect didn’t exactly scream submissive, but Sam knew better than to typecast. He was definitely not the kind of guy you wanted to get into a bar fight with—probably why Nathan selected him as a partner in the first place. On the safety front, at least, Sam felt a little more at ease.

“Hello there,” said Eric in a deep, drawling voice, the origin of which Sam couldn’t quite place. He extended his hand, and Sam took it, offering a firm shake. “You must be Sam. Nathan’s told me so much about you. Eric Duquesne at your service. But my best friends call me Duke.”

Sam nodded. “Good to meet you.”

Eric whistled. He didn’t let go of Sam’s hand right away. “I should have known it’d take a pretty thing like you to bring him ’round to the right side.” He pronounced “thing” like “thang.” When Eric’s eyes latched on to his throat, Sam realized he was looking at the collar. He flushed and pulled his hand back as a mixture of pleasure and nervousness rushed through him. It was the first time anyone else had seen it.

“Careful, Eric,” said Nathan.

“Understood. Understood.” Eric winked and grinned devilishly. In spite of himself, Sam smiled back. This guy was trouble. He swung down the army green rucksack off his back and dropped it on the floor, and Sam noticed a worn US Marine Corps patch on the side. “What’s a guy need to do to get a drink around these parts?”

It was only 11:00 a.m.

Nathan crossed his arms. “We don’t keep alcohol in the house.”

“Ahh.” Eric seemed to get the message. “Well, I guess I’ll survive. Coffee?”

Nathan went to grab a cup while Eric sat on the couch and stretched his long legs in front of him. He raised his arms and rested his head back against his interlaced palms. A few crisscrossed scars marred the brown skin on one of his arms, and two letters—
FP
—were tattooed on his bicep.

“Nice digs,” said Eric.

Sam followed his gaze. The apartment was furnished in a tasteful, masculine style, thanks to Nathan’s more sophisticated aesthetic. But bits and pieces of Sam had crept in over the last few month—books on new media and changing journalism practices, favorite ’80s DVDs, a crappy painting of a hot naked guy that he found at a garage sale. Nathan didn’t want to hang it at first, but Sam insisted they display it as a conversation piece. After all, he’d spent ten bucks on the thing, and it was terrible
art
. Generally Nathan let him do whatever he wanted. He offered to give Sam money to buy some new things, but Sam refused it. He already relied on Nathan far too much.

It sometimes bothered Sam that he didn’t have more stuff. He lost most of his possessions in the fire, save some childhood things stored along with old family possessions in a small rental unit. He had never cared for material goods, but sometimes he wished they could get a new place and start fresh as equal adults. It was a moot point, since there was no way he could afford it on his salary.

Maybe one day, if his hard work paid off. If they were still together.

“Thanks,” he said simply.

“So, how long have you two known each other?” Eric gave him another appreciative up-and-down, and Sam finally placed his accent. Louisiana Creole.

“A while, but we’ve only been together a little over a year,” Sam said. “I used to do landscaping for Nathan and Emma.”

“You don’t say? Damn shame what happened to that gal. She was a real sweetheart.”

“Yeah. She was.” Sam glanced toward the kitchen. He didn’t want Nathan to overhear them talking about Emma, but Eric seemed happy to change the topic on his own.

“Gotta say it’s strange being up north again. But it’ll be good to work with Nate.”

Sam smiled tightly. Maybe they should talk about the weather. “How long have
you
known Nathan?”

Nathan reentered the room with the coffee and a glass of water, and Eric leaned forward and took both drinks with a smile.

“Thanks, bud.” Eric raised his occupied hands and waggled his eyebrows. “Double fisting, my favorite. So you never told your boy here about how we met?”

Nathan grimaced, obviously not fond of the story.

“Well, I’ll tell you—first time I met Nate at the academy, he’d never even fired a gun. When was that now? Eleven years ago? I was a new recruit too, but I’d been through hell and half of Georgia already. This guy, he was so proper, almost like royalty. We thought there was something huge lodged up his ass—”

Nathan raised one mildly irritated eyebrow. “Ah, come off it, Eric. I wasn’t that bad.”

Sam was still trying to process the information. “Wait a second. You trained together?”

“Yep.” Eric polished off the glass of water with a few large gulps. “Soon as I left the corps, the Feds swept me up. Been with ’em ever since.”

The conversation continued, and Sam learned about a Nathan he’d never known. Eric was filled with stories about the academy—including pranks the new agent trainees used to play on one another, like stealing each other’s clothes during shower time.

“And Nate,” Eric said as he wrapped up another story. “He ran the last five miles with his head held up, even with his sprained ankle. Nope. He wouldn’t let it get him down. He was a real trooper. But he had class. You know? Looks like he still does.”

There was nothing ironic about the statement. In spite of the joking, he seemed like a genuine guy. Sam was starting to like Eric Duquesne.

“After training we went our separate ways. My field office was in Texas, and Nate was just married.”

“So, what have you been doing since?” Sam asked—maybe too abruptly.

“I was down on the border for the last five years. Messy business. Lots of people dying out in the desert.” He shook his head and made a noise of disgust. “Such a waste. I’m looking forward to the change of pace, to tell you the truth.” He arched an eyebrow at Nathan.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, have you been… uh, trained, like Nathan has?”

“You mean in BDSM? Hell no. I’ve been in the community for about eight years now.”

“Oh.” So he was experienced. Very experienced.

“And I’m a switch, if you’re curious.” He aimed his amused gaze at Sam. “That’s an offer. You wanna maybe do something together? Get rid of the tension?”

“I think we better focus on the case for now,” Nathan said darkly. Sam hid a smile behind his hand.

Eric seemed bemused. He shrugged. “Well, if you boys decide you want to play sometime, once this is all over, you give me a call. The more the merrier, I always say. Life’s too short for monogamy.”

Sam snorted, and Nathan glanced up at the ceiling, like he was waiting for some higher power to give him strength. Eric’s general lightheartedness had rubbed off on Sam, and he started to feel better about the prospect of Nathan and Eric working together. Even though Eric would probably fuck Nathan gladly, he wasn’t the type to get involved with another man’s boyfriend—unless asked, of course. And he certainly didn’t seem interested in settling down.

“The man is a menace,” Nathan groused once they’d shown Eric the extra room, and he said he was going to take a shower. “I can’t believe he was flirting with you in front of me.”

“I like him.”

Nathan’s eyes glinted. “Oh, you’re so in trouble now.”

SAM PRESSED
a kiss to his brother’s smooth, cool forehead. He smelled clean—like the baby shampoo the Shady Brook staff used on patients. But Tim was almost twenty-three years old.

“How’s everything going in here?”

Sam smiled as he turned to find his brother’s nurse, Lisa, wearing scrubs covered with bears juggling tiny oranges and apples. He almost never saw her in a repeat pair. She wheeled in the new bag of IV fluid and started to unhook the depleted one with efficient movements.

“Oh, not too bad,” Sam said, watching her.

“Whatcha reading today?”

Sam glanced at the book in his hands. Every time he visited his little brother, he spent some time reading out loud to him. Lisa suggested it would help keep Tim’s brain active, and it provided the additional bonus of giving Sam something to do. That day he’d chosen an old Sherlock Holmes mystery,
The Hound of the Baskervilles
. Sam had liked reading Arthur Conan Doyle when he was younger.

“Oh, neat,” said Lisa, swiping her bangs back from her forehead. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be a minute.” She checked Tim’s blood pressure and wrote a couple things down on her chart. “Holler if you need anything in here. All right?”

Sam thanked her. After she left, he settled down in the chair next to Tim’s bed and opened the book. About fifteen minutes later, he sighed and closed it again.

“Nathan’s leaving tomorrow,” he said.

The doctors didn’t know if Tim was aware of his surroundings, but Sam imagined his brother could hear him. He wondered what he might say in response.

Sorry, bro. That sucks.

But Tim never used to call him “bro.” He’d called him a jerk on several occasions. Sam realized with a pang that he didn’t know what his brother might say, and he probably never would. Still, it helped to talk about it. For the sake of secrecy, he wasn’t able to share his fears with Rachel and Yuri. But Tim was a good listener.

“I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m worrying for nothing. Eric doesn’t seem like a bad guy.” In any case he still had the mayor’s murder to occupy him, among other projects, so he’d have plenty to distract him while Nathan was away. As long as he didn’t think too hard about what his boyfriend would be doing there, he’d be fine. He had to trust in Nathan.

He squeezed Tim’s hand again, and just for a second, he imagined Tim squeezed back.

WHEN HE
got back to the apartment, he discovered Nathan and Eric in the living room, trying on bondage gear. Or rather Eric was trying on bondage gear. Nathan was dressed in his regular clothes, but Eric sported a rubber collar that fit snugly around his thick neck. He also wore a pair of nipple clamps, connected together by a thin metal chain dangling between his tattooed pecs.

“Uh.” Sam blinked as he came into the living room. “Am I interrupting something?”

Eric grinned and held his arms wide. “Whaddya think?” His nipples were pinched into tight beads by the clamps, and Sam couldn’t help staring.

“What did you guys do? Raid a sex shop?”

“Nope,” Eric said, bending over to rummage through a large cardboard box. “This is all my stuff. Had it shipped.” He pulled out a black latex mask with a zippered mouth closure. “I’ve been wondering where this was. This thing is great.” With some difficulty he pulled the tight-fitting material over his head, then unzipped the mouth, stuck his tongue out, and waggled it suggestively. “Easy access. See? But then, if you want to shut me up—” He zipped it again.

“Impressive,” Sam said with a snort. He looked at Nathan, and the two of them shared a tolerant, amused glance.

“I’ve got all sorts of stuff in here,” Eric said, holding up a couple bottles. “You guys need any leather or latex cleaner, just let me know.”

Eric was still pawing through his loot as Sam went into the kitchen to see about food. He thought of whipping up some pasta and jarred sauce—not exactly a gourmet feast, but not take-out lazy either. Maybe they even had some stuff for salad lying around.

“You guys hungry?” he called over his shoulder.

“Starving, darling,” drawled Eric.

“What do you want to order for dinner?” Nathan asked. “Chinese?”

Sam laughed to himself. Nathan would probably order out every night, if he could. Sam grabbed a couple boxes of spaghetti from the cupboard and filled their largest, rarely used pot with water. He was adding sauce to heat in a small pan when Nathan approached from behind and put his arms around Sam’s waist.

“You’re cooking?” Nathan rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder.

“Didn’t you know? Boiling water is my specialty. You guys having fun in there?” It wasn’t meant to sound snarky, but Nathan was instantly all apologies.

“Eric’s a bit of a ham, if you hadn’t noticed. He just tore open the box and started taking off his clothes. I hope you don’t think anything was going on.”

“Of course not,” Sam said, though he could have done without the defensiveness in Nathan’s tone. He wasn’t sure he was going to forget the nipple clamps anytime soon either. “But I might as well get used to it. Do you… uh… what are you going to wear?”

“I’ve never been into dressing up. But you, on the other hand—”

“I’m not wearing one of those gimp masks,” Sam said. “That was way too
Pulp Fiction
for me. No latex bodysuits either.”

Nathan huffed a laugh against Sam’s neck. “I was thinking something more basic. Something to highlight your fabulous ass—like a jockstrap.” He cupped the attribute in question with both hands.

The idea wasn’t unappealing. In fact Sam thought it would be hot. He hadn’t worn a jock since college. “As long as it’s not leopard print, I’m game. And I want to see you in some leather pants.”

“That can definitely be arranged.”

Sam stirred the sauce as it started to bubble. “And I was thinking…. I’d like to try something like those clamps Eric had on.”

Nathan leaned into him and ran his hands up Sam’s chest to pinch his nipples. “Sounds like a great idea.”

When the water started to boil, Sam kicked Nathan out of the kitchen and asked him to set the table. Eric popped in to model a thong-and-assless-chaps combo, and Sam found himself actually giving thoughtful criticisms. “Yes. The magenta is too much,” and “Sure. A couple studded wrist cuffs would be the perfect complement.” How had this become his life?

He managed to not overcook the spaghetti too badly, and the three of them watched
Jeopardy
and ate from steaming, heaping bowls on the couch—just Sam, his boyfriend, and his boyfriend’s BDSM work partner. A regular Hallmark-family moment.