Burden (5 page)

Many, many heartbeats passed with only the ragged sound of their breaths and moans and the whining mewls of his little shitheads filling the apartment. Keegan slowly retreated, resting his forehead on Brennan’s. His eyes closed, he swallowed audibly, and Brennan saw the regret written on Keegan’s face.

“I’m s-sorry,” Brennan muttered, trying to squirm his way from between Keegan’s heated body and the cool wall.

“Just stand still, will you?” Keegan held him in place, his teeth ground together.

It was only then Brennan noticed the hard bulge against his. He’d been so caught up in the kiss he hadn’t even felt Keegan’s obvious arousal. Or the fact that the cop had put his gun back in its holster.

“I swear to God if you don’t stop moving, this is going to go way beyond a kiss, Bren.”

“Sorry.”

Keegan groaned and nuzzled Brennan’s throat. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“I know you’re not, that’s why it’s going to be very hard for me to move away.” Keegan stroked the back of Brennan’s neck. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. Not saying I’m sorry it did, but…”

“I get it.” Brennan sighed and pushed Keegan away. He would never again stack up to someone of Keegan’s caliber.

Keegan let him go and wiped a hand down his face. “No. You don’t. Jesus. You’re part of an investigation, Bren, a witness. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

Brennan shrugged and went about dishing up the kitties’ food from a sack in the cupboard. He stuck the bowl in the corner of the box where he was immediately attacked by the hungry felines. Several scratches marred his forearm and hand for his effort.

“Look at me, Brennan.”

Brennan sucked in a breath and did as Keegan asked, afraid to see the rejection he knew he’d find.

“Man, I was right.”

“About what?” Brennan narrowed his eyes. Rejection was the furthest thing he found in Keegan’s gaze. Lust, want, need…those were more apt words.

“You do need a keeper.” Keegan was staring at Brennan’s arm and the tiny bits of blood pooling to the surface. “What in the shit are those things? Lions?”

Brennan snorted and wiped at the scratches with a napkin. “Michael’s idea of therapy. M-meet Bob, Bobby, Robert and Roberta. And I do not n-need a keeper, thank you.”

“Bob, Bobby, Robert and Roberta?” One of Keegan’s eyebrows rose high.

“I c-can’t remember names very well. They were easy.” He shrugged again and looked down at the shitheads devouring their food. He’d have to change the litter in the box too since they’d knocked it all over the place making their grand escape.

“Should be more like Cujo, King Kong, Godzilla and Jaws.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“My leg says differently.” Keegan glanced around the open kitchen and living area, his lips puffy from their kiss. “Anyway, the place is clean.”

“I could have told you that.”

“Are you up for more mug shots tomorrow? I can pick you up in the morning.”

Brennan shook his head.

“Why not? Someone tried to kill me today, Bren, or have you forgotten?” He waved his hand in the air. “There won’t be any more kissing if you don’t help me put this bastard away.”

Brennan’s gaze shot up to meet Keegan’s. “I m-meant I can’t come in the morning.”

Keegan cocked his head to the side. “Ever?”

“What?”

“Not coming in the morning. Personal problem, or have you not been with the right guy to do the job?”

Brennan’s eyes widened.

“Give me a chance, and I can make certain you come in the morning.”

“You don’t m-m…fuck around, do you?” Had Brennan ever met anyone so forward?

“No. Not when I’m with someone. And neither will you.”

“N-not what I meant.”

“I know, but it is what I meant. Afternoon then? I can swing by after lunch and pick you up. Be ready.”

Brennan didn’t have the chance to even collect his thoughts and respond before Keegan had gotten to the door and gone out, leaving Brennan standing dumbfounded in the kitchen being serenaded by the purring shitheads.

Chapter Five

Why in the hell had he kissed Brennan last night?

Keegan lay in his bed after tossing and turning through the interminable darkness. All he could think about was the way he’d pinned Brennan against the wall and kissed him. The way the other man had tasted and felt in his arms. Jesus. If he hadn’t been able to get control, he would have had Brennan stripped and naked in no time. That’s how close he’d been to fucking the former IA detective.

A man who may or may not have been involved in trying to kill him. Keegan still hadn’t quite decided.

Who the shit was he kidding? Brennan had no more been connected than Tim had. Deep down he knew this. He’d always trusted his gut before, and he wasn’t going to stop now.

With a groan, Keegan sat up and swung his feet to the floor. His sheets were in disarray, evidence of his sleepless night. And of course he had a hard-on that wouldn’t abate. He could go the cold-shower-and-hand-job route, but he had a feeling nothing would cure his ache but a certain man short on memories.

The clock on the bedside table said nine thirty-four. His Glock and shield stared back at him, waiting to start the day. And he had nothing to do. At least until after lunch when he had a meeting with Brennan.

“Ugh.” He wiped a hand down his face. “Fuck it.” He’d drive to the precinct, pick up the books and take them over to Brennan. Maybe the man would be more comfortable in a familiar environment. And if Keegan happened to get there before lunch, then so be it.

But first, a shower. He needed to shave too. He’d gotten kind of used to the scruffy goatee he’d sported while he’d been undercover, but the damn thing itched now that he’d shaved it off, and it wanted to grow back every day.

Keegan dragged himself to the bathroom and stared at his reflection.

“Whatcha gonna do, Kegger? Go after him, or leave him be?” Damn it. He’d never been conflicted about taking a partner before, but Brennan set off all of Keegan’s protective instincts. Something he was sure Brennan would absolutely hate, having been a cop himself.

The face in the mirror remained silent. Keegan stripped off his boxers, relieved his bladder and stepped under a cold spray of water. If nothing else, the chill woke him up. Picturing Brennan naked and needy in the stall with him really woke him up. Or at least had his dick coming to attention again.

Damn it, he did not want to go the hand-job route. But he did it anyway. Envisioning Brennan on his knees, his sweet lips wrapped around the head of Keegan’s cock, was all he needed. That and about forty-five seconds of jacking off and he was shooting come onto the marble wall. He was usually pretty good at drawing out his orgasm. Better get the quickies out of the way so if he actually got Brennan naked, he’d last more than a minute.

“Jesus, Keegan. It took you less time to climax than it did to wash your hair. What’s that say about you?” Whacking off in the shower reminded him of college when any pretty-boy face would do and beer was plentiful. Thus the nickname Kegger. Tim had dubbed him so, and the name had stuck.

Dried off and wearing only jeans, Keegan grabbed a cup of coffee. After the first sip, he scrunched his face. The timer had been set for seven, so this pot was a good three hours old. It didn’t help that he sucked at making a simple cup of coffee. Had to be the machine.

Keegan dumped the mug in the sink and went for the orange juice instead. It had last week’s date on it, but a sniff told him it wasn’t raunchy yet. He chugged a glass and headed for the laundry to get a clean shirt. All his clothes from his undercover gig were still piled high, but he thought he remembered there being a load in the dryer. He pulled out an old, faded Broncos T-shirt and shoved it over his head. Next were socks and shoes, and then his gun on one hip and shield on the other.

Ten fifteen and he was ready to roll.

He only lived a few minutes from the precinct, and since it was Saturday, he knew there was a good chance not many of his buddies would be in. There were a few; not Tim, thank God. Somehow Tim would know with a single glance that Keegan had kissed Brennan, and he wasn’t quite ready to share that tidbit of information just yet.

He skirted the officers at their desks and made it past the sergeant without being seen. The last thing he wanted right now was to get caught up in some lengthy conversation about the hit yesterday. What he wanted was to see Brennan.

Man, he had it bad. Like a freaking woman.

He started to grab the mug-shot books but then slapped his forehead. “Son of a bitch.” Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Why not just grab the pics of everyone in the organization? Wouldn’t that save a hell of a lot of time. Chances were pretty fucking good it was one of them anyway. If Brennan couldn’t identify the shooter as being one of Carlos’s, then Keegan could always go back to the books. He took the file from his desk, and after signing it out at the front desk, went back to his car.

The hairs on his neck stood up. Keegan thrust the folder into the backseat, put his hand on his gun and whipped around in a circle.

“Fuck.” He’d been so wrapped up in thinking about Brennan he’d pretty much forgotten about his little problem.

The one where he’d almost gotten a new hole in his head.

Nothing seemed out of place. There weren’t even any cars parked near the intersection. The day was warm, like yesterday, and a few people milled about, but none who stuck out like the one wearing black jeans and a black hoodie had. Certainly no one he could see with a gun pointed in his direction.

Still, being in the vehicle was preferable to standing out in the open. He backed out of the parking space a few seconds later. Keeping one eye on the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn’t followed again, he made his way toward Brennan’s.

“You look tired, partner. And what the hell happened to your face?”

Brennan stepped back to let his former partner, Stan, into his apartment. He knew he looked like crap, had seen the dark circles beneath his eyes when he’d faced himself in the mirror that morning, along with yesterday’s battle scars. Besides the fresh wounds, the rest wasn’t different than any other day. Nightmares plagued his every sleeping moment, keeping him tossing and turning throughout the dark hours, only to leave him wondering when the sun came up.

Okay, last night had been different. Not only had he had more of the screeching-car-over-the-cliff scenario, but a certain cop had made his presence known too. Instead of his usual trying to remember anything from his past, he’d woken sticky from a fucking wet dream.

He touched his lip where it had met the concrete and split. “Had a run-in with the ground.” He shrugged it off. Stan seemed to be okay with the explanation too.

“You not sleeping again?” Stan knew Brennan had suffered from insomnia for months after the accident.

“No, just dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Same old, same old. Screeching, flames, screaming. I know I was working a case. Driving.” Brennan grabbed his forehead, desperate to retain anything he’d seen in the nightmare that gripped him night after night. “I’d talked to a woman.”

“A woman?”

“Ugh. I d-don’t fucking know. I could have talked to her anytime. Everything’s f-fucking jumbled.”

“What’s your therapist say?” Stan headed for the kitchen and the coffee Brennan had made, knowing he was coming. It was part of their ritual. Stan came every first and third Saturday of the month, Brennan made coffee—when he remembered—and Stan made a beeline for it as soon as the odor wafted across his nose.

“Wh-what he always says. I’ll either remember or I won’t. Trauma bullshit.”

“Hmm…” Stan nodded his understanding as he filled his cup.

“How’s business?” Sometime in the past year Brennan had really stopped caring, but he asked anyway. His life then was over, and he’d come to terms with never getting it back. He’d been through all the stages of grieving and moved on.

Or was trying to move on, at any rate.

“Chum got married last week. Lydia said to say hi.” Stan made himself at home on the sofa, setting his mug on the table in front of him.

“T-tell her hey back.” He’d been invited to the wedding, but the last thing he’d wanted to do was show everyone his complete lack of social skills. He couldn’t even order a drink because he couldn’t remember the names of things. Not that he could drink anyway with the medication he still took.

“They missed you. I think the guys were hoping you’d put in an appearance.”

Not likely. “I can’t even drive, Stan.”

“I told you I’d have come to get you.”

And let the guys see the shell he’d become? Feel sorry for him? Give him pitying looks? No thanks. He’d gotten enough of that shit the month he’d been in the hospital. From the few who had come to see him, anyway.

“You gonna sit or stand all day?”

Jesus. He had to be told what to do in his own damn house.

Brennan sighed and sat kitty-corner to Stan on the brown suede overstuffed chair his aunt had insisted fit with the décor of the garage attic they’d made an apartment.

“So, you’re still not remembering anything from the dreams?”

He shrugged. “Not really.” He never did. They bothered him all night and eluded him the second he woke. Like they were teasing him. The information was always there, just on the tip of his tongue. Sort of like when you see an old acquaintance whose face you recognize but whose name you can’t recall. The story of his present life.

“Hm. The guys are always asking me, ya know? They’re still working on the case. I mean, it’s still open, but there haven’t been any new leads. I think they keep it open because you’re one of us. Some of ’em have a hard time believing you simply drove off the edge, no pun intended, but there’s no evidence that says otherwise.”

Brennan had a feeling Stan had told him all this before. Probably every time they met. He just nodded. What was he supposed to say? He had a hard time believing it himself, but then what did he know about the kind of man he used to be?

“Captain Margulies asks about you too. I keep telling him to call you, but I think he doesn’t know quite what to say. None of them do.”