Fair Game (18 page)

In two swift moves they kicked free of shorts and pajama bottoms, rolling back into each other’s arms. Elliot’s nerves were humming like the wind singing through wires as Tucker’s hand moved on him with easy expertise, a warm, slow glide—the right amount of pressure, the right angle, the right rhythm. He flicked his thumb over the moisture pearling at the tip of Elliot’s cock, making use of nature’s own lubricant, and that incredible combination of salty slickness and rough friction as Tucker’s hand pumped him harder, faster, sent Elliot’s heart flying.

Just the astonishment of being naked together again, of putting hands on each other again. There was something about it, the concession of placing your trust—literally your balls—in another man’s hands. Oh, and
Christ
the feel of that hard, calloused hand cupping that delicate sack while Tucker’s other hand made those long stroking slides.

Elliot moaned.

“Yeah?” Tucker asked breathlessly.

Elliot’s own breath was ragged. “Yeah. Oh yeah.”

There was just one problem. It had been too long. Way too long. Embarrassingly, Elliot’s body was reacting like an adolescent boy’s. The concept of pacing was about as far removed as metamathematics, and as much as he wanted to do the civilized thing and at least pretend he cared what was happening with Tucker, his body was like a locomotive racing toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

Somehow when he tried to articulate that, the sound that came out was a helpless, inarticulate request for just the opposite.

Tucker’s tongue thrust into his mouth and Elliot pushed hungrily back. It
was
good between them. It always had been. And this was one of the things that had been best. This wordless, instinctive sexual compatibility that enabled each to give the other exactly what he wanted, what he needed.

Or, maybe in this case, Tucker giving Elliot what he needed, because it was happening now. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, the very idea was ridiculous…A sultry, snapping heat started at the base of Elliot’s spine and sparkled up through cartilage, blood vessels and nerves.

One final jerk, one final thrust, and climax came rolling like thunderclouds tumbling through the summer sky—a peppery rain of hot release.

“That was different,” Elliot mumbled a while later, easing his leg from the damp tangle of sheets and limbs. “Did you—no, you didn’t, did you?”

Tucker chuckled, that low growl of lazy amusement, and settled more comfortably, pulling Elliot close again. He licked the trickle of sweat from Elliot’s temple. “Don’t worry. My turn’s coming…”

*  *  *

It was still dark when Elliot next woke, but the edges of the night were fading. He could feel Tucker stirring beside him. He smiled, nuzzled him, and Tucker opened his mouth, tasting sleepy and warm and familiar. Tucker grunted an inarticulate greeting and they were chuckling sleepily, tasting their shared laughter.

Tucker’s erection prodded Elliot in his belly. He had woken exactly like the old days: randy and raring to go. That was fine by Elliot. He’d woken in the same state of need. His own cock was shoving right back as they held each other in a long, hard hug.

The night before had been sweet and simple, a much needed release of tension and an expression of affection. They both wanted more now.

“I’ll toss you for it,” Tucker said, raising his head, his eyes shining.

“There’s an image.”

Tucker didn’t laugh. He sounded unexpectedly serious as he said, “I want it to be whatever you want this time.”

This time? Hadn’t he got whatever he wanted a couple of hours ago?

“Yeah?” Elliot murmured. “What I want,
really
want, is to be fucked. I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh God,” Tucker muttered. “I want that. I don’t think a week goes by I don’t dream about it. The way it feels to move inside you. The way your body grabs on like tight velvet. The sounds you make, like having me inside you is the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Elliot moaned in response to that dark, seductive voice. His cock went stiffer still.

“Yeah, like that,” Tucker breathed hotly against his ear. “Just like that. The way you spread yourself, spread your legs so that I can get at you and push so deep—”

It was easy in that comfortable gloom. Easy to kick off the blankets, easy to let Tucker take him through the necessary steps of preparation. In the old days it had been something to rush through, but now there was an intimate solemnity to the ritual of condom and lube.

“It’s been a while for me,” Elliot admitted, squirming pleasurably as he surrendered to the finger stroking him in that most private of places.

“Me too.”

“Oh
Christ.
Touch me again there…”

“There?” Whispered.

Elliot’s breath hitched, words temporarily failing him. He pushed his hips down, trying to get more.

Tucker’s own admission made it easy to relax beneath that coaxing, almost hypnotic touch. This too had once been something to hurry past. Now it felt like an end in itself. Tucker taking so much time, so much trouble to make it good for Elliot.

Elliot writhed, breathless, helpless, shivering with a kind of electrical overload at the feel of that long, sturdy finger probing him, pushing in and out past the guardian ring of muscle.

“What will be easiest on your leg?”

Elliot hadn’t even thought of his leg. Having to consider it now felt like having some complicated philosophical question thrown at him.

“Uh…Probably if I lay on my side?”

They shifted around, cocks rigid and bobbing in this new version of Twister.

“How’s that?”

Elliot nodded. Tucker’s lightly haired legs brushed Elliot’s own, his breath was hot against the back of Elliot’s neck, his arm resting warmly, possessively over Elliot’s waist as he began that delicate caress of fingertip to anus once more, trailing up and down the cleft of Elliot’s ass. Elliot’s breath caught.

“Okay?”

“I need more.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll give you more.” Tucker kissed his shoulder. “All you can take.” One finger became two and then he replaced the fingers with his cock, pushing slowly, with piercing sweetness into Elliot’s body. A tight fit, a very tight fit. Tucker was taking great pains not to ram into him, which Elliot appreciated, as his body braced, resisted…
Wait, this hurts, do I really want this? Should I let this happen?
…resisted…and then capitulated.

“Oh God. Yes. Please, Tucker.”

That breach of flesh always astonished him. It wasn’t only physical, that letting someone inside. Physical was the easy part.

He’d have liked to lay on his back, liked to have the lights on so he could stare up into Tucker’s face as Tucker made those pained, delighted sounds, liked to have seen Tucker’s cock sliding in and out of his body, but this was easier on his knee, and almost at once they began to move, at first off-kilter, but then finding the meter, sliding into it, gliding into the push…pull.

They were fucking, fucking hard now, losing the last inhibitions, letting go. Tucker was thrusting fiercely, satisfyingly, and Elliot was shoving back to meet him. They were both urging the other on with groans and inarticulate words over the excited squeak of the bedsprings.

Tucker’s hand smoothed over Elliot’s flank, found his cock, and worked him with that deliberate skill. Elliot moaned and frantically rocked his hips.

“
Tucker…
”

Tucker’s thrusts punctuated his words. “I missed you so…fucking…much…”

Heat and pressure built with an almost unbearable pleasure until it seemed that something
had
to give…and then it did. Elliot stiffened head-to-toe as release crashed through him, sweeping him dizzily along. He began to come in shocked sweet gushes, only dimly aware when Tucker grabbed him, losing his own rhythm, losing control at last and crying out as he toppled off the edge after Elliot…

*  *  *

They slept late, waking the second time well after nine, and tried for three out of three, only to laughingly have to admit defeat.

“Who are you calling old man?” Tucker huffed, finally falling back in the sheets. He reached over, his hand patting down Elliot’s groin. “You’re nearly as old as I am.”

With considerably more wear and tear, but Elliot felt strangely young and carefree that morning. His leg was still stiff, but a night’s rest had reduced the pain to a manageable ache. The fear that he had set his recovery back or damaged the prosthetic knee was eased and forgotten. He had better things to think about.

“
Hey.
” He knocked Tucker’s intrusive hand away. “What are you doing?”

“Carbon dating. Checking your tree rings.”

“Keep your paws off my tree rings.”

“You don’t mean that, Elliot,” Tucker said earnestly, and Elliot started laughing again. He felt like he’d laughed more in eight hours than he had in eight months.

“Jackass.” He turned his head, studying Tucker’s face. Tucker’s eyes slanted to meet his. He was smiling. “If you felt like this, why’ve you been such a jerk?”

“Why have
I
been such a jerk?”

Elliot shrugged. “Okay. Maybe it’s a draw. Why didn’t you call me back last weekend?”

“Oh.” Tucker grimaced, surprising Elliot.

“What does that mean?”

“I sailed out to Goose Island.”

Elliot’s jaw dropped. “You…?”

Tucker nodded. He looked sheepish.

“Why?”
Why did you sail out there? Why didn’t you come to the house?
Elliot wasn’t sure which question he wanted to start with.

Tucker admitted, “After Friday night I thought maybe your shell was cracking.”

“My shell?”

“You called me when you thought you might need help. That has to mean something. I wanted to see you, talk to you, but I lost my nerve.”

“
You
lost your nerve?”

Tucker nodded. He stared up, frowning at the ceiling. “I decided it was a bad idea. That if I pushed it, I was liable to make things worse. I ended up spending the night at a bed and breakfast and sailing back the next morning.”

“I can’t believe it. You were on the island last weekend?”

Tucker shrugged.

Funny to remember how much he’d been thinking about Tucker on Saturday, and all the time Tucker had been on the island, only a couple of miles away.

“You should have come to the cabin.”

“Yeah?”

Elliot nodded and leaned over to claim Tucker’s mouth. Tucker made a throaty noise of acquiescence.

This was new. They had never spent much time on foreplay let alone afterplay before, but Elliot was enjoying this leisurely, caressing exploration. They took turns kissing necks and ears and stubbled chins. He had never found or expected gentleness from Tucker, but here it was, his for the asking. His even if he didn’t know how to ask.

*  *  *

Eventually they abandoned the tangled sheets and blankets for showers and breakfast. Tucker fixed blueberry pancakes and they ate, drank their coffee and took turns reading sections of the
Seattle Times.
Every time their eyes happened to meet over an exchange of pages one of them would offer a self-conscious, wry grin.

The newspaper covered the shooting incident behind the college. No connection was made between the attack on Elliot and the investigation into Terry Baker’s murder. Though the paper referred to Baker’s death, they were still reporting it as suicide.

It reminded Elliot to check his phone messages. Zahra Lyle had called to tell him that she had been forced to go out of town for a business convention, but was expecting an update from him. That was a conversation Elliot wasn’t looking forward to.

When he returned to the kitchen, Tucker was on the phone. He directed a constrained look at Elliot, and Elliot gathered Tucker preferred to speak without an audience. He took his coffee into the other room.

Tucker joined him about half an hour later. Elliot raised his brows in inquiry. Tucker sat beside him on the sofa. He had the air of a man about to make a confession, and Elliot prepared himself to hear something he wasn’t going to like.

“That was Montgomery I was talking to.” Tucker drew a deep breath. “I think the Bureau should take the lead on this case.”

“You had the lead,” Elliot commented. “Remember? You thought it was a waste of your time.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. Montgomery reminded me. More tactfully than you, I might add.”

Elliot curled his lip, but let it go.

“I didn’t think the two cases were connected. I admit it. And I sure as hell didn’t think we were hunting a serial killer.” Tucker grimaced. “I can’t pretend that you being involved didn’t put my back up. I like being rejected about as much as the next guy. I guess it did bias me.”

They could have spent the rest of the morning covering old ground, but what was the point? They had hurt each other in the past. If there was going to be a future, they needed to put it behind them once and for all.

Elliot changed what he had been about to say, asking instead, “Is the Bureau taking over?”

“It’s too soon to say. We’ve obviously got the superior resources especially as far as lab testing and analysis.”

No question which way Tucker wanted it to play out, and Elliot couldn’t blame him for that. He’d have wanted the same thing in Tucker’s place. Besides, the FBI often did get involved when the victim or the victim’s family was prominent or politically connected, as was the case here, even when the crime itself did not fall under federal jurisdiction.

Following his train of thought without effort, Tucker said, “It’s going to depend on what Tacoma PD wants, and frankly, the Bakers.” He added, “Either way, you’re out of it.”

Since Elliot had already come to the same decision even before yesterday’s attack, he couldn’t understand his own instant irritable reaction. He managed to swallow it, saying mildly, “That might be easier said than done.”

Terry Baker’s funeral was a small, private affair—though not so small or so private that Jim Feder was not allowed inside the chapel.

He took his place in the pew next to Elliot and offered a troubled smile.

Elliot nodded back in greeting.

Jim looked young and handsome in his dark suit. Observing him unobtrusively, Elliot decided that Jim’s quiet distress was genuine.

Of course that didn’t mean he wasn’t off his rocker and feeling bad about a murderous compulsion he was unable to control, but Elliot didn’t think so. For one thing, the fact that their “organized” serial killer Unsub had been active for at least five years put twenty-five-year-old Jim beneath the usual cut-off age range of 25 to 45. Not that there couldn’t be exceptions to the rule. Ray and Faye Copeland had been in their seventies. Robert Dale Segee had been nine.

When the service was over, Roland went to speak to Pauline and Tom, and Elliot followed Jim outside. The younger man lit a cigarette and puffed broodingly as he stared out over the white rose garden.

“It isn’t fair,” he said. “It just isn’t fair.”

“Nobody ever said life was fair.” Though Elliot’s leg was greatly improved since Friday, it was still stiff and achy, and that always made him impatient with such sentiments.

Jim gazed at him with sad eyes. “Terry deserved to be loved.”

Didn’t everybody? At the risk of sounding like Roland talking through a psychedelic haze, wouldn’t more love in the world solve a lot of problems right out of the gate? Elliot merely nodded politely. He understood that Jim felt guilty for not loving Terry more.

“Do you think they’ll ever catch who did this?”

“I think so,” Elliot replied. “I think the police have narrowed a number of possibilities.”

“They questioned me.”

“Did they?”

“After Kyle was attacked.” Jim added shortly, “But I guess you knew that. I guess you’re the one who gave them my name.”

Elliot kept his tone neutral. “Your name came up. I didn’t see any reason to withhold it.”

Jim looked away. “Nothing personal, right?”

“I didn’t think you had anything to hide.”

“Everyone has things they’d prefer to hide.”

That was true, and one of the factors that inevitably complicated any investigation.

“Are the police giving you a hard time?”

“No. Of course not. I didn’t have anything to do with the attack on Kyle or with Terry’s death.”

“There you go then.”

Roland came up to them at that juncture and asked Elliot back to the house.

“You’re not going over to the Bakers?”

Roland shook his head. “Come over. I’ll make you supper.”

Elliot was only too glad to accept this olive branch. He said goodbye to Jim, who nodded sulkily and went back to tipping ashes in the roses.

*  *  *

“How do potato and bean enchiladas sound?”

Elliot opened his mouth. “Oh, that’s too easy,” he said instead.

Roland snorted, opening the drawer and hunting for his potato peeler. “Boys will be boys.”

“How’s the book coming?” Elliot studied Roland’s strong profile. He wondered how his father would view Elliot starting up again with Tucker, especially given the fact that Tucker’s political views were, with one exception, decidedly to the right of the Mills clan.

“I’ve finished the rough draft.” Roland was smiling, a private smile that Elliot didn’t trust. “There’s a lot of good stuff in there, if I do say so myself. One or two revelations are really going to stir a few people up.”

Elliot nodded, deciding it would be wiser to let that go.

For a few minutes neither spoke. Roland moved around the kitchen preparing the vegetables, heating water, preheating the oven. Elliot watched him and listened to the chimes in the backyard tinkling in the afternoon breeze. Sitting here like this brought back many comfortable and pleasant memories.

Feeling his father’s gaze, he glanced up and sure enough Roland was scrutinizing him with a tolerant affection that surprised him into speech.

“Dad?”

Roland smiled faintly. “Elliot?”

“I wanted to apologize. And explain. For the other night, I mean.”

“I see.”

Roland wasn’t giving anything away, but he seemed long past his anger.

Elliot took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he’d felt this…young. This in the wrong. It was not a feeling he liked.

“I don’t know why it matters—mattered—so much to me whether you had a relationship with Pauline Baker. I know it’s not my business. I do know that.”

Roland continued to study him in that thoughtful way. “It’s working in law enforcement for so long. You’re jaded. You expect the worst from people.”

“Come on, Dad.”

“I’m serious. It’s one reason I never wanted you to go into something like the FBI. It’s soul-killing.”

Not this again. Wasn’t it enough that Elliot was no longer with the Bureau? “Dad.”

Roland shrugged. “I know, I know. I’m not forgetting that I brought you into this tragic mess. I know what you’re like once you get something into your head, so I have only myself to blame.”

“That’s not exactly fair.”

“Yes, it is. Once you made up your mind to find out what happened to Terry, you committed to following every possible lead down every possible trail. I know you, son. It’s not a bad trait—not in the fuzz and not in a scholar—but I wasn’t happy to have you looking at me like a suspect.”

“Never.” Elliot was adamant. “Not for one second did I consider you a suspect.”

“Sure you did,” Roland said easily. “Oh, not a murder suspect, but you suspected me of betraying my best friend—and my wife. Your mother.”

Elliot couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. He heard rather than saw Roland’s sigh.

“Elliot. The fact is, I do care for Pauline. I’ve come to care about her a great deal over the years since your mother died. And if she wasn’t married to my oldest friend, maybe things would be different. But she
is
married to Tom, and things are what they are. Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah.” Elliot grimaced. “To be honest, we’re pretty sure now we’re dealing with a serial killer.”

“A
serial
killer?”

Elliot nodded.

“Then why isn’t that on the news?”

“Because it’s still not definite. There’ll be a formal press release as soon as it’s certain. Right now there’s behavioral evidence but not much in the way of forensic to support the theory.”

“People need to know about this. They need to be able to warn themselves.”

“I agree. Everyone involved agrees. But up until now the majority of victims appear to have been high risk. The kind of person who can disappear for a lot of reasons without anyone noticing or caring. Right this minute the various investigative agencies are trying to figure out their strategy. If the determination is made that this really is a serial murder series, it looks like the FBI will lead the task force.”

“And you’re having trouble with that?”

“No.” Elliot stared at him, startled. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s obvious.”

“It’s not true. I think the Bureau is the best agency to handle this.”

Roland nodded noncommittally. “Friday night. Where did you call me from?”

“From, er, Tucker’s place.”

“Tucker?”

“Tucker Lance. The agent…guy I was…uh…”

“I remember Tucker.” Right. Roland would have been one of the people enforcing Elliot’s wishes not to see Tucker. “So you’ve started seeing him again?”

“Yeah, but it’s not—”

Roland brushed this aside. “You obviously still have feelings for the cat. I’ve known that for a long time. What I’m getting at is, this is the first time you’re facing being on the outside of one of his cases. Am I right? A case that you were actively involved in.”

“Yeah.”

“So of course you’re having a problem with it. I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

Elliot absorbed this. Reluctantly, he conceded, “Yeah. Okay. Maybe you’re right. It’s hard being on the outside looking in. That used to be my world.”

“You’ll work through it.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“Sure I’m sure. Father knows best.” Roland reached out to ruffle Elliot’s hair with rough affection. “And don’t you forget it.”

It was a good evening and a relief to have things back to normal in this part of his life at least. When at last Elliot said goodnight and walked out to his car, he was still mulling over his father’s assertion that he was resentful of Tucker’s possible role in the upcoming investigation into Baker’s death and Lyle’s disappearance. He didn’t like sitting on the sidelines, that was true. He had always been a better driver than a passenger.

If he and Tucker were going to try and make some kind of relationship work, he was going to have to get used to his new role as innocent bystander. That was not going to be easy. On the other hand, he suspected that his feelings for Tucker ran deep enough that it was worth working through his issues.

In fact, he was taken aback by how much he missed Tucker. He’d spent most of Saturday at Tucker’s apartment, but it was only one day, after all, so why was he feeling like his other half was missing? When had he become so emotionally needy?

Or was it needy to admit that you liked being with someone?

The fact was, Elliot didn’t have enough experience at relationships to know. Before he’d been shot, his focus had been on building his career. No question he had been ambitious. The Bureau had fast-tracked him for promotion. After he’d resigned, his focus had been on putting his life back together. He was new at this romance thing.

“Oh what the hell,” he muttered, reaching for his cell phone.

Tucker picked up immediately. First ring. He must have been staring at his phone, willing it to ring.

“Hey, you.” The warm affection was not what Elliot was expecting. Once again he felt off balance.

He replied cautiously, “Hey.”

“Guess what? It’s confirmed. A multi-agency task force is being put together. The Bureau is taking point and I’m lead investigator. We’re going to get this sonofabitch.”

“That’s great,” Elliot said hollowly.

“I’ve got to drive into Tacoma this evening to meet with Detective Anderson. He’s co-investigator on this.”

Sunday night. They were moving fast. That was good. Elliot was glad, but he was still disappointed he wasn’t going to see Tucker tonight. He knew better than to ask. He’d been through one of these serial murder investigations early in his career, though not as lead investigator. Tucker was in for a grueling night as he and his team assessed and reassessed all the evidence collected so far. It would be Tucker’s job to put together a team of investigators and support personnel and assign them as the investigation dictated. He and Anderson would be responsible for all the crime scene activities including making sure that relevant information was distributed to the entire task force.

It was a promotion for Tucker—a big one—and as far as their relationship went, it couldn’t have come at a worse time. Tucker’s dance card was going to be filled for the foreseeable future.

And Elliot was a total shit to begrudge Tucker this opportunity merely because it meant they wouldn’t be seeing much of each other. He made himself say sturdily, “That’s good news.” Adding more naturally, “I feel safer already.”

Tucker laughed. “Sarcastic bastard. But I do feel vested in this case because of your own involvement.”

Christ. In a second Tucker was going to thank him for being a concerned citizen.

“Well, look, I’ve got a ferry to catch. I’ll give you a call later.”

“Where are you?”

“Tacoma. I went to the Baker kid’s funeral.”

“Right.” Tucker sounded distracted. “How was it?”

“No one confessed, if that’s what you mean.”

There was a pause. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. Sorry. Listen, I’ve got to get going.”

“Wait a minute, Elliot. Is something wrong?”

“What?” Not that Elliot hadn’t heard, just that he couldn’t believe Tucker would
ask.
Ask in that stubborn, serious tone. In broad daylight. Or, in this case, broad twilight. He heard the echo of his thoughts and nearly laughed. Ironically, it appeared that Tucker was going to be better at this relationship thing than he was. “No,” he answered. “Funerals get me down, that’s all.”

“
Is
that all it is? You haven’t had any more text messages or anything?”

Oh. That was a relief. For a terrible moment Elliot had feared Tucker was worried about his feelings. Thank God, he was still thinking in terms of crime and killing.

“Nothing. Maybe running into you yesterday scared him off.” It came out with an edge he hadn’t intended.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” By his tone Tucker knew it hadn’t been intended that way. “I’ll try and give you a call tomorrow, okay? Maybe we can grab some dinner.”

They both knew the chances of that were slim. Not this early into the case. Tucker would be working 24/7 for the foreseeable future.

“I’ve got physical therapy tomorrow. Maybe later in the week.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Later.”

A hesitation and then Tucker replied, “Later.”

Elliot disconnected before he said something he would regret. That something being just about anything.