Golden Dancer (20 page)

He walked slowly back toward the computer. Since when did a computer look so much like a snake? It wasn’t the story that would hurt Daniel, it was Mac. Did Daniel care for him? Yeah. Mac could feel it in every touch, kiss, and embrace. Just like he knew he cared for Daniel. But he also loved his job, his career. Fighting a sob, Mac clicked on the e-mail.

Chaim ben Harrari. That was who the man at breakfast with Daniel had been. The elder of a respected Israeli family. Past ninety years old, the patriarch had figured in one or two stories Mac had written on the Middle East—that was why he’d looked familiar. But what was the connection with Terrebone?

He kept reading. Holy crap. Kizwalski said there was a claim in sealed court documents that the
Golden Dancer
had been owned by the ben Harrari family, known then as Harriman, when they lived in Germany. The claim said the statue had been “confiscated”—read: stolen—by the Nazis during the war. The SS officer who ended up with it just happened to be named Von Berg. Horst’s father, probably. Apparently, ben Harrari had tried several times through secondary channels to claim the statue, but the German courts would not uphold the claim.

Mac took a sip. So what the hell? Had ben Harrari hired Daniel to steal it for him? Seemed unlikely Daniel would need the money. Maybe ben Harrari agreed to sell the statue and split the proceeds with Terrebone? Now, that would be a chunk of change. But hell, Daniel gave money away like water. He wouldn’t do something for money. Maybe ben Harrari agreed to sell the statue to Daniel after it was stolen. Of course, why would a guy pay for it if he’d already stolen it? Could Daniel hate Von Berg so much he’d steal the statue just to get the best of him? Or do it for a lark? Or a combination of those two?

Mac sat back in his chair and stared at the photo from the breakfast meeting on the screen. Daniel sitting with ben Harrari. One thing was sure. There was a deep connection between Daniel and the statue. He’d tried to buy it several times for exorbitant amounts of money. There was one hacker who appeared to have both the expertise and the availability to have pulled off the theft, and Daniel was his client; Mac knew that for a fact. He’d heard the conversation. Daniel was connected with the family that was reported to have previously owned the statue and attempted to get it back through legal methods, but had failed. How desperate might they have been to get it back? And the statue’s present owner, Von Berg, was convinced that Terrebone had stolen the statue. He’d come to this conclusion independently of Mac. While that, alone, was in no way convincing, when taken with the other data, it contributed to a pretty strong circumstantial case against Daniel Terrebone—the big fat art thief.

These were all facts. Mac could probably write a speculative story just stating these facts and letting readers draw their own conclusions. After all, the data was true and provable.

Von Berg wanted the statue, and Mac couldn’t care less whether he got it. Mac wanted the story. No, he wanted
a
story. A great story. He stared at the picture on the screen. Was this it? What was he willing to give up for the story he’d wanted his whole career? Shit. Shit. Shit.

He dropped his head in his hands.

There was a soft sigh. “Facing a moral dilemma, my fine reporter friend?”

Mac whirled in his desk chair.

Daniel stood behind him, dressed in cutoff jeans and a T-shirt. “Sorry, I sneaked in trying to surprise you. Obviously, I did.”

“Daniel…”

“Well played, Mr. MacAllister. Unlikely you could have ever gotten to me except through Trelain. Were you really a virgin? Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Daniel, I…”

The big man held up his hand. “Funny, I suspected you. I even called a number from your backpack and got Kizwalski. But I told myself he was just your source, forced myself to be blind because I wanted your caring to be true. I’m seldom a fool in business. I guess I don’t mind being a fool for love. It keeps the heart open, even when it gets stomped.”

Mac’s insides shattered. Crumbled. He couldn’t take his eyes from two spots of angry red on those sharp, high cheekbones and the sheen of tears in the deep blue eyes. The big man’s fists clenched. Mac braced to get hit. He deserved it.

Daniel shook his head. His face looked like
he’d
been hit. Then he turned and walked out.

No, he had to explain. Mac ran to the window. The idiot got on a bicycle. Jesus, he shouldn’t be riding on the Canyon Road with all that traffic. It was dangerous, and…

Laughter welled up in his throat, and he crumbled to the floor. Now? He was going to protect Daniel now, after weeks of double-dealing and outright betrayal? Jesus, he could have told Daniel and Trelain that there was a vicious man trying to prove Daniel was a thief. He could have—should have—but in the name of his reportorial objectivity, he’d lied by omission to the men he cared about. Cared about more than…

He sat up. Oh shit. He called himself a reporter. Identified as one. But he wasn’t a reporter. He was a person, a man, who made his living getting stories and writing news. A man who needed a life and wholeness that he had never permitted himself to have. Jesus. Daniel wasn’t a story. He was…one of the men that Mac…loved. The word hit like a hammer. Love. He loved his parents like…parents, and Debbie as a friend. He cared about Woo and a couple other people he liked. Love. Only two he loved.

Oh crap! He scrambled to his feet. What had Deb said? He was throwing it away with both hands. Shit, no. He grabbed the car keys. Stopped. Looking over his shoulder at the computer, he reached out a hand and hit Delete.

He ran out the front door and jumped into the creaky old Volvo. It started up with a vicious roar, then slogged its way down his road to the light at the Canyon Road intersection. There had to be a way to convince Daniel. Had to be. Why didn’t the frigging light change? Damned traffic engineers. Finally, he made the left turn onto the busy two-lane road. Which way would Daniel have gone? Straight up PCH? No, Daniel didn’t have a death wish. Too much traffic for a bicyclist without his wits about him. He hoped. Glenneyre then.

Death to damned Laguna traffic! Finally, he gunned the old boat up the nearly vertical Third Street, turned right, and then left on Glenneyre, the hidden thoroughfare known mostly to locals that went all the way through Laguna. Ahead he saw the bicycle, Daniel’s long legs pumping on the long uphill slope. Three stop signs and a world of hurt separated them.

Mac performed a perfect California stop at the sign; slowing down to about five miles per hour, then speeding through. He raced to the next sign, slowed, and then sped through again. He hoped Laguna’s finest were really busy today. Finally, he burst through the last sign and pulled up beside Daniel, whose head was down, lungs working. Sweet Jesus, tears ran down the man’s face. Oh shit. He felt tears fill his own eyes. He lowered the window as his car crept beside the bike. “Daniel, please, pull over. I have to talk to you. I have to explain.”

The silver head shook, and the legs kept pumping.

Mac yelled over the traffic noise. “No excuses. I’m sorry, but it’s my fucking fault. But please, I need to tell you how I feel.” Cars behind him honked, and drivers were giving dirty looks as they passed him. One particularly aggressive asshole was practically hitting his rear bumper, since the street was busy and the other lane full. Who the hell did he think he was, Ben Hur?

He had to get away from the asshole. Mac swerved to the right, heard the bike hit the Volvo, and watched Daniel tumble to the ground. Shit!

He was out of the car in a second after slamming it into park. Blood. Daniel lay on the pavement, eyes closed, one bleeding knee under the bicycle wheel.

“Baby, are you okay? Jesus, speak to me. Please. Oh God, I didn’t mean to hurt you; I just had to get out of that asshole’s way. Please speak to me.” Mac grabbed his phone from his pocket and was dialing 9-1-1 when a big hand rested over his.

“Let’s not involve the police before your story comes out, shall we?”

“Oh, thank God.” Mac leaned over Daniel and kissed his face. His salty cheeks tasted so good. “There’s no story.” Kiss. “I’m trying to tell you, I never want to write a story about you…I mean, unless it’s a good one.” Kiss. “I never want to hurt you or Trelain, ever again.” Kiss. “I…oh shit. I’m so crappy at this.”

Daniel reached a hand to his cheek. “You’re doing fine.”

A car slowed beside them “You need help…? Oh, fags!” And it sped away.

Mac looked for a rock to throw at the car. Then he laughed. “I guess I better get used to hearing that, huh? If you’ll still have me, that is?”

Daniel’s dark-as-midnight eyes looked up at him. “Even if I won’t have you, you’re still gay.”

Mac shrugged. “Yeah, I know. But I gotta tell you, if I’ve messed this up and lose you and Trelain, I’ll probably just go back to my hand. Don’t think I’d want to be with anyone else.”

“You’d change your mind.”

“Doubt it.”

“Stubborn asshole.”

“Yeah. But…” He closed his eyes. “I’m the stubborn asshole who loves you.”

Silence. When he looked, the midnight eyes stared at him levelly. So that was it. Daniel wouldn’t forgive him. Didn’t blame him. What he’d done was unforgivable. But the thought of losing Daniel and Trelain made him want to puke.

Daniel rose up on an elbow. “I guess we better get out of the street before the police do come.”

No. He was not giving up that easily. He grabbed that silver head and pressed his mouth onto Daniel’s. The carved lips felt warm, but while they didn’t pull away, Mac got little response.

A horn sounded. “Get a room.”

Yeah. Mac leaned back and helped Daniel up. He loaded the bike in the trunk and the big man into the front seat. They didn’t talk while they drove, giving Mac lots of time to feel sick. A few minutes later, a very solicitous butler helped Daniel out of the car. Carlos even gave his boss a polite tongue-lashing for riding in Laguna on those dangerous roads. Everybody cared about Daniel.

Mac followed Daniel inside. He would have turned and left, but Daniel threw an arm around his shoulders, so he helped get the big guy into the master bedroom. In the beautiful gray room with its polished floors and spare furniture, Daniel sat on the bed.

Carlos hovered. “Shall I get you some antiseptic, sir?”

“I’ll clean it, thanks, Carlos.” The butler seemed to understand some privacy was in order and quietly left the room, closing the door. Mac waited beside the door. Daniel looked up and patted the space beside him. Oh God, would he listen?

Mac took two steps, started to sit on the bed, and ended kneeling beside Daniel’s bloody leg. He touched it gently. “I’ve been a horrible, betraying ass, and I would understand if you never forgive me, but God I hope you do. All I can say in my defense is I was investigating you before I met Trelain, and I didn’t come to your house to try to get a story. I really came for him. When I realized I wanted to be with him, I thought, what the hell, I could have him and do a little snooping at the same time.” Mac shrugged. “Then I started to care for you, but I was in so deep, I couldn’t make myself quit. I’m truly sorry. I was an immature asshole. I just don’t understand love very well.”

Daniel smiled. “I’m not exactly a model of true love.”

“Like hell. You are love.”

The blue midnight eyes filled with tears. “What a nice thing to say.”

“You said it. You’re not a fool in business, but you have an open heart. I’m a crappy guest, but I’d like to make a home there if you’ll have me.”

Daniel took Mac’s face in his big hands. Even his palms were silky. “Be my guest.” The sweetness of Daniel’s kiss filled his heart. Oh God, he’d almost lost this. How could he be so dumb?

When their lips parted, Daniel kissed his nose. “I need a shower and a bandage. Then I’m going to tell you the story.”

Mac shook his head. “No, I don’t want the story anymore. I want you. Can’t have both.”

“Actually, that’s true. But don’t you want to know how I stole it?”

Mac’s heart leaped. Daniel laughed. “Don’t play coy, Mr. MacAllister. You’d kill to know the gory details.” He sobered. “But more importantly, I want you to know why I stole it. And you
can
have that and have me. Okay?”

Mac nodded.

“Want to take a shower with me?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“Holy shit, Daniel, more, please.”

Daniel rammed his cock deeper into Mac’s beautiful ass as the water ran over their bodies from four separate showerheads. Oh yeah, the man did like to be fucked. And Daniel loved doing the fucking. Tight, hot, barely more than virgin ass, all his…and Trelain’s, of course.

Oh God, what if he’d lost him? He couldn’t stand thinking it. Maybe he should care that Mac had been investigating him. He didn’t. He loved the man. Yeah, two men. After a lifetime of playing, he was in love. Totally, deeply in love.

Slam—another deep thrust, and fire coursed up his spine. “Oh crap, Mac, I’m gonna come. Come with me, darling.” He reached around and cranked Mac’s big dick four times, hard, before the man made a deep grunting sound, pounded his hips back on Daniel’s cock, and spurted thick fluid into his hand that mixed with the warm shower water.

Jeeeesus. The top of his head exploded as cum poured into Mac. Oh, mine. Mine. He collapsed over Mac’s back as the man braced himself against the shower wall.

Mac chuckled. “Somebody’s gonna report us to the EPA for wasting so much water.”

“Nah. I have a recycling plant built into the house.”

“Love it. We can even fuck green.”

“Yeah, and semen is completely biodegradable.”

They finally crawled out of the shower, and Daniel wiped a towel over Mac’s lean back, across those wide shoulders. Mac loved him. Daniel didn’t realize how much that meant to him until he thought it was gone. He’d been pretty sure Mac cared for him. There was no way the man could have expressed the things he did in New York and not cared. But for a minute there, Daniel thought Mac didn’t know it, and that he might not realize his feelings until it was too late. Until he’d wrecked things so completely, it would be hard to repair.