L. A. Heat (10 page)

He passed the photos over. “I’m looking for
information on this guy, Jason Blake.”

Chris took the picture and stared down at the head
shot of the twenty-year-old Jason Blake. It was obvious he recognized the young
man.

David’s chest tightened. He didn’t realize until
that moment that he hoped Chris would say that he didn’t know him. The
knowledge disturbed him. Maybe that was why his next question came out sounding
harsh: “Where did you meet him? The Nosh Pit? How long ago?”

“Months,” Chris murmured. “I don’t remember
exactly.”

David drew out a second photo and studied it,
trying not to think of the way Blake had looked when the killer got through
with him. “Good-looking guy.” Jason Blake had matured from the scrawny,
too-thin kid David had first seen in his high-school photo to a sleek-looking,
dark-haired man who must have stirred a lot of libidos, male and female.

Chris stood up. “Let me check to see if the
coffee’s ready.”

David almost let him go, then abruptly changed his
mind. Maybe it was time to put some pressure on Mr. Christopher Bellamere. He
followed him into the kitchen. It was all brushed steel and granite
countertops, totally out of place with the rest of the house. It had all the
warmth of a meat locker. Chris must have seen him staring because he grunted.

“Kyle’s idea of ultrachic. I always feel like I’m
in a giant tin can when I come in here. What do you take in your coffee?”

“Nothing.” David quickly amended that. “I mean, no
thanks. I don’t need anything.”

Chris shrugged and filled a large mug and threw in
a splash of Hazelnut-flavored cream. He came to stand beside David, who shifted
uncomfortably at his nearness.

“What do you really want from me?” Chris asked.
There was a plaintiveness to his question that stirred a longing in David,
which he quickly suppressed. Chris was a suspect, for heaven’s sake. And even
if he wasn’t, Christopher Bellamere was way out of David’s league, now or ever.

“What do I want?” he asked. “Try the truth.”

“I’ve told you the truth. I barely knew the guy.”

“Then tell me anything you can—”

Des reappeared. “Kyle wants to go to bed,” he
said. “Do you have any more questions, officer?”

Monday,
8:40 pm, North Palm Drive, Beverly Hills

Chris sipped his cooling coffee
while David slipped out of the room. He looked over to find Des grinning at
him.

“What?”

“Did you see it?”

“See what?” Chris scowled. “Okay, what’s so
funny?”

“You really didn’t catch it?”

“Catch what?” Chris felt like shaking him. “Des.”

“That guy had such a boner for you.”

“Who—
what? The detective
?”

“Yeah.” Des smirked. “Him. Come on, you know I
have the best gaydar in the state. Have I ever been wrong?”

“Well, there was that UCLA football halfback—”

“Oh honey, just because he wouldn’t admit it
doesn’t mean he wasn’t.”

“Honey,” Chris said acidly. “The man broke your
arm. He came damn close to breaking your neck. If it hadn’t been for me you’d
have spent the next term in traction.”

“Oh pish.” Des dismissed his words with a scented
wave of his hand. “Maybe I misjudged him, but I’m right about this one. He’s
got a boner for you.”

“Would you stop saying that.”

Des sniffed. “Just you wait and see.”

*****

As long as Chris had known him,
Des had collected Hollywood memorabilia. Nearly every inch of wall outside the
kitchen was covered with movie posters. Horror flicks mingled uneasily with
frantic comedies. Chris knew some of the posters were worth thousands. An
ancient, carefully framed
Gone With the Wind
had been rumored to be
valued at nearly a hundred grand.

David perched on the edge of the sofa beside Kyle,
who was hunched over, holding the melting ice pack to his eye. The look of
concern on David’s rough face seemed genuine. He touched Kyle’s shoulder and
when the younger man looked sideways at him David smiled. Chris was amazed to
see Kyle smile in return.

He was still smiling when he caught sight of
Chris. The smile died and David looked up. He rose.

Kyle stumbled to his feet. “I’d like to go to
bed.”

David frowned. “Of course, Mr. Paige. I can see my
own way out—”

“Good.” Kyle brushed past Chris and Des, barely
acknowledging his lover’s “Hey—”

“Listen,” Des said to Chris. “I’ll call you
tomorrow. Right now I just want to make sure Kyle is okay.”

“Sure.” Chris barely nodded. He was still holding
David’s gaze. “Call me.”

Chris studied David. Could Des be right? Did it
mean anything if he was? The man wasn’t his type. Even if he was intriguing as
hell. It sure as hell didn’t mean Chris wanted to sleep with him. Really, it
didn't.

“Are you done, then?” Chris asked.

“Yes.”

David eyed the wall full of posters. “Mr. Hayward
is in the industry?”

“Des owns a clothing store. Mind you, it’s a store
in Beverly Hills. He lived with an assistant director once, if that counts.”

“You’ve been friends a long time.”

“Did Kyle tell you that?” Chris could just imagine
that conversation. Kyle couldn’t seem to forgive Des for having a past that
didn’t include him. He sighed. “You going to take me back?”

“If you’re ready.”

Chris stepped closer to the much taller man. He
wasn’t used to looking up to anyone; at six feet he was eye-to-eye with most
men. David made him crane his neck. His mouth was at eye-level. Chris dropped
his gaze to the plain gray cotton shirt covering David’s broad chest. It was
buttoned almost up to his throat and finished with a sedate blue and gray tie
he had tugged open, providing a glimpse of a mat of black chest hair. Chris
wasn’t normally into bears, but he found himself wondering what David looked
like under all that cotton.

He smelled damned good.

“Why are you always following me?” he said softly.

“You said that before.” David folded his arms over
his chest, making himself look even more massive. His mustache bristled. “What
makes you think I’m following you?”

“Is that a cop thing?”

“What?”

“Answering a question with a question? Never
giving a straight answer—pardon the pun.”

David’s eyes narrowed. The thick muscles of his
forearms bulged. “I’m not following you.”

“You won’t even admit it to yourself, will you?”

Spinning around Chris stalked toward the front
door. He wasn’t really surprised when David followed.

“What does that mean?” David demanded.

“Buried in the closet like you are, it must get
pretty damned stuffy when you never come up for air.”

Chris was nearly at the front door when David
wrapped one big hand around his elbow and pulled him to an abrupt stop. Chris
eyed the wall of flesh in front of him and fought the urge to step back. Not
that the grip on his arm would have allowed it.

He glared at David, ignoring the way the heat from
David’s fingers scalded his flesh.

“Why do you think I’m following you?” David asked.
“Doesn’t that strike you as a bit paranoid. I am conducting a homicide
investigation.”

Chris dismissed his words. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“Nobody can be that thick.”

When David would have moved away, Chris slammed
his hand against the wall, blocking his retreat.

“You don’t understand?” Chris cupped David’s head
in both hands. “Maybe you’ll understand this.”

He rammed his mouth over David’s.

David went rigid with shock. Chris froze. David’s
mouth was closed, shut tight against Chris’s invading tongue. Oh, Jesus, now
he’d done it. David was going to bust him for assault. If he didn’t break him
in two. How the hell could he have listened to Des? Des and his stupid gaydar.
How could he have thought David was queer—

Massive hands closed into fists around the
material of Chris’s T-shirt and David growled. He shoved him back against the
wall, at the same time his lips opened and his tongue filled Chris’s mouth. The
coarse bristles of David’s mustache and his incipient beard chafed Chris’s
face. Beside them a coat rack crashed, flinging umbrellas and jackets across
the floor.

Chris barely noticed. His heart was pounding so
hard he swore the wall behind him vibrated. He closed his eyes and hung on to
David just to stay upright.

Pinned to the wall, Chris matched David’s sudden
fervor. Flashing between them was raw lust as uncontrollable as a river roaring
downhill. David pressed against Chris with his hard body, his erection pushing
into Chris's stomach. Chris went after bare skin, shoving his hands up under
David’s shirt, clutching warm flesh, mindlessly tracking over writhing muscles.

“What the hell is going on down there? Dammit, I’m
trying to get Kyle to sleep—shit, I—oh damn—I’m sorry—sorry...”

Chris dragged his mouth off David’s in time to see
a red-faced Des backpedal down the hall.

Des fled. His feet thumped as he tripped on the
stair riser and he grabbed the banister to keep from falling. He took the short
flight of stairs two at a time.

“Oh man,” Chris muttered. He blinked and met
David’s glazed eyes. Then his gaze wandered back down to David’s half-open
mouth. His thick dark mustache looked delicious enough to chew on.

He wanted to kiss him again. Damn Des for
interrupting.

David’s breathing was ragged, and Chris could see
a pulse beat in the five o’clock shadow under David’s chin.

He leaned forward. “David—”

“Don’t.” David shuddered and backed away. He
stooped down and grabbed the coat rack, fumbling to pick up the umbrella that
had popped open in its tumble to the floor. “We’re going to pretend that didn’t
happen.”

“No—” Chris reached for David, his hands
skittering across skin where he had pulled the shirt out of David’s pants. “How
can you say that wasn’t real?”

David jerked away as though scalded. “Let me take
you back to your vehicle, Chris. I’m calling it a night. I suggest you do the
same.”

“Come back to my place,” Chris said. “We can
talk—”

“I’m on duty.” With that he pulled completely free
of Chris’s touch. He was breathing hard, which was some consolation. When Chris
moved toward him, he stepped back. That wasn’t good. Damn. The man had a hell
of a lot more willpower than Chris had.

“David...” With a sigh Chris scooped his jacket
off the floor and slipped it on. “Forget it. Fine, I’m ready.”

David already had the car started when Chris
climbed into the passenger’s seat; he grabbed the seat belt when David shot out
of the narrow driveway.

Chris glanced at the dashboard clock. After
midnight. He felt a crushing exhaustion; he should have been home in bed by
now. Which is exactly where he wanted to be.

Only not alone.

He peered sideways at David, taking in the grim
set of his jaw and knew talking wasn’t going to work. He tried anyway. David
wasn’t the only one with a stubborn streak.

“If you don’t want to go back to my place, why
don’t we grab a coffee—the Flip Side is just down the street.”

“Forget it, Chris.”

“Can’t.” Chris tried to keep it light, hoping that
would break through David’s stiff-necked pride. “Anyone ever tell you, you make
quite an impression? You—”

“Don’t.”

Chris was silent while David maneuvered along the
nearly empty streets of Beverly Hills. He only spoke again once they passed
through the more boisterous Boystown and turned onto Sunset.

“We need to talk, David.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Whatever you think
happened, didn’t. End of story.”

“End of nothing. God, you’re so deep in denial
it’s scary. How the hell can you live like that? What do you think they’re
going to do if they find out?”

David didn’t answer. But Chris could see the
tension in his shoulders and the stranglehold grip he had on the wheel.

Finally he ventured, “Are you going to keep
telling yourself you didn’t kiss me back? Or that you aren’t as hard as I am
right now—”

“Don’t you know when to leave something alone?”
David swung the car into the curb and slammed on the brakes. Headlights washed
the back of Chris’s SUV. “Just let it go.”

Chris opened his mouth to retort, then bit his
lip. He threw the car door open and scrambled out, slamming the door.

He didn’t watch as David peeled away from the
curb. Down the sidewalk light flared when someone emerged from the Nosh Pit.
Chris glanced at his SUV. He should go home, get some sleep...

The Nosh Pit was still hopping, but now there was
a familiar tension to the place. The desperation of the still-single clung to
everyone present.

Chris nearly stumbled over a groping couple in the
dim front vestibule. Muttering that maybe it was time to take it home, he
passed into the bar. Behind the counter Ramsey raised his eyebrows. Chris
lifted his hand in greeting but didn’t go over, knowing the bartender would
only want to know why he had returned.

He spotted Bobby at the same time the younger man
saw him.

Bobby bounced to his feet, ending the conversation
he’d been having with an older queen, who looked pissed at the interruption.

“Hey, man.” Bobby grabbed Chris around the waist.
“Thought you were gone for the night.”

“So did I.”

“Come on, buy me a drink and cheer yourself up.”
He squeezed Chris’s still semi-hard dick through his jeans. “I’ll make it all
better, I promise.”

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Tuesday,
7:25 am, Northeast Community Police Station,

San
Fernando Road, Los Angeles

“YOU GET LUCKY last night,
perro
Viejo
,” Martinez said from his desk. He never looked up from the file he
was studying.

David nearly tipped his second coffee of the day
into his lap. He opened his mouth to snap a retort, then shut it again.
Martinez wasn’t even listening.