L. A. Heat (22 page)

Chris suppressed the temptation to flip them the
bird as he wheeled out of the lot. The drive home seemed interminable as he
struggled to breathe shallowly to avoid the heavy fumes.

At home he showered and shaved, then took his time
selecting his outfit. As he stood in front of his overstuffed closet, frowning
over what he should wear, he wondered why he was going to such lengths for this
guy. There was nothing special about David. Chris wasn’t a cop groupie,
attracted to the uniform and the gun, like some guys he knew.

Not that Chris wanted a relationship with anyone.
He was happy playing the field. Safe, anonymous sex. No strings. That suited
him just fine.

Sure it did.

He finally settled on a tight-fitting pair of
black denim Diesels and a body-molding Izod shirt in soft yellow that he knew
set off his skin tone. He moussed his hair and spiked it with stiff fingers,
which emphasized his blond streaks, full mouth, and high cheekbones.

He looked good. Would David think so?

He was halfway out of the bedroom when the phone
rang. He scooped it up. Silence greeted his hello. The caller ID window said
only unknown number, unknown name.

A soft knock broke through his preoccupation.

David.

He took the stairs two at a time and flung the
front door open just as David got ready to knock again.

He looked like he had just stepped out of the
shower. His dark, curly hair was still damp. He had changed, too, out of his
usual suit and tie to a pair of simple navy linen pants and a crisp pale-blue
shirt. No tie. The shirt was open at the throat and the tight curls of his
chest hair peeked through.

Chris wanted to lean over and bury his face in it.

David took in Chris’s lean form and his eyes
darkened. He licked his lips and looked away when he realized Chris was
watching.

“Ready?” he asked.

In the driveway David’s Chevy coupe ticked and
pinged as it cooled.

“See you got your truck back,” David said as they
slid into the bench seat of the coupe.

“Oh yeah,” Chris muttered. “Superglue and all.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He’d left the windows of the SUV
down an inch on either side, figuring eventually the chemical reek would fade.
“You like curry?”

“Thai or Indian?”

Chris grinned. “I think you can do both at this
place. It’s pretty eclectic.”

Hermosa Beach was south of Marina del Rey. A tiny
beach community sandwiched between Manhattan Beach and Redondo, it was less
well known than its kitschy cousin Venice or more upscale Santa Monica.

The restaurant was run by an Indian couple, but
the chef was Thai. Chris ordered a bottle of Australian Chardonnay and they
munched on crisp fried pappadums as they studied the handwritten menu board.
The restaurant filled up rapidly and over the soft flow of piped-in flute music
the noise level rose and the delicious smells of cumin, garlic, and curries
scented the evening air.

David ordered lamb curry. Chris chose Kerala
chicken.

Talk was light, never moving beyond the weather,
the promise of another nasty fire season, and the last car show they had both
been to. Only when their meal arrived and they fell to eating in earnest did
Chris venture a question.

“You find anything?”

“About Des’s friend?”

David shook his head.

“I did run some checks on local emergency rooms.”

Chris played with the base of his wine glass.
Finally he raised his head and met David’s gaze. “What about the other
places...”

“Morgues? No John Does that come close to matching
Kyle.”

“Good. That’s good, right?” Chris sipped his wine.
He suddenly didn’t want to talk about Kyle. Changing the subject, he said, “You
find out anymore about Bobby?”

David fished a piece of lamb out of his rice and
dipped it in yogurt. “We talked to his sister.”

Chris avoided David’s gaze. “She able to tell you
anything?”

“His parents live in Topeka, Kansas. They’re on
their way in to claim the body.”

Chris sipped his wine.

“You’re not involved in this anymore, Chris, so
stay away from it.”

“Your partner ready to do the same?”

Chris knew he’d hit a sore spot when David winced.
“We found a better lead today. He’ll come around.”

“You got a suspect?”

David scowled. “I can’t say. You can answer one
question for me,” he said.

“Sure. What?”

“What were those glasses doing in the back of your
SUV? They weren’t yours. So whose are they?”

“Glasses?” Suddenly Chris burst out laughing.
“Those things? They were a Halloween gag. I wore them to look like a geek. Why?
Who did you think they belonged to?”

“Jason Blake.”

“Jay?” Chris felt the blood draining from his
face. “Is that why you suspected me?”

“If figured into the evidence. Forget it.”

Chris managed to scoop the bill when it came and
ignored David’s frown when he fished out his American Express card and handed
it over to the obsequious waiter.

Once they were back outside Chris turned away from
where David’s car was parked. If this had been West Hollywood, or even Silver
Lake, he might have grabbed David’s hand, but he settled for walking close by
his side. They drew near a pink and mauve building with signs and crowds lined
up outside. Half the crowd carried massive hand-dipped ice cream cones. The
signs said it all: “We make the best ice cream in the World!”

“Hey, you want to spend money on me, buy dessert.
Something with pralines and fudge and lots of caramel.”

David got in line and twenty minutes later
returned carrying two cones. He handed one to Chris, who swirled his tongue
agilely around the dripping mound of ice cream. David had already started on
his chocolate cone.

Chris eyed his choice. “At least it’s not
vanilla.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Let’s walk down by the beach.”

The sun was just slipping behind a haze of
offshore pollution and the masts of a dozen sailboats heading back to the
marina. They stayed back on the boardwalk, away from the sand until Chris
finished his cone. He reached down and slipped off his Dockers and socks. He
rolled his jeans up a couple of inches.

“Come on, let’s go down to the water.”

David hesitated only a minute, then followed suit.
Shoes and socks in hand they stepped onto the cooling sand and within minutes
were at the water’s edge.

A gentle surf hissed and rolled over the golden
sand, darkened at the surf line. Water splattered Chris’s legs, sand flecked
his ankles and encased his toes.

“Now you can’t get back in my car,” David said.

“Oh yeah?” Chris leaned down and threw a handful
of water at David, who laughed and jumped back. A spray of sand coated his
hairy legs. “Now we’re even.”

David stamped his feet, but it only scattered more
sand around his ankles. Finally he shook his curly head and shoved Chris toward
the open ocean.

“Go soak your head.”

“Only if you come in with me.”

David looked regretful. He turned away from the
ocean. “Not tonight. I have to get back to work.”

Chris had been expecting that. He sighed but
followed David back up the beach. “What about this weekend? You can’t work all
the time.”

“Depends on this case. It’s not my weekend on
call, but we’re working some hot leads. This is no time to take it easy.”

“Man, you gotta rest.”

David rubbed his face with his free hand and
didn’t speak.

They walked along the boardwalk awhile, finally
sitting down on a vacant bench to pull socks and shoes back on. Chris wiggled
his toes to clear most of the sand off. He could still feel the grit even after
his feet were encased in leather again.

Streetlights came on as they headed back to
David’s car. The crowds thinned, but Chris still walked close, his hip brushing
David’s occasionally.

Back in the car, David cut over to Aviation
Boulevard and headed north, eventually joining the stream of taillights on the
Santa Monica Freeway. Once they settled into traffic, Chris slipped his seat
belt off and scooted over on the bench seat, settling his head on David’s
shoulder, his left hand on the other man’s knee.

“I forgot how much fun these kind of seats are.
Wonder why they stopped making them.”

“Put your seat belt back on.”

“I’d rather hold on to you.”

“Chris—”

Chris compromised and used the middle set. His
hand went back to David’s knee.

“Better?”

David didn’t answer. The tension in his big body
was palpable.

Chris wasn’t going to let him go back into his
shell so easily. “You have fun tonight?”

No answer.

“David?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I had fun. But I’m not going to
make a habit of this. I like you, Chris, but this can’t go anywhere—”

“We can see how it’s going to play out. Give us
that much at least.”

They cut through Century City, then David turned
onto Sunset. Forty minutes later they were on Silver Lake Boulevard. Ten
minutes after that he pulled into Chris’s driveway. The engine died with a
choking grunt.

“Thanks for dinner—”

David’s lips were open when Chris pressed his
mouth down on them. He groaned when David’s tongue joined and tangled with his.
Instantly his hand was between David’s legs, stroking his growing hardness.

He broke free long enough to ask, “Come in for coffee.”

“I can’t.” David’s breath was warm and still
tasted of ice cream with just a hint of curry.

“Just for a little bit.” Without giving him any
chance to object, Chris had David’s fly open and slid his fingers inside,
wrapping them around David's cock. He lowered his head and teased David's
foreskin back, exposing the glistening head to his eager gaze. Then he was
tasting him and David didn’t taste at all like ice cream.

The steering wheel bumped his head more than once
but Chris didn’t care. David moaned Chris’s name and held his head with hands
that shook. His hips rocked up, thrusting his pulsing cock down Chris’s throat.
Chris could feel his orgasm mounting. David tried to pull him off, but Chris
only sucked harder, until David was moaning and he cried out as he poured hot
cum down Chris’s throat. David sagged back against the vinyl seat, breathing
hard, fingers still threaded through Chris’s short hair. The pulse in his
throat beat even faster.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” David said through
ragged breaths.

“I want to do a lot more than that. Come in with
me. I’ll make coffee.” He lowered his voice to a purr. “I want you to fuck me.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh God, David. Don’t brush me off.”

“I’m not. I won’t.”

“Let me call you then. This weekend. Tell me when.”

At first he thought David wasn’t going to say
anything, then he twined shaky fingers through Chris’s.

“Saturday night. I’m getting tickets to an Angel’s
game. Martinez sometimes goes with me, but he’s got family in town this
weekend. You like baseball?”

Chris hated sports. But he wasn’t about to tell
David that. For a chance to spend a few hours together he’d tolerate just about
anything.

“Sure. What time?”

“Game starts at six. I’ll pick you up at five.”

“I’ll be ready.” He started to get out of the car,
then he suddenly turned and jammed his mouth down on David’s. Then: “Will you
come in for coffee after?”

“I don’t know. I’ll see.”

Chris had to be content with that. He waited in
the driveway until David’s taillights vanished down the street. Then he let
himself into his empty house. The message light was blinking on his phone, but
when he went to listen, all he heard was the soft swish of traffic in the
background. Nobody spoke. Not even heavy breathing.

“Can’t even get a decent obscene phone call.”

He stared at the phone as though something more
interesting would come on it if he waited. Finally he gave up and erased the
non-message. Then he had another shower and went to bed.

*****

After a restless night of
achingly erotic dreams Chris dragged himself out of bed just after nine
o’clock. He had barely plugged the kettle in for coffee when his BlackBerry
vibrated. It was Petey.

“We’ve got a problem, Bellamere.”

“We do? Pray tell.”

“Becky was supposed to go to Colorado next week.
Now she’s got some kind of family emergency and can’t make it.”

Chris knew what was coming, but his first rule of
business with Petey was “Never make things easy for the man.”

“I need a representative there.”

“Okay,” he dragged the word out. “And just how
does this become my problem?”

“I want you to go in her place.”

“To Colorado?”

“Denver.”

“I hate the mountains. All that thin air. No
culture.”

“Your flight leaves at nine, Sunday night. Becky’s
already emailed you the itinerary. The main item is meeting Tamura Yamamoto,
the CEO of Tand-Howser. They’re opening an office in L.A. and we’re in talks
about setting up their infrastructure. But I want the maintenance contract,
too. It’s your job to convince him we can do the best job.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Is that all?”

“Becky had some conferences booked, too. They’ll
be in her notes. I think she said the full itinerary was online. If there are
other conferences you want, maybe you can switch to them. But take that meeting
with Yamamoto.”

Chris turned off the phone. He poured boiling water
through the Melitta and went in to check his email. Sure enough, there were a
couple from Becky. One was her itinerary, the other gave the link to the
conference website. Chris spent half an hour perusing the site, booking a
couple of seminars that were more interesting than what Becky had chosen.
Finally he printed off the entire itinerary and stuffed it into his laptop
case.