L. A. Heat (24 page)

“He’s dead,” Chris whispered. “Isn’t he?”

“We don’t know that.”

Chris didn’t even seem to hear him. “Like Kyle,”
he said. “Like Bobby.”

“Chris.”

“He’s dead. I know it.”

David slid his arm around Chris’s stiff shoulders.
“Try to relax. I’ll wait with you.”

“Who’s doing this? Who is this guy?”

“I don’t know.”

Chris twisted away from him, his face a mask of hate.

“Why is he doing this to me? Why—”

David’s cell phone rang. He snatched it up and in
the frozen silence that fell between them, then barked his name. It was
Copland.

“We found a man matching the description of your
missing kidnapped victim. Witnesses have him falling or jumping out of a truck
on Pacific Coast Highway, north of Santa Monica.”

“Where is he now?” David leaned forward, shielding
the phone with his free hand, all too aware of Chris watching him with
unblinking eyes. Praying Copland wasn’t going to say “the morgue.”

“Santa Monica Hospital. Far as I know he’s being
prepped for surgery as we speak.”

David straightened. “Was he processed first?”

“You’ll be happy to know we collected more than
enough skin tissue from under his nails to get a solid DNA match. This guy was
a fighter, I’ll give him that.”

“He had a lot to fight for,” David said softly.
“Good work, detective.” David met Chris’s gaze. “We’re on our way.”

He slapped the phone shut and jumped to his feet,
dragging Chris with him.

“It’s Des. He’s hurt, but he’s alive.” Chris’s
beautiful face lit up.

“Where?”

“I’ll take you.”

Slapping the bubble light on the unmarked car’s
dash helped them speed through the traffic to Santa Monica. They made it to the
hospital in under forty minutes. David parked in the emergency lot, dropped an
LAPD OFFICER ON DUTY board on the dash, and led Chris inside.

Fifteen minutes later a white-coated doctor
floated through the doors of the emergency room and beckoned them into an empty
alcove.

“Detective Laine?” she asked, glancing from David
to Chris. “I’m Dr. Melanie Anderson.”

“David Laine. This is Christopher Bellamere. He’s
a good friend of Mr. Hayward’s. How is he?”

“Mr. Hayward is still in surgery. His condition
has been guardedly listed as critical.”

“Can I see him?” Chris asked. David wasn’t sure
he’d even heard her words.

Dr. Anderson shook her short mop of red hair.
“He’s in surgery. Even when he’s moved to the intensive care unit it’s unlikely
he’ll be allowed visitors for some time.”

“I want to see that he’s okay.”

She looked to David for help. “At this point all
we can do is wait and see. Your friend’s condition is critical and the next
twenty-four hours he’ll be under constant watch.”

David led Chris over to an orange vinyl chair
along the waiting room wall. “Wait here. I want to talk to the doctor a
minute.”

“What? I want to see Des—”

David pointed at the chair. “I’ll see what I can
do. Stay.”

Chris subsided. David turned back to Dr. Anderson.
He took her arm and guided her away from Chris.

“There’s an officer waiting outside the ICU,” she
said. “I told her the same thing I’m telling you. This man is not going to be
talking to anyone for some time.”

Unspoken between them lay the words “if ever.” A
critically ill man in surgery might not make it out of surgery.

“What are his injuries?”

“Head trauma,” she said. “More than likely from
the fall from the vehicle. Skin abrasions to the spinal column. Shoulders,
ditto. Other wounds consistent with a weapon—probably a knife. And he was
raped.”

He pulled out his notepad and wrote, thinking all
the while: How am I to tell Chris?

“Was a rape kit run?” She nodded. “No fluids were
recovered. Indications are a condom was used.”

“Who brought him in?”

“An ambulance was dispatched. The EMTs probably
saved his life. Jumping out of a moving vehicle on the Pacific Coast Highway.
He’s damned lucky he wasn’t turned into road smear.”

“He’d have been dead if he’d stayed in the
vehicle.”

She nodded her head. “I thought it might be like
that.”

“Can you let us know when he’s out of surgery?”
David tucked his notepad back in his jacket pocket. “In the meantime, I’d like
to speak to the other officer.”

“Sure. I’m just making my rounds. I’ll show you
the way.”

Officer Barbara Morelli was a first-year rookie
who had been on patrol in Santa Monica when the call came in that an injured
man had been found on the Pacific Coast Highway. She and her senior partner,
Foster Dean, arrived on-site shortly after the EMTs.

They had worked on the injured man while Morelli
and Dean had done a quick canvass for witnesses. They found four. At this point
Morelli consulted her own notes.

“Vehicle was described as a bright or dark yellow
sport-utility vehicle. Possibly a Ford Explorer. Year unknown, but probably
new.”

“Anybody get a look at the driver?”

“Not enough to matter. Male. Likely Caucasian.
Maybe Latino.”

David briefly thought of giving her a copy of the
police sketch, then remembered Martinez had it.

“You get names? Contacts?”

“Of course—”

“If I get you a sketch, can you run it by your
wits? See if it rings any bells.”

“No prob. Who is this guy?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Nasty piece of work, whoever he is.”

David found Chris still sitting in the tacky
orange chair in emergency. He jumped to his feet the instant he saw David.

“Is he okay? When can I see him? What’s
happening—”

“He’s still in surgery.” David guided him over to
a more comfortable sofa where they could sit together.

“But he’s alive? He’s going to make it, isn’t he?”

“They’re doing the best they can.”

Chris leaned into him. David stroked the short,
spiked hair where it rested against his shoulder. Chris’s eyes closed.

David held still so as not to disturb whatever
measure of rest Chris was able to get. An hour passed. Then two. People passed
through. He grew stiff and the back of his head throbbed.

Finally the door opened and Dr. Anderson stepped
out. She looked nearly as wasted as David felt. Their eyes met. She took in the
sight of Chris in his arms and one eyebrow went up, then she nodded as though
something now made sense to her.

“Doctor?”

“Mr. Hayward is out of surgery. He’s still
critical, but stable.” She offered him a tired smile. “The prognosis is
guardedly optimistic.”

“Any idea when he might be available for a
statement?”

“Twenty-four to thirty-six hours, if you’re
lucky.”

David frowned.

“If I was you, I’d take your friend home. You’re
not going to be in any shape to ask anyone questions if you hang around here
another day.”

“Can I leave a number to call if his status
changes?”

“Of course.”

Once she was gone, taking his cell phone number
and Chris’s home phone with her, David gently tapped Chris awake. “Des is out
of surgery. But he can’t have visitors for another day at least. Let’s go back
to your place. We can wait there.”

“He’s okay?” Chris blinked up at him owlishly.

David nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be all right. He’s
through the worst of it.”

Chris blinked some more. “God, I can’t keep my
eyes open.”

“Come on then. I’ll get you home.”

“Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Chris slept in the car and barely woke up enough
to get them past the alarm system at his place. The SUV was nose up to the
gated courtyard. David unlocked the mailbox with Chris’s key to find the SUV
keys.

David guided him upstairs and left him to undress
while he went to check the house and make sure everything was locked up tight.
The message light on the phone wasn’t blinking.

When he returned to the master bedroom, Chris was
sitting up groggily in the bed, wearing only his boxers. He froze when he saw
David.

“I thought you’d left.”

“No, I’m staying. I’ll be downstairs—”

“No. Stay here. Please.”

David stood by the edge of the bed. Chris smiled
up at him.

“Hey, I promise I won’t take advantage of you,” he
said.

“Don’t,” David said, not sure if he meant don’t
promise, or don’t start. He returned Chris’s smile and slipped off his jacket
and holster and hung them on a hook on the bedroom door before sliding into the
bed beside the younger man. “Now go to sleep.”

Within minutes Chris was breathing softly and lay
completely relaxed in David’s arms. David tried to follow suit, but it was a
long time before sleep came. Just before he drifted off he realized he hadn’t
called Martinez to tell him about the evening’s events.

He wondered if his partner would find out from some
other source. And what he was going to think when he did.

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Friday,
4:10 am, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles

CHRIS ROLLED OVER and bumped up
against a solid wall of muscle. He blinked both eyes open and met David’s
bemused stare.

“You always this restless when you sleep?”

“David? I thought I was dreaming...”

“No dream.” David’s arms enfolded him; their
hearts beating a staccato tempo.

Chris’s hand splayed over David’s thickly furred,
naked chest. “Your shirt,” he muttered.

“I didn’t want it to get wrinkled,” David said.

Chris nodded as though that made perfect sense.
His fingers fanned through the dark mat of hair, stopping to play with a fat
brown nipple, tweaking it. He let his hand roam, tracing the thick line of hair
that snake down David's chest and stomach to where it vanished under his
boxers.

David’s eyes were half closed and his mouth
opened. His breath was uneven.

“Any word on Des?”

“He’s been moved off the critical list,” David murmured.
“We’ll probably be able to go see him tomorrow, or early the next day.”

Chris closed his eyes loving the feel of David's
breath on his face, of his hand lightly stroking his flank. “Thank God.” Then
he opened his eyes again. “What did the doctor tell you?”

David shifted on the king-sized bed. One of his
hands moved down Chris’s hip He brushed his thumb over Chris’s erection and it
was like a jolt of raw electricity. His cock leaped and squirted pre-cum onto
his briefs.

“He’s going to be fine. Now I’ve got a question
for you.”

“Yes?”

“You interested in proving once and for all that
you’re innocent?”

“I am innocent.”

David’s warm gaze slid over Chris’s bare chest.
“Somehow I doubt that. But I’m talking about this case.”

“Very funny. What do I need to do?”

“Give us a DNA sample.”

“Jesus, I don’t know...”

“Listen,” David said with urgency. “I know you
didn’t kill anyone. But I’m not the only detective on the case. I need
something to convince Martinez once and for all that we need to look elsewhere
for our Carpet Killer. Please, Chris... talk it over with your lawyer.” David
smoothed his hand up Chris’s hip, rubbing the bare skin above his boxers,
slipping the tips of his fingers under the elastic waist band. Chris shivered. “I’m
not trying to pressure you here, Chris.”

“No?” Chris whispered, all too aware of David’s
erection pressed between his thighs. It matched his own. A pulse beat in the
shadows of David's throat. Chris stared at it, mesmerized. “What
are
you
trying to do?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, what—”

“You’re sure? You haven’t been drinking, have
you?”

“No.” Chris frowned at the odd question. “What—?”

“Good. Neither have I,” David said. “One more
question.” He pulled Chris tightly against him, pressing his mouth against the hollow
of Chris’s throat, biting at his skin. David’s unshaven face and mustache
stroked Chris’s skin. Desire pooled in his gut when David gently traced the
outline of his straining cock.

“David!”

“You got protection?”

“Top drawer, lube and skins. Oh, God, David. Are
you sure?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure.” He lowered his mouth to
Chris’s. He was tentative at first, even gentle. Then his grip on Chris’s
shoulder tightened and his kiss grew savage. He shoved his tongue deep into
Chris’s mouth, tangling with his, stifling Chris’s moans.

His mouth moved lower, nibbling on the skin above
his Adam’s apple, whispering words of passion and need against the skin above
his pounding heart. He teased one nipple into a stiff nub before moving to the
next one, laying a trail of heat that swept away all doubt and resistance.
Chris wound his fingers through David’s thick hair and silently urged him down.
David obliged, but oh-god-so-slowly. He dipped his tongue into Chris’s navel.
Ignoring Chris’s entreaties to suck him, he pushed his legs open and slipped
his tongue behind Chris’s balls, stroking the taut skin above his hole.

Chris writhed on the bed, his head whipping from
side to side. When David’s tongue slipped over his hole, probing and
lubricating him, he cried out and thrust his hips up, opening himself to
David’s assault.

Chris had never had anyone make love to him with
such single-minded intensity. It was as though nothing existed in the world but
the two of them, drowning in wave after wave of pleasure that bordered on pain.

When he heard David fumble in the bedside drawer
he whimpered and gasped when David’s first probing lube-covered finger entered
him. Then his hot mouth wrapped around Chris's leaking cock and inhaled him.
When a second stiff finger joined the first Chris rocketed his hips off the bed
and cried out. He shook his head when David withdrew his fingers and raised his
hips, begging for more. David gave it to him. With excruciating care he
positioned the massive head of his cock against Chris's hole. Chris winced at
the initial stab of pain, quickly followed by a growing heat that spread
through his gut and suffused him with need. When David stopped to let him
adjust to the invasion, Chris thrust up, grabbing his ass to pull him in
deeper.