L. A. Heat (31 page)

Either way he was going to have to tell David.
David emerged half an hour later, wearing a bathrobe and blinking owlishly in
the morning light. He smiled when he saw Chris. Then the smile slipped.

“What is it?” Chris explained his discovery of the
trophy website and his technical search for the domain.

David exploded when Chris finished telling him
about the website. “Dammit, why didn’t you say something earlier—”

“I was trying to find out where it originated
from. It could literally be anywhere in the world. I didn’t think that was very
useful to you. Besides,” he playfully traced his finger up inside David's robe,
stroking warm skin. “We got kind of sidetracked there.”

David brushed aside his hand. “We have our own
people who can do that—Never mind, tell me how to get to this site.” Chris
wrote the URL down on the back of a piece of paper. David slid it into the
pocket of his robe.

“Stop this, Chris. This is police business, we can
get warrants—”

“How do you get warrants for something in
cyberspace when you don’t even know where it’s located? I wanted to find out
where it was coming from—that would have been a big help, right?”

“Well, yeah...But we can use the images, too. We
can pick up location cues of the backgrounds. Maybe even sound cues—”

“I want this guy stopped. I hate what he did to
Bobby, what he’s done to Des, and the others—all six of them. I hate him. I
want him dead—”

“Don’t say that. I can’t operate that way. I’m
mandated to uphold the law—” David froze. “What do you mean ‘six’?”

“Kyle, plus there were five on that horrible web
site...” Chris looked away. “I knew them all, except that one guy. Daniel? I
never heard of him.”

“Five? Do you remember their names?”

“I—”

“It’s important, Chris. Who were they?”

Chris squeezed his eyes shut. Names. “Jason
Blake,” he whispered. “Bobby. Jeff. Frank—”

“Frank?” David was scanning his notes, frowning.
“I don’t have any Frank listed anywhere.” He snapped the notebook shut. “It
must be our last John Doe. We never did get an ID on him. What was the last
name? Do you remember?”

“Frank,” Chris said. “Frank...Barker.”

David scribbled the name down on the same paper
Chris had written the website URL. “All I want to do is help,” Chris said.

“Yes, well, you can help me by staying out of
this. I’ve got enough things to worry about.”

Chris bristled at the censure. For his part, David
barely finished his coffee before he left the kitchen. Chris heard him in the
living room making a phone call. No doubt to his partner. A couple of minutes
later Chris heard the downstairs shower go on.

He was tempted to follow; he didn’t want his trip
to start with bad words lingering between them. Then his BlackBerry buzzed.

He activated it.

It was Phil DePalma, from Pharmaden.

“Hey, Chris,” DePalma said. “I was hoping I’d
catch you at home.”

“What’s up?” Chris couldn’t imagine what DePalma
wanted—all their dealings had been through DataTEK Systems and Petey.

“I’ve got six more servers coming in next week and
I’m going to need help setting them up...”

“And you want my help? Sure, just call Petey—”

“I don’t want DataTEK involved,” DePalma insisted.
“I want you.”

“Well I don’t know, Phil...”

“Just think about it, will you? I can guarantee
you lots of work, either here or at one of our sister companies out in the
Valley.” Chris’s mind spun. Get out of DataTEK? He’d thought about it often,
but never all that seriously.

“Listen, can I call you next week? I’m heading out
of town for a couple of days.”

“Sure, sure. If you can get back to me by Thursday
that would be great. We need to make a decision by Friday.”

“It’s in my calendar.” Feeling a bit bemused,
Chris disconnected.

Then he jogged upstairs to finish his packing.

Return to Contents

Sunday,
5:20 pm, Santa Monica Boulevard, West Hollywood

DAVID TOOK THE surface streets
to LAX. South on La Cienega and over to Manchsester where they swung west.
Chris leaned back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes, feeling their
passage down the wide street. The sun’s rays left warm tracks on his skin where
it poured through the window. David wove handily in and out of the
early-evening traffic. At some point he turned the radio on. Pearls of wisdom
fell from Shania’s unblemished lips.

It was pleasant to relax and remember the last two
days. Sex with David was beyond incredible. He had a way of making Chris feel
like nothing existed but his pleasure. His needs. It got better and better,
hotter and hotter, and that had never happened before, not with anyone.

Even now he could feel David’s touch, arousing
him. He sighed, “David.”

“Wake up, sleepy-head.” David’s voice held a rich
undertone of amusement.

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“You have a very romantic snore.”

“And I don’t snore.” He looked around in
consternation. They were in the Marina del Rey parking lot in front of the
Waterfront Bar & Grill. “Do I?”

The hand on his knee moved to cup his chin. “Would
such a perfect mouth ever do anything so vulgar?”

Chris straightened his spine, stretching his back
muscles. They creaked alarmingly. “I was not sleeping.”

“Come on, Rip, let’s go snag ourselves a table
before they’re all gone and I end up eating at McDonald’s. I get enough of that
with Martinez.”

David pulled the car up to the curb, got out, and
tossed the keys to the parking valet who caught them and waited patiently for
Chris to climb out.

The evening was wonderful. From their window seat
they had an incredible view of a forest of masts backdropped by a sky spun with
webs of red and gold.

They watched, enchanted, as a sixty-foot sailing
yacht glided past. The deck blazed with more lights than the annual Christmas
tree display on Rodeo Drive. A flag waved limply off the stern, a red maple
leaf on a white field. The gilt lettering on the stern said
Executive
Decision
. Lithe young women prowled the deck clutching untouched glasses.
Men who weren’t much more substantial moved among them. Chris swore he could
hear the Krug’s Clos de Mesnil bubbles popping.

“Looks like fun,” he murmured.

“You think so? Why’d you never buy yourself a
boat, then?”

Chris shrugged. “It looks like fun to go out like
that when someone else is driving. I’m not the nautical type.”

“I didn’t think you ‘drive’ a boat.”

“My point exactly. If I go to sea, it’ll be on a
luxury ship where I’ll sail to exotic ports and let someone else do all the
work.”

“You’re a spoiled brat.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

David sighed. “On my salary, yes.”

Chris stared out over the blood red ocean at the
departing sailboat. “I’m not looking for a daddy,” he said quietly. “I don’t
care how much money someone has.”

“What are you looking for?”

A lean-hipped black-and-white clad waiter came
around with menus and a wine list. Chris took the wine list, studying it while
he considered his answer. He knew the future of their relationship—if they were
to have one—rested on his response. And for the first time in his life he found
he didn’t want to blow this man off. He wanted a chance to make it work.

To become what, he didn’t know. But he wanted the
chance.

After he selected a Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon
that gave excellent quality without breaking the bank, he raised his eyes to
meet David’s.

“I’m looking for the same thing you are, I think.
Someone who’s there for me, even if one or both of us is working a twelve-hour
shift and I’m cranky and bitchy when I get home. Someone who forgives me when I
do something stupid, like forget his birthday or burn dinner the day the
in-laws come to town.” He picked up the pepper mill and twisted it in his
hands, sprinkling black flakes of fresh cracked pepper on the white tablecloth.
Instantly the sharp smell of pepper tugged at his nose. “Does your whole family
know you’re gay?”

David nodded. “They’ve learned to live with it. My
sister seems to have less trouble than anyone else.”

“What would they do if you wanted to bring a
friend for, say Christmas dinner?”

“I’ve never asked.”

“My sister’s okay with it. My parents...” Chris
shrugged. “Well, that’s another story.”

Their waiter returned and they ordered. David got
the daily special, Angus New York steak with grilled portobello mushrooms.
Chris opted for Cuban black bean soup and blackened swordfish.

The sommelier brought the wine. After pouring them
both glasses, Chris raised his to David. “To the future,” he said. “May you
catch all the bad guys and still have time left for all the good things in
life. Like us.”

David was being cagey. He smiled and dutifully
sipped his wine. “The future.”

The food was exquisite. The wine was everything
the reviewers had promised. Outside, the last strands of sunlight drenched the
sky in blood-orange red, finally fading to purple and midnight blue. A few
feeble stars tried to show past the overwhelming light show cast by ten million
Southern Californians.

They finished the bottle of wine. David refused a
second one. Instead they settled on coffee, Chris his espresso, David a freshly
roasted Colombian.

“You drink that,” David said. “You won’t be sleeping
tonight.”

Chris grinned. “Trust me, after last night, I’ll
sleep just fine.” He reached across the table and touched David’s fingertips.
“I wish you were coming with me. Maybe next time?”

“You do these often?”

“Couple of times a year. Becky and I trade off.
The next one is January, in Vegas. Think you could handle that?”

When the bill came Chris didn’t protest when David
reached for it. He knew a bit about pride and if David could keep his by paying
for dinner, then Chris wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. He hoped
there’d be plenty of future opportunities where David wasn’t so touchy about
money.

Back out in the car, Chris sighed and leaned his
head against the seat.

“That was nice.”

David tipped the parking attendant and expertly
wheeled his vintage Chevy back onto Lincoln Boulevard. A steady stream of
lights led the way south. They cruised at moderate speed, rarely topping fifty.
Traffic grew heavier as they neared the airport. From behind them someone’s
high beams suddenly splashed into the car’s interior, momentarily bringing a
shot of daylight.

David muttered under his breath and looked away
from the rear view mirror, blinking.

“Idiot,” he said. He tapped his brakes as an SUV
shot past, its horn dopplering as it pulled ahead before melting back into
traffic.

Chris eased out of his seat belt and slid over to
the middle of the bench seat. When David threw him a warning look he quickly
buckled up the center seat belt before leaning his head against David’s
shoulder. His hand found a comfortable, familiar spot between David’s legs.

“No funny stuff, now.”

Chris smiled in the dark. He could feel David’s
erection pressing against his palm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Lights flared along the stream of cars as brake
lights came on. David swung onto Sepulveda Boulevard just as his cell rang.

“Grab it, will you?” Chris reached into David’s
pocket and drew out the phone. David took the phone from Chris and flashed him
a smile before concentrating on whoever was calling. Judging from the one-sided
conversation, Chris figured it was Martinez.

“Yeah? What time? I can be there. You can give me
the details then.” He handed the phone back to Chris, who shut it and held it
in his lap while he returned to stroking David.

“You have to go?” He had been hoping David could
park and join him inside while he waited for his plane. He was running out of
time.

“We got an anonymous tip—someone called in a
location for Trevor Watson.”

Chris could tell by his tone of voice that Trevor
was still a sore point between them. He decided not to pursue it.

David pulled into a no-parking zone, flashing the
overzealous airport cop his tin before getting out to help Chris drag his
laptop case and the smaller Andiamo bag out of the trunk.

Then they stood awkwardly together on the brightly
lit concourse while other travelers streamed around them. They didn’t touch;
Chris tried to think of something to say.

David finally broke the silence. “Call me when you
get back. Chances are I’ll be out in the Valley with Martinez.”

“Well, good luck. Hope you catch him.” Chris knew
how lame that sounded. But it felt awkward not being able to do what seemed
natural—kiss this man good-bye. Instead he had to settle for touching his hand
and issuing a crooked smile.

“I’ll call.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” David grinned. “Promise. And Chris?”

“Yes?”

“Stay away from those websites.”

“No problem.”

Chris walked through the terminal’s open doors,
and checked that his flight was still on schedule. He was early. More than
enough time for a last-minute drink. When he saw the sign for a bar called the
Encounter, he realized it was just what he needed: some light-hearted fun to
take his mind off Trevor and Bobby and Kyle.

The Theme Building was one of the most recognized
landmarks in L.A. after the HOLLYWOOD sign. The seventy-foot structure looked
like something that had dropped in from outer space.

They carried the space-ship theme over into the
interior. The Jetsons would have felt right at home amid the lava lamps and moon-cratered
walls. The elevator played Esquival’s
Harlem Nocturne
.

Chris selected a rear booth. A waiter sauntered
over. Chris knew without asking that the guy was an actor. Tall, saturnine good
looks were a staple in L.A. Still, he couldn’t help it; he stared at the guy’s
well-packed groin. When he looked up it was to find him staring back in turn. A
knowing look flashed between them.