Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners (17 page)

“Sooo, Dray.” Clay swung his feet on top of his mahogany polished desk and sent a missile launch of green eyes his way. “You seem a little pissed off. Still smarting about that whole incident with Ian and me pulling you off the case? I thought you’d have gotten over that.” He smirked, casting a sly glance at Taylor who was standing awkwardly at the window next to Draven.

Draven cut that one off at the pass. “Never mind Ian. That’s old news.” He ignored Taylor’s speculative glance as he sat down in the chair in front of the huge desk. He motioned to Taylor to sit beside him in the other chair and Taylor shook his head.

“I’ll stand, thanks.” Draven noticed Taylor’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, saw his clenching of fists and nervous licks of his lips.

He sighed. “Babe, stop looking like the guillotine’s going to fall. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Clay’s eyes widened, his dark eyebrows rising. “Babe? Well, well, well. What happened to the old animosity you felt for Mr. Abelard? This is a turn up for the books.”

Draven took a deep breath, suppressing the impulse to snarl. “Clay, that’s kind of what we’re here to talk about.”

Clay’s eyebrows lifted further. “Your love life? Isn’t that what got you into trouble in Dubrovnik? Putting your dick where it wasn’t supposed to go?” He chuckled softly, but cast a softer glance at Taylor, as if commiserating. Taylor smiled uneasily.

Draven closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Clay, please let’s forget that whole dick matter. And yes, Taylor and I are an item, okay? Now that’s out of the way, do you want to me tell you some breaking news about Drew Whittaker’s death?”

Clay stilled and moved his feet to the floor, then leaned forward, his whole demeanour changing. “Drew’s death? Are you going to tell me it wasn’t a suicide after all?”

Draven shook his head. “No, it was suicide. It’s just that we have reason to believe that someone was with him when he pulled the trigger.” He didn’t miss Taylor’s flinch at those words. “His wife lied when she said she wasn’t home when it happened. She was there, right in the room with him. That makes me wonder why she lied, what she’s covering up. Where there’s smoke there’s fire. You taught me that.”

That wasn’t the only thing Clay had taught Draven in the past. He was a mentor of note—if mentoring meant you learnt about 101 ways to kill a man, conduct covert operations and surveillance and be a sneaky bastard.

“I figured I’d tell you, and you could perhaps follow up on it. His wife is a basket case at the moment, and I guess she’d crack if you pushed her.”

Taylor’s indrawn breath made Draven realise that sounded callous, but he and Clay lived in a very different world than his lover. Sometimes nice wasn’t an option when you were looking for the truth. He glanced at him and inclined his head slightly.

“I know that sounds cruel, Tay. But sometimes it’s all you have to work with.”

“I remember.” Taylor said quietly. “You forget I’ve seen you at work.”

Draven winced. Their encounter and his words at the site of little Bobby Meredith’s body dump had come back to haunt him. “Yeah, so I was an arsehole then.” He smiled, trying to reassure Taylor he wasn’t any longer.

Clay laughed softly. “I like this one, Draven. He has balls. And I’ve never heard you admit you were an arsehole before to anyone.” He nodded his head at Taylor in acknowledgement. “Well done, son. You seemed to have calmed the savage beast.”

Taylor’s face showed the sign of a slight grin and Draven felt a prickle of annoyance. “Can we stop the buddy bonding on my behalf please, and focus?” Both men swung their eyes to him. “There is a slight hitch with this information, though.”

Taylor tensed, his arms wrapping around his chest, as he turned to look out of the window.

Clay’s forehead creased. “Spill it. What’s wrong with the information?” He was all matter of fact now, face set, voice harder, a man demanding answers and explanations. Clay Mortimer was a man Draven would never cross. Firstly, from a sense of sheer respect for him, and secondly, because he’d be hunted down like an animal and have his balls fed to him like culinary delicacies.

Draven took another deep breath as he prepared to speak.

“Because the information came from me.” Taylor’s voice echoed in the sudden stillness. “And it’s not exactly reliable in any way you’d expect.” Draven looked over at him. His lover’s face was resolved, his arms unfolded and hanging by his sides as he regarded Clay with a stare of brown eyes that said he was about to have his say.

“You know who I am, obviously. So you know what I’m supposedly capable of. I have no doubt you have a dossier on me somewhere in here.” He waved a hand around the room. “And Draven has seen what I can do first hand. I think I’ve made a believer out of him and I imagine you realise that’s a fucking miracle based on his past impression of me.”

Clay snorted but said nothing as he watched Taylor thoughtfully, his hands steepled together under his chin, elbows on his desk. Draven felt a prickle of guilt at Taylor’s words.

“So we’re here to tell you that I had a vision of Catherine Whittaker being present at the exact same time Drew shot himself. She cried out his name and I saw the back of her. She had nothing to do with the shooting, but she was there. We went back to the house and I confirmed the voice that I heard in the study was hers. I didn’t get to see her, well, except from the funeral, and I only caught a glimpse of her then but the voice…it was her.” His tone was challenging and Draven let out a breath, not realising he’d been holding it in. Clay was nodding sagely.

“Uh-huh.” He stared at Draven. “And based on this…vision of your boyfriend’s, you want me to investigate further, speak to the wife, accuse her of lying and see what comes out of it?”

Draven coughed uncomfortably. “Yeah. Basically.” Inside, he was glowing at the term “boyfriend.”

Simmer down, Draven. This isn’t the time for warm and fuzzy. Hardened investigator, remember? Especially in front of Clay. You already slipped up calling Tay “babe.”

Clay’s green eyes glittered, his lips pursed. Then he shrugged. “Okay.”

Draven felt as if he’d entered the Twilight Zone.

It couldn’t possibly be that fucking easy.

Taylor looked gobsmacked too. He turned to stare at Draven.

“That’s it?” Draven demanded. “You’re going to just accept it like that?” He snapped his fingers. Clay leaned back in his chair, looking very relaxed for a man who’d just been told that his operative’s psychic boyfriend had important news to share that he’d gleaned from a vision.

“Sure,” he drawled, eyes shining with suppressed amusement. “You forget, Draven, when you used to mouth off about this young man, I didn’t really agree with you. Just let you rant. I’ve seen Mr. Abelard’s file, spoken to people who’ve been on the receiving end of his abilities—fairly senior people who aren’t generally very receptive about such things. They vouched for him all those years ago in the Bobby Meredith case. And so have others where your young man’s abilities have been useful.” He shrugged. “So I can afford to give him the benefit of the doubt in this one.”

“You’ve been talking to my friend Rick Grant,” Taylor mused slowly, regarding Clay narrowly. “And probably Rick’s uncle, a police detective called Tate Williams. Rick says he’s always been very supportive of what I do.” A fond look crossed his face.

At the mention of the names, Clay’s face closed up and his lips thinned. Draven recognised that tell as being something Clay wouldn’t talk about and he wondered what he was trying to hide. He also wondered who the hell Rick Grant was and whether he was the one causing the sappy look on Taylor’s face. He’d heard of Tate Williams; everyone in law enforcement had heard of him. He was a dyed-in-the-wool police officer who’d been forced to take early retirement after a horrific shooting. He’d been shot by a vengeful ex-con three times on his way home from his local gym and was lucky to have survived.

“Perhaps,” Clay murmured diffidently. “We move in the same circles.” He waved a hand. “Anyway, just be glad I haven’t put you through the mill on this one.” He smirked. “I bet Dray here had you all primed and ready to blast away to give me some sort of ‘demonstration’ to prove your worth?”

Draven’s face flushed and Clay cackled loudly. “God, will you look at him. I can’t believe you would have staged something like that for me.”

Taylor laughed softly and Draven glared at him. “I didn’t think you’d be this receptive. I thought…”

A mobile rang shrilly from the confines of Clay’s trouser pocket and he held up a hand, forestalling Draven’s words.

“I need to take this,” he said quickly and stood up and walked over the window as he answered the phone. “Hey, baby. I’ve been waiting for your call. What did the doctor say?”

A man’s voice could be heard from the other side and Draven grinned at Taylor’s look of disbelief as he mouthed the word “Baby?”

As long as Draven had known Clay, the one Achilles heel he knew he possessed was the man in his life. No one knew who he was as Clay was as cagey as all hell about it. Draven wouldn’t pry either. Clay’s private life was his own. Clay was a kitten where
he
was concerned—soft and playful. Each time Draven heard him on the phone to him, Draven marvelled at the change in the man.

Whoever the man was on the other end of the phone, he was lucky to have the devotion and the heart of a man like Clay Mortimer.

Draven stood up and walked over to Taylor, whispering in his ear. “What, you think you’re the only one that gets called that?”

“I just never expected it from him, that’s all. Hell, we gay guys need our own damn county. Gaymanshire, or something like that.” Taylor sniggered and Draven sighed.

“Funny man. But it’s not a bad idea. It beats having to figure out whether the guy sitting next to me swings my way or not.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t need to worry about that anymore do you?” Taylor said silkily.

“Depends,” Draven said airily. “On who and what Rick Grant is to you.”

Taylor’s breath hitched and he looked a little apprehensive. “No one you need worry about,” he said, his hands running through his hair. “Rick and I used to have a thing but that was over a while ago.” He smirked. “I’d like to hear that stray dick story sometime too. Anyway, are we exclusive? It’s not something we’ve talked about, is it?”

Draven’s stomach clenched. Taylor was right. They hadn’t discussed their current situation and perhaps he was reading more into it than Taylor was. He felt a twinge of pique at that thought, that he might be more invested.

I never thought I’d have this worry
, he thought as he clenched his fingers.
I’m normally the one backing off.

Taylor opened his mouth to say something, a slight look of worry on his face. At that moment, Clay turned around and strode over to them. Taylor’s mouth closed but he glanced at Draven curiously.

Draven wondered what he’d been about to say.

“Where were we?” Clay muttered, his tone distracted and his face pinched. Whatever news he’d received didn’t seem good. “Oh yes. You were both just leaving so I can get home. With my McDonald’s.”

Draven stared at him. “So that’s it then? Are you going to speak to Catherine Whittaker and see what comes of it?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Clay scowled. “Your boyfriend there seems convinced so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Once.” He smiled wolfishly at Taylor, who blinked. “If it all turns out to be complete bullshit, I’ll get my gun out and shoot the two of you.” His voice was grim as he went to his desk and started moving papers, looking for something. Draven saw Taylor blanch beneath his coffee-coloured skin.

“Stop being so fucking melodramatic, Clay,” he muttered. “We’ll let you get off then. You will call me, let me know how it all turns out?”

Clay turned distractedly. “What? Oh, yes. I’ll call you if I have anything to say.” He held up a bunch of keys in triumph. “Bloody things always get lost under the damn paperwork.” His expression changed as he regarded Draven carefully. “I meant to ask, are things still the same with Jude? Have you made any decision yet?”

Draven’s body stiffened. “No.” His tone was clipped. “I wish the fuck everyone would let me be on this. Taylor’s the only one who doesn’t seem to push me on it. And that’s the way I want it to stay. It’s not his worry. It’s my problem to deal with.”

Taylor shifted on his feet and glanced down at the floor as he frowned.

Clay sighed. “Not pushing, Dray. Just concerned. Sorry I brought it up. Give him a kiss from me when you see him next.” His eyes shadowed as he glanced at Taylor then back at Draven. “I know it’s not easy, son. Just go with your gut. That always stood me in good stead when I was in the service. Follow your instincts.”

He motioned at them both impatiently. “Now, be gone, the two of you. I have somewhere I need to be.” His voice was pained and Draven knew him well enough to know the man was hurting.

He looked at Taylor and shrugged. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome. I suppose I should get you home and then get home myself. It’s been a long day.”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed and Draven thought he looked a little pissed off. He wondered fleetingly what he’d said wrong. Again. “Clay, thanks for the chat. I’ll expect to hear from you soon.”