Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) (13 page)

My fist was stuck in his pants, wrapped around that strong, ready cock, so I kept hold, jerking him off while humping myself into his crotch like a bitch in heat. His hand slid under my hips, and he tilted my ass off the floor with his wide palm, lifting me so he could fuck against me outright. Bumping and grinding our erections together. “When we get out of here I’m going to fuck your little ass so hard. You like that?”

Soft pleas were breaking from me. I was too far gone to be embarrassed. “Fuck. Oh fuck yeah. Shit.”

“Yeah. You like that.” His hand clenched my thigh, pressing my legs wide and that was about all it took. I fucked my cock into his, cotton friction so hot it nearly scalded me. He circled my lips with his tongue, his mouth dirty, and I let him work me. “Yeah. That’s what I like. Come on, you little fucker.”

Oh my God.
Who was this guy? Embarrassed, I still shattered like some kind of good little boy for his big daddy. I came so hard and freakishly fast I was squealing. I couldn’t stop. His dick squirted into my fist as I spewed inside my own pants. Warm and wet. I wanted to taste him. Instead I closed my eyes and just gave myself to him. It was exhilarating and terrible and exhausting.

He eased his mouth, dragging each kiss out gently. I hung on, squeezing the last of the come from his dick, and he collapsed on top of me. We were slumped in a pile, absolutely zonked from that orgasm. I hadn’t come with anyone else in a long time. I hadn’t come like that ever.

“That was great, Romano. I knew it would be.”

What could I say? We were strangers. “Mm.”

It was Dan’s turn to nibble. He lazily kissed my shoulder. “You wanna scoot out of here and get some work done, or do you want to go at it again?”

“It’s no big deal, Caesar.”

We crawled out from under the bed, careful not to smear body fluids on the furniture. “What if he’d still been in the apartment? That was totally unfair. You took me by surprise. I don’t even know you. I don’t usually have sex with strangers.” Excuses spilled from my mouth in a torrent. My pants were damp. What the hell had I done?

“You started it, not me.”

That was true. I searched for something to wipe my hand on. “Doesn’t he own tissues?”

Dan handed me the box. “You’re riled up, Caesar. You’re supposed to be relaxed now.”

“We needed to get out of here. It’s only a matter of time before Shep comes back.” I checked my watch. Only twenty minutes had ticked by since we snuck in the door. I’d never come that fast in my entire life. I flushed and snuck a glance at Dan. Understandably, this little scenario only made him more arrogant.

“You should be kissing my feet right now. You needed that.”

I flipped him off. “You were pretty quick on the draw there yourself, Detective. Please. Let’s just… Why don’t you show me what you found so we can leave?”

He picked up a small book from the bedside table and flipped through it. It was a discreet, bound photo album. I guess Shep wouldn’t want to offend anyone’s design sensibilities by having a personal touch in his own damn house. I squashed my misplaced anger like an unwanted insect. Dan found the photo he was searching for and handed the book to me, saying, “I didn’t realize they were all this cozy.”

I stared at a four-by-six color glossy of Shep, his parents, Poppy, her parents, and what looked like the Schumachers—the blue-eyed zealot and his horse-faced bride. They sat together in a restaurant with none other than the artist himself—Jean Luc Pappineau. He wore a silly-looking pirate hat. “That’s the country club. I’ve been there.”

“You know the blond guy? He was at your dad’s place.”

“Chad Schumacher. The producer.” It never crossed my mind that Poppy knew the man as well. She had a painful, slim smile on her face and a smoldering cigarette in her hand. I thought she’d quit. “He’s a homophobe.”

“He’s Mallory’s backer.”

“What?” I stepped back. Dan nodded grimly.

“He’s a patron. Mallory tolerates him. That’s it.” I absorbed that information. Dan opened a drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a flashlight. He stared at it and put it back. “You sure Shep went to the gallery to see you? Maybe he was going to see Jean Pappineau. Is he gay?”

“He’s whatever the mood strikes. Divorced three times. I think he tried to get Peter to show him those etchings once or twice, but Peter didn’t bite. Jean’s a bit of a whore. He’s an artist.”

I set the photo album down. Shep at the gallery to see Jean? Now there was a thought. Because Jean Luc would have no problem fulfilling Shep’s darker fantasies.

“Of course, he could be with your little blondie.”

“Poppy would have said.” Who was I trying to convince? She’d kept a few secrets lately.

Dan lifted his brow at me. “Well, Jean’s there as someone’s guest. Maybe he knows the parents, but I bet it’s Poppy.”

“She does like older men. The over-forty crowd.”

“Watch it, Romano. That’s not old.”

I’d struck a nerve. “If you say so.”

The hall clock bonged and I reared back like I’d been shot, clutching my chest. “We need to get out of here. It’s six.”

That fool unzipped his fly and went into the master bathroom.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to clean up. If you want to spend the evening in sticky underwear, that’s your call. I don’t want to chafe. C’mon, snap to. We need to hurry.”

Was he fucking kidding me? “We need to get out of here. I think I’m having a panic attack.”

“What else is new, Romano? Shake a leg.”

It took me exactly five seconds to mop up, but I took another precious few moments to rip through Shep’s bathroom, yanking open drawers and… I know. Why? It wasn’t like JT was in the bathroom. But I was curious. All I uncovered was a drawer full of toys that I didn’t know how to use. He was into some freaky stuff. I tried to picture Jean Luc stuffing a ball gag in Shep’s mouth and, quite frankly, it wasn’t that much of a stretch.

I shut the drawer on Shep’s dirty secrets. It was like the more he’d denied himself, the more kinky he’d become.

I washed my hands and then I was at the front door, my eye plastered to the peephole. Dan was dragging his feet, all but whistling once again. Postcoital he was cocky. I was going to kill him. “Could you please hurry the fuck up?”

The hall was clear.

We slipped out and locked the door. We almost made it to the elevator too, but the light turned white and the doors slid open with a cheerful
bing bong.
As you would expect, Shep glanced up from his feet. His eyes widened with recognition. I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Caesar? What are you doing here?” he asked in confusion. He held a net grocery sack from D’Agostino’s and a bottle of Pinot noir tucked under his arm. He blinked at Dan, struggling to place him. “Dan, right?”

“I…I…I…”

With a hand to my back, Dan shoved me into the elevator. He calmly stepped in beside Shep and offered his hand. Hopefully he’d washed it. “We were just dropping by, but obviously we missed each other.”

“What a happy coincidence,” I choked.

“I didn’t think you knew where I lived. Do you want to come in? I bought some snacks.” He lifted the grocery bag.

The elevator door slid shut with another
bing bong
. Dan poked the button for the lobby and lied with aplomb, “We’re late for a movie, but we were in the neighborhood. I was telling Caesar I thought you should load some software on your computer; it’ll help us figure out who sent the video. We can track the email. It’s pretty standard for this kind of thing. You should think about it.”

Shep turned an interesting shade of salmon. “You know about that?”

Dan shared his special smile with Shep. “Of course.”

Actually, that was probably the best idea he’d had all day. I had to give the man credit. He was staying focused on his work (not counting those twenty seconds under the mattress). The man was deceptively laid-back, but I knew he was sharper than he let on.

Shep, who was not, turned to me in disbelief.

I held a hand up. “Hey, I mentioned this to you, Shep.”

For the first time ever, I saw Easy Mac get angry. His hue electrified into raging sherbet orange and his knuckles whitened. “I told you not to say anything. You promised. What the fuck, man? What’s the deal? This is my life.”

His
life? “Oh, knock it off and stop being a drama queen.”

Dan stepped between us. “I’m not sure what you think is happening here. I’m trying to locate stolen property, as is Caesar. We both believe the sender of your video is connected to whomever is blackmailing my client and my new pal, here.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to me. His pal. “We’re not going to put your career in jeopardy.”

“You’d better not. I’ll sue you both for libel.”

“Slander,” I corrected him. “You moron.” They both looked at me like I was crazy, but what could anyone take from me? My bus pass?

Dan handed Shep a card. “Call me. We should talk. If you need help, I can track this person down.”

The elevator ponged, announcing our speedy arrival to the lobby.

I tried to exit, but Shep grabbed my shoulder, stopping me in the threshold. His grip wasn’t friendly. “Caesar. I need you to promise that you’ll keep your mouth shut. Please.”

I knocked his hand away. “Well, I have needs of my own, Sheppard. Since no one wants to involve the police, we either help each other or I’m going to tell each and every one of you to go fuck yourselves. I’ll go to the police myself, because I have nothing to lose. If I find out you’re lying, I swear to fucking God, I’m going to come back here and kick your ass.” My hands were waving around beyond my control. I clenched my fists, stuffed them into my pockets and exited.

The sound of Dan smacking Shep on the back followed me. “Nice place you got here.”

I caught Shep’s shocked expression as the door sounded again and promptly closed.

“You’ve got a wet spot on the front of your pants,” Dan said happily.

“I know. So do you. I think I need to talk to Poppy.”

“That blonde and her people are looking more and more interesting.” He checked his watch. “I need to get back to the office.”

The street lamps sparkled up and down 57
^th
Street. The air had turned cold. I finally admitted to Dan, “I’m confused. I just can’t see Shep with Jean Luc. Or Jean Luc with Poppy.”

“I could see either of those men with a donkey. Are you saying the McNamaras are discerning when it comes to men?”

He made yet another good point. “That was a good idea. The email. Because…Shep is scared.”

He nodded.

“I think we need to look at Brandon. He’s orange, he was there. He could have fucked Shep—but he’s straight. I mean, no way would he ever.”

“You’re sure.”

“Absolutely. So between Justin, Rachel, Peter, Mallory and Shep, there’s a common thread, and it’s me and Posh Nosh. I know that Poppy would never threaten me. Or Shep. Or Rachel. Mallory. Peter. It doesn’t add up. She has no motive. Nothing to gain.” I unlocked the doors to the van. Dan climbed in and we sat there in silence.

“Someone has a motive, we just don’t know what it is. I need to see that video. I need to get back home and work.”

“Turn here.”

“I remember. I drove back. I’ve got it.”

“You’re a terrible driver. I don’t mind driving. We can pull into that 7-Eleven.”

“I’m fine,” I said for the tenth time. I took the bridge to Staten Island at a safe, comfortable, forty-five miles per hour. I borrowed ten bucks from Dan to pay the toll. He sat in the passenger seat, snapping his gum and offering driving tips, as the miles thumped under the tires. I think he was trying to ease me, because there was no question he wanted to continue what we’d started earlier.

By the time we arrived, my stomach was moaning. I hadn’t eaten since that Danish.

“Can you cook?” Dan asked, throwing his jacket on the banister again. “I need to take care of a few things. Why don’t you…make some eggs or something?”

Could I cook? I was a Romano. “A little.”

I used Dan’s fancy kitchen while he worked. I focused on making spinach frittatas, a simple recipe that included stuff he had in the fridge. He had fresh spinach and an All-Clad omelet pan. He was serious.

He went into the office, which turned out to be the other half of the downstairs. I whipped the eggs, crafting a tasty supper in that perfect pan.

Dan’s muttering carried from the other room. I used the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into.

The timer dinged. I made good rye toast, piled everything onto plates and carried the lot, waiter style (because I’d been trained by the best), to his desk. A desk that wasn’t at all spindly, in case you were wondering.

He looked up from the computer. “Shep is loaded. I don’t understand why he doesn’t pay you to be quiet.”

“Because he knows I wouldn’t take it. Move on.” I took a seat in what had to be the client chair. The eggs were too hot, so I tackled my toast. It was slathered in whipped butter. I licked crumbs from my fingers, Dan’s steamy gaze following me.

He cleared his throat. “Jean Luc. He’s in debt to his eyebrows. He poured everything into these new works. I think you may have more assets than he does.” He shoveled eggs into his mouth, scrolling through Jean’s work. The images flew past. “Hey. This is good.”

“Why are you surprised? I’m a Romano. My family cooks,
Detective.”

A photo from the other night appeared, and Dan clicked to enlarge it. I swallowed a mouthful of bread. How wonderful that the art world had a current photo of Jean standing on the bar. Shep stood smiling at Jean’s ass in the background. He was ripped and sloshed. The bust of Derek Jeter was settled between Jean’s knees, facing the wrong way. That was a bit much.

“He pays a lot of alimony, from what I understand.”

Dan clicked again. “Did you know Peter went to clown college?”

I choked on my dinner. “What? No. He went to Boston College. I realize some people think that they’re the same thing—”

“He went after a year at clown college.”

“Oh my God. Does Mallory know that? That would completely discredit him. I mean…you know…not that there’s anything wrong with being in the circus—uh.” Hopefully no one in Dan’s family worked for the Cole Brothers, or Coney Island. “Well, the art world is very discriminating. How in the world did you find that out?”