I'll Be Your Last (3 page)

He had to keep his distance. No one, especially this man who’d unknowingly dug in under his tough skin, could guess the truth. As a cop, if the suspicion got out, he could be dead, figuratively if not literally. “See you in the morning,” he said quietly, needing to get as far away from the man as possible.

But they were stuck on the same job together in the morning.
Son
of a bitch.

20

Jane Leopold Quinn

Mack was
not
in a good mood this early. Still being awake at that time because of an op was one thing. Getting up to be on duty at an ungodly hour was another. His regular coffeehouse wasn’t open as early as fucking four o’clock in the fucking morning. He missed his caramel macchiato and had to settle for regular coffee from a fast-food place. At least it was hot, because it had, indeed, snowed overnight as predicted by the TV weather honchos. The ground cover on the grass and side streets still looked pretty and pristine. But inside the warehouse, he and Rich stamped their feet and hugged their torsos in the frosty morning air coming through open bay doors. They’d warm up enough in the coming hours by hauling the damn flowers into the market stalls.

In a couple of hours Woody would show up. Hopefully, they’d have discovered some information by then and this op would end quickly.

Time crawled. Finally, a Flowers and Greens truck pulled into the bay next to their position. Rich gave him a nod, then hoisted a box to his shoulder and headed closer to the vehicle. Mack followed suit but came up short when he heard a voice.

“You, there. Where are my tulips? If you hold them up out here, they’ll die of cold, and I’ll have your thick heads on a platter.” The kid’s tight jeans displayed every sinewy ass and thigh muscle there was to see, not to mention an impressive package. He heard Rich’s truncated laughter but didn’t dare acknowledge it. All he could do was narrow his gaze and pretend he wasn’t staring. Kane’s shirt fit just as closely as his pants, molding his chest and trim belly to
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21

disappear behind a belt with a buckle the size of Texas. Low-slung, the buckle drew attention to a goddamned bulge the size of—
damn
it
—the size of Alaska.
Jesus. What the fuck is the son of a bitch
doing?

“Hey, you in the knit cap, what’s your problem?” Woody, a smirk tipping the corners of his mouth and his brown eyes sparkling devilishly, hooked one hand in his belt. He snapped the fingers of his other hand in Mack’s face.

Mack pressed his lips together at the taunt. All he could hear was the outright laughter of the other haulers, including Rich.

He couldn’t talk, but he could look. That package, that bulge, was showcased by the jeans. His cheeks heated. Goddamned if he wasn’t getting aroused. Kane’s cock looked huge, and Mack wanted to suck it into his mouth and lick the hell out of it. He’d make the kid pay for this. Somehow, he’d make sure he suffered. Mack was glad his pants were loose and his jacket long enough to cover the erection growing and thickening every second he stood there. He finally huffed a laugh.

Maybe the bulge was really a stuffed sock made to look penis-like.

One could only speculate.

“Get the lead out. I need those flowers in place before the market opens.”

Mack pushed the pallet through the plastic strips. “Putting it on a bit thick, huh?” he muttered cantankerously, making a point to stare straight ahead and not at the bulge.

“Just doing my job.”

“Later,” Mack growled.
This is going to be a long, long op.
Fuck.

* * * *

It had been as interminably cold and tedious a day as he’d known it would be
and
with nothing accomplished. No intel had been picked up. A frustrating waste of a day in all respects. Finally at home, Mack slammed the door to his apartment with all the force he could manage
22

Jane Leopold Quinn

and was greeted with an excited yip. Sometimes he wondered at himself and why he’d felt the need to rescue the pint-sized mutt, but he enjoyed the sound of another living creature in his home, as well as the sound of doggie toenails clicking across the old hardwood floors.

Kiki, with her mixed heritage and long, whitish hair, had lived with him for six months. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten along without her before. He smiled. She was the first thing in his life totally dependent on him, and they seemed to be doing okay.

Mack headed for the kitchen, Kiki following and antsy for her dinner. Absently watching her chow down, his thoughts went back to Woody. He wanted the kid. Wanted him bad. Those tight jeans had him salivating, wanting to suck that dick, to feel it grow harder and longer in his mouth, to tongue the little slit. He wanted to thrust his hungry, greedy cock into that tight behind, hear the kid shouting out with every savage pump of his hips. Just once. One time. That’s all it would take to get the kid out of his head.

Sometimes he hated living the lie. Because he’d been a Marine and now a cop, he’d hidden his true sexuality for so many years and, at times, had denied it to himself. In the service, he’d even dated women, had made himself have sex with them.

He sure as hell didn’t date them anymore. He didn’t have relationships with men, either, just one-fuck stands. The world didn’t need to know that he’d finally admitted to himself he lusted after the male body. At times, his loneliness overwhelmed him, and he wished for another warm body in bed with him for a whole night. That led to danger, though. The warm body might want a repeat, or a commitment, or a relationship. When he finally sought out sexual partners, it was miles away from the city. He never stayed. He never brought anyone home. Every time he walked through his door, he came in alone. That was the way he’d always wanted it. He wasn’t relationship material, hadn’t been raised to believe in them.

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Except he had Kiki now. He didn’t have to hide anything from her. She didn’t nag him for more than he could give. She was just here for him, as he was for her.

Mack glanced around his apartment—six-hundred-fifty square feet of space. He didn’t need much and didn’t have much. He’d been trained well in the military, and his place was neat as the proverbial pin. White walls, a black leather couch with matching recliner, a dark-wood side table between them for a beer or pizza, and a forty-two-inch flat screen were all he required. He thought the leather couch and chair were probably a bit cliché for a guy, but they would take the most wear and be the most economical. The bedroom was just as barren, with a nightstand, a dresser, and a bed with no headboard.

There weren’t any pictures or decorations on the walls, but he had two bookshelves full of popular mystery-suspense novels—Connelly, Turow, Kellerman—and some presidential biographies. Heading for the fridge, he yanked out a bottle of beer, twisted the top off, and took a long swig. He had all he needed.

The beer didn’t help. The vision of that bulgy package stuck in his brain. Glancing at the clock on the stove, he wondered if he had time tonight to hook up with someone in Milwaukee. No night was a bad night in a gay bar. His cock wanted ass. He could keep sex simple.

Like his decorating style.

24

Jane Leopold Quinn

Woody had bought his house knowing it would need a lot of work. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living-dining room, and kitchen were all his. With money he’d inherited from his mother when she died two years before and the help of his dad and sister, he’d renovated the kitchen and bathroom, splurging on granite countertops, porcelain tiles, and good quality fixtures and cabinetry.

HGTV
was a secret vice.

Molly, his sister older by four years, and her little daughter, Evie, advised him on furniture. They’d had a grand day checking out the discount stores and found a chocolate-brown microfiber sofa, a red plaid chair, and the requisite coffee and side tables. He bought a king-size bed, which gave Molly fits of giggles at his expense. She knew about and supported his sexual direction, and, as any sister,
older
sister, would, she felt the need to tease him. He wasn’t offended. She didn’t cross the line, just embarrassed him a little. He could forgive a lot to have this loving family in his life.

He pulled the burger and fries out of the fast-food bag he’d brought home. Not much of a cook, and with his work hours, it was usually just easier to pick up something than to plan ahead and buy groceries.

But before he could eat, he had to pry himself out of the jeans and into loose sweats. Watching Penchant’s expression that morning had been torture. The looks he got every time he headed out to the loading dock completely melted every muscle in his body until he thought he’d become a puddle of goo on the floor of the market. No wonder he’d been half-erect most of the day.

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He reminded himself he was taking a break from men, especially men like Mack. Woody couldn’t deny the hostility and resulting tension was arousing in a perverted way, but he had to remember he tended to gravitate toward what he considered wounded creatures.

Witness Brad.

What he needed most right now was to hear his dad’s voice.

Woody’s father lived on the northwest side, miles away from Woody’s Lincoln Park house. They talked often, and he got together every couple of weeks with his dad, Molly, and Evie. Molly had not married Evie’s father, who now wasn’t even in the picture. In his opinion, it was probably for the best. The guy was a jerk and didn’t deserve the two girls in his life.

“Hey, Dad, how’s it goin’?”

“Things are good, son, but the weather sure could be better.”

“Yeah, we got that snow today, but I guess it’s late enough in the season and you gotta expect it.”

“How’s work?”

He knew his father feared for him, but always let him know he was proud of his son being a cop. At least this time he could tell him something safe. Woody laughed. “We were undercover at the flower market. I may have been putting it on a little thick. The downside was that one of the team members didn’t approve.”

“His gaydar was buzzing?”

“Yeah, but I think he’s gay, too.”

“You think?”

For once, Mack had been speechless. When he thought no one was paying attention, though, his gaze had turned smoldering, lasciviously eating Woody’s body from top to bottom, with emphasis on the bottom. Woody cracked a smile. He’d enjoyed the inspection of his attributes more than he’d thought possible. Mack was all man, which was one of the things he liked most about him. “I have a strong suspicion. Only a gay can really recognize that look in a man’s eye.” And Mack hadn’t been all that subtle.

26

Jane Leopold Quinn

“Do you have any interest in him?”

His dad was like any other parent when his kid showed even a hint of attraction to someone else. “He’s an arrogant son of a bitch who thinks I’m just a kid, and he may be in denial, to boot.”

“Take care, Wood. You know, a cop in denial of his sexuality can really hurt you. Personally and professionally.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know the type.”

“Is he married, to a woman I mean?”

“No, not that I’ve heard. I’m thinking of calling him to go out for a beer. He seems to have some hostility toward me for no reason. For the good of the team, I think we should hash it out. Plus I want to rattle his cage a little. See what’ll fall out.”

“Just be careful, son. And remember he’s human and can be hurt.

Don’t toy with his feelings.”

“Dad, you know I’m not a tease.”

“You’ve been through this kind of thing before. You want to fix people. For a cop, you have the tenderest heart I know of.” Woody didn’t tell his dad about all his romantic relationships, but he knew about the latest with Brad. He’d even met the guy. “I know how to handle guys like this without risking myself. But if anything happens on the job, I—we—need to implicitly trust each other.”

“You know I’ve always supported you. Your mother did, too. Just take care of yourself.”

“I will, Dad. How about you? Any cute chicks in your sights?” Two years ago, his forty-nine-year-old father had been widowed.

Charles snorted. “I don’t know about chicks, but your old man still has some life in him.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I want you to be happy again.”

“Same here for you, kid.”

“Oh, God, that’s what the SOB calls me.”

“Uh-oh. I see you have your work cut out for you with this guy.”
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With his youthful-looking face, Woody always had trouble with people thinking he was younger than he was. “I’ve got some facial hair now, so I don’t look quite so young as usual.”

“Hope I see it soon, then. Kid.”

He heard the amusement in his dad’s voice and didn’t even mind the “kid” if it came from him. “Okay, Dad. I’ll call you in a few days.

Love you.”

“You, too, son.”

“Give Mol and Evie kisses for me when you see them.”

“Will do. And be very careful out there.”

“You bet.” Woody hung up on that warning. Years ago, they’d watched reruns of the old TV show,
Hill Street Blues
, and his dad always used that iconic line when saying good-bye. He didn’t know how other gays handled life without a loving and supportive family.

Maybe Penchant didn’t have that kind of upbringing, which was why he was so difficult. Or maybe he was naturally an out-and-out bastard.

He checked his watch. They’d had an early start this morning, but it was only seven o’clock, not too late to call the bastard and see if he’d meet him for a beer. The sooner they could get their relationship—
professional
relationship—straightened out, the better.

For the team.

It was a big risk. On a personal level, he had to admit he had a major case of the hots for Mack Penchant. He’d liked the looks of other cops from time to time but never acted on his feelings. The glances he’d shared with Penchant had, at times, been hostile, but once in a while there’d been a look that curled his toes and made his cock twitch. Whether those feelings were returned remained to be seen. Maybe they’d never know. But they owed it to rest of the squad to try to get along.