Libra - Outlined in Ink

LIBRA: OUTLINED IN INK by VIVIEN DEAN Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

Libra: Outlined In Ink An Amber Quill Press Book This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com http://www.AmberHeat.com http://www.AmberAllure.com

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2010 by Vivien Dean ISBN 978-1-60272-754-0 Cover Art © 2010 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

Published in the United States of America

Also by Vivien Dean Blood Of Souls Born To Be Wild Bridge Over Troubled Water Crave Interlude Ruby Red Rebels Still, Life What We May Be Wranglers (The Collection) Wranglers: Discovery Wranglers: Judgment Wranglers: Voir Dire Wranglers: The Defense Rests Boys Of The Zodiac Series Aries: Riddle Me Wicked Cancer: Penny Candles

Libra: Diplomatic, sociable, and idealistic. Though a Libra tends to avoid conflict at all costs, sometimes love forces him to take a side.

Chapter 1

In public relations, there was no such thing as a nine-to-five day. Press releases always had to get out, people had to be prepped for evening functions, and off the record calls needed to be made to reporters, officials, and anybody else who might have an interest in Aurora's city government. At five o'clock, Jarrett Kessel wasn't even considering leaving his desk. He still had a solid three hours of work ahead of him. On that particular Tuesday, with the autumn sun starting to crest orange and red toward the horizon, he wished for once he could slip away and have a night to himself. Especially after his cell phone rang. "Let me guess. You're tied to your desk." Hearing the voice of Detective Venice McCurry brought a reluctant smile to Jarrett's face. It had been too long since they'd had a chance to hang out. Venice was perfect company, whether he needed someone to accompany him to an official function or wanted to go clubbing in the city. No expectations from either of them for anything sexual, and a fun friend to kill time with if the night turned out to be a dud. "Being tied to it would be an improvement." He leaned back in his chair and stretched, grimacing when his neck cracked. "What's up? No, wait, let me guess. You've won the lottery and you're flying both of us to Rio for a monthlong party to celebrate."

"I wish. You'd enjoy that a lot more than what I'm about to tell you." "Uh oh. You make it sound dire." "Depends on how you feel about interrogations." "Oh, please. When was the last time a reporter stumped me?" "I'm not talking about reporters. I'm talking Feds. On their way to Aurora right now to question you." Jarrett straightened with a painful snap, his hand going straight for his mouse. He clicked his email open with a frown, scanning it quickly for any hint on what this could be about. Federal involvement in local government only meant one thing. Corruption charges. During his tenure, they'd only dealt with one previous investigation, and that had been three years ago, during a different administration. He'd never gotten near the Feds, then. The entire matter had been dealt with by senior PR people. Apparently, he'd gained enough status to merit inclusion this time. "Who's this about?" he asked, his eyes never leaving his screen. "Give me a hint here. You wouldn't have called to give me a heads-up if you didn't want me prepared." "I know. But it's not about anybody else in the office. They want to talk to you." He froze. His mind raced, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what made him so important. "About what?" "Relax, okay? They're just coming by because they want to ask you a few questions about a case they're working here in Chicago." "What kind of a case?" "A murder investigation." "What?" His raised voice drew attention from Silas, two cubicles down, and Jarrett turned his back on him, lowering both his head and his voice to keep the conversation more private. "What's going on, Ven? Who got killed?" "Look..." She had switched to the placating tone he'd heard her use on more than interested woman she wasn't attracted to, the one that said Please don't make this a bigger deal than it is. "We got pulled in as backup, to take in some computer hacker the Feds have been after for months. Only when we got there, the kid's dead. Been dead for a couple days, looks like." "I haven't been in the city in over a week." "Will you stop getting defensive, please? I'm trying to explain here." His cheeks felt hot. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just tell me I'm not a murder suspect." "You're not a murder suspect," she repeated. "Unless you own the Lockeford Files." "The what?" "It's a comic strip. Online--www.lockefordfiles.com. They found a whole shitload of them printed up and saved on the guy's hard drive." "Never heard of it." "Well, I think whoever does own it has heard of you. Or at least seen you, Jarrett. Because his superhero main character could be your younger brother. Dykstra saw it before I did, and the next thing I know, he's blurting out, 'Hey, that looks

like your boyfriend, McCurry.'" She sounded disgusted. "I wanted to pound on him right there. Asshole never thinks before he opens his big mouth." Jarrett forgot about sharing her sniping about her narrow-minded partner and turned back to his laptop. "What was that address again?" He typed it in as she repeated it. When the front page loaded, his eyes widened. "Damn." Venice hadn't been kidding. Under the title banner was a series of sketches of a caped man in a variety of action poses. He was tall and muscular, with heavy brows and thick, wavy hair that highlighted the harsh sculpture of his face. A long, slightly hooked nose. The wide mouth with the too skinny upper lip. The strong chin that made his face look even longer than it was. The entire thing was done in black and white, except for one specific detail. The man's eyes were sage green, colored in on every sketch. So were Jarrett's. With the exception of the hair, he could have been looking into a mirror. Self-consciously, he rubbed his hand over his bald scalp. He didn't regret shaving it off, not for a second, but whoever drew this was all too familiar with what he looked like otherwise. No wonder the Feds wanted to talk to him. If they considered this somehow pertinent to their case, it was a logical first step. "As far as I can tell, it's just routine follow-through," Venice said. "Their main interest seems to be the guy who owns the site. Right now, they're scrambling for anything that's going to help them find who killed their hacker." "Okay." He didn't actually feel better about it, but he didn't want Venice to feel guilty for warning him. "I know you can get in trouble for giving me the heads-up, so thanks. I appreciate it." "Someone's got to look out for you," she said. "You're too busy looking out for everyone in Aurora City Hall." He smiled at her small attempt to lighten his mood. "I'll make it up to you. I promise." "I'll hold you to that. Call me when you're done. Unless you need bail, in which case, call one of your rich friends instead." "Right, right." Laughing now, he disconnected and set the phone aside, his full attention back on the computer screen. If Venice wasn't going to worry, he wouldn't either, though he still wasn't comfortable with someone using his face in their art. The site seemed comprehensive, too, with an archive, a blog, and a forum, as well as the current strip emblazoned across the first page. Before he could delve deeper, the office door opened and a pair of matching suits stepped inside. Jarrett was too far away to hear them speaking to Tina, the intern who covered the phones after the receptionist left for the day, but he didn't need to know what they were saying to recognize them as federal agents. He glanced back at his screen. Denying any knowledge of the webcomic could backfire if they checked his history, and if he admitted the truth about Venice's warning, he'd get her in trouble with her captain for interfering with an investigation, as well as cast more suspicion on himself. Who needed a warning if they were innocent? Over the top of his cubicle wall, he saw Tina point in his direction, both Feds following her aim. Quickly, he clicked on the browser tools menu and cleared his history. He hoped it was enough. In fact, he hoped he was overreacting completely. He was back at work on the press release about the Deputy Mayor's upcoming involvement at this year's Farmers Fair when the two agents stopped next to his desk. "Jarrett Kessel?" He looked up with a polite, but warm smile, one he'd perfected long before coming to work for City Hall. "Yes, can I help you?"

Though the suits were nearly identical, the men were not. The one who'd spoken was in his fifties, gray hair so closely cropped his bald spots were peeking through. His partner was closer to Jarrett's age, a whippet-thin African American with a pencil moustache and an underbite. Both men wore matching frowns. "I'm Agent Yager." He flashed his ID. FBI. "This is Agent Baptiste. Is there somewhere we could speak privately?" "Sure. Most of the conference rooms should be empty this time of night. Hang on." He saved his document and closed the program, all the while keeping his features as unaffected as possible. Agents, reporters, they were all the same. Outsiders. Dealing with them was his specialty. They hung back as he stood. He left his coat draped over the back of his chair, testimony to anybody who might be paying attention that he wasn't worried about this impromptu meeting, and led the way past Silas's curious stares. His neck itched, knowing they watched his every step, but he stayed straight and never looked back. Not until he reached Conference Room C and held the door open for them to enter first. "I'd offer you coffee, but then you'd be forced to drink what I make," he said with a rueful smile after they'd all taken seats. "I wouldn't even wish that on the Republicans." Baptiste cracked a little at his small joke, though Yager didn't even blink. He might've been a Republican, and thus not found it amusing, but odds were better he was simply more seasoned. Jarrett didn't take it personally. He'd used the same joke with Democrats as the punch line during the previous administration. It was all about showing solidarity for his current employer. "We're in the process of investigating a murder in Chicago," Yager said. "Anything we say here is to be kept completely confidential." "Okay." His earlier questions surged back to the foreground, though he kept his façade wary, like he had no idea what they were about to talk about. "It's not someone from this office, is it?" "No, the victim is someone we've had under surveillance for some time. As far as we know, he's completely unrelated to Mayor Durney's activities." Yager glanced at Baptiste and nodded. The other agent opened the file he'd carried in with him, took out the top piece of paper, and slid it across the table. "Can you identify this man, Mr. Kessel?" The paper was a black-and-white, eight-by-ten photograph of a young Asian man slumped at a corner table in some kind of coffee shop. A laptop was open on the table in front of him, his knobby fingers hovering on the keyboard. The kid was oblivious to whoever was taking the picture, and though a shank of straight black hair fell over one of his eyes, the hard set of his jaw conveyed intense concentration. He looked like any one of a hundred people Jarrett saw when he went out. Everyday. Average. Completely unremarkable. He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. Should I?" "His name was Duane Fong. Two years ago, he was hired as a freelance security expert for a money management firm in New York in an attempt to shore up their computer defenses in the economic downturn. He did his job, got a glowing recommendation, then went on to the next company. Nobody suspected any kind of foul play until a couple months ago when one of the firms had a crash and we got called in to help investigate what was going on. That's when we discovered the various worms Fong had left behind." "I thought you said this was about a murder investigation." "It is. Fong's dead. We found his body this afternoon." Jarrett waited for further clarification, but neither man offered any. "So...what does this have to do with me?" He didn't have to feign his confusion. Other than the comic strip, this entire story could have happened on another planet, outside of his entire sphere of influence.

"Once we started suspecting Fong, we monitored his communications as much as we possibly could," Yager said. "We didn't get all of it. We know that. Fong was very good at falling under the radar. But one site kept popping up, no matter where he was. A site called The Lockeford Files. Are you familiar with it, Mr. Kessel?" "Not that I'm aware of, no." Baptiste pulled out several more sheets and handed them over without a word. Jarrett recognized the title header right away, but the rest of the pages were photocopies of more of the strip. His face stared back at him from all of them, though the color that had been added to his eyes on the Internet was absent in the black-and-white copies. "I've never seen these before in my life," he said as he flipped through them. He was glad he hadn't looked farther through the site; he had the advantage of truth on his side. The comic appeared to be some kind of ongoing saga--the adventures of this caped superhero known only as Sovereign. In one panel, he stood at the head of a conference table, warning the suits lining it on both sides that their corruption was at an end. In another, he stood at a window in silhouette, a smaller, slimmer man pressed lovingly into his side. Though Jarrett didn't react, his blood went cold. Whoever knew his face well enough to draw it knew even more about Jarrett than most people. He was out, but he didn't flaunt it. The public had no idea he wasn't as straight as Durney. He hadn't had a serious relationship since moving to Aurora, and all his dates happened in Chicago. Where Fong's body had been discovered. "I don't know this Fong," he said, deliberately tearing his attention away from the comic. "And I'm not affiliated with this website, no matter what it might look like." Yager nodded, though his unblinking gaze kept the accusation there between them, ready to be levied at a moment's notice. "We're already aware of who runs the site, Mr. Kessel. We're here to ask for your help in locating him." "You think he killed your guy?" "We think he's got access to information that could prove vital in helping us resolve exactly what happened today," Yager said smoothly. "So far, our efforts to find him have come up short." Jarrett smiled. "You're the FBI. If you can't find him, why do you think I can?" Baptiste's turn again. The page he slipped across the table this time was another photograph. "Because we believe you know him." His first glance said otherwise. The picture was another candid, this one taken from farther away than Fong's. A street scene, crowded with a wide assortment of people, but at its center, a sketch artist perched on a chair in front of a McDonald's. His head was bent over a pad, a teenaged girl sitting opposite him. Though the picture was in black-andwhite again, the artist's spiked hair was startlingly pale, in stark contrast to darker brows. Denial was on the tip of his tongue when a detail caught his eye. It was small--the distance prevented any clarity--but a familiar shape was half-visible beneath the sleeve of the young man's T-shirt. A hint of a shadow in the rectangular tattoo could have been a smudge, but it was enough to drive Jarrett's gaze back to the artist's face. A square jaw. No more baby fat. The fine nose, almost too delicate in such otherwise masculine features. He couldn't see the eyes. Somehow, he thought if he could just see the eyes, he'd know for sure. Then, it clicked. The Lockeford Files. The name was the same. Of course, it was him.

"Elias Locke?" He phrased it as a query, in case he was off the mark, but wasn't surprised when Yager nodded. "You don't need me to find him. Call his parents. Or his brother. They'd be able to get a hold of him before I could." "They'd also be more protective of him than you would," Yager countered. "Until we know the extent of his involvement in Fong's activities, we can't risk him going even farther underground." "I haven't seen him in almost seven years. What makes you think I'd have better luck than you at this point?" Yager looked pointedly at the comic strip in front of him. "Because you clearly made an impression on him, no matter what you might think." Jarrett didn't want to do it. He only knew Eli because Jarrett had been best friends with his older brother in college, their contact limited to a few visits when Jarrett had accompanied Brad home. Eli had been a good kid, then, if a little rebellious. Jarrett had dismissed the attitude as typical teenaged crap. All sixteen-year-old boys had one kind of chip or another on their shoulders. From the looks of it, however, he might not have outgrown his propensity for stirring up trouble. "We're not giving up our own search," Baptiste said when Jarrett remained silent. "Your inquiries would be in addition to ours." "And if worse comes to worse, we'll go after the family, anyway," Yager added. Jarrett's jaw clenched. The Lockes were good people. They didn't need trouble. "You must have access to his personal information. Tax records, cell phone." He gestured toward the comic strip copies. "What about his website? Someone has to be hosting it." "His father does, actually. And all of his contact information leads straight back to his parents." On one hand, knowing Eli was still on good enough terms with his parents for them to host his site was a mild relief. On the other, it put them right smack in the middle of everything, if Eli really was in trouble. "I'm in the middle of a lot of work here." It was a last ditch effort to stay out of it, but he felt his resolve crumbling. "I'll clear your responsibilities with the mayor," Yager said. "This case takes priority." Baptiste smiled. "If you find him quickly enough, they'll barely realize you were gone." Both agents looked smug, safe in their knowledge they had Jarrett well and truly hooked. With a sigh, he looked back down at the comic strip, and the imposing figure of the Sovereign towering over a fallen enemy. He could use some of that strength right about now. What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time, Eli?

Chapter 2

The sky might be clear, but the wind was a bitch, shrieking around Eli's ankles as he waited for the train back to Loyola. Gretchen was going to kill him. She'd warned him that morning before he took off that tonight was important to her. She'd been angling for an invite to one of her history professor's Tuesday night teas for over two years, taking course

after course that had absolutely nothing to do with her Econ major just to suck up to the object of her weird affection. The old geezer had finally broken down and asked her to join his usual hangers-on, and now, there was every possibility she was going to miss it because Eli had her U-Pass. He really hoped she lacked faith in his ability to be on time--which she should, because he was fucking awful at it--and shelled out the two bucks to get on the El without it. He'd pay her back, and then find some other way to make up for his scheduling gaffe. Otherwise, he'd have to start looking for another place to crash before she got home, and with this kind of short notice, he'd probably end up sleeping at O'Hare again. Not fun. People crowded the platform when the train finally rolled into the station. Eli ducked through the open doors as soon as the passengers getting off had cleared the doorway, and slid into the first empty seat he saw, sagging with relief when he realized most everybody else would be stuck standing. He was exhausted. Today had been one failure after another, starting with almost getting arrested downtown when the new manager at the Starbucks he'd picked to work in front of today had decided he was loitering and called the cops, and ending with some kid stealing his spare set of pencils while he'd been finishing up a sketch. At this point, he just wanted to get home, get online, and hang out with people who didn't make him feel like such a loser. A couple darted through the doors just before they whisked shut, nearly tripping over each other in their haste not to get caught. The heavyset girl giggled, while the tall, lanky guy with her scooped an arm around her back to pull her away from stepping on Eli's toes. "Sorry, man." "Sorry," the girl singsonged, then burst into laughter again, half collapsing into her companion. Eli met the guy's eyes over her head, and nodded in sympathy. She was either stoned out of her mind, or not quite there. "Here." Hefting his pack back onto his shoulder, he rose from his seat and edged out of their way. "You can have mine." The girl lifted her head, dark blonde hair obscuring her eyes, but her gaping mouth gave away her surprise. "No shit?" "No shit." The train slid forward, forcing Eli to grab onto a rail. He was an idiot for giving up his seat, but seeing her boyfriend's grateful smile when she plopped down and let him be made up for it. A little. Now that they were practically face to face, something familiar about the other guy nagged at the back of Eli's brain. He was dressed as casually as his girlfriend, in a faded Zeppelin T-shirt and black canvas jacket, with a dingy bookbag strapped manpurse-style across his chest. He was young enough to go to Loyola, which would explain why he triggered Eli's I think I know you reflex, but up close and personal, his brown eyes seemed a lot shrewder than Eli had originally assessed. Older. Like he'd seen more of the world than made him happy. "Hope you don't have a long ride," the guy said. "Not too long. You?" "After the day we've had? Any ride is too long." Eli chuckled. "Yeah, tell me about it." Now that his girlfriend was sitting down, the guy wasn't paying any attention to her, though she didn't seem to be balking at the lack. "You look so familiar, man. I can't put my finger on it, but I know I've seen you around somewhere." "Maybe I've got one of those faces." Except then, so did the other guy, because that sense of déjà vu was just getting stronger. "Nah, that's not it."

"You go to Loyola?" Maybe he knew Gretchen. That would explain it. "Do you?" He glanced at the map on the wall, his face brightening when he saw Loyola was on the line. "Hey, I guess you do." He hadn't actually answered Eli's question. The fact of that sent a small sliver of alarm down his spine. The train coasted to a stop, and people pressed sideways to allow others to get off. As soon as there was space behind him, Eli edged a few feet away, hoping the added distance would put an end to the conversation. "No, wait a minute. I know how I know you." He glanced back because it was the polite thing to do, not because he actually wanted the answer any longer. Their eyes met, and though the guy wore a half smile, Eli wasn't reassured. His girlfriend was finally paying attention, too, the frenzied energy that had pushed her into Eli's path locked and focused on him. "How?" "Sovereign." Eli froze. Nobody said that to him in the real world. Online, yeah, because that's where it belonged. But here, surrounded by a hundred strangers, none of whom understood the blood and sweat he'd poured into the webcomic, it was fodder for attacks. He kept his identity anonymous for a reason. This was exactly it. "Who are you?" he asked. "A friend of Fong's." He dropped a hand, casually--too casually--to rest on the flap of his bag. Eli's gaze tracked the motion, but jerked back up when he realized that was exactly what the guy probably wanted. "He loves your work, by the way." Eli had no idea who the hell Fong was, which only made it worse. He had no choice but to play along, though. "Tell him thanks." "You should tell him yourself." "Then he should've told me himself." The grin widened. It was cold as Lake Michigan winds in the middle of January. How'd he ever think this guy looked friendly? "That sounds like something Sovereign would say." Who do you think put the words in his mouth, dipshit? But he bit the words back. They'd make the scene worse, and without knowing what was actually going on--and lacking superpowers to be able to do anything about it anyway--he couldn't play the smartass more than he already was. Though he'd give his left nut to be Superman for two seconds and knock this son of a bitch to the moon. The train squealed to a stop, the passengers lurching sideways as their momentum continued for a couple seconds longer. A middle-aged woman in a Blackhawks windbreaker temporarily blocked his view of the strange guy, but that also meant she got in the other guy's line of sight, too. Eli grabbed onto the opportunity without hesitation. As soon as the door whispered open, he shoved his way past the people congregating to get off and leapt onto the platform. Shouts chased him as he ran for the turnstile. He barely got the U-Pass out in time to swipe it through. The strap of his backpack caught for precious seconds, until he twisted to the side to set it free. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girlfriend trying to elbow her way off the train, but too many people barred the path, too crowded for her to throw herself through.

The doors slid shut on her frustrated shout. With a relieved grin, Eli gave her a wave as the train pulled out of the station. His adrenaline vanished once it was gone, leaving him hollowed and a little anxious about what had just transpired. Odds were it was just a fan--an obsessed one, if he'd found out who was behind The Lockeford Files. But the weird conversation didn't make much sense. He acted like Eli should know who this Fong character was. And he was still somehow familiar, but fuck if Eli knew where he'd seen him before. The girl was obviously in on it, too, though how and why remained to be seen. He glanced up at the clock. The next train would be along soon. But he had no way of being sure the so-called fan wouldn't be waiting for him at the Loyola stop. Fuck it. He was getting a cab. With the shitty day he'd had, he owed it to himself. **** The apartment was empty when he let himself in, with no sign of a savagely written note telling him to get lost anywhere to be found. Eli dropped his pack in the corner rather than next to the navy futon where Gretchen usually tripped over it, then went straight to the kitchen. He wasn't always the tidiest person, and with Gretchen, who didn't care about cleaning either, he'd gotten worse. He owed her something extra for borrowing her U-Pass. That, and he didn't want to think too hard about what had happened on the El. Two hours later, the kitchen was spotless, the living room was clear of Diet Pepsi cans and Snickers wrappers, and the inch of dust on the top of the TV was gone. He'd even vacuumed the whole place, though he'd had to empty the vacuum halfway through. The smell of Mr. Clean reminded him for a split second of home, and he flopped down on the futon, draping his arm over his eyes to try and block it out. Images of the train intervened. If the guy was a fan, and he knew Eli lived near Loyola, how long before he leaked that information on the forum? And what was going to stop him from digging for even more details about Eli's life? For that matter, how had he known what Eli looked like to recognize him? Eli knew how insecure the online world really was. He did everything in his power to keep his two identities separate. Somehow, however, someone had bridged the gap. He needed to get rid of it before it got even narrower. Retrieving his laptop from where he stowed it beneath the coffee table when he wasn't around, he logged in and waited for the site to load. He didn't have time or patience to monitor everything that was said in the Lockeford forum, but it would only take him two seconds to set up a query to let him know if anyone mentioned Loyola. If they did, he could track where they were, and if it was local... He'd cross that bridge when he came to it. The forum seemed a little quiet, but then that was usually the case during the middle of the week. He posted a new strip every Saturday, which drove traffic up over the weekend and Monday, and had people coming back on Thursday and Friday to start talking about the next one. Some hung around at other times just to chat, but not enough to make a statistical difference. He often tried to get on when volume was low, both because it meant he didn't get constant bombardment with messages or questions, and because it gave the real diehard fans a little more incentive to stick around. But not tonight. He wasn't in the mood to be social with fans. He'd focus on some admin work, then curl up with a new pad to work on this Saturday's strip. Clearing out email was always first. He had the toughest spam filters he could find, but he invariably ended up with a lot of junk to throw away. He'd set up the accounts initially for more personal feedback from readers not comfortable with the comment section on the posts, but in the past few years, he'd kept a close eye on it in hopes someone in the industry stumbled across his little corner of the webcomic world and thought he was brilliant. He had a million and one fantasies where Marvel or DC or Dark Horse emailed and asked him to spearhead their latest and greatest books, or

better, asked if he wanted to create a brand new series for them to produce. Nobody had yet to nibble, but he wasn't giving up. Drawing for a living was the only dream he'd had since he'd picked up his first pencil at the age of four. Most of his inbox was crap. He'd deleted four pages of messages not even worth looking at before he hit on one that didn't tout Viagra or solicit him for some webcam scam. That one required a quick "no thanks" back to its sender, and then he was clicking onto the last and most recent page of emails. The very top one stopped him in dead in the water. The subject was, "A blast from the past." But it was the sender who made him wonder if he was seeing things. J. Kessel. He only knew one person named Kessel. His first name started with a J, too. But it couldn't be, because the J. Kessel he knew would never be interested in a superhero comic strip. Would he? Shit. What if he's seen it? There was only one way to find out. But moving his mouse over the email and clicking it open felt like it took an eternity. His eyes went straight to the signature. Jarrett. God. It really was him. Licking his lips, Eli took his time going back to the top of the message. He hadn't seen Jarrett Kessel since he'd graduated, when he'd shown up at the house with Brad the day after the party to congratulate him for surviving high school. He'd given Eli a card with a fifty dollar bill in it, and a note that said, "Hope this buys enough art supplies to last you the summer." Eli had smiled and thanked him, his heart thudding so loudly he was sure Jarrett could hear it. The next day, he created the Lockeford Files. He'd already been drawing Sovereign for a year, but right then, right there, with the proof that Jarrett's nice guy act hadn't been a onetime freak occurrence, he wanted to do more. He had to share it with the world. And the rest, as people were so fond of saying ad nauseum, was history. Eli, I hope I'm addressing this correctly. There's no clue in the contact information, and I haven't been able to find anywhere on the site that this is really you-Holy crap. Not only had Jarrett found the comic, he'd spent time digging around. Eli read on. --but the name looks pretty obvious, and I can't think of anyone else who could ever draw like you could. So fingers crossed I'm not making a total ass of myself to a stranger. His cheeks were hot. It was stupid, getting so excited about a compliment from a guy he hadn't seen in years, but Jarrett Kessel had been the first guy Eli had ever seriously crushed on. He'd inspired pages and pages of work. Eli couldn't contain the rush from knowing Jarrett found his sketches distinctive. A friend pointed your website out to me. I haven't had the chance to look through all the archives yet, but I'll rectify that soon. In the meantime, I'd love to find out what you've been up to. Are you still in the Chicago area? I live and work in Aurora now, so if you're still reasonably local, we should meet up. Call or email, your choice.

Look forward to hearing from you. --Jarrett Eli read it two more times just to convince himself it was real. As much time as he spent online, he'd never crossed the line to search out what Jarrett might have been doing with his life. Brad stopped talking about him not long after they'd finished their master's programs at Purdue, though Brad hadn't really talked to Eli much by that point anyway, and looking him up felt like such a stalker move he couldn't do it. He'd finally decided seeking out more details would get in the way of his vision for Sovereign. Best to keep the two separate. And here they were. Colliding. But only if he let it.

Chapter 3

In spite of Yager's orders, Jarrett stuck around the office to finish up his immediate responsibilities, staying until everybody else was gone. He didn't want to believe Durney would enforce the temporary leave, but he wasn't so naïve not to know his boss would kowtow to federal authority without batting an eye. The man was a political player with his eye on bigger, more lucrative prizes than the mayor of a Chicago suburb. He'd get on his knees for almost anyone with a government badge, just to score extra points. Jarrett liked and respected the man, but this one time, he wished he had a little more backbone. The job the FBI wanted Jarrett for was ridiculous, a waste of taxpayer money. If they really wanted Eli, there had to be other ways. Baptiste had been the one to suggest emailing Eli. Jarrett almost asked why they didn't set up a bogus account and do it themselves, but he already knew the answer to that. If Eli was underground for any reason, he would be suspicious of everybody. Whoever posed as Jarrett would need personal information to sell it. That really only left him as the possibility, so he held his tongue and waited for them to leave. His email alert beeped at him before he polished the final press release to go out the next day. He glanced at the highlighted icon on his toolbar, then went straight back to his document. It had gone off sporadically all night, but each time he went to check it, his heart in his throat at the prospect of Eli's response, he found only work-related messages. This one was likely to be another of the same. He didn't check it until he'd closed his document. The moment he saw the return email address, he saw nothing else. Blast from the past is right! I'm still local. Can you meet up tonight? Short and sweet, right to the point. In spite of his initial trepidation, Jarrett smiled. Eli had never been the kind of kid to mess around. Some things hadn't changed. When he went to type a response, however, he hesitated. He was supposed to call Yager and let him know he'd made contact. The plan was to either give over Eli's address or get him someplace public Yager and Baptiste could get to him. Jarrett hadn't argued when they'd made the deal, but now, with Eli's excitement practically quivering in front of him, he was reluctant to go through with it. There was no way the kid he remembered could be involved with murder. He wrote

a superhero comic, for God's sake. A superhero who always saved the day, did the right thing, and struggled with his sense of right and wrong. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they were the same ideals a young man might tugof-war with, and definitely not one who'd get himself involved in the kind of corruption the FBI claimed. He didn't need to call them. Not yet, anyway. He needed to get some answers from Eli, first. I would love to. Someplace in the city? I can be almost anywhere within an hour. The answer came back almost right away, like Eli was sitting at his desk, waiting like Jarrett had been. The Checkerboard on Pell. Does nine work? You can order the best strawberry shake you've ever tasted there. He'd never heard of the Checkerboard, but that was what Google was for. The best? I'll hold you to that, you know. --J I hope you do. See you at nine. --Eli It took two minutes to discover the Checkerboard was a twenty-four hour diner up near Loyola. As he shut down, Jarrett wondered vaguely if Eli was a student there. The FBI would have known about that, though. It was a shame. Eli had been talented enough to do whatever he wanted. Jarrett sincerely hoped he'd had the chance to pursue at least some of his dreams. **** The black-and-white awning had seen better days, but the narrow storefront was bright with color, red neon announcing its open all night status, fluorescent posters advertising bands, student groups, and even a dog lover's club. Through the plate glass window, an old-fashioned jukebox blinked and glittered, a bastion from kinder, gentler times. Not the sort of place he would have expected a nethead like Eli to pick, but charming nonetheless. Young people filled nearly every booth, every available stool at the curved counter occupied. Jarrett hesitated inside the door. He was a dinosaur here, lumbering into the nest of an exotic new species. He'd loosened his tie in the car, but he really should have taken it off, as well as ditched his suit jacket. He might have passed for a youngish professor then, rather than part of the political machine he was sure more than half of them disparaged. A few people glanced his way, but the only one that mattered was a blond sitting alone at a booth in the back. The photo hadn't done Eli Locke justice. Though he'd bleached his hair, the shade complemented his tawny skin. The eyes he fixed on Jarrett smiled as warmly as his mouth did, a honeyed brown that threatened to drown anyone who met them too long. He'd been a cute teenager, but time had chiseled him into a striking young man, the body that rose to greet Jarrett solidly built beneath the faded jeans and tan T-shirt. "Wow," Eli said as he approached. He had to look up a little to meet Jarrett's gaze. "I had completely forgotten how much room you take up." Jarrett chuckled and took Eli's hand in greeting. His grip was strong and dry, and squeezed a beat longer than he would have expected from a colleague. Hell, it was more than what he would have anticipated from a good friend, and he stared at Eli with more than a little surprise as the pressure continued on into his wrist, then wrapped around his arm, shoulder, and upper body in what almost felt like an embrace. "And I'd forgotten how everything that goes through your brain comes out your mouth," he said with a smile. He was the first to pull away, and the first to slide into the booth. Eli's knees brushed against his when he slid onto the bench opposite him, though Eli did nothing to break the brief contact. "You look good."

The way he blushed was almost pretty, but not any more adorable than the way he cocked his head. "I had no idea you were still in the area. I would've sworn you'd move to New York, or LA, or Washington, or something. You were always too good for this place." "Nope. Good old Aurora. I've got dues to pay before I get to play with the big boys." "What're you doing now?" "Public relations for the mayor. Which means we cover his ass when he screws up." Eli laughed at that, the sound rich and free and shockingly electric. Jarrett didn't remember this version of him. The Eli he'd known had first been a mass of twisted nerves, anxious and angry and avid, all rolled up into one. The closest Jarrett had ever seen to this had been the newly graduated version, after he'd accepted Jarrett's small gift. Brad had given him hell for feeding into Eli's delusions about his art, but Jarrett had ignored him. Nobody in Eli's life ever gave him encouragement about anything. He didn't see anything wrong with being a positive influence rather than a negative one. "Is the Yul Brynner look a req for the job?" Sheepishly, Jarrett ran his hand over his smooth scalp. He rarely thought about it anymore, unless somebody brought it up. Of course, Eli would comment on it. Jarrett looked a lot different than the last time they'd seen each other. "No, this was something more personal. It doesn't look that bad, does it?" "It doesn't look bad at all," Eli assured. "You've got this whole macho sexy vibe going, especially with the suit." "No cape, though." As soon as the teasing words slipped out, he kicked himself for jumping into the subject of Eli's obsession so quickly. He'd wanted to finesse his way into the conversation, get Eli to relax first before bringing it up. But Eli had caught him off guard from the very first glance, all grown up into a playful package that would have caught his eye no matter where he'd spotted the young man. It didn't help he knew Eli was gay, either. That made putting him in scenarios like running into him at a club, asking him for a dance, grinding their bodies together before finding a dark corner to make out in, that much simpler. The scampishness vanished, taking the charming smiles with it. Lashes ducked, Eli toyed with the edge of the paper ring holding together the napkin-wrapped silverware. "You didn't write me because you want me to pull the strip, did you?" "What?" The thought hadn't even occurred to him, though he'd been too focused on Yager and the murder to consider how the comic might affect him personally. "No, no, why would I do that? You've obviously put a lot of work into it." Eli looked relieved, abandoning the silverware, though his smile wasn't quite as easy as it had been. "I didn't think so, but you know, I wasn't sure. I mean, I haven't heard from you in how long? And now you're a honcho at the mayor's office--" "I'm not a honcho. I'm not even a cho." "You could ask something like that, though. Other people would." Jarrett's skin crawled at the wariness of Eli's tone. He wanted Eli back at ease, the way he'd been when Jarrett had arrived. The wall that had come up between them, as half-mast as it might seem, was too much. Even when he'd been young and unknowing--maybe especially because he'd been unknowing--he hadn't hidden away from Jarrett. How would he find out what the hell was going on if he couldn't get Eli to trust him? He definitely couldn't help if the strain between them didn't go away. "I'm not other people." Smiling, Jarrett nudged his foot forward to push gently against Eli's. "I thought we established that years ago."

The reminder of that long ago conversation did exactly as he'd hoped. Eli's eyes widened, then crinkled at the corners, his smile like the sun peeking over the horizon, brilliant and fresh and the Eli he'd once known. There was absolutely no way Eli could be involved in anything like Yager described. It all had to be a huge mistake. Or coincidence. Not the conspiracy the FBI wanted to believe. "You changed my life," Eli said. "In a lot of ways." Jarrett shook his head. "All I ever did was try and show you that you didn't have to be alone." "You did a lot more than that. You're the reason I even put the Lockeford Files online. You were the only one who ever thought I could do it." "I'm sure there were others." "No, seriously, it was just you." That kind of focus was uncomfortable, too much on him and not on what he thought was truly important. "But I was right. Look at you. You've got your own forum and everything." Though he preened a little at the praise, Eli waved it off. "That's SOP. Everybody with any kind of traffic has a forum." At the edge of the table, a slim, tattooed waitress with a purple pixie appeared, smiling brightly. "Hey there, Eli. You here for the usual?" Eli looked at Jarrett. "You want one of those shakes? I swear to you, I'm not lying about how good they are." When Jarrett nodded, he beamed up at the waitress. "Make that two, Lonna. Thanks." "My pleasure." With a wink, she whirled and danced away to a group a couple tables over. "You've got a fan," Jarrett commented when they were alone again. Eli twisted to look back at the waitress. "Who, Lonna? Nah, she's just hoping I had a good day. I always leave her a huge tip then." "And was it?" "A good day?" A shadow passed behind Eli's eyes, so fleeting somebody not trying to read everything he could in Eli's body language might not have noticed it. Jarrett did. It sent the first frisson of alarm through his body. "Not until I got your email." He wanted to ask what could have possibly happened that would make an email from a near stranger the highlight, but Jarrett hesitated to cross that bridge yet. The timing was too fortuitous, especially in light of the FBI's interest in him, but he sincerely hoped Eli had an alibi for the time of Fong's murder. Eli suddenly leaned forward, creating a more intimate space between them. "Why did you write?" he asked, like he'd seen the questions flitting in Jarrett's mind and wondered what brought them on. "I haven't been able to figure it out. It's just so damn random, you know?" Jarrett put on his best media smile, though he felt like an asshole pretending like this. "So was having a friend call and tell me I need to check out www.lockefordfiles.com. Seeing my face on a superhero might be the very definition of random." "And it didn't offend you?" "Well, I'll admit it surprised me. But it's a little flattering, too."

"See?" Eli's burst of excitement was contagious, charging across the distance to sizzle straight into Jarrett's gut. "That's what I hoped you'd think. Sovereign's got his own personality, his own quirks. He's his own person, but you were the one who got me thinking about him in the first place." "You talk like he's real." "Well, he is to me, in a way. I've been living with him in my head for a long time, not to mention the way the readers talk about him. It's just like any character from a book or a movie coming to life when they really resonate with you, you know? Sovereign's just drawn, not personified by an actor or created with words." Passion came through in Eli's every breath. He was lit up with it, practically quivering in his seat from how much it permeated his very cells. Jarrett had interacted with a few artists in his time, mostly through social functions for the mayor, so he recognized the fervor, but the immediacy of Eli's eloquence infected him, too, making him wish he'd taken more time to read through the archives before their meeting. Lonna returned with two huge frosted glasses, overflowing with thick strawberry shakes topped with whipped cream. Chunks of real fruit speckled the pink, and Jarrett's mouth watered unexpectedly at the sight. The first bite was heaven. He might even have moaned. When he went for the second, his eyes lifted to find Eli's watching him, burning bright with anticipation. "See what I mean? They're almost better than sex." Jarrett buried his spoon to dig out a big bite. "The fact that I have to agree with that either means someone here really knows what they're doing, or our sex lives are really, really sad." Eli snorted under his breath. "Mine, maybe. There is no way you don't have every guy in Chicago falling at your feet." He wasn't touching that one with a ten foot pole. It was bad enough he recognized how appealing Eli was. It was even worse to realize he was attracted to him, and that it would take very little to unleash his reactions. Though he and Brad weren't actually friends anymore, Eli was still untouchable, on the other side of the line Jarrett drew in the sand between them. Jarrett had tried being a friend and mentor to him. That, in and of itself, made pursuing any kind of physical relationship a huge no-no. Not to mention the fact the FBI was currently hunting him down in connection to murder and major computer crimes. As he went for his third bite, his phone vibrated in his pocket, the tones of Fools Rush In getting louder as he pulled it out. "Go ahead," Eli said before he could speak. "I know you've got a lot of responsibility." "I'll get rid of whoever it is quickly," Jarrett promised. He accepted the unknown call and said, "Jarrett Kessel." "You should have called." The last thing he wanted right then was to hear Yager's accusatory tone, but the second last thing was to let on to Eli the call was anything to worry about. "I'm sorry," he replied as honestly contrite as he could muster. "Was I supposed to?" "Locke contacted you." "And how do you know that?" "Because we're not idiots, Mr. Kessel. Where are you?" Jarrett glanced across the table. He could tell Yager now and be done with this entire mess. But if he did that, Eli's opinion of him would change forever. He'd probably accuse Jarrett of setting him up, and as much as Jarrett knew that

was the whole point of contacting him in the first place, he hated the prospect of falling so far in Eli's esteem. He kind of liked the small amount of hero worship Eli bestowed on him. It wasn't necessarily completely deserved, but at the end of the day, he'd made a difference in Eli's life, even if it was only a small one. Turning Eli in now before he had a chance to get to the bottom of everything would destroy that. "In the city with a friend. I'm not at work anymore, you know." "And you won't be back at work until we get what we want." "I know that." "If you can't follow through, you do realize we'll have no choice but to try his family." Jarrett rubbed at his eyes. "You've made that perfectly clear, yes." "Then I suggest you do everything you can to find out where he is." "I will--" "Anything else I can get you tonight, Eli?" Lonna's chirpy voice at the side of their table cut through the music in the background, loud enough for Jarrett's head to snap up when Yager hissed over the line. Before he could say anything, Jarrett disconnected the call, then promptly turned off his phone. Though he cast Jarrett a curious frown, Eli nodded up at Lonna. "We're fine, thanks." "We've got to go." Jarrett pulled out his wallet and tossed a twenty onto the table. "Now." Lonna scooped up the bill. "I'll be right back with your change." "Keep it." He slid out of the booth, forcing her to dance back out of his way. "Come on, Eli. We need to finish this conversation someplace else." "Why?" He followed Jarrett to his feet, though his confusion slowed him down. "What's going on?" "I'll explain outside." The fewer people who overheard, the better. Jarrett marched out of the diner, watching Eli's reflection in the window in front of him to make sure he was coming, too. "Do you have to go do some work thing?" Eli asked when they were out on the sidewalk. His lightweight jacket dangled from his hand. When a gust of wind swept along the street, he hastily put it on. "It's cool if you have to. We can do this some other time." "That wasn't work." Jarrett scanned up and down the street, wondering if he'd recognize an FBI car if he saw one. They always drove nondescript black sedans in the movies, but at this hour of the night, everything that went by fit that description. He turned back to Eli, only to get swept up in the solemn trust gleaming in his dark eyes. Damn it. This would have been a lot easier if Eli had grown up into a jerk. "You've got problems." "Well, yeah." He laughed. "Doesn't everybody?" "No, I mean problems. Ever heard of a guy named Duane Fong?" "I don't know who..." His voice trailed away, his body stiffening. Eli took a single step away and looked Jarrett up and down, as if he'd never seen him before. "You're the second person today to say that name to me. What's going on?"

The second? Jarrett didn't like the sound of that. He also didn't like the fact that Eli didn't deny knowing him. "Fong's dead." He didn't stop, even though Eli inhaled sharply. "And the FBI thinks you had something to do with it."

Chapter 4

Eli stared at Jarrett. Mention of Fong was a buzzkill, his exhilarated mood vaporizing as he realized Jarrett hadn't contacted him for personal reasons at all. "You said you worked for the mayor of Aurora," he accused. "I do." Jarrett scrubbed a hand over his bald scalp in obvious frustration. He'd done that a couple times inside, too, but Eli had assumed it was because pointing it out to him made him self-conscious. Now, he wondered if it was a nervous gesture. If it was, this whole night had been completely different than he'd thought. "Look, we can't talk about this here. Why don't we--" Eli jerked away when Jarrett attempted to grab his arm. He backed up another step, and prayed Jarrett didn't try to chase him. One panicked run a day was enough. "We're not doing anything until you tell me what's going on. Why did you call me?" Another scan up and down the street. Who was he looking for? Backup? "The FBI are looking for you in connection to Fong's murder, and they thought I'd be able to smoke you out." Jarrett looked less than pleased with sharing the information. "And thanks to Lonna, now they know I was with you, so the sooner we get moving, the safer you're going to be." There were so many words wrong in that explanation, Eli didn't even know where to start. FBI. Murder. Safer. But they all elicited the exact same reaction in him, regardless of who it was uttering them. Get the hell out of Dodge. "It was good to see you're doing well." A true enough statement, even tinged with regret. "Tell your FBI friends you tried, but they came up craps this time." He'd only gone a few feet when Jarrett's hand wrapped around his shoulder and yanked him back into the shadows of a closed used bookstore. "Damn it, can you just give me two seconds to explain?" Jarrett loomed in front of him, blocking his view of the street. The flare of arousal he'd felt when he'd spotted Jarrett standing inside the Checkerboard's door returned, sparked by the distinct scent of the man's cologne. A little woodsy, a little luxurious, it filled Eli's head to the exclusion of everything else. His palms itched to grab onto Jarrett's lapel and drag him down for a kiss, then sink to his knees and find out if the man was proportioned this big all over. He might have, too, if Jarrett didn't look over his shoulder yet again, reminding him of why exactly he'd written in the first place. "You already said everything you need to." Eli tried knocking Jarrett's arm away, but the man was a steel bar. He would have to use a lot more force, and create a much bigger scene, if he wanted to break the grip. "And for someone who wants me to get moving, you're doing a good job at keeping me from doing it." "If I let you go, will you come with me to my car rather than run away?"

"So I'm trapped even more when the FBI show up?" "If I wanted to hand you over to the FBI, I would have told them where we were meeting and never showed up here myself." His fingers squeezed, painfully so, but Eli thought he detected a slight tremor in the hold. "Let me help you, Eli. You trusted me once. Do it again." It was a low blow, but it landed exactly as he was sure Jarrett intended it to. His instincts screamed at him to do what Jarrett wanted, but how much of that was history and the fact he wore Sovereign's face, and how much was real enough for him to believe? "Fine," he bit out. "Where are you parked?" Jarrett hesitated letting him go. The darkness hid his eyes from view, but Eli knew he was looking him over, weighing for himself whether or not to take Eli at his word. Eli wasn't sure what he saw, though it bugged him that he actually cared what Jarrett thought. He should have been over this stupid crush years ago. Damn Jarrett for being even more gorgeous and seemingly thoughtful than he'd been before. When the grip loosened, Eli wriggled free, ducking beneath his arm to edge out to the sidewalk. "Which direction?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look anywhere else. "This way." Jarrett's stride was long and determined, forcing Eli to almost double-time to keep up. He was parked in a lot around the corner, the sleek lines of a dark blue BMW sedan greeting them when he hit the remote lock. The interior still had that new car smell, the black leather bucket seat molding around him as he sank into it, but as anxious as he was, he refrained from speaking until Jarrett pulled onto the street. "So the FBI doesn't know where I live?" he asked. "You think they would have been desperate enough to ask for my help if they did?" "Okay." That's what he'd expected, but he needed the confirmation from Jarrett. "I want to swing by the apartment and pick up my things then. I need to find a new place to crash they can't find." Jarrett didn't argue. He followed Eli's directions through the neighborhood until they were on Gretchen's street. When Eli told him to wait, however, Jarrett balked. "You'll duck out on me if I let you go by yourself." The idea hadn't actually occurred to him, though he understood why Jarrett believed that. "What if I promise to come back?" He recognized the way Jarrett pressed his lips together as he contemplated the possibility. He'd used it often when drawing Sovereign, a mannerism he'd noticed on Jarrett from the very first time they met. He'd found it sexy then, imagining it made the older man more serious, but now, the effect was devastating, because it focused all his attention on Jarrett's kissable mouth. "All right. I'll give you five minutes. Then I'm coming in." Eli escaped with relief, sprinting up the front walk to let himself into the apartment building. He'd have to leave a note for Gretchen, though he didn't think she'd be too upset about his leaving. Their arrangement had always worked more in his favor than hers anyway. He didn't own much. His laptop and art supplies were his most prized possessions, and he had a duffle bag of clothes, but that was pretty much it. Moving around was easy when he didn't have to worry about taking up a lot of space. Anything he wanted to keep that only took up space got shipped to his mother, to pack away in his boxes in the attic. Usually, that consisted of notebooks and sketchpads that got filled up.

He wondered what Jarrett would think if he knew how many times Eli had drawn him. Five minutes later, he was jogging back down the sidewalk. Jarrett had gotten out of the car and leaned against the passenger side door, like some chauffeur waiting for his boss. He arched a brow at the single duffle, popping the trunk as Eli approached. "That's it?" Eli dropped the bag inside, though he held onto his backpack. "How else did you think I was going to get done in five minutes?" "I didn't. I..." He shook his head. "Never mind. Let's get out of here." He looked as anxious as Eli felt, gunning the engine as they pulled away from the curb. Eli's earlier fears about Jarrett's involvement faded even more. "Are you going to get in trouble for helping me?" he asked. "I don't know." "Well, at least you're honest." "Where are we going?" The million dollar question. He wasn't sure who he could impose on, knowing he had the FBI breathing down his neck. "You have any suggestions?" "A hotel?" Eli snorted. "Do I look like I have the kind of cash to waste on a hotel?" "I'll pay for it." That stopped him. "Why would you do that?" Jarrett shot him a confused frown. "Because you need help." "And that'll just get you in deeper." "Deeper into what, Eli? What's going on with this Fong guy?" "I wish I knew. I don't even know who he is, except everybody else seems to think I should." "The FBI said he was using your forum. Maybe you know him under a different name." Eli's mind raced. He was familiar with almost everybody who posted, but he couldn't think of anyone who might have said something that would attract the attention of the FBI. "If somebody killed this guy, why are they investigating him? Shouldn't that be the local or state police or something?" "They were watching him for some kind of computer crime. They didn't give me too many specifics." "So why did they think you could track me down?"

They passed under a streetlight that momentarily illuminated Jarrett's strong profile. He wasn't smiling, and his brows were drawn into a dark line, but something lurked in his eyes, something wistful and sad. Then, it was gone, erased by the darkness, and Eli wished--almost desperately--he could get it back. "One of the cops who was part of their backup recognized me in the comic," he said. "They did some digging around and found out I knew you through Brad." Disappointment washed through him. "You said a friend pointed it out to you." He sounded like a spiteful child, even to his ears, but he didn't care. It hurt to realize how much Jarrett had lied. "She did." Briefly, he explained about his friend, and the heads-up he'd gotten before the FBI's arrival. "I'm on your side, Eli. I'll be as upfront with you from this point on as you'll be with me. That's only fair." "I don't know what any of this is about. And that's the truth." They pulled to a stop at a red light. Jarrett looked at him, still solemn, and nodded. "I believe you. Now what are we going to do with you tonight?" "Just tonight?" "You can't run from the FBI forever. I figure, first thing tomorrow, you get a lawyer and go see what they want." "If I lawyer up, they're going to assume I'm guilty of something." "And if you don't, they'll take advantage of you, left, right, and center." "I can't afford a hotel. How do you think I'll pay for a lawyer?" "What about your parents?" Eli turned away to stare out the window. It wasn't Jarrett's fault. He hadn't been around for the last six years. "Dad would never agree to it. And I don't want to put Mom in an awkward position by asking." Silence filled the car, heavy and unpleasant. This was why he never thought about his family if he could help it, or brought it up with any of the friends and acquaintances who let him crash with them. Few people really understood. Even fewer cared to find out. The soft weight of a hand on his knee startled him into looking back. Jarrett regarded him with obvious empathy, squeezed once, then let him go when the light turned green. Eli's throat tightened. The reasons why he'd created Sovereign still existed, sitting there behind the steering wheel and navigating through the intersection. Nobody but Jarrett had ever treated him with this kind of rapport, not before his disastrous coming out, and definitely not after. Jarrett hadn't lost an ounce of what made him so unique. If anything, he'd grown into an even more amazing man. "Tell you what," Jarrett said a block later, breaking the lull in conversation. "Why don't you stay with me tonight? We can see what we can find out about this Fong character, and then, in the morning, I'll call around and see if I can pull in a favor or two to get you representation." He was doing it again, riding to Eli's rescue. The right thing would've been to let Jarrett off the hook. This wasn't his problem, no matter how much Eli could use his help. But the no refused to come to his lips. It wasn't that he didn't recognize he was being completely selfish, wanting to be around Jarrett for as long as possible. It was that sixteen-yearold inside him, the one who'd been convinced coming out wouldn't be so hard, the one who'd been nearly broken by his family's response, the one who'd only come together again because of unexpected support from the last person on earth he'd thought could be gay, who begged for one more night before everything went to hell.

"Are you sure it won't be trouble?" The corner of Jarrett's mouth lifted. "Not any more than I'm already in." Eli exhaled slowly, the muscles in his chest finally relaxing. "I'd like that, then. Thanks." He paused. "I don't know what I'd do, otherwise." "Don't think about it for now." He turned onto Foster, angling toward I-90 and the toll road that would take them out to Aurora. "We can discuss it all once you have the chance to get online and see what you can find out about Fong." Eli nodded. It was a good plan. Not for the first time that night, he was sincerely glad Jarrett had contacted him. **** The first thing Eli thought when Jarrett opened the door of his apartment was, Man, working for the mayor really pays. Located downtown, the building had been a decrepit warehouse in its first incarnation, but had been completely renovated to bring New York-style loft living to suburban Chicago. Jarrett explained on the way it was only one bedroom, but with the vaulted ceilings and the spiral staircase leading to the second level, it felt miles bigger. Windows spanned the outside wall, letting in the nighttime light before Jarrett crossed the room and closed the blinds. The kitchen sparkled with stainless steel appliances and a granite countertop, while the living room was immaculately decorated, an open bookshelf unit setting apart a small dining area. "The couch is actually really comfortable," Jarrett said, dropping his keys onto the table. "Bathroom's through there, and you can help yourself to anything you find in the kitchen." He probably came across a little starstruck, but he'd spent the last five years staying in mostly student digs. Very few people he knew could afford a place like this. Gretchen, especially, was overly obsessed with money, how much she didn't have, how much she was going to make in the years to come. "I can't believe how generous you're being." Jarrett smiled. "You haven't actually seen how empty my refrigerator is yet. You might reconsider that assessment in the morning." Eli found a spot near the wall where he could stow his duffle without it getting in the way. "If you've got eggs, I'll make you breakfast." "You cook?" "I've got to earn my keep somehow." With his laptop tucked under his arm, he glanced around the apartment in search of a power outlet. "Do I need a password to get onto your network?" "Yeah. Sushiwabi. One word." He froze, stretching the cord to the wall. "You mean, like the restaurant?" "The restaurant's two words, which is why I specified." "You like sushi?" "Yeah, why?" Eli shrugged. He finished powering up and settled on the edge of the couch. "Because I love it. And I don't really know all that much about what you like and what you don't like." "Well, hopefully we'll have the chance to fix that now."

He was gone by the time Eli looked up, the bedroom door closing quietly behind him. Eli let out a long, drawn-out breath and shook his head. "Idiot," he scolded himself. "Because I love it? No wonder I haven't heard from him since high school." He threw his focus on his computer, getting onto Jarrett's wireless on the first pass, then logging into his admin panel for the site. He had access to all the personal information for anybody who registered, though he was under strict agreement with users never to use that information for personal gain. The way he figured it, though, this qualified as valid prying. Besides which, the guy in question was dead. Dead men couldn't sue. D. Fong, Chicago. That had to be the guy. He'd registered over three years earlier and posted over four thousand times. GatewayGhost. Eli stared at the username. He knew GatewayGhost. He'd chatted with him more than once, about the comic, about computers, about more stupid shit than he could ever remember. He'd never bothered to look up the guy's personal information, because they'd never corresponded outside of the forum, but now, he wished he had. Of course, if he had, he might be in even more trouble than it seemed like he was. At this point, he could still claim ignorance of who Fong had been. When the bedroom door opened, he was knee-deep in posts, reading through and bookmarking all the threads GatewayGhost had participated in. "I might have a problem," he said. He glanced up as he heard soft footsteps approach, but the explanation he was about to voice died on his tongue. Jarrett hadn't changed, but instead gotten comfortable. Shoes and socks were gone, his feet bare, as well as the coat and tie. He'd untucked his shirt, but rather than take it off, he'd simply unbuttoned it, like Eli had been the one to interrupt him rather than the other way around. The strip of flesh visible down the center of his torso rippled with muscle, the skin golden-tan and mouth-wateringly smooth. The only hair to disrupt the path was the happy trail disappearing into his pants. Eli couldn't tear his eyes away, especially since it drew attention to the indefinite line of the man's thick cock, angled toward his left thigh. "Yeah?" Jarrett prompted, when Eli didn't immediately follow it up with clarification. "What kind of a problem?" Eli cleared his throat and turned back to the laptop. "I found this Fong guy. And I did talk to him a lot, though I never knew what his real name was." "What did you talk to him about?" "Lots of stuff. But nothing that ever felt dangerous or illegal," he hastened to add. "He's just a computer guy who loved the strip. We had a lot in common." "You said someone else mentioned him to you today. Who was it? Someone on the forum?" "I wish I knew." Briefly, he related what had happened on the El, though telling the story out loud made him sound a little a paranoid. Jarrett's features never conveyed anything but concern, but the man worked in PR. Eli wasn't sure he could one hundred percent believe everything he saw in him. "It's too much of a coincidence for it not to be related, though," he finished. "I mean, a guy I've never heard of getting mentioned twice in the same day? That's just weird." "What about other people Fong talked to on the forum? Is there any way for you to cross-reference them with people in Chicago?" He turned the screen around to show him the list of bookmarks he'd already made. "See how much this guy talked? I'd have to collate everybody who ever posted in any one of these threads first, and then do the query. It'll take some time." "I can help with that, can't I? We can get it done in half the time then."

Eli blinked in surprise. "You'd do that for me?" Jarrett's easy smile lit up the room. "What, I can invite you to spend the night, and then make you do all the grunt work yourself? What kind of friend would I be then?" It had been a long time since someone had helped him without wanting something in return. The last person to do so might even have been Jarrett himself. Eli felt his face heat up, a mixture of embarrassment and straightforward pleasure, and he nodded, mute, his heart in his throat. Jarrett jerked his thumb toward the loft. "I'll grab my laptop and put a pot of coffee on. Anything else we'll need in case this turns into an all-nighter?" Nothing that wouldn't seriously derail any attempt to get any work done. Eli found his voice well enough to say, "No, that sounds good." He tracked Jarrett's steps out of the room, not missing a single motion. Whatever he'd done to deserve getting Jarrett back into his life--albeit temporarily--it had been worth it. In that moment, he was confident he could beat whatever was going on. Nobody could take him down. Not with Jarrett in his corner.

Chapter 5

The coffee didn't help much. Jarrett might work long hours, but he was still a cog in the official nine-to-five business day, which meant getting to bed as soon as he possibly could most nights. Even when his workload was heavy, he rarely lasted later than two, so now, at four-twenty, he felt like everything he did was in slow motion. Eli showed no signs of stopping. He'd made the second pot of coffee around one, and was still nursing it, even though the last cup had been mostly sludge. His dark eyes danced every time he looked away from his laptop, which wasn't often at all with the work he was trying to get from it. The quieter Jarrett got, the more Eli chattered, like he had to make up for the silence with his own side of the conversation, regardless of whether Jarrett participated or not. Jarrett didn't actually mind. Normally, his apartment was a tomb. The only noise it got was the CD player every once in a while, and Ven's voice when she came out to Aurora to see him. Having Eli around warmed the sometimes sterile space, like he'd left the windows open during a hot summer day. He could easily get used to the company. It was a shame he couldn't allow himself to get used to it. Lounging in the chair, he watched Eli work through heavy-lidded eyes. His hair stood up even more on end from the way Eli kept running his fingers through it every time he got excited, but Jarrett loved how wild it looked, like he'd just woken up from bed after spending hours there getting his brains fucked out. It was so contrary to everybody he knew day to day. Even the guys he hooked up with at the clubs were more staid than Eli, self-possessed rather than uncalculated. They wouldn't be tattooed, either, though Jarrett could only see half of the padlock on Eli's arm. It led to questions of what other kinds of body adornments Eli might entertain. Like, did he have a piercing? If he did, it wasn't on his nipples. Those hard little points strained against his T-shirt more than once. His cock? Jarrett actually hoped not. It would be exotic, yes, but he'd never understood the appeal, and frankly, he wasn't sure what happened to it during sex. But a small ring in his perineum might be okay. In fact, imagining it glinting in the light as Eli jerked off was a tantalizing picture. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jarrett rested his head on the back of the chair. Thinking of Eli in any way other than as a friend in need wouldn't do either of them any good. He needed to keep his head clear. Focused. On the FBI...

"Jarrett." The sound of his name jolted him from the sleep he'd started to succumb to, and he jerked upright to see Eli watching him. His mouth felt like the Mojave, his eyes gritty with the need for rest. When he rubbed at them, Eli shook his head. "Go to bed," he said. "There's no reason you have to stay up for this." "We haven't finished going through the second list yet." The sheer number of people who hung out on Eli's forum boggled him. They'd finished the first run, only to realize that not only had some people's location might have changed in the last four years, but Chicago was a too narrow geographical focus. They couldn't even limit it to Illinois, since Michigan, Indiana, and Wisconsin were all within a reasonable driving distance. So far, their short list consisted of eleven people, none of whom Eli claimed to know in real life. His online contact, however, was another story. "You haven't even looked at your laptop in the last half hour." "I was thinking." "Think while you're dreaming. Maybe you'll come up with some creative solution to all this neither one of us have thought of yet." "You could use some sleep, too." Eli's crooked smile teased his earlier fantasies to come out and play again. "I'm used to this. You're not." "You're the one who has to face Yager and Baptiste in the morning. And you'll do better with them if you don't look like you've stepped out of Slacker Monthly. Trust me. My job is all about making the most of appearances." Hesitation was a good sign. Eli glanced down at his laptop, blunt fingers drumming silently along its edge. After several moments, he shrugged and typed something in. "Sleep won't hurt." Closing his computer, he set it onto the coffee table and clenched his hands into tight fists. The knuckles cracked. They cracked again when he opened them quickly and spread the fingers wide. "Do you mind if I take a shower before I crash?" A flash of that sleek body standing under the spray filled Jarrett's thoughts, sharp enough to drive him to his feet in a sudden burst of adrenaline. "Go right ahead. Use whatever you find." As he headed for the kitchen to tidy up, he caught Eli's frown out of the corner of his eye. He was gone before Eli had time to voice whatever he was thinking, and kept his back to the doorway and temptation as he cleaned out the coffeepot. The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing was a relief, though the muffled shower was even better. Jarrett rolled his neck, working out the kinks, and threw himself into the mundane task of washing up. This entire day had been surreal. Sleep would be heaven, and then, tomorrow, he'd hook Eli up with an attorney, hand him over to Yager and Baptiste, and get back to his real life. He wasn't worried Eli would end up charged with anything. He hadn't done anything wrong. His taste in acquaintances was certainly suspicious, but if everybody went to jail for picking the wrong friends, there'd be nobody left on the streets. The water quit before he was done, an absence of sound he wished he wasn't so aware of. When the door opened, the urge to glance back was too hard to resist. Then, he was the one who was hard. All Eli had on was a towel, slung low around his slim hips. Golden skin glistened with a fine sheen of moisture, stray drops speckling the tops of his shoulders, and his bleached hair stuck up in every direction. His padlock tattoo wasn't his only one. The Lockeford Files logo etched around his side, drawing Jarrett's gaze downward as it trailed beneath the towel.

When he managed to tear his eyes away, he was startled by the warm focus of Eli's on him, a wistful smile curving his lips. "I left my pack out here," Eli said, nodding toward the abandoned duffle next to the couch. "Oh." Scolding himself for a fool, Jarrett took long strides to reach it as quickly as possible, crossing back to hand it over. The scent of his body wash wafted out of the bathroom from behind Eli, though he couldn't remember it ever smelling as it good as it did emanating from Eli's skin. He handed over the bag as smoothly as he could, then retreated a step, unable to make it more than that. "Anything else?" Eli's smile didn't waver. "You wear Dolce & Gabbana Pour Homme." The non sequitur knocked him for a loop. "Is that a problem?" "No. Just that now I know what's been driving me crazy since you walked into the Checkerboard." Jarrett was left standing there, speechless, as Eli turned on his heel and went back into the bathroom. Eli was flirting with him. Yes, their banter at the diner before Yager had called had been light, and he'd made more than one comment on what he thought of Jarrett's appearance, but this went beyond that, almost straight into an invitation to join him in the bathroom. And Jarrett's body was more than interested. He was wildly curious whether or not Eli would be as adventurous in bed, and more than half convinced sex with him would be as fun and entertaining as it was to hang out with him, but the reasons not to get involved were just as strong as they had been before. Off limits. Trouble with the FBI. The arguments not to cave to the temptation held firm. Jarrett was the one who was wavering. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he turned away from the bathroom and went straight to his bedroom. Do not pass Go. Do not collect Eli. He shrugged out of his shirt and draped it over the back of his pants press, before stepping out of his trousers and tossing them in the wicker hamper. He collapsed onto his bed facedown. The pillow helped to block out the sounds from the rest of the loft, but it didn't do a damn thing for the erotic images filling his head. Exhaustion swiftly won. **** "Jarrett..." The whisper tickled over his ear, accompanied by heat pooling at the base of his neck and along his shoulder. He turned instinctively toward it, and the heat solidified, a touch of skin to skin, his and someone else's, tantalizing, seductive. "Jarrett. Wake up." The second call was more urgent, the contact firmer. Jarrett muddled through the periphery of his dreams as he struggled to respond. He knew that voice, but he didn't know how, and his brain was too sluggish to accurately decipher it. "Jarrett!" The voice wasn't louder, but instead more intense, a sharp hiss that finally penetrated his fog. He knew its owner now, too, which woke him up the rest of the way. "Eli?" He blinked, though he still couldn't see much. Darkness blanketed the room, Eli's shadow as he bent over and prodded him awake, blocking out most of it. "What is it?" "There have been two guys out in your hall talking for the last five minutes."

He failed to see what the point was. "It's probably the neighbors." "Would your neighbors be arguing about whether or not to pick the locks?" "If they were locked out, sure." Eli growled in frustration and pulled back. His eyes were unreadable black pools. "Will you just go look through the peephole and see if they belong in this building? Because if they don't, you're in as deep as I am." He had a point. Jarrett didn't think it was anything to worry about, but neither one of them would get any more sleep until he checked. When Jarrett tensed to rise, Eli retreated the rest of the way, sliding off the bed to wait. Jarrett imagined he could still feel the weight on his shoulder, the imprint permanent rather than as fleeting as it probably had been. He wanted it back. But wanted was a lot different than should. He realized when he stepped out of his bedroom that he wore only his boxer briefs, but it was too late to do anything about it. Grabbing sweats now would draw attention to the fact he was very aware of their respective semi-nudity. His best choice was not to stare at a similarly attired Eli and go straight to the door. His jaw clenched when he saw who was on the other side. As noiselessly as possible, he grabbed Eli's arm and guided him back to the bedroom. "Get all your stuff and hide in my closet," he said, his tone as low as he could pitch it. Eli's eyes widened. In that moment, he looked impossibly young and innocent. "Who is it?" "One of the agents who came to see me. I'm going to get rid of him." "Only one? Who's the other guy then?" "I don't know." And that bothered Jarrett more than the knowledge Baptiste was hanging around in his hallway. "But don't worry. I'll take care of this." Eli glanced over Jarrett's shoulder, his thoughts clearly at war. "Maybe I should just go with them. If they find me here, it'll make things worse for you." "Only if you actually did something wrong. Which you didn't." "Still--" Jarrett tightened his grip. "We're sticking with the original plan. You have to trust me, Eli." "I do." The direct way he met Jarrett's eyes confirmed it. "It's them I don't trust." Jarrett couldn't blame him, but this was the hand they'd been dealt. "Get your stuff," he repeated. "Then don't make a sound." He went to grab the sweats he'd avoided when he came out, while Eli moved like quicksilver through the apartment, gathering up his duffle and computer. Jarrett didn't hear anything, not even the click of the closet door when Eli shut himself inside. He waited thirty seconds, then returned to the front door. Baptiste's head snapped up when Jarrett opened up to him. Jarrett almost thought the man looked scared at getting caught, but the impression faded as his shoulders squared. The agent wore jeans and boots, with a leather jacket covering a thin sweater. Off-duty clothes, meant to make him look bulkier than he was. He still looked official, though. It was an aura few people within governmental service could shake.

Jarrett didn't recognize the man with him, but this one definitely wasn't FBI. His clothing was the low-rent version of Baptiste's, stretched thin at the seams. His muscles were real. So was the mean twist of his narrow mouth. Empty, dirtbrown eyes met Jarrett's, and an involuntary shiver went down the back of his neck. To break the spell, he rubbed wearily at his face, as if he had only woken up seconds earlier. "There a reason you're making a racket outside my door, Agent Baptiste?" He ended the question with a yawn that went from fake to real halfway through. Baptiste seemed unruffled. "Up awfully late, aren't you, Mr. Kessel?" "Only because I heard people out here." He shot a glance at the other man, but kept it short. "Where's Yager?" "Busy." "Is that code for sleeping like the rest of the world?" "Where's Locke?" The abrupt query might have thrown him off-guard if he'd actually been half-asleep. He'd had enough time to put on his best public face, and feigned confusion. "I told you guys I'd call." "And you didn't. We called you. Now, stop playing games, Mr. Kessel. Where is he?" Dead Eyes hadn't blinked once since Jarrett had opened the doors. Though he hadn't said a word, there was no doubt he would resort to force if Jarrett didn't say something. Jarrett sighed, letting his shoulder slump. "He ran, okay? I met up with him, he heard me talking to the FBI, and he took off. I haven't seen him since." He sincerely hoped he didn't make Eli look any guiltier with the small lie, but he was pretty sure the lawyer he got for him would be able to spin it to make it look like Eli just hadn't wanted to be unprepared. "Why were you up so late, then?" "What're you talking about? You woke me up." "Yes, but your lights were on until four-thirty. You haven't been asleep very long." Shit. They must have been watching his apartment. That was the last thing he needed. "I was staying up, hoping he would write me again." Sometimes, the way the lies rolled off his tongue scared him, but in circumstances like these, it was a welcome talent. "Now, look, I'm tired, and all this noise has probably pissed off my neighbors now, so can we please call it a night, and I'll talk to you in the morning? I promise, if he contacts me again, you'll be the second person to know. You have my word." His palm sweated against the doorknob as he waited for Baptiste's response. The last thing he needed was them coming in. If they searched, they'd find Eli. No way around it. "Fine." Baptiste ground out the acquiescence like he was chewing on glass. "But no more games, Mr. Kessel." Jarrett nodded, holding in his relief, and without a glance backward to give him away, started to close the door. An arm shot out and blocked him. A rigid Dead Eyes looked at Jarrett, but his words were aimed at Baptiste. "We're not going anywhere." The fear Jarrett thought he'd spied earlier returned to Baptiste's face. "We don't want to make a scene, Sandora."

"Then we take it inside." Jarrett was so focused on the large, callused hand preventing the door from closing, he didn't see its mate dip inside Sandora's coat. The gun he pulled out jabbed into the side of Baptiste's neck, the end of a long, skinny silencer indenting the dark skin. Baptiste froze with his hand in mid-reach. His Adam's apple bobbed once. Jarrett didn't need a billboard to know Sandora had always been the one in charge. "Inside," Sandora repeated, his tone flat. Jarrett stepped back, out of the way, trying to ignore the way his heart suddenly wanted to stampede its way out of his body through his throat. He kept his gaze firmly on Sandora. He'd never been so close to a drawn weapon before. He insisted Venice keep it out of sight any time they were together. Though she respected his wishes, she often called him a big girl, threatening to drag him down to the shooting range to teach him how to use it. He really should have taken her up on her offer. Though he didn't own a gun. Okay, then, he really should have called and asked her to spend the night. She never would have let the situation deteriorate to this point. And she probably would have shot Sandora the second he reached for his gun. He refused to think about what she might have said about hiding Eli from the Feds. Just the prospect of the inevitable tongue-lashing sent his balls crawling into his body. The door closed quietly behind them. Sandora hadn't moved the gun an inch. Baptiste had his hands slightly raised in the air, where Sandora could see them and not feel threatened, most likely. But all Jarrett cared about was how close he now stood to someone who seemed more than willing to use violence to get what he wanted. "I don't know what more you want from me," he said. "I want Locke." Sandora was the one doing the talking now. "And I know you know where he is." "I don't." "You were with him." He jabbed the gun harder into Baptiste's neck. "Unless you lied about that, too." A muscle twitched in the agent's jaw, like it wanted to escape as badly as Jarrett did. "I didn't lie. Yager heard someone say his name in the background." Jarrett circled around, edging toward the windows and forcing both men to look away from the bedroom door. "I'll tell you where we were. The FBI must have the resources to track where he went." It didn't occur to him until after the words were out of his mouth that if they could do that, they could also determine Eli hadn't left on his own. But Jarrett had to deal with the danger of this moment, not one that might not ever come. Sandora's lip curled into a sneer. "Do I look like I got Fed resources to you? All I got is one little rat who doesn't even know how to get out of his own fucking maze." "Just do what he says, Mr. Kessel." Baptiste's eyes pleaded with him as much as his tone. "He's serious." Jarrett had no doubt about that. Fear like nothing he'd ever known before crawled through his veins, leaving them desiccated and useless except to echo his thundering heart. He also had no doubt that if he betrayed Eli's presence at this point, neither one of them would come out of this unscathed. His mind raced. "I don't know where he is," he repeated. "But I do know he was staying with someone near Loyola. That's got to narrow the search down for you."

"See?" Baptiste said. "Loyola. I can work with that, Sandora. Let's get out of here." Sandora was silent. He stared at Jarrett, his cold eyes narrowed and assessing. Jarrett did everything he could not to squirm, but he felt like a bug under a microscope, like Sandora could see into his head and know the truth of everything he was holding back. He wasn't accustomed to feeling so helpless. He used his wits to get out of most scrapes. What he wouldn't do for some of Sovereign's powers right about now. "You're like a broken faucet," he finally said. "You're just giving me drips when I want more." "No." Jarrett shook his head. "Honest. That's all I know. Loyola." If he could just get Sandora out of the apartment, he could call the police. At this point, it was worth getting them involved. Their lives were worth more than some heat from the FBI. "The thing about a broken faucet, though, is to figure out what's blocking it up." Only his finger moved. Jarrett jumped at the unexpected noise from the gun. Silencers in the movies always made a spitting sound. This sounded like a car door slamming, but it was nothing compared to the way the blood sprayed out the other side of Baptiste's neck, splattering across the beige wall and the frame of his Aagaard print. Baptiste crumpled sideways. He landed like a broken doll at the edge of the glass end table. Swallowing down the bile in his throat, Jarrett swung his gaze back up to Sandora. The gun was now aimed directly at Jarrett's chest. "How's that memory of yours now?" Sandora asked.

Chapter 6

Oh, God, he killed him. He actually killed him. In my apartment. Did the neighbors hear? God, I hope so. Mr. Curran, if ever there was a time for you to be paranoid about noise in the building, this is it. Jarrett couldn't control his terrified thoughts, though he was having better luck over his body. His stomach roiled at the image seared on his brain of pieces of Baptiste splashed over his wall like some kind of sick Jackson Pollock, and while his gullet burned, he managed to keep from losing it all over Sandora's shoes. Something told him Sandora wouldn't take it very well if he did. "What now?" Did his voice really sound that calm? Impossible. His insides were running around like a bunch of fiveyear-olds getting attacked by bees. "You're going to take me to Locke. And don't give me any of this, you don't where he is shit. You and I both know you're lying." "What do you want with him? He's just a kid." The sudden fear Eli had been hiding the truth from him all along nearly stopped the question from coming out. Sandora was involved in the hacking scheme. He had to be. He was probably the one who had killed Fong, too, though wouldn't

Baptiste have known that? Jarrett immediately chided himself for being stupid. Of course, Baptiste knew that. He was clearly in this up to his neck, maybe playing both sides. There was no other reason for him to come to Jarrett's apartment in the middle of the night with a killer. But if Sandora was specifically after Eli, there had to be a reason. Maybe one Eli had withheld from Jarrett from the start. Slowly, Sandora shifted his aim. The gun no longer pointed at Jarrett's chest, but at his shoulder. "I can shoot unnecessary body parts until you stop stalling, or you can shut your trap and take me to Locke. Your choice." A choice in words only, because the reality wasn't an option at all. "I can't go anywhere like this," Jarrett said, gesturing toward his bare feet and chest. "At least let me get dressed." Sandora shifted sideways, opening a path to the closed bedroom door. "You got one minute." Jarrett didn't hesitate. When he passed Sandora, he saw him follow out of the corner of his eye. The man didn't make a sound. He screamed professional all the way. His bedroom was dark, but the light from the living room spilled through the entrance. The bed was rumpled, just like he'd left it, without a hint of Eli anywhere to be found. "What are you going to do with Baptiste's body?" he asked as he opened the closet door. The angle made it impossible for Sandora to see inside, but Jarrett tried to keep him from approaching by staying as far from the closet's contents as possible. Eli crouched on the closet floor, his laptop open, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Jarrett had no idea what he was doing, but he did know keeping Sandora away meant keeping Eli out of view. "Consider it a little gift." Eli tilted the computer toward him. An active Skype window was open on the screen. "Keep him talking," Eli mouthed silently. He pointed at the laptop. "Police." When Jarrett's eyes widened at the realization Eli had called for help, he hurriedly reached in for a shirt to hide his surprise. "You would really leave the evidence behind like that?" He tried pitching his voice louder so the small speakers on the laptop would catch him better, but not so loud Sandora would suspect anything. "That doesn't seem very smart." "If I'd laid a finger on the son of a bitch, it wouldn't be." "It's your bullet." "You're the only one who knows that." His fingers shook as he tried to slip a shirt off a hanger. Sandora was never going to let him out of this alive. Their only hope was Eli's 911 call. "Are you ever going to tell me what you want with Elias Locke?" His use of Eli's full name went unnoticed by Sandora, though Eli seemed to pale in the closet's shadows. "You ever going to get your ass out here so we can go get him?" Sandora mocked. Reluctantly, Jarrett stepped away. Once they left the apartment, his odds plummeted. "Loyola's not exactly around the corner." Mentioning the university would at least give the police a direction to go in if they didn't get here in time. "It'll be light by the time we get there." "He'll be easier for you to spot, then. Hurry up." "You have a fast car?"

"I've got your car." "And what happens if we find him?" "You better hope it's not an if. Because if we don't..." Sandora didn't need to finish the sentence. Jarrett understood the threat. He hoped the police did, too. Every fiber in him wanted to look back and make sure Eli was okay, but doing so would sign both of their death warrants. He pulled the shirt over his head, then stepped into the shoes he'd left by the bed. "You can't be waving that gun around in the halls," he said. "I don't care if you do have a silencer on it." "What, so I'll put it away and you can see if you could take me?" Sandora actually smiled. It was thin and sickly, and made Jarrett think of the reporters who lurked in the back of the press room, the ones determined to trip up whoever was at the podium but either lacked the credentials to make it to the front row or had pissed someone off with a previous bad encounter. "I'm almost tempted to see if you try. Maybe I'll treat myself after we get Locke." Now that he was fully dressed, he couldn't stall anymore. He followed Sandora back to the living room and grabbed his coat, studiously keeping his eyes away from Baptiste's body. When he picked up his keys, they jangled harshly enough in the quiet to cause his nerves to sizzle. Every step was torture. Not knowing if he was walking to his death or to safety was the worst part. Though he'd been friends with Venice for years, he'd never really thought too hard about the danger she put herself in every day. She never let on. Never complained, never broke down, never showed any stress about her job. His respect for her shot through the roof. He didn't know how she did it. Sandora never holstered his gun. When they stood in front of the elevator, he lowered it to his side and angled his body so anybody coming down the hall wouldn't see it. As soon as they stepped inside, however, he prodded the end of the silencer into the small of Jarrett's back. Like he actually needed the reminder of what would happen if he ran. At least Eli had made the call. That was the one thing Jarrett clung to when they emerged into the lobby. He was disappointed when he stepped onto the sidewalk and saw only the deserted street. Turning left, he headed toward the parking garage, though his eyes jumped everywhere in hopes of spotting a cop car, or anybody who might witness what was going on. Dark windows glared down at him, a darker sky hiding even more. He reached the garage door with plummeting hopes, and fumbled with the lock to let them into the stairwell. Sandora pressed the gun harder into his spine. "Hurry it up." Jarrett glanced irritably over his shoulder. "Did you not notice the lack of light?" "I would've thought you fags were experts at fumbling in the dark." Gritting his teeth at the epithet, Jarrett bent closer to get a better look at the lock. He was not going to let Sandora bait him. Don't piss off the man with the gun. It was an excellent credo, whether you were the one on the other end of it or not. The key slipped in at the same time he caught the flash of neon red at the corner of his eye. Sandora must have seen it at the same time, because the muzzle shifted against Jarrett's body, angling a fraction to the side as the other man looked to see what it was. The car engine rumbled a second later. The police. Finally. Jarrett shoved the door open enough to slip through, pulling out the key as he did so. It separated him from the gun, and more importantly, from the immediate threat, but when he tried to slam the door shut behind him, Sandora had already

thrust his leg and arm through the opening. Jarrett threw his weight against the cold steel. The doorknob jammed into his hip, but the pain was worth it to see the door crush Sandora's limbs in the gap. A snarl ripped the air. Jarrett didn't wait. He shoved against the door a second time. Another cry, this time from frustration as well as the injury, because the arm withdrew, followed by the leg a second later. Without the barrier, he could slam the door shut this time. It clanged in the morning air. The sound of a car roaring past immediately followed it. He gripped the key in his fist, grateful for the cut of metal against his palm. It meant he was alive. It meant he was in here, and Sandora was out there, and Eli was safe a little bit longer. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, and he leaned his forehead against the cool metal. His eyes burned. Exhaustion, adrenaline, fear, relief, who knew what it was. All that mattered was the momentary reprieve. Minutes passed. He was afraid to move, to either go up the stairs and out into the open where Sandora might be waiting for him if he managed to find a different way inside the garage, or to go outside and risk running into him there. Gradually, his pounding heart returned to its natural rhythm, and he could hear more than the rushing of his own blood. He heard voices, the low hum of men carrying a quiet conversation in the midst of solitude. More than one. Since he was fairly sure Sandora had been alone, the knowledge there were multiple people on the sidewalk boded well. Slowly, he uncurled his fist and straightened away from the door. The hand he ran over his scalp came away damp with sweat, and he dried it off on his sweats before reaching for the knob. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so jittery. He prayed it would be a long time before he felt like this again. Caution prevailed as he opened the door. He cracked it only an inch, just enough to see the flashing red lights of the two police cars parked at the curb. Two uniformed police officers stood next to the nearest vehicle, heads bent toward each other in private conversation. When the door squeaked, they turned in unison, sudden tension in their shoulders as each reached for their weapon. "I'm not armed!" He kept his hands in sight as he nudged the door open the rest of the way with his foot. "I'm the guy who was taken hostage." Though they remained alert, both cops dropped their hands. "Are you hurt?" "No, no, I'm fine." He wondered what he looked like to them, whether he appeared as frazzled as he felt. "He needed me to drive. I don't think he would have shot me until he decided he didn't need me anymore." "We need to ask you some questions about what exactly happened." "Of course." He glanced around. "Does that mean you didn't catch him?" The pair exchanged a look before the first answered. "He ran off. We're still looking for him." "You want to make some calls and bring in some more people, then. He killed a federal agent in my apartment." The news startled them. One looked up at the glowing windows on Jarrett's floor, while the other reached for the phone clipped to his belt. He angled away from Jarrett, though it didn't do much for a private conversation "It's Meggison. We got the hostage down here on the sidewalk... Unhurt. What about yours?... Listen, he claims the vic is a Fed. Can you confirm that?" His mouth thinned as he waited for the person in Jarrett's apartment to look at Baptiste's body. Meggison was young, probably around Eli's age. Though fit, he didn't look seasoned enough to deal with what was clearly going to be an insane, ugly case. Jarrett's heart went out to him. "Okay, thanks." He disconnected with a frown. "No ID," he said to Jarrett. "What makes you think he's a Fed?"

Jarrett sighed. "It's a long story. Look, his name's Baptiste. You can call his partner down to identify him. I've got his number upstairs." Meggison looked at his partner. "You okay alone?" At the other cop's nod, Meggison jerked his head toward the door. "All right, lead the way." More than one door opened as Jarrett walked through the halls, especially once he got to his floor. Old Mr. Curran stood outside his apartment talking to another uniform, his gnarled hands poking out of his terry robe as they gesticulated wildly toward Jarrett's place. He glared at Jarrett when they went past, like it was Jarrett's fault he'd been woken up from a good night's sleep. A fourth cop stood next to Baptiste's body, but Jarrett's gaze immediately went to Eli, slumped in a chair at the dining room table. His hands were knotted in his lap, though his thumbs kept rubbing each other, while his laptop rested closed on the surface before him. He looked up when the door opened, and the bleak fear in his dark eyes stabbed through all of Jarrett's defenses. It melted away when he saw Jarrett. Without a word, he leapt from his seat, vaulting across the distance to throw his arms around Jarrett's neck. Jarrett hugged him back automatically, smiling when Eli's muffled, "I thought you were a goner," warmed his skin. "You're the one who saved the day," he replied. The cop's curious stare prompted him to push Eli to arm's length. "All I did was stall until the cavalry arrived." "Who's this?" Meggison asked from behind him. The other cop answered before either of them could speak. "Elias Locke. He's the one who made the 911 call." "Why weren't you taken hostage?" Eli flushed. "I was hiding in the closet. They didn't know I was here." "I have that number in my wallet, officer." Jarrett gestured toward the bedroom. "Can I go get it?" "Yes." When Eli moved to follow, Meggison barked at him, "No. You stay here." Jarrett rested a comforting hand on Eli's shoulder. "I'll be right back. But I think our morning plans just got brought ahead of schedule." The corner of Eli's mouth quirked. "It was going to happen sooner or later, anyway. Besides, the alternative was you getting killed. It's not really a choice when I look at it like that." The anxiety in Eli's eyes had been replaced with a searing warmth. Under other circumstances, maybe even earlier that night, Jarrett could have talked himself into yielding to it, wrapping his arms around Eli again and holding him until the quivers beneath his skin finally vanished. Now, he could only give him another squeeze and finish what Meggison wanted him to do. **** The interrogation room at the police station afforded more comfort than he'd seen on any TV show. A stained, but functional coffeepot sat in the corner, and if the coffee smelled a little burned from being ignored too long, Jarrett was still relieved they let him have some without any argument. He drained the first Styrofoam cup in three gulps, then sipped the refill as he waited for whatever came next. Nobody had spoken to him, or popped their head in, or even knocked at the door since Meggison left him alone. He was starting to think he'd been forgotten.

He had no idea where Eli was. He sincerely hoped it was in a similar setup, because they had both had a hell of a night. Eli had stuck to his side at the apartment for as long as he possibly could, but as soon as Yager had shown up to identify Baptiste's body--mercifully fast, thank God--the detective who'd arrived with him ordered their removal from the scene. They were put in separate police cars and driven to the nearby station, but traffic got them there at different times. Eli could have been booked as far as he knew. Or taken away by Yager. Every precaution Jarrett had taken to protect him could have been completely eradicated already. Scrubbing at his eyes helped wake him up, but it burned the images of Eli onto his brain. He better get the chance to apologize. Eli didn't deserve this. When the door opened, he jerked hard enough to slosh his coffee over the rim. "Shit," he muttered, and rose to grab a napkin from the corner table. Yager looked like hell. In his haste to get to the murder scene quickly, he'd foregone the suit for jeans and a faded sweatshirt with "Nebraska Football" stretched across his chest. Bags weighed beneath his eyes, and the chair groaned from how heavily he sat in it. He waited until Jarrett had returned to the table before saying, "Busy night." Jarrett harrumphed and shook his head. "And they say I'm a master of spin." "Maybe if you'd told me the truth up front about your contact with Locke, we could have avoided all this." In the face of a probable truth, he had nothing to add. Yager sighed and leaned back. "The kicker of it is, your part in this should've been easy. All we wanted was Locke. Now I've got a dead agent on my hands." "We didn't kill him," Jarrett argued. "I know." He didn't seem happy about it. Jarrett supposed having Eli or himself as the killer would have made Yager's life infinitely easier. "The 911 confirms it, as does preliminary scans of the street cam coverage. And the police on the scene saw him as well. You're not getting charged, Mr. Kessel." "What about Eli?" His eyes narrowed. "You think he had something to do with it?" He realized too late how that had sounded. "No, but that's why Baptiste and Sandora were there. Sandora wants Eli. His life is in danger." "Then that's his problem, not yours." "Sandora knows my face. He knows where I live. I think that makes this my problem, too." "Why didn't you just turn Locke over?" "Because I'd just seen him blow Baptiste away. As far as I knew, he was going to do the same with Eli. And the only reason he didn't kill me, too, was because of the little bit of leverage I had." "Did he threaten you?" Jarrett stared at him for a long moment. He was too tired to pretend he was thrilled about any of this anymore. "What kind of dumb question is that? Of course, he threatened me. He had a gun on me the entire time." "Did he say why he wanted Locke?" "No."

"Did Baptiste have his weapon drawn at any point?" "No, I thought it was just a routine visit when he showed up. Sandora didn't pull out the gun until Baptiste said they should go." Yager scowled. "You expect me to believe you thought a five o'clock drop-by was routine?" "I was hiding Eli, and you already made it clear you were monitoring me. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, especially since I was half asleep when I answered the door." No more being on the defensive. "Who's this Sandora? What does he have to do with your murder investigation? And what's going on with Eli?" When Yager took his time responding, Jarrett worried he'd fired off too many questions at once. In Yager's eyes, he owed him nothing. Jarrett had withheld his potential witness, been involved in his partner's shooting, and dragged him out of bed at all hours of the morning. The way Jarrett's luck was holding, he'd end up stuck here for hours more yet, with no sign of getting out or finding out where Eli was. "I'm looking into the Sandora connection," Yager surprised him by saying. "As for Locke, I've confiscated his laptop for now. Once I get arrangements made, I'm going to interrogate him." "What kind of arrangements?" "I'm putting you two in protective custody. Sandora got to Baptiste somehow, so I don't trust the locals can keep you two safe. You'll remain in protective custody until the threat is gone." His jaw dropped. "I have a job." "And it'll be waiting for you when you get released. I've already spoken to the mayor." Yager cocked a brow. "He thinks very highly of you, by the way." "That's good to hear," he said automatically, but his mind was whirling. "When you say, protective custody, does that mean me and Eli together? Or me under house arrest, and him whisked off to some mysterious FBI bunker in the middle of nowhere?" Yager's gaze went flinty. "You think I have resources to waste when you've already cost me one agent? You two will be locked down together." Jarrett sagged back. He wasn't sure if the relief running through him was for Eli's sake, or for his. Or worse, for theirs.

Chapter 7

Protective custody turned out to be sharing a fifty-year-old, three-bedroom brick ranch in Dunning, with a pair of agents Eli immediately dubbed Batman and Robin. Neither seemed pleased with the nickname. Jarrett didn't really care whose feelings got hurt if he could just get some decent sleep. The safe house seemed like the ideal place for that. Dunning was both starkly middle-class and intensely quiet. Nobody looking at the yellow brick façade would ever think it hid away murder witnesses. The finished basement was off-

limits, apparently housed with whatever equipment the FBI deemed important, but he and Eli were each given a room, decorated comfortably in utilitarian chic with flowered bedspreads, new pillows, and blackout blinds. In spite of the Leave It to Beaver vibe, Jarrett fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. When he woke up, he had no idea what time it was. The windows were dark, the room more so, and reaching for his wrist reminded him he'd left his watch at his apartment. His mouth was gritty from too long without his toothbrush, and his eyes kept sliding shut again, eager to get more sleep. Not such a bad idea. He rolled over to seek out a new comfortable position, and promptly stiffened. Someone was curled up in the armchair in the corner. The shape didn't move, but the longer Jarrett stared at it, the more attuned he got to the dim lighting. Eli. Quietly, he exhaled and sat up. When he swung his legs over, his feet nudged against his shoes, and he had to take a moment to find his place to stand. The mattress creaked loud enough when he rose for him to pause again, but Eli didn't move. His steps were a whisper, the carpet thin beneath his soles. He crouched at the chair's side, and rested a gentle hand on Eli's folded knee. "Eli," he said, his voice hushed. "Wake up." Eli stirred. After a couple seconds, the movement stopped. Jarrett sighed. Sleeping in the chair wasn't going to do him any good. Too much had happened in the past couple days. The kid needed a real bed to stretch out in. And what was he doing in Jarrett's room anyway? "Eli." A little bit louder this time, though low enough he hoped he didn't get the attention of the agents outside. "Come on, go back to your room." This time, Eli mumbled something unintelligible, shifting his head on his bent arm. Jarrett waited, drawing his hand away when the young man finally seemed to waken. "Hey," Eli croaked. "What's up?" "What're you doing in here? You've got your own bed. It's got to be more comfortable than this." "I couldn't sleep." His eyes turned into bottomless pools. "Are you kicking me out?" His obvious disappointment stopped Jarrett from saying yes. "What did the agents say?" "They don't care. Batman didn't even look up when I came out of my room." Leaving his room, not being able to sleep, relaxing enough in Jarrett's to get some rest...Jarrett didn't need a psych degree to know Eli was having difficulty processing everything that had happened to him. It wouldn't surprise him to find out he had nightmares, either. Eli wasn't doing any harm where he was. Even if looking at his cramped position gave Jarrett a neck ache. "You want the bed?" The question popped out automatically. He wished for a split second he could take it back, but bit his tongue. He needed to stop overthinking everything. "What about you?" "I'll get up. I was up anyway."

"Oh. Well. Thanks, but never mind." His legs unfolded, sliding around Jarrett as he stretched. "I'll just go back to my room. I'm sorry I got in the way." "You're not--look, are you going to get any sleep if you do that?" "Probably not." Jarrett sighed and stood. Now that he was more alert, he knew he hadn't slept for long. He'd probably awakened because of a noise Eli made. He wasn't accustomed to somebody else being around. Fumbling his way to the door, he pulled it open and immediately blinked against the brightness. Daylight flooded the hall. "Hang on," he said to Eli, then slipped out, closing the door behind him. He rubbed at his eyes as he made his way to the living room, pausing when he saw the agents sitting there watching TV. "What time is it?" Robin glanced at his watch. "Ten-thirty." His attention went straight back to the episode of MythBusters. God, they'd only been asleep for a couple hours. Jarrett stopped in the bathroom and refreshed himself so he didn't feel like something the cat threw up. When he got back to the bedroom, Eli still sat in the chair. "Get in the bed," he instructed. Eli obeyed, though his eyes widened when Jarrett went around to the other side. "You're not staying up?" "It's not even lunchtime. And I'm not in the mood to be ignored if I go out there again." The blankets were still warm, but the heat was already rising, Eli's nearby body turning it into an inferno. Jarrett rolled onto his side, his back to Eli, and closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts to mundane issues at work rather than the buff, appealing, available young body behind him. This was such a bad idea. He should just go use Eli's bed. Maybe the fact that this one smelled like Jarrett would be enough for Eli to stay. "I am, you know." Eli's soft voice filled the darkness, enough for the back of Jarrett's neck to prickle. "You are what?" "Sorry. You didn't sign up for any of this." He couldn't continue trying to pretend Eli wasn't there. Rolling over, Jarrett saw Eli staring up the ceiling, the shadows only adding to the melancholy of his soft mouth. "It's not your fault. Stop blaming yourself." "I'm the reason the FBI went to you in the first place." "You didn't kill Fong." "But--" "No but. It's not your fault Fong used your forum for something illegal. And it's not your fault Baptiste is dead. That's all on Sandora." "Who is looking for me." Frustrated, Jarrett jabbed at Eli's arm. "If you're going to be like this, I'm kicking you out. We need to focus on the positive here. Like the fact that we're both alive and safe." Eli's lashes flickered as he glanced over at him. "You're not sorry you're still stuck with me?"

"I wouldn't have been so worried about you this morning at the station if I was. And I definitely wouldn't have shared my bed. I don't do that. Trust me." "What, share your bed? But you've had boyfriends." "How do you know that?" "Because I have eyes. And I know what kind of a guy you are." It was hard not to smile at such a quick and heartfelt answer, so Jarrett didn't try. "You've only ever seen the best sides of me." "I never had the chance to see other ones before now. And what I've seen in the past twenty-four hours hasn't changed an iota of that impression." "They haven't been very normal hours." Eli rolled onto his side and propped his head up, his posture bold, his body close. "So tell me what's so bad about you. I dare you to convince me otherwise." A ridiculous game, and more than mildly flirtatious, but Jarrett liked this version of Eli better than the brooding one. He could play along if it meant keeping Eli's head clear. "I'm a workaholic. I was emailing you from the office last night." Had that really only been the previous night? So much had changed in such a short time period. "You're dedicated." Jarrett smiled. "That's spin. Right here, right now, no spin. I work too much." "Well, do you have a boyfriend you're not able to spend time with because of it?" "No." "Does it get in the way of going out?" "Half of my job is about going out. But no, not in the way you mean." "Would it get in the way if you had someone to go home to?" "I would hope not." Eli's teeth flashed from his quick smile. "Then I don't see what the problem there is. You work a lot because you're young, you're unattached, and you're good at what you do. You also recognize that working so much when there's somebody who might want to see you is a bad thing. No point." He'd argue that was more spin, but within the constraints of their game, it worked. Eli would have been a natural in the business. "I'm a perfectionist." "In what way?" "In a lot of ways. I like my house clean, my shirts crisp, and my desktop spotless. I don't like not looking or being the best I can possibly be."

"How is this a negative?" He had to think about this one for a minute. "It means...sometimes, I'm a little more rigid than people like. I like things a certain way." "I'm the same way. You should see how anal I am about my site." "That's code. You have to be anal or it doesn't work." "It's more than that. It's about...how it looks, how easy it is to navigate, how to get the best response from the strip." His voice took on a dreamy quality, the way Jarrett had already noticed it did every time Eli talked about his art. "Having standards isn't a flaw. Not to me." Jarrett believed him. He'd never considered it a flaw, either, but he knew what other people's perceptions were. "I've been called vain before." Eli laughed. Not a chuckle, but a full-blown, that was hysterical, laugh. "How is that funny?" Eli needed several seconds to calm down, and he wiped at his eyes as he flopped onto his back. "Because you shave your head. And I like it, don't get me wrong, but you were drop dead with the hair. If you were really vain, you wouldn't have done it." His gaze turned sideways again. "Why did you shave it? I haven't been able to figure that out." "It was...a gesture. Of support." He rarely talked about it. He'd been fielding commentary on it for the seven months since he'd done it the first time, deflecting as much as possible. It would be easy to give Eli the same runaround, but under these circumstances, that didn't seem fair. "I have a friend. The one who told me about your site. Her niece got diagnosed with leukemia last year. It really tore Ven up, because Amber is the sweetest kid, and Ven's her godmother. When Amber started treatment, Ven decided she was going to shave her head in support, but I pre-empted her by doing it first." He smiled at the memory of how shocked she'd been when he'd walked into Amber's hospital room the day after. "I told her a bald lesbian just wasn't the political statement it used to be, and to let it go." Eli chuckled at that, but it was pensive, his body tilting toward Jarrett's again. "It amazes me how you haven't changed. Sometimes, I'd tell myself that I was turning what you did for me into something it wasn't. But you're still that guy." "Eli--" "No, listen to me." As much as Jarrett didn't want to dredge up the past, Eli was having none of it. His hand flattened against Jarrett's chest, warm and solid, his breath almost sweet as it filled the space between them. "I could have really gone off the deep end after I came out to Mom and Dad. I honestly never expected their reaction, and so when Dad stormed out of the house, and Mom started crying, I was just lost. The only reason I didn't stay that way was because of you. Because you cared enough to talk to me. I mean, really talk to me. And that matters, damn it. It still matters." Jarrett would never take away whatever strength someone might have to get through rough patches, even if it embarrassed him a little to hear himself so glowingly described. It made perfect sense for Eli to have turned him into such a superhero. Different personality or not, he'd saved the teenager from destructive questions that could have messed with his life for years. But... "I'm just a guy," he said. "Okay, if you want to call me a nice guy, I won't roll my eyes too much. But I can think of a dozen other gay men who would have given you the same talk I did. Don't put me on a pedestal, Eli. That's all I'm asking." With so much of the distance taken away, Eli's eyes were clearer to see, just like the small lines at the corner of his mouth when he offered a small smile. "I know you're not perfect. Your job is about bullshitting, and you're fucking

good at it. I heard how you talked to Yager before Lonna said my name. You're also a little too worried about appearances if your loft is anything to go by, not to mention you're a natural flirt." "I'm a flirt?" He couldn't argue with the rest. It was all true. "We're not talking about me." His hand slid upward, to the neck of Jarrett's T-shirt and the jumping pulse at the base of his throat. Eli rested his fingertips there for a few seconds, each one adding to the heat already surging out from Jarrett's gut to the surface of his skin. His lashes ducked, his gaze focusing lower, lingering on Jarrett's mouth. "God, I want to kiss you." The verbalization of the same desires Jarrett had been pushing down from the moment he'd seen Eli in the diner jarred him out of their bantering. He crashed back into the here, and the knowledge of where they were and locked up with Feds who could be the biggest homophobes on the planet. His body disagreed with the landing, though, finding sustenance in Eli's avowal and hardening into full, throbbing life. He fought to keep his voice even. "That would be a bad idea." "Why?" Eli trailed his hand farther up, tickling across his stubbly jaw. "You didn't honestly invite me to sleep in your bed and think we could keep it platonic, did you?" Only in the denial part of his brain. "I just wanted you to get some sleep." "Liar." His voice rumbled from the unleashed laughter. Down below, Eli pressed forward. Jarrett hissed at the rub of a long, ready erection against his, though when his hand shot out to grab Eli's hip, he wasn't sure if it was to yank him closer or push him away. "One kiss," Eli wheedled. "That's all I'm asking for. I've fantasized about you for years, Jarrett. Please let me just have this one thing." He was a liar in more ways than one. In the back of his mind, he'd known all that, and yeah, he'd tried to do the noble thing and keep Eli at arm's length, but he'd known all along he was doing it for himself as much as he was trying to do it for Eli. Because there was something about Eli, that mixture of innocence and worldly élan, that did more than intrigue Jarrett. It seduced him, whispering in his ear how good it would be and all he had to do was let Eli in to find out. One kiss. He moved the second Eli's fingers touched his lower lip. Eli barely got his hand out of the way before Jarrett sealed their mouths together, muscles twitching like they'd been Tased, then leaping with newfound energy to fold around Jarrett's upper body. The kiss was supposed to be functional, the kind given as the precursor to abandoning any sense of foreplay and going right for the cock. Jarrett had given enough of those in his lifetime, even if occasionally, he'd wanted more. But from the instant their lips met, supposed to be flew out the window. Eli opened to him with a surprised little whimper that went straight to Jarrett's cock, all need and delight and hunger rolled into one tight, bleached, electrified package. He drank down Jarrett's kiss like he'd been parched for it, and though he held his own, twisting his tongue around Jarrett's until Jarrett's brain was ready to explode, he let Jarrett lead the whole way. He didn't protest when Jarrett rolled him onto his back and half-covered him with his now sweaty, overheated body. His fingers dug in for extra purchase when Jarrett licked along his lower lip and tickled at the corner, like he was capping the kiss instead of surging back in for more. The sinful sounds colliding with every sweep of their tongues reverberated straight to the back of Jarrett's throat, hinting at what else could be there, how easy it would be to swallow him down in other, more satisfying ways.

It was the sensory images of his nose buried in Eli's pubes, his hands full with his hard, taut ass, come spilling and filling him until his flesh hummed for more, that finally gave Jarrett the impetus to pull away. He propped himself up on his knuckles, staring down at Eli's swollen mouth, his own eyelids heavy and ready to close again when he swooped back for more. Except if he did that, there'd be no stopping him, and he was not going to fuck Eli here, not with guys on the other side of the door who might call them out at any moment. "One kiss," he rasped, then swallowed to try and wet his throat. Eli looked stricken, like his favorite toy had been taken away, then smoothed over his features to smile up at Jarrett. "And worth waiting every second for." With the sparks still leapfrogging through him, Jarrett eased off the bed, hyper-aware of how his clothes clung to his body. His hands trembled until he braced against the mattress and bent over, fighting the urge to climb back in and take up where he'd left off. "Get some sleep." Because one of them should, at the very least. Eli angled up onto his elbows. "Where are you going?" Jarrett took a long breath and shut out how a single kiss had burnished Eli's skin until it glistened. "To take a shower. A cold one." A languid, pleased smile spread over Eli's face, and he flopped back down. "Or you could jerk off in there, thinking of me. That works, too." Even his ears went hot at the blatant invitation in Eli's words. Jarrett straightened and walked around the bed for his toiletries. He refused to imagine Eli watching him, or worse, watching his hard-on until it was out of view. "Go to sleep," he repeated. "I'll be back when I'm done." He was a liar, all right. Because there was no way he could get back in bed with Eli without finishing what he'd started.

Chapter 8

When Eli stumbled out of the bedroom mid-afternoon, he found Jarrett sitting at the dining room table with Agent Yager, a black case resting on the floor at Yager's feet. Both men looked up as he bolted straight for the coffee, but Jarrett was the only one to smile at him. "Feel better?" Jarrett asked. "As soon as I get some coffee in me," he mumbled. He could have stalled facing them. He'd woken up to the distant hum of voices and knew automatically one of them was Jarrett's. Though he was disappointed he didn't remember Jarrett coming back to bed, the sleep had been worth it. His dreams had been Sahara hot, a sweaty Jarrett covering him, smothering him, filling every hole he had before pulling Eli onto him so he could do the same. They were far more graphic than the ones he'd had as a teenager. Experience did a lot to show just how much was possible when two men really went at it.

The desire to see Jarrett in the aftermath of that amazing kiss drove him out of bed, first to the bathroom to beat off because he wouldn't embarrass Jarrett in front of the Feds by walking around with a hard-on, then to the life's blood he needed if he wanted to face what was yet to come. Like Yager and his condescending glare when Eli finally turned around and leaned against the counter. "Didn't expect to see your lovely face around here today, Agent," he said, saccharine sweet. He even smiled. See? I can play nice if you don't fuck around with my life. "I want to go over the work you were doing last night." Reaching down, he extracted a laptop from the case. His broad fingers handled it clumsily, enough so that Eli winced when he dropped it unceremoniously onto the table. "I'm curious about your results." "I didn't have any results yet. We were still sorting through the data." "It was an interesting approach, Mr. Locke. If we'd had access to your information, we might have been able to do it ourselves." "You've got it now. What's stopping you?" Though Yager kept his face averted, a muscle in the side of his neck jumped, barely visible above his coat collar. He booted up the laptop, and typed in a command. "Your files are encrypted." "So? You're the FBI. Hack through." "We tried." The machine whirred. "If time wasn't a priority here, we'd keep trying, but so far, my team hasn't had any luck getting through your code." He slid the computer around to face the empty chair next to Jarrett. "Which is why you're going to let me in now." Small flares of satisfaction went off in Eli's gut. He'd known his security measures were tight, but finding out they could stymie Feds even for a day was the best validation he could have hoped for. With a cocky grin, he ambled back to the table, though he chose to stand behind the chair rather than sit in it. "This isn't my machine," he said. "No, it's one of ours. I ported your data over." "You're not afraid I'll end up launching a virus or something?" "Do that, and I'll have an actual reason to charge you with something, Mr. Locke." Eli glanced at Jarrett. He looked tired, not like he'd rested all day, though still as gorgeous as ever. His gaze was steady on Eli, a hint of a supportive smile curving his wicked mouth. Eli hadn't been surprised to discover he was an excellent kisser. He'd been mildly taken aback at how ferociously Jarrett had thrown himself into the kiss, but hey, he'd thought for years they would be good together, it was about time Jarrett recognized it, too. Taking Jarrett's silence as agreement with Yager, Eli flopped into the chair and opened the directory. He was about to tap in the key when his hands stilled. "What am I getting out of this?" he asked. Yager frowned. He looked like his dad's golf buddy when he did that, a man who knew too many good cooks and not enough personal trainers, and thought all of them were idiots. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it seems to me, you need my help. And the fact of the matter is, I don't know anything that's going on here. All I've got is this Fong, and a guy who wants me as bad as you guys do, and a dead Fed on Jarrett's floor. I think before I do anything, I need to see the big picture." "The big picture doesn't concern you." Eli stared at him in disbelief. "Um, excuse me?" He raised his hand. "Guy whose website is being trafficked by killers, and oh, guy who's being hunted down by killers, and, let's see, yeah, guy who's so valuable you had to lock him away in a safe house to keep an eye on him and away from all the killers." Dropping his arm, he pushed the laptop farther away and slouched in the chair. "Are you seeing the theme here? If that doesn't put me in the middle of all this, I'm not sure what does." He was pushing it. He knew that. Jarrett's smile had disappeared, and Yager looked like someone had force-fed him a rotten egg, but damn it, it was his life that was on the line here, his reputation, his future. Jarrett had been caught on in the middle of it, yes, but in the end, Eli was the one with everything to lose. Yager lost the pissing contest. "What is it you want, Mr. Locke?" His tone was still firm, still annoyed, like he wasn't about to concede he'd caved to someone half his age and with none of his power. "Because I am not about to pay you for your help." "I'm not asking for money." Mostly because he hadn't thought of that. "I just want to know what's going on." "I've already told you the relevant details." "You told me this hacker Fong created worms in some of the companies he did security for, and that my site was the one place he always visited, no matter where he lived. And now he's dead. I don't know how he died, if you have any real suspects, or why you think his being a fan of my work is in any way important to finding who killed him. Maybe the reason my site is the only one that popped up is because he really liked my strip. Or it could be habit. The same way people log on every morning and check their Twitter, or their Facebook, or read the Wall Street Journal. I'm not hearing any reason why I'm any more important than any of those other guys." "If you weren't important, then why did someone mention Fong to you on the train?" Eli's mouth tightened. He'd told Yager the events with the Led Zeppelin guy, hoping it would put the whole thing in more perspective. It hadn't. "Coincidence." Yager shook his head. Even Jarrett seemed disappointed in his response, not that Eli could blame him since he didn't really believe that, either. "Fong spent a lot of time on your forum," Yager said. "Talking to a lot of different people. At the very least, it's worth investigating because I'm not about to let an obvious trail go ignored. Add in your own experiences, before I'd even had the opportunity to speak to Mr. Kessel, I might add, and not even you should have a problem drawing that line, Mr. Locke." "All right," he conceded. "I'm important. All the more reason to know what's going on. You said Fong planted these worms. For what purpose?" When he didn't answer right away, Eli added, "Don't you think the more information I have, the easier it'll be for me to help you? I'm clearly not an idiot if you couldn't get past my security. And from where I'm sitting, you need all the help you can get." He probably shouldn't have tacked on that last part if the glint of anger in Yager's eyes was any indication, but it did the trick. Yager reached back into his bag and pulled out a thick folder, the edges soft from constant handling. Fong's case was not a new one. "Fong was a prodigy. Graduated from high school at the age of twelve, bachelor's two years later, two masters by the time he was eighteen. He started doing freelance computer work when he was still underage, but his parents had very

strict control over his life and kept his professional activities to a minimum. He attempted to get emancipated when he turned sixteen, but his case was denied." "Why?" "He got into trouble a couple times for online thefts. Both times, the charges were eventually dropped, because of the parents' influence. The court decided he needed as much supervision as possible." "Smart guy like that could have run away without much problem," Jarrett commented. Yager shrugged. "Fong got his brains from his parents. They found ways to keep him in check until he turned eighteen." "Jarrett said the first company that reported problems with his work was a money management firm. How did they not know he got in trouble for theft? They don't just hire anybody off the street." "He was a minor, and the records were sealed. We didn't know about it ourselves until we started digging." Yager had yet to open the file in front of him, so Eli nodded toward it, indicating he hadn't forgotten it was there. "What've you got for show and tell?" With a begrudging flick of his fingers, Yager revealed the top pages of the folder, though farther down, Eli saw the glossy edges of photographs. "Fong was a thief, yes, but he was a smart one. He used the worms he planted in the various companies he worked for to get to their finances, and while they've reported losses, we have not been able to connect those losses with Fong directly. The money is just gone." "How is that possible in this day and age?" Jarrett rose to pour a fresh cup of coffee. "Money leaves a trail." "Fong used the money company's own system to create a loop that makes it impossible to figure out where exactly everything went." "Like feedback," Eli said. "Exactly." After refilling his mug, Jarrett held the pot aloft. "Anyone else want any?" "No thanks," Yager said. Eli stood. "I will." Standing next to Jarrett at the counter gave him a good whiff of his clean skin, devoid of the cologne that normally drove Eli to distraction. He held his tongue as Jarrett poured the coffee, though he drank in every detail he could. It was enough to be next to him, and not have Jarrett pull away. Jarrett's lashes were ducked as he returned the pot to the machine. "Yager's not as bad as he looks," he murmured. "Baptiste being involved shook him up." Eli glanced over at the table. Yager sorted through the file, setting aside the occasional page. He didn't seem to have heard what Jarrett had said. "Did you get any sleep?" he asked, changing the subject. A single shoulder shrug. "I'll live." Jarrett led the way back to their seats. "You never told us how Fong was killed, Agent Yager."

"We don't have the autopsy report yet, but all appearances look like he drowned in the tub. The only signs of a struggle came in the bathroom. He put up a fight at the end, but the apartment was locked when we arrived. We had to get the building manager to let us in." "So it was somebody he knew." "Or the killer took his key and locked up on the way out. But we're leaning toward the friend angle." He leveled his hard gaze at Eli. "We have a very short list of known acquaintances. When I've gathered photos, I want you to look through them and see if you find your train buddy." "Sure." That was one of the more reasonable requests Yager had yet to make. "What about Sandora? What's his connection to all this?" "We don't know." The admission looked like it pained Yager to admit. "We haven't found any prints at the scene, and the vid from the street is too dark to allow a facial ID." "He touched the garage door," Jarrett offered. "When he was trying to get inside." "So have a thousand other people. There was nothing there we could use." "Does the name cross-reference anything you have on Fong?" Yager shook his head. "I'm working on how he got to Baptiste. If I can backtrack from there, I might be able to find a new path to Fong's killer." "So you think your partner was coerced?" Eli asked. Oops. Wrong question. Eli refused to flinch under the dirty look Yager shot him. "Sandora's connected to Fong somehow," he said, ignoring Eli's query. "He has to be. Otherwise, how would he make the connection to you?" Saying Baptiste was right in the middle of that wasn't going to get him anywhere. The silent warning Jarrett sent his way confirmed Eli's decision not to probe in that direction. "Well, I can finish the searches Jarrett and I were doing." The desktop had a single shortcut icon labeled "The Lockeford Files." Eli clicked it and typed in the key. "But if you've already got a short list of possibilities, it'll be easy to see if any of them are in my database." "You have real life stats on these people?" "I have what they volunteered when they registered. If that's not accurate, that's not my fault." "It's more than what I have now." As Eli logged into his admin panel, Yager shuffled with the loose papers he'd set aside from the folder, probably looking for the list he'd made of other suspects. Some of them slid closer to the laptop. Eli's gaze flickered to them automatically, though he didn't linger. He was too busy pulling up the master list he and Jarrett had been working from. "Who are all the photos of?" he asked. "Fong, mostly. Surveillance." "How long were you guys watching him before he got killed?"

"Just a couple months. Between the lack of evidence against him, and the fact that he didn't seem to stay in one place for very long, we were gridlocked." "That sucks." Yager snorted. "Tell me about it." He pulled out a single piece of paper and held it out. "Here." Eli took it from his hand, but as it uncovered the paper beneath it, his eye caught on the top picture. He frowned and set aside the list, reaching instead for the photo. "Is this your guy?" "That's him." The picture was taken from a distance, with a telephoto lens to get sharper detail. An attractive Japanese man sat sprawled on a bench, waiting for a train. Eli recognized the Quincy Station in the background. The photographer must have been on the opposite platform, but it wasn't the local setting that made Eli pause. It was the man itself. "What is it?" Jarrett asked. Even Yager seemed curious about Eli's reaction. "I'm not sure." Because he wasn't. Something about Fong struck a chord, but Eli couldn't put his finger on why. He passed the picture back. "Can I look at the others you've got of him?" Yager thumbed through his stack, picking out photo after photo and sliding them across the table. None of them afforded the same level of detail the first had. One had Fong standing in line at a McDonald's, another had him slipping cash into the gloved hand of a valet. Most of them were taken downtown, but it wasn't until Eli reached a shot of Fong in profile, head tilted up as he peered up at the sky with an unopened umbrella dangling from his hand, that he was able to pinpoint the niggle into something concrete. "I drew this guy," he said. Tossing the photos back onto the table, he pushed away from the table and jogged to his bedroom, snatching up his duffle to carry it back to the dining room. Batman and Robin barely glanced at him as he went by, but Yager and Jarrett had both risen in his absence. Eli dropped his duffle onto the spare chair and began rummaging inside, pulling out sketchbook after sketchbook until he found the one he was looking for. He flipped straight to the middle. Now that he'd found the connection, he knew exactly where to get what he was looking for. "That's Fong," Yager said from over his shoulder. It was. The headshots were all rough, more outline than anything else, but the shape of the man's face and nose were undeniably him. The date on the bottom of the page was from the previous February. "How do you remember him?" Jarrett asked. "You must draw hundreds of people." "I do. Most people just sit there, I do my thing, they leave." The more he stared at the sketches he'd made, the more the incident came back to him. "This guy kept talking and asking me questions. He offered to buy me a coffee after we were done, but I had another customer waiting, so I turned him down. A few hours later, some of his friends stopped by..." His throat closed. Fuck. "What is it?" Yager barked. "What happened?"

The warm weight of Jarrett's hand on his shoulder should have felt good or reassuring. It would have been welcomed any other time, but now, all Eli could think about was this newfound connection between him and Fong, between him and a guy wanted by more than just the Feds now. "Some of his friends stopped by," he repeated. "He'd talked me up to them, apparently. One of them was Gretchen." "Who's Gretchen?" "Until last night when Jarrett told me you were looking for me...my roommate."

Chapter 9

Eli was driving him crazy with all his pacing. Ever since Yager had stormed out with his ex-roommate's name and address, Eli had been up and down, back and forth, fidgeting, bouncing his foot, in and out until more doors had opened and shut than a hooker's hotel room. Batman and Robin shot him dirty looks every time he showed up in the living area again, but Eli never noticed, maybe choosing that time to poke his head in the refrigerator before closing it without taking anything out, or sprawling in a chair at the dining room table for all of five seconds before hopping up and heading for the bathroom. Jarrett let him be. He couldn't imagine how Eli was feeling. Someone he'd trusted enough to live with was somehow connected with a dead computer hacker, even if it was only peripherally. That was betrayal, pure and simple. And Jarrett knew from experience that Eli, for all his so-called worldly ways, never, ever saw betrayal coming. Until it was too late. Dinnertime came with no word from Yager. When Robin announced he was running out to get some burgers, he didn't even bother asking what Jarrett wanted. He did glance at Eli drumming his fingers on top of the laptop Yager had left behind, but that was it. Clearly, he didn't know how to deal with Eli, either. As soon as they were alone with the other agent, Eli stood. "I'm going to finish going through my database like Yager wanted," he announced, scooping the laptop under his arm. He looked pointedly at Jarrett. "Can you come help me? It'll go faster that way." Jarrett glanced at Batman, who shrugged. "Sure." He followed Eli to the bedroom--Jarrett's, he noticed, like Eli didn't have one of his own anymore--and shut the door behind him. "Why are you bothering with Yager's busy work? He doesn't need it. He found the connection he was looking for." "I'm not." Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Eli whipped open the laptop and began tapping away at the keys. "I'm getting online." "How? There's no connection here." Eli didn't look away from the screen as Jarrett came around the bed to watch what he was doing. "We're in a residential section of Chicago. I'll find a damn connection somewhere nearby." "Why?" His voice sharpened, though he kept it low enough not to get the agent's attention. "What are you going to do, Eli?" "What are we going to do, you mean."

"No, no, I'm not doing anything but staying here until you tell me what's going on." He wished he could say he was surprised when Eli logged onto an unsecured network someone had brilliantly labeled "home," but he wasn't, not after the 911 call from the closet. He was, however, a little taken aback when Eli logged onto a local pizza place's site. "If you wanted pizza, you should've said so." "I don't." Faster than Jarrett could follow, Eli zipped through the site until he'd placed an order. "But it's going to buy us some time." A chill ran through him. "For what?" Eli only grinned. **** Jarrett's sole rationalization was that he wasn't a criminal. Protective custody was meant to keep him safe, not for any other reason. If he chose to believe he could protect himself-Well, he didn't, but Eli was going to get himself killed, and this was the only way to make sure it didn't happen. Or at least, lower the odds. As rationalizations went, it would have to do. He jumped when the doorbell rang. According to Eli, their window was tiny. There was no telling when the other agent would return with the burgers, and the fewer agents they had chasing after them, the better. Jarrett counted off to five in his head. When he heard the low hum of voices, he pushed open the bedroom window. Dusk failed to hide him from anybody who was watching, but the curtains next door remained motionless, the lack of shouts from inside a positive sign. He landed in a desiccated flowerbed, several stems cracking under his shoes, and quickly pulled the window shut again. The blackout blind fell into place, but he didn't stick around to see if Batman's face appeared in the glass. He bent low and ran for the backyard. Eli was already there. With his duffle thrown over his shoulder, he looked like his usual student self, a ready smile brightening when Jarrett rounded the rear corner. "Come on." He jerked his head toward the neighbor's driveway. "The taxi is going to pick us up on the corner." Behind them, the front door slammed. Jarrett's nerves jumped, and he bolted away from the house as soon as he saw Eli move. This was worse than sneaking out of the house when he was a teenager. At least his dad wouldn't have chased him down the road with a gun. His heart pounded in his throat when they reached the designated corner, and sweat stuck his collar to the back of his neck. Eli looked completely unfazed, the little shit, though it was probably a good thing since Jarrett was half-convinced to try and sneak back. Any chance of doing so was lost when Eli caught the approaching cab's attention, however, and he held his tongue while he slid into the backseat with Eli. "Where to?" the driver asked. "You know how to get to Project 69?" Eli said. The driver's brows shot up. The way his black eyes jumped to Jarrett made it more than clear he knew exactly where and what Project 69 was. "No problem." "It's a little early for a club, isn't it?" Jarrett murmured when they had eased into traffic.

A devilish twinkle appeared in Eli's eye. "As fun as it would be to see you in a club, that's not why we're going. I know the owner. He'll let me use his office so we can regroup." "Not through Gretchen, I hope." "Oh, God, no. Trev was the first guy I dated after turning twenty-one." "So this is an ex-boyfriend?" "In a manner of speaking. We were never exclusive or anything. It was just fun." The twinge of jealousy that had sprung up at hearing about Eli's past died with the confirmation it had never been serious. Jarrett didn't know why that mattered, but he felt better knowing it had been a casual fling. He relaxed more into his seat. "What do you plan on doing?" "That depends." "On?" "Whether or not Yager got to Gretchen." The last was uttered with such solemnity, a marked contrast to his earlier frenzy, that Jarrett shut up. It might look like Eli was running willy-nilly, but a plan lurked in the corners of his sharp mind. Jarrett just hoped it didn't end up backfiring on either one of them. Project 69 was one of those trendy gay clubs Ven occasionally talked him into going to, that invariably cost him hundreds of dollars by the end of the night. There were always pretty men, hot bodies, and enough good music to take advantage of both, but he was a softie after he'd had a drink or two. Buying rounds for strangers was de rigeur, not a once in a lifetime thing. This particular club was a notch above the rest. Jarrett had always been drawn to its more sophisticated décor, the sleek stainless steel bars, the marble-inlaid tables, the subdued tapestries lining the walls. Futuristic met French Baroque, that was the way he'd thought of it. It exuded class, style, and most of all, lots and lots of money. Someone like Eli dating its owner, even casually, didn't fit into Jarrett's impressions. When they arrived, he paid the driver, allowing Eli the freedom to get out first. The driver smirked, and Jarrett deliberately withheld the extra five he'd been ready to hand over as a tip. Eli was practically bouncing. "Come on. There's a service bell in the back." His already taut mood stretched even thinner at Eli's obvious excitement. It might have been better than the sulking if Jarrett didn't know what had sparked this newfound enthusiasm. He walked stiffly, then held himself even straighter as Eli rang for entry. The weight of the pack he'd brought with him added to the exhaustion already dragging him down, but damned if he was going to let it show now. The man who answered looked like an owner of a club like Project 69. His black hair was shot through with steel, his irises an icy blue. Laugh lines bracketed his thin mouth, while tiny ones radiated from the corners of his eyes. Vestiges of a life well lived. His dark jeans were fashionably worn, the gray pullover simple but obviously a silk cashmere. Everything about him screamed wealth and privilege, as well as the twenty years it must have taken him to accumulate it. He brightened at the sight of Eli, though, and a decade fell away. "What're you doing here? God, I haven't seen you in ages." Eli accepted a quick hug with a smile and a slap on the man's back. "I know. I suck at keeping in touch."

His shoulders shook with laughter. "Why do you set yourself up so easily?" Pulling the door wider, he gestured inside. "Come in, come in, we've got to catch up." Though Eli seemed pleased with the invitation, he hesitated, stepping back to include Jarrett. "Actually, it's not as easy as that." "Oh?" He noticed Jarrett for the first time, his gaze skipping quickly over him before returning to Eli. "Is something wrong?" "We need a place to work for a few hours. But nobody can know we're here." "Are you in trouble?" The query came with concern, not wariness, a tribute to Eli's testimony about his friend's willingness to help. "It's a long story. Can we come in? I'd rather not talk about it outside." "Sure. Come on." The office the man led them to was small but lushly decked out, with a leather loveseat along one wall, framed landscapes above it, and a leather-topped mahogany corner desk. Jarrett was drawn to the largest of the pictures, an idyllic bay awash in the blues and pinks of dusk. Closer inspection revealed it as an original, and he turned an astonished frown back to their host. "Is this a real Cozens?" he asked. "I thought he only did watercolors." The man seemed as surprised at his recognition of the artist as Jarrett was to find it in a gay nightclub. "It is," he confirmed. "He did some oils, too." His eyes narrowed in scrutiny as he held his hand out. "We haven't been introduced. Trevor Hettrick." "Jarrett Kessel." The grip was warm and firm, but when Jarrett pulled away, Trevor's brows shot up. His gaze snapped to Eli. "This just got a hell of a lot more interesting." "It's not what you think, Trev--" "I think he looks like the guy in your little superhero thing. Does he know that?" "Yes, but--" "I've known Eli for years," Jarrett interceded. He hated the way Trevor referred to Eli's work as that "little superhero thing." It diminished what was clearly hours and hours of dedication, not to mention the artistry that went behind it. "His art just gets better and better, don't you think?" Trevor assessed him for long seconds. He could take all night, as far as Jarrett cared. Eli shifted his weight on his feet, back and forth, then twice more before Trevor gave them a half smile and a nod. "I do," he said. To Eli, "So what's this all about?" **** Though he knew his way around computers, hacking was not Eli's favorite thing to do. He knew encryption for his own safety, and the tricks he'd learned through code and database management had come from taking care of his own site, not through trying to get into anybody else's. He had no desire to break the law. Tonight, he didn't have much of a choice.

He needed to find out what links remained between Gretchen and Fong. All afternoon, he'd been consumed with questions, about his judgment, about his past, about everything he had ever taken for granted. He and Gretchen had been roommates for months, without anything seeming wrong. She'd been a friend, a confidant, someone he thought he could rely on. They'd been simpatico in a lot of ways, even if he knew he sometimes drove her crazy, and he just couldn't believe that all of it had been a trick. What purpose could it serve? What did living with Eli give her that Fong might want? He'd mulled over that ever since making the connection he'd actually met Fong in person. Eli owned little. His life was bare bones, his possessions minimal. Hell, he'd gone on the so-called run with everything he had in a single duffle bag. Only one thing held value for him. His work and everything he did to preserve it. In light of everything Yager had told him, every sign pointed straight at his website. Gretchen would have had access to his laptop whenever he wasn't home. Though he kept his files locked up most of the time, he got lazier the safer he felt. Gretchen had never expressed any interest in his strip, which meant he stopped being careful when he was at home. Her only interaction with it came as a fresh set of eyes to look it over before he posted anything. She occasionally made comments about sketches that didn't meet his usual standards, or offered suggestions about what should happen next. He didn't always listen to her, especially at first, but the longer they were friends, the more he acceded to her ideas. The strip was more well-rounded that way, he argued with himself. It was better to have new vision brought into the story, or he would run the risk of growing stale. Fong had been a fan. He'd had pages of the Lockeford Files printed up. Eli hadn't questioned why someone so firmly entrenched in the digital world would ever want print versions as well, but now he wondered if they should have noticed that all along. Yager had been wrong. He didn't need access to Eli's database and logs. Everything he was looking for was right there for the world to see. In the strip archives. Panels Eli had drawn. If they were linked to the crimes in any way, he'd be seen as an accomplice. At the very least, he was already an accessory. It wouldn't matter how good of a lawyer Jarrett found for him. Yager would never believe for a second Eli was innocent. Worse than that, Jarrett might start doubting him, too. Pretending to surf online where Trev had situated him at his monstrous desk, Eli watched Jarrett through his lashes, wishing the other man had agreed to take the nap he so desperately needed. Instead, Jarrett lounged in the corner of the couch, flipping through some magazines Trev had laying around. He looked thoroughly and utterly bored, but he never said a word in complaint. He hadn't spoken at all since Trev finally left them alone, giving Eli the room and quiet necessary to accomplish what he wanted. Nobody had ever trusted in Eli more than Jarrett did. It set him apart, whether he knew it or not. The best part of it was, he had absolutely no idea what kind of a gift it really was to Eli. The thought of losing that, even a fraction of it, made Eli want to throw up. So he threw himself into work. Looking through the panels to find answers wouldn't do much good without context. He couldn't even be sure he'd remember everything Gretchen had ever suggested. The Lockeford Files was an organic creature. It held a logic that felt like second nature to him. To dissect it after the fact, without specific records to prompt him on what wasn't an original idea, would be like trying to withdraw the blood just received from someone who'd had a transfusion. It couldn't be done. His best bet was to have the panels Fong had printed up. That would at least get him pointed in the right direction. The problem with that was it meant he had to go back to Yager and admit his involvement. Not an option until he knew how he could defend himself, or had something to offer in return for guaranteeing some immunity.

That left ferreting out the context. Two places could give him that. Since there was no way he would even consider breaking into FBI records to find out the extents of Fong's crimes--he might be rash, but he wasn't stupid--he needed to start with Gretchen. If she was in Yager's radar now, they would have broad strokes about her life. The first thing Eli did was mask his ISP to make a Skype call to the same police station Yager had taken him and Jarrett. A woman who sounded like she was ready to go home for the day informed him that Agent Yager was currently off-premises, at which point he hurriedly thanked her and disconnected. Three calls later, he decided Yager didn't have Gretchen yet. The next step was to compile a list of her average schedule. Once he'd roughed in her classes, he brainstormed every friend he could remember her ever referring to, as well as a list of the professors. Next came her work schedule and acquaintances, though that list was considerably shorter. She hated her job as a part-time teller at the bank. She was always complaining that the day would come when she'd put her degree to use and be the one on the other side of the counter for a change. He stopped. God, he'd been an idiot. Gretchen was an Economics major. Fong had been stealing money. Not even Yager was going to miss that. There was no way Gretchen had received any of the stolen funds, however. Eli saw the way she lived. He knew how tightly she scrounged, and heard every complaint when there wasn't enough. But she had access to people who might be of use to Fong. People who knew the system. People who could instruct a computer hacker on what to do. Gretchen was a cog in a machine. Just like Eli and his strip had been a cog. Since Fong was dead, he'd probably been a cog, too. Shit. "What is it?" The soft rumble of Jarrett's voice startled Eli from his thoughts. "What?" "You swore. Like something was wrong." "Oh. I didn't realize I did that out loud." "Is something wrong?" He set aside the magazine and sat forward. "Did you find something?" "Just..." Eli floundered, trying to put into words the dread the most likely answers created. "I am in way over my head." The corner of Jarrett's mouth lifted. "I think we both figured that out last night when Sandora showed up." Sandora. Another piece in this puzzle he couldn't place. If they only had an ID on the guy, it might help. And what about the couple on the train? Where did they fit in? Why was everybody so bound and determined to get to Eli?

"You've gone quiet again." "Sorry." Eli ran his fingers through his hair, digging into his scalp. The prickles helped wake him up, jarring him out of the monotony of questions he couldn't resolve. "Too many thoughts." "Do you want me to leave you alone so you can concentrate?" "What've you done that disturbed me? You've been quiet as a church mouse since I started." "I don't know, something's getting in your way. And I'm the only one in the room." "You're forgetting me." "Never." The soft denial sent a flush of heat through Eli's cheeks. "Do you regret it?" he blurted. "Regret what?" "Not turning me over to Yager from the start. You could be at home right now, without a chalk outline on your floor, getting ready to get a good night's sleep." To his credit, Jarrett didn't immediately rush to assuage Eli's insecurity. He actually considered it, his long fingers drumming silently on the leather arm of the couch. "I regret taking you to my apartment last night instead of a hotel. But the rest of it? No. Not a single thing." The way Jarrett stressed the last sentence could only refer to the amazing kiss they'd shared. And thinking of that kiss was infinitely better than melting his brain with questions he couldn't answer. "Come on." Snapping the laptop shut, he stood and stretched, deliberately reaching as far over his head as he could so his T-shirt rode up and exposed his navel. The fact that Jarrett's eyes immediately went to his groin confirmed his choice. "I need a break." Slowly, Jarrett rose as well. "I can get you something to eat if you're hungry." "No." He bounded around the desk and grabbed Jarrett's hand. "I mean, I am, and I have every intention of taking Trev up on his offer to order what we want, but I didn't mean for you to go while I keep working." Though Jarrett didn't share his enthusiasm, he didn't protest Eli's pull. "So what did you mean?" Music flooded the room as soon as he opened the door, throbbing through his skin and making him feel more alive since he had that morning in Jarrett's bed. "I mean, we're going to dance. And don't even try to say no." He grinned over his shoulder as they made their way to the front of the club. "I've got an in with the owner. He'll just get his bouncer to throw you back in if you try to run."

Chapter 10

Dancing was a bad idea. They hadn't gone out of their way to get out from under the FBI's radar to grind against each other in a sweaty club. Jarrett had assumed Eli was dedicated to finding out what exactly was going on, but when he'd admitted being over his head, and his puppy-warm eyes had looked across the office and begged him to understand, Jarrett knew he'd do whatever it took to erase the anxiety away from both visage and brow. They needed to eat anyway, he justified. It didn't have to be a long break. Except the music was intoxicating. Whatever he might think about the man, or Eli's unexpected affiliation with someone so much older, Trevor had excellent taste. Jarrett didn't recognize the band, but the bass served as a metronome to lull even the most reticent patrons onto the floor. The air didn't so much vibrate as it did breathe, sucking him in until he pressed to Eli's back and bent his head to his ear. "What about food? We should eat something first." Eli pressed backward until his ass molded to Jarrett's groin. One arm lifted to cup the back of Jarrett's neck, holding him in place as he began to roll his hips. "This is what I want." Jarrett groaned. "Do we have time for this?" For a bare second, Eli hesitated. The tips of his fingers dug into Jarrett's nape, and his breathing quickened. "This might be the only time I have if things go south again." He had a point, though Jarrett would do his damnedest to make sure that wasn't the case. Still, there was little room for argument, and even less between their bodies, and the last thing he actually wanted was to let Eli go. His hands slid downward. One settled on Eli's waist, the other pressed flat to his hard stomach. Both kept him firmly in place as Jarrett joined in the dance. He kept his head bent. With his nose so near Eli's neck, he could drown in the smell of salt and musk emanating from the man's skin. He yearned to taste it, to open his mouth and drag his tongue along the sinew already glistening with sweat, but if he started, he probably wouldn't stop, and he wouldn't disrespect Trevor's hospitality by mauling his ex on the dance floor. Eli seemed to have no such compunctions. His wicked fingers massaged Jarrett's nape, sliding upward along his scalp to skim back down again to the knobs at the top of his spine. Each time Jarrett's now rock-hard cock came to nestle between Eli's butt cheeks, moans reverberated through his chest and into Jarrett, adding to the intoxicating throb the music already created. Jarrett had only to glance down to see Eli was erect, too. Anywhere but in public, and they'd both be naked already, cocks in hand, mouths on each other. Trying to deny he could hold off on this attraction between them was ridiculous now. Indulging in the kiss had opened a door that couldn't whisper shut again, and he lacked the inclination to force it. Eli would likely fight him every step of the way if he tried, and though he was tempted to see what Eli might do to make it happen, he knew it would be a wasted effort. The hand he had on Eli's stomach tilted, the tips of his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of Eli's jeans. A couple dancing next to him caught the movement, and watched, eyes avid, gleaming with shared anticipation, as Jarrett decided to hell with an audience and brushed across the tip of Eli's wet cock. Eli went rigid, his head slamming back against Jarrett's shoulder. "Jesus," Jarrett heard him mutter. His tongue swiped over his dry lower lip, taunting Jarrett to moisten it himself, and the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed, over and over again. "You're gorgeous," Jarrett whispered in his ear. "I wish you could see yourself the way I do." A shudder rippled through Eli. All of a sudden, he twisted in Jarrett's embrace, breaking the contact he had on Eli's cock. The denim scraped across the back of Jarrett's hand, but he ignored the discomfort, too consumed by the fresh heat pouring into him from Eli.

The eyes he lifted to Jarrett were nearly black, the pupils so dilated there was no more iris to be found. His nostrils flared, and he returned his hand to the back of Jarrett's neck, pulling him down this time so their cheeks skimmed against each other's. "I thought you were hot when I was still sixteen and didn't know anybody else who was gay," Eli said. His tongue flicked out and along the outer curve of Jarrett's ear, fleeting and teasing and all too quickly gone again. "Now I know it wasn't just me and my crush. You can walk into a room filled with a thousand of the world's sexiest guys, and I wouldn't be able to see anybody else but you." Desire like he'd never heard thickened Eli's voice. Jarrett had to tighten his hold just to keep from shredding the clothes off him then and there, and taking what he wanted. "We need to get out of here," he rasped. "Before I do something that's going to get us way too much attention." "Trev has a room--" "I don't want one of his." It felt vital for their first time--and Jarrett was all too aware that it would be the first of many, if either one of them had a say in the matter--to be theirs, and theirs alone. He didn't want memories of anybody else Eli might have been with creeping into what he wanted for them. "Let's get a hotel." Eli pulled back to search Jarrett's face. "Yager will find us." "I don't care." "I do. I haven't cleared my name yet." "You did nothing wrong." A shadow passed behind Eli's eyes, and he separated their bodies by another inch. "Yager won't care about that." He couldn't tell Eli he was wrong. With his partner dead, Yager would be gunning to get to the bottom of everything even more determinedly than before. If he'd been willing to drag Eli's parents into the mess to locate him--and Jarrett shivered at the thought of Eli's guilt if Sandora had put a bullet into either one of them--he'd be likely to drag Eli through the mud. But now that he'd admitted to this nearly feral attraction between them, he didn't want to just walk away because it wasn't convenient. His hands slid to a more respectable place on Eli's hips, and he maintained the distance between their chests. Eli looked disappointed by the new position, but at least he wasn't pulling away completely. "Where were you planning on us spending the night, then?" Jarrett asked. Eli shook his head. "I hadn't thought that far ahead." "Do you have any ideas?" Eli fell silent for a few minutes, allowing the music to rise and swell around them. The couple who'd been so ardently following Jarrett's seduction moved away, replaced by another pair of nameless faces. Somewhere in the back of Jarrett's mind, he wondered if Trevor watched from somewhere on the sidelines, and what he might be thinking if he was. Eli said they hadn't been serious, yet he'd opened up to Eli without hesitation. Was Eli the one who hadn't wanted to take it further, or had that been Trevor's choice? And why the hell couldn't Jarrett let it go? "I suppose if we got a real dive that takes cash, we'd be safe," Eli finally said. "I just need an Internet connection so I can keep doing my research." "What else do you need to look for?"

Eli cocked a brow. "Do you know who Sandora is and what he has to do with anything?" "But we don't have anything else on him." "We know he's hooked up with this Fong mess, somehow." The shadows returned to his eyes, this time lingering long enough for Eli to dart his gaze elsewhere. "And I've got a few theories I'd like to test out." A cheap hotel was better than nothing, and using cash would give them the anonymity they needed to stay out of Yager's radar. Discussing the specifics had cooled his ardor enough for him to feel safe peeling away from Eli without embarrassing himself, and he grabbed Eli's hand and led him toward the employee's entrance. As soon as they were free of the other dancers, Eli tugged against his grip. "We might as well eat here first. We need to save what cash we can." Jarrett wanted to argue he'd feed Eli, not Trevor, but practicality ruled out over pettiness. "Why don't I order us a couple plates of something and you go pack up your computer?" He grinned, hoping to mitigate some of the tension that had risen between them. "You can find someplace for us to stay, too, so we're not wandering around bad parts of town in the middle of night." When Eli matched his smile, he knew everything was going to be all right. "Get me a cheeseburger. Trev's chef always orders the best Angus beef in town." "Sounds good." He turned away to head to the bar when Eli's hand curled around his elbow. Jarrett glanced back, the query of what Eli might want poised on his tongue, and met the full force of the young man's body, arms strong as they were thrown around Jarrett's neck, mouth hungry and questing as it sealed over his own. He opened to the kiss without pause. Just as ravenous. Just as needy. His tongue twisted around Eli's and sucked him in like a dying man gasping for his last breath. He'd forgotten about food when Eli pulled away, too focused on how much the bottom of his world had just dropped out, how Eli's lips glistened when he ran his tongue over them as if chasing Jarrett's taste, how his flesh felt cold without Eli molded against him. He remained motionless, under the flash of Eli's brilliant smile, in the wake of Eli's jog to the employee door. The ache in his body had returned with a rigorous vengeance, his practical mind uncoupled from baser needs that seemed far, far more important. "He has that effect on people." Only Trevor's baritone could dampen Jarrett's exhilaration, and he took a deep breath to compose himself before turning to address Eli's friend. The fact Trevor appeared amused by what he'd apparently witnessed didn't do much to endear him. "We won't be in your hair all night." Jarrett deliberately ignored referencing the other man's observation. "Eli's almost got what he wanted." A dimple danced in Trevor's cheek. "Yes, I suppose he does." Jarrett gritted his teeth and mentally put the man in the "hostile reporter" column. He hated this type. They danced back and forth, usually making snide comments before feinting in another direction, then went in for the kill with a question that came out of the blue. The trick was to never let them see they'd gotten to you. The moment they detected that weakness, the game was over. "He was hungry, though. Does that offer of food still stand?" "Of course. I'll put an order for a cheeseburger in. Those are his favorite. Would you like one, too?" "That would be great, thanks." Said through a forced smile that Eli's ex knew what his favorite was and Jarrett hadn't a clue.

"Where are you two sleeping tonight?" Together almost came out. Even as he pulled the single word back, Jarrett wished he could afford to rock the boat, just this once. "A hotel." Trevor frowned. "What about this danger Eli's in? You really think a hotel's a good idea?" "I think it's our only option if we want to keep the people we care about safe." Eli hadn't told the specifics about what had happened at Jarrett's apartment. He'd just said two people had already been killed because of what was going on. Trevor hadn't pressed, and Jarrett wasn't going to be the one to give him more details. "It's all right. We'll be careful." "The FBI isn't stupid." "Neither are we." "So don't take the risk. Stay here tonight." Jarrett shook his head. "Eli needs to get a decent night's sleep. But thanks for the offer." "There's an apartment upstairs," Trevor went on. "Fully equipped, comfortable, and best of all, no paper trail for anybody to find you. I'm surprised Eli agreed to a hotel. He knows I've got the space." "I told you. We don't want anyone else getting hurt." Silently, Jarrett's stomach did a flip. Eli had agreed to Jarrett's request with full knowledge of what other resources laid at their disposal. Either he wanted Jarrett completely alone, or he saw how Jarrett felt about Trevor. Very likely, it was both. "You're already here, which means I'm already involved. And if you're upstairs, shut away for the night, you're not out on the streets where whoever is doing all this can get to Eli." A cogent argument. Hard to logically fault. But... "Why?" Trevor stared at him for several seconds, though the hard gaze made no bones about pretending he didn't understand what Jarrett was really asking. "Eli's important to me." "He said you two were never serious." "That doesn't mean I don't care what happens to him." "He doesn't need any distractions right now. It's too dangerous." "Is that a warning for me, or one for you?" Right then, Jarrett realized he'd shown his hand. He'd let Trevor get to him, and worse, Trevor knew it. "I've known Eli a long time," he said, trying to salvage what he could of his pride. "He doesn't always think through his decisions." Trevor chuckled. "Trust me. I'm well aware of Eli's little foibles. The only thing in Eli's life that has any weight to it is that damn comic. And that's a millstone, even if he won't admit it." "He's poured his heart and soul into that site." "The site? Or you?" His jaw snapped shut. This was not a fight he was going to win. Trevor had too much intimate knowledge on Eli. The blows he'd land would get under whatever defenses Jarrett might shore up, especially in Jarrett's distracted state. All he

could concentrate on was the immediate situation at hand, both the danger to Eli and the risk to his unexpected reactions to him. He couldn't compete against someone with nothing left to lose. Some of the amusement in Trevor's face softened. "Look, I can see how important he is to you. And I think it goes without saying what Eli's feelings about you are. There's no reason for you to turn down my offer. We both know it's the best choice you've got, just as long as you're not willing to get in the way of it." Concession never sat well with Jarrett, but in this case, he had Eli to consider, too. "I'll run it by him. It'll be his choice what we do." Trevor nodded, as if he'd expected nothing less. "I'll go put in your orders. If you want to eat upstairs instead of in the office, just come out and I'll give you guys the key." They parted at the same time, moving in opposite directions. The back hallway welcomed him with its cooler air, but the light spilling out from the open office compelled him the rest of the way. "I've got a few options picked out," Eli said when he entered. Behind the desk, the printer spat out several pages, filled with colorful maps. "I've got my opinions, but--" His voice cut off when Jarrett encircled Eli's wrist and pulled him to his feet. Without saying a word, Jarrett bent his head and kissed him. It lacked the urgency from the dance floor, but Eli was smiling all the same when they parted. "I like it when you do that," he said. Jarrett ran his thumb over the corner of Eli's mouth, fascinated by the tiny dip and how quickly the bottom lip swelled to ripe proportions. "I like kissing." "I actually meant the not asking part." His lashes dipped for a split second in obvious embarrassment, but lifted again to meet Jarrett's gaze as boldly as ever. "Like you know you can. Like you know I want it, regardless." The confession startled him, even if it shouldn't have. They'd been dancing toward this moment for years. He would never have made a move on a confused, just out teenager, no matter how cute he was, but he'd known from the start Eli was different. And now he could learn everything about him, with full knowledge that each understood what it was the other wanted. "Trevor offered the apartment upstairs." His jealousy was still there, like a bitter pill on the back of his tongue, but he could take it, confident in the knowledge that given the choice, Eli would choose to stay with him. "I told him it was up to you." Eli brightened for a half second, then caught his automatic reaction to something more neutral. "Are you okay with that?" "I want you to be safe. And staying here reduces the risk of getting caught." Which was true, and he could own that. "But you don't trust Trev." "I don't know the man. The question is, do you trust him?" "Yes." He said it so quickly, Jarrett shook his head. "Be certain. Don't say yes because you two have history." "But that's the only way I can be certain. I know him. He's a good guy. I threw myself at him when we met, when I was only nineteen, and he put me off until I turned twenty-one and could legally drink in his club."

"Nineteen's legal, though." "But still too young, apparently. He wanted me to be sure, he said. And he felt less like a creepy old guy if I wasn't technically a teenager." That last reason sounded the most realistic to Jarrett. His respect for the man grew, albeit begrudgingly. "Then we'll stay," Jarrett said. "The next question is, do you want to eat upstairs or in here?" A slow, flirtatious smile curved Eli's still-swollen mouth. "Upstairs. Definitely."

Chapter 11

It felt like a dream. A really intense, long-awaited fantasy come to life, the kind where you asked someone to pinch you because there was no way it could be real, not with the kind of reality you were forced to live with every day. But Jarrett's hand was warm and dry in his, the memory of his mouth still emblazoned across every possible nerve ending. Eli knew he was a little uncomfortable using Trev's apartment like this--he wasn't so wrapped up in what was going on not to see the flares of jealousy that sparked between the two men--but the fact he'd agreed to stay just so they could be together had him hard as a rock. Jarrett wanted him. Sure, maybe some of his motivations in staying stemmed from a kind of one-upmanship with Trev, but he wasn't letting their past or their problems prevent him from taking what he wanted anymore. He'd made his attraction to Eli perfectly clear before he ever knew about Trev. And if this was how Eli finally got to have Jarrett, so be it. Though Eli barely noticed Trev's new décor, Jarrett whistled under his breath. "I will say this for the man. He has excellent taste." Eli didn't stop. He dragged Jarrett through the living room, past the wall-mounted plasma TV, and into the bedroom. "You can admire the couch after." Jarrett chuckled. "You mean after we eat?" "That's one way to describe it." They had barely cleared the doorway before he shoved Jarrett to the wall. The body he'd dreamed about was now his to explore, hard and willing beneath his hands. Jarrett gripped his hips lightly, but didn't fight, didn't do anything to get in his way. His harsh breathing fluttered across Eli's ear when Eli sucked at his neck. The sound of his groan vibrated through Eli's tongue, spurring him to lick and savor as much skin as he could reach. "Don't you want to slow this down?" Jarrett said. "You didn't want to go slow on the dance floor." He yanked Jarrett's shirt out of his way, his nails scratching where he made contact with bare flesh. "I'm tired of foreplay."

"And I'd like to make this last longer than the time it takes us to get naked." When Eli reached for his belt, Jarrett finally interceded, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away. "I'm not interested in this to scratch an itch, Eli. So don't treat it that way." He had to blink more than once as Jarrett's meaning sank in. Then, his cheeks heated, his embarrassment at acting like some horny teenager flaring beyond control. "Don't." Jarrett guided his hand back to the belt, molding the fingers over it to force him to open it slowly. "I'm just as excited as you are. I'm being completely selfish when I say I'd like it to last long enough to be able to enjoy it." The leather slipped free, the slap raising the hair on the back of Eli's neck. Without taking his eyes off Jarrett, Eli pulled it from the loops, one by one. He wanted to be so cool about this. In his fantasies, he lavished the kind of attention on Jarrett that made porn stars jealous, and he left Jarrett begging for more. He knew there would always be a part of him that craved Jarrett's approval, but he'd wanted to be seen as an equal, a man worthy of being with someone as amazing as Jarrett. And here he'd gone, already messing it up with his impetuosity. Jarrett released his wrist, lifting his hand to trace over Eli's mouth. "Relax," he murmured. "You've always taken everything so seriously. This is supposed to be fun." He swallowed against his dry throat. "I know." "I don't think you do." His head bent, his kiss an aching reminder of what had transpired downstairs, cock grinding to cock, everything electric from the ends of his hair to the tips of his toes. It killed Eli not to press to him now, but Jarrett wanted slow, and damn it, Eli was going to give it to him. The belt fell to the floor, in the way, unnecessary. The kiss deepened, maddening in how languid Jarrett kept the pace. Any protests he could have made were silenced, some of them even forgotten under the tender assault, and he clutched at Jarrett's hip for balance when the world threatened to topple around him. "Fun," Jarrett repeated when he finally broke the caress. His heated lips nuzzled against Eli's, like he needed to breathe him in, hinting that he wanted more but waited for Eli's permission or initiative before getting it. "We can do the wham bam later. After I've had the chance to learn all the ways that drive you craziest." Later. God. Eli's heart jackhammered against his ribs. "You do that just by being here." He felt rather than saw Jarrett's mouth curve into a smile. "I can do better than that." Without moving the angle of his head, he reached for Eli's fly, flicking open the buttons at the same excruciating pace Eli had already set. The back of his fingers sent shocks where they brushed against Eli's straining erection, but he didn't strengthen the contact, focusing on the simple act of opening Eli's jeans. By the time Eli felt the first rush of cool air against his cock, he was whimpering, doing everything he could not to straddle Jarrett's thigh and force the friction. "Do you make those sounds when you're getting fucked, too?" His seductive tone preceded a flick across Eli's lower lip, followed by a nibble near the corner. "I'll bet you do. For a guy who makes the kind of magic you do with your hands, you're very vocal." "So are you." He hadn't anticipated Jarrett being a talker, though now that he thought about it, he probably should've known better. The man's whole career was based on smooth talking. He just never got to do it for himself.

Sweet, almost chaste kisses like this should not have been so scintillating. They weren't even skin to skin yet, and still, Eli throbbed over every square inch of his body. His hands shook from the ragged edges of his desire. The best way he knew to quell the tremors was to grab onto Jarrett, but he didn't dare break the spell being woven around them. Jarrett left his jeans open to tug at the hem of Eli's shirt. Eli lifted his arms, allowing room to pull the garment over his head, but almost immediately, Jarrett's mouth was back, thrilling his taste buds again with another penetrating kiss. He opened and sucked the hot tongue past his lips, uncaring that half the work to be bare against each other was already done. When Jarrett scooped one large hand around the back of Eli's skull, the knowledge he was being held in place liberated Eli from his stasis. He pressed his palms flat against the muscled chest, absorbing the waves of heat pouring off Jarrett for more than a few seconds before inching downward. His nerves popped at the first touch of skin. No man should be this sexy, this alluring. Except Jarrett Kessel was. "Do it," Jarrett urged. "I want to feel you, too." Permission was all he needed. Jarrett had to straighten and let Eli go to get the shirt over his head, but the separation was more than worth it. It exposed the broad body, the trim tapering to his strong hips. The wet tip of Jarrett's cock poked out from his underwear, pre-come already smearing across his stomach in a delectable trail. Eli ran his finger through it, his breath catching at its slickness, but when he lifted it to his mouth to taste, Jarrett caught his wrist again. Eli's body locked at the sight of Jarrett guiding his damp finger to his waiting mouth. The pressure when he sucked it in pulled a cry from Eli's throat, his eyes widening at the sheer hunger in the gesture. "I...I..." His brain refused to form the words he wanted. Everything was short-circuiting, all his intentions evaporating under Jarrett's determined onslaught. They would be able to go at whatever pace Jarrett wanted. By the time they got to the bed, Eli was going to be putty in the man's hands. Jarrett was smiling when he released Eli's finger. "I love how everything you're feeling is right there on your face. There's no having to guess with you. All I need to do is open my eyes, and I'll know." "What..." He cleared his throat and forced the rest of it out. "What is it you think I'm feeling now?" "Overwhelmed. Excited." He pushed lightly against Eli's chest, aiming him toward the bed. "Ready for me to stop messing around and fuck you senseless." His bark of laughter was half nervousness, half amusement. "Did you ever think that maybe I wanted to be the one to fuck you?" "Yeah." His smile was pure sin. "I'm counting on it." Eli hit the edge of the bed and plopped down less than gracefully. He'd only been kidding, but damn if the idea of sinking his cock between Jarrett's tight ass cheeks didn't have him scrambling to get out of his jeans. Jarrett laughed and pushed his own pants off. "I didn't say you get to fuck me first, though. I'm calling age before beauty on this one." "But you still win on both counts." He blurted it out without thinking, though he meant every word of it. The compliment caught Jarrett visibly by surprise, and his hands jerked where he'd been carefully draping his clothes over the back of a nearby chair. For a moment, emotion Eli didn't recognize scampered behind Jarrett's eyes, a feeling so raw it left Eli's chest tight. Then it was gone, and Jarrett was smiling again, stalking over to the bed.

"I'll take whatever I can." He fell forward onto his knuckles and crawled up the length of Eli's legs. Eli skittered back, and back, until his shoulders knocked against the carved headboard. Jarrett's fists came to rest on either side of his hips, his mouth level with Eli's throat. "Starting with this." Eli expected another shattering kiss on his neck, or on his shoulder, or maybe a bite at his nipple. What he got was the quick duck of Jarrett's head, the flat of his tongue dragging up the length of his cock. His hips jerked. His ass slid down a few inches on the slippery blanket, but there wasn't room to get away, though escaping Jarrett's mouth was the last thing on his mind. He steeled against the surprise, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in hopes it would help him get his act back together. The reality was different than the dream had been. He'd never known about Jarrett shaving his head, so the image burned onto his brain had been more youthful, more like the solemn college guy who'd pulled Eli aside and told him he wasn't a freak for being gay. It had been bright green eyes fixed on him, shining with desire, the full mouth stretched around Eli's cock as he swallowed it down. In his dream, Eli had threaded his fingers through Jarrett's thick hair and held on for dear life by the roots. In reality, he couldn't even let go of the blanket for fear of shooting too soon. Muscles rippled in Jarrett's shoulders as he propped himself up. A smattering of freckles just above his shoulder blade broke up the perfect expanse of skin. Eli wanted to lean forward and lick them, to test if they were as salty and sweet as he imagined Jarrett to be. They gave him something to focus on while Jarrett sucked at the dripping tip, his lips sealed behind the crown. The pressure was more excruciating, more sizzling than what he'd put on Eli's finger, the wet heat consuming any rational thought. The best Eli could manage was to spread his legs wider, make more room for Jarrett to settle comfortably between them. It also gave Jarrett space to reach up and lightly twist Eli's balls. His head banged against the headboard, his shout of shock echoing through the bedroom. The upward thrust he couldn't hold back drove more of his cock past Jarrett's lips, the tip nudging into the man's throat without trouble. More would have gone down if he hadn't collapsed onto the mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut, listening to his blood thrum in his veins, and gulped for air. "Lie down." The bed shifted. Strong hands grasped his hips and pulled. Eli let Jarrett drag him flat. The sudden switch in equilibrium felt all too natural, considering everything had been so topsy ever since climbing the stairs. He kept his eyes closed while Jarrett positioned him, knees bent, heels firm against the blanket. His cock rested heavily against his stomach. The anticipation ate at him, and though he knew he could satisfy at least part of it by watching Jarrett, he wanted the wonderment that would come when Jarrett took the next step, whether it was blowing him, or sucking on his balls, or forgetting about foreplay and going straight to sliding inside Eli's ass. Seconds stretched into a minute. All he felt was the smooth back and forth of Jarrett's palms, massaging Eli's thighs, tickling down his crease. He clenched every time Jarrett got close to his hole, but he never pressed closer, never pushed his advantage. Eli finally had to look, and met need desperate enough to suck the air from his lungs. This wasn't the unflappable Jarrett he knew, the man he'd adored for years. His Jarrett didn't get shaken up at sex. He'd taken the stalwart, strong Jarrett he'd glimpsed for the briefest of moments as a teenager and turned him into a champion, the Sovereign to save the world. Never before had Eli seen the differences between the two more starkly than he did now. Never again would he conflate the two in his mind. Because this man was clearly shaken, hands trembling as they caressed Eli's body, the cast of his eyes awed and astonished. Jarrett had guessed Eli was feeling overwhelmed, but he was, too, struck silent either by the act of what they were about to do or the fact that it was happening at all.

Eli had to sit up. He had to reach out to and touch Jarrett's parted lips, slide his hand along his jaw and hold the back of Jarrett's head. Jarrett didn't move until Eli pulled, and then he came forward easily, firmly, stretching out atop Eli, frame to frame, hip to hip, mouth to mouth, as Eli guided them both back down. He tasted the tremors Jarrett hadn't managed to contain, and offered back his strength, his belief in everything Jarrett was and everything they could be together. With his arms wrapped tightly around Jarrett's shoulders, he poured his heart into their kisses, for better or worse, and silently begged Jarrett to fill in the blanks. It felt like he did. His lips moved in the same ways, his tongue sought out the same corners of Eli's mouth, yet, Eli knew the difference, there in the touch of a hand or the small sound Jarrett couldn't hold back. He hooked a leg around the back of Jarrett's calf, the only reminder he could create about what they'd been leading toward. If they didn't get around to fucking, he'd miss it, but he wouldn't regret what was likely to take its place. Curtained within the walls of Jarrett's arms, his body sang, more alive than he could remember it ever being before. That was enough. But Jarrett wasn't settling for their long, seductive kisses. He gradually began to rock against him, cock sliding against cock, his balls heavy where they nudged along Eli's. Eli clung to him as he matched the tempo, bodies melding with an ease that might have been frightening any other time but now seemed perfectly natural. Perhaps the way it was always meant to be. They broke apart, breathless, each gaze locked on the opposite set of eyes. Jarrett ran his tongue over his swollen lower lip, shuddering once before sighing. "I forget every ounce of common sense around you," he said. Eli smiled. "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" "Depends. This"--he stole one more kiss, a nibble more than a bite--"is very, very good." "So what could be bad?" "Remembering at the last minute I don't have condoms or lube." "Trev does. They're just in the--" He started to reach for the nightstand before stopping himself. The look on Jarrett's face said it all. "I can run out and get some for later. We have to get up and eat soon anyway." Jarrett shook his head. "We'll do it tomorrow. I can wait." "What if I can't?" Eli teased. "I'll make it up to you tonight in other ways." His voice was all gravitas, his hand sure as he reached between their torsos and grasped both cocks in one wide grip. He stroked them together, never looking away, and tipped a smile when Eli thrust upward to meet the next slide. "See? I think this will do just fine." It was more than fine. It was exquisite, Jarrett's pulls the right amount of pressure, the friction the ideal blend of heat. Eli helped as much as he could, but the world was aswirl, his chest abnormally tight, his eyes burning. He knew he could alleviate some of it by simply closing his eyes, but that would mean losing the vision of the man above him, and that was unacceptable. He didn't want to forget a single second of this, in case the problems of the real world ended up winning. He didn't believe it could. Not in that moment. Together, he and Jarrett were unstoppable.

Low, lusty moans emanated from both of them. He could tell when Jarrett was getting close by the way his body shook, and how his gaze kept dropping to Eli's mouth. Eli took the temptation away by giving him what he wanted, devouring him with endless kisses, touching everywhere he could reach. He grabbed onto the tight globes of Jarrett's ass and imagined what the flexing muscles would feel like constricting around his cock. He wanted Jarrett on his back the first time he fucked the other man. He wanted to see everything, from the shapes his mouth would make when he came to the sweat pooling in his navel, to carry to the ends of his days. His orgasm came from nowhere, a sudden ache in his balls and then the near violent jerks of his cock as he shot over the sides of Jarrett's hand and onto their bellies. Jarrett didn't stop. He didn't even slow. His hand flew up and down their shafts, spreading around the sticky come until Eli felt like he was covered in it. When the shudders wracking through him began to ebb, Eli dug harder into Jarrett's ass, the tips of his fingers finally dipping between the flesh cheeks. Jarrett went rigid, though the strokes continued. Fresh heat spilled across Eli's skin, and Jarrett's low moans were punctuated with "Damn," and "Oh, God," and other murmurings Eli couldn't quite catch. He chased after them, craving even more details with which to sculpt his memories of this night, but they were gone too quickly, disintegrating like puffs of smoke as Jarrett's ragged breathing won out. When Jarrett tensed to roll away, Eli buried his face in the man's neck and held on tighter. "Not yet." His voice was muffled against Jarrett's skin. He wondered if Jarrett wanted those echoes as badly as he'd wanted Jarrett's. "Just stay like this for a sec." Though Jarrett complied, amusement rumbled through his chest. "I'm going to squash you if I don't get off you soon. That won't do either one of us any good." Eli smiled. "Yeah, but what a way to go." They remained like that, even after his racing heart returned to its normal beat and the sweat was starting to cool on his skin. Jarrett's lips grazed across his cheekbone, his temple, his jaw, but he didn't utter another word. The wonder that he might have left Jarrett speechless permeated Eli's every pore. He hoped that was it, at least. If Jarrett stayed quiet because of any kind of regret or negative reaction to what they'd done, Eli wanted none of it. With one last kiss, Eli let his arms fall to his sides, releasing Jarrett from the embrace. He felt weightless when Jarrett rose, and watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he grabbed a bunch of Kleenex from a box on the nightstand. "We could always take a shower," Eli offered. "After we eat." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he swiped almost delicately at Eli's stomach, long, smooth strokes that radiated contentment. He turned to himself only when he was done with Eli. Though Eli searched every motion, nothing Jarrett did seemed to indicate remorse for what had happened. In fact, his mouth hinted at a shy smile. Good. Eli owed him happiness. After everything Jarrett had done for him, after everything he'd given, he deserved only the best. **** The warm nudge at his shoulder interrupted the best dream, one with him and Jarrett and a deserted beach. Eli tried to shrug it off, but a second one nudged even harder, this time accompanied with a hissed, "Eli, wake up." Trev. Awareness broke through Eli's sleep, forcing him to pry his eyes open. "What is it?" he grumbled. Then, he remembered whose bed he was in, and more, who was sharing it with him. Weight molded to his back, a strong arm around his waist. It hadn't moved a fraction since he'd awakened. He took care lifting his gaze up to see Trevor crouched next to the bed. "Please don't tell me you're kicking us out." "Now would I do such a dick move?" Eli blinked. "No, no, of course not."

"Then come on. You need to see something." "What time is it?" "Four-thirty." "In the morning?" Groaning, he shut his eyes and burrowed deeper into the pillow. "Lemme sleep." Another jolt of his shoulder jostled Jarrett as well. The arm around Eli tightened. "Why are you talking?" Jarrett muttered. "Sleep." Eli cracked an eye at Trev. "You heard him. Go away." Sighing, Trev straightened. "Since you're both awake, you both might as well come look." He made no further attempts to keep his voice low. "I'm not kidding, Eli." "Do I even get to know what this is about?" He hadn't been this comfortable in a long time. The thought of leaving Jarrett's side felt like torture. Trev rolled his eyes and headed for the door. "Just get out here." Once they were alone, Jarrett dropped a kiss to the back of Eli's neck. "If I find out he woke us up because he's jealous you slept with me tonight and not him--" Eli laughed and pushed at the heavy arm pinning him down. "Come on. The sooner we see what he wants, the sooner we can go back to sleep." They only bothered with pants, though Eli was a little tempted to wander out into the living room naked. If he'd been certain Trev would be alone, he would have, but considering there was every possibility Trev had invited somebody up from some after-hours fun, he decided on a little decorum. The TV was on, the picture frozen. When they appeared, Trev lifted the remote he had in his hand. "Watch this." Eli scrubbed at his crusty eyes as a female newscaster's voice filled the room. He had to squint to focus on the screen. "--no indication yet whether this was an accidental shooting or deliberate. There is no collateral damage to any of the surrounding businesses, either. Police are speculating the victim was shot elsewhere, and the body dropped here on Calumet, but they're refraining from adding anything further." The darkened street shot shrank to a corner of the screen as another photo flew in to replace it. "The victim has been identified as Gretchen Cwikla, a student at Loyola--" Trev paused the TV, then glanced back at Eli. "Please tell me that's not the girl you were living with. The one you said might be involved in this mess you're in." Eli couldn't tear his eyes away from the TV. Any vestige of sleep was long gone. "I wish I could." The burger he'd finished just a few hours earlier threatened to make a reappearance. He swallowed hard against the bile in his throat. "But no. That's her." And now, she was dead, too.

Chapter 12

Jarrett sat back as Trevor spent the next two hours trying to convince Eli to go to the police. "How many people have to die before you start taking your own life seriously?" he demanded. When that tactic didn't work, he'd jabbed a finger at Jarrett. "Do you really think it's fair to drag him into your drama? Think about his safety, if you're not going to think about your own." To Trevor's credit, it almost worked. Eli had stopped his compulsive pacing and stared at Jarrett like he was going to cry. Jarrett had hated the plan to abandon the safe house, but he couldn't blame Eli for being scared. After all, one official had already been corrupted enough to get close enough to him. Baptiste's murder tainted every decision he had made since. "You have to do what you think is right," he'd said quietly to Eli, ignoring Trevor's disgusted look. He didn't blame Trevor for being worried, but he hadn't been there from the start. He didn't know the kind of strings Yager was pulling to get to Eli, or what Eli had been forced to witness in such a short time period. Now that Gretchen was dead, there would be even more focus on Eli. Only Jarrett understood that. At Eli's final curt, "The police can't help," Trevor left in a huff, slamming the apartment door behind him. Eli immediately collapsed onto the couch, his head falling against the back cushion to stare sightlessly up at the ceiling. "I am so fucked." Rising from his chair, Jarrett took the spot next to Eli and rested his hand on the other man's thigh. "I'm sorry about your friend." His commiseration went ignored. "If you want to go, now is probably the time to do it. Stick with me, and you're going to get arrested as an accomplice." "Why would they arrest either one of us? We didn't do anything." "Are you kidding? I'll bet you anything I'm their prime suspect now." "What? That's ridiculous." "Not really." Without lifting his head, he turned his gaze toward Jarrett. His dark eyes were hollow and terrified. All Jarrett wanted to do was pull him into his arms and hold him until this was all over. "I took off yesterday, remember? Right after Yager and I figured out Gretchen was in this, too. And except for the few minutes we were dancing, nobody but Trevor has seen us since. There is no way Yager isn't going to believe I broke out of their protective custody so I could kill Gretchen before they got to her. No. Way." He hadn't even considered that angle. He'd been too worried about danger getting to Eli, and how Eli was taking the news of his friend's murder. But he was right. The timing was bad. Running away incriminated them in the eyes of the law. "They have no evidence," he said. "And we've got Trevor as an alibi." "Trev can only put us here for a very specific time period. As far as the police are going to be concerned, I'm unaccounted for long enough to do something to Gretchen."

"You mean, we are." "If you think I'm going to let you--" "Let me what? We didn't do anything, Eli. We are completely in the clear here. You have to focus on the positive." Slowly, Eli shifted his gaze upward again. The miserable slump of his shoulders was even more doom and gloom than his face. "You need to cut your ties to me while you can. You don't deserve any of this." "Neither do you. You're innocent, too, you know." "Not completely." The quiet admission shocked Jarrett into stiffening. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully. "Is there something you held back from Yager?" Though he didn't add from me, they both knew it was there, unspoken, a frigid fear looming between them. "I was completely straight with Yager. But I figured out last night when I was trying to find what was going on with Gretchen that I'm a little more culpable than I thought I was." "How?" "The Lockeford Files." Relief replaced his anxiety. "Yager already knows Fong was probably using it as a means of communicating with Gretchen--" "There's more." "What more?" Eli closed his eyes. Against his cheeks, his lashes were impossibly dark, glistening at the corners. Crap. He did not want to see Eli lose it at this point. They needed to be strong to get through this, or they were both fucked for sure. "I think whatever Fong was doing is somehow related to the strip." Jarrett listened in silence as Eli haltingly related his theory. It sounded farfetched to him, unnecessarily convoluted, but in a world where millions of dollars were at stake, and some people clearly ready to kill for it, he couldn't automatically discount the idea as impossible. "Do you have an idea who might have killed Fong and Gretchen, then?" Jarrett asked when Eli was through. "It's got to be Sandora, doesn't it? There's nobody else." Nobody else that they'd run into, at least. And Sandora seemed as good a place to start as any, especially since he'd already proven he was comfortable shooting someone in cold blood. Except they still had no idea who Sandora even was. Or what his relationship with Baptiste had been. "What if I call Yager--" "No. I'll get arrested." "We need answers only he can give us," Jarrett argued. "Not to mention, I'm the only one who's even seen Sandora up close and personal. At the very least, I have to be the one to ID him if they ever catch up to him."

Eli's mouth pursed for a moment, lines forming in his brow. "How much do you remember about him?" "Everything. Why?" With a sudden burst of energy, Eli leapt from the couch. Jarrett twisted in time to see him disappear into the bedroom, only to come back seconds later with his duffle bag in hand. He rummaged around inside as he walked, and had a box between his teeth and a drawing pad under his arm when he plopped back down next to Jarrett. "I'm going to sketch the bit I remember through the peephole first," Eli said. He dropped the bag to the floor and opened the box to reveal an array of pencils. "Then you tell me everything you remember. We'll have something for the FBI in case...well, just in case." He started drawing without waiting for confirmation from Jarrett, though Jarrett would have agreed whole-heartedly anyway. He only wished they'd thought of it when they'd still been at the safe house. The FBI could've been on the hunt for Sandora from the start, instead of trying to rely on the tech guys to salvage something from the vid feeds. Eli worked swiftly, efficiently, his pencil scratching across the paper in long, broad sweeps. He used his fingertips as much as he did the graphite, smudging here, softening there. In less than five minutes, he had a rough drawing that bore enough of a resemblance to Sandora for Jarrett to be impressed. "Your turn." The pencil hovered over the page. "Tell me what to change." "The mouth was smaller. Tighter. Kind of pinched at the corners." He watched, fascinated, as Eli erased the edges. Within a couple strokes, the proximation was near perfect. "The eyes are farther apart. And longer." "Lashes?" "Huh?" "Did you notice his lashes? Long, short, thick, sparse? The same color as his hair, darker, lighter, that kind of thing." Eli worked as he spoke. "It's a detail most people forget, but it can really make a difference in making someone recognizable. It gives a face depth. When they're not there, our brain knows something is wrong, so it works harder to try and fill in the blanks." "How do you know this?" Eli smiled up at him for the first time since getting woken up. "You think I just know how to use a computer and a sketchpad?" He hadn't believed he'd discounted Eli's intelligence, but as the other man posed the question, Jarrett realized that was exactly what he'd done. At least in regards to other topics. He smiled in return, and nodded. "Fair enough." "So, the lashes?" Jarrett thought back. He could see Sandora's dead eyes all too clearly, but how had they been framed? He hadn't noticed. He glanced at the sketch, then looked at the blank wall, hoping his memory's recreation onto an empty canvas would put in the missing detail. "Short," he said after moment. "Stubby. I don't know about the color, but I don't remember anything standing out. So it's probably the same brown as his hair." "Good, good," Eli muttered, already back to filling in the detail. After a few seconds, he turned the pad toward Jarrett. "How's this?" A chill went down his back. "You're right. The lashes made a huge difference." He could almost feel the ripe grip of fear clenching around his stomach again.

Haltingly, he pointed out features to fine-tune--the slope of a brow, the widening of the nostrils. When he finally gave Eli his approval, the anxiety had ebbed to a more manageable level again. "So how do we get this to Yager without getting arrested?" Eli's question was a valid one. The answer popped up so quickly, Jarrett felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner. "Can you do another untraceable call through Skype?" "Please tell me you don't want to contact him directly." "No. Somebody we can trust." Eli looked doubtful, but retrieved the laptop as Jarrett requested. He didn't comment on the number Jarrett rattled off, though when the other end was picked up, his eyebrows climbed into his hairline. The connection wasn't a great one, but the lack of definitive background noise gave Jarrett hope. He took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be fun. "Before you get mad at me, Ven, tell me if you're somewhere you can talk safely. If you're not, I'll hang up and give you time to get somewhere else." "Hang on." She said something to someone else, but the sounds were muffled, like she'd covered her cell phone. Whether it was for his benefit or hers, he had no idea. After several seconds, a door opened and closed. Her voice when it came back was sharp with worry. "What the fuck is going on, Jare? Yager is driving the entire department batshit trying to find you and that kid who does the comic strip." Well, there was one question answered. "His name's Eli. He's an old friend." "You said you'd never heard of that site I gave you." "I hadn't. I was friends with his older brother in college. I hadn't seen him in years." "Well, at least that means he's not a creepy stalker because he could draw you so well. It just means he's a creepy suspected killer instead." "He's not a killer." "Yager thinks he is. And he thinks you're helping him. He's this close to splashing your pictures across the morning news." Jarrett and Eli looked at the clock on the computer at the same time. It was almost seven. Time had just about run out for them. "Can't you stall him?" "He already knows we're friends. I try to stall him, and he'll figure out we've been in contact. Then, I won't be able to help you, because my ass is going to be locked away in interrogation for the next two weeks." "Eli didn't do it." "Then why did you two bust out of protective custody yesterday? Why were you even in protective custody? You should've handed him over to those two Feds the second you heard from him." "Because he had no idea what was going on, Ven. They would've eaten him alive." Briefly, he described his plan to get Eli a lawyer, and how that had been trumped by Baptiste and Sandora's visit. "This Sandora has to be the one who killed the girl. That's the only answer that makes sense." "Nobody knows who this Sandora is."

"Do they know why he was working with Baptiste?" "If they do, they're not saying." Her tone turned bitter. "We're just dumb locals, remember. All we're good for is lining up the bodies they keep bringing in." So getting the sketch to Venice was out, unless he was willing to lose her as an ally. The fact Yager hadn't strong-armed her into using their friendship any further was about his only good sign. "What do you think we should do, Ven?" "Turn yourselves in." She answered without hesitation. Eli rolled his eyes and flopped back into the couch. "It's the only way to clear your names." At least she didn't add, "If you didn't do it." That was a small measure of relief. "It would be easier if they caught the real killer. Is there any evidence at all they're holding back from the press?" "No, just you two. Where are you? I can come get you, and I'll walk you through the whole thing. I promise." "I know." She'd throw herself under a bus for him, just like he'd do for her, but this was one wreck he just couldn't let her get caught up in, not any more than she already was. "If it comes to that, I'll let you know." Venice snorted. "You're such a liar." "But I'm telling you the truth about Eli. I swear. He was with me all night." "He better be worth all this." "He is." A sigh this time. "At least promise me you'll be careful. I worry about you." "I know you do. And I promise. The last thing I want is to end up in jail." "Or dead. Dead is just as bad, especially considering the body count that's already racked up." "Or dead. Thanks, Ven." He disconnected, though his thoughts were still tripping through all the possibilities of what might happen next. Eli closed the laptop and set it aside, resuming his dejected pose. "We need to get out of here before Trev gets in trouble," he said. "Maybe we should head up to Milwaukee. That might be far enough away to not get recognized." "We're not turning into fugitives." "Newsflash. We're already fugitives. It's just a formality at this point." "No." He refused to believe there was nothing they could do. "As long as they don't show our faces on TV, we still have a shot." "And how do we stop that? If the cops want us on the morning drive, who's going to tell them no?" Eli's questions were the perfect prompts to get his brain working, because as soon as he posed the last, Jarrett knew what to do. "Does Trevor have a scanner?"

Eli frowned at the sudden switch in topic. "I don't know. Why?" "Because I think I can get Sandora's picture on TV instead of ours, if you can get me a digital file." "How?" New hope brightened Eli's face, and he sat up, his gaze searching Jarrett's for sincerity. Jarrett reached for the laptop. "Because the only people the press talk to more than cops are politicians." He grinned. "And their PR guys."

Chapter 13

They stuck around Trevor's only long enough to see Sandora's picture show up in conjunction with the news report on two of the local stations about Gretchen's murder. According to Jarrett's sources, the others hadn't been contacted by the FBI at all. One was more than a little miffed Jarrett wouldn't give him the scoop then and there. "You know, no matter what the movies try to make you think, the Feds aren't dumb," Trevor commented as they went downstairs. "If you two are the only ones to have seen this other guy, they're going to know you're the ones who got his picture on the air." "Doesn't matter," Eli said. "They're going to have their hands busy for the next few hours dealing with reports on Sandora, not us. That buys us time we didn't have before." "It could even lead them straight to Sandora, if we're lucky," Jarrett added. The glance Trevor shot at him said it all. Neither one of them believed they were going to get lucky, not really, but they maintained the pretense for Eli's sake. Jarrett might not necessarily like the man, but he certainly respected him. When they reached the back of the club, Trevor pressed a key into Eli's hand. "The van's in the usual spot. Bring it around. I want to talk to Jarrett for a minute." Eli looked between the two men, clearly uncomfortable leaving them alone. Jarrett grasped his shoulder, squeezed, then pushed him toward the door. "We'll be fine," he said. "Go. I'll be right out." Though Eli still seemed unsure, he nodded and left. Trevor caught the door and stepped between it and Jarrett, his gaze solemn. "Do not get him killed." His voice was too low for anyone to hear outside, though for Eli's sake, Jarrett sincerely hoped he wasn't hanging around trying to eavesdrop. Trevor was all too serious in his warning, no humor left in either his tone or eyes. "He trusts you, and he's going to do whatever you say, so don't fuck it up." Two could play this game, however. "I trusted his faith in you. I suggest you do the same for me. The last thing I want is for him to get hurt." "You should have talked him into turning himself in, then."

"He wouldn't have listened to me." "I think you'd be surprised." "You know him so well?" Trevor paused. "How many people do you think he's lived with since moving out of his parents' house?" Jarrett frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?" "Answer the question." "I can't." "Exactly. He doesn't have a driver's license, he doesn't have a permanent address, and he hates credit cards. The only thing of permanence he's ever had is that comic strip. The only thing." He didn't need a road map to know where this was heading. "I'm well aware of that. I'm not Sovereign. Eli knows that." "Does he?" "Yes." Trevor looked unconvinced. Though the sound of a car engine grew louder on the other side of the door, he didn't pay it any attention. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded wad of bills. "Here." Though Jarrett attempted to step back, Trevor grabbed his wrist and pressed the money into his palm. "You two are going to need some cash. And if it helps you keep him safe, all the better." Refusing the money would feel good, but they both knew Jarrett couldn't. "I'll pay you back once this is cleared up," he said, tucking the roll into his jeans. "Thank you." "Just take care of him." Trevor stepped out of his way, and Jarrett edged past, into the dull morning light. A white van idled in the back lot. When Eli's eyes met his through the windshield, Eli smiled and clambered from behind the steering wheel to situate himself in the passenger seat. Jarrett's throat tightened. So trusting. He expected Jarrett to fix things, even if he might not consciously admit it. Trevor had been right. The backdoor of the club was closed when Jarrett climbed in. He wasn't sure if Trevor's disappearing act was reassuring or not. "What did Trev want?" He saw no point in lying. "To make me see how dangerous all this is." Eli snorted. "I think having a gun pointed at your head was enough for that." Slowly, Jarrett navigated out of the lot and onto the narrow access road behind the club. "He worries about you, Eli. For good reason." "Trev's a protective mother hen who thinks he knows what's best for everyone."

"You trusted him enough to spend the night." "Because he offered, so I knew he'd do what he could to protect us." His frown was pure confusion. "Why are you defending him? You're the one who didn't want to stay in the first place." Jarrett kept his focus split between the road and the dash. The last thing they needed was to get pulled over for a traffic violation. Plus, he couldn't look at Eli and not cave. "Because he had a point. We can't run forever." "We're not running. This is barely jogging." "I'm not kidding, Eli." "And you think I am? I'm not exactly thrilled my life looks like an Escher painting right about now. There's nothing I'd like more than to be able to go home, log on, and just chat with some friends." "And where's that? Your last home is probably draped in yellow tape chic by now." "I'd find someplace to stay." "Right. Until you decided it was time to move on again." The following silence was heavy and uncomfortable, though it gave him blessed time to try and get away from the thick morning traffic. His knuckles ached from how tightly he held the wheel, and sweat rolled down the back of his neck. He flicked the air conditioning all the way to its lowest setting, then blasted the vents as hard as they could go. They didn't do much good. Either in cooling him down or blocking out Eli. "What exactly did Trev say to you? Why are you acting like this?" He tamped down the desire to snap. "I'm trying to be realistic about this, that's all. This isn't a game." "I know that." "I'm not sure you do." "Because I wouldn't turn myself in? You know why I can't do that. You said you understood." And he did, mostly. But Trevor's words had cast a shadow over his own belief that he was the right person to help Eli with this. Blind trust was what had gotten Eli into this mess. If he'd never moved in with Gretchen, odds were good he never would have been sucked into Fong's schemes. Fong would have chosen a different medium to get his messages across. "The last thing I want is for you to get arrested." Maybe he could still salvage this. "But I know people, Eli. And we've already put Sandora's face out there. I'm just wondering if we went to Yager now with everything you've figured out, and whatever leads they might have gotten from your sketch, if we could work with him instead of his turning against us." "Like he's been so willing to work with us this far, right? Get real. All he cares about is getting an arrest, and I'm his best bet." "Sandora is his best bet. Sandora's the one who killed his partner, after all." "Except he doesn't know where Sandora is, how he might be involved, or even if that's his real name." Eli slumped in his seat, his foot tapping nervously against the edge of the door. "That's reality, Jarrett. That's what is really going on here, regardless of how many strings you pull at the TV stations, or how many friends I have that might let me hide out

for a night. I fucked up yesterday by running when I did, and now I can't even alibi myself good enough to cover my ass for yet another murder." "I'm your alibi. And Trevor. And probably a half dozen people on the dance floor last night who saw me groping you." "It's not enough. You know that, or you would've been arguing right along with Trev back there that I turn myself in." He didn't like the skewed direction this conversation was going. All he'd wanted was to open Eli's eyes a little bit, to show him that maybe they both had to be a bit more practical about what the odds were they were dealing with. He hadn't meant to completely turn Eli away. In fact, the notion that he just might have messed up what had looked to be a promising start to something real left him sick to his stomach. "All right, so you don't turn yourself in," he conceded. "So tell me what we're going to do next. We don't have a lot of time." He pulled to a stop behind a beat-up Corvair, waiting for the light to turn green. His fingers drummed along the wheel as he waited for Eli's response, seconds ticking by interminably. "You're right," Eli said. "I don't have a lot of time." The sound of the door unlatching jerked Jarrett's attention away from the light. He turned his head to see Eli climbing out. "What are you doing?" When he tried to grab Eli and pull him back in, Eli danced out of his reach. "I'm sorry I got you into this mess." The slamming door rang in Jarrett's ears. He started to unbuckle his belt to follow Eli onto the sidewalk, but the light turned green, and the car behind him honked his horn when he didn't immediately move. He trailed after the Corvair, watching Eli duck around the corner, and as soon as he had clearance to move, swerved into the right lane to turn. Cars lined the street, leaving no room to park. Eli was halfway down the block when Jarrett pulled up alongside him and rolled down the passenger window. "Get back in the car," he barked. Eli ignored him. His jaw was locked, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "If you don't get back in here, I swear I'll call Yager myself and tell him exactly where you are." Threats were not his style, not in the slightest, but fear Eli would disappear made him desperate. It worked, too, because Eli faltered and finally glanced his way. "You wouldn't." "You really want to test me?" His speed had slowed to a crawl, but the side street afforded him a little more leeway than the busy road Eli had abandoned him on. Eli had probably counted on that. It was clear, however, that he hadn't counted on Jarrett demanding his return. His gaze jumped to the approaching stoplight, back to the van, then over his shoulder. For a second, Jarrett saw the debate on his face. He could turn around and go back in the direction from which he'd come and be gone before Jarrett could catch up with him. It could all be over, and Jarrett would be left with the threat he wasn't even sure he could follow through on. Please get back in the car.

He tried not to sigh in relief when Eli veered off the sidewalk and approached the van. Jarrett straightened and let Eli get in without further provocation, though when he attempted to reach out to the younger man, Eli scrunched closer to the door, his arms folded tight around his body. Disappointment sat like a dead weight inside him, so he focused on merging back into traffic without harm. "Where do you want me to go?" he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "I suppose hell is a little out of your way," Eli grumbled. He probably deserved that, but he let it slide. "Do you want to find someplace and have some breakfast? We can come up with our next step then." Eli stared out the window, seemingly determined to keep Jarrett at a distance for as long as possible. "McDonald's or a Starbucks. I can get free WI-FI there." "Eat in or drive-thru?" "You mean you trust being seen in public with me?" The scorn in his voice prickled Jarrett's mood again. It would be easy to rise to the bait, frighteningly easy. Eli got under his skin in every way possible. He aroused Jarrett physically, stimulated him intellectually, and somehow knew methods to push buttons he didn't even know he possessed until Eli came along. He'd felt more alive in the past two days than he'd had in a very long time, and it wasn't just because of the near constant threats to their lives. It was Eli, and how they were together, the sparks that flew between them that had absolutely nothing to do with history and who they were as individuals. "We're in this together," he said. "So maybe the question should be, do you trust being seen in public with me?" Though Eli didn't look at him, his arms relaxed a fraction. Such a small gesture, but Jarrett was keen for any concession he could find. "We'll be able to talk more freely if we eat in the car. So...drive-thru is probably better." "Then, drive-thru it is." **** Eli tried staying mad. He did. He poured all of his energy into ignoring Jarrett for the entire half hour it took them to get out of Chicago and into one of the suburbs where residents were more concerned about their high-end jogging strollers than the two guys not looking at each other in the nondescript van. He gave Jarrett his order using as few words as possible--and clipping each one, just to drive his point home--but by the time they'd parked near the back of the lot, as far away from the restaurant as he dared to get without losing signal, Eli felt more than a little foolish. Getting out of the car had been immature. He knew that. His feelings had been hurt, and he'd felt his self-righteous walls go shooting to the sky, and all the while, he'd rationalized every single second of his escape. It's for Jarrett's good. I'm only going to get him in even more trouble. If he doesn't believe in me, then why make him stick around? I'll get more done if I'm not distracted by what he makes me feel, just by being around. Only the last carried any real weight. Because Eli knew that it all boiled down to... Fine. You don't think I can do it? I'll show you. Which wasn't how he wanted Jarrett to view him at all.

Of course, he didn't like the fact Jarrett threatened him to get him back into the van. That was a low blow. And the danger of it was, he wasn't entirely sure Jarrett wouldn't follow through if he was pressed to the wall. How much did he really know about this version of the man? If he'd been Sovereign, his actions would have been easy to predict. Hell, if Eli'd been sixteen, he probably could've guessed what Jarrett would do. But he wasn't, and Jarrett wasn't, and this wasn't a game that he could call quits on just because he didn't like the rules anymore. This was his life, and worse, it was Jarrett's, and Eli couldn't go around acting like a spoiled brat just because Jarrett had the balls to call him on a few indisputable facts. He uttered his first noncontentious words while he logged onto the McDonald's network. "How long before you can call your cop friend and find out if getting Sandora's picture on the air did any good?" The paper crackled as Jarrett folded the wrapper away from his Egg McMuffin. "A couple hours probably. I call too soon, and it might look suspicious if she has to step away again." "Do you think it helped?" "It was better than our pictures being splashed everywhere. I'm not sure how Mayor Durney would've felt about one of his own being wanted for murder." Jarrett's tone was very matter-of-fact, but mention of his job startled Eli away from his laptop. He hadn't given much thought to how his involvement would impact Jarrett's job. He'd been too wrapped up in the immediate issues, ignoring anything that didn't affect him directly. Jarrett had explained that Yager got him a leave of absence to find Eli, but this wasn't the same. Now that same FBI agent wanted them brought in. That didn't exactly scream job security. "Are you going to get fired?" he asked. Jarrett shrugged. "I don't know. It's a possibility." "Because you stuck with me." "Because I made a choice," Jarrett corrected. "It's not your fault. I could've saved my own skin at any point of this little game." And he hadn't. He'd stuck by Eli, even when Eli had been acting in his own best interests. His earlier behavior looked even more childish with that realization. "But when we clear everything up, you'd be able to get your job back. I mean, you didn't do anything wrong." Jarrett finally looked at him, a shadow of sadness lurking in his eyes. "In my business, it's not about what's actually true. It's about what people think is true. And once the damage is done, it's very, very hard to bounce back from it." "What would you do if you couldn't work for the mayor?" "I'm sure I'd find something." He smiled, though it did little to dispel Eli's despair. "Don't worry about me. Worry about fixing this. That's what's important right now." Eli wanted to shout at him that he was wrong. The second Jarrett had gone against Yager's orders, he'd become just as important as anything else. The second he'd chosen to hide Eli from Sandora rather than put him in even more danger, he'd become important. The second he'd come after Eli's idiotic ass, he'd shown he was the more level-headed of the pair of them. Eli was lucky to have him there. He wasn't going to forget that, ever again. "I know this is stupid, but I really hope this is all over by Saturday," he said, turning back to his computer.

"Why Saturday?" "That's when I post the new panels. I have never missed a single posting, not even when I was sick." For a kick, he opened the database to log into the remote admin panel. He had the overwhelming desire to see if anybody on the forum even noticed anything was different. "It sucks that I'm probably going to break my record. Which is dumb, I know, but, well, the Files are all I have." "I know." Jarrett even sounded sympathetic. "But if we've got a connection, why can't you just upload it remotely?" "I don't have it scanned in yet." "So we'll find a Kinko's and get it done. Problem solved." Eli smiled without looking up. He wondered if Jarrett realized just how good he was at that, seeing a problem and fixing it with little thought about failing. It would be a valuable skill to learn once this was all over, provided Jarrett would be willing to see him again. "So what are you actually doing?" Jarrett reached for the nearest of the two coffees he'd ordered, removing the lid and blowing across the steaming surface. "I'm just checking the site right now. Make sure Sandora hasn't showed up looking for me, or harassing people in the forum, or something like that." "Doesn't sound like his style. He seems more hands-on than that." "Yeah, but this is safer than his hands anywhere near..." His voice faded away, as his gaze caught on the email he'd opened first. He'd simply meant to get rid of all the spam to save time later when he finally got his life back, but the very first message in the box literally stopped him in his tracks. "Near what?" Jarrett's question came from far away. Eli's ears burned too hot, his throat closed too tight, to do anything remotely resembling answer him. His fingers shook as he moved the mouse to hover over the subject line. This morning's news. The return address belonged to his father. "Eli?" Now, Jarrett sounded worried. The leather seat creaked as he leaned closer. "Wait. Your dad emailed you?" "That's what it looks like." One click was all it took to find out he hadn't. Neat trick putting my picture on TV this morning. You didn't give me much of a choice after that. Your parents for you and all your work. Sounds like a fair trade, if you ask me.

Chapter 14

Before he did anything else, he had to call home. He didn't even bother scrambling his location. The important thing was to hear his parents' voices and know that Sandora was just fucking with his head. The phone rang and rang. Nobody answered. Jarrett didn't speak, or try and talk him out of it. He sat there and waited while Eli dialed Brad's number next. He would have tried his parents' cell phones, but he didn't have those memorized. They were on his laptop, back with Yager, and not in the files Yager had copied over onto the machine he currently toted around. "Brad!" Eli cut in when his brother picked up the phone. "Have you talked to Mom or Dad this morning?" "What?" Brad sounded genuinely confused by the question. "No, I haven't talked to them for a few days. Is something wrong?" "They're not answering at home." "So call their cells if it's that important." "I don't have the numbers. Can you email them to me?" "Sure, but...why don't you have them?" He laughed. "Don't tell me you picked up some malware. You protect that machine like your life depended on it." He cringed at the joke about his life. "I don't have my machine with me. And it's important I get in touch with them right away." "Okay, okay, hang on." Tones as he pressed buttons on his phone filled the line. "There. I forwarded the numbers. Now are you going to tell me what this is about?" He caught Jarrett's eye. Silently, Jarrett mouthed, "Tell him." Personally, Eli thought it was a terrible idea. Brad would blame him--rightly so--and then spend half the day confirming what Eli told him. Meanwhile, Sandora could be doing anything to their parents, and everybody would have wasted time. But he was their son, too, and he had a right to know something might be wrong. "Someone's after me. Someone dangerous. And I need to make sure Mom and Dad are being careful." "What did you do, Eli?" The hard edge to Brad's voice gave him a headache. "Nothing. But this guy is scary crazy, so reason is a lost art on him." "Have you called the police?" "The police know all about him. They're looking for him, too. Trust me, Brad. I know what I'm doing." Brad's snort said he didn't believe that, but Eli didn't expect anything more from his brother. Their relationship hadn't been the same since he'd come out, Jarrett's intervention notwithstanding. "I'll swing by Dad's office on my way to work. Call me if anything happens." "Will do."

He went straight to his email after disconnecting, but calls to both of his parents' cell phones came up empty. Their voice mail messages mocked him with their friendliness, and he scrubbed at his eyes, trying not to dwell on the images of them laying in pools of their own blood, their brains scattered against the wall like Baptiste's had been. "What now?" Jarrett asked quietly. Eli stared at his laptop, trying to will an answer from its bright screen. "I have to email Sandora back. He's probably sitting on the account, waiting for me." "I'm sure he hasn't hurt them. They're his only leverage right now." "That's what I'm hoping." His fingers shook as he set them back on the keyboard. His message to Sandora was short and sweet. Time and place. He could have asked for proof his parents were okay. He thought of that after he hit send. But the sooner Eli did this, the sooner they'd be safe again, and that was all he could focus on right now. He'd been right about Sandora's readiness. The response came back within a minute. One hour. Corner of Wabash and Washington. "That's it?" Jarrett said. "No specifics on what's going on with your parents, how he wants to handle the exchange, anything?" "That's it." It did leave a lot of questions unanswered, and too many things to go wrong. What proof did he have Sandora would actually let his parents go? "We couldn't get there in an hour anyway. Tell him you need to make later arrangements." "The longer he has them, the more likely he is to hurt them." He opened a reply window. "We'll just have to break a few speed limits to get there on time." "Wait." Jarrett's hand appeared over the keyboard, poised to physically stop Eli if he didn't comply. "Think for a second. You're reacting to this emotionally right now, and you're not seeing straight." Eli gazed at him, aghast. "Of course I'm acting emotionally. He's got Mom and Dad, and an itchy trigger finger. If I don't do what he says, he's going to kill them." "And if you rush into it blindly, you could get all three of you killed, and Sandora could get off scot-free. Your only backup is me, and I didn't do that great protecting Baptiste, now did I?" "So you think I need more backup? You want me to call Yager after all, and tell him what's going on?" He meant it as an insane suggestion, but Jarrett's silence was all too telling. "Oh, my God, you do want me to call Yager. You're crazier than Sandora." "Yager's a professional. He'll know how best to proceed." "You must only watch Disney and rom coms, because otherwise, you'd know what a huge mistake it is to bring in the FBI. Every time someone does that in the movies, everything goes to hell. People die." "This isn't the movies," Jarrett snapped. "And people are already dying, Eli. I don't want to add you and your parents to the body count."

"Neither do I." "Like it or not, that's what'll happen if you don't stop treating this like some massive conspiracy against you." The edge to his temper was returning, the same edge that had sharpened his earlier threats. "I know you're scared. I know you don't want them to get hurt. But look at the big picture here. Look at the facts." "Like the fact that he's got Mom and Dad?" A muscle twitched in Jarrett's jaw, and his eyes flashed dangerously. "Like Sandora has already killed two people without remorse. If you're so serious about saving your parents, you need more than me and your laptop. You need firepower." He almost retorted he could use a superhero like Sovereign, instead, but the newness of his most recent revelation was enough to contain the urge. Instead, he tried to concentrate on what Jarrett was saying, on the reality of what was going on and not some dream world of his own creation. "How do you know Yager won't just arrest me?" "I don't. But if you show him the emails, I'll bet he sees that he needs you to nail this son of a bitch. He doesn't want casualties, either. It's in his best interest to keep your parents alive." It all sounded so rational. But how much of that was truth and how much was Jarrett's talent for spin? "What about your cop friend? Can we call her?" A brow lifted. "You'd be willing to do it?" Eli didn't blame him for being surprised. He'd balked at every single suggestion to include the authorities again. He'd run from them when it was in his best interest to stay. He'd acted like a child at the mere hint of losing control. Jarrett's cop friend felt like a good compromise. "Do you think she'll help with Yager?" "I don't think she's got any pull, whatsoever," Jarrett said bluntly. "But she's on your side, which is enough." "You mean she's on your side." "My side is your side. When are you going to believe that?" When, indeed? "All right. Let's call her." He didn't waste time getting the call set up for Jarrett. Every second ticking away was another that wore at Sandora's patience. Eli felt them like Chinese water torture, an endless drip, drip, drip eroding his resolve. He thought passing over his laptop so Jarrett would be closer to the mic would make him feel better, but it just left him jumpy and anxious to get his hands back on the keyboard. "You have balls of steel," she said before Jarrett's hello was barely out there. "Yager's hopping about the picture switch." "Did it help?" "Who are you asking for? You, or him, or Locke?" "Anybody. Tell me he at least acted on it."

"He did. He ran it through some facial recognition program the Feds have." "And?" "Where are you, Jarrett?" Her sudden shift in topic--as well as her clear avoidance of the question--tensed both Jarrett and Eli. They looked at each other, and in that moment of silence, Eli's stomach dropped. "Sandora contacted Eli." Jarrett's voice revealed none of their newfound fear. Eli wished he could take real comfort in his calm tones. "He's got his parents." A stream of curses flooded the van, the distant click of heels on a hard floor accompanying them. "I'm getting Yager," she barked. "No," Jarrett said quickly. "He'll just arrest Eli. And we need his help." "Damn straight you need his help. Do you have any idea how serious all this is?" Jarrett rolled his eyes. "Considering the man killed a Fed right in front of me, yeah, Ven, I think I do." "That Fed was the man's eighth suspected hit in the past three months. And now you're telling me he's got two more civilians. I'm getting Yager. Deal with it." More angry footsteps. Jarrett sighed and pushed the laptop more between them. "Sorry," he murmured for Eli's ears. "It's not your fault. Something's going on we don't know about." "Still. Ven's usually more reasonable than that." "Maybe that's our clue that it's worse than we thought." And the proof he needed that he had to take this step, whether he liked it or not. Muffled voices replaced Ven's, followed almost immediately by Yager's bark. "If you don't tell me where the fuck you and the kid are, Kessel, I will throw everyone you know into the meanest jail I can find. I swear to God, I am through fucking around with you." Though Eli's instincts told him to disconnect and run as far as he could, he swallowed against the lump in his throat and reached to angle the laptop closer to him. Jarrett caught his hand for a split second and squeezed, his fingers warm and soothing. "It's me, Agent Yager." "Son of a bitch," Yager muttered. "Same goes for you, Locke. Tell me where you are." "Did Detective McCurry tell you why we called?" "It doesn't matter." "It does. Sandora has my parents." "What?" "You heard me." "How the hell do you know that?"

"Because he emailed me, and he wants a trade." "What kind of a trade?" "Me for them." The booming silence both from Yager and the room behind him thundered in his ears. Eli sought out Jarrett's eyes, and was mildly gratified by his encouraging nod. "I'm not helping you fuck over your partner," Yager said. "So don't even think you're going to get away with everything." "Sandora's not my partner. I've been telling you the truth. I didn't know about any of this before Jarrett and you guys told me." He swallowed again, hoping that would make his confession come easier. "But I think I've figured out how it is I'm involved. And I swear to you, I had no idea." "The only thing I want to hear from you is who has the money." "I don't know." "You know something. Otherwise, Sandora wouldn't have gone after your parents. And how the hell do I even know that's true? This could all be one big ploy to buy your partner time to get away." "If he was my partner, do you think we would have switched out the pictures on the morning news?" "Maybe that's why he got your parents. Because you've decided to stab him in the back." Eli's temper snapped. "He's not my partner! And every second you stay on this line and argue with me about it is another second he's got to kill my parents. Now, if you're not going to believe me when I tell you I want this over just as much as you do, I'm going to hang up, I'm going to make the trade with him, and you can say goodbye to your best shot at nailing the guy who killed your partner." He was sick and tired of being manipulated. By Yager, by Gretchen, by Fong, by Sandora. This was why he'd left the safe house, and even though his timing there had sucked, he would do it again. This was his life, damn it. All he'd ever wanted was to draw. It wasn't fair that his one real passion had been used against him all along. "Where are you?" Yager said. "We can't do anything without you here." "You believe me, then?" "No, but it looks like neither one of us has much of a choice, now does it?" "We need to tell Sandora something first," Jarrett interceded. "He's going to expect an answer." Yager growled. "So stall him." "For how long?" "As long as you think you can get away with. We'll need some time to set something up." Eli brightened. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he returned to his email window. "I'll tell him I got out of the city, and it'll take me time to get back. That sounds plausible." "Don't hang up," Yager warned.

He only half heard. He typed the brief message and sent it off, drumming his fingers over the keys as he waited for what he was sure would be a swift response. "It's done," Jarrett said, when Eli didn't immediately speak up. "If we send you the emails, can your guys trace where they're coming from?" "They can try, but I can't guarantee it'll do any good." "All he has to do is what I've been doing," Eli said. "It's not hard." His email pinged. "I've got an answer." "And?" The fist around his heart relaxed, though only a fraction. "I have three hours now, not one. But it's the same place in the city, and if I'm not there, he says he's killing them." "He'll do it, Locke. He's a hired gun. He doesn't leave witnesses." "Doesn't that mean he'll just kill them anyway?" "Not if you let us handle this." So much at stake. But nothing mattered more than keeping his parents safe. They didn't deserve to be dragged into this. They didn't deserve to suffer for his mistakes. "Fine. Where are we meeting?" **** Though he hated the idea of going anywhere near police, Eli walked into the station with a firm grip on his duffle and his chin held high. He let Jarrett do the talking, taking a measure of comfort in the low, even cadences of his voice, and followed obediently when a stocky woman led them away from the crowded reception area to the cooler, quieter bowels of the building. Nobody gave them a second look as they passed. Eli and Jarrett could have been anyone. Drug dealers. Witnesses. Murderers. He almost felt sorry for all the cops. What a world to inhabit where people lost personalities and instead became the sum total of their actions. If ever a day came when he was inured to the individual flaws and beauties of the world's inhabitants, he would give up his pencils and pads for good. The nice part was they weren't being treated like criminals. They were left in an office, not a windowless interrogation room, with framed pictures of an older family on the well-trimmed desk and a worn, but comfortable, brown leather couch. Jarrett sank into one corner and stretched his arm across the back in anticipation of Eli joining him, but the best Eli could manage was dropping his bag. "You're not nervous?" he asked, wandering around the edge of the room. He stopped at a display of certificates, all issued to a Harold Felton for varying good deeds. Great. Now he could add guilt for crashing an unsuspecting good cop's office to the roiling mix of his emotions. "I'm worried for your parents," Jarrett admitted. "I know you are, too. So stop focusing on Yager here, and focus on Sandora. Everybody wants him arrested for what he's done. Everybody is on the same side." Eli moved on, leaving behind the question of whether or not Harold Felton was a nicer guy than Yager, or if he was even aware they were hanging out around his stuff. When the door opened, he expected to see the ruddy face from the desk photos. Instead, a willowy black woman in a dark suit strode in and went straight for Jarrett. Jarrett was barely standing before she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly enough for him to gasp. "You stupid son of a bitch," Eli heard her mutter against his shirt.

Unseen by her, Jarrett smiled. He bent and kissed the top of her head, then carefully disengaged from the embrace. "At least you know you were always right about me now." He gestured toward Eli, waiting until she faced him to add, "Ven, this is Eli Locke. Eli, Venice McCurry." A mask fell over her broad, handsome features, any sign of her feelings for Jarrett now safely secured away behind police professionalism. Her appraisal was swift, but warmer than he was used to from all the cops he'd encountered over the past few days. Enough to give him hope, as well as embarrassment for not trusting Jarrett's instincts about his friend. "So is this a one-off, or are you a trouble magnet?" she asked. The odd question startled him. His gaze shot to Jarrett, but he was no help, simply watching their exchange with that small smile still in place. "I'm praying it's a one-off," he said. "This is one superpower I really don't want to keep." Venice absorbed his response for several seconds before snorting and turning back to Jarrett. "Well, your taste in men is improving. That's one good thing to come out of this clusterfuck." "Is Yager here?" "Yeah, just checking everything in. He brought all the files and notes we have on Cwikla and Fong. I swear that man breeds red tape in his sleep." "Who's this guy?" Eli said, waving a hand at the desk. "Just an old friend who's letting us use his space this morning. The fewer new people who get involved in this, the happier Yager will be." She cocked a slim brow at Jarrett. "You can just bet how happy he is to have me on board." "Yager can deal." "You might want to re-evaluate that cavalier attitude when we nail this Sandora and you need Yager's help getting your job back." Eli opened his mouth to ask about new developments when the door opened again. At the sight of Yager's grim face, he promptly shut it again. For all his efforts to melt into the background, though, Yager zeroed right in on Eli. "Any word on your folks?" Eli shook his head. "Were you able to track the emails?" Yager hooked a thumb at the short woman who trailed after him. "Stuart's running them through every system we've got. I'm not counting on it, though." Eli watched Stuart tote the heavy black case she carried to the desk, setting it out of view on the floor behind it. He was far more interested in what she was going to do than Yager's orders to Venice behind him. Stuart crouched down, and when Eli inched around to try and get a better vantage, she turned her back to him. "Show Stuart everything you've got," Yager barked. Stuart stiffened, but didn't rise. Thick fingers pulled at power cords to plug them into the wall. "That's not necessary. I'm good." Though her voice was muffled, something about it triggered a warning in the back of Eli's head. He retreated a step, his hand dropping automatically to protect the flap of his duffle. She sounded familiar, and he didn't know why.

"We should concentrate on a plan to get my parents away from Sandora, don't you think?" He hoped shifting the topic would work. For whatever reason, he didn't want anything to do with Stuart. His paranoia was probably shifting into overdrive, but everywhere he turned these days, somebody else was stabbing him in the back. And he hadn't trusted Yager from the start. "I'm already coordinating a strike team to be in place for the meet. Right now, I want all your tech in my hands so Stuart can work on finding the money." His head whipped around. "You already have all my tech." "We don't have your encryption keys. You took those with you, remember?" "But..." He stopped. Yager still thought the means to tracing the money came in the Lockeford Files somehow. That didn't make sense unless he still didn't trust Eli. Which of course he didn't, and Eli was foolish for thinking this had anything to do with clearing his name. Jarrett was the only one who seemed interested in his hesitation, but thankfully, he held his tongue. He knew Eli's suspicions that the strip itself held the answers. He had the power to expose his theories. And he chose not to. When the leather chair creaked, Eli looked back to Stuart, getting comfortable at the desk. She was a wide woman, her agency appropriate suit stretched uncomfortably across her shoulders. Her mousy brown hair was cut short, revealing her thick neck, and as he watched, she reached up with one short-nailed hand and flipped her bangs off her forehead. It exposed her profile more clearly, the slightly pug nose, the rosy complexion. The hair's wrong. He didn't know how he knew, just like he didn't understand why her voice sounded familiar. But there was something about her, something he should recognize. He just couldn't put his finger on it. A warm hand curled around his elbow. He started to yank away, to stop when he met Jarrett's understanding gaze. "Whatever it takes to keep your parents safe," Jarrett murmured. His head felt like it was going to explode, his chest constricting. This was why he'd come. His parents. Jarrett was right to remind him. "Whatever it takes," he repeated. He dropped the duffle to the couch and started to rummage through it. "Let's get going."

Chapter 15

The terrified look on Eli's face when Yager led him away ruined any semblance of optimism Jarrett might have maintained for Eli's benefit. The excuse was reasonable. They wanted to wire him up for the meeting with Sandora. Venice even confirmed it was a necessary step, without any prompting from Jarrett. But Eli expected only the worst from the FBI, and he couldn't hide the fear in his eyes behind any amount of bravado. Not from Jarrett. He was learning Eli too well to be fooled at this point.

Eli and Yager's departure left him with the stoic Stuart and Ven as guard. When he attempted to initiate a conversation with Ven, she shook her head and cut a glance toward the agent working diligently at the desk. He got the message. Not here. Even Ven didn't trust these guys completely. Without anything definitive to do, he wandered over to the desk to watch Stuart at work. She'd barely said two words since arriving, and seemed determined to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. Eli had regarded her with appropriate mistrust, relaxing only when Jarrett prompted him about their real reason for coming in, and now she toiled to integrate whatever programs she'd had on her machine with the data she was now downloading from Eli's. "Sandora has to be close to the pick-up point," Jarrett said, more to break up the silence than anything else. "Did you limit your search on the email to a specific area there?" Stuart didn't look away from her computer. She was as intense as Eli got under the same circumstances. Where he found it endearing in a talented guy like Eli, with Stuart it just came off as a little creepy. "Agent Yager's got it all under control." Her non-answer annoyed him. "When did you get brought in?" he pressed. "Before or after Baptiste?" "After." "You got here fast." "Jarrett..." Ven warned quietly from behind him. "I'm with the local office," Stuart said. "Local? So why weren't you the ones on top of Fong?" "Jarrett." Ven caught his arm and pulled him back. "Leave her alone." He had no choice but to retreat from the desk, though the tenor of his unanswered questions now bothered him. According to Yager, they'd been aware of Fong's presence in Chicago for a few months. It made common sense that they'd coordinate their investigation with the local FBI office. Why hadn't Stuart been on the case all along? His confusion must have registered in his face, because Ven directed him to the far corner, standing in front of him to give as much privacy to her next words as possible. "I know you're worried about your friend, but you've got to back off. Everybody's stretched tight over Agent Baptiste's murder. Yager's close to breaking. Don't be the reason he goes over the edge and takes your friend with him." He glanced at the shut door. "He better not arrest Eli after all this. None of this is his fault." "First things first. Focus on the meet, and we'll take it from there." Ven's lack of denial didn't bode well for Eli. He hoped she was only holding back because of Stuart's presence in the room. "Did they ever find out what Baptiste was doing with Sandora in the first place?" he asked. "Blackmail. I don't know the specifics. Yager wouldn't share." "And nothing's come in today that might help us get the jump on the meet?" The image of Eli walking up to Sandora-under any circumstances--was sickening. He wanted Eli as far away from the psycho as possible. He hadn't done everything he could to protect him the night at his apartment, just to lose him now to government bureaucracy. "Nothing that they've told me about."

"Yager got one he thinks might be serious." Stuart's quiet statement meant they hadn't been as private as they'd thought. It also shattered the last bit of Jarrett's control. "When? What's he doing about it?" He shook Ven off when she tried to stop him from storming the desk again, ending up with his knuckles on the blotter, and his face only inches from Stuart's plain features. "Why is he sending Eli in if there's a chance he doesn't have to?" Her fingers remained poised over the keyboard, though her full attention was now on Jarrett. "Because he believes Locke is his best chance at getting Sandora. Which it is. Sandora's already proven he'll do just about anything to get his hands on Locke. And Yager wants results, no matter what." He stared at her, speechless in the face of what she'd just admitted. Eli was going to get killed. Yager was marching him to a certain death warrant, because he would stop at nothing to get his hands on Sandora. The Lockes might end up as casualties, too, though it would be a lot harder for him to spin the deaths of civilians. Eli could be painted as a criminal, complicit in the hacking, the thefts, even the murders. An acceptable expense in the grander scheme of things. He moved without thought, shoving off the desk hard enough to knock several of the pictures over. Ven's nails scratched across his arm as she tried to stop him, but Jarrett shook her off, at the doorway in only a few steps. He yanked the door open and stormed out. Yager was around here somewhere. "Jarrett! Don't!" Ignoring Ven's increasingly irritated calls, he thundered down the hall, peering into every open door along the way, opening the ones that were closed to him. By his third intrusion, other cops started to drift closer. He didn't care. They were not going to stop him from finding Eli and making sure he knew Yager's insane plan. When he rounded the second corner, Ven darted around him and slammed her palm against his chest. "Goddammit, Kessel, do you know how many guns there are in this place? You act like a threat, and they are going to treat you like one. Hell, I'm ready to shoot you at this point." His solar plexus hurt from how hard she'd hit him, but the additional bodies circling around him, like wild animals prowling ever closer to their prey, stopped him from grabbing her wrist and pushing her out of his way. "You heard Stuart," he said, pitching his voice lower. "I am not going to let him use Eli like that." "You don't have a choice." "Eli does." "Not really." "He does," Jarrett insisted. "He. Didn't. Do. It." Ven grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him into the nearest empty room, slamming the door on the other cops hovering in the hall. "Look," she snapped. "I don't know what the hell has gotten into you over this kid--" "He's not a kid." "He acts like a kid. No address, no job, running away from the police when keeping his ass in one place would've put all this to bed hours ago." She let him go with a grimace of disgust and pivoted, pacing the length of the small interrogation room. He'd never seen her so agitated. One of the reasons she was so good at her job was because she could roll with just about any kind of punch. "Jesus, Jarrett, you're smarter than this. I know he's cute, but will you stop thinking with your dick here? You know you're probably going to lose your job over this mess, don't you? All because of him."

"It's not Eli's fault." She squared off with him from the other side of the room. "Is it because of the comic strip?" He blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?" "He worships you. That's got to feel pretty damn good." "He knows I'm not his damn superhero. We've talked about this." "Do you know that?" Leave it to Venice to cut straight to the bone. Running a hand over his scalp--and grimacing at the stubble reminding him he needed to shave it again--he focused on his breathing for a minute to calm down the automatic response that came to his lips. "I know what it looks like." The words came out as a growl, but it was the best he could do. "But you know, he's pretty damn amazing in his own right. He's talented, and he's funny, and I like being around him when the world isn't trying to wreck every good thing he's got in his life. Hell, I like being around him then, too. Because he doesn't give up. He's willing to fight, whether he thinks he's going to win or not, and that is why I am not going to stand by and let the system run over him, just because he doesn't necessarily fit into its little package. He's his own package, Ven, and how I feel about him has absolutely nothing to do with some hero worship he had for me years ago, and everything to do with the kind of man he is today." The vehemence of his speech echoed in his ears long after he was done. He hadn't given much thought to it. There hadn't been time. And for all his earlier debates about what he was doing with Eli, and what Eli was doing with him, it hadn't coalesced into something so coherent until Ven forced the issue. He liked it. It all rang true. His only regret was that he wished Eli could have heard it, because then, he wouldn't have to try and explain things to him, too. Ven stared at him for several seconds before her shoulders relaxed. "Durney would be an idiot to fire you. You can even snow me, and I've known you too long to fall for your word tricks." "They're not tricks." "I know. That's what makes this all that much worse." She sank into one of the two straight-backed chairs in the room and rolled her neck. "I get the caveman routine now. I do. But seriously, Jarrett, you have to be smarter about how you deal with all this. Going off on Yager in the middle of a bunch of cops isn't just stupid. It's suicide. Even if half the guys here hate the Feds." She had a point, and since she'd conceded to some of his arguments, he could easily do the same. "I know. I overreacted." Ven snorted. "You think?" "It's been a long couple of days." "And the kid is kind of pretty." "Stop calling him that." "What, pretty?" "You know what I mean."

Her smile was long overdue. "Now, if I open that door, are you going to walk out there like a sane person? Or do I have to slap my cuffs on you and march you back to Felton's office until you remember what it's like to behave around a couple dozen heavily armed police officers?" "Will you help me find Yager?" "Promise you'll be good, and you know I will." "I'll be so good, you could even take me home to your mother." Ven shook her head. "I am not touching that one with a ten-foot pole. Come on. Let's go see where they've holed up your boyfriend." He felt like the rabbit emerging from the hole when Ven opened the door. A dozen cops lurked nearby, each and every one of them waiting for them to come out. More than a few looked ready to Taser him on the spot. Not his most shining hour. "It's all right, guys," Ven said. She hooked a thumb back at Jarrett. He imagined she was probably rolling her eyes, too, re-establishing a rapport with her co-workers. "I knocked Kojak here around a few times to get some sense into that thick skull of his." Few seemed ready to believe her, though one or two men on the periphery began to drift away. Ven stared down the rest of them, while Jarrett did his best to seem as contrite as possible without being too obvious about the way he kept scanning around for any sign of Yager or Eli. It eventually worked, if eventually meant feeling like an eternity. Ven approached the nearest desk, and the wiry, older man behind it. "Where would Agent Yager have taken his guy to wire him up?" The cop gestured toward the opposite end of the room. "Room next to the stairwell." "Thanks." He was more glad than ever Ven had stopped him. He would have ended up on the floor with guns at his head and bony knees in his back long before he ever found Eli. Though Ven moved quickly, the door opened when they were still several yards away. Yager came through first, followed by a fidgety Eli, his bleached head bent as he fiddled with something in his ear. Jarrett double-timed it, passing Ven to get to them first. He remembered at the last minute to keep his tones as normal as possible. "What are you doing about the lead you got on Sandora this morning?" he asked without preamble. Eli's head snapped up, his wide gaze switching from Yager to Jarrett and back to Yager again. Yager scowled. "How do you know about that?" He didn't want to get Agent Stuart in trouble after she'd helped by telling him in the first place. "It doesn't matter. How is this going to factor in Eli's meeting with him?" The air was electric as they waited for his response. He knew enough about Yager to know he was not a man who took confrontation easily. He fought back. The thing was, so did Jarrett. "It's not." He brushed past Jarrett to begin the trek back to Felton's office. "There's no time." Two long, angry strides brought him up to Yager's side. "Did you have enough time before we called? Before we even got here? You can't just ignore it. Eli's life is on the line."

"I'm not ignoring it. I'm putting it on the back burner as a possibility if the meet-up fails to produce the results we want." "With everybody alive." Yager waited a fraction of a second too long to answer. "Yes." Ven and Eli were right on their heels, but Jarrett wasn't ready to yield his place to them yet. "Did the call tell you where Sandora was?" "Doesn't matter. We know where he's going to be in ninety minutes." "A lot could happen in that time. The Lockes could be killed and dumped, and all of this would have been a waste." They rounded the corner. Felton's office door loomed ahead. "How many professional killers have you dealt with, Mr. Kessel?" "None, but that's not--" "It's exactly the point. This is my job. Rounding up guys like this is what I do. So stop questioning my authority on the matter, just because you've seen a few cop shows. At this point, I really don't need you anymore, and I have zero qualms about throwing you in jail for getting in my way." Jarrett believed him, but he had nothing to lose. "Eli deserves to be protected." Yager surprised him by stopping abruptly outside the office. Cold fury gleamed in his eyes. "So did Baptiste. And I am not about to let his death mean absolutely nothing." That was when he understood. He saw the frustration he'd been feeling for days reflected in Yager's face, compounded by a pain crippled by impotence. Everything Yager had done--was doing--stemmed from that. He'd lost his partner to a psycho. Jarrett and Eli--a young man he believed not only complicit but equally responsible for a wide variety of crimes--had walked away. Under police protection, no less. That had to burn. When Jarrett didn't speak, Yager grabbed the doorknob, twisted it open, and disappeared into the office. "Stuart!" His voice held alarm, not anger. Jarrett hurried in after him, to see Yager rushing around the end of the desk. Stuart was crumpled, unconscious, on the floor. Blood poured from a gash on the side of her head, matting her hair and already staining the industrial carpet. Her skin had paled, her mouth slackened. Fresh, ragged scratches bloomed on the back of her left hand. "Someone get an ambulance here!" Yager pressed fingers to her neck, checking her pulse. "Is she alive?" Ven asked. Yager's hand dropped, though he was hardly done with his examination. "Yeah, but she's out cold. Someone clocked her a good one." More cops arrived. The station was a sideshow today. "Who came in here?" Ven demanded. The crowd looked amongst themselves, guilt creeping into more than one face.

"I didn't see anybody," one guy said. "We were too busy backing you up," another offered. Yager straightened. "Someone had to see something." He swept an arm toward the desk. "Her computer is gone." "Oh, shit." Eli pushed from the rear and came around the desk. "So's mine." Jarrett scanned the floor near the couch. "Where's your duffle?" The bag was nowhere to be seen. "Lock down the building!" With help on the way, Yager left Stuart where she was to barrel out of the office. He grabbed the nearest cop in his path. "Where's your surveillance?" Nobody tried to stop Jarrett and Eli from following. They raced through the building, to the next floor down, avoiding the stream of people rushing to do as Yager ordered. They ended up in a tiny box of a room, one wall a bank of monitors, a single overweight man seated at the console. "Give me everything you've got that'll show me the vicinity of Felton's office for the past ten minutes," Yager said. The cop glanced between Yager and Ven, his question of who the hell this guy was written on his jowly face. "Do what the agent says," Ven confirmed. "We've had an assault and evidence has gone missing." The security cop turned back to his keyboard. "Felton, you said?" His fat fingers proved more dexterous than Jarrett would have imagined for such a sedentary job. "There's no camera inside the office, but I got some aimed around the floor." "Bring up all the exits, too." "Don't forget the stairs and the elevator," Eli added. Yager was too wrapped up in the monitors to bother glaring at Eli's intervention. "You two have gotten the best look at Sandora. See if you spot him anywhere." Jarrett was already on the task. There were over twenty screens vying for his attention, all from awkward aerial viewpoints that gave better angles on the tops of people's heads rather than their faces. He focused on body types instead, searching out anyone who struck him as familiar rather than trying to place Sandora on the scene. "There." Ven pointed at a shot of stairwell exit on the second floor. A guy in a baseball cap and polo disappeared from that monitor and re-emerged on the adjoining one, walking away from the camera. "Who's that?" Nothing rang a bell with him. "I don't think that's Sandora," Jarrett said. "Does he work here?" The security cop tapped in a new command. "I don't think so. Let's see if I can get a better view." "He doesn't show up on the other side of Felton's office." Yager tapped the middle screen. "Fast forward this one. See if he comes back." "Got it." Eli pressed closer to Jarrett's side. Jarrett reached to encircle his waist with a supportive arm, but when he glanced over, Eli was intent on the monitors. His strong profile was highlighted in the flickering gray light, his eyes almost haunted

from how glassy they seemed. Though he'd obviously just moved in for a better look, Jarrett tightened his hold on him anyway, his throat suddenly tight at the prospects of what Eli had yet to face. "That's our guy," Ven blurted. She turned sideways to give a better line of sight for the rest of them, but her hands danced back and forth between screens, pointing out everything she was saying. "Look. He came in empty-handed. And here--" "That's my duffle," Eli said. Their thief was now walking toward the monitors. His head kept turning to survey the room as he passed by. Probably watching the commotion Jarrett had made in his attempts to find Eli. "How did he know he could get in at this point?" Ven mused. "He doesn't look armed. He couldn't have been planning on taking out all three of us." Yager's phone was in his hand. "I don't care. We'll find that out when we stop him from leaving the building." "It's not Sandora," Jarrett repeated. The more he saw, the more certain he was. "So who else would bother stealing Eli's bag?" "I think I know who it is." All eyes turned to Eli as he broke loose from Jarrett's arm, inching forward to lean over the security cop's shoulder. "Can I see this angle again? A few seconds back. He looks a little more forward and you can see his face more than the other shots." The picture scrolled back, frame by frame, until everyone saw what Eli had meant. "It still doesn't show much," Ven said, doubtfully. "It shows enough." Like a harsh cheekbone. A pointed chin. Eyes that looked darker rather than light. "I've seen him before. That's the guy from the train who knew who I was. The one who told me he was a friend of Fong's." He jerked away as if shocked, staring at the door. "Shit." He bolted out before anybody could stop him. Jarrett took chase, taking the stairs three at a time to keep up. Eli ran straight for Felton's office, but the cops at the door refused to let him go inside. "Medic's looking after Agent Stuart," they were told. "Nobody's in or out until the ambulance gets here." Jarrett pulled Eli to the side. "Why do you need to go in there?" Eli vibrated like his veins were live wires. "Because she was on the train, too. I didn't recognize her at first. I thought she just sounded familiar. But I swear to you, Jarrett, she was there. They both were. Pretending to be students and connecting me to Fong." His eyes were bleak. "That was the same night Yager came to you. The same day they found Fong. Except, if she's FBI, and she could find me...why would they ever need your help?"

Chapter 16

He should have known. From the moment he heard her speak, Eli knew he should have recognized her. But he just hadn't paid nearly as much attention to the girl on the train until it was too late. He'd thought she was high on

something, and only her boyfriend had seemed coherent, especially after they brought up the strip and Fong. Considering the events of the past few days, though, he should have been more alert to the possibility. He'd mulled over their involvement, after all. Questioned who they could be, what they might want from him. The answers were now perfectly clear. They wanted his strip, just like Sandora did. And he'd brought everything right to their doorstep. Jarrett seemed as shocked as he felt. They had both been played. Why, remained a mystery. The cop wasn't going to let them inside. Grabbing Eli's wrist, Jarrett turned around and returned in the direction from which they'd come, determination in every step. Power thrummed through him. Eli could feel it coming off him in waves. People made a path for both of them, even though Jarrett had no authority here, and they reached the stairs just as Yager and Venice stepped out. "What did you remember?" Yager demanded. Jarrett stepped aside to let Eli take the lead. "Agent Stuart." Eli gestured toward the guarded office. "I know her." "Because you just met her." "No, I knew her from before. That guy on the train I told you about? The one on the security camera? He wasn't alone." He detailed the encounter, embellishing it with as much as he could remember to make the event come to life for the agent as well. "Her hair was different, long and blonde and in her face, but she spoke to me enough for me to recognize her voice." He stabbed a finger in Stuart's direction again. "That was her." Yager looked confused, especially with everyone looking to him for answers. Even Venice had separated from him by a few feet and now regarded the man with open suspicion. "It couldn't be," he said. "This has never been a local case." "You didn't know your partner could be blackmailed into leading a killer straight to me, either." Eli didn't care if he was hitting below the belt. If Yager wasn't involved, then he was a dupe, and the last thing Eli needed was to be working with an idiot. "Stuart's the one who told me you were planning on sacrificing Eli for this bust," Jarrett said. "Why would she do that, unless she was trying to get us out of the office for her partner to get in?" "You don't know that." With a near violent shove, Yager pushed his way past them, all the way to the office, then pushed his way inside. They were allowed entrance this time, though there was no way to get close to Stuart. Yager was bent over her, his voice harsh and inaudible. When she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes without saying a word, Eli had all the confirmation he needed. He hoped Yager did, too. The EMTs arrived moments later, forcing everyone but the medic to retreat to the edges of the room. With the medic's help, they loaded Agent Stuart onto the gurney, and were on their way out when Yager snapped his fingers at a pair of the cops hovering in the background. "Go with her," he ordered. "Don't let her out of your sight. Nobody talks to her but medical personnel and me. If anybody tries to get to her, detain them and call me ASAP." "Now what?" Eli asked when they were all alone.

Yager frowned. "What do you mean?" "How are we getting my parents away from Sandora now?" "The plan hasn't changed." He glanced at his watch. "Shooters should be in place by now. We should start heading downtown." "You can't be serious about going through with this trade," Jarrett said. "Why not?" Eli stared at him in shock. "Because the deal is me and all my stuff. And all my stuff is now gone. Sandora will never go for it." "It won't reach the point Sandora finds out. The plan stands." Nobody but Yager had moved by the time he reached the door. "Don't start running scared on me at this point," he snapped. "Sandora's the threat, and unless you've decided you don't give a shit about saving your parents now, he's still the problem we have to deal with. The plan is a good one. Trust it." "I don't trust him." He almost blurted out you instead. That would have been just a step too far. Although apparently not for Jarrett. "How can you say any of that with a straight face?" he said. "You've got local agents conspiring against you. You've lost evidence left, right, and center. Hell, you lost us more than once. Not a single thing has gone right since you waltzed into my office, and you want us to just stand blithely by while you put even more people's lives on the line? Are you certifiable?" Yager paled with each additional word, the muscles in his face and neck visibly tightening. He stood his ground, though, unflappable under the brunt of Jarrett's tirade. "I'm desperate." His confession stunned them, anger trembling in his voice. "You think I like any of this? I've been busting my hump, trying to locate this money, trying to figure out how the fuck Fong was even moving it around without us finding it, and all I've got to show for it is a dead partner and a forced early retirement when I wrap this up. Locke is the only one Sandora wants. He's proven he doesn't care who he kills to get him. So unless you have a better plan to put a stop to all this shit, stop getting in the way." Their turn to be silent. Beyond the office, the police station was slowly resuming its rhythm, voices becoming a low hum, phones ringing and getting answered. "Sandora doesn't want me," Eli said. "That's what he says, but that's because he thinks I'm the key to getting what he needs." "Which is?" "My next strip. That's how Gretchen and Fong were sending messages." He'd hoped to be able to use it to his advantage when he got to the meeting, but with his duffle gone, holding back this information was pointless now. Yager cursed, and Venice glared at Jarrett, but Eli only saw the disappointment in Jarrett's eyes. "You said you had nothing to do with this. I believed you." "And I don't," he rushed to say. "I only figured it out last night."

"You seem to be figuring a lot of stuff out too late to do us any good," Venice commented. "See how coherent you are with no sleep and killers after you," he snapped, and then immediately regretted it. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried again. "I put the pieces together last night. Gretchen was always giving me ideas to put into my strip. I never thought anything about it, but that makes more sense than them using a public forum, right? Anybody could see them talking." "Anybody could see your strip, too," Yager said. "But only Gretchen and Fong knew to look for whatever messages they were passing back and forth." Jarrett shook his head. "That doesn't add up. How would Sandora know about that?" Having to defend himself clarified much of Eli's thinking. "For the same reason somebody wanted Fong dead. He clearly wasn't the end of the line. He either had a partner or was stealing the money for someone else. And we know he wasn't above having partners, not with Gretchen's involvement." "Sandora doesn't work for free," Yager mused. "Somebody hired him." "Maybe Fong was double-crossing whoever he was stealing for." Eli was getting into the spirit of it now. It was all finally starting to form a picture he could understand. "They could have found out about it, and decided to take him out of the equation." "Taking the girl out stops them from ever finding the money, though," Venice said. "How far in advance do you do your strip?" Jarrett's question allayed some of Eli's anxiety. He was coming back to believing Eli again. Thank God. "I've got it plotted out in my head, but I only ever draw one week at a time. I like to keep it open in case I change my mind about where the storyline is headed." "So Sandora just wants the last strip," Jarrett said. "He was willing to keep me alive as long as it took to get what he wanted. If he thought for a second Fong was going to be useful, he wouldn't have killed him." "That's assuming Sandora's the one who did it." Even Yager didn't seem to buy Ven's devil's advocate position. "He's too willing to leave bodies around. Until another viable candidate shows up, I say he's our man." "Especially since he had no qualms kidnapping my parents." His thoughts had come full circle. He might have wanted to back out of the plan before, but now, with Sandora's desperation in full view, with Yager's own failing goading him to action, Eli knew he couldn't. Sandora didn't know the strip was gone. He wouldn't be willing to reason with them. If Eli didn't show up at the planned time, Sandora would follow through on his threat. He had no motive not to. "All right. Let's do it." When Eli tried to join Yager at the door, Jarrett caught his arm. "Are you sure about this?" The weight of Jarrett's hand wasn't a prison. It was a promise, an unspoken desire to protect Eli at all costs. Eli covered it with his own, and squeezed. "Positive. It's more important to save my parents than it is for me to get all wrapped up, trying to second guess Yager's team. I have to trust them. Just like my parents are trusting me not to fail them." Jarrett nodded. The disappointment was gone. His warm green eyes held the same hints of understanding they always had, the same gentle harmony that had helped a teenage Eli get over his anguish in coming out. "I'll watch your back." The grip on his arm slid up to the back of Eli's neck, steady and sure and such a relief. "Don't do anything stupid."

His grin was automatic. "I've filled my quota for stupid for the next year." He wanted to kiss Jarrett--and from the look on Jarrett's face, it wouldn't be unwelcome--but Eli wasn't so far gone not to know this wasn't the time or the place. Carefully, he extricated himself from Jarrett's hold and turned to Yager. "First things first, though. I'm going to need some replacements before we head anywhere." **** Downtown Chicago was always a busy place, which was one of the reasons Eli never had to worry too much about work. People filled the sidewalks, going to lunch, off for business appointments, sightseeing, or any of a thousand other reasons. The corner Sandora picked was one of the worst for congestion. Yager said Sandora had probably chosen it to protect himself. With that many civilians around, police and agents would be more worried about who they hit. Their response times would be slower. And Sandora would be able to get away by blending into the crowd. Eli refused to consider what might happen if it came down to shooting. Pedestrians were only one worry. There were his parents, as well. They would be at much closer range, and if Sandora felt threatened, Eli was positive he would take out as many people as he possibly could. Anyone nearby would be the first to go. They hadn't discussed specifics. He had no idea how the trade was going to work. So when he and Yager discussed the possibilities, one scenario felt far more comfortable, not to mention workable for the agents, than any other. He normally used a foldaway chair for his street portraits, one small enough to carry around in his backpack when the day was done. The stool Yager provided was bigger, the seat wider, leaving Eli off-balance as he tried not to look too uncomfortable while he set up. These weren't his tools, either. A new sketchpad, new pencils, new erasers, all purchased on the drive downtown. He even had a dummy laptop in his duffle bag. All props to make the setup look real, though Yager assured him over and over again none of them would ever be tested. Eli wasn't so sure. Jarrett definitely wasn't. But they both held their tongues, as well as each other's hand, for the duration of the ride. Too late to change anything. Too late for much but forging onward with the plan. As he fussed with his pencils, he scanned the crowd through his lashes. Twelve agents and cops held posts within a thirty-yard radius, and another twelve were positioned on higher floors of nearby buildings in case they needed to take sniper shots. Eli could pinpoint at least two. He recognized a cop sitting across the street at a cafe, pretending to be thumbing through his phone as he sipped at a coffee, and the slender blonde stretching her hamstrings against a store wall down an opposite street. For a brief moment, he wondered where she was hiding her gun. Focus. Don't look obvious. Remember Mom and Dad. His palms were sweaty. He didn't bother hiding when he wiped them off on his pants. If would-be customers noticed, it might put them off from bothering him before Sandora showed up. Or his parents. How was this going to work? Would Sandora make him go with him, then make a call to let them go? That's how it usually happened in the movies. One of them could always show up first, too, with the other to be released once Eli did as he was told. In the back of his mind lurked the very real possibility that Sandora was blowing smoke and his parents were already dead, but he didn't dwell on that. He couldn't. He'd make a run for it right here and now, otherwise. When a car pulled up to the curb right in front of him, Eli nearly dropped his pencils. His throat closed off, and the coffee he'd drunk on the way downtown threatened to come back up. His ears buzzed. He realized a second later that wasn't him. It was Yager talking through the earpiece he'd been forced to wear to hear any instructions the agent would give on the fly. "Stop fidgeting," Yager said. "I'm not." Eli ducked his head to hide the fact that he was talking to himself. The receiver was invisible unless someone was peering right inside his ear. He wished it had looked like a phone earpiece. He wouldn't have to worry about appearances, then. "There's a car." "There's also an old man coming out of the store behind you to get into the car. So stop fidgeting."

"What if the next one that pulls up has Sandora in it?" "You find a way to get him out." "What if he has a gun?" "He's not going to shoot you on the street." "You don't know that." "I do, because he's not stupid." "He's impatient about this money, though. That's gotta count." Yager sighed. "Do I need to put Kessel on the line to talk you down? Because you're starting to worry me, Locke. You sound like you're going to crack." He felt like he was going to do more than crack. He was going to explode into a million pieces, then each of those pieces was going to ignite into its own little atomic bomb. "I just want this over." His voice rose enough for a pair of passing girls to look at him more directly. Shit. He couldn't afford having people stop. There would be no more casualties on his watch. "We all want this over." Yager actually sounded like he was trying to be sympathetic. "The sooner we have Sandora, the sooner we all get to go home." Eli twisted in his seat to pretend and dig through his duffle bag. "You're really going to let me walk?" "As long as you stick to our agreement. You help us find the money, you get cleared of all accessory charges." Jarrett's deep voice cut in angrily, but he wasn't miked, and he was too far in the background for Eli to pick up exactly what he was saying. Telling Yager off, from the sound of it. Eli grinned in spite of his fluttering nerves. Jarrett would go to bat for him, all the way to the end. "Just take a deep breath, and focus on the next few minutes," Yager came back with. "It'll be over before you realize it." He certainly hoped so. Gripping a pencil in his hand helped ease some of the butterflies, though definitely not all. Eli flipped open to a blank page in the middle of the pad, like it was the first empty one available, took a deep breath, and let his muse take over. Tune out the world. Forget the people walking by. Forget the sky. Forget the bitter smell of exhaust and the acrid odor of fuel. Nothing matters but the lines on the page. He had no preconception about what to draw, but the face that emerged within the first few strokes came as no surprise. In some ways, he knew this face better than his own. He'd drawn shades of it hundreds and thousands of times, and shared it with the world. This version was better. This face was stronger, the jaw firmer, the brows thicker. Faint lines at the corner of his eyes. The mask of time passed, of life lived. None of his readers would have recognized the proud, bald curve of the scalp, though it might have made them pause. Was this Sovereign's older brother? A father who'd come through time to meet his grown son? Eli smiled at the last question. That actually wasn't a bad idea. He'd never really explored Sovereign's family too much. His support system came from friends and lovers, from the people he saved, not the ones he'd left behind. When this was all done, he would run the idea past Jarrett and see if he minded being the model for yet another character in the Lockeford Files. He'd change the eye color, maybe slim down the nose, but the plot bunny was a sound one. It would make a refreshing change in the strip's normal direction.

He began sketching out other family members, alongside Jarrett's face. A mother? Maybe. Definitely a sister. Or two. One of them much younger, someone to put into peril, someone else for Sovereign to save. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. So lost in his new creations, he was taken by surprise when a shadow fell across the seat opposite him. He looked up automatically, not remembering until his eyes were back on the street why he was there. But the man standing in front of him was not Sandora. The T-shirt was Def Leppard this time, the jeans not quite as frayed. The cap was gone, too, and in place of the manpurse, he carried a bulging backpack. What Eli remembered the most, though, were the eyes. He'd thought they'd appeared ancient when he'd talked to the man on the El, and considering what he'd learned in the past two hours, a secret part of him was pleased at his correct assessment. They were dark and shrewd, and currently, more than a little confused. The small mouth was pulled into a knot, and the grip on the pack strap tight enough to whiten the bony knuckles. "What the hell are you doing here?" the man from the train demanded.

Chapter 17

Eli glanced down at his sketchpad, then slowly closed it, hiding his drawings from view. "The same could be asked of you. In fact, I can think of a lot of questions that I could ask you right about now." The man's furtive gaze jumped from Eli to the street, up and down the sidewalk, onto the surrounding buildings. Each time it paused, Eli followed his line of sight. He realized on the second stop the man was picking out all the agents Yager had put into play. "Shit," the man swore. "I can't believe he did this to you." "Who are you talking about?" The man's eyes swung back to Eli. "You know who. And I know he's listening to you right now. Standard procedure." "Who is that?" Yager said in his ear. "I don't know." Eli didn't look away from his visitor. "But he knows a lot about you." "Sandora's going to kill you the second he finds out you don't have what he wants," the man said. "You need to get out of here." "Don't you dare," Yager warned. "My people are moving in." Out of the corner of his eye, Eli saw the man at the cafe rise and pocket his phone. "If you know about Sandora," he said to the man, hoping to stall, "then you know he's got my parents. I don't have a choice but to meet with him." "That sounds like Yager's line of bullshit."

"You and Agent Stuart seem to be pretty good at the bullshit yourself." The man's mouth thinned even more. It was going to disappear entirely any second. "None of this has gone according to plan." "Your plan? Or Sandora's?" The light turned green. The man jerked his head in time to see the cafe agent start to cross. He dropped onto the opposite stool and slipped his hand into the top of the backpack. "Tell Yager to call his people back. I don't want to pull my weapon, but I will to keep the scene clear for Sandora." Eli stared at the bulge at the top of the pack. After everything that had happened, he wasn't going to assume this guy was bluffing. Until his hand came out, though, it was impossible to be sure there was a real gun in there. Yager's voice was muffled through the earpiece. Talking to his other field agents, Eli guessed. The man crossing the street noticeably slowed, each additional foot he traveled tensing the other man sitting across from Eli. At the corner, he paused, and the muscles flexed in the arm of Eli's visitor, the back of his hand appearing as it marginally withdrew from the pack. Cradled against his palm was the unmistakable black butt of a gun. "He's serious, Yager," Eli said. "He's armed." The cafe agent shot them one last glance before continuing on down the street, past the store and out of Eli's view. "Get his name," Yager said. "I want to know who this son of a bitch is." Eli turned his pad in his lap, gripping its edge like a shield. "You got a reprieve," he said to the man. "Are you going to tell me what this is about now? Did Sandora's boss double-cross you?" Though the man's hand relaxed, it remained hidden inside the pack as he shifted toward Eli. "I don't know who Sandora is working for. But I'll find out once you get out of here." "But if you're partners--" "We're not." "You were after something on the El. And you stole my bag from the police station. How are you not involved in this?" "His name, Locke," Yager growled. "It's not the way you think." His free hand reached into his jacket pocket and extricated a beaten billfold. In a quick flip, he tossed it onto Eli's lap. "That might help you." Tucking his pencil behind his ear, Eli opened it to reveal a federal ID. "Agent Douglas Pfeiffer. You're both agents?" Pfeiffer gave him a brusque nod. "And this was our case until Yager and Baptiste showed up. We've been following illegal money through Chicago for a year now. Your roommate Gretchen finally led us to Fong, but by that point, it was too late." "He's lying to you, Locke." "It looks as good as your ID, Agent Yager." "There was never any local involvement until Baptiste got killed." The billfold held nothing else. Eli held it out to Pfeiffer, his fingers surprisingly rock-steady. "Why not just tell Yager what you were doing?"

"Because this was our case." The sudden vehemence in his voice was mirrored by the danger in his dark eyes. Otherwise, Pfeiffer remained completely still. "Stuart and I worked this one off the books, because the very first link in the money chain led us to believe our security might be compromised. If Yager's filling your head with lies about me, tell him to call the Chicago field office. They can confirm my identity." "Yager's already doing that." Jarrett's smooth baritone startled Eli, though the thumping of his heart slowed slightly, instinctively calming down at the sound of it. "I'm on the mic to relay any other messages he might have while he's making these calls. Are you okay?" "Yeah." "Do you think this guy is for real?" "I don't know." "Ask him what stealing your stuff was supposed to accomplish." "Sandora's not the money man," Pfeiffer said when Eli posed the query. "He's just the muscle. Giving him the information he wants gives us the room to bust whoever it is behind all the thefts. A bust Stuart and I have been working our tails off to get. Yager's thinking too narrowly about this. He wants to solve his murders and get the money. Catching the guy who hired Fong to do all this in the first place would just be a lucky bonus." His assessment about Yager hit close to home. Though Eli might not have surmised the entire scope of Yager's plan, he'd already decided for himself that the man wasn't great at seeing the big picture. He got distracted by his emotions, by his partner's death, by his impotence to get to Sandora's boss sooner. He wasn't sure he bought Pfeiffer's reasoning to keep the glory all to himself, but he didn't know Pfeiffer's history. He might have been passed over for promotion, or he could have a superiority complex that refused to let anybody else win. It wasn't Eli's place to judge when his own actions over the past few days looked pretty suspect when viewed by outside parties. "So Stuart kept you informed about what was going on." "We've known all along what Yager was doing. It wasn't that hard to get Stuart assigned to him, either." "You hit her to make it look real." "We needed to keep Yager in the dark as long as possible. He is not stealing my case here." "It sounds like you're trying to steal his." "Look." Pfeiffer leaned forward, lending an air of privacy amongst the otherwise crowded sidewalk. For a moment, Eli wondered what passers-by thought was going on between the two men on the stools. "You got caught up in a fucking mess. I know that. You know that. Even Yager knows that. You don't have to be. If you walk away, I can make the trade with Sandora in your place. Everybody wins." "Sandora doesn't know who the hell this kid is." Yager was back. Considering he wasn't perpetuating his statements about Pfeiffer lying, Eli had to conclude the ID was real. "If he doesn't get his ass out of there, nobody is going to win." Some kind of compromise had to be possible. "What if--" "Shit." Pfeiffer's gaze had jumped past Eli's shoulder. "Too late." **** In the back of the surveillance van, Jarrett's heart felt like it stopped. "What did he just say?" When Yager ignored him to snatch up a cell phone, he grabbed the man's shoulder and yanked him back. Panic clawed through him. "Damn it, what's going on?"

Yager knocked his hand away with more force than he would have thought the older man could muster. "That's what I'm trying to figure out." "Sorry I'm late." Sandora's cool tone was faint over the speakers, but there was no mistaking it was him. "I didn't realize you'd start without me." "What's going on?" Yager snarled into the phone. "I'm blind in here." "I didn't know you took appointments." That was Pfeiffer. At least Eli had him as an ally out there. Jarrett didn't know what the hell was happening with Yager's men. "I'm sorry, did you have one?" "Nah, Elias and I are just old friends. But there is someplace we have to be. You didn't forget, did you, Elias?" Sandora's use of Eli's full name grated across Jarrett's nerves. Every protective instinct in him screamed to get out of the van and go help, but he would have to get past Yager first, and something told him they wouldn't hesitate to shoot to keep him out of the fray. "I didn't forget," Eli said. "But you came alone. What about the others?" The tightness in his voice betrayed his fear. If he had to ask, Sandora had approached them alone. Where were the Lockes? "Waiting for my call. Come on. We shouldn't keep them waiting." Yager was focused on his phone. Jarrett had no idea if he'd even heard what had just transpired. "Why is he still talking?" He shifted seats to force Yager to look at him. "Why aren't your men moving in?" "There's too many pedestrians." The excuse came out as a snarl. Yager didn't so much resemble a grandfather anymore as he did a cornered wildcat, furious at not being free. "Some class just got out at the gym next door. Fifty women and their gym bags just poured out onto the sidewalk." Jarrett slumped. The blistering pit of his stomach began to browbeat the rest of his organs to join it. Sandora had known. He must have. He was using the additional bodies as cover against FBI intervention. They would never consider the loss of all those civilian lives as justifiable against those of Eli and his parents. Eli might not have a choice about going with Sandora after all. **** Though the added influx of the women cocooned the three of them against the rest of the city, Eli couldn't see anything but the mental image of his parents tied up somewhere, or lying dead in pools of their own blood. "How do I know you're telling me the truth?" He no longer cared about keeping up any kind of pretense for bystanders. None of them mattered. Sandora's rattlesnake smile might have sent a shiver down his back just the day before. Today, he was too inured against all the threats to do more than recognize it. "I'm not the one who's been lying to you." "You lied to get into Jarrett's apartment." "No, I was just along for the ride. If memory serves, I was the only one telling the truth that night." A woman's bag thumped Eli between the shoulder blades. He winced and turned automatically toward her, but her apology died on her lips when Sandora stepped closer and curled his right hand around Eli's upper arm. Where were Yager's men? He'd promised Sandora would never lay a finger on him. As much as Eli might hate it, Sandora was right about one thing. He was the only one who'd ever been upfront about what he expected from Eli.

Everybody else had tried to manipulate him into fulfilling some role that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with their own personal agendas. Except Jarrett. Don't forget Jarrett. All he's wanted from the start was to give you your life back. When Sandora hauled him to his feet, Pfeiffer didn't move. Only his gaze jumped, and not to follow theirs. It glanced at the gap in Sandora's coat, prompting Eli to look, too. The thick brown leather holstering a gun beneath his left arm pit was just visible. "Time's a'wasting," Sandora said, all too gleefully. "Get your things, and let's go." Two bags rested on the ground, the dummy bag from Yager, and the one Pfeiffer had stolen. If he was forced to go with Sandora, his parents' only hope was to have his computer and everything else, but that would mean taking the bag in front of Pfeiffer instead of the one Eli had been sitting with. If Sandora had been watching for any length of time, he'd know which one Eli had arrived with. He'd suspect foul play if Eli shouldered the other pack. He had to stall. Just like Yager had said. Let the people clear out a little so one of the agents or cops could get a shot. "Let me talk to one of them first to make sure they're all right," he said. Why didn't he sound as nervous as he felt? His voice should have been shaking, like the villain quaking before the hero just before he got arrested or destroyed. "You owe me that much." Sandora shook his head. "I owe you nothing." "Then you get nothing. After everything you've already gone through, that would be a real waste, don't you think?" A moment of silence passed. Eli decided this was the longest red light in history. These women needed to cross the damn road already. Without letting Eli go, Sandora reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He hit a button and waited. "Put one of them on," he said in lieu of a greeting. He thrust the phone toward Eli's ear, though he didn't let it go. "You got five seconds." He almost couldn't hear anything over the thudding of his heart. Then... "Eli?" Everything lurched. "Mom? Are you okay? Is Dad there with you? Tell me you're okay." "We're okay. For now." Her voice was taut with anxiety. He'd never heard her sound like that before. And all because of him. "What's going on?" "I'll explain later." If he actually got a later. "The important thing is, you're going to be okay. It's almost over. I--" Sandora yanked the phone away. "Chat time's over. Goodbye, Mrs. Locke." "Let them go." Eli squirmed in Sandora's grasp, only to have the bruising hold tighten painfully around his arm. The guy was scary strong. "You've got what you came for." "Not quite." He jerked his chin back to the ground. "The bag." Do or die. Eli looked between the two packs, debating what he should do. There was no winning situation here. If ever there was a painted corner, this was it. Pfeiffer still hadn't moved. He might as well have been a statue. His hand was still thrust inside Eli's duffle.

On the gun. He tried to will Pfeiffer to look at him, but he was too fixated on Sandora. He'd only have one shot at this, but it would've been nice to know Pfeiffer was on the same page. When he tensed to bend over and pick up the bag, Sandora slackened his grip enough to allow Eli the freedom to move. His arm slipped through the circle of Sandora's hand. Time stood still as Eli reached for the backpack Yager had given him. As soon as his body blocked Sandora's view, his hand changed direction. He reached instead for the pencil he'd positioned behind his ear as he'd been talking to Pfeiffer. Holding it like a dagger, he twisted his body and drove the pencil into the fleshy part of Sandora's thigh with as much force as he could possibly manage. Sandora screamed in pain. He dropped Eli's arm, and, as the women around them scattered like roaches in the light, went for his gun. Pfeiffer was faster. At the sound of the gunshots, Eli threw himself flat onto the concrete. His legs knocked the stool sideways, but he didn't dare lift his head to look to see what happened to it. More shots were fired. He kept waiting for everything to go black, because he was just too close to all the action not to take a bullet, but all he got was a ringing in his ears and the faraway shouts of police dispersing the crowd. His palms stung from scraping them on the sidewalk. Grit rubbed against his fingertips where he had his hands balled into fists, and his knees ached from how hard he'd landed. He thought he'd scratched his face, too, but if that was the worst of his injuries coming out of this, he'd consider himself a lucky man. Someone grabbed his ankle. He lashed out in reflex, sickly satisfied when he felt his heel connect with something hard. Another gunshot. The silence that followed was deafening. He buried his head under his arms as he waited for something to change, someone to tell him it was all right to get up, someone to slap cuffs on his wrists because Yager was a big liar and he was getting arrested anyway, anything that would assure him the world was still orbiting the sun and he still had a viable place upon it. Too many voices garbled together for him to pick apart, men, women, maybe Pfeiffer's. His answer, when it arrived, came in the guise of strong, broad hands grasping his sides and dragging him away from the rough sidewalk. He fell back against an even broader chest, and a heart that pounded faster than his own. "You're not hit, are you?" Jarrett's baritone rumbled in his ear, comforting hands smoothing over Eli's chest, arms, and legs. "Talk to me, Eli." He swallowed. His throat felt like all he'd eaten was gravel for a week. "Is he dead?" "Yeah." Jarrett cupped Eli's hands and turned them over to reveal the broken, bloody skin, then swore under his breath. "This is going to sting like hell when they clean it out." Eli tried to twist around and see what was going on, but Jarrett refused to let him. All he could see were the wide-eyed pedestrians now being guided out of the way around the corner by the police. "My parents. They're still in danger." "Yager's got it. They're tracking the number from Sandora's phone." The arms around him tightened, crushing his chest, forcing their body heats to meld. "God, don't do that to me again. I can only take so many near-death experiences in one lifetime." Closing his eyes, he rested his head on Jarrett's shoulder, simply soaking in Jarrett's smell and the weight of his body. "I had to do something." "You're crazy."

"I thought that went without saying." Jarrett's bark of laughter ended with the press of his lips to the spot below Eli's ear. "I am so glad this is over." "Is it? Really?" "It will be as soon as they get your parents away." "What about the money?" "That's got nothing to do with us." But it did, and Jarrett was being blind if he thought otherwise. Pulling away, Eli finally managed to get turned around to see the fear etched on Jarrett's face, as well as the cops and agents taking care of the scene behind him. Pfeiffer was penned in by a half dozen uniforms, his youthful features grim. "It might not have anything to do with you, but they still need my panels to find the guy who hired Sandora. This only closes half the case." "Then you turn your panels over. That doesn't mean you have to be personally involved." "Maybe not," Eli conceded. "But the fact that the Lockeford Files is smack dab in the middle of all this, that people have died because of my work, makes me responsible, whether I like it or not. And maybe it's time for me to grow up a little." He laughed, a shaky jitter that rocked through him. Oh, sure, now he started falling apart. "It's not like I've got anything else to do anyway." Jarrett's frown didn't go away, but at least a few of the lines softened. His gaze slipped to Eli's mouth, and for a moment, he was sure Jarrett was going to kiss him. He wanted it. God, did he want it. After the day they'd had, all the frustration and anger and turmoil and gun-wielding psychopaths, a kiss was the least he deserved. Needed. Because neither one of them had to be alone now. Yager spoiled the moment by approaching. "I need to get you out of here before the press shows up. There's going to be a lot of questions." Jarrett's embrace opened, though Eli was reluctant to stand. Jarrett was right there when he wobbled, catching his elbow, holding him steady as they both faced off with Yager. "Jarrett comes with me," Eli said before anybody could argue. Yager rolled his eyes. "Like he'd actually let me leave him behind." As they picked their way through the crowd, curious eyes tracking their every movement, Eli pressed closer into Jarrett's side. The constancy drove away more of the residual fear, proving once and for all that it hadn't been a mistake to trust in Jarrett. He could only hope Jarrett realized it wasn't a waste to do the same with him.

Chapter 18

I really need to get a cell phone. And then I need to get your number. But before all that, I'd really like to see you. --Eli I've been wondering how we were going to connect. By the time I got back from the dinner run with Ven, you were gone. What are you doing tonight? --J You're going to make me wait? That's mean. And nothing. I've been granted a reprieve. Are you asking me out? We haven't had a real date yet, you know. --Eli I'm very well aware of that fact, yes. I want to rectify it. Anywhere but Trevor's place. --J Agreed. Your apartment? --Eli Doesn't a date usually require going out? --J I am going out. I'll bring dinner, you have wine, I'll be there at seven. --Eli **** His doorbell actually rang at six-fifty, but Jarrett couldn't fault Eli for being anxious. He'd been on edge, too, ever since Ven had forced him to leave the police station the night before. "You two have been in each other's back pockets since this whole mess started," she'd said. "Get a good night's sleep. Get back to your life. Get some perspective." Perspective was overrated. Perspective showed him how big his bed was with just him in it. He'd only shared two other beds with Eli, but they had both been amazing encounters. Eli fit into his body with an ease nobody else had ever managed, offering comfort and warmth, excitement and relaxation, without having to try. Perspective reminded him how ordered his life had been before, how many rituals he had in his day, how many concessions he made to keep everything on an even keel. He woke up, showered, brushed his teeth, and shaved away the stubble that had sprung up over the past few days. It was then, when he'd been rinsing away the lather, that he caught his reflection in the mirror and froze. Everything the same. Even the shaving. Did a gesture become meaningless when it was perpetuated over and over again? He feared the answer was yes.

Perspective took a backseat when he got a call from Mayor Durney. Though it was Friday, he hadn't bothered getting ready for work. Yager had said he had clearance for time off until the following Monday. Jarrett figured that was code for, "You've got the weekend to pretend you're still gainfully employed. Enjoy it." "Sir." His surprise hadn't been fake. "What can I do for you?" "I've had some interesting calls this morning." So he wasn't getting the weekend after all. "Oh?" "You've had a busy week." "Did you talk to Agent Yager?" The asshole. Jarrett should've known better. "Among others. They were very informative." "Sir, I can explain--" "Oh, no need for that. I'm well aware of how sensitive the case is. You have my word details won't be leaked in my office. I wanted to give you my personal guarantee." The rest of the conversation was a blur. His primary thought when it was over was Yager wouldn't do a bad job if he ever moved to PR. Hearing from Eli had been a godsend, but seeing him was even better. Jarrett opened the door with a smile already plastered across his face, then gaped at the sight of him. Gone was the bleached blond hair. In the interim of the day, Eli had dyed it again, closer to its natural sandy brown. It took the exotic edge away from his looks, and left behind someone warmer and somehow more approachable. When Jarrett didn't immediately speak, Eli grimaced and gingerly touched the spiky front of his hair. "It's that bad, huh?" "What? No, no, it looks fantastic." Jarrett shook off his surprise and grabbed Eli's wrist, tugging him inside. "Get in here. I've waited all day for this." He used momentum and Eli's weight to push the door shut, pinning him with the full length of his body. Just a few days earlier, he would have asked before taking such a liberty, but the light in Eli's eyes when he tilted his head back and met Jarrett's gaze said such precautions weren't necessary. Jarrett kissed him with a stark hunger he hadn't anticipated, slipping his tongue past Eli's parted lips, groaning at the tight grip of Eli's hands at his waist. "If this is the way you start out all your dates, I'm calling dibs on all your future ones," Eli panted when they parted. His eyes had only brightened from the passionate caress. Jarrett had thought the way they gleamed had been a direct contrast to the bleached hair, but he'd been wrong. It was simply Eli, and his response to the way Jarrett touched him. His glistening mouth curved into a smile. "Hi there." "Hi, yourself." Reluctantly, he peeled away, inhaling deeply to try and slow his pounding heart. He noticed the pack hanging from Eli's shoulder. "Is that dinner?" "Well. Sort of." Shrugging the canvas strap off, he slipped around Jarrett to the dining room table, but his gaze jumped around the rest of the apartment, taking in the throw rug Jarrett had put down to hide the blood stains until the carpet got replaced, as well as the pictures Jarrett had spent the day moving to cover the splatter remaining on the wall. He'd had to strip the Aagaard out of its frame. In fact, he was seriously considering getting rid of the print completely. "How long until everything's back to normal?" He meant the apartment, but Jarrett heard the more encompassing implication. "Soon enough. I can live with the changes for the time being."

Eli cocked a brow. "Really?" Coming up to his side, Jarrett rested a hand in the small of Eli's back. "Flexibility is my middle name." He nodded toward the bag. "So what is it?" Eli unzipped the top to reveal the clothes and laptop it contained. "I was hoping you'd let me spend the night. I know it's presumptuous, and if you have a problem with me just inviting myself over, I can sleep on the--" "Don't even say it. I'm glad I don't have to beg and look ridiculous for wanting you here." The clothes were different than the ones he'd had at the safe house, prompting Jarrett to ask, "Who did you stay with last night? And please don't tell me you slept at the police station. I'll have to kill Ven for letting me leave, if that's the case." "No, not there." His head ducked, his smile growing pensive as he emptied his pack onto the table. "Believe it or not, I went home with my parents. Mom kind of insisted." Eli might as well have said Yager had put him up in a suite at the InterContinental. "You're kidding me." "Oh, it wasn't like the Prodigal Son returning or anything. I mean, Dad still isn't thrilled about me not being straight, and Brad is pretty pissed that Mom and Dad were in any kind of danger at all, but the first thing they did after Venice and the rest of the cops got them out was ask about me. And neither one of them said a word about blaming me for what happened." "Because it wasn't your fault. It was just fucked up circumstances. They know that." "Yeah, well, that's easy to hope for, but I've gotten out of the habit of expecting too much from them. It wouldn't have been so hard to think the worst." "They love you. They always have, but maybe it took something like this to realize what they'd been missing all these years." Eli's fingers trailed along the edge of the sketchpad he'd set on top of his laptop. It was a new one, the paper still crisp, the cover unscuffed. Jarrett wondered if Mrs. Locke had bought it for him as part of this welcome home package. "You're the only one who never judged me." He had to strain to hear Eli's quiet voice. "I know you were just being nice to your friend's mixed-up kid brother, but the fact that you were willing to see me at all, to not make me feel like I was some kind of freak for being the way I was...I don't think you realize just how much that all meant to me." "Eli--" "No, let me say this. Please." When Jarrett tried to slide his arm around Eli's waist, Eli stepped away, forcing the distance between them. "I mean it when I say you're the only one. Because that includes me. I was so...cavalier about everything. About what I was doing with my art, with my life. You gave me the strength to walk away when Mom and Dad were having such a hard time coming to grips with me, but that was all I took from it." "You were young. We all did stuff like that." "Brad didn't. You didn't. Look at Fong. Look at everything he did in his life." "Fong's also dead. For such a so-called genius, he made some really dumb choices." "Which is mostly my point." Eli leaned against the back of the couch, and though his tone remained calm, his body was tight with excitement, long and hard in direct contradiction to his relaxed pose. "I need to start actually believing some of the things you told me. You know, coloring inside the lines I've been drawing all this time. It's time to stop playing at life, and actually living it. And I owe all that to you and everything that happened this week."

Impressed as he was with Eli's dedication, Jarrett still didn't know if he was entirely comfortable having so much credit heaped on him. "But I like the way you play at life. That's who you are. You've got more passion for what you do than anybody I've ever met before." A pink stain crept up Eli's neck, and his smile turned shy. "I'm not giving up my art, if that's what you think. That's not what I mean." "Then what do you mean?" "I mean...taking it a step further. Being a little more diligent about finding someone willing to pay me for my work. Getting a place of my own so I don't have to live off the goodwill of all my friends." "If you need a place--" "Don't even think it. You have no idea how easy it would be to accept an offer like that from you." Almost as easy as making it. Jarrett had come to understand very early on how it was people could open their doors to Eli so readily. He stepped forward and positioned himself next to Eli, mirroring his stance. "I'm not interested in being some kind of figurehead to you, Eli. I thought I made that clear." "You did." Eli's hand stole over and caressed the top of Jarrett's thigh. Heat scorched through the denim, even though Eli never strayed toward Jarrett's semi-hard cock. "I know who you are. Who you really are. But I don't think just because I'm grateful for everything you've showed and told me, that stops us from seeing where this thing between us might go. We're too good together to throw it all away because of some history we can't get past." He could barely think around the haze of desire Eli created from such a simple touch, his head clouded with images of their naked bodies entwined on his bed. Every inch of him was re-awakened, more alert than it had been since leaving Eli at the police station. He had to struggle not to grab Eli then and there and drag him into the bedroom. "We have a lot of getting to know each other to do," he said. "I don't think this week counts except to prove we can work together in a time of crisis." Eli's rich laughter rang out. "I think you mean it proves you can put up with my bullshit long enough to keep us from turning into the five o'clock news." "You sell yourself short. Your bullshit is surprisingly entertaining." "And the rest of me?" Jarrett caught Eli's hand and pressed it flat against his leg, forcing him to pay attention to the sincerity of his next few words. "I haven't wanted to spend time with someone the way I do with you, for a very long time. When I say we have a lot to learn about each other, it's because I've spent the past twenty-four hours wondering how I got so blindsided, so fast. Because it's not just about how hot you are. It's about who you are, too. Who you've become, even if you can't see it. I want to be a part of that." Eli twisted his hand around to lace their fingers together. "You want to date somebody who's so broke he probably has to live with his parents for the next year of his life?" "Considering where you've spent the last five years, I think taking twelve months to let your parents get to know you, too, sounds exactly like the kind of guy I want to see." With a smile, Eli ducked his head. They stood like that for long seconds, the satisfying weight of their hands locked together against his leg enough for Jarrett right now. He was as overwhelmed as Eli probably was. It all felt too easy, this coming together after so long apart. The irony that the past week had been anything but straightforward didn't escape him. Neither did it shake the sensation that it had all been worth it.

"I didn't actually bring dinner." Eli gestured toward the dining room table. "I figured I'd Google what was around here, and we could order something in." "Are you hungry?" "Right now? Not really." "We can always get something later." Eli slanted his gaze up at him, the quirk of his mouth reflecting the same impish gleam in his eyes. "What would we do instead?" "I can think of a few things." No protest came with his gentle tug. Eli followed him to the bedroom with an eager step, catching one of the belt loops on Jarrett's jeans as they crossed inside. Their bodies came together, back to front, and he looped their conjoined hands around Jarrett's waist as he pressed a kiss to the back of Jarrett's neck. "In case you weren't thinking this far ahead, I've got more than enough stuff in my backpack," Eli murmured. Jarrett chuckled. "What was that about you being presumptuous?" "I prefer the term, optimistic." "Sure thing is probably more appropriate." It was Eli's turn to laugh. "Does that mean I don't need to go back?" "It means..." He turned within the circle of the embrace, dropping his hands to Eli's hips and grinding their lower halves together. "I was planning on keeping you the whole weekend, if you let me." Heat flared in Eli's eyes. "You can keep me as long as you want." The promise behind his words surged through Jarrett, driving him down to seek out his mouth again. The kiss this time began as a tease. He had all the time in the world, after all. There was no reason not to savor every second of it, especially if he could do so, drowning in Eli's lips. So he traced the light seam first, heedless of the way it parted, and lingered in the warm corners as he nibbled at the succulent lower lip. Their breath mingled, and his head grew dizzy from too much heat concentrated into such a small space. Closing his eyes helped. It allowed him to focus on the firmness of the mouth beneath his, the way it turned in search of more contact, opened to give him everything he desired. He could concentrate on how Eli strained his body closer, as if his flesh wouldn't be satisfied until it had merged with Jarrett's. And he could indulge, in the moans each tangle of their hot, hungry tongues elicited, in the rightness of Eli's hands clinging to anywhere he could reach. They settled on Jarrett's ass, kneading it through his jeans. For one brief, scintillating moment, he imagined pushing Eli to the bed and sinking onto his cock, taking what he wanted without any heed for Eli's desires. It had been too long since Jarrett had been fucked, but when Jarrett nipped at his lip again, and Eli whimpered in the back of his throat, Jarrett knew it would be a little bit longer yet. First, he was going to bury himself so deep in Eli's ass, Eli would choke on the sounds he'd try to make. His shove toward the bed was playful. So was the way Eli slapped at his grabby hands. He caught a smile on his new lover's face before he bent his head and bit at his neck, one so pleased with itself he was tempted to slow it down again just to prove a new lesson. But then his hand found the hard tip of Eli's nipple and pinched, and Eli arched into him, bow-tight and ready to be broken, and Jarrett ended up smiling himself. He couldn't very well torture Eli when he was guilty of the same crime.

"We are not nearly naked enough," Eli panted. Jarrett straightened, though his hands refused to pull away with him. "Do you want the honors, or should I just take them?" Eli's eyes were black with desire, scanning over Jarrett's body with a lust he didn't bother containing. "Mine," he announced. He pushed Jarrett out of the way to grab the hem of Jarrett's shirt and yank it over his head. Tossing it aside, he set straight to work on the jeans, licking at his lips the entire time he fumbled with the fly. Standing still was torment. Jarrett balled his hands into fists at his sides to keep from hurrying Eli along. At the first scrape of the hard calluses against the wet tip of his cock, he groaned, thrusting forward automatically in search of more. Eli sank to his knees. Every time over the past few days that Jarrett had imagined this same scenario, it had been a bleached head he'd been looking down upon, so seeing the honey brown now was a tad disconcerting. Eli made it better by glancing up through his dark lashes. The reminder of who it was now cradling Jarrett's shaft against the palm of his hand sent a shudder coursing through Jarrett's body. Eli nuzzled the length first, rubbing it up and down his cheek as it hardened the rest of the way. Pre-come streaked across his jaw, and every once in a while, his tongue would dart out to lick at Jarrett's hot, tight skin. His jeans might have been open, but they had never felt so uncomfortable, weighing at his hips instead of kicked off and discarded to leave his body free for Eli's exploration. When he dropped his hands to take them off, though, Eli pulled away from his cock, holding it lightly as his free hand knocked Jarrett's away. "I'm not ready for that," he said. "Don't I get a say in the matter?" "Not when I already claimed the honors." Jarrett growled in frustration. "They're in the way." "I know." Eli grinned. "And they'll stay in the way until I'm ready to get rid of them." He wanted to argue one of them being ready should have been more than enough, especially since Eli was still completely dressed, but then Eli lifted the shaft out of the way to bury his nose in Jarrett's heavy balls. He sucked hard once, only to soften the pressure with the teasing flick of his tongue, and Jarrett could barely keep himself upright, let alone voice opinions on how many clothes were too many. The constriction of his open fly made it impossible for Eli to go farther than Jarrett's sac, but that was enough sweet torture, in and of itself. When Eli let the balls go with a wet plop, Jarrett cupped the back of his head in hopes of coaxing him back to his cock. What he got was tiny nibbles along the underside of his shaft, each one playing with the pulsing vein. His ass clenched with each bite. None of them hurt, but the electric shocks they created were hard-wired straight into the rest of Jarrett's anatomy. He sizzled everywhere at once when Eli did that. Even his fingers tightened painfully against Eli's skull. "You want more?" Eli taunted. "Jesus..." He gritted his teeth, breathing deep through his nose. His voice was steady when he spoke again. "You know I do." "I'd like to hear you say it." "I haven't said it enough?" "I don't think I can ever apply the word enough to you."

The mix of arrogant young man and astute lover rolled up into one, hot package was going to be the death of Jarrett. "Suck me," he said, shedding the last semblance of his control. "I know you're dying for it." "Oh, God, yeah," Eli muttered. He swooped in, mouth open, tongue ready, and sealed his lips around the head of Jarrett's cock. His knees almost buckled from the pressure. Eli kept his grip loose toward the base, steadying his aim as he worked at the tip. He swept around and around, occasionally letting his tongue dig into the slit, never easing the tightness of the suction. Moans vibrated up Jarrett's shaft, proof that he wasn't the only one getting off on this. Jarrett wanted him to move, to take in even more. He wanted that soft, wet heat wrapped around his entire cock, not just the head. Beads of sweat dotted his upper lip by the time Eli inched down the length. He swiped them away, the salt tingling his taste buds. Next time, he'd be the one on his knees. It would be Eli's cock sliding into his throat, and the taste exploding in his mouth the tang of Eli's skin. Next time. Eli took his time, sampling the shaft, savoring the head. At some point, he pushed his hand inside Jarrett's jeans, and they crumpled to the floor, but it was several minutes more before Jarrett finally gripped Eli's shoulder to nudge him away. "Bed," was all he said. Thankfully, that was all it took to get Eli to stand, too. The rest of their clothes came off, and they fell onto the mattress in a tangle of arms and legs. Eli laughed, and then Jarrett laughed as well, feeling more carefree and light-headed than he'd been in a very long time. "There were times this week I thought we'd never get to this point," Eli admitted. Jarrett rolled him onto his back, relishing the hard muscles against his own. "There were times this week I thought we'd never make it through the next hour," he countered. "This is a complete and utter win in my book." Eli's eyes softened, and his hands roamed casually along Jarrett's spine. "Just getting a chance at this makes this a win." "Brad's going to be so pissed." "You're thinking of my brother right now? Gee, thanks." Jarrett bit at his chin in reproof. "I'm just remembering how protective he used to be of you. He's going to be convinced I seduced you." "Because you have some reputation as a player that I don't know about? Somehow, I don't think so." "I'm older. He'll consider me more responsible." "And I'm pushier. He'll know for a fact I'm the one who did the seducing here." In the face of such blunt statements, it was impossible not to laugh again. Jarrett caressed Eli's side, wandering slowly down to his hip. "Is that the way you see it? You seduced the stodgy old man?" "You're not stodgy." "Just old." "Older. Experienced."

"That's not helping." "Worldly?" "I'd knock you into next week for that, except compared to you, I really am." Eli rolled his eyes, too exaggerated to be anything but a put-on. "I get involved in one high stakes, white collar crime without my knowledge, and you'll never let me hear the end of it, will you?" Jarrett smiled. Bowing his head, he brushed his lips across Eli's, at the same time his hand finally dipped between Eli's legs. "I guess you're going to have to stick around to find out." Eli's answer was to wind his arms around Jarrett's shoulders, to hold him firmly in place as he deepened the kiss. His legs spread wider, giving access to the heat Jarrett sought, and they both shivered when Jarrett rubbed around the tight opening. Anticipation ran high in both of them, the dark pleasure of taking and being taken, coming together as it felt they should have done long before now. He didn't probe farther, not without lube, but feeling the muscle twitch and clench against his fingertip nearly compelled Jarrett to abandon any more foreplay and go straight for his nightstand drawer. As his body tensed, readying for more, Eli's relaxed. The careful revolutions around his hole seemed to erase the last of his inhibitions. He writhed with each caress, their cocks rubbing against each other, fluid smearing across their bare stomachs. One leg hooked around the back of Jarrett's, and he felt the calf muscles tremble against him. "More." Eli was the one to break their stasis. "Please, Jarrett, I want more." Jarrett obliged. He reached to the side and found the lube and condoms without more than a brief pause. The condom, he dropped on Eli's chest. The lube, he flipped open single-handedly and dripped all over his fingers. The mess it made on his blankets had Eli squirming out of the way. "I would've pegged you for more fussy in bed," he teased. "You've got a lot to learn about me." He tossed the bottle aside and pushed his greased fingers back between Eli's legs. Two pushed into the passage at the same time Eli tore open the condom wrapper. "I'll bet you're dying for this, too," he said, mirroring what he'd said earlier. "You don't know the half of it." Neither one of them had the patience for stretching. As soon as the condom snapped into place, Jarrett readjusted his position, rising up on his knees to push Eli's legs back and expose his ass the way it was supposed to be. The dusky crease gleamed from the lube he'd spread around, and his lungs seized up as he dragged the head of his cock down to the tight pucker. He couldn't breathe as he slowly pressed in. He couldn't even look away until the first few inches had disappeared. When his gaze slid up Eli's body, he realized he wasn't the only one having problems getting air in. Red splotches mottled Eli's chest and neck, and his teeth bit so hard into his lower lip that Jarrett was half-convinced he'd leave marks. With each inch Jarrett pressed deeper, the channel constricted, tighter and tighter, until the only way he was sure he could get all the way in was to distract Eli from the penetration. His slick hand grasped Eli's cock, startling him into gasping. The sudden release vanquished the last of the barriers between them, and the rest of Jarrett's shaft sank into his ass. They both froze. "Jesus," Eli muttered. Somehow, Jarrett found the breath to speak. "You okay?" Eli nodded. "More than."

"I'm going to move." "Nobody's stopping you." Except he couldn't quite, not just yet, not until the heat stopped spiraling beyond his control. Eli slapped weakly at his thigh. "I thought you were moving." "I am. In my head." "Yeah, well, I'm out here, and if you don't start soon, I can't be held accountable for my actions." As tempting as it was to see what Eli would do, moving was in both of their best interest. Slowly, Jarrett started to withdraw, only to slam forward again after just a couple inches. Eli cried out. His hand shot to grab onto Jarrett's thigh, and his ass clamped down Jarrett's cock once again. Jarrett's jaw locked. "It's easier to move when you don't do that." "Sorry." The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed hard. More than once. "You just feel too fucking good." He could only agree. He summoned vestiges of strength to pull out again, taking the time to go nearly all the way before sliding blissfully back inside. Though they walked the knife's edge, they maintained that easy tempo as long as they both could. Eli helped by running his fingers up and down Jarrett's thigh, the touch so faint it was almost ticklish. Jarrett's contribution to making it last came from further distractions, toying with Eli's balls, catching a smile and teasing him about the time they'd taken to get to this point. It couldn't last. Trying was an exercise in futility. But it was sublime while it did. Sweat dripped down his nape as he picked up speed. He fell forward, landing on his knuckles, and powered into Eli's ass even harder, gratified by each cry that accompanied every drive. The sting of Eli's fingers digging into his flesh jacked him even closer to the threshold, and he fumbled blindly in search of the other man's cock. Just a few rigorous pulls to hurtle Eli toward climax. He curved away from the bed, eyes going wide, body going hard, and shot all over their chests. Between the smell of Eli's come, the increasing constriction of his ass, and the sheer wonder in his eyes, Jarrett lost it. He thrust forward twice more, then emptied his balls, his cock jerking against the tight walls as he buried his face in the crook of Eli's neck. Arms encircled him. Lips found his ear. A tongue lapped at the droplets of moisture clinging to his skin. Jarrett closed his eyes and let Eli take what he wanted, more than content to be pampered in these first few shattering seconds. Eli started to hum. Contentment radiated from him with every caress. "You think you can stay like this indefinitely?" he said softly. Unseen, Jarrett smiled. "Indefinitely is a long time." "That's what I'm hoping for." He wanted to, but his arms were rubber, his knees weak. Holding Eli tight, he rolled to the side, and then onto his back, groaning when his cock came free and the cooler air circulated around his shaft. Eli stayed atop him. He wasn't going to let him go, not just yet. "Are you really staying here all weekend?" he asked.

"If you'll have me." "What about your parents?" "I don't think they're interested in watching." Jarrett slapped Eli's ass. "You know what I mean. You don't think they'll worry about you?" "I told them where I'd be, and that I'd be back by Sunday night." He nestled farther into Jarrett's embrace, his breathing slowing to a hypnotic rhythm. "That'll take some getting used to." "Having to check in?" "Having them care enough to want me to." "It's been a long time coming." Too long, in Jarrett's book, but this was not his family, and Eli's not his life. It was good for now to hear the awe and bewilderment in Eli's voice. He wouldn't adjust to it right away, not after so many years of his nomadic existence, but the day would come when he wouldn't think twice about the love bestowed upon him. "Maybe we can go shopping this weekend," Eli said. "I need a cell phone. Yager was griping it was too hard to get a hold of me." "I thought he was done with you." "Not yet. I'm getting some freelance work from them, believe it or not." He didn't. He stiffened enough in surprise for Eli to lift his head. "My encryptions, mostly," Eli explained. "And doing what we can to track down the money." "But you have tomorrow's strip." He shook his head. "We're pulling it so whoever Sandora was working for doesn't have the extra information. I cobbled together something new, and on Monday, I have to sit down with Yager and start decoding all the strips I've done since moving in with Gretchen that Fong had printed up." He smiled. "But hey, it's better than going to jail." Yager was proving to be a bundle of surprises, all around. "Did I tell you he saved my job?" His eyes widened. "What? But you were so sure you'd be fired." "He convinced Durney I was some sort of hero in all this." As Eli began to laugh, he rolled off Jarrett's stomach and flopped down next to him. "I guess you were right. It's all about the spin." And as they lay there, side by side, arm to arm, comfortable with each other in ways nobody else would ever likely understand, Jarrett knew this was the right choice. There was nothing fake about how he felt for Eli, nothing manufactured and created because it fit a specific need. Eli had it right. Life was too short not to live it to its fullest. It was time to start coloring inside the lines.

Vivien Dean

Vivien Dean has had a lifetime love affair with stories. A multi-published author, her books have been EPPIE finalists, Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Nominees, and reader favorites. After spending her twenties and early thirties traveling, she has finally settled down and currently resides in northern California with her husband and two children. For more information about Vivien and her books, visit her website at: http://www.viviendean.com **** Don't miss What We May Be, by Vivien Dean, available at AmberAllure.com!

Fashion is Jared Harvey's life. Once a top model, now an aspiring designer, he never expects to be attracted to a man who wouldn't know his Versace from his Valentino. But Rick Paulson makes Jared rethink everything he's ever assumed he wanted in a man. Rick's generous, built like a brick house, and best of all, hungry to let Jared take control. Together, they ignite passions in each other neither wants to extinguish. So what if Rick doesn't care about Jared's Cavalli? Life's more than a runway, especially with a man like Rick around...

Amber Quill Press, LLC The Gold Standard in Publishing Quality Books In Both Print And Electronic Formats Erotica Horror Romance Fantasy Mainstream Young Adult Science Fiction Suspense/Thriller Action/Adventure Non-Fiction Paranormal Historical Western Mystery GLBT

Buy Direct And Save http://www.AmberQuill.com http://www.AmberHeat.com http://www.AmberAllure.com