“There’s nothing to consider. Japan was eight years ago. I worked in the embassy. That’s it.” He was trying, but he must not have been too successful at hiding his anger. His muscles were locked so tight, Riley half woke, blinking up sleepily.
Will’s brow knitted. “Hey, it’s me. Remember me? I’m on your side. Who’s got it in for you?”
“No one.” Taylor took a deep breath, forced himself to think objectively about this. Will was wrong. This could not have to do with Japan, so it had to be something else. One of these things is not the same… He answered honestly, “Well, not lately. Not since before I was shot.”
Their eyes met. “The Phu Fighters,” Will said.
Taylor nodded. Old poison, for sure.
They’d been in Orange County following a lead on a possible counterfeiting ring, when he’d been shot by a juvenile member of the Phu Fighters, a Vietnamese street gang. While Taylor had been in the hospital, Will prowled Little Saigon, eventually tracking down the two punks involved in the shooting, and — according to the reports Taylor had read — pretty much prodded them into a fight. One kid had surrendered without trouble. The other had gone for his gun and ended up with a shattered hip and missing fingers.
It was still hard to believe that Will — patient, easygoing, teasing Will — had gone hunting with vengeance in his heart. But reading between the lines of the police report and the DSS’s own internal investigation, that’s exactly what Will had done.
The official verdict was that Will had been under extreme emotional stress; cops and DSS alike understood the bond between law-enforcement partners. And Will had been careful to let Le Loi Roy get off the first shot. Even so, Will was lucky to slide out of it with nothing more than an official reprimand and his picture in the paper. He’d been more riled about the newspaper photo than the reprimand.
“The Asian snake wine was bottled in the Mekong Delta,” Taylor said slowly.
“Did you phone the manufacturer?”
Taylor shook his head. “I never had a chance.”
Will finished his bourbon and set the empty glass on the table. “Well, tomorrow you’re going to call the Asian snake people, and I’m going to see what Le Loi Roy is up to these days.”
Later, brushing his teeth, Taylor stuck his head out of the bathroom to say, “If it was revenge, I don’t see why anyone would come after me. They already shot me. You’re the guy who crippled Roy.”
Will was lying on the bed, staring moodily up at the ceiling. “Who knows? They’re kids. They’re nuts. Roy was counting you as a kill. He was disappointed when he found out you didn’t buy it. Maybe he’s trying to reestablish his street cred?”
It seemed shaky to Taylor, but he didn’t have a better theory. He spit the toothpaste out, rinsed his mouth, rinsed the sink, and turned out the bathroom light.
He threw himself down on the bed beside Will.
“Why Japanese and not Vietnamese, though? The note, I mean.”
Will shook his head, raised up to shut off the bedside lamp. “You’re the one who insists it’s nothing to do with Japan.”
Taylor didn’t really have a response for that. But how the hell could it be anything to do with Japan? He didn’t believe in ghosts.
For a few seconds they lay not touching, not speaking in the darkness. It was unexpectedly lonely. “How was San Diego?” he inquired politely into the silence between them.
“Sunny, with a high of seventy-six.”
“Ha.”
Will was silent. Taylor thought he might be falling asleep, but he said suddenly, “If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”
With you. Taylor knew better than to say that aloud. “The beach. I like the beach.”
Will was silent.
“What about you?” Taylor asked.
“The mountains.”
Taylor rolled over on his side and set about falling asleep. After a couple of minutes of slow, easy breaths, Will’s arm slipped around him, pulling him close.
* * * * *
Will woke to the unmistakable nudge of Taylor’s cock trying to elbow its way into his dreams. Taylor was still sleeping, as evidenced by the warm gusts against the back of Will’s neck, but his body was waking up and taking an interest. Will was faintly amused by that heat and hardness pushing against him, that unconscious urgency. Taylor was the randiest guy Will had ever met — well, who actually possessed a brain to go with the balls.
It seemed sort of a shame to waste this. He shifted around, gathering Taylor close, interrupting but not rejecting. Taylor started awake, blinking dazedly into Will’s eyes, his mouth soft and young looking — he rarely looked that vulnerable.
“Hey, wanna fuck?” Will whispered hopefully, and Taylor started laughing.
“Beat the clock?”
Will nodded, and they shifted around some more, trying to accommodate legs and arms and cocks.
“We don’t have any passion oil here,” Taylor regretted.
“Use the homemade brand,” Will suggested.
Taylor did, his fingers slick with his own slippery urgency. He was inclined to be overly conscientious about this part, and Will shoved back against him. “Let’s go. Move it or lose it.”
Taylor chose to move it. He shoved his cock into Will’s body, sank into him pedal to metal, and began to drive. He thrust into Will’s tight heat in a steady rocking motion, and Will moved to match that smooth, steady rhythm. Taylor timed it expertly, like a driver taking a winding mountain road, decelerating in and accelerating out, long, smooth strokes, whipping around the curves, drawing his cock all the way out to the rim of tight muscle, then pushing back hard.
Will closed his eyes tight, just focusing on that pumping rhythm as Taylor sped up, pushed them both harder, faster…they were going to break the odometer this morning…and there it was. The finish line. Blazing sensation peaking, overloading…
Taylor’s hands were going to leave bruises, and Will didn’t mind, because that warm glow was
