* * * * *
“Thanks for dinner,” Bradley said as they walked out of the seafood restaurant. The indigo-orange sunset turned the water bronze. The crimson-tinged sails of the boats along the docks whipped musically in the evening breeze.
“My pleasure,” Will said.
“Do you feel like working some more tonight?”
“I need to start back. It’s a long drive,” Will said regretfully. They’d made some good progress, even with Will spending part of the morning on the phone to the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, following up on Le Loi Roy.
The information they’d dug up on Jose Valz had led them to other suspects, all employed by construction companies with questionable residency or work-eligibility permits. A little more digging had uncovered the fact that those companies employed at least five people who had presented false resident-alien cards to their employers.
Will was feeling satisfied.
“You know,” Bradley said lazily, “we can put you up at the base if your expense account won’t stretch to a hotel room for the night. It would save some time in the morning.”
“I know. And thanks for the offer. But I’ve got some things to take care of at home. Feed the mutt, put out the milk bottles, you know.” The briny, astringent sea-breeze smell reminded him of Taylor.
“Your choice.” Bradley was smiling. Will thought again how much he liked him. How if things were different —
But they weren’t different, and he wanted to get back and talk to Taylor. Wanted to reassure himself that Taylor was fine. It was not a lack of confidence in Taylor; it was just…he didn’t trust anyone to watch Taylor’s back as diligently as he would. Nobody else had quite the investment in Taylor’s well-being, did they?
Besides, that morning had been mind-shatteringly good, and his body had been aching pleasantly with the memories all day long. He was craving Taylor. He wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t done before, but somehow that morning everything had just…fallen into place.
Will told Bradley good night and set off for home. Emmylou was singing about the train in the Tulsa night. He felt good; the flow of traffic was with him. He had his case to preoccupy his thoughts, and before he knew it he was pulling onto his own street.
Only to find his house dark and the driveway empty.
Taylor was not there.
Chapter Six
The phone clattered off the hook and Taylor’s sleep-husky voice said, “MacAllister.”
“Where are you?” Will asked.
The answer was evident, of course, but Taylor replied anyway. “Home.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Uh… I live here?” Taylor suggested.
“You know what I mean. What the hell are you doing there? Is that what you’d tell a client who was being stalked? Go home?”
“I’m not being stalked.” His derision at the very idea was loud and clear. “Even if I was, I’m not exactly a civilian. We do this stuff for a living. If I can’t handle one nutcase, I need to find another line of work.”
“You know damn well you should not be there on your own.”
There was an instant smile in Taylor’s voice as he drawled, “Come and keep me company.”
“I don’t really feel like making that drive at one thirty in the morning.” Despite himself, some of Will’s annoyance — disappointment — crept through.
Taylor smothered a yawn, not entirely successfully. “Did you just get in?”
“Yeah.”
“Burning the midnight oil, huh?”
“I had dinner with Bradley before driving back.”
Will wanted to get that out of the way fast. No way was it ever coming back to bite him in the ass. But there was no hesitation, no pause. Taylor said calmly, “How’s the case coming?”
“It’s coming. Listen, I talked to the OC sheriff’s department, and Le Loi Roy is still incarcerated at the Lacy Juvenile Annex.”
Taylor seemed to be considering this.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes. I guess we can rule him out.”
“Him, yes. But maybe someone’s acting on his behalf.”
“Maybe.” Taylor’s tone was noncommittal.
“Did you think of something else?”
“No. It’s just…”
“Just what?” Old ghosts? Will was suddenly convinced that Taylor was hiding something from him.
Meanwhile, Taylor was reporting, “I called the wine manufacturer. According to their records, they didn’t ship the bottle to me. So someone else must have purchased it and then sent it. I dug the box and wrapping out of the trash. It was mailed last Tuesday from Ventura County. I’m going to have it analyzed.”
“Good thinking,” Will approved.
There was a short silence.
“I thought you’d be here,” Will said. He was a little embarrassed at the reproachful note that crept into his voice, but it was true. He’d expected to find the lights on and Taylor home and was still unsettled at how let down he’d been to be proved wrong.
“I wasn’t sure you were coming back to LA tonight.” Taylor sighed. “Anyway, I can’t hide out at your house.”
“Who said anything about hiding out? I just… I was looking forward to you being here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Taylor said slowly, “Are you driving back tomorrow night?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe I could stay over tomorrow night.”
“That’d be good. I might be late, but I’ll be here. How’s it going with Varga?”
“We’ve reached détente.”
“Ever think about trying out for the diplomatic service, my son?”
Taylor chuckled.
Will wrapped his hand absently around his cock. “Talk to me,” he said suddenly, urgently.
“What would you like me to say?” Taylor sounded amused, but then his voice sharpened. “Hey, are you —”
“Yeah. I am.”
Taylor laughed, a husky, naughty, full-throated laugh that closed Will’s own throat. Desire. That was what he felt. More than lust. It was the longing, yearning to be together. To be one.
“Oooh, Brandt,” Taylor cooed. “Oh God, what you do to me.”
Will laughed breathlessly, kept his hand moving.
Taylor moaned, mocking them both probably, but certainly mocking himself, that keening sound that escaped him when Will was fucking him hard. Those little cries that drove Will insane with lust.
“Bastard,” Will gulped out.
Taylor chuckled again. Then he said huskily, deliberately, “No one’s
