Death in the Rocies

"So, when did you figure out that Jason Jenks himself was the serial killer?"

I gave Hank a steady look. We were across the table from each other in an interview room down at Denver police headquarters. But neither one of us was being interviewed—we'd both just needed a more private place to say our good-byes. I was about to leave the building and find a hotel near the airport. In the morning I'd ship out for New York, a job done if not exactly the job I'd been sent to do. I guess I was lucky. A cop didn't often get congratulated for killing the man he'd been sent out to protect.

"About fifteen seconds before I shot him dead—and I wasn't positive then until I saw that he had that rope around your wrists and your neck."

"You didn't suspect anything before that?"

"No. But I sure should have; he'd had me in almost the same position twice already, and I didn't get it. We were so sure Giacomo Arcardi was our man and that Jenks was our key witness. We all look pretty stupid now in hindsight. Of course Jenks could write up the killings in such detail—he was there. He was the killer. He really played us for chumps. He seemed so brave, if foolhardy, for remaining so public through it all; he'd set it up for the Rapinos and Arcardis to go at each other over this. He probably counted on getting another book out of it. But he was locked into his fetish; he just couldn't give it up. And then there was Chuck—him taking advantage of me thinking he was my contact. It helped him get closer to Arcardi."

"You didn't shoot him, did you?" Hank asked in a low voice. "Chuck. You weren't the one who shot him, were you?"

"No. That was the Rapino crew. I saw them driving off as I came on to Chuck's body. They'd gotten to him before I did. He'd carried out his hit on Arcardi for them—them thinking it was Giacomo who had killed Lorenzo, Jenks's book having misdirected them as much as it did us—and he was then just a loose end for them."

"You know that will come out as soon as the ballistics results come back."

"Yeah, I know. But by then I'll be back in New York City. I'll tell my lieutenant the full story. It's still a hot issue for us back in New York. It still feeds a vendetta between two major crime families there. You can close the books here in Denver, but we still have some political shit to wade through on this back in New York."

"You really want to go back to New York? To that sort of shit? I'm sure they'd be happy to have you on the force here."

"New York's my town," I said. If he was telling me something, I didn't really want to hold on to the hope. If he wasn't, I knew I'd be miserable in Denver. With my luck, he was probably married and had a passel of children.

"Pity no one took a closer look at Giacomo's preferences," he continued. If he'd had any idea what I was thinking, he didn't let on. I took it as a vote for "married, with children." "They'd have seen he didn't fit the killer's style."

"Yep. That's on us back in New York. I could have played his angle before he even came out here, and I could have told them he was a watcher, not a snuffer. Although he did like his violence."

"Don't take this on yourself, Clint. You pulled the wagon on this one. Mostly by yourself. I'm sure glad you showed up when you did. I didn't have a clue why he was asking me to check something out with him at the back of the barn—and then after he hit me on the head with the shovel, I was out of it until Doc revived me. I don't know what hurt me worse—my head, my throat, or my ass. I'd never been ridden before."

We sat there, looking at each other, for a long couple of minutes. I really, really didn't know what—or if—he was signaling. I wanted to get back to New York, but Hank was a hard man to leave.

"Well, I guess I need to be shoving off and checking out the hotels near the airport," I said reluctantly. I held my hand out across the table to shake his. He did so, but he didn't let go, and I didn't want him to. His hand moved up over my wrist, though, and held on there. A chill went through my body, remembering his touch the last time we'd made love—a touch that turned me on like no one had done since Brad. The signaling was beginning to look more like signaling.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said in a tone that sounded every much as reluctant as mine. "It was good, though, wasn't it?"

"It was the best. The very best." I was being too passive. If there was signaling going on, I needed to fall in with the game. But I didn't get the chance.

"So, there you are." The voice was big, booming. I expected it to break the spell, that Hank would let loose of my wrist. But he didn't.

"Hi, Ron," I said, recognizing the appearance of Ron Price, the guy who'd watched out for me from a distance. "I was just saying good-bye to Hank here."

"I hear you're going back to New York in the morning."

"Yep. I think I'm done here."

That had done it. It wasn't what I wanted, but if it wasn't going to go over the edge, it was just as well for this dance to end. I didn't get to this point often with a guy; it wasn't one of my favorite journeys. I felt Hank's hand fall away from my wrist. I looked up into his eyes, and I saw the hurt there—but I also saw a flash return to his eyes as he must have caught whatever my eyes were involuntarily revealing to him.

"Well, you've got another night here then. Remember we talked about leather and such. You don't need a hotel tonight, unless that's what you want. I can take care of you tonight and get you to the plane tomorrow."

I tore my eyes away from Hank and looked at Ron. He was looking real good to me, and if I had to rebound, I wanted to land on my feet. Tight pants, big bulge at the crotch and bulging biceps—the whole package I looked for when I was running away from myself. I couldn't help it; I was sinking fast into blind habit. I wanted to try out what he'd indicated he had for me.

I looked back at Hank, torn now. I wanted him too. I just couldn't control myself. That's what I'd had with Brad that I needed. He had me on a loose leash—and he knew I couldn't help myself—but he had control of me; he'd reign me in when I needed it. And he knew when I needed it.

"He can't tonight, Ron. Sorry. He's staying at my place tonight."

Hank had taken my wrist again and I was trembling. The shock thundered through my body—that Hank knew when I needed to be brought back. But did he know what delicate ground we were on here? Only Brad had known.

"Suit yourself. Have a good trip back to New York, Clint," Ron said good-naturedly. "Maybe we'll meet up there someday."

"Yeah, you have a good one too," I said to him as he turned and moved out the door. "And thanks for having my back in Chicago and up at the ranch."

Hank and I were back to where we'd been before Ron came in—he was holding my wrist from across the table again.

"You want him, don't you? Your body wants to try him out, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I do want him, Hank. But I want you too. I'm sorry. I just can't help myself."

"If I let him drive you home, to my place—after you two are done—will you still stay the night with me?"

"Are you serious, man?"

"If it's what I have to do not to lose you entirely, it's what I'll do."

Just like Brad. He'd handled it just like Brad would have. That's why it had worked with Brad. He knew my limits.

Ron fucked me in the back of his smoked-window SUV, all tricked out for sport, in a dark-corner space in the basement garage of Hank's apartment building. He had leads and restraints set so that I was bound and spread-eagled on the back floor of the vehicle from which all of the seats except the front ones had been stripped. I was in heaven.

Before fucking me hard, he played in my ass channel with a string of graduated-sized balls, and while they were all in, he hunched over me and face fucked me. He was using serious balls, and he didn't just take his time inserting them and slowly pull them out; he'd jerk the last, biggest one out to feel me tense and arch my back and cry out and then he'd push it back in. He had his cock harnessed in something electrified that made me gasp and give a shout whenever he pressed a bulb attached to it while he was fucking me.

"Gawd, you are some talented bottom. Class A." he muttered after I'd gone into a frenzy and tightened my channel and made him come when he was trying his best to avoid it. "I can see why they sent you all the way out from New York City for this gig. We gotta see more of you out West here."

He said he enjoyed it so much that he was sure now that he'd be paying a visit to New York City before the year was out. I'm almost sorry to say that I enjoyed it too and gave him my address and phone number in the city—and said I'd let him know when I moved. I already had decided that my apartment was too small and dingy to go back to.

Hank took me slow and tenderly that night until I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him deep inside me and begged him to punish me—telling him that I was so sorry that I was who I was, wanting what I wanted. And then he was pile driving me hard and deep until long after I'd come and pleaded that I was beyond exhaustion.

As we lay, still panting, but with enough breath now to speak in low tones, he whispered in my ear, "I've been thinking of transferring. I've a hankering for a larger city. Think they'd have me in the NYPD?"

"In a flash," I said.

"And would you—?"

"In a quicker flash. I'd already been thinking of getting a larger apartment without knowing why."

"Well, then."

"But . . . but, I'm not sure you'd want to. Hank, I can't change. I like cock too much—and variety—and the edge. I love it on the edge."

"I'm not asking for more than you can give."

"Well, then." And I settled down with a smile on my face and a purr in the back of my throat as once more, masterfully, he began to move inside me—reminding me so much of Brad that it almost scared me.