Half Moon Chambers (11 page)

"My DI's authorised me to offer you any level
of
protection you'll accept. Removal to a safe
house
, if you want. You're not a..." I cast around
for
the right words, and decided to use his. I could
see
why he'd chosen them. "A duck on the rifle
range
. I mean you wouldn't be expendable to us.
Not - not to me."

I could have bitten my tongue off for the last
part
. That wasn't how a copper manoeuvred a
witness
, and I didn't know where it had come
from
. But his expression altered completely, as if
those
were the first words he'd heard. I couldn't
read
the change, and he didn't want me to. He got
abruptly
to his feet and went to stand with his back
to
me, staring at the circle of crimson light the
dying
sun had thrown in through the western
oculus
. I couldn't help but look too. The painted
couple
caught in its nimbus were ordinary, or as
ordinary
as these astounding creations could be.

They seemed human, anyway. They were locked in
a
pose that could have been combat or love, face
to
face, muscles taut and straining. Rowan lowered
his
head. "Why particularly not to you?"

I could have pushed it. I saw an opening, a
place
where once I'd have shoved straight through.

This man was lonely. He was scared, and even if
he
hated my guts, I could tell when another gay
man
fancied me.
Why not to me? Can't you tell?

I'd done much worse, used my charms far more
shamelessly
, on undercover ops.

I wasn't undercover now. I felt as if I had no
damn
cover left to me at all, and the idea of
throwing
him a half-seductive line like that made
me
feel sick. "Not to me particularly. My boss
values
witness safety, that's all. We'll look after
you
."

He didn't turn. When he spoke, his voice had
hardened
again. "That's touching. Meanwhile, my
job
goes to hell and I lose the tiny freelance
income
I've managed to scrape together."

"You'd be compensated. Come on. I haven't
known
you long, but I can tell you're decent. Do
the
right thing."

"You're pretty good at this, aren't you?"

"What?"

Now he did swing round to face me. I
resisted
an urge to stand up and meet his anger
head
on. There was something hot and lovely about
it
, as if it might knock me down, but never wound
me
by its meanness. "I'm decent. I deserve to be
protected
. You're being good cop now, DS Carr,
and
like I say, you're a pro. But I can see the join.
If this doesn't work, you go back to what a
cowardly
shit I am, right?"

"Oh, Jesus." With anyone else, I'd almost
have
been flattered by that analysis. But I hadn't
been
trying for good cop or anything else, not this
time
. "No. I'm just trying to keep a dangerous
nutcase
off the streets, and... I need your help.
That's all."

"And the answer's still no. I like you, Vince,
despite
all your routines, or you'd never have got
in
here tonight. So I will tell you something, though
it
's not what you came to hear. Will you shut up
and
listen?"

He liked me? It shouldn't have mattered, but it
did
. I'd left all sense of my own likeability down
in
the dust of the Sunderland wharfs. I nodded.

"Okay."

"These paintings are mine. I said they weren't
because
... I can't do anything like that
anymore
.
I'm a recovering addict, which is the polite new
term
for ex-junkie."

My heart sank. I should have bloody known.

If he was attracted to me, I had enough self
-
awareness
left to admit to myself that it was
mutual
. And I'd meant it when I'd called him
decent
. Disappointment dragged at me. Nausea
coiled
in my gut. Would there ever be a time in my
life
when I wasn't shadowed by drugs, users, all
the
fucking mess they brought with them? "Wait
up
," I said harshly. "This isn't my business. Don't
tell
me."

"You don't get to pick and choose what you
hear
. I want to tell you why the answer's no. I
could
paint as long I was using. I did everything in
here
--
the walls, ceilings, those chairs
--
while I
was
high. And when I cleaned up, it all left me.
That's why I spend my days restoring other
people
's art. It's all I've got left." He folded his
arms
over his chest. The energy of his confession
seemed
to drain from him, leaving him skinny and
small
. "You're a copper. You know there's no such
thing
as an
ex
or a
recovering
anything, not when it
comes
to heroin. I live on a knife-edge. There's no
way
I could face a trial, even if I had seen anything
that
night."

I got up. I despised addicts. That was one of
the
tenets of my life. I'd grown up with one, and he
had
so marred my existence that I'd had no
difficulty
carrying my hatred out of my home and
into
the streets of Newcastle. It had made my job a
hell
of a lot easier. No misplaced compassion ever
stayed
my hand.
Watch out for DS Carr. He's got
no
time for crackheads.
Yes
--
part of my legend,
the
myth I told to others and myself.

Rowan Clyde didn't look like a junkie. But
that
was one of the first mistakes a junior copper
learned
not to make. "All right," I said tiredly.

"Forget it. I tell you what, though - have a damn
good
think about your little job, and staying out of
trouble
, and all the rest of it. If our two prime
witnesses
were scared enough to run, how do you
plan
on staying safe? I don't see the price of a
plane
ticket stashed in any coffee jars around
here
."

"I don't keep cash in the house. I don't keep
anything
that would tempt me."

"Laudable, but you're missing the point. We
can
only protect you if you let us."

I couldn't do any more. It was time for me to
go
. I turned away from the entrancing table with its
wonderful
painted-vine chairs, and I walked back
through
the compact pagan Sistine Chapel Rowan
had
created from the toxins in his blood. I took
down
my coat from its hook. I thought I could get
out
of here without another glance at the artwork or
the
man, and that would be for the best.

"Vince?"

I stopped. Stopping didn't mean I had to look
back
. But I did, irresistibly, unable to ignore the
new
urgent note in his voice. He had gone to stand
by
the sash window and was staring down into the
street
. "Vince, don't go."

"I've got to. If you get any more hassle, or you
feel
like you're in danger, phone the station and
they
'll send someone round."

"Please wait." He pushed away from the sill
and
strode across the living room towards me. I
braced
up, combat instincts flaring, though there
wasn
't a trace of aggression about him
--
only that
quiet
strength which gave the lie to the story he'd
just
told. He picked up the jumper I'd left on the
arm
of the sofa. "You've forgotten this."

"Oh. Yeah
--
thanks."

I put out my hand, but he didn't let go. Instead
he
lifted the garment to his face. He inhaled
briefly
, then looked up and gave me his
extraordinary
smile. "I wish I could keep it. You
smell
great."

"God, Rowan..."

"I am clean now. I have been for a year."

Suddenly, incredibly gently, he lifted the sweater
and
brushed it against my face. "I don't want you to
leave
."

My heart squeezed hard and began a painful,
hot
-cold
acceleration
.

He
smelled bloody gorgeous
himself
--
coffee and turps and warm
male
. I believed him, about the sobriety. I'd had
plenty
of experience with lies. His gaze was
dilated
but lucid, and potently focused on me. I'd
never
been looked at that way in my whole life. I
whispered
, "Give me my jumper back, you
nutcase
."

He held it at arm's length, and he took a step
away
from me. "Come get it."

"Rowan, I mean it. This isn't funny." I put out
a
hand and he seized it
--
lifted it to his mouth. My
reflex
to snatch it away died at the warmth of his
touch
. My fist opened up like one of his damned
painted
flowers, and he pressed a kiss to my palm.

Chapter Six

H
is bedroom was painted too, but in here the
pace
had slowed, the colours toned down to deep
soft
blues and tawny gold. Only half a dozen
beautiful
male forms were depicted here, and these
were
amorphous, blending with one another and
the
starlit beach where they lay, or fucked, or
danced
--
I couldn't work out which it was, and I
couldn
't believe I was in here trying. "Rowan," I
said
faintly, for about the tenth time. "This is a
really
bad idea."

"Go in a while. Just stay with me first. Just..."

I closed my eyes. He still had hold of my
jumper
and my wrist. He had led me here
--
and it
wasn
't as if he'd given me no chance to escape,
thrown
me down onto his sofa: the flat's strange
design
meant I'd followed him helplessly down
two
dark lengths of corridor
--
and stopped me by
the
foot of the bed. With my eyes shut, I didn't have
to
know how close he was. The palm of my hand
still
held the vivid sense-memory of his kiss, the
skin
tingling. God only knew how it would be if...

His mouth brushed mine. My eyes flew open.

It had been the lightest touch, and now he was
standing
looking at me as if the next move should
be
mine. He was right. Through the door, back the
way
I'd come and out into the streets, where the
winter
night would soon cool my ardour. "Stop it
,"
I whispered. "I can't. Even if I wanted to, you're a
civilian
, a potential witness, and
--
"

"No, I'm not. I just told you, I'm never gonna
be
your witness with Maric. And as for a
civilian
..." He paused, lower lip just caught
between
his teeth, and surveyed me from head to
foot
. "You're not exactly in uniform yourself,
soldier
."

I shuddered. It wasn't from cold. My coat lay
somewhere
in the corridor where I'd let it fall,
and
I'd given up on the sweater. He'd just have to keep
it
, if that was his whim. I was down to my T-shirt
and
jeans, and neither of those was camouflage
enough
. I didn't dare glance down, but my nipples
were
achingly taut, and the more I thought about
not
getting hard, the more my blood beat
downward
, my racing pulse helping lift the flag.

"Oh, no."

He shook his head, frowning in mock pity.

"Sorry. Looks like it might be
oh, yes
. How long
since
you did this?"

"What?" Words were failing me. All I
wanted
was for that fine-carved mouth to cover
mine
again. "Sex?"

"It's strange
--
you seemed quite articulate
when
you arrived. Yes. How long since you did
sex
?"

Oh, if I let the bastard make me laugh I was
done
for. Laughter would tell him everything was
okay
, that we were just two horny males about to
have
a casual roll-around beneath the painted
heavens
. "That's just the bloody point," I growled.

"It's been ages. I got hurt, and as you've seen, I
can
't even climb bloody stairs, let alone..."

"You're scared you can't do it
anymore
?"

My jaw dropped in outrage. I'd now had six
excruciating
sessions with the Mansion Street
counsellor
, who although a very nice and
competent
woman had never got closer to this
issue
than
fears concerning your potency,
DS
Carr
. "I'm not scared of anything," I said, returning
truth
for truth. "I think it'll just bloody hurt."

"Okay." He put a hand to my face and gently
turned
it, breaking the deadlock of our gaze. I
didn
't know why these touches of his to my cheek,
to
my mouth, undid me so. I wanted them to go on
forever
. They were burningly intimate, between
two
men who barely knew one another, and no
other
lover had wanted to spend that much time
with
me that far above the waist. "Okay. Look at
my
bed."

I couldn't do anything else. I was relieved to
see
it was ordinary. A drug-fuelled fantasy of
carved
jungle vines might have put me off, if
anything
could do that now. It looked solid and
nice
, inviting under its smooth grey blanket. "What
about
it?"

"Can you lie down on your back without it
hurting
?"

"Er... yes. Mostly."

"That's all you'd have to do."

"Oh...
God
." The import of his words swept
through
me. Images crowded into my mind. I made
one
last effort
--
to break away from him, from this
impossible
situation
--
and he stilled my recoil
effortlessly
, dropping my jumper, taking hold
instead
of my shoulder, slipping his free hand
round
the back of my head. He drew me in, and
after
a second's resistance I groaned and
surrendered
, moving to meet him halfway. I
grabbed
at his shirt to steady myself and then I
somehow
had both arms around him, feeling the
sensuous
shift of his waist, his ribs. His kiss met
and
shot past my yearning fantasy of it, hard with
passion
, satiny hot and responsive
--
he opened up
for
me at the first press of my tongue, his fingers
clasping
gently at my skull as he let me inside. My
cock
heaved to full erection. Maybe I'd been
wrong
--
maybe I
could
still do this like a normal
human
being, and because his hips were clamped
to
mine, his hard-on tight and satisfactory and
there
, I thrust against him.

Shit. Wrong move. I held on to the kiss so he
wouldn
't see my eyes squeeze shut with pain.

Maybe he'd mistake the spasm that jerked through
me
. But I should have known better. He would be
the
type of lover who kept track of every move
--
not
like Jack, whose rugby-tackle approach had
done
the job for me as long as I'd been been strong
and
whole. He caught me, holding me fast by the
shoulders
. "Vince?"

"Nothing. I'm all right."

"Bollocks. I've seen you fall over before,
remember
? Come here. Come here."

I lay down on the bed. No
--
not even that
much
of an effort. He laid me down. He pushed me
by
the shoulders until my legs buckled, then he
planted
a hand flat on my chest, wrapped an arm
round
my back so I wouldn't go down too hard, and
before
I could protest, reached to scoop me up
from
behind my knees. That last gesture
--
so
fearless
and sudden
--
broke my control, and I burst
into
the dangerous peal of laughter that I'd managed
to
avoid before. "What the fuck are you playing
at
?"

"What's it look like? Just lie still a minute."

He grinned down at me. "Oh, you do look fetching
there
."

I doubted that. I imagined I looked like an
idiot
knocked flat on his arse, not daring to
encounter
the indignity of trying to get up.
Then
Rowan began to unbutton his shirt, and I left off
thinking
about anything at all.

He was beautiful. He didn't hurry, and he
never
broke his eye contact with me. What had
looked
like skinniness beneath his clothes turned
out
to be lean muscle when it was revealed. I
tossed
away the last of my professional reserve
and
allowed myself one low whistle as he
shrugged
out of his shirt, and he grinned and
blushed
. "Thank you, DS Carr."

"Now I can see how you hauled me up all
those
stairs."

"It's not virtue. Looks like I have to be
hooked
on something, and I figured it had better be
the
gym." Involuntarily I glanced at the insides of
his
arms, and he shifted, showing me the pale
unmarred
skin. "I am clean. I wouldn't let myself
be
with you otherwise."

"Rowan, you don't have to tell me
--
"

"I do. You're a cop, and I saw the look in
your
eyes when you heard the word
junkie
." His
jeans
were button-fly, and again he took his time.

He pushed them down his thighs, then bent and
stepped
out of them. He stood naked by the bed.

His shaft had sprung up, stiff and dark with blood.

"All right," he said softly. "Now you."

I wasn't sure what he meant until he knelt over
me
. His thighs corded tensely with the care he took
not
to put any weight on me, and he took hold of
the
hem of my T-shirt. "Can you lift up a bit?"

"Why?"

"I want to see you too. All of you. Can you sit
up
?"

I could, with a good careful crunch of my abs.

The ogre of the physio department had taught me
that
, a way of getting off my back without too much
pain
or embarrassing struggle. His lips parted as I
made
the move, a hungry appreciation gleaming in
his
eyes. I held myself taut in position, glad to be
able
to do one thing with a little grace, while he
peeled
the T-shirt up and over my head. He ran his
palms
down my chest. "Lovely," he said. "Now lie
back
and let's see about the rest."

Lifting my hips for him wasn't so easy. The
second
bullet was lodged just above my sacral
vertebra
. I tried to smile up at him, but he saw
straight
through that and sat back lightly on my
thighs
, resting both hands on my hipbones. I
growled
in frustration. He was so lovely, and I'd
moved
from shocked resistance to an urgent desire
to
get myself fucked. "Damn," I rasped. "I used to
be
good at this."