Hearts Under Fire (4 page)

Chapter 3

Clark flipped a page in his book without bothering to read any of the words and reached for the cup of tea that sat next to him on the bench. It was some sort of fruity concoction put together by a helpful barista at a coffee shop Clark had visited on his way to New Amsterdam University. He thought it would go with his “of course I belong on campus” image. Clark didn’t mind trying new vehicles to get his caffeine, but the tea left an aftertaste that made Clark warily eye the cup.

Above Clark, the sky was clear, and the sun was warm on his skin. He wore his favorite pair of cargo khakis, Birkenstocks, and a t-shirt. Clark was aiming for the “graduate assistant” look, and rather liked that the ensemble emphasized his youth despite the gray hair, which was calmer today thanks to Clark’s efforts with hair gel. Appearing harmless might mean that Germain wouldn’t actually attempt to run or throw a punch when he saw Clark and heard what the bartender and information expert had to say.

Clark wasn’t foolish enough to think that, in the week since they last saw one another, Daniel would still be as fixated on Clark as the bartender was on Daniel. It was sheer ego to even hope for such a thing, and though it’d be nice to get a smile of recognition, Clark assumed he would get confusion and then possibly discomfort, once he made his proposal.

Right. More of the bad tea, then, Clark thought, as he continued to wait outside the computer sciences building.

The day after Daniel’s appearance in Clark’s life, Clark woke up with a large dose of determination. After texting Heather to let her know he would be in at the usual time, Clark climbed into the shower, whistling. Two hours later, Clark used a disposable cell phone to make the calls that would begin his search into Daniel Germain’s background. It had gone almost too well.

On the campus bench, Clark watched a group of girls walk by and nodded when one of them smiled at him. Giggling ensued, and Clark’s lips turned in amusement at both the girls and the thought that it was a bunch of kids that had led him to this place in life: the place where Clark could own his bar and was paid to indulge his curiosity.

It all started at Green Dojo, where Clark had taken martial arts for most of his life. The owner let Clark teach, and two kids came through the doors who would forever change Clark’s life: Lucian Gray and Chance Baar.

Lucian was scarily brilliant and the mayor’s son. Chance was likeable and the heir to his family’s empire. Clark trained them both for a short period of time, and he was surprised that when he left for the military, Lucian and Chance seemed genuinely sad to see him go.

After the bombing, Clark returned to New Amsterdam. Both his parents were dead, and he sat on an inheritance that burned a hole in his pocket for a year while he drank too much whiskey in a cheap apartment on the bad side of town. Staring down the neck of an empty bottle of Jack, Clark decided to open Glow. He paid a small fortune for a piece of property in the fashion district, thinking that if he was going to gamble, he might as well go all in.

When Lucian and Chance heard the news that Clark was back, they became regulars at the bar. They invited all their friends, and soon Glow was the place to find city royalty and tourists sharing a safe space. Lucian encouraged any rumor that cast Clark as the deadly ex-special forces sergeant, which Clark found hilarious and endearing. Tim Akkard, a friend of Clark’s who was also ex-military, became a customer, too, and got along very well with New Amsterdam’s rising political stars.

About two years after Clark opened Glow, Lucian approached Clark to ask for a favor. Lucian ran a piece of his father’s company, and Mayor Hendrick Gray was no fool. The mayor recognized Lucian’s talents and employed Lucian on staff.

Lucian knew Clark’s background, and so it was Clark to whom he turned when Lucian needed information about a certain politician. Intrigued, Clark said he’d try.

Trying led to a relationship with the gray-eyed mayor’s son, and Clark helped Lucian develop a network of spies, informants, paid officials, and loyal attack dogs over the next two years. Anything Lucian needed to know, Clark provided, and he was well compensated for it.

About a year later, Clark got invited to dinner at Chance’s house. In attendance that night were Chance, Lucian, and Tim, who now owned his own architectural firm much encouraged to success by Lucian. That was the night Clark learned of Lucian’s tastes and interest in BDSM. And it seemed that when his father discovered said tastes, he brokered a deal: Lucian could do what and whom he wanted so long as he managed a network that kept it all out of the public’s eye. Lucian accepted those terms, and Clark gained a better understanding of what, exactly, working for Lucian really entailed.

Upon surveying the city and finding no club or place to play that suited Lucian’s standards, he gathered up his most trusted -- and financially viable -- friends and proposed one be created. Tim was the architect Lucian tapped to build the place. Chance was monetary backing to join Lucian’s, and Clark was to help with background checks and manage the players.

Clark agreed to Lucian’s new offer and learned that the project was not one but
two
clubs: Bliss -- a dance club that would exist above ground -- and Break, which was to be below ground and members only. Clark ended up with a quarter share in both endeavors, and the clubs were successful.

Clark also found a slice of the BDSM lifestyle for himself in Break’s underground hallways and rooms. It fed needs in Clark that he carefully managed, and even though sometimes those needs trod on other, darker things, he enjoyed his time at Break. If nothing else, it let him see Lucian and Chance in a whole lot of leather, and that was always a visual treat.

It was the simple things in life that made it worth living, Clark often thought.

Around Clark, the wind picked up, and he closed his eyes, book long discarded. With one arm resting on the bench’s back, legs crossed, and mind mulling over his life, he found he could wait on Daniel all day if that’s what it took. Sooner or later, Daniel had to come out of the door that was in direct line of sight from Clark’s bench. The only other exits were out a stairwell -- also in Clark’s view -- and an emergency exit off the back.

Clark knew Daniel would come out the front doors, just like he knew Daniel had an office on the second floor and often took lunch around this time on Thursdays. The process of learning such things had initially caused him a pang of guilt over using his -- and Lucian’s -- resources for such personal ends.

But it turned out that Clark’s intuition had nudged him toward a man who might prove an asset to Lucian. Clark felt a flicker of nerves about telling Daniel about his side job and what he knew of Daniel. But he’d tackled more difficult tasks for both the military and for Lucian, and had managed to come out on top. Besides, doing this meant Clark got to see Daniel again, which was a nice bonus.

Fifteen minutes later, Clark shoved his book under one arm when he saw Professor Germain walk out the front door. Clark couldn’t help but grin as he watched Daniel give Clark the once over, turn to go, pause, and whip his head back around in a vicious double-take. Clark grinned.

So he definitely remembers me.

Daniel’s apparent shock inspired a wave of butterflies, and Clark had to remind himself of all he knew about this man. The least of it was that Daniel had already turned him down. So there was no point in making this about anything but business.

Picking up the half-empty container of tea, Clark ambled toward Daniel, easy smile on his face. He tossed the cup into a trash can and paused a few feet away from Daniel, one hand slipping into his pocket.

“Hey there,” Clark said.

“Hello,” Daniel said, and chuckled. “I thought you were one of the students there for a minute.”

Clark grinned. “Oh, good. I was going for, ‘Why yes, I’m a professional student contemplating deep thoughts of interpersonal biology while waiting on a bench.’” Clark winked.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Deep, hm?”

“Oh,
very
, sir. I assure you.” Clark spluttered a laugh, thankful that the playful flirting felt like familiar territory and encouraged the butterflies into cocoons.

“Hm...” Daniel blew out a breath. “Are you taking classes here, now?”

Clark shook his head. “No, actually. Was hoping to run into you. You heading to lunch?”

“Yes, I am. You want to come along?” Daniel said, with only a note or two of hesitation. “There’s a whole row of restaurants just off campus.”

Clark felt a knot of tension relax between his shoulder blades. First objective accomplished: Daniel hadn’t turned Clark away. “I’d be delighted. Thanks.” He waved a hand, indicating that Daniel should lead the way.

“Anything in particular you have a taste for? Ramen, pizza, sushi, Greek?” Daniel started walking.

“Oh, I’m a fairly simple guy. Pizza sounds perfect.” Clark matched Daniel’s stride, and he noted the tightening of Daniel’s mouth.

Thinking too much again.

“So, I see you survived the wedding,” Clark said amiably.

“Mmhm. It was a close thing, though. Garter bounced off me into cousin Sid’s hands. For that I’m thankful, and he is, too. He asked Marta out and was the hit of the party. I shudder to think what would have happened if I’d caught it.”

“No doubt,” Clark said cheerfully. “Things aren’t so exciting on my end. Heather’s been keeping me on my toes as usual. She’s the blue-haired girl at the bar?” Clark looked at Daniel, but didn’t give him time to respond.

“And I found out that my other employee -- Jeffrey O’Dell? He’s one of your old students, Professor Germain.” Clark grinned. What he didn’t say, however, was that he thanked several gods that Jeffrey knew Daniel. Otherwise, Clark wouldn’t have such a smooth excuse to be here.

Clark knew he was too happy for the opportunity, and his jaw flexed as he reminded himself he was here in an official capacity. Because, in the end, it didn’t matter that Daniel smelled amazing --

What in the hell was that scent? Other than utterly distracting?

-- or that the memory of Daniel did poor justice to the reality.

It would never work between us. You now know this to be true. Stop it with the damned wishful thinking.

“Jeffrey O’Dell...” Daniel’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh! Lots of brains under that Irish charm. I wish he didn’t keep expecting his... assets to get him out of trouble when he messed up. How is he doing?”

Clark breathed an inward sigh of relief. The second objective had gone just as well as the first: Clark had provided Daniel with an obvious methodology for how he’d found Daniel. “He’s doing well. Good kid, paints like a fiend. I threaten to fire him at least once a week, but so far he’s still with me.”

“An artist? Oh right, he took the graphics class,” Daniel said. “Good to know he’s landed on his feet.”

The two men came up to Orsino’s. The sign read “Neapolitan pizza” and showed a wood fire surrounded by bricks. Daniel opened the door. “It’s my favorite pizza joint. The crust is amazing with the wood and brick oven.”

Clark’s mouth watered at the smell. “And suddenly I’m starving.” Clark grinned and walked inside, stomach rumbling. He spied the massive slices behind the glass counter, saw the ovens hard at work for the lunch crowd.

Thinking of his scheduled eight-mile run in the morning, Clark ordered three slices of pizza that seemed to have most of the contents of a standard refrigerator on top of them. He accepted his plate, got a root beer to go with it, and fell into the line to pay. Scanning the restaurant, he spotted a back corner booth that would be perfect for conversations not meant for the general public. Marking its location, Clark handed over cash to a pretty brunette who had a very tired smile.

Behind Clark in line, a kid tossed Daniel a cream soda, which Daniel caught in one hand. “Usual, Prof?”

“Yes, please.”

Clark held his tray, watched Daniel pay for the food, and nodded to himself in satisfaction. As he made his way toward the booth, a girl with her ear attached to a cell phone and her brain on mute nearly ran into Clark. Reacting quickly, Clark gracefully raised his tray of food above her head, spun to one side, and continued toward the table. Muttering about damned technology killing brain cells, Clark settled so he faced the main entrance. He never sat with his back to the primary door of a building.

“Here good?” Clark said, as Daniel approached.

Daniel eyed Clark and said, “Well, if you’re as good at watching my back as you are at dodging coeds, sure.” He settled into his chair and opened his cream soda before taking a sip.

“Oh, it’s a fair bet that you’re safe with me,” Clark said absently, lifting his shirt perhaps a little higher than necessary to provide a barrier between his hand and the metal cap of the root beer. He missed his towels, and he could hear Heather laughing at him.

Clark pulled at his drink and set the bottle down before picking up a slice of pizza. He took a careful bite and moaned with gusto. Daniel was right, the stuff was damned good. He looked up to see Daniel enjoying the food, and Clark took another swig of root beer after a few bites settled into the gaping chasm his stomach claimed to be. It was time to broach the next hurdle: somehow tell Daniel that Clark knew about the side career in such a way that didn’t creep Daniel out or offend. And, Clark thought, he needed to be especially cautious since Daniel obviously went to some lengths to keep said side venture private. Clark swallowed and calculated.

“So, I have a couple of confessions to make,” Clark said.

“You do?” Daniel raised one eyebrow.

“Yeah, ‘fraid so.” Clark managed to look shamefaced. “This isn’t
entirely
a social visit, though I am very happy to see you again.” He smiled, and even to him it felt entirely too hopeful.

Keep it together, Clark. Focus on the task, not on the way his mouth moves when he eats.

Daniel took another bite of his pizza and watched Clark, apparently content to listen. The nerves suddenly flooded back, which surprised Clark. This wasn’t life or death; hell, he was here to help the guy. Clark kept his face and body neutral as he mentally kicked himself for being so ridiculous. Centered somewhat, Clark tilted his head to one side, considering.