L.A. Bytes (8 page)

“Let’s go,” he said. “I want to pick up my car at the station.”

But by the time they reached the sidewalk, Adam was nowhere in sight. David scanned the street north and south, but there were no pedestrians or moving cars.

60 P.A. Brown

“Sonny boy seem all that broken up to you?” In the parking lot Martinez popped open the door to his brown Crown. “Mother’s death, gotta be a hard thing for anyone.”

“Provided they get along as well as Baruch wants us to think,”

David said. “You get the feeling he made a point of making sure Crandall saw him come by every two weeks? Like clockwork.”

“The loyal, loving son. Alice didn’t exactly buy into it.”

“Notice he barely shed a tear when we told him she was dead?”

“Nice.” Martinez wheeled out of the tree-lined parking lot and headed east toward the station. “Think he’s good for it?”

“I’m wondering about this whole religious thing.” David beat a tattoo on his thigh. “I always fi gured mom just switched from, say, being a Presbyterian to Catholicism. Now I’m thinking there’s a whole lot more going on.”

“Baruch. Adam Baruch. Sounds Jewish. If Nancy Scott married a Jew and they raised their son Jewish, then junior’s bound to get ticked off when Mom goes back to the old faith so soon after his father’s out of the picture. Gotta seem like a major betrayal.”

“Gives him cause to resent her,” Martinez said. “Enough to off her?”

“Guess we better fi nd out.”

Wednesday 1:40 pm, Glendale Boulevard, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
Chris spent the day at the hospital with no more damaging discoveries; he was on his way to grab a bottle of wine for Des’s dinner party when he spotted the jewelry store tucked behind the plaza where he parked.

The interior was well lit and smelled of incense that tickled the back of Chris’s throat. Almost immediately he spotted the glittering row of pendants spotlighted on their dark, velvet cases.

A thin, delicate Japanese man approached from the other side of the glass case. He eyed Chris with a practiced gaze and must have liked what he saw; the wattage from his smile lit up his face.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Chris pointed out one platinum pendant. “I’d like to look at that one.”

Later, after he had selected a couple of bottles of Tantara’s Bien Nacido Pinot Noir, he returned to pick up his other purchase, now engraved, and headed home. For once he hoped David hadn’t beaten him there.

He was in luck, the house was empty.

After a quick lunch and a long walk down by the reservoir with the dog, he spent the next two hours in the bathroom, waxing and tweezing until his body was as smooth as raw silk. Then he showered and dressed with extra care, new Martin Margiela pants and an aqua sweater that hugged his chest and showed off every line of his carefully honed physique.

In the kitchen he opened a bottle of Bettinelli Chardonnay.

He carried the glass into his home offi ce and logged online to check his email.

62 P.A. Brown

No more threatening messages from Sandman. Was that good or bad? Had the stunt at the hospital just been a prank gone bad?

Had the guy freaked, sent Chris a warning, then skipped?

Sandman was no script kiddie, he—or she, he amended—

knew what he was doing. Sandman’s actions weren’t like the teens who compiled code they found online, which they unleashed as viruses that rarely worked. Most system administrators found them more of an irritation than a real threat; they ate up bandwidth and consumed time cleaning up the mess they left.

Weapons of mass annoyance.

Sandman was far beyond that level. The danger he posed was real. He was already responsible for taking one life.

But was he worth pursuing on his own time? David was safe.

Why expend energy chasing an ephemeral ghost in the machine?

Didn’t Chris have enough work?

He heard the front door open and close. David’s footsteps echoed across the tiled foyer, fi rst hard, then soft, after he took his shoes off and put his gun and badge in the hall safe.

Chris logged off and stood just as David stuck his head round the corner, his mustache quirking upward as he smiled.

“Hey, it’s after fi ve,” David said. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking this evening off?”

“Hmph, you should talk.” Chris kissed him. “Hope you haven’t eaten.”

“Not unless you count Martinez’s donuts.” He looked Chris up and down. “You look nice. Got a hot date?”

“Funny,” Chris said. “Why don’t you grab a shower while I get you a drink.”

When David entered the kitchen, hair still damp, Chris had a second glass ready. They shared the last of the Chardonnay, while David read the paper.

Des met them at the door of his Beverly Hills bungalow. His classically beautiful, pale bronze face was wreathed in smiles as he clasped Chris’s hands in his and air-kissed him. “Darlings, you L.A. BYTES
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came.” He repeated the gesture on David, then held the larger man at arm’s length while he studied him with knowing eyes.

“Have we lost weight? You look marvelous, David. And I must say that suit looks divine on you.”

Chris ignored David’s rolling eyes and grinned. “He does look good, doesn’t he?”

Des guided the two of them into his living room. “You must visit the shop again. I just got the most incredible Brunello Cucinellis in. You’ll just die when you see them—”

He broke away to take the wine Chris offered him. He gestured them to sit.

“We’ll open this later,” he said. “Right now I have something you simply must try.”

Under their amused stares the slender African-American man slipped behind his bar, a Fin de Siecle ebony and brown leather piece taking up half the wall. Over it loomed a series of movie posters from the thirties and forties, preserved behind glass on acid-free mats.

Over Des’s hairless head, Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine stared down raptly from “Suspicion.” On either side of the Hitchcock thriller, Nick and Nora dabbled in mystery and martinis in images from their various Thin Man movies.

Des produced a chrome cocktail set and soon delivered Chris’s favorite Cîroc martini. For David he poured a bottle of beer into a tall glass. David watched him, then took the bottle from him.

“Tuchers?” he asked. “Where do you fi nd these things?”

“I’m a shopper hon, I can fi nd anything.”

David shook his head, but drank the imported beer anyway, since he knew Des refused to stock domestic beer. “Not even for you, sugar,” he said, whenever David forgot and asked for a Bud.

“Sit, sit,” Des said, herding them toward the pair of Savoy Art Deco club chairs facing the brocade love seat across a walnut-veneered coffee table.

64 P.A. Brown

At one time the room had been fi lled with Louis XIV antiques.

Then Kyle, Des’s lover, had been murdered and the man who later tried to kill Chris had assaulted Des. The brutality occurred right in this room. Chris wanted Des to sell the place and move someplace, anyplace else, but Des resisted the idea. He had clung to his home through all of Chris’s gentle encouragement to move on.

But he sold the furniture.

Chris slipped onto the love seat and pulled David down beside him.

“So what’s this big surprise?” Chris asked. “Something really juicy, I hope.”

“Oh you’ll love it, I know you will.” Des had barely parked his delicate rump on the Savoy when he jumped back up, too excited to sit still. “First though, you just have to sample Kozi’s sushi. He got it all ready for me, just hold on, I’ll go get the fi rst tray—”

Des vanished into the kitchen, a wisp of scented air. He was back almost immediately carrying a massive split bamboo tray on which an array of Japanese delicacies were artfully arranged.

There was kappa maki, and nori, crab rolls and soba noodles, along with a bowl after bowl of wasabi, sesame oil and shoyu for dipping.

Chris grabbed a pair of chopsticks and dove in. David gingerly followed suit, though his skills with the sticks were never strong and he favored his fi ngers when Des refused to allow him to use a fork.

“So are you two all set for next week?” Des asked between bites of nori.

“Next week?” David looked puzzled.

It was Des’s turn to roll his eyes. “The party. Have you forgotten already? It’s Halloween.”

“I don’t know, Des—”

“David, you promised.” Des looked at Chris. “Didn’t he promise?”

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“Chris...” David said.

“You did promise,” Chris reminded him.

“Oh, you’ll have fun, David. Really, inside that gruff bear is a silly old queen just dying to get out and have some fun.”

Chris almost burst out laughing at the look on David’s face. He patted David’s muscular thigh but David wasn’t into reassurances.

“Silly old queen?”

Des blushed. “Okay, not so old. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.” He fl ashed his most beguiling smile. “You did promise.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He glared at Des. “But don’t expect me to dress up. I draw the line at that.”

Chris and Des traded glances. Without another word Des subsided back into his chair, a smug grin on his dark face.

David didn’t look happy at the double-tagged coercion.

Des jumped up again. “Now that that’s settled here’s my surprise.”

Both Chris and David looked where Des was looking with such expectation on his face. A fi gure appeared in the door to the rear of the bungalow.

Chris’s jaw dropped and David gave a grunt of surprise.

Trevor Watson grinned at them both, then slipped up beside Des and took his hand.

“I’m back.”

“Since when?” Chris was outraged. He thought Trevor was long gone from Des’s life. For the better, he thought. The guy was just so wrong for his best friend. He’d always thought Des had let his grief for the loss of Kyle infl uence him into a premature relationship with the admittedly good looking man who had almost been Chris’s lover before David. “You never told me you were coming back.” He realized David was glaring at him. He turned his anger on Des. “You never told me.”

66 P.A. Brown

“I told you it was a surprise. Not much of a surprise if I tell you ahead of time.”

“Good to see you, Trevor,” David said fl atly. “You in town for a while?”

Trevor put his hand on Des’s shoulder and Des looked up at him adoringly. “Maybe permanently.”

“Isn’t it great?”

Both Chris and David nodded grimly. “Yes, great.”

They took their leave soon after. In the car, Chris didn’t have to wait long for the outburst he was expecting.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I’m just as surprised as you are.” Chris shifted uneasily in his seat. “Do you think it will work out this time?”

“I hope it does,” David growled. When Chris shot him a startled look, he added, “For Des’s sake. I didn’t like seeing him hurt like last time.”

“Maybe I should talk to Trev...” David scowled and Chris reversed himself. “Okay, maybe not a good idea.” He drummed his fi ngers on his leg. “I guess we just wait and see.”

David grumpily agreed.

Neither one of them mentioned Des or Trevor the rest of the evening.

§ § § §

Back home, Chris checked his email to see if any emergencies were brewing. Normally he spent one to two hours taking care of business, but tonight he kept one ear cocked for David in the media room down the hall.

Finally he heard the steady tread on the tile stairs. He made a quick perusal of his emails, making sure nothing needed his immediate attention, then logged out and followed David.

He stripped in the bathroom, pulled a towel around his slim hips and entered the bedroom where David was propped up in bed, reading one of his science fi ction novels. Reading glasses L.A. BYTES
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perched on his nose, David glanced over them at Chris and his smile tightened on his swarthy face.

“Quitting early?”

Chris let his gaze wander over the furred expanse of David’s chest. He tried not to linger on the puckered white skin on David’s left shoulder where he had been shot saving Chris from the Carpet Killer. The memories were still too painful. He gently covered the scar with his hand. “You could say that.”

Before David could react, Chris removed the book from his hands and set it down on the nightstand. Pulling open the top drawer, Chris drew out the black jeweler’s case he had stashed there earlier. He fl ipped it open and withdrew the chain, draping it over David’s chest.

David looked down at the St. Michael’s medallion. “What’s this for?”

Chris trailed the fi ngers of his left hand over the puckered scar tissue. “It’s for this,” he said and slid his hand down David’s hip, where an assailant had stabbed him with a kitchen knife during an arrest six years ago. “And that.”

David shifted under his touch, his breath catching in his throat. “Chris... ”

“But mostly it’s for this,” Chris smoothed the heel of his hand over David’s chest, where the cool medal lay over his rapidly beating heart. “Because I love you and I will never do anything to hurt you or bring you harm. I don’t ever want you to be jealous of anyone. There’s no one in my heart but you.”

Before David could answer, Chris planted his lips over the same spot his hand had been. He could feel the furious pumping of David’s heart. Chris slid down the length of his body, taking him in his mouth.

David groaned.

David’s hands settled on Chris’s shoulders, surrendering to his desire. Chris brought him to the brink again and again until
68 P.A. Brown

David was nearly mindless with lust. He climaxed with a shout.

They embraced until sleep claimed them both.

After several quiet minutes David started snoring.

Thursday, 7:50 am, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando
Road, Los Angeles

The next day David shoved open the door to the detectives’

room and felt half a dozen pairs of eyes follow him in. The rumor mill had never let up since his precipitous outing years ago. His marriage to Chris had put it into an overdrive that had never abated. Sometimes it was like living in the midst of a pack of hyenas, waiting for their blood lust to overcome caution.