Shades of Gray (12 page)

“Hi,” Colin grinned when Miller sat next to him at the bar, gesturing with one hand for a beer. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. Hate this babysitting duty, though.”

“Yeah,” Colin nodded. “It always sucks.” He waited until the bartender deposited Miller’s beer before continuing. “I asked a few contacts about Butler. Nobody’s heard shit.”

“I’m not surprised. There’s something there, but he’s not budging.”

“What else did you want to talk about?”

Now that Miller was here, sitting next to Colin, he found the topic harder to breach, wasn’t sure how to initiate the conversation without giving too much away. “You’ve done a lot of hand-holding with informants, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Anne always gets so pissed when I’m stuck in an apartment for weeks on end, hardly ever get to come home.” Colin took a pull from his beer. “Why? This one really getting to you?”

“Yeah.” Miller drummed an offbeat rhythm with his fingers.

“You ever become friends with someone you’re watching?” Colin turned on his bar stool to give Miller an appraising look.

“It’s happened. But it’s never a good idea. That distance is there for a reason. I had one guy I was babysitting, my first assignment. We were Shades of Gray | 91

holed up together for three months. I was young and green and thought we were friends. He ended up selling me out and I almost got killed.

But it can work the other way too. I know someone whose informant got murdered and he was a wreck for months. It never pays to make friends with them. They’re a tool of the job and you have to think of them that way. Nothing more.”

“I know,” Miller sighed. “It’s just—”

“Believe me, I understand,” Colin interrupted. “You go into it already knowing almost everything about them. You start seeing their human side, start believing you’re friends. And it’s just the two of you, day after day. It’s natural to want to talk. It’s a fine line, and not everybody has the chops to handle it. There’s nothing wrong with chatting, shooting the shit. But don’t let it go farther than that. Nothing personal exchanged. Don’t let him inside your head.” Miller smiled ruefully into his beer bottle. He could just imagine what Colin would say if he knew all the secrets Miller had already given away—about his past, about Rachel, about the job.

Not to mention kissing him while he was half naked.

Miller tossed his head upward like a horse shooing away a pesky fly, trying to throw off the relentless internal voice.

“You want me to switch you out?” Colin asked, dropping peanuts into his mouth one by one from his closed fist. “I can get someone else to watch Butler.”

Miller knew what his answer should be, yet he found himself shaking his head. “No. It’s fine. This is my case. I’m going to see it through.”

Colin smiled. “I knew you’d say that. You’re one stubborn son of a bitch, Sutton.” He motioned for another beer. “Hey, you know who you might want to take a crack at, as far as the Butler-killing-someone angle goes? That Griffin Gentry guy. He was Butler’s cellmate, right?

He might know the story.”

At the mention of Griffin’s name Miller’s stomach flipped into a knot, his beer backing up into his throat. He remembered the smile 92 | Brooke McKinley

Griffin had given Danny. And the one Danny had given back, laughing easily with the man in the Mercedes. A man who, after all the time he’d spent learning about Danny, Miller hadn’t recognized. That single fact ignited Miller’s blood, like a match to lighter fluid, the resulting inferno burning wild and out of control. Danny’s life was his domain and no strangers belonged there.

“Yeah,” Miller said, clearing his throat around his pinched voice.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. I might try to talk to him sometime this week.”

“Just call Sakata. He’s got him stashed at the apartment north of the river.”

“Will do.”

It was full dark by the time Miller left the bar, since he’d stayed behind for one more beer after Colin took off for home and dinner duty.

The air was chill and leaden with the promise of rain. Miller pulled up the collar on his jacket, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and headed north into the wind, toward his car parked three blocks away.

The gun at his hip promising safety, he took a shortcut through a dark alley that was empty except for some fast-food wrappers swirling against his feet in the buffeting wind. Miller knew Colin was right: grooming an informant was always a delicate job. Trust had to be established to get the information, yet distance had to be maintained to retain the power structure. Miller had never had a problem in the past.

He’d always been able to manage just the right degree of familiarity to swoop in and pull out the secrets he needed without involving his own emotions. But with Danny… with Danny, it was different.

Miller tried to tell himself it was simply a factor of how long he’d been watching Danny: almost nine months now, much longer than he’d ever spent investigating a previous informant. That in itself fostered its own kind of intimacy. Miller was privy to information about Danny that only those closest to him would ever know, if anyone did. He knew Danny liked Mexican food and Marlboros in the hard pack. That he preferred baseball to football and sometimes rode a motorcycle. He knew that Danny and Amanda had divorced almost two years ago but Shades of Gray | 93

that Danny still took her to dinner at least once a month and always let her pick the restaurant. He knew that Danny had type O Positive blood, the green of his eyes was real, and that he was exactly six feet, one inch tall. That Danny wasn’t a morning person, usually stayed up past midnight, and drank a single cup of black coffee every morning. He knew that men sometimes visited Danny in his apartment, but they never stayed the night.

And now you know how he tastes. You know how his skin feels
under your hands.

Miller stopped walking, closed his eyes, and tried his old trick of turning his mind into a blank, white sheet.

You liked kissing him. It felt… honest… and right. You wanted to
keep going. You wanted to undress him. You wanted to touch him, you
wanted to—

“Damn it,” Miller hissed. This was insanity; this was not his life—the life he’d built so carefully, brick by brick. Miller Sutton was not gay. He did not want to have sex with another man. A man who was a convicted criminal. A scum-of-the-earth drug dealer. A man who was used to casual fucks and would think nothing of adding Miller’s name to his list of one-night stands.

That’s not fair. Or true. You saw his eyes, the way he looked at
you after the kiss. Those weren’t one-night-stand eyes. There was
nothing casual about it, Miller. For either of you.

“God, stop it!” Miller cried, swinging out violently, his fist connecting with the concrete wall in a cracking thud. He drew in a shuddering breath, the impact sending a merciful flash of white light traveling up his arm to wipe out everything else in his head. He cradled his ruined knuckles, blinking back the tears hovering against his lashes.

He should go see Rachel. She’d fix his hand, comfort him, he could spend the night with her….

But when he got to his car, he turned away from Rachel’s place.

He was tired and just wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and see Danny.

94 | Brooke McKinley

IT TOOK Miller two weeks and seven jewelry stores to pick out the
ring. It shouldn’t have been such a production; Rachel had made it
clear she wanted a round solitaire on a gold band. Traditional,
elegant, simple. But he couldn’t seem to make the final decision,
always wondering if there would be something better in the next store
he’d enter. Eventually he was forced to choose simply because he
didn’t have any more time to spend hunting. The FBI wasn’t too keen
on hearing “engagement ring shopping” as an excuse for dereliction of
duties.

Miller’s palms were sweating and he wiped them absently on the
cushions of Rachel’s pale green sofa. God, how did people ever do
this? He felt like he was having a panic attack, his stomach contracting
in a painful ball, his mouth dry as dust.

“Here, sweetie,” Rachel said, returning from the kitchen with two
glasses of wine. She handed one to Miller and curled up next to him.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Rachel, I…
.
” Miller cleared his throat. Rachel was looking at
him with a smile in her eyes to match the one on her lips. She knew
what he was going to ask, was just waiting for him to say the words.

They’d been dating a year now, and he was well aware Rachel had
been anxious for this moment for at least half that time.

As for Miller himself, he’d known on their first date that Rachel
was good wife material, as his brother Scott would say. From the
beginning, Rachel had been supportive of Miller’s career but not
overly enamored of it. Not like so many of the women he met in bars
whose eyes went shiny like they’d discovered a hidden cache of jewels
when they found out he was an FBI agent. Women who, after a few too
many margaritas, started making jokes about his “gun” and hinting
about the handcuffs in his pocket. They always made him feel awkward
and embarrassed and he couldn’t escape them fast enough.

“Miller?” Rachel questioned, laying one slim hand on his arm.

“What is it?”

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No way was he getting down on one knee. He pulled the black
velvet box from his pocket, took a steadying breath. “Rachel, will you
marry me?” he asked, his eyes shifting from her face to the ring and
back again.

“Miller,” Rachel sighed, a smile breaking free that was wide
enough to show her back molars. “Yes,” she exclaimed. “Yes!” She
threw her arms around his neck, dragging him forward, laughing and
crying against his cheek.

“Careful,” Miller warned, pulling back to wipe her tears with his
thumb. “Don’t
knock your ring into the wine.”
Rachel glanced down at the diamond, seeming to notice it for the
first time. “Oh, it’s gorgeous. Just what I had in mind.” She held out a
trembling finger. “Put it on me?”

Miller nodded. He plucked the diamond from its velvet bed, the
ring looking impossibly small and delicate in his hand, and slid it onto
Rachel’s finger. They both stared at it, the stone picking up the lights of
the room and throwing them back in shiny pinpoints.

“Miller, I’m so happy,” Rachel said.

Miller kissed her softly on her parted lips. He wanted to say it
back, so much. But he couldn’t. Because even now, even at this moment
that he’d thought would finally give him everything he needed, the little
voice in his head was still whispering, insistent and unrelenting, “Is
this it? Can this really be all there is?”
The voice was not fooled at all by the diamond ring on Rachel’s
finger.

DANNY was mildly drunk, the only thing keeping him from a rip-roaring bender being the fact that there was only the single bottle of bourbon left in the apartment. He didn’t want to drink it all in case Miller came back and needed some himself.

Can’t believe you’re worried about him. After the things he said
to you…
.
But the truth hurts, doesn’t it, Danny?

96 | Brooke McKinley

That last voice was not his own but his father’s, the old man’s constant refrain when Danny was growing up. Say something nasty, something designed to cut a child straight to their soul, then follow it up with, “Truth hurts, don’t it, Danny?” His father always had a special knack for sinking the knife in to the hilt. He felt a stab of guilt that he’d run away and left his mother alone with the old man, abandoning her to bear the weight of his father’s anger on her weak shoulders.

“Here’s to you, you old fucking bastard,” Danny whispered, raising the bottle toward the silver sliver of moon flirting from behind its veil of wispy clouds.

Danny understood why Miller had said what he did. He recognized Miller’s struggle, body and mind torn in different directions. But understanding didn’t make the words sting any less. It had been a long time since someone had been able to hurt him that way. But coming so close on the heels of that kiss…. That kiss had opened a door in Danny he’d thought was closed forever.

Lust was nothing new to Danny. He’d never been a man to deny his body. But desire, that was unfamiliar; wanting more than just to satisfy his basic needs with another man’s flesh, instead wanting to stroke and soothe and discover. That was virgin territory, and the fear was almost as strong as the wanting. Down the path of that kiss lay darkness and uncertainty, but maybe that was all right with him. He couldn’t remember what safe felt like anyway.

Leave it to you, Danny, to feel… something… for the one man in
the world you’d have to be an absolute fool to trust.

“Hey.” A gruff voice floated from over Danny’s shoulder, causing him to make a startled grab for the bottle that threatened to slip from between his knees.

“Shit.” He exhaled. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Miller hesitated, only his head braving the trip onto the balcony.

“You can come on out.” Danny motioned with his free hand. “I won’t throw you over.”

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“Gee, thanks,” Miller said, deadpan. “How can I resist an invitation like that?” But he stepped onto the balcony, taking the seat next to Danny’s.

They sat in silence as Miller lit up a cigarette. He didn’t ask for Danny’s lighter, instead fishing his own book of matches from his pocket.

“You want some?” Danny asked, holding out the bourbon, his voice coming out angrier than he felt.

“Okay,” Miller said, tone wary.

“How was Rachel?”

Miller tightened up next to him. “I didn’t go see Rachel.”