The Magic in Your Touch (22 page)

“Jesus, Nate, I’m gonna shoot.” He thought Nate might back off and finish him with his hand, but he kept up the tender assault. Brandon’s fists knotted against the leather of the seat as the first wave of release hit. Nate was with him every step, holding tight as Brandon’s hips bucked under the intense pleasure. When Bran finally collapsed against the seat, Nate pulled off and rested his head against Brandon’s chest. Bran was sure he was listening to the racing of his heart.

When he spoke, his voice was husky and low. “I love you, Nate.”

 

“I love you, too. I never realized how good it could be to give pleasure to someone else.”

 

Brandon reached for him. “I can make it even better for you.”

 

The blush on Nate’s face and the way he backed away from his touch told Bran he’d missed something. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? I only want to give you the same feeling you’ve just given me.”

 

“That’s just it. While I was. . .while we were. . .this is so embarrassing. It’s just that, when you came, I got so excited, I. . .I did, too.”

 

Brandon took him into his arms. “You came without even touching yourself?”

Nate looked so miserable when he nodded, Bran kissed him, tasting himself on Nate’s lips. “Baby, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, it makes me hot all over again just thinking about it.” He reached under the seat and pulled out the paper towels he kept in the car for spills and clean-ups. He eased Nate back against the seat and unzipped his jeans. With aching tenderness, he cleaned away all evidence of Nate’s release. He had Nate take off his shoes and then yanked at his jeans until Nate wriggled out of them—no small task in the tight confines of the car—and then Brandon pulled Nate’s boxers off and held them while Nate put his jeans back on. When he reached for his underwear, Brandon shook his head. “Nope. These are mine. I’ve heard about straight guys keeping their girlfriends panties as trophies. Well, this is mine. It’s not every day a man gets his guy worked up enough to come without ever being touched.” He pretended to think about it for a minute. “In fact, I’ve seen other men hang garters on their rearview mirrors. I wonder how these would look dangling above the dash.”

“No way, Brandon. I’m not about to have my underwear on display for all of Reed, Illinois to see.” He made a one-handed grab for them, but Bran caught him and pulled him backwards across his lap.

“I’ve got you now, boy. Wonder if I can think of something really nasty to do to you?” He claimed Nate’s mouth with renewed passion, and probably would have done more had a bright light not landed right across his eyes.

“What in the hell?” He looked up and saw the silhouette of a man against the window, flashlight in hand. He let Nate go back to his own seat, fear and adrenaline racing through his veins. He cursed himself for being stupid enough to come out to this isolated spot without letting anyone know where they were. He rolled down the window and reached under the seat for his pistol, all in one motion.

The man behind the flashlight laughed and said, “If you’re gonna shoot me, Boss, don’t you think you should at least button your pants first?”

 

Brandon exhaled in a rush of air. “Dammit, Sam, you scared the hell out of me. I thought you were that nut who’s after Nate.”

 

Sam lowered the flashlight, the moonlight bright enough to reveal the grin he was having trouble hiding. “What would you have done if I had been? You’d have been screwed, no pun intended.”

 

Brandon heard Nate trying his best not to laugh and failing miserably. He ignored him and turned his irritation on Sam. “What are you doing down here, anyway?”

 

“I got a report about some kids parking down on Old Pepper Road and came to check it out. You haven’t seen any horny teenagers, have you?”

 

“Ha-ha. You’ve investigated, so now you can leave.”

Sam shook his head. “I was headed to your place after I finished this call, anyway. On my way over here, dispatch radioed in. The F.B.I. came up with a match on that partial from Doc’s car. He leaned down so he could see Nate through the open window. “Hey, Doc. How’s it hanging, man?”

Nate dissolved into another fit of laughter, but Brandon had switched into cop mode. “Did dispatch give any details?”

 

“No, but apparently the guy they’ve identified is into some heavy shit because the U.S. Attorney’s Office is sending a man on the next flight from Washington to go over the case with you.”

Brandon felt Nate stiffen beside him and reached for his hand without looking at him. “Thanks, Sam. I’m going to take Nate home, and then I’ll come to the station and see what I can find out.” Sam nodded and said good-bye, leaving Brandon and Nate to rearrange their clothing and head out. As Bran started the car, Nate said, “Brandon, why would the U.S. Attorney be involved?”

Brandon backed the car out and started back up the gravel road. “The Attorney General’s office could be in on this for any number of reasons, Nate. They have divisions for everything from organized crime to counter terrorism. I’d be afraid to speculate.” He stopped at the end of the road and gave Nate a reassuring kiss. “Let’s make a deal not to worry about it until we have to, alright?”

Nate agreed, but Bran could feel the tension in him. He didn’t blame him for being scared. He had the feeling things had just gone from bad to worse.

 

* * *

Brandon was sitting at his desk the next day when his secretary, Lorna, stuck her head in the door. “Sheriff, the representative from the Attorney General’s office is here. I’ve already checked his credentials and received confirmation. Should I send him in?”

“Please. And, Lorna? Make sure we aren’t disturbed. Sam’s off today, but if anything major comes in, Dewey can handle it.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff.” She left and returned a few minutes later with a tall man in a three piece suit. Brandon estimated him to be between forty-five and fifty, his black hair peppered with gray. His green eyes were warm when he introduced himself, his crooked smile softening the sharp angles of his face.

“Rex Howard, U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

Brandon shook his hand, noticing Howard’s firm grip. “Brandon Nash. Come on in and have a seat.” Brandon returned to his desk as Howard seated himself. “I understand you have some information for me. Can I get you some coffee before we start?”

“No thanks. I drank a gallon of it on the flight in. My wife has been after me to slack off, but since I quit smoking two years ago, I figure I need at least one vice. I’m afraid my wife doesn’t see it that way. You married, Nash?”

“Engaged. My fiancé’s already nagging me about my eating habits, though, so I know how you feel.”

“Sounds like you do. I imagine you’re ready for me to stop the small talk and tell you the reason I’m here.” He picked up his briefcase and indicated the desk. “May I?” When Brandon nodded, he put the case on the desk and opened it, taking out a think file. He put the case back on the floor and handed the file to Bran. “The F.B.I. took the partial you gave them and entered it into their database. It took some doing, but they finally came up with a name. He pointed to the mug-shot at the top of the file. “Meet your perp, Nolan Wilson.”

Brandon looked at the picture, searching for any recognizable features. All he saw was a man of abut forty with auburn hair and bloodshot hazel eyes. Nothing, from his hawk-like nose to his pointed chin, struck any cords of familiarity for Bran.

“Doesn’t look familiar. What can you tell me about him?” “Nolan Wilson, alias Ned White, is a real hit-man’s hit-man. He’s quick, thorough, and discreet. He has an arrest record as long as my forearm, but no convictions. He’s been linked with some of the biggest crime families in the business, but he’s a freelancer, going with whoever pays the best and never pledging allegiance to any one family.”

Brandon nodded. “I understand that the Attorney General is cracking down on organized crime, but if Wilson has no real family affiliation, why the interest?”

“The thing about Wilson that sets him apart from most hit-men is the fact that he doesn’t specialize. Wilson prides himself on his versatility. He’s been suspected in four arsons, three bombings, and at least fourteen murders. It’s rumored that if a client requests a service beyond Wilson’s expertise, he’ll study and learn until he has the skill to perform the job requested. That’s where our office comes in.”

“Six months ago, Ross Donavan, owner of the Norwegian Woods restaurant chain, found out that one of his distributors was supplying meat that hadn’t been graded by the FDA. Donavan canceled his contract and found another supplier. Unfortunately, the supplier he stopped doing business with was connected to the Nikoli crime family. Within one week of canceling the contract, the first restaurant burned down. By the time our office became involved five weeks later, Donavan had lost four restaurants. An anonymous tip points to Wilson as the perp. If we can corner him and make a conviction stick, we might be able to convince him to roll on the Nikoli family.” He leaned back in his chair. “We want this guy bad, Nash. He’s a heavy-hitter with almost limitless resources. Before we go any further, though, I want to know why a small town sheriff is after a key player like Wilson.”

“Fair enough. I worked with the feds long enough to know how the system works. I don’t care who prosecutes this guy as long as you get to him before I do. I’m telling you now, Howard, if I get to him first, there may not be enough of him left to prosecute.”

Howard didn’t seem shocked by the declaration. “Sounds like this is personal.”

“You have no idea. To answer your question, though, I suspect Wilson is behind a series of so-called gay-bashings. I say so-called because I believe he’s really after one man and is using the ‘bashings’ as a cover. So far, two local business owned by gay and lesbian couples have been torched. The first one was clean, but a woman got caught in the middle of the last one. She’s still in a coma, by the way, so any information she might have isn’t gonna be forthcoming anytime soon. As I said before, I think the arsons are just a cover. I believe his real target is a man named Nathan Morris, a doctor here in town. Three weeks ago, he was coming out of his office when this guy grabbed him and knocked him over the head. Nate was smart enough to trigger the alarm, but not before the guy called him a faggot and threatened him again. That same night, both his office and his home were ransacked, words like ‘queer’ and ‘fag’ painted on the walls and animal blood dumped all over his clothes. I have reason to believe Wilson was going to kill him, then went into a rage when he couldn’t find him. The first burning happened a few days later, and a note was sent to this office, making it appear to be a hate crime. A little too damn convenient if you ask me. Two weeks after the assault, the son-of-a-bitch cut the break lines on Nate’s car. I almost lost—” He cleared his throat. “He almost bled to death. The day after he came home from the hospital, the second fire happened. No note this time, but the guy planted evidence making it look like Nate’s brother was the perp. He’s been cleared, so that leaves us where we are now. Wilson’s print was lifted from the undercarriage of Nate’s car, but no other physical evidence has been found. So far, that’s our only lead.”

Howard said, “I’d say you’re right about the gay-bashing angle being a screen. Wilson himself is a known bisexual with a heavy preference towards men. It’s unlikely he’d suddenly jump on the anti-gay bandwagon. The thing about this that confuses me, though, is why Wilson would target a small-town doctor. Wilson is strictly for hire. He has a slew of personal enemies, as I’m sure you can imagine, but hasn’t lifted a finger against any of them. The only time he kills, it’s business. And a guy like Wilson doesn’t come cheap.” He put his fingers to his chin. “You say the last burning was three days ago?”

“Yeah. We’re hoping the victim will come out of it and give us something to go on, but even if she makes a full recovery, it’s doubtful she’ll remember anything.” Howard sat in silence, but Brandon could almost see his mind working. “The thing about Wilson is, he doesn’t leave a job until it’s completely finished. Take the Ross Donavan case, for example. He targeted the four most popular restaurants in the Norwegian Woods chain, nearly crippling Donavan’s whole empire. We believe that was the objective all along. If he is behind these attacks, and his purpose is to kill Dr. Morris, he won’t stop until he either gets caught, or finishes the good doctor off.”

Brandon’s whole body went into attack mode. “That ain’t gonna happen, Howard. The bastard will have to go through me first, and I guarantee you, he doesn’t want to do that.”

 

Howard nodded. “I believe you, Nash. I know if someone was threatening my wife, I’d be ready to kick ass and take names.”

 

“How’d you know?”

Howard smiled. “That Dr. Morris is your fiancé? It wasn’t hard to figure out. I may have a fancy title, but at heart, I’m just a cop. Maybe it was the way you said his name, or the way you tensed when you talked about the attempts on his life. Whatever, it’s plain to see you’re in love with the guy and willing to do whatever it takes to protect him.”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“To your being willing to do whatever it takes to protect him? Nah. I’d prefer to bring the little bastard in alive so we can nail the Nikoli’s, but if you have to take him out to save your boy, I’m all for it. The world won’t mourn Nolan Wilson, believe me.”

Brandon shook his head and smiled. “I meant, do you have a problem with me and Nate?”

“I’m the first to admit that a good looking guy with a big dick does nothing for me, but I have no problem with homosexuals. My oldest son is gay. The guy he’s dating has sixteen piercings between his eyebrow and his bellybutton. I shudder to think what he might have below the belt. If I have any negative feelings at all, it’s that my son can’t find a nice young doctor to settle down with instead of that pincushion he calls a boyfriend.”

“I’m definitely blessed to have, Nate. Now I’ve got to catch Wilson and whoever is bankrolling him so we can settle down to a normal life together, whatever normal is.”

“I think that’s where I can help you. Like I said, Wilson never leaves a job until he’s finished. I’d like to bring some of my men down here, undercover. When Wilson makes his next move, we’ll be ready.” He stood up and fished a card from his pocket. “I’m staying at a hotel in Chicago. It will take me two days, tops, to set this thing up. You can reach me anytime on my cell phone. I’ll contact you as soon as arrangements are made, unless I hear from you first. Don’t worry, I’ll make it clear that this is your case. There’ll be no pulling rank on this one. A man has a right to defend what’s his.” He extended his hand. Brandon shook with Howard and said, “I’ll await your call. And I appreciate all your help.”