Acrobat (12 page)

“What?”

I motioned at him. “Tweed?”

He flipped me off.

“Just come on, Sandy,” I teased. “Update the damn wardrobe. This is 2012, for crissakes.”

“Just cut the crap, Nate. What did you say to—”

“I didn’t say anything to anybody, and if you knew me at all, you’d know that.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that the one year that you don’t get to put on the Medieval Feast just so happens to be the same year that Greg Butler decides he wants to give money to the college?”

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

“Are you kidding?”

“This is actually what you think of me?” I said to him. “That I would, what, call a rich alumnus and hit him up for cash for the school just to make you look bad? Really?”

“What am I supposed to think, Nate?”

“You’re supposed to think how lucky you are that—”

The door flying open and banging against the wall made us both gasp, killing all conversation in the room instantly.

“Jesus!” Sanderson yelled as I realized who I was looking at.

“What are you doing here?”

“What the hell?” Sanderson yelled at Duncan Stiel.

“I need the room,” he growled at my colleague, his voice low and hard and menacing.

Sanderson moved fast, asking no questions, telling me without any power behind the threat at all that we were not done discussing my obvious attempt to embarrass him. Like I had that kind of time or inclination. Just the idea was ludicrous.

He was annoying, but so was my ex as he slammed the door behind him and whirled around, hands gripping my desk as he stared me down with his dark-gray eyes. Once upon a time, I had found the overcast color romantic, stunning. Now they were just cold.

“Yes, Detective?”

“Don’t fuckin’ ‘yes, Detective’ me,” he growled, all snarling alpha dog. “What the fuck is going on with you and Vincent Romelli?”

My eyes flicked to the clock, seeing that my office hours were actually done, and so I stood up and started packing my messenger bag, beginning with my laptop.

“Nate!” he yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls in the small space. He straightened up, moving like he was going to come around my desk.

“Don’t,” I said irritably. “You know, Duncan, this is bullshit. You don’t get to ask me questions about my personal life anymore.”

“This is not your fucking personal life we’re talking about! This is Andreo Fiore and a murdered mob boss and a dead fuckin’ hit man in your dumpster!”

I took a breath. “For the record, I never met Vincent Romelli, never saw the deceased hit man, and Andreo Fiore and I are friends and neighbors, and that’s it.”

“Goddammit, Nate, you—”

“I would not have known Vincent Romelli had I passed him on the street. Like I said, I know Andreo Fiore and I know he worked for Romelli, but that’s it. As far as the dead man goes, I’m sure you know more about him than I do.”

He was breathing through his nose as he studied me, crossing his arms over the broad chest that I knew from firsthand experience was covered in hard, thickly carved muscle. Really, without his clothes on, Duncan Stiel was a work of art; it was too bad that I was being reminded of what I could no longer have.

“So if this is done, I have a faculty meeting to get to and a date later, so… you know the way out.”

“Nate—”

“Just don’t worry about it.” I sighed as I put the strap over my shoulder and walked around my desk to face him. “I’m fine.”

“No, you look like somebody hit you.”

I groaned.

“Nate!”

And when he yelled, it felt… normal. I had thought that the first time I talked to the man after our breakup, I would be sad or filled with regret. But I was neither. I was nothing. I was completely over Duncan Stiel.

“I’m fine,” I soothed him. “I saved a lady from getting mugged the other day.” I grinned, opening the door and gesturing him out. “And the next night, I saved my second-favorite kid from getting hit by an enraged father.”

He looked at me like I had just fallen out of the crazy tree, but he moved at my bidding, and as he walked out into the hall, I locked the door behind him. When I turned to face him, he was still scowling.

“All this that you’re doing,” I told him, “is so unnecessary. Jimmy’s got me covered. He’ll figure out who the guy was actually there to kill, because we both know it wasn’t me. Who would want to kill me? That makes no sense.”

“You should be scared.”

“Of what? Clumsy hit men?” I raised an eyebrow in question.

He was lost or confused or both.

“Come on, Duncan, think about it. I’m not in any danger, not really.”

He was just staring at me.

“So, major crimes, huh?” I shoved my hands down in my pockets. “Jimmy told me. I thought you loved homicide.”

“What?”

“Wait, that sounded weird.” I thought about it a minute, grinning over my poor choice of words. I was supposed to be good with them.

“Nate.”

I looked up into his eyes and waited.

“You need protection.”

I shook my head. “No, there’s some kind of mistake. I refuse to believe that anyone wants to hurt me. I’m sure Jimmy will figure it out—he’s a smart guy.”

“Nate—”

“Might be the company I keep,” I said thoughtfully, really, finally, running the whole scenario over in my head, worried about the timing. Andreo had been at my house, sleeping in my bed, which was closest to the fire escape. It made way more sense that he would be a target instead of me. “Shit, I have to go,” I said suddenly, turning away from him, needing to find Dreo.

“I need to talk to you.” He stopped me, grabbing my bicep, holding tight, fingers digging into my arm.

“About what?” I asked impatiently, trying not to sound annoyed, because it was rude, and once upon a time, he had meant the world to me.

He took a step forward, crowding me but releasing me at the same time. “I just want you to know that I—I never… I never wanted to go. I miss the fuck out of you.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

I was surprised. “But you left so easily.”

“What was I supposed to do, Nate? You wanted something I couldn’t give you—still can’t. It was either my job or you, and the job is who I am.”

“I know that.”

“But it doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”

I took a breath. “I know that too.”

“And you?”

“I think we’re both well aware of what my feelings were.”

He cleared his throat. “Were?”

Honesty, right there in the hallway. Maybe it was fitting. “Yeah. It’s been over a long time, right? Me and you?”

I got a quick nod of his head.

“So we’re both good.”

“I,” he said, closing back in on me, this time gently taking hold of my elbow, “really miss… you, us. There’s been no one who’s meant anything since I walked out of your apartment that day.”

It was painful to hear but so completely unchangeable. He was in the closet; I had found out the hard way that I could not live my life like that. When we had been together, which, honestly, we never should have been, I hadn’t liked myself. I was not the kind of man who hid his feelings or his relationships. That had never been me. I was the guy who draped an arm around a shoulder in public, introduced my man to an acquaintance if I passed one on the street, and definitely brought them to any work function I happened to have because I was happy and proud and excited. I had not been allowed to be any of those things with Duncan, and so the relationship had been doomed to fail from the start. In hindsight it was a ridiculous situation, but at the time, my feelings had drowned my logic. I had not been me for two years, and when it was over, when I knew it was truly done, losing Duncan had been hard, but I got myself back. I got to be me again. And really, truly, the trade-off had been a good one.

“Nate.”

“Sorry.” I smiled automatically. “I was just thinking about ancient history.”

“I was worried.” He sucked in a breath. “That’s why I came. More than worried, actually, more like terrified. The idea that you could be in trouble or—”

“But I’m not,” I assured him, taking a breath, easing free of his tentative hold. “I’m fine. Like I told you, I didn’t know Romelli, and Andreo Fiore, for whatever reputation he has, is a good man who loves his nephew. So,” I said with a sigh, “thanks for coming; it was actually great to see you. Clearing the air and closure, always appreciated.”

The muscles in his jaw corded. “So, you have a date?”

“I do.” I chuckled. “And you? Are you see—”

“It’s the same as it was before you.”

I understood. It meant that spotting him outside the bathhouse on Halstead had not been a fluke; he was back to old habits, one-night stands with a parade of nameless guys. It made sense. Duncan Stiel was gorgeous—any guy would want him. It was keeping him, living with him inside the insulated bubble he insisted on, that was the trick.

“Nate?”

My eyes flicked back to his.

He smiled. “Don’t know what to say?”

His eyes were hooded, his smile barely there, and I knew by the sound he made under his breath that he wanted to lean in and take hold of me. I remembered it—his looks, his breathing, his smell—and how much I had wanted it to work so desperately. The man could be addictively sweet, and when I had been there some nights, at his loft, when he got home from work, the joy on his face at finding me had been worth all the secrecy. When he crossed the floor to wrap strong arms around me, just needing everything to stop, just wanting me to hold him as tight as I could… I knew that was real, and those moments had sustained me through the rest. It had been physically painful when I took his house key off my ring because I knew those quiet, tender encounters were over.

“There’s nothing to say,” I assured him.

He nodded and took a breath. “There is. You look great.”

“You too.” I smiled, relieved, giving him the sincere compliment before I turned to go.

“Nate.”

My head swiveled back.

“If you ever find yourself in need of police protection….” He smiled ruefully.

“First call I make,” I promised.

He shoved his hands down in the pockets of his dress pants, and I turned again and walked away. At the end of the hall, I looked back. He was still there, watching me.

“Hey, you know I only wish you the best, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he assured me.

I pushed the panic bar on the door and walked outside into the brisk fall air. I felt good. The cathartic talk was done, and it had not been how I thought it would be, instead lighter. But as I took a deep breath, the roll of memory leveled me and I remembered, like you do in the morning when you first wake up after a breakup before everything comes roaring back, that I needed to talk to Dreo. As I began walking in the opposite direction of my faculty meeting, I pulled out my cell phone and called Michael. I needed to find out where his uncle was.

T
HE
dean let me out of the staff meeting after I explained that I had a family emergency and promised to have someone fill me in on what I missed. After catching a cab, I headed downtown to an Italian restaurant off LaSalle that was a huge place that looked more like a warehouse than a high-end dining experience. Supposedly, though, it was a very trendy new place where all the foodies gathered nightly. As I was there after lunch and well before dinner, it was mostly deserted. At the bar, though, situated in the middle of a vast concrete floor, was where I saw Dreo Fiore, just like Michael had told me when I called to ask if he knew his uncle’s whereabouts.

Normally, the younger Fiore didn’t get an itinerary from his uncle, but I figured with the unfortunate turn of events that Dreo might have been a little more forthcoming. I was right. Michael told me he had given Dreo an ultimatum: he could either tell him where he would be at certain points during the day or turn the GPS on his phone on. Dreo had given Michael a rundown of where he anticipated being as the idea of being tracked around town was not appealing. At the restaurant, he was with five or six other men, and another was behind the bar, dressed, I thought, much too nicely to be serving drinks.

“Sorry,” a young guy, probably the host, said as he stepped in front of me. “We’re not serving dinner yet, and I think tonight we’re all booked with reser—”

“Oh no.” I stopped him, pointing over his shoulder. “I just need to talk to that gentleman there.”

“Tommy, what’s the problem?” someone called over.

I turned, he turned, both of us toward the voice. It was the man behind the bar, but before I could open my mouth, Dreo called my name.

“Hey.” I lifted my hand as I looked back at the guy in front of me. “Can I—is it okay? May I go talk to him?”

“Of course.” He stepped back, and it was hard to tell what I was looking at. Concern? Worry? Both? He seemed shaken.

I smiled, trying to reassure him that whatever he was worried about with me was fine before I started across the floor. Dreo slid off his barstool, and I noticed he looked bigger than he did at home, broader, more menacing, the all-black suit with the black dress shirt on underneath adding to the image. I had not thought of him as being as muscular as Duncan, and he wasn’t. He was somewhat slighter, leaner, but he was also, I realized, just as tall.

“What’s going on? How did you know where I was?” he asked as I closed in.

“I called Michael, and I’m so sorry to bother you,” I apologized as I reached him, tipping my head back slightly to meet his gaze, “but have you talked to him today?”

“Michael?”

I nodded.

“Not since early this morning, why?” he wanted to know, putting a hand on the side of my neck.

“Dreo, who’s your friend?”

I turned and saw faces I had never seen before.

“Nate Qells. He lives in my building,” he told the bartender as his hand slid from my neck to my shoulder. “He’s the professor I told you about yesterday… you remember.”

There was a nod. “Bring him over here.”

“Come on,” he told me, turning so I could walk forward, his hand sliding down to the small of my back to propel me forward.

“Professor of what?” the man asked me as we closed in on the bar.