Crimson Reign (42 page)

Shaking off the visuals, he frowned down at the underbrush. With careful precision, he noted each minute splatter of blood, broken branch and prints, animal and human, that seemed out of place to the naked eye. Vischeral’s experience within the field must have been exemplary for him to have noticed most of the splatter patterns that dotted the leaves along the dirt path. Despite his curiosity about Bourne, Copi carried on documenting and bagging all the evidence he found along the way. It was only as he approached the end of the path that he caught sight of the broken branch hanging precariously by a thin wisp of bark about three inches above his head.

It wasn’t so much the branch that caught Copi’s eye, but rather the tangle of long black hair hanging from it. He took several pictures from different angles before he donned a fresh pair of latex gloves. Placing the evidence bag over the branch, he clipped it off far enough up the stem to ensure they didn’t lose any of what might be the only factual evidence to come their way. With the bag sealed and tagged, he took a few more photos of the area surrounding the path until he eventually closed in on Vischeral, who barked out orders to photograph some tire tracks.

Measuring the width and depth of the tread and then taking the necessary photos, Copi looked up to see Vischeral, taking off further down the narrow path. Obviously something had crawled up Vischeral’s ass and ticked him off. It baffled Copi, but the uptight son of a bitch had better get his head out of his ass before he ended up chewing off his own balls. Copi detested being treated like a rookie. Taking the pre...mix plaster out of the tech kit, he poured the contents into the tire rivets then covered them with a plastic tarp, before flagging the area for when the big guns turned up. By the time Vischeral got back to him, he’d bagged up and documented everything there was and packed up the kit. He was more than ready to head out.

Surprise hit him when Bourne threw him the keys to the Hummer. The other man seemed hyper, almost tense, like his caffeine rush had just kicked in. If possible, his eyes took on an even darker hue, almost like a hunger, or a deep seething hatred was welling up behind the force of his darker than normal mood. It matched the sardonic bastard’s voice when he growled orders for Copi to go home and be ready for their next shift.

Copi obliged, but only because he was glad to get away from the toxic acrimony filtering from his blatantly pissed partner. He rammed the Hummer into reverse, took one last look in the rear view mirror and got as far from Bourne as he possibly could. When he could no longer see his partner’s looming shadow, he expelled a long breath, one he felt as though he’d been holding all damn night. Putting the windows down, he let the cold frigid air fill the interior. For some reason, every time he was in close proximity to Vischeral, bloody smart...ass, Bourne his skin felt as though it was on fire.

On the journey back to the precinct, Copi’s mind refused to give up the image of Vischeral’s long, thick, leather clad thighs. And, every time he closed his eyes to try and clear his head, his partner’s eyes, deep and darker than an onyx lagoon, stared straight back at him.

He gunned the Hummer, making good time on the drive and reaching the precinct in a little under a half hour. The sun broke over the horizon as he parked and bathed everything in a soft warming glow of pinks and reds. With all the evidence in hand, he hot footed it straight to the Lab, where the two CSI technicians eyed him curiously. He gave a short concise report and signed the evidence into custody before leaving them to do their job with the firm understanding they were to phone him as soon as they turned up anything of interest. Afterward, he typed out his written report, signed it and carried it directly to the Chief.

Upon leaving the Chief’s office, he scanned the partially manned precinct. His line of sight fell on the vacant office he shared with his new and stubborn partner. There was a desk light on inside, and Copi wondered if Vischeral had beaten him back. The screen saver on the computer terminal lit up the confines of the deathly silent area in a sea of blue spectral light. Copi pushed through into the office and noticed that everything had its own unique place. Files, Rolodex and stationary all lined up in a neat row across the highly polished wooden desk.

The office itself still smelled of new paint and polish, signifying to him it wasn’t used very often. It didn't surprise him. Copi remembered Vischeral’s utter contempt for paperwork and small spaces. There was also the fact they apparently didn’t see eye to eye. But then, Copi didn’t think anyone saw eye to eye with the brute. He logged on to the terminal and quickly gained access to the precinct’s mainframe and the case files on the murders they were working. He clicked through and was surprised to see one already set up for Clara. Another surprise, the lab techs had already uploaded the files from the camera’s memory card. Carefully, he scanned each one and noted the jazz bar Clara had planned to visit the previous Friday. A Google search gave him the address for the Tap Root Café, and he jotted it down.

By the time he surfaced and looked at his watch, half the morning was gone. Pissed that he was still wide...awake when all he wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep, Copi cursed low and long. He knew there was no point in going home, he was way too keyed up thanks to a certain asshat male whose image seemed to linger in Copi’s every fucking thought.

Frustrated, he tapped across the keyboard and flipped lazily through his own personnel file. His eyebrows rose in suspicion. The last dated login on his file matched his start date. Copi clicked on the entry and frowned. The source IP address didn’t match any of the ones for the precinct. Which meant, some nosy assed bastard used their smarts to gain access to his file from an external outlet, bypassing all of the department’s security.

Remembering the taunts from the WST, he knew he would have to tell Vischeral about the breach. There was no way on Earth he was approaching the Chief with news that his whole department was being hacked. His mind raced. Who the fuck would want the lowdown on him anyway, and why? What the hell did Copi have worth reading other than the fact he was kicked to the curb because his old department thought he was a whack job?

Furious that someone who didn’t know shit about him was prying into his personnel file, he tore off the Post...it with Vischeral’s home address and The Tap Root Café address. After logging off of the computer, he walked through the busier precinct and out into the brightness of the daylight. Still too wired to sleep, he turned on the Sat...Nav and drove through the glorious Alaskan sunshine to the half full parking lot of the jazz cafe.

Once inside, Copi propped himself up against the maple wood bar running along one wall of the restaurant and ordered a steaming hot double espresso while he waited for the proprietor. The small team of female cleaning staff busied themselves around him casting cheeky innuendo about being frisked in his direction. Relief washed through him when the proprietor eventually showed up. The man introduced himself with a raised brow.

“Roan Marrett.” He clasped Copi’s extended hand a little firmer than was needed and grinned as his eyes made an evident slow journey over Copi’s body. The obvious flirtation made Copi uncomfortable, more so when Roan moved in closer and gave a small whining noise with his throat. Jesus the fucker was forward, and he totally creeped Copi right the fuck out when he smiled again showing two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. They looked almost too bright against Roan’s ruggedly handsome, darkly tanned face. When Copi showed his badge, Roan scowled. He turned away, taking Copi’s cup and offering him a refill. Copi gratefully accepted because it meant Roan would have to move away from him. Far away from him.

The old habits he’d learned pounding the streets of New York never died. Even as Roan shook his hand, Copi’s own mind started a catalogue of information. At approximately six feet two inches tall, with a well...built body and broad shoulders that narrowed into a much thinner waist, Roan carried himself like the stereotypical body builder. His eyes drew your attention. They were a shade of pale green he had never seen before. Their color was more enhanced by the darkness of his deeply tanned face. He was undeniably breathtaking to look upon. With a mane of long black hair that ran to the middle of his back. Copi thought he looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel. Added to the stunning good looks, the man smelled fucking fantastic. Copi consciously pried his eyes away to stop himself from staring. Despite the perfect package, Copi still sensed a smarmy, not just right vibe about the man.

He placed the photo of Clara on the bar. When Roan returned with two freshly brewed cups of coffee doctored with sugar and laden with cream, he leaned forward and tapped the glossy.

“You know this woman? We know she visited here, or intended to. We just need to know if you or any of your staff remember anything about her. Who she was with, if she left with anyone? The usual gig.”

Roan answered as he handed Copi his drink and lowered his eyes when their fingers briefly met. “Well…let’s see. Clara, I think her name was, and yup, she was definitely a regular. A nice woman, a bit on the quiet side for my tastes, but she seemed friendly enough, though never overly friendly. Why do you ask?”

The tactful manner in which the barkeep spoke, told the cop in him that Roan knew the vic better than he was letting on, and he made a mental note to check out the guy’s past. After a few more in depth questions on troublesome boyfriends or an ex, Copi stood.

“Thank you for your help. Maybe I’ll stop in one night to sample the wares and the music.” Reluctantly, he shook Roan’s hand again and left none the wiser for his visit.

With midday upon him and the first longings for sleep finally tugging at him, Copi decided to call it a day. At home, relief found him in the form of a scalding hot shower and clean crisp bed sheets. With the shutters closed and the blinds down to block out the sun, he lay in the darkness and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he detected the lingering aroma of Vischeral’s scent. Well didn’t that just lighten his God damned mind? His body’s immediate response to any recognition of Vischeral aggravated the hell out of him. The pulsating throb escalated into a pounding hard on that refused to let him rest. Sighing in frustrated surrender, Copi freed his imagination to run riot as he smoothed his hand below the sheets and fisted the girth of his throbbing cock.

Behind tightly closed eyelids, the fantasy took over. Legs, long, lean and clad in leather brushed up against his thigh as Vischeral closed the gap between them. His partner’s hands fisted in his hair as he pulled Copi’s head back and demanded he kneel. Copi’s grip on his own shaft tightened as his strokes became erratic with every passing thought. His hips rolled, rising and falling in rhythm to his strokes as the heat between his legs began a slow torturous burn of sweet friction. A long yearning groan spilled from Copi’s throat. In his fantasy, Vischeral’s dark guttural voice demanded Copi take his cock and suck it deep and hard into his mouth. Copi thrashed and fisted the sheet. His teeth ground together.

“Oh fuck, yesssss.” The words rolled free into the darkened room. In a matter of minutes, his climax hit. Copi shuddered as his body jerked and spewed thick streams of glistening cum over the densely packed formation of his abs. Breathless and exhausted, he rose and padded naked to the bathroom to clean himself off before once again falling back into bed.

“Now leave me the fuck alone,” he growled into the dark and empty room. He could almost hear Bourne’s taunting laughter as he closed his eyes and let the dark, vacant stare of Vischeral’s eyes consume him.

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

Sprawled out on the black leather sofa pushed against the wall in his underground bedroom, Vischeral’s large body writhed lost in a realm of sensual abandonment. Copi’s amber eyes liquid with desire burned his very flesh when they raked over him. Fangs descended, blood pumped and Vischeral lusted. Copi stepped closer; the fly of his jeans straining to contain him. Vischeral’s hand extended and found only air.

With a savage growl, he sat straight up on the couch, his black eyes tracking the room. A fucking dream.

A. Fucking. DREAM.

Dropping his head in his hands, he struggled to bring his body back down from the sexual high. It proved impossible. The damnable bond with Copi was wide open and streamed information into him. Aroused and near climax, Copi easily transmitted through the shared link. Hot blood pumped strongly through Copi’s veins spurred on by the human’s rising passion. Copi’s own palm caressed his length pulling a bone deep reaction from himself. Vischeral’s hand curled into a fist and with his eyes closed he could just feel the velvet steel slide of Copi’s cock in his hand.

Vischeral growled again, his own heart racing to match the beat in Copi’s chest. His ears rang with Copi’s groans of pleasure. Cursing, Vischeral rocked back and forth fighting the onslaught on his senses. He had three options. Ride it out, ignore it or embrace the pleasure. Vischeral palmed his own engorged member.

“Fuck! I am not doing this.” He spat. Releasing himself, he buried his head in his hands, praying Copi did not delay the fireworks and church bells. A ragged sigh of relief wrestled its way out of his constricted lungs when Copi finally made it to victory lane.

“Thank fuck!” With the sexual tension swirling around him and knowing he and sleep were not good friends on the best of days, Vischeral snagged the laptop and leaned back against the leather wide awake and pissed off. A normal course of events. He might as well get some work done while the unrequited cravings worked themselves out. Flicking the keys of the computer resting on his naked abs, Vischeral pulled up the precinct’s website. Black eyes quickly scanned the logins locking immediately on Copi’s report to the Chief.

Rapid clicks filled the room as Vischeral scrolled down. A spark of surprise crossed his rugged face at the mention of the hair follicle. Respect for his new partner warred with impatience. The rat bastard failed to mention it to him while at the scene. Vischeral sighed and laid his head back on the leather.