Dangerous Ground 2: Old Poison
Read Dangerous Ground 2: Old Poison Online
Authors: Josh Lanyon
Dangerous Ground 2:
Old Poison
Josh Lanyon
Dangerous Ground 2: Old Poison
Copyright © November 2009 by Josh Lanyon
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eISBN 978-1-60737-477-0
Editor: Judith David
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Printed in the United States of America
Published by
Loose Id LLC
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www.loose-id.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * *
About this Title
Genre:
LGBT Romantic Suspense
Previous Title:
Dangerous Ground
Special Agents for the Department of Diplomatic Security, Taylor MacAllister and Will Brandt have been partners and best friends for three years, but everything changed during a weeklong camping trip. Now Taylor and Will are trying to see if true love is in the cards or if it's just sex. Really,
really
good sex, granted!
But when Taylor receives a cobra bottled in rice wine for the birthday he nearly didn't live to see, Will fears that something in Taylor's past—something Taylor won't talk about—is going to put an end to their chance of a future romance. Or any future at all.
Publisher's Note:
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and
situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual
practices, violence.
Chapter One
That prickle between his shoulder blades meant he was being watched.
One hand on the mailbox, Taylor glanced around. There was a woman pushing a kid in a stroller down the long, shady street. She was moving in the opposite direction. There was a guy in a parked Chevy reading a newspaper. Old Mrs. Wills was in her garden. She was shading her eyes, staring at him.
Taylor raised his hand in greeting.
She fluttered a hand back in hello.
The guy in the Chevy turned the page of his newspaper, remaining mostly concealed behind the tall pages.
A comfortable, quiet street in a small beach community. Old houses beneath old shade trees. But it was a neighborhood in flux. Old residents dying off, new residents not staying longer than a couple of years.
Taylor pulled the mail out of his box. The usual circulars and catalogs of junk he never bought and didn't want. And a birthday card. From Will.
Taylor studied the pale green envelope for a long moment. He was aware of a tightness in his chest, a confused rush of emotions. Amusement, sure, but uppermost…a sort of…a feeling he couldn't begin to describe.
That neat, careful cursive with which Will had spelled out Taylor's name and address. Not like Will's usual hand. Not that Will's usual hand was sloppy; Taylor was the one who had to translate his hieroglyphics for the front-office staff. But there was something painstaking and self-conscious about the writing on the envelope.
There was something else in the mail slot. Taylor pulled out a slip informing him that he had a package in the side locker of the mailbox stand. He unlocked the long cabinet, and sure 2
Josh Lanyon
enough there was a rectangular parcel addressed to him. He tucked it under his arm, slammed the metal door shut, and crossed the street.
The guy in the Chevy remained well buried behind his newspaper.
Taylor cut across the patchy, threadbare lawn of his house, took the three front porch steps in one, and let himself into the house.
He locked the door behind him, looking down at the green envelope. Just the fact that Will had mailed him a birthday card. They'd be seeing each other that night—barring Will getting delayed on his current case—but Will had taken the time to pick a card and mail it. It was so…
It touched Taylor more than he wanted to admit. Of course this was a special birthday. Not one of the “0” birthdays; Taylor was thirty-two years old as of four o'clock that morning. It was special because ten weeks earlier Taylor had been shot in the chest and had nearly died.
It had been very close. The closest he'd ever come to checking out. He was still stuck on desk duty, although—thank Christ—this was the last week of that. He'd passed his fitness exam that very afternoon and Monday he'd be back in the field, partnered with Will again. Life would finally be getting back to normal. The new normal. The normal of him and Will as a…well, couple.
Partners and friends for three years, and lovers for little more than one month. Taylor was still afraid to trust it. It seemed dangerous to be this happy, like it was tempting fate. He couldn't quite forget that Will hadn't wanted this change in their relationship, that love had taken him unwilling and off guard.
He tore open the envelope.
It was the usual kind of thing. Sailboats, smooth water, and cloudless blue sky.
Happy
Birthday to My Sweetheart
in sunshine yellow script.
His throat tightened. Hell. He'd never been anyone's sweetheart before. No one had ever sent him a card like this. Will had even signed the inside
Love, Will.
There was a parcel too. A brown cardboard box. The kind of thing wine was shipped in—
or good booze. The label was typed. Taylor used his pocketknife to slice through the tape sealing the box shut. Inside was a Styrofoam shell to protect the glass contents. He pried it out, and sure enough it was a bottle. A wine bottle with a yellow seal. He nearly dropped it.
There was a cobra inside the wine bottle.
Dangerous Ground: Old Poison
3
Black-brown hood flared, fangs bared, the coiled cobra stared blindly through the clear rice wine.
What the fuck?
It was dead, of course. Dead and pickled. Asian snake wine was an authentic Asian beverage supposedly valuable for treating everything from rheumatism to night sweats. It was also supposed to be a natural aphrodisiac with mystical sexual properties, although what the hell was natural about a cobra in a wine bottle?
Feeling slightly queasy, Taylor set the bottle on the kitchen table.
No way had Will sent that. He searched through the box's packing materials to see if there was a card or a note.
Nada.
Weird.
A joke maybe. Probably. He had a few friends at the Bureau of Diplomatic Security who would find this kind of thing amusing. Except it was an expensive joke. These specialty wines weren't cheap. And most of his pals at the DS were.
He contemplated the bottle for another second or two, but he had things to get ready before Will arrived. He wanted this to be a very good weekend.
* * * *
Will tried to tell himself that Taylor's happiness was beside the point. Not that it didn't matter to him, but it couldn't be Will's first consideration when it came to work. Taylor was a professional. He needed to understand that this was (a) not Will's choice, (b) all part of the job, (c) no big deal, (d) all of the above.
The long red snake of taillights slithered to another halt line in front of him. Will sighed and tapped the brakes, rolling to a stop. He turned up Emmylou Harris on the CD player. On the seat next to him, Riley, his five-year-old German shepherd, licked his chops nervously. Riley liked traffic even less than Will did.
Traffic on the 101 was always a bitch these days, and it was especially a bitch on Friday evenings when half the Valley residents seemed to be pouring out every side street and crevice of the smoggy basin for a weekend in the mountains or at the beach.
4
Josh Lanyon
It could take an exasperating hour just to travel from his Woodland Hills home to Ventura.
Lately Taylor had been hinting that they should move in together. Will had ignored the hints.
Not that he didn't like Ventura. He did. Living that near the beach would be great, in fact.
And not like he and Taylor didn't get along well. They had always got along well, even before they moved the relationship from best friends and partners to lovers.
Lovers.
Not a word Will would typically have used to describe one of his relationships. But then he wouldn't generally describe his relationships as…relationships.
The cars in front of him began to move again, brake lights flicking off, turn signals flicking on. The sea of traffic rolling forward once more.
And then…stop.
“Goddamn traffic,” Will growled, and Riley flicked his ears.
Will closed his eyes, picturing his eventual arrival, savoring it, momentarily shutting out the smog and exhaust and noise of Friday evening on the 101, seeing Taylor's face in his mind: that weirdly exotic bone structure; wide green eyes that looked almost bronze; a wicked angel's full, sensual mouth; the soft, dark hair with that new—since the shooting—streak of silver.