Dangerous Ground 2: Old Poison (5 page)

Within a matter of seconds it was just Taylor and Will standing on the sidewalk while pedestrians streamed like ants around the obstruction they created.

“Are you okay? Are we done here?” Taylor asked, seeing that Will was still quietly fuming. He knew what Will wanted, of course. What Will wanted was to yell at
him
, for nearly getting himself flattened like Wile E. Coyote. Taylor understood that impulse perfectly well because he felt the same way anytime Will had a close call on the job. Ordinarily Will would fire off a few well-chosen volleys, but they had been arguing when Taylor stepped in front of the car, and Will was restraining himself at the expense of his blood pressure.

Taylor understood all this in a matter of seconds. That's how it was with him and Will.

They always knew what the other was thinking. Except Taylor hadn't known about David Bradley or the fact that he and Will weren't going to be working together, and the memory of that left him bewildered and off balance. How long had Will known? Why hadn't he told him? And how did he just happen to be working with David Bradley of all people?

“Let's go,” Will said curtly, wiping again at the blood on his elbow.

He led the way in a forbidding silence down the crowded street to where they had parked earlier that morning. Somberly aware that he could have got them both injured or even killed—

and in such a
stupid
way—Taylor followed docilely, unspeaking.

A few feet from the SUV, Will pressed the key fob to unlock the car. They both got in. The leather was warm from sitting in the sun. Emmylou Harris jerked into “Together Again” as though she had never been rudely interrupted.

Will didn't start the engine.

“You want me to drive?” Taylor asked. His hands were in worse shape than Will's, but Will seemed more shaken by their near miss.

“No.” Still Will made no move.

Dangerous Ground: Old Poison

27

Taylor was painfully conscious of Will's nearness, his still-not-quite-even breathing—

although that was emotion, not physical stress. He said, “Why didn't you tell me about Bradley?”

“I did. What do you think that was?”

In Taylor's opinion, Will's terse tone was defensive. He tried to keep the accusation out of his own. “How long have you known?”

“End of day yesterday.” Will gave him a hard look, which Taylor turned to meet. “I didn't tell you last night because I was afraid you'd react exactly like you did, and I didn't want to ruin your birthday.”

Taylor nodded curtly. He deserved that for flipping out, but it had shaken him badly, the entire conversation. Including the part where Will admitted he'd have been happier if they'd never become lovers. That still hurt too much to examine, so he put it aside to enjoy later.

“How long are we working apart?”

Will shook his head.

Taylor stared out the window at the shady street, the shop windows full of overpriced junk.

Will said, “It won't be for that long. They've got you and Varga doing protection detail on the wife of some East African minister.” He added, “Cooper plans on filling you in himself, so don't let on I told you.”

Taylor nodded absently. “Maybe it's the first step to splitting us up permanently. Maybe he knows about us.”

Will shook his head.

“You don't know that for a fact.”

“He doesn't know.” Will's eyes met his. “I haven't told him. You haven't told him. No one else knows.”

“Come off it,” Taylor scoffed. “We work for one of the largest and most efficient security agencies in the world. You think they don't occasionally run a check on their own employees when something flags? And we've sent plenty of flags up in the last few months.”

Will was silent. At last he said, “I don't think so. I can read him pretty well. I didn't get any impression this was anything but expediency. Bradley and I have worked together—and well—

in the past.”

28

Josh Lanyon

Taylor didn't want to hear the answer, but he asked anyway. “Did you ask for this assignment?”

“Absolutely not.” Will turned to face him. “Tay. No. I did not ask to work with Bradley. I don't want to work with anyone but you. I don't want to
be
with anyone but you. Why don't you believe me?”

Tay
. The only time William called him that was in bed. Hearing it in this context was disconcerting but reassuring.

“If you tell me, I believe you.”

But Will was still not over being angry. “Why would I
have
to tell you this? It ought to be obvious by now. We're practically living together.”

“Yeah, but we're not living together,” Taylor said. “And you don't want to live together.

And you said yourself you'd be happier if we had left things alone.”

Will groaned and dropped his head back, staring at the roof of the car. “I don't believe this.

You're acting like a—”

“Like a what?” Taylor kept his voice even, but now he was getting mad all over again.

Will had the smarts to correct quickly, although he was still blunt. “You're acting jealous and insecure and irrational.”

Taylor weighed his words, but he had gone this far, he might as well shoot his wad. Will apparently thought he was acting like a queen as it was. He said, “That's because I've got more invested in this relationship than you. We both know the bottom line is I care more for you than you do for me.”

Will's profile could have been cut from stone. “I'm not even going to answer that.” He jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared into life.

* * * *

Dangerous Ground: Old Poison

29

Will's shirt was torn, so he borrowed one of Taylor's. It was too tight, which suited the general atmosphere pretty well.

Not that it was that different from usual. They generally worked on the house or watched a game on TV and had a few beers, fucked, napped, caught up on the newspapers, maybe rented a movie. They would have talked or not as they felt like it. Their weekdays were action-packed enough; on the weekends they liked to unwind and rest. There was no one Will wanted to unwind and rest with more than Taylor.

This was not turning out to be the most restful weekend they'd spent, but it wasn't bad.

They worked at sanding the built-in shelves and counters, the fireplace, the tapered columns that divided the living room from the dining room. It was slow going, because Taylor liked everything to be perfect, but one day it was going to be a very valuable property with the gleaming resanded hardwood floors and funky art tiles and big stone fireplace—all in walking distance of the beach. As they worked they recovered some of their usual harmony.

When they finished in the front room, uncovering what appeared to be genuine oak beneath layers of navy, green, and finally white paint, they showered again and then ate their leftovers from the night before.

A framed Japanese print of a samurai on horseback had been propped in the doorway for safekeeping while they worked in the front room. Looking at it, and seeking a neutral subject for dinnertime discourse, Will asked, “What was it like, being in Tokyo? You never talk about it.”

Taylor, whose own attention had been on the bottle of Asian snake wine sitting on the kitchen counter, gave him a blank look. He raised a shoulder. “Nothing to tell.”

Now that was odd. Taylor
always
had something to say. About everything. How could he possibly have spent two years in Japan and not have anything to recount.
Nothing?

“Did you like it?”

“I liked the country, yeah.”

He hadn't liked the assignment. Interesting.

“Well, I know you like the food. Is it true they have octopus pizza?”

Taylor snorted, expertly wielded his chopsticks to take a bite of rice-crusted duck. Will considered the chopsticks. Taylor was…prone to enthusiasms.

30

Josh Lanyon

He had liked Japan. He collected Japanese weapons, watched Japanese movies, had a couple of Japanese art books and a couple of Japanese prints on the walls. Japan had been important to Taylor. But he never talked about it.

Never.

“Are there really over fifteen hundred earthquakes a year?”

“They have a lot of earthquakes. A lot of volcanoes too.”

“Is the sun really red?”

Taylor smiled faintly. “They paint it that way.”

“What about the gay samurai? Is that true?”

Taylor's face changed. He scowled, selecting another bite of duck. “What's with all the questions, Brandt?”

“I'm just making…just curious. It's a part of your life I don't know anything about.”

“You don't need to know anything about it.”

That took Will a second to absorb. “Okay,” he said evenly.

Taylor flicked him a look under his lashes. “Sorry.”

Will nodded coolly. He was used to Taylor's ratty temper—and more curious than ever now.

Taylor sighed. “It wasn't a great time for me, okay? I was twenty-four, it was my first overseas posting and I was homesick and lonely. Japan is…different.”

As opposed to Afghanistan? Or Haiti? Taylor didn't mind discussing either of those postings.

He said slowly, “Sure.” It was weird thinking of Taylor as homesick and lonely. But he'd been in the DS ten years; safe to say he hadn't started out a worldly, all-knowing sonofabitch.

Will had taken a different career path. College, then the marines, then the DS. So far he'd had one overseas posting—Afghanistan, though years after Taylor had been there. When he'd returned to the States, he'd been partnered with Taylor.

He opened his mouth to ask, well, he wasn't even sure what he was going to ask, but he never got the chance because Taylor rose abruptly, saying, “You feel like watching TV?”

Dangerous Ground: Old Poison

31

Not waiting for Will's reply, he took his plate in the den and turned on the news; they generally avoided the news on the weekends. They got enough bad news about the world in their day jobs. Will listened to the blast of international bad news from down the hall.

“What do you think?” Will asked Riley. Riley cocked his head, tongue lolling.

“Me too,” Will said.

* * * *

They were being too polite with each other, but better that than the alternative.

By now they were comfortable enough that they knew where the other wanted to go without having to read a road map. Will wanted to fuck Taylor, but he was afraid it would be a mistake to ask that tonight. He'd said a couple of things he regretted earlier that day, implying that Taylor was behaving like a jealous teenager. Taylor was always very generous in the bedroom, and Will didn't want to be viewed as taking advantage of that tonight.

The fact was, he did enjoy topping more than bottoming. Not a big deal, just a personal preference. In particular he enjoyed topping Taylor. Having Taylor submit to him was the sweetest thing in the world because it was entirely voluntary. Taylor matched him strength for strength, so that willing capitulation seemed so tender, so generous, so
loving.

He wanted—needed—Taylor to offer, but Taylor didn't. Neither did he ask for a repeat of the night before. Instead, they settled for some energetic rubbing and stroking. Friction. It's a good thing. And it
was
good; it was a very enjoyable substitute for the real thing. The other thing. Through the net of his eyelashes Will watched Taylor's mobile, exquisitely pained face; it never ceased to thrill and amaze him that it was Taylor on the other end of this. Taylor. Beautiful and intense in sex as he was with everything.

Did Taylor honestly believe he had more invested in this relationship than Will? Because that was funny. Sometimes it scared Will how much he felt for Taylor. Nobody should need anyone that much.

It wasn't safe.

32

Josh Lanyon

Chapter Four

“What do you think I should do with this?” Taylor asked, holding up the bottle of snake wine.

It was Monday morning—and all too soon. They'd managed to fall back into sync on Sunday, and they'd spent the remainder of their weekend companionably working on stripping and sanding the last of the front room woodwork.

Will studied the cobra weaving gently in the bottle as Taylor tilted it. “Mix it with orange juice?”

“Funny.”

“Probably chock-full of vitamin C and antioxidants.”

“I'll stick to my Flintstones Plus.”

“You mentioned something about it being an aphrodisiac.”

Taylor extended the bottle. “Feeling insecure?”

“You complaining?”

Taylor's sexy mouth quirked. “No way.” He added thoughtfully, “I was thinking maybe I could call the bottling company and see if they can tell me who ordered it.”

Will's grin faded. “Are you worried about this?”

“Nah.”

But now Will was frowning, his investigatory instincts roused. “How much is something like this bottle worth?”

Taylor bridled. “How would I know? It's not like I hand these out every Christmas to friends and family.”

“Take a guess. You prowl around Chinatown and places like that.”

“I don't know. Sixty bucks. A hundred bucks?”

Dangerous Ground: Old Poison

33

His hand hovered over the trash bin; then he set the bottle on the counter. “This probably qualifies as toxic waste.”