Men of London 04 - Feat of Clay (17 page)

“Smug bastard,” Tate groaned, looking a
little green.

Clay grinned. “Well, you wanted to come
with…” he pointed out slyly.

There had been a break in the case that Clay
was working on with the police regarding the toxic waste dumping. A
call had come in to his office, been verified by his team and now
he and Tate were on their way to Oxford to meet with some local
government councillor. The man said he’d gotten the evidence that
toxic chemicals
were
being illegally dumped
in the old quarry and had the names of those involved.

Clay’s missing person hadn’t made an
appearance yet and Clay hoped that this lead would check out and
point him in the right direction to the missing Glen Walkerman, who
Clay believed was the kingpin behind the multi-million-pound
illegal activities. He also believed Walkerman was a killer.

Tate glared at him. “You offered me an
overnight stay in a quaint little bed and breakfast in the heart of
Chipping Norton in the Cotswolds afterwards. I fancied the idea of
having an intimate rendezvous with you, away from home. Bite
me.”

“Maybe later…” Clay drawled and laughed as
Tate muttered something intelligible. He did have a faint smile on
his face and Clay went warm thinking about what might be in store
for him later. He could definitely use Tate’s talented mouth around
his dick…and on his lips.

The warm July air rushed through his window.
The scent of warm grass and Tate’s aftershave gave Clay a good
feeling—until he saw the familiar headlights and number plate in
his rearview mirror. The car was closing fast and didn’t look as if
it was about to slow down. “Fuck,” he swore, casting a quick glance
at Tate to make sure he had his seatbelt on. “That BMW is behind us
again. I knew I wasn’t imagining it.”

Tate’s eyes widened and he turned to stare
behind at the rapidly approaching car.

“It’s the same one,” he said quietly,
nodding. “Can you outrun him? Looks like he intends ramming
us.”

Not for the first time Clay blessed having a
fellow law enforcement officer as a partner who was quick to catch
on and didn’t ask unnecessary questions or freak out.

He grinned. “This guy doesn’t know who he’s
messing with. If he wants to fuck with me, he’d better be prepared
to get fucked in return.” He sped up and widened the distance
between the cars. The lanes were narrow and winding and Clay hoped
to God there wasn’t much traffic ahead. The last thing he wanted
was to get innocent people hurt.

“I’ll try find somewhere to pull over rather
than take this on the roads.” His eyes flicked back to the mirror.
The BMW was gaining on them again. “We might have to shoot our way
out of this one.”

Tate nodded as he opened the glove
compartment and took out Clay’s Colt .38 revolver. It was a
Detective Special, a piece Clay swore by.

“I’m ready,” Tate said grimly. “You drive,
I’ll shoot. Maybe we can get this fucker before too much damage
happens.” His jaw clenched as he checked the weapon.

Danger and the resulting adrenaline were
always a turn-on for Clay. His cock jumped in his chinos at Tate’s
tight jaw and the fierce look in his hazel eyes. “I love the way
you think.”

God, the man looks sexy with
that gun in his hand .Definitely going to do me some role play
soon
.
Excellent time to be thinking with
your little head, Clay. Focus.

“You’re thinking about sex, aren’t you?” Tate
murmured, his eyes drawn to Clay’s groin. “I can’t believe you just
sprang a boner. You like seeing me with a gun.” He smirked and then
it changed to quiet determination as he glanced behind them. “He’s
pretty close, Clay. We need to get off this damn road in case
someone innocent gets hurt.”

“I know.” Clay gritted his teeth and floored
the accelerator. The Audi shot ahead but the BMW must have been
souped up; it kept pace with Clay’s vehicle no matter what he did.
Ahead, the road twisted to a blind bend. Then the BMW rammed into
them.

Both of them swore loudly. Tate gripped the
dashboard and the gun as he glanced behind. Clay tightened his grip
on the wheel and tried to keep control as the BMW rammed them
again. His eyes assessed the situation ahead in an instant.

So far no traffic. Trees
either side, embankments a few feet high, no room to pull off. Just
got to keep going and hope we don’t encounter any other
cars.

Tate twisted around in his seat. “I need to
shoot this arsehole. Give him something to think about. Slow him
down.” He looked down at the seatbelt restricting his movement.

Clay shook his head vehemently. “Don’t you
fucking dare take that off,” he commanded as he strove to drive
faster. “If we crash, I don’t need you flying through the damn
windshield.”

“It’s not giving me much of a damn shot,
Clay.” Tate snarled. He managed to get the seatbelt slack enough to
turn on his seat and kneel, looking behind him. He positioned
himself between the seats and aimed as the vehicle careened around
another bend. Clay heard Tate swear, heard the fire of the gun and
the shattering of the Audi’s rear windscreen. Tate fired another
shot, then another. Clay had no way of knowing whether any of the
shots were hitting their target. He hoped one of them would blow
the pursuer’s head off.

“Got him,” The triumphant satisfaction in
Tate’s voice was hard to miss. “At least it went through his damn
windscreen. I think he’s intact, more’s the pity.”

The BMW rammed them again, at a different
angle and the Audi went sideways, wheels spinning in the dirt of
the foliage-covered embankment.

“Christ, Tate, hold on.” Clay shouted as he
battled with the steering. Thankfully the car remained on all four
wheels and righted itself. The road opened a little wider and Clay
saw his chance. He geared down and braked suddenly, the loss of
momentum causing Tate to cry out in surprise. The BMW hadn’t seen
that coming either and drew almost level with the Audi. Clay
thrummed the engine and rammed the other car side on, driving it
against the embankment. He pulled away and did it again. The
screeching of tyres from the BMW as the driver struggled to control
it was music to Clay’s ears.

“Let’s see how you like that, you bastard,”
he snarled. “Fuck with me and mine and I
will
hurt you.”

The BMW looked as if it was having trouble
staying on the road and Clay rammed it again for good measure. The
road opened into fields lined with huge trees and as Clay went back
in for the kill, Tate fired off another shot from his position.
There was a loud pop and one of the BMW’s tyres burst. It lost
traction and as Tate and Clay watched, the car slid off the road
and plowed head-on into the trunk of a tree. Both men growled in
victory at the grinding noise and resultant smash, but they had
more important things to focus on than satisfaction. Clay’s own
vehicle was all over the road and as he geared down, trying to
right the Audi and slow it down, he heard Tate’s panicked roar.

“Jesus, Clay, watch out for that damned
cyclist. You’re heading straight for him!”

Clay glanced to the side and was confronted
with the vision of a red helmet and someone on the side of the road
on a bike. He swung the steering wheel urgently, trying to move
away from the cyclist. The manoeuvre caused the car to slip wildly
across the road, hit a ditch, bounce in the air then flip
sideways.

We’re going to fucking
roll.

Clay shouted a warning to Tate. He
instinctively reached out, letting go of the steering wheel with
his left hand, using that arm across the front of Tate’s chest as a
brace. Clay knew that that was a worthless gesture given the
circumstances, but like a mother with her child, his first thought
was to protect his boyfriend. Then the vehicle went arse over
bonnet into green fields covered in purple flowers, and Clay’s head
hit the doorframe as everything went dark.

****

Throbbing head. Eyes glued
together with something sticky, a pain in his shoulder that made
his eyes water and an overwhelming silence.

Clay groaned and moved his hand toward the
passenger seat. Immediately a stab of pain shot through his left
shoulder. He gritted his teeth and reached out again, ignoring the
agony. “Tate? Are you okay?” Nausea rose in Clay’s throat and he
coughed, trying to get rid of the taste of blood. “Tate?” There was
no response and Clay fumbled around as best he could with his right
arm, trying to unhook his seat belt. His body throbbed with pain,
his head more so, but he persevered.

I have to get to Tate.
God, please let him be all right.

Finally there was the welcome sound of a
click and the seatbelt drew back. Clay struggled upright from the
position he was in. The car had landed upside down, and his
boyfriend lay motionless beside him, blood trickling from his
mouth, eyes closed. Panic set in as Clay pushed at his door with
his feet, biting back a cry of pain as something in his leg
protested.

“Hold on, the ambulance is on its way.” A
woman’s voice floated in through the pain and as Clay finally
kicked the door open, a hand reached down and gripped his. “Let me
help you. Then we can get your friend out.”

Clay nodded and between them, they managed to
extricate him from the wreck of his car. The woman, still in her
cyclist helmet, stared at him with concerned blue eyes. “Is
everything okay? I was trying to get the door open myself but it
was stuck and I couldn’t manage it.”

Clay heaved a shuddering sigh as he checked
himself for damage. “Yes, I think I’m fine. Bruised and I have a
helluva headache, but I’ll live.” He moved around to the Tate’s
side of the car. “I need to check on my boyfriend. He doesn’t look
too good.”

Heart racing, he pulled at the door. It was
jammed and Clay lost it. “Bloody fucking hell,” he snarled as he
pulled and kicked it. “Tate, love, please talk to me. I’m trying to
get you out—just hold on.”

There was a low groan from inside the car.
“Shit, this is a cluster fuck of note.” Tate sounded really pissed
off.

Clay laughed with relief. “Just hold on. I’m
going to get you out of there.”

He pulled at the door as the cyclist took
hold of it with him and together they managed to wrench it open. In
the distance Clay heard sirens.

“Sounds like the cavalry is here, so hold on.
Let me get that damn seatbelt off then we can get you out.”

“Better hurry. I can smell fuel and I don’t
fancy being a crispy critter.” Tate’s voice was husky and he
coughed. Clay saw the wince of pain cross Tate’s face as Clay tried
to free his lover.

Clay’s fingers worked the seatbelt loose and
then, between he and the woman, they managed to get Tate out of the
car and well away from it lest it explode. Clay didn’t think it was
a possibility despite the smell of fuel, but better safe than
sorry.

Tate looked battered and bruised, had a split
lip and a rather nasty rip to the flesh at his collarbone. From the
looks of him and the way he moved, Clay thought he might have
damaged ribs as well.

“I’m fine,” Tate said tiredly as Clay checked
him out again. “How are you? That head wound of yours looks
nasty.”

The woman shook her head. “It’s just a flesh
wound. I checked your boyfriend out already. I’m a nurse. My name’s
Anne.” She smiled at them both. “Thanks for not riding me down, by
the way. I’m sorry you had to crash to avoid me. What happened? Did
you swerve to miss something?”

Clay snorted. “No. Some arsehole tried to ram
us off the road. He crashed a little ways back.” He looked at Tate.
“Speaking of which, I want to go see what happened to him. I’ll be
back in a minute.”

Anne’s startled gasp of horror made Tate
smile tiredly and he waved at Clay. “Go. I’ll tell Anne here all
about it.” The sirens grew closer. “Sounds like they’re nearly
here.” He cast a dire look in Clay’s direction. “Not that I’m going
anywhere with them.”

Clay rolled his eyes. “You could do with
checking out.”

“I’ll go if you go,” Tate said mutinously.
“Otherwise forget it. I hate fucking hospitals.”

“Fine,” Clay muttered in exasperation as he
turned and walked down toward the smashed car in the distance.
“Bloody stubborn git.”

His leg ached, his back ached, and the little
people in his head were trying to tunnel out of his skull to the
surface using pickaxes, but Clay was grateful neither he nor Tate
was badly injured. He couldn’t say the same about the man in the
BMW once he reached the vehicle. Clay knew he wasn’t supposed to be
scrabbling around in a dead man’s pockets trying to find out who he
was, but the guy wasn’t going to be going anywhere. His neck was
broken, his skull crushed and Clay’s sense of justice was
mollified.

“Try to kill me and my man, and you’ll end up
second best,” he murmured to the body as he rifled his pockets,
anxious to do it before the police and ambulances arrived. He gave
a hiss of satisfaction when he found the man’s wallet and driving
licence.

“Well, Mr Glen Walkerman, I guess I found
you. Pity the cops won’t be able to put you away in prison but I
guess dead fits just as well. Bastard.” Clay knew he sounded
callous, but the man lying with open eyes in the car before him had
killed two people and just tried to kill two more. Clay was in no
mood to be sympathetic.

He trudged back to the scene of his accident,
having wiped down the wallet—just in case—and removed all traces of
himself from the BMW. Tate raised an eyebrow at him as he sat on
the ground.

“Our guy is no longer missing, or alive,”
Clay said grimly. “I’m guessing he thought ramming us off the road,
maiming us would slow us down or kill us so he could get to the guy
we were going to see.” He waved his mobile. “I already called the
team and asked them to make sure the council guy is kept safe.
Bring him in for questioning. He obviously has something worth
telling.”