Touching Evil (13 page)

He nodded, tearing half a slice off and setting it down on a napkin
for Duke, then digging in. "What did Leah say about your notebook? Did
she have it?"

"No. She said she'd check, though, make sure she hadn't just picked
it up without thinking." Artie chewed enthusiastically, licking cheese
off his lower lip.

He knew better. Someone had it. Someone had written on it. He turned
his attention back to the pizza, listening to Duke purr and rumble
against his thigh. Why a kidney? Kidneys weren't easy to remove,
really. Weren't like a heart. Weren't sexual...

"Hey. You in there?" He'd heard Artie's voice like a distant hum, but he started when Artie touched his hand.

He blinked,
Artie
in his head, sudden and sure and sharp. "Yes. Yes. Oh."

Greg forgot, sometimes, the way everyone touched. How he'd missed it.

"Is this okay?" They'd had sex, they'd slept together, but Artie
still worried about touching him casually. That told Greg so damned
much about how Artie felt, made the whole mess go away for a minute.

"Yeah." His cheeks hurt, his smile was so big. Yeah, more than okay.

"Oh, cool." They sat there and grinned at each other until Duke hissed and spat and sank his teeth into Artie's hand.

"Now, now. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. All you had to do was
ask." Greg fed Duke another half-piece, trying not to grin as Artie
cussed.

"I swear I ought to make a hand warmer out of that cat." Artie and
Duke stared each other down, Duke's one-eyed look way more intimidating
than Artie's tired cop face. Then Artie hooted and cracked a grin.
"Asshole."

"He's a lover." Not as big of one as Artie, but close. He scratched
that sensitive spot at the base of Duke's tail and leaned to lick a
drop of sauce off Artie's bottom lip. Both of them, Duke and Artie,
purred for him, sounding so in tune he could have sung along. It was
hilarious. Greg thought maybe he could get used to it, being in the
middle of those sounds.

"Mmm." Artie broke free from the kiss that had evolved out of his
simple touch, stroking Greg's cheek. "Damn. Pizza's a good taste on
you."

"I'll have to remember that." He took a deep breath, relaxing—really relaxing—for the first time in days.

"You do that." The lines around Artie's mouth and eyes eased, too,
like Artie knew, and maybe he did. Maybe the man could read him better
than Greg thought he could.

He nodded, fingers sliding in lazy circles on Artie's leg. Basking.
He was basking. After a decade of not having this, he deserved a little
time to bask. Damn it.

Artie seemed reluctant to break the silence after that, just
touching him with one hand and eating with the other. It was easy, just
to sit and blink and stare, to let his mind wander and listen to the
slow hum of Artie's thoughts purring through him. Artie was a little
worried and a lot tired, but he was more interested in thinking how
good it felt to have Greg there and was wondering if Greg would hate
his clutter or maybe if Duke would try to eat them like Godzilla kitty
and oh, that was good pizza. Stream of consciousness stuff that made
Greg smile.

"Does it bother you? That I can hear you?" He shifted, leaned more.

"Huh?" Artie frowned a minute, thoughts scattering like pigeons in
front of a church. Then Artie figured it out and shook his head. "Nah.
I mean, it's part of you."

"That it is. You should have seen me, when I woke up with it. I couldn't stop screaming."

The crust of pizza Artie held plopped back to the paper plate, and
the man grabbed his hand again, thumb rubbing, trying to ease him. "I
bet. That had to suck like a Hoover, man."

He chuckled. "Not to put too fine a point on it, yes. Yes, it did. But the alternative was dead or in a coma, so..."

"Well, I'm glad you aren't either. In either. Whatever. You done?" Tapping the pizza box, Artie looked from him to Duke.

"Yeah. There enough for a late-night snack?" He was all about the crawling out of bed and noshing.

"You know it. And if we close up now Duke won't get any more hair on
it." That caused Artie and Duke to growl at each other again, the big
cat hopping off Greg's lap and stalking off, looking offended.

"You two are made for each other, I swear to God." He took his free-lap opportunity to shift and settle in Artie's lap.

"Oh, now, this is much better." Artie laughed. "I do love that
stupid cat, but I would much rather have you like this. You touch
nicely."

"Yeah? I haven't forgotten how?" He chuckled, fingers sliding over the line of nerves down the center of Artie's chest.

"Nope. And you don't have claws." Just that easily, Artie leaned in
and kissed him, mouth on his soft, light. Tasting like pizza sauce.

Greg just let himself touch, hands memorizing each group of muscles,
each inch of skin, first on top of Artie's T-shirt, then beneath. God.
It was so
good
to feel the way Artie responded.

"Mmmhmm. Yum." He hadn't said anything out loud, but Artie said it
for him, touching him back. Those blunt fingers slid over his cheeks
and chin, over his collarbones and down over his ribs. It made him
gasp, made him shudder as the input from Artie eased, the sensation of
those hands taking over.

"That's it. Just feel, Greg. Just feel." They kissed again, Artie's tongue pushing deep, really tasting him.

His fingers tangled in Artie's hair, bodies held together, shoulder
to hip. He wasn't even sure he was hard; he just knew that he was
feeling. One of Artie's hands slid behind his back, pulling him closer,
fingers stroking the bumps of his spine. Each little touch made him
shiver. He arched and moaned, hips sliding on Artie's thighs, the rasp
of fabric against skin delicious. Artie loved on him, lips sliding down
his throat, the heavy growth of Artie's whiskers adding another layer
of sensation. Wonderful.

"Oh. More. Show me more." He chuckled at the murmured greed, the pleasure at his words belying the grumble.

"Uh-huh. We need to. Can I?" Artie tugged at his clothes. "These. Off."

"Uh-huh." He managed to get his shirt off, then Artie's, eyes rolling as their bellies met.

That was just—Yeah. Artie reached between them, stroking him,
calluses catching on the short hairs below his navel. His body just
ached, muscles going tight, cock pushing up to try to catch Artie's
attention. It worked. Artie touched him through the cloth of his pants,
then with nothing in between as one big hand pushed under, closing
around him. His eyes tried to roll back as Artie stroked up from the
base, giving him some friction.

His own hands got stuck, holding onto Artie's shoulders, bracing himself against the pleasure that poured over him.

"Yeah. Yeah. Oh, God, you're hot." He could feel it sharply for just
a moment, Artie's surge of pleasure at the feel of his skin, of his
heat. His eyes flew open, the sensation of Artie's hand and Artie's
pleasure crashing together in his head, sending him flying.

"Kiss me, Greg. Please." Leaning, Artie pulled at him, savored him,
fingers sliding over the heat of his cock. One fingertip pushed into
his slit.

His thighs went hard as rocks and he dove into the kisses, tongue
pushing in, tasting Artie, fucking Artie. Arching up under him, Artie
grunted, rocking the chair beneath them, making it squeak. That kiss
was going to just devour him. One of them got Artie's jeans open, he
wasn't sure which one, and then his pants were shoved down, their hands
meeting around their cocks, pulling and tugging furiously.

It was fast after that, hard and fast and good, making them pant and
grunt, and it was sort of amazing how quickly it went from a friendly
pizza to you-now-yeah. Artie squeezed, pushing all the way down to his
balls before pulling back up, forcing Greg's hand to follow, and then
Artie was coming, shaking and groaning, the man's hot come spilling
over Greg's hand. He thought he might never be able to feel Artie shoot
without giving it up himself, balls aching as his prick throbbed.

"Oh. Oh, Greg. Yeah." Artie leaned against him, forehead to his.

"Uh-huh." He nodded, blinked. Watched. "Yeah."

"Well. That was a hell of a dessert. What should we do for a snack later?"

Greg licked his lips, thinking about how it would feel, Artie's cock
sliding in and out of his lips. "I bet I can think of something."

Chapter Nine

Virginia pulled into the parking lot of the bookstore and drove
toward the back, looking at the big old building with the stained
bricks, the crystal ball sign. She could so buy that a psychic worked
here. Lived here.

A professor? Not so much. It was a little scary, with the tattoo
parlor and cleaners and deli and all. Still, it was the morning, so how
scary could it be?

She tied up her hair in a ponytail, hoping it made her look as young to strangers as it did to her own eyes.

Okay. Go in. Play interested shopper. See if she could get in to see the owner. Lalala.

There was a heavy older lady behind the counter, grinning at her.
Nodding. "Morning, honey. Welcome to The Candle's End. Are you looking
for something in particular?"

A psychic, gay ex-biology professor with a serial killer friend?
Something so I can keep my exclusive? "No. No, I was just curious."

"That's usually where everything starts. If you have any questions, holler."

"Thanks. I will." The place was neat, in that vaguely incensey, New
Agey weirdo way. Lots of books. Lots of random shiny things. She found
a little rose carved from a pink stone on a chain and grinned. Her
sister would like that for Christmas. She took it back to the counter.

"Will this be all?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it will. Is this your store?" She dug a twenty out of her purse, handed it over.

"Hmm? Well, I own a part of it. Greg owns the lion's share and the building."

"Does he work the store, too?" Would this place make that kind of money?

"Sometimes. We have flexible schedules. $16.73." The necklace was
packaged up, handed over, the friendly smile turning a little
suspicious. "Have a good day."

Damn it.

"Yeah. Yeah, you, too." She headed outside, cussing a little under
her breath. She was going to have to figure that whole
subtle-questioning thing out. Her cell phone rang, the private number
not showing up on her phone at all. "Yeah?"

"Virginia?"

"Yeah? Who is this?"

"Nobody important." The blow to her head was sharp and sudden, and
her knees hit the ground before she even knew what happened, the world
spinning.

"I don't like your hair like that, dear."

"Leah? Babe? Are you sure you don't have my notebook? Shit. Okay, well, I'll see you at the office in about fifteen."

Against his better judgment, but also feeling it was the safest
thing, Artie had left Greg at his place. Asleep. With an admonition to
Duke to watch over the man and not eat all the leftover pizza. Not that
Artie could blame him. The last few days had sucked the proverbial
donkey balls. Sighing, Artie pulled into the Amoco next to the station
to buy coffee, Danish, and a new spiral bound notebook.

At least he still had his pen.

At the last minute he bought Leah a chocolate milk and one of those
healthy breakfast sandwich things. That girl never ate enough for two.

He wandered in, scratching at the spot his tie was rubbing raw
already, his bag getting soggy as coffee leaked out into it. "Hey,
honey," he said to Leah. "Whatcha got?"

"Man, did you know the doc was like some biggie-wow before he got
hurt? Big money. Big news. Man got his Ph.D. at twenty, got tenure at
twenty-four. Lived with a pianist who is now making the cash." She
chewed on a cherry blo-pop, grinning at the chocolate milk. "No record.
No trouble. Just the accident—Greg fell down three flights of
stairs after a late night class. Students found him."

"And we're sure it was an accident?" Really, weirder things had
happened in academia than someone pushing their prof down the stairs.
Artie had investigated a double at NC State at one point, where a cute
little sorority chick had killed a prof and his wife...

"No, but if it wasn't, no one found anything. Greg lost three
months, between the injury, the coma and all. I called the ex. Not the
nicest fella you'll ever meet; said Doc had gone bugnuts crazy, that
the accident ruined him and that's why they broke up. Man didn't even
know where Greg was."

Artie felt the hot flush crawling up his neck. Probably a good thing
Greg's ex didn't live in the same town. Artie might go beat him a
little. Or maybe a lot. "So much for standing by your man, huh? Man,
your ankles are huge."

"Fuck you, man." She tossed the milk cap at him, eyes rolling. "I
have talked to family, friends, people he works with. Besides being
weird, the biggest thing I'm finding is that the couple at the store
with him grow pot in the basement."

"Oh, the horror." Grinning, Artie put Leah's sandwich in the
microwave, heating up his own Danish by putting it over his steaming
coffee. He wasn't big on busting people for small personal crops.
"Well, that doesn't help us."

"Nope. I'll start on the other professors next, but Artie, why would
someone come for him now and not then? Then he was something to compete
against. Now? Can you imagine him digging into a dead thing and cutting
it open?" Leah turned a little green all of a sudden, pale as anything.
"Oh. Oh, blah."

Bless her heart. She ran for the bathroom, and Artie mulled it over,
munching his Danish and flipping out the little pristine notebook and
frowning. Something was weird. Something he should have noticed kept
... poking.

"Better?" he asked when Leah came back, handing her the little plate. "That's what you get for all that sugar."

"Shut up, asshole." She chuckled, grinned, and settled back down.
"Well, what do we know? We know he's local. We know he knows Greg's
store, the phone there." She tilted her head. "Has he gotten calls at
the apartment?"