Touching Evil (18 page)

Alice smiled over at Artie, the look a little odd and knowing. "Thought you'd lost him, huh?"

"Huh? Well, he coulda asked for a ride." Now the look was sheepish,
Artie's square face just showing everything he was thinking. At least
to Greg, anyway.

"I walked." He figured that would go over like a lead balloon, but he'd needed out and couldn't face Alice's car.

"Do you have any idea..." Artie took a deep breath, stopping
whatever he was about to say and just standing there, looking a little
lost.

"I think I'm going to go, Greg honey. Artie, you take care." Alice
stood and grinned. "Greg, leave the deposit locked in the office if you
can't handle the cash."

"It's not like we're going to fight, Alice."

"Why should things be different now than ever, honey? You two go after it better than anyone." Little bitch.

Artie's eyes snapped up, and, oh, he gave Alice an evil look. "See you later, Alice."

"Night, detective." She grabbed her purse, almost bouncing, almost laughing out loud.

They both watched her go before Artie threw the lock and turned back
to him, a huge breath swelling that square chest. "What the
fuck
were you thinking?"

Greg blinked, one eyebrow arching up to his hairline. "Excuse me? I was thinking I needed to get to work."

"But walking? Christ, Greg." The tie hit the floor, Artie doing a
complicated dance to get it off, stomping it with one foot. "You could
have been snatched."

"What did that tie ever do to you?" Snatched. Right. He knew. Sort of.

"I fucking hate ties. Goddamned little nooses of death." Artie kicked the tie, that "so there" expression so comical it hurt.

"You've lost your mind. Leah finally cracked and slipped something in that sludge you call coffee."

"Maybe I have! Goddamn it, Greg. I worry about you. My cat is more
psycho every day because I'm fucking you and he's not, or something.
Leah is in pregnant woman mode. And there's a killer on the loose, in
case you forgot."

"Duke doesn't mind the fucking part. He just doesn't like the brand
of tuna you picked up on sale." Like he could fucking forget. Like he
could ever forget.

"Oh, fuck that." Sighing, Artie rolled his neck. "So you walked. Everything went okay. So I'll get over it."

"Okay." He nodded, moved over toward the register. He almost missed fighting with Artie. Playing.

"No. You know what? It's not okay." He got intercepted midway, Artie
grabbing him and shaking him like a mongoose with a snake. "Don't do
that, babe. Just don't."

Wave after wave of shit hit him, but he pushed it away, growling
right back. "I'm a fucking grown up. I needed to come to work, sign
checks."

"Well, whoopdeedoo," Artie said, that pure North Carolina accent
going deep. "I need to know you're safe. Not only is it my job, it's
damned fucking important to me."

"What am I supposed to do? Wait for him to find where I am? Wait for
him to find you? Hell, he wants to fuck up my life, he wants my
attention, not
me
!"

"What if he changes his pattern?" Artie shook him again, boom, back and forth. "Jesus fuck."

"What if he does? I'm not a little blonde girl. Let him come in,
damn it. He's a fucking coward, thinking he can steal my life!" The
sudden fury surprised him, shocked him.

Those eyes widened, and he could feel Artie's surge of fear for him mingled with admiration. "I need you, Greg."

"I'm not going anywhere, Artie." He met Artie's eyes. "This. Us. It's not about him."

Not about that fucking bastard.

"No. It never has been." Oh, God, that look in those eyes. It was all heat and need and raw, all of it right there.

"No." Greg pushed right up against Artie, their chests slapping together audibly and, fuck. It was hot.

Artie groaned and pulled him closer still, hands hard on him with
something more than anger. That mouth. God, Artie had a fine mouth.
God, they spent so long walking on fucking eggshells that he'd
forgotten that it could be so hot. They smacked up against ...
something. The counter. Something, Artie so desperate against him, so
rough. Like the dam had broken.

"More." He didn't want Artie to think, to stop. Not now.

"Definitely." Nope. That wasn't thinking. Not at all. Not when Artie
was biting his throat that way. He was caught in it, trapped in the
passion, the heat. In Artie. His head fell back, throat working as he
let Artie have more.

"Mmmhmm." That was the deep, low growl of a man who wanted, and
Artie gave him that and everything else, teeth stinging his skin.

He worked Artie's shirt open, nails sliding down Artie's chest, enough to make the man feel it.

"Uhn." Yeah, Artie felt it. Greg knew by the shiver that ran through
those big muscles, by the way Artie bucked against him. "Need you."

"Right here." Belt next. Shirt, then pants.

His own clothes started to sorta ... disappear, Artie yanking at
them like he had that ridiculous tie earlier. Then they were at least
mostly naked and rubbing, Artie bruising him with the power of it.

Artie got him up on the counter a little, legs spread enough to wrap
around Artie's hips and start rubbing like it was nobody's business.
They rocked, Artie grunting, jockeying for better position. Then they
hit the perfect spot and just went with it, the friction sending
sizzling heat up his spine.

"I. Good. Good, Artie." He leaned down, mouth fastening on the join of Artie's shoulder and neck, sucking and licking.

"Shit! Greg." Cock poking him, Artie rubbed and pushed, skin starting to slick up under Greg's hands and mouth. "Again."

"Yeah." Oh, hell, yeah. That was what he needed, passion. Heat.
Need. Right now. He bit down, teeth scratching along Artie's skin.

"God..." He felt Artie's wetness against his belly, felt that thick
prick jerk against him as Artie cried out, body heaving. "Greg. You. I."

"Uh-huh." He nodded, riding it out, just lost in Artie, in the salt and soap and smoke flavor.

Then Artie's hand closed around him, pulling, demanding he give it
all up, kissing him so hard he tasted blood. Everything in him went
tight and hard and hot, and he growled out Artie's name as he shot, ass
sliding on the counter.

"Yeah. Yeah, like that." So much better than that fucking tie, Artie was thinking, so much happier now.

He started chuckling, nodding against Artie's shoulder. Okay, so. Ties. Bad. Right. "Good. Hey."

"Hey." Artie sighed, leaned against him. "Hey."

"Not going to apologize." He'd walk more if it got him fucked like that.

"Fuckhead." It had no heat behind it but it still made him laugh,
the way it sounded like something Artie thought was just a bad, bad
word.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bad-ass detective." He couldn't stop grinning, leaning in and resting.

Artie's chest vibrated under him, chuckles sounding happy and deep.

God, that was something else. Better than...

Well, okay.

Maybe not better.

Still, it was damned good.

"Better?" Artie asked, hands stroking up and down his back, stopping
where his ass met the counter. Artie certainly sounded better, looser,
much easier in his bones.

"Yeah. Getting rid of the tie was a good idea."

"I think it's tamed." He got a pinch for his trouble, Artie laughing as both of their stomachs growled at the same time.

"There's only Alice's stuff down here." Artie had this unreasoning
prejudice against macrobiotic food. "You want to go home and order
pizza?"

"Sure. Long as you let me drive." Artie grunted for him as he pinched this time. "Oof."

"Chicken. I used to drive." Years ago.

"You think you're up to it now?" There was that underlying edge of
seriousness, Artie lifting up to look at him. "I meant no more walking,
though."

"You worry too much." He stroked Artie's nose. There was no way he could drive. No way he could trust himself.

"I know. I'd apologize, but it wouldn't help." There. That was the gruff, blunt Artie he knew and loved.

"I know. We'll figure it out." His eyes shot to the elevator, the urge to go upstairs sudden and strong.

"Only if you want to. They've cleared it. But I'm not letting you
scrub." Artie knew him too damned well. Knew him well enough that the
man didn't need talents like his to read him.

"I don't want to. No, I want to, but not now. Now I want to go home
with you and feed Duke." He was altogether too fond of that tom.

"Okay. We'll get the extra meat pizza for him." That was no joke. Duke could eat a whole medium with spicy sausage.

"And those apple puff pastry things." He nodded, grinning suddenly
as he realized there were going to be ass prints on the counter.

"What are you laughing at, buddy? My need for flaky crust?"

"Nope. My need for Pledge before Alice kills us."

Artie blinked at him, then looked down at the counter and started
laughing, the sound booming, almost startling. Artie grabbed his thighs
and bent double, laughing so hard he wheezed.

Oh, hell. He started chuckling, hand landing on the small of Artie's
back. "I ... I'm never going to touch that counter again without
getting hard."

"Oh, good. I can just see it now, Alice staring at your pants." Poor Artie was going to choke to death, he just knew it.

"Ew! Ew, Alice's like ... a mom or a sister or something. EW!" Oh, God. Greg loved that man.

"Yeah, yeah. Sisters look. You don't have to think of them that way,
but if you're wandering about with a hard-on..." Artie cupped his cock,
nothing urgent or anything, just gentle, hot.

"Bastard." He chuckled, shook his head a little. They'd laughed more in the last half hour than they had in days.

"Uh-huh. Just a big old meanie." The lines around Artie's eyes had
evened out, become the smile lines they should be, and those wide
shoulders looked less tense, more normal.

"Yeah. I think I should keep you." In fact, he might have to keep Artie a long, long while.

Chapter Fourteen

"'Lo?" Artie blinked blearily at the clock. He'd worked all night on
a new case and his ass was dragging. It was like ... ten A.M. Shit. Was
he supposed to be at work?

"Artie. I got the fucker. I got him." Leah sounded frantic, whispering into the phone. "It's the fucking electrician."

"What?" He levered up on one elbow, trying to shake off the sleep. "Who what?"

"Bruckle. Fucking Andy Bruckle. The electrician. The one in the
videotape. I spent the night following him; he has a white Ford pickup,
just like the doc said. I did some calling, and the guy used to be
Jerry Daniels, went to school up at USC while Greg was teaching.
Applied to be Greg's TA three months before Greg's accident and got
turned down."

"No shit?" He fumbled, his hand automatically searching for Greg. "Where are you? What's he up to?"

"I'm at the guy's apartment, man. I got Judge Harris to sign a
search warrant. He headed off about ten minutes ago, and Baker and
Williams are shadowing him."

"Oh, good. You be careful, you hear?" God knew he didn't need anything to happen to Leah. "I'll come."

"Yeah, yeah. You get Greg to tell you about him, man. See what he
remembers. God, you should see this place, Art. It's all fucking books.
Everywhere. Like a library."

"Look for Greg's book. We need something to tie. You know?" Where
the fuck was Greg? Artie finally got untangled, got out of bed,
looking. He heard the shower running, Duke yowling at the bathroom
door, insisting that Greg shouldn't be in there getting wet. Oh. Good.
For a minute there his heart had tried to do things it shouldn't with
the pounding. "I'll get Greg on it. What else?"

"I don't know. We need to figure if we're going to take him in now
or see if he's got another one somewhere, yeah? They can't be here.
There's no room."

"Shit. Okay. We may have to wait. There's nowhere to go underground
there?" He patted his chest where his pocket would be if he had one,
kinda blushing when he realized he was naked on the phone with Leah.

"Not that I see. This is a third story place."

"Shit," he said again, searching for ... pants. Something like
pants. "Okay, then we need to see what he might own. I take it he rents
there?"

"Yeah. He's been here at this place eighteen months. Bruckle moved
to Raleigh seven months after the Doc did. Working as a
subcontractor—first the community college, then Greg's building,
the dry cleaner's next door. That little deli. The police station."

"Goddamn, he's got us coming and going. Bastard." They were gonna get him now, though. Artie knew it.

"Yeah. I just can't figure what the deal is with the girls, if it's
about Greg. I mean, shit, Greg was out of the closet back then."

"It has to be something he thinks is wrapped up in Greg, but is his own deal." Psychos were psychos. Who knew what they thought?

"I guess. I..." Her voice stopped short. "Fuck. Someone's opening the door."

"Leah! Get the hell out of there. Go." Oh, Jesus. Artie started hunting his shoes, frantic now.

He heard the phone clatter to the ground. "Hold it right there! Police! Freeze!"

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck. He had to. Shit. Artie grabbed his gun, his
jacket, fumbling for Greg's phone so he could keep his line open for
Leah. "Dispatch. I need the address Detective Morales is searching.
Now!"

"Artie? What's wrong?"

"Goddamnit! I said freeze! Put the fucking thing down, man!"

"I need your identification, sir."

He shoved a hand back at Greg, the whole three voices thing too much
as he found his pen and barked his badge number into the phone. Come
on, come on.

"6125-C Maple; off Hemlock."

Shots sounded in his left ear, Leah's scream sudden and sharp.

Artie all but sobbed, barking, "Officer needs backup at that
location, shots fired," before dropping Greg's phone and running, the
address still wet on his hand. Car keys. Fuck. There. He hit the
stairs, his phone still pressed to his ear. "Hang in there, partner."