Authors: Adrienne Wilder

In The Absence Of Light (19 page)

Morgan cried out with every plunge of his fingers and thrust of his hips. He still hadn’t closed his eyes. Desire and raw need still shadowed the brown, but there was something else I didn’t have a name for. But I’d seen it before when Morgan watched the light and the world disappeared for him.

In that moment, the light took a backseat to me.

Two to three years might have been a lot of time for sex, but it would never be enough time to have him look at me that way. He might still never look at me the same way again. It could have been a fluke or even my imagination.

And it could take a lifetime to find out.

Lines of cold crackled down my spine, and my body tensed. My cock thickened in my hand, and a tingling wave engulfed me, crashing harder and harder with every pulse of my cock. Cum sprayed the back of Morgan’s balls.

A shudder ran down his thighs, and he shoved his fingers deep one last time. Morgan jerked and came, each surge rocking him.

When he stopped, he fell over on his side. Somehow he’d managed to catch most of his cum in the palm of his hand.

“Tissues.” He waved at the bedside table. I opened the drawer and pulled out the box. Morgan wiped his hands and the back of his nuts. Bits of deteriorating tissue stuck to his skin.

“Wait here.” I retrieved a wet washcloth from the bathroom. “Here.” I sat beside him and wiped his hand clean. “Raise your leg.” Morgan propped his heel on my shoulder.

“Feels good.” He gave me a lazy smile.

I finished wiping him off and tugged the comforter down. Morgan was boneless as I pulled the blankets out from under him. He made a sleepy sound and pressed himself to my chest. I’d never been one to enjoy a bed partner clinging to me while they slept, but Morgan fit against me. Almost as if our bodies were interlocking puzzle pieces.

I lay there a very long time, holding him and petting his hair. Every so often, his breath would pull deep and he’d sigh against my neck.

I counted his heartbeats.

I traced the shell of his ear.

I carefully arranged locks of his curly hair, not caring it was hopeless to make sense of the mess.

Morgan had been right about so many things.

Except one.

I did have a reason to stay here in Durstrand. And that reason was asleep in my arms.

********

“I don’t mind giving you a ride to Toolies.”

Morgan put his plate in the sink. “And I don’t mind riding my bike.”

“It’s going to get cold tonight.”

“It gets cold every winter. That’s why it’s winter.”

I pushed my empty plate away, leaving a smear of honey on the table.

“Do you want any more French toast?”

“If I eat any more, I’ll be sick.” I picked up my coffee cup and went for a refill. Morgan had used a ceramic pot to heat water in the microwave and tea bags to hold the grounds. It was crude, but damn it was good.

To think of all the times I’d gone without brewed coffee because I didn’t have a coffeemaker when all I needed was a box of empty tea bags and a cup of hot water.

I leaned against the counter. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?”

He tossed thoughts in no particular direction. “Yeah. I’ve got to work late tonight.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Grant.” His hand opened and closed.

“Okay. But if you change your mind, will you call me?”

Morgan ran his fingers along the sink where the sun dappled the porcelain.

“Will you?”

He turned. “Yeah. If I change my mind, I’ll call.”

It was all I could ask for. Morgan had slept with me, that didn’t mean I owned him. I don’t know why I felt like I did. I’d never felt possessive about anyone before, not even Jeff.

I was worried being overprotective of Morgan had nothing to do with caring about him and everything to do with pity. He didn’t need my pity, he deserved my admiration. “Do you want to do something tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Morgan propped his hip against the counter.

I smiled around the edge of my cup. “I guess I am.”

“I don’t know, I should probably ask Aunt Jenny if it’s okay, since you’re so much older than me.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed and so did I.

“Do you like movies?” Morgan tilted his head.

“Durstrand has a theatre?”

“A drive-in.”

“You’re kidding. I haven’t seen one of those since I was a kid.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, this town isn’t exactly up to date. I can’t remember when anyone even built a new house here.”

He had a point. “I’d love to go to the movies with you. What’s playing?”

“Probably something that’s been out of the city theatre for thirty years.” His shoulder jerked. “But we can get popcorn, hotdogs, and drinks. Believe it or not, the hotdogs are really good.”

“Can’t beat a good hotdog. Count me in.”

“You wanna pick me up about seven?”

Actually I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to push him back into his bedroom and do wondrous things to that very flexible body of his.

The curtain of hair concealing his eyes parted just enough for me to know he watched me. Morgan licked his bottom lip, then pinched it between his teeth.

Fucking hell.

“I should probably get dressed.” He pushed away from the counter. “Don’t forget, tomorrow, seven sharp.”

“I’ll be here, but I don’t want you to hesitate to call me if you change your mind.”

*******

I was about a mile from home when a dark sedan pulled up behind me. It could have been any one of thousands of sedans cluttering the streets in the city. Which is exactly why it didn’t belong.

I turned onto a back road. The driver hesitated before following. Pot holes dropped the front end of the sedan and steep ruts tossed it back into the air. The driver slowed down, but the gullies made it impossible to avoid bottoming out.

When I was pretty sure there was no chance of reversing down the road, I stopped. The sedan pulled a few feet from my bumper. I got out, they didn’t. Sunlight glinted off the windshield, concealing the driver.

I had a feeling about who it was. Call it instinct. Call it luck. In reality, it was probably my dick remembering what it was like to be buried in the man’s ass.

The automatic window hummed as it sank into the door.

Jeff was dressed casual.

Well, about as casual as a man could get in a two hundred dollar shirt.

“Where’s your tie?”

He took off his sunglasses. “Left it at home. Thought I’d blend in better without it.”

“The jeans are a nice touch.”

“I thought they were.”

“But you need to pick a cheaper brand, TRR are way out of the pay grade of the folks around here.”

“Anything less wouldn’t have gone with the shirt.” He smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle on the front.

“I thought you went home.”

“I did.”

“Then why the hell did you come back?”

“I had some vacation time saved up. Thought this would be a nice place to kick back, read a book, you know, vacation things.”

“Most people go to the beach, Vegas, or Colorado to ski.”

“Too cliché.”

“So is riding around in a dark sedan. You might as well tattoo FBI on your forehead.”

“I’m not trying to hide.”

“Nah, I guess not. You’ve got a fake set of good ol’ boys to do that.”

Jeff clenched his jaw.

“Don’t worry, they did a much better job of blending in this time. No one else noticed.” I leaned down. “I’ll ask you again. Why are you still here?”

“I need you to cooperate.”

“You mean you need me to divulge private information between my clients and myself.”

“Criminals, Grant. The correct term is criminals.”

“Until you have evidence proving otherwise, they are clients. And the last time you dragged me into court, a judge agreed with me.”

“It doesn’t change the facts.”

“According to the facts, every job I’ve ever done has been legal, and by the books. You don’t even have a typo to hound me on.”

Jeff met my gaze. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Really?”

“They’re going to arrest you.”

“On what charge?”

“Hines found out about your
off the record
storage unit.”

I was very careful not to even blink. “It’s off the record because it has nothing to do with my business.” Which was true.

“Yeah, well, they’re going to search it.”

“They need a special piece of paper first.”

“And they’ll get it.”

“On what grounds?” There was no way they had any. I knew for a fact they couldn’t have any. “On what grounds, Jeff?”

“Does it matter?”

“If I need to give my lawyer a heads-up, yes.” It had to be a bluff. But if it was, Jeff had one hell of a poker face.

He put his sunglasses back on. “Think about it.”

“Nothing to think about.” I stepped back.

“I’ll call you in a few days. Until then, you’d better not so much as double park.”

I went back to my truck and got in. Jeff was still trying to get the car turned around without taking out the oil pan when I pulled away. I stomped the gas and gravel shot out from under the spinning tires. It pinged off the body of the sedan and left snowflake shaped chips spiderwebbed across the windshield.

I headed into town to find a disposable cell phone.

********

Common sense told me there was no way they’d get a warrant.

Legally.

But the FBI had more ways around the letter of the law than I did. There wasn’t much in the warehouse beyond personal affects—very valuable personal affects, but there was a box with numbers, names, and places. It had nothing to do with my shipping business, but if it got out, a lot of people would be in danger.

My three rules: no weapons, no drugs, no people.

About five years ago, I’d broken the last one. The first time was an accident and the reason I sank the barge. A shipping container belonging to someone else got switched with mine. It didn’t happen very often, but of all the people to accidentally wind up with his cargo on my boat, it was Lorado. In the long run, I guess it was a good thing. At the time, I was ready to prepay my funeral expenses.

Because when I realized there were people in the tin can, I had to get them out. Then the only way to make sure Lorado didn’t know what happened, and how it happened, and where they went, was to sink the barge. The FBI surveillance equipment was a surprise bonus.

Yeah, the first time an accident, I can’t say the same for the next dozen or so repeats.

I could have told Jeff what was in the file and hoped he’d keep the information confidential, but that was about as likely as the FBI apologizing for ever hounding me.

Being hounded by the FBI wasn’t what worried me. They were nothing more than ill-tempered, oversexed ankle biters. Lorado and his buyers were not.

If the FBI uncovered that information, it would get out. I could handle one hit man but not an army. And I wouldn’t be the only casualty. They’d kill the people I’d stolen from them, and their families. That’s a lot of blood to have on your hands.

Even when you’re dead.

I left the drug store with a cheap pay-as-you-go phone and drove around until I found a decent signal. Then I dialed a number I’d hoped I’d never have to use again.

Rubio Venice was more than a friend. The bond we had was the kind forged when you thought you had thirty seconds to live. A connection when you knew one fuck-up would bring down a hail of bullets. A kind of soul mate, I guess, because he was willing to snap your neck before letting you fall into the hands of the men you’re trying to elude.

The phone rang a few times before it picked up. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“I would tell you it’s good to hear your voice, but we both know it would be bullshit.” Because a phone call meant things were very bad.

“The file maybe compromised.”

“By who?”

“My fan club.”

“They have a warrant?”

“Not yet but they claim they will.”

“They’re baiting you.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Then why are you worried?”

“There are too many people involved for me not to be.”