Zero at the Bone (61 page)

He heard the door open, then a surprised voice. “Hey! What are you doing home? I didn’t think you were coming until tomorrow!”

“Came back early,” he heard Mr. D say, muffled, over sounds of fabric rustling and quiet murmurings of the kind that let him know that hugging was going on.

Frank knew it was rude, but he couldn’t help himself. He crept to the doorway and peeked around. He saw Mr. D embracing the man in the photo, a tight embrace that reminded Frank that Mr. D spent weeks away from home at a time.
They must miss each
other,
he thought.

Mr. D pulled back and Frank was nearly startled into giving himself away by the expression on his face. He looked… relaxed. He looked happy. He looked like a completely different person. He was gazing at his partner with a kind of tenderness Frank would barely have believed him capable, and then he pulled him into a deep kiss.
Okay,
that I don’t need to see.
Frank stepped back and went to the patio doors. He could still hear their voices, though.

“Where’s your car?”

“I kinda… wrecked.”

“Oh, shit, are you all right?”

“Fine, not a scratch on me. Car’s kinda totaled, though.”

“How’d you get home?”

“Uh… one a the guys drove me. He’s back in the kitchen.”

“He’s still here?” Mr. D’s partner sounded excited at this prospect. “You mean I finally get to meet one of your phantom co-workers? Which one?”

“It’s, uh… Frank.”

Mr. D had hardly gotten out this last when his partner, the surgeon, came hurrying into the kitchen with a big smile on his face. His eyes were startlingly blue. “Hi!” he said, holding out his hand. Frank reached out and shook it. “I’m Jack Francisco. It’s such a pleasure to meet you! I’ve heard a lot about you!”
Really? I haven’t heard a single solitary thing about you before today.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Francisco. I’m Frank Boorstein.”

“Call me Jack. I keep telling D he ought to have some of his friends up for dinner or something….”

“Ain’t my friends,” Mr. D grumbled.

“Ignore him; he’s crotchety. Sit down! Nice of you to drive all the way up here to bring him home.” He frowned and twisted around. “Why didn’t you just borrow a car from the motor pool?”

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Mr. D blinked. “Uh… well—”

“He was up all night on this case,” Frank said. “Agent Myerson didn’t want to risk him falling asleep at the wheel.”

Jack nodded. “I see.”

Mr. D took Frank’s empty coffee cup. “Wouldn’ta fallen asleep,” he muttered.

“Anyway, I’m glad to finally meet one of you. I was starting to worry that none of you existed.” Mr. D sat on the arm of the settee next to Jack, who put his hand casually on his knee. Mr. D glanced at it, then got up and moved to the other side of the couch. A quick frown passed across Jack’s face, and then he was all smiles again. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I thought I’d be alone tonight, but we can throw a couple of steaks on the grill, and….”

“That’s awful nice,” Frank said, Mr. D glaring daggers at him over Jack’s shoulder,

“but I have to head back to Cincinnati.” He got up. “But it was really nice to meet you.” Jack got up as well, nodding. “I’d love to have the whole team up to Columbus some day, so I can meet all of you. I mean, sometimes it feels like you guys see more of D than I do.”

Frank nodded. “We’d like that. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll just see myself out.” He shook Jack’s hand again, and then headed for the front door. Mr. D followed along behind.

“Thanks,” he murmured as Frank stepped out to the front stoop.

Frank nodded. “That’s… that’s a real nice guy you got there, Mr. D.” He shuffled and flushed a little, to Frank’s amazement. “Yeah, I know,” he said, staring at his shoes.

“You know, even if all of us got to meet him, and saw your house, and talked to you the way people talk… we’d all still be scared to death of you. So where’s the harm?” Mr. D smirked a little. “Getcher ass back to Cinci. Don’t wanna get back ta work and find everythin’s gone ta hell, y’hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

D SHUT the door after Frank and went back inside, readying a defense for Jack’s admonishments that he should have encouraged Frank to stay, that it wasn’t polite to make him drive back to Cincinnati so soon, that he’d wanted to talk to Frank some more, and so forth. “I know, I’m a rude son of a bitch,” he said.

Jack was shucking his jacket. “You think I care?” he said, coming up to D and twining his arms around his neck.

“Oh, I, uh… thought you’da wanted ta talk ta Frank some more,” he said, his own hands finding their way around Jack’s waist.

“Sure. But after you’ve been gone for two weeks I’d rather do this,” Jack said, leaning forward and kissing D’s lips softly. He drew away, his eyes roaming all over D’s face. “Your case go bad?”

D flinched a little and looked away. “Makes ya say that?” Jack kept looking at him. “It did, didn’t it? Really bad.” He rubbed his hands up and down D’s arms. “You’re all buttoned up. You look exhausted.” He pulled D back into his arms and D let him, sagging into Jack’s strong embrace and exhaling some of the horror into the clean, fresh air of their home. Jack rubbed his back. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap? You’re half-dead on your feet. I’ll get you up later and we’ll dig 286 | Jane Seville

something out of the fridge to eat and then we’ll fuck like crazed weasels and you’ll feel better.”

D sighed, tucking his face into Jack’s neck. “You got a real way a plannin’ an evenin’, doc.”

Jack chuckled and kissed the side of D’s face. “Get upstairs, now.”

“Hmm,” D said, pulling back. “Sure I cain’t getcha ta come with me?”

“That would kind of defeat the purpose of a nap, wouldn’t it?” Jack said, smiling, that twinkle in his eyes that D so missed seeing when he was away.

JACK listened to D’s footsteps above his head until he heard them stop at the bed, then the creak of him climbing in. He nodded, then took out his cell phone and dialed Portia.

“You better not be canceling on me,” she said, in lieu of a greeting.

“I’m sorry. Anson came home early.”

“Oh. Well, in that case,” she said, her tone softening, “I guess you have better things to do.”

“I don’t know. Something went wrong on his last case.”

“What?”

“He didn’t say anything about it.”

“Then how do you know something went wrong?”

“Because of how he’s acting. Too normal. He’s putting on a front for me.” He sighed. “He’ll tell me eventually, he always does. He’s taking a nap right now.”

“Whoa, stop this crazy train!”

Jack grinned. “He was tired. I can’t have my fun with him if he keeps falling asleep.”

“You’re a bad man, Dr. Francisco.”

“Yes, and he’d shit a brick if he knew I talked to you like this. I’ll let you know if we’re coming to Abe’s party tomorrow.”

“Okay. “

Jack hung up and went into the front room to retrieve his briefcase and abandoned, half-drunk latte, which was now cold. He couldn’t face this evening without caffeine. The local coffeehouse wasn’t far, and a walk sounded like a good way to pass the time while D napped. Jack put on his coat and headed out.

It was a clear, chilly day. It had been a mild fall, and even now in early December they’d only had a few really cold days. Just having arrived at December felt like a victory. Soon he and D would spend their first Christmas together, and he couldn’t help but be excited even if D downplayed it at every opportunity.

His mind wandered as he walked. He thought of Frank, glad to have met one of D’s co-workers even if it had been brief (no doubt at D’s unspoken insistence), and wondered again what had happened to bring D home early, wearing his “everything’s okay” mask.

Don’t think about it. No use worrying now. Think about something happier.

His mind grabbed at a random memory, of a time when he and D had made out in an elevator at the Venetian Casino in Las Vegas.

Sunburned from the day at the Canyon, weary from a long drive… why the fuck are
we staying in this gaudy monstrosity, again? Oh yeah, it’s fun. Fun, sure. It’s what you
do, it’s Vegas. Wanna play craps? Don’t know how. C’mon, I know how to play
blackjack. Damn right, you do. Looking windblown and casual among the tacky tourists
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and seedy gamblers. Winning once, twice. Fuck, that’s the cost of our room. Where are
those free drinks I hear about? Flashing his eyes at D across the table, watching the flush
creep up his neck as the thought in his mind traveled across the table to take root in D’s.

Watching the waitresses eye D, women passing by with their lingering eyes on his tan
face, sun-bleached hair. Back off, bitches. That’s my man you’re mentally undressing.

Past one a.m., the elevator is empty. Pockets flush with cash. Damn, you weren’t
kidding when you said you could play blackjack. Just got lucky, I guess. Guess so. Think I
might do again? The doors closed on them and he moved so fast Jack was caught
unawares, shoved up against the wall, grabbing hands and devouring mouths, straddling
thighs and shirts untucked, fingers pulling at bared flesh. Fuck, D, there’s probably
security cameras in here. Good, let ’em see what I got, a deep possessive growl and D’s
mouth hard on his neck and shoulder, Jack’s arms twining like creeper, then the ding and
the doors open on them mussed and panting but three feet apart.

Jack smiled to himself at the recollection, along with the memory of what happened once they got to the room.

He turned the corner onto Third Street and went up the block to Cup O’ Joe. “Hey, Jack,” said Marc, the barista, as he approached the counter. “Latte?”

“Mmm… nah. Gimme a large mocha with a shot of hazelnut, skim, no whip.”

“Okay.” He rung up the sale. “By yourself tonight?”

“My better half is home asleep. Just got back from a two-week trip.”

“Well, tell him I’ve got some ‘regular goddamn coffee’ here with his name on it,” Marc said, winking.

Jack grinned. “Will do.” He picked up the Other Paper and sat down with his drink.

Half an hour passed. Customers came in and out of the shop. Jack read some movie reviews and News of the Weird, then looked over the concert schedule. He got out his BlackBerry and noted on his calendar that Jose Gonzalez was going to be playing at the Wexner Center in January. He half-hoped the concert would fall on a night D was in Cincinnati. He’d never go. He hated “that indie crap.” In fact, Jack had yet to determine what sort of music, if any, D did like. He seemed equally disinclined toward all of it. In fact, he tended to view most pop culture with a species of dubious contempt that made Jack feel like a prole for watching TV. D had many qualities to recommend him, not to mention physical attributes that would make a man wish to forgive him for the ones that didn’t, but sometimes he was just a stubborn, ill-tempered bastard and there was nothing for it.

He got up after an hour or so and left the shop. He took his time walking home, taking a circuitous route around Schiller Park, stopping to pet a few dogs and chat up some neighbors. It was nearly nine by the time he got home. He paused in the entryway, listening for movement, but heard none. D was likely still asleep.

Jack took off his coat and shoes and tiptoed up the stairs. He pushed the bedroom door open a crack; D was sprawled out on his back, arms and legs flung wide; he’d stripped down to his boxers and a T-shirt. Jack came in and shut the door carefully behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Anson, his face quiet in sleep but still bearing traces of the tension he’d sensed there earlier. He felt his own expression soften as his affection for this difficult man rose to tighten his chest.

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that they were both really here, living together, that neither of them was dead or permanently maimed, that it had all really happened, that it had really worked for them in the end. It hardly seemed possible that such a horrible time in his life could have led him to the partner he would walk beside for the rest of it.

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He smiled to himself.
I think someone needs to wake up.
He slid his hand up the outside of D’s thigh, then dipped it between his legs, cupping him through his boxers. D

grunted and shifted. “C’mere,” he said in a sleepy growl, pulling Jack down with him and rolling him to his back, scooping up Jack’s mouth with his own. “Mmm,” he growled.

“Taste sweet,” he whispered.

“I went out for a mocha.”

“Nah. Think it’s just you,” D said, smiling crookedly, lifting one hand to flick a lock of hair from Jack’s forehead. Jack melted a little. “And I think yer overdressed, doc.”

They sat up and stripped quickly, yanking back the bedclothes and diving underneath, coming back together in a tangle of naked limbs, D’s skin deliciously warm and soft against Jack’s as they lay on their sides and necked for awhile. They fell into a lull, just lying quietly, looking at each other. “I missed you,” Jack whispered.

“Me too.”

“I hate sleeping in this bed alone.”

D sighed. “I hate bein’ in that sterile apartment. Nothin’ a you there.” He leaned in and kissed Jack again, his hand sliding down Jack’s back to his ass, drawing him close, his kisses intensifying. They rolled so D was on top, his hips between Jack’s legs, both of them gasping as they rubbed against each other, D’s hips rocking against Jack’s. D kissed him again. “You wanna come like this?”

Jack shook his head. “Want you inside me.”

D nodded and grabbed for the lube, slicked up and pressed in, his face going slack with pleasure as he slid into Jack’s body. Jack held his breath, his hands clutching D’s flanks, until they were joined again and D sank into his arms with a shaky exhale. He didn’t move for a few moments, just lay there like he was savoring the sensation again after weeks of anticipation. Jack shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around his lover’s body, glad as always to have him back home, in his bed and in his body where he belonged, safe and unhurt, another job survived.