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  His face was pale under the fluorescent lighting, the line of his mouth fixed and grim, and circles still shadowed his dark eyes. Casey rummaged through a sack of coins and the washing machine soon rumbled to life. He faced Roy suddenly as if to speak, caught him staring, and quickly shut his mouth and looked away. He sat, leaving an empty chair between them.

  The next moments passed in heavy silence.

  "I lived out of my car once," Roy said at last.

  Casey was surprised. "Yeah?"

  Roy nodded. "Not for long, but yep. Wasn't a picnic."

  Casey's shrug was a careful study in nonchalance.

  "Don't think I could do it now," Roy added. "I almost lost my mind I was so bored."

  "Right." Casey gave him a small smile, sardonic but not unkind. It eased the stress lines around his eyes and mouth. "Guess you've never done time."

  "No," Roy said, carefully. "Might find myself out of a job if I did."

  Relaxing in his chair, Casey let the back of his head bump softly against the wall. He closed his eyes. "You just might," he said, agreeably.

  With Casey's eyes closed, Roy was able to really look at him, as he'd done the night before. It had been dark in the motel room, but he'd stared down at the pale head on the pillow beside him all the same. Now, Casey's face was clear to him, lit and gently smiling.

  It was not a perfect face. The mouth was thin and wide and its lips were chapped, and a faded scar cut through one sandy brow. The eyes were always hard when open, set far apart, and the forehead tended to wrinkle. The nose was sharp and the chin pointed. It was a intelligent face, with, Roy thought, a hell of a lot of character.

  "I wasn't just going to leave you," he said quietly, and Casey opened his eyes. Roy thought carefully about what he meant to say. "I have a colleague, she knows a little of what's going on. Been trying to reach her but, for some reason, today…"

  "No luck?"

  "Yeah."

  Casey was silent, searching Roy's gaze. He wasn't so in control, anymore. A battle of expression played out over his face; subtle, but there, and it was goddamn charming. He was so alive, quick and so damn hotheaded. Roy put his hand down flat on the chair between them. Casey stared at it with his eyebrows raised, but Roy could not read him.

  "I'm going to try again," Roy said. "When you're finished here, I want you to go back to the room. Get some rest and don't forget your phone."

  Immediately, Casey dropped a hand over his hip pocket. He frowned as Roy stood. "Where are you going?"

  "Outside. I need to make a few calls. And, hey, like I said before, I've got this."

  "Roy, what-?" Casey looked a little bugged out and Roy thought maybe he liked it. Let him be the one calling the shots for once.

  "Don't worry. Just finish here and get back to the motel."

  Casey's face was white. "Roy, no." He moved quickly to his feet, coming toward him. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the bed last night."

  Roy almost cringed. "Casey-"

  "It was nice, okay? You're a-you know-a nice guy." His cheeks colored.

  Did it have to kill Casey to say it? "I really don't want to have this conversation again."

  "No, listen." And, surprised, Roy did. Casey's gaze jumped to the side and back again. He lowered his voice. "The room was good, but I really think I should go out on my own." He gave a dry laugh. "I'll be up all night anyway."

  "So watch TV." Roy stared at him.

  Casey glanced around again. The machines banged on, the lady with the book now murmured into a phone, but Roy was sure at least one of the students was watching them, and had his doubts about the sleeping man in the corner. Casey just stared like he had last night, like he was begging Roy for something and it killed him to do it, and Roy found himself reaching out. He squeezed one of Casey's arms, cocked his head to one side, and they stepped out.

  Gravel crunched under their shoes and Casey moved off to the far end of the parking lot. Roy looked around first but the area was dead. He followed.

  An old fence lined that end of the lot, weeds standing high around it. Casey stepped on a stick and it cracked neatly under his foot. Roy felt off kilter again, but he was more worried than frustrated.

  "Casey?" he tried, but Casey said nothing, jamming his hands into his pockets and looking grim as hell.

  "I don't want to go back," he said.

  "What? Why?"

  "I just don't." Casey stared at him, checked the Laundromat, and studied his shoes for a few seconds. "Look, don't waste your money."

  Bullshit, Roy thought, and said, "I don't have time for this."

  Casey looked at him.

  "Listen to me," Roy said, moving toward him. "I need to get in touch with my colleague. I don't have time to check every gay bar in the metropolitan area hoping to find you, I need you to just do what I say for once and go back to the motel. Just stay put, Casey, do you understand that?"

  Eyes narrowing, Casey said, "You don't get it."

  "No, I don't. Look, sorry it's not the fucking Hilton, if that's what you're used to. It's the best I can do."

  "That's not it. Look, he-" Casey winced. "He found me before."

  "Darren?"

  Nodding vigorously, Casey said, "That's the same place, right? Last week. He fucking-I don't know how, but he found me."

  Roy stared. "The motel? Why didn't you say something?"

  "I didn't know, okay? I was fucking out of it last night, in case you hadn't noticed. Jesus, Roy."

  "Okay, all right. We'll go somewhere else, then, how's that? I'll take you across town if it makes you feel better."

  In a wild gesture, Casey pushed his hands through his hair and groaned loudly in frustration. "You don't get it. He's everywhere. He'll find me. He'll-shit-Roy, I swear I'll go where you need me when you need me, okay? I swear. But I can't be stuck in some room all day long just waiting. I won't do it."

  The seconds ticked by. Roy couldn't quite interpret the look on Casey's face, but he knew, whatever it was, he didn't like it. "What'd he do to you?"

  Casey hesitated.

  "What?" Casey wasn't even looking at him anymore, and Roy didn't know why it made him so angry. Ragged, he said, "Tell me, for Christ's sake-!"

  "He just messed with me, okay? That's all."

  "Messed with you."

  Casey stared wildly away in the direction of the Laundromat. After a tense minute he muttered, "I gotta check my clothes."

  Roy watched him go. He remained outside, watching through the windows as Casey pulled his wet clothes from the machine and stuffed them in the dryer. Just what the hell was he missing, here?

  Casey took his sweet time and Roy used the opportunity to call Gomez for the fiftieth time that day. Incredibly, she picked up.

  "So you are alive," he said.

  "What do you want, Parker?" She sounded tired.

  The wind whistled high and, tucking his chin to his collarbone, Roy huddled by the fence. "I want to talk to you about that business at work."

  "What business?"

  "You know what," he snapped.

  "Oh," said Gomez, drawing the word out. "That. Well, I figured you wanted me to leave it alone, so…"

  Roy couldn't believe it. "What?"

  "Ouch, damn it-"

  "Belia?"

  "I'm here. Of course I didn't leave it. I've been busy the last few days. Was this close to going to the lieutenant, in fact-"

  "You didn't!" Roy said, and winced. He needed to keep cool.

  The moment stretched before Gomez answered, and when she did her tone was different. "No, I didn't. What's going on?"

  Roy glanced through the windows again and found Casey standing alone, arms crossed tight. Even from that distance he looked troubled, and the picture hit Roy hard. Into the phone, he said, "I need your help."

  Casey didn't come back out, and Roy only went in when he'd finished with Gomez. He found Casey haphazardly folding his clothes and stuffing them into his bag.

  "You ready?" Roy grumbled.
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  Not looking up, Casey answered, "Yeah."

  Roy followed him back to the car, standing to one side as Casey stowed his things in the back.

  With an air if finality, he closed the trunk. "I meant what I said before," Casey warned.

  Round two. "I hear you. But there's really no reason to believe-"

  A loud snort cut him off. Casey came around, keys in hand, shaking his head. "Fuck you," he said, casually.

  "Don't be unreasonable."

  "You're unreasonable!"

  Roy stared at him for a long minute. Finally he said, "Jesus, Casey! We'll find you a nice place, all right? Someplace with security, with-shit-"

  "Security, right. What security? You're telling me there's a place in this city that won't bend fucking backwards for a cop? All he has to do is show them his badge."

  "We'll take precautions."

  Casey sneered, but it wasn't the crass, hard-eyed look Roy knew so well. There was that desperation again. Casey was hurting, and Roy tried to keep in mind it was his ass on the line, not Roy's. "Don't be thick. You know they'd rather not deal with the drama."

  "They'll deal with me."

  "You."

  They stared at one another. "That's right," Roy said. "I'll leave warning with the desk. I'll leave my number-all my numbers. If anyone comes looking for you, I'll know." He waited, staring hard at Casey and feeling wild inside. "I'm looking out for you, all right?"

  Casey stared down at the keys in his hand, and closed his fist around them. "Jesus, you really do have some kind of savior complex."

  How to make him understand? Roy wanted to grab hold of Casey and shake the sense into him. He said, "Okay, maybe so, but you didn't seem to mind last night." He stopped, took a breath. "What I mean is-oh, hell."

  The seconds ticked by, too quiet and far too awkward. Finally, hesitant, Casey spoke. "If you're looking out-I mean, why don't you just-"

  "What?"

  Casey seemed to undergo some private struggle, staring at Roy with a question in his eyes, but what question? Roy had never met someone who put him through the ringer like Casey did.

  "What?" Just say it, he thought, whatever it was. Just goddamn-

  Casey came at him. They weren't very far apart in the first place and Roy didn't know what to do, but it was like that time outside the bar when he'd pushed Casey hard into the wall. Only Casey was doing the pushing and Roy was-well, he guessed he was the wall.

  Arms tangled around his neck and the mouth fused to his was hungry. A tongue pushed at his closed lips, and belatedly he parted them. Casey sighed deeply, and Roy just held him, feeling how strong he was, how hot and alive.

  At first there was only reaction. It had been months since Roy had touched anyone, and for it to happen now, with Casey-Casey, whom he could not for the life of him quit thinking about. Casey…

  Easing up, biting soft at Roy's bottom lip, Casey spoke against his skin. "Take me with you."

  For some reason Roy remembered first pulling Casey Brown's jacket, staring at the booking photograph and memorizing his numbers, seeing the intelligence in his dark eyes. It had been clear to him even then, in the picture.

  Slowly, Roy pushed him away and Casey stared, a little unsure, maybe a little afraid.

  "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "Is this what you do?" Roy asked, low and quiet. He still gripped Casey's shoulders, hands flexing restless. "You push people like this? Is that what last night was, when you asked me-?" He laughed, but it was ugly. He couldn't even finish the sentence. He really was pathetic sometimes. He squeezed hard with his hands and made himself let go.

  Casey didn't move. He looked sorrier than Roy had ever seen him, or anyone for that matter. A little pitying. "Roy, that wasn't-this isn't like that."

  "I must seem easy. You're always talking about people like Darren fucking you over. Cops."

  Casey lunged at him. He pushed hard and Roy crashed into the car. "Don't you start that shit with me," he hissed. "Fuck you, Parker, you're the one who dragged me into this mess in the first place."

  "Me?"

  Casey's face twisted. "Yes, you!"

  "Oh, no. You were involved with Darren long before I came into the picture-"

  "Shut the fuck up!"

  They said nothing to each other and Roy watched Casey pace around for a minute. He cut a hand through his short curls a couple of times and finally came back around.

  "Fine," he muttered, not looking Roy in the eye. "Fine, I'll do whatever."

  "Whatever," Roy echoed. "You mean you'll go to the hotel?"

  "Yeah, sure." Distracted, Casey jammed his key into the lock. Roy watched him yank the door open but put his arm out before he could get inside.

  "Wait a second," he said. "You mean you'll go and you'll stay?"

  Still, Casey didn't look at him, and he didn't say anything, either. Roy swore.

  "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?" His mouth burned where Casey's stubble had scratched. "Either I take you home with me, or…"

  "Just forget I said that."

  "The way you said it made things a little hard to forget."

  Casey just stared off at nothing, face tight and expression closed. Finally he said, "Yeah. It was stupid."

  Peering at him, Roy tried to figure what the hell had just happened. Fight. Kiss. Fight. This, whatever it was. "Wasn't stupid," he said, slowly.

  "You're probably married or something."

  That surprised him. "Hell no." They studied one another. Casey had put a lot of trust in Roy the night before. Trusted him to stay, to look out for him. That's what Roy had wanted, but here he was pushing him away. "Look," he said, "Maybe you're right. Maybe the best thing is-is-"

  Casey gave a low, sad little laugh. "Don't hurt yourself on my account. It was a stupid idea. I don't know, I probably wouldn't want me there, either."

  "Casey…" But that only earned him one of those fake smiles, with the hard flat eyes to go with.

  "Don't worry about it."

  "Damn it, Casey." Roy could still taste him, still feel the burn. What was the harm, he wondered. He wasn't exactly doing things by the book, and if Casey wanted it…

  There was a wildness inside him and with Casey staring at him that way, it was all too easy for Roy let it go. He did.

  Casey opened for him and his lips were cool but his tongue so hot. He kissed like he had before, like he was hungry and he needed it. Doubt lingered at the back of Roy's mind, but he squashed it. To hell with it, he needed this. Roy needed.

  Cupping his hand over the back of Casey's head, he pushed his hand through sandy hair, feeling how weirdly soft it was and how the curls hugged fingers. He found his face in Casey's neck, the skin there cold but smelling clean like honey soap. He tasted it and thought to himself, to hell with it. To hell with it.

  Chapter Nine

  Roy lived in a cramped little one-bedroom at the very edge of the city. It was a spare, ugly thing, but had a full kitchen with a real fridge and an old gas stove and that, in Casey's opinion, really counted for something.

  "You want a drink?" Roy asked him, gazing somberly into the fridge. "I've got water and beer."

  Casey stood awkwardly in the front room, staring at his dark reflection in the flatscreen TV. A monster set of speakers lay at either side of it, wires everywhere, and across from that a sofa, worn through. Stale, chill air hung thin in the apartment, and Casey had the nagging idea that it wasn't very lived in.

  "I'm okay," he said, tossing his bags onto thin cushions. He felt kind of fucked up inside, his headache gone but still he felt off. And there was that kiss-he couldn't forget it. Either of them. Roy snapped the cap off a beer and drank deeply. Casey watched the pulse in his throat and remembered how rough Roy's stubble felt against his palm.

  "So," he said, and Roy's mouth formed a hard line.

  "I'm hungry," he said. "I'm going to make pizza."

  Casey sighed. "Great. Mind if I watch TV?"

  The television was a bit fo
reign to him, different from the ones in the cheap motels he frequented or at Mule Creek, but he found the three remotes and worked out which two were for the TV and cable box. He didn't sit down but flipped through everything once and finally settled on something that was definitely not a commercial and definitely not news.

  From the kitchen, Roy said, "You like this?"

  "Huh?" Onscreen, a cop drove through a 1970s American city locale, streets and buildings licked by the evening sun. Casey had no idea what it was. "Yeah," he said. "Sure, my favorite." He threw himself onto the couch. Roy hung around the kitchen peeking in and drinking beer. At last he came around with a couple plates and sat, leaving about three feet of space between them.

  They ate and watched in silence. A distraught man ran into a police station, nearly empty but for the cop and a few others. Casey wasn't sure he followed what was going on, but Roy seemed interested. He watched with such intent that it surprised Casey when he finally spoke.

  "My colleague will be here in the morning. She's all right, and I want you to talk to her."

  Casey tried not to be too alarmed. "Just talk, right?"

  Roy looked over. He'd pretty much kicked back with one leg stretched out, the heel of the other pressed to the couch. He still wore his jacket, and Casey realized he hadn't even removed his own.

  "This place is a meat locker," he said frankly.

  Roy's eyes widened. "Sorry." He messed with a round thermostat across the room and came back. "Not home much," he explained.

  "Right." Casey followed him with his gaze, beyond curious. "Travel much?" He kept his expression blank, and Roy just stared at him for a minute.

  The corner of his mouth twitched once and he finally asked, "You sure you don't want a drink?"

  "You know, a beer does sound good."

  Roy banged around in the kitchen and came back. They tapped bottlenecks and drank. Roy sat about a foot closer than before. "I work a lot," he said. "Guess you know that."

  "What about right now?" Casey asked. "You working now?"

  It could have been a smile; wasn't a frown, at any rate. The cop said nothing but he looked easy for once, shoulders not so stiff. He had a hard face but Casey thought it suited him. Flat planes and sharp angles, hard lines and whiskers. For the second time that night Casey figured to hell with it, and reached out.