Sidebars Book 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 1I supposed, if it came right down to it, Mr. Wallace was the cause of it.

He was the man who ran the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security, and he told me, “Meet Mr. Vincent at the DC morgue,” so that was what I did.

Mr. Wallace didn’t tell me to follow Mr. Vincent to George Washington Hospital.

But I did anyway.

It was dumb on my part, and maybe a bit egotistical as well. Who the hell was I to think Mark Vincent needed anyone to look out for him?

But in the morgue he’d looked…I couldn’t pinpoint it, but it seemed to be a combination of disillusionment, frustration, and sheer pissed off-ness.

And I’d also seen the look in his eyes when he’d thanked me for not giving up on him. Oh, those weren’t his exact words, but that was what he meant.

He really hadn’t expected anyone to do that for him.

I couldn’t see doing anything less, any more than I could have walked away when Mr. Adams told me what I’d have to do on occasion. It was the way I was raised…

But I guessed you could also say that Mr. Vincent had a hand in it as well.

When he turned into the hospital’s parking garage, I killed my headlights and let the car inch forward into it as well. Mr. Vincent’s taillights were about twenty feet ahead of me. Truthfully, I was proud of myself for having come this far without him spotting me. He really must have been distressed.

But when a van started backing out of its spot, and he zipped around it, I realized I’d been made. The van stalled, and I lost precious seconds waiting for the driver to regain his composure and drive off.

Okay, I had two choices. I could try to track down my boss, or I could get the f**k out of Dodge.

I swore under my breath. No, there was no choice. I had to find Mr. Vincent and make sure he was all right. Only then could I drive home with a clear conscience.

My friend Michael would have called me goody two-shoes, and there would have been an unpleasant edge to his words. Not that that had stopped him from relying on “goody two-shoes” to haul his ass out of hot water, which I’d done more than once.

I sighed. Thinking of Michael always saddened me. So much distance between us. How much longer would we have remained friends if he hadn’t died?

Someone rapped on the driver’s side window, and I jumped and jammed on the brakes, which screeched a bit, even though I wasn’t going more than five mph. How the hell—

I shouldn’t have let myself become distracted. I should have known. It was Mr. Vincent. I lowered the window.

“Lost, Matheson?”

“Shi—uh…No, sir.” My foot was cramping up from the force I was placing on the brake, and I shifted into neutral.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing here, then?”

“Sorry, sir. I know it isn’t my place, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay.”

Of course he was. He was Mark Vincent. I sat there trying to look unconcerned, all the while wracking my brains for a graceful way to get out of this cluster f**k.

Abruptly he said, “All right, I’m right over there. Take the next spot.”

He was going to clock me. Well, there was no getting around it. I’d overstepped the bounds, and he had every right to discipline me as he saw fit.

I parked my car and got out, waiting for him to punch me in the face. I just hoped he wouldn’t break my nose. It was my best feature.

He looked me over, then shook his head and turned to walk away. “Don’t just stand there, Matheson. I have to take care of this, and then you can explain why you felt the need to baby-sit me.”

“Yes, sir.” I breathed out a sigh of relief. Maybe I hadn’t totally screwed this up. I hurried after him, through the doors that opened into the emergency department. I wasn’t familiar with it. The few times I’d been injured in the line of duty, I’d seen doctors who worked out of the WBIS.

Mr. Vincent, however, knew where he was going.

He crossed to a cubicle and yanked the curtains aside. “f**k. Haven’t they found a bed for him yet?” He looked furious, and I was grateful that glare was not directed at me.

On the bed were two figures, one with disheveled white hair who was sleeping with his thumb in his mouth. The other, obviously the patient, was drowsily stroking the spiky platinum strands. He had been severely beaten. “S’okay, baby.”

Baby? Who—

“It’s not okay.” My boss snarled.

Wait, he was calling Mr. Vincent baby? I barely kept my jaw from dropping.

“You’ve been down here for hours. I’m not leaving until I get you settled.”

“You always make such a big thing out of everything.” The man in the bed shifted and sucked in a breath.

“You need something for pain?” Mr. Vincent looked around, as if he were searching for a nurse.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not, but I won’t argue with you.”

“Promise?” The injured man closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep.

“He’s been doing that on and off since you left.” Slouched in a chair was a good-looking man with reddish curly hair. His voice was a warm baritone, and the sound of it was like silk caressing my c**k.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I’d always had a weakness for redheads, but every one of those redheads had been girls. This wasn’t a cute, androgynous guy who could just as well have passed for a cute girl. This guy was all male. He was wearing stonewashed jeans, and the way his foot was propped on the lowered railing of the bed drew them tight across his crotch. Was he even wearing anything under them?

I dragged my gaze up and found myself staring at his mouth. His lips were made for kissing—and why had I even thought of that? I’d never kissed a guy. Michael had turned his head away the only time I’d tried to initiate a kiss, and other than him, there had been no one else.

It felt as if something large had wedged in my throat, but I couldn’t chance clearing it and drawing attention to myself.

I was relieved my overcoat concealed the sudden interest my body was taking in him. It also concealed the ordinary brown suit I wore. In my early days at the WBIS, I’d been taught not to draw attention to myself, to always dress inconspicuously. It had never bothered me before. Why, now, did I wish I was wearing tight black leather?

I used to laugh when Jill, my stepmom, would fuss about having just the right outfit to wear for my dad. When had I become her?

I raised my gaze higher. He was watching me, an eyebrow raised, a slight smirk on those lips, as if he knew I wanted to get naked with him.

Oh. I felt my interest begin to lag. I’d met people like him before, mostly women, but some men, who thought because of the way I dressed and looked that I’d be grateful for any attention they paid to me.

Schooling my expression to disinterest, I met his eyes. They weren’t just tired. In the light brown depths, I read worry and lingering fear.

I could understand why he looked so tired. I knew what it was like sitting around in a hospital, waiting, although those times had been when Jill was giving birth, first to my brother and then my sister, and that was pretty much a guaranteed happy ending. If there had been a possibility of any other outcome, I’d have been just as worried, just as afraid.

I forced my attention back to the other occupants of the cubicle, but the red-haired man murmured, “Vince’s so protective of Pretty Boy, you know.” He stood and extended his hand. He was a couple of inches taller than me. “I’m Sweetcheeks and that’s Spike. I run this menagerie, as much as these two will allow.”

I returned his grip. His palm was cool, dry, smooth, and he didn’t try to break my fingers in a half-assed macho display. And then his middle finger stroked across my palm.

In spite of myself, I shivered as if I’d grasped a live wire, and then his words seeped into my muddled brain. That was right. He was a…They were…

I swallowed and freed my hand.

“And when are you going to give it up? This life is getting downright dangerous,” Mr. Vincent said. Then he added negligently, “This is Matheson.” He pulled out his cell phone. “He’s with me.”

Sweetcheeks seemed intrigued by that, and I wondered why. Of course, Mr. Vincent noticed. Nothing escaped him. He arched an eyebrow, and I could feel a tide of red start at my collar and flow to my hairline.

I drew in a breath to explain, although I had no clue what I would be explaining, when someone paused by the opening in the curtains.

“I’m sorry, sir, use of cell phones—” The little man with the clipboard gazed at my trainer with horror. “Oh no! Not you again!”

His eyes darted to the security guard who was at the far end of the department, chatting with some DC police, but I moved before he could summon him.

“Hi.” I slung my arm over the little man’s shoulder, glanced at his name tag, and urged him away from the bed. “Edgar?” I made my voice friendly. “Why don’t you point me in the direction of the cafeteria, and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee?”

“The cafeteria is closed this time of night!”

“Then we’ll just go for a little walk.”

“Well…I…That is…I…”

I strolled with the little man out into the corridor. I kept him close to my side and leaned down to murmur confidentially, “The gentleman in there has friends in very high places. If he’s worried with inconsequential matters, people lose their…jobs. You like your…job, don’t you, Edgar?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I smiled at him, and he turned pale. “But a wise man knows when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. What do you think you should do?”

“Fold ‘em?” he squeaked.

“Wise man.”

He swallowed repeatedly. “If…if you’ll excuse me? I’m not feeling very well,” he stated plaintively. His gait was unsteady as he made his way down the corridor away from the emergency department.

I sauntered back to the bay where Mr. Vincent’s friend was, my hands in my trouser pockets, whistling through my teeth.

The phone conversation had been completed, and Mr. Vincent and Sweetcheeks turned to look at me.

“Some men just shouldn’t work around sick people,” I announced, shaking my head sadly. “Edgar was feeling a little queasy. He’s decided to go home early.”

Mr. Vincent eyed me steadily. I was embarrassed. I could hardly admit I was showing off.

But then he nodded in approval. “Nice work, Matheson.” He shook Spike awake. “They’ve found a bed for Pretty Boy. Go wait out in the lobby until they’ve transferred him.”

Sweetcheeks stared at my mouth, and I licked my lips and stared back a challenge at him. He made me feel like little Nell from Hicksville, and I’d be damned if I let him toy with me anymore.

And then the corner of his mouth curled up in a grin. “Vince, I’m going down to get some coffee. Mind if I bring your boy along with me?” He ran his fingers up my arm, closed them over my biceps.

I’d never been anyone’s boy, but somehow I didn’t mind him calling me that. There was a sexy ring to it.

And he wanted to have coffee with me? I’d sneaked a glance or two at him, and my mouth had flooded with saliva. The way the material of his jeans seemed to mold over his package—I’d wanted to drop to my knees, unbutton the jeans he was wearing, and suck his brains out through his c**k.

I didn’t have any objection to sucking a little c**k. It had been a while, but I figured it was like riding a bike—you never forgot how.

My c**k gave a twitch.

Okay, I was a professional; I could have coffee with an attractive man without having a major meltdown.

I could.

I glanced at Mr. Vincent. If he needed me here, then I’d stay here, as much as I wanted to see what having coffee with Sweetcheeks would be like.

“Go ahead, but I expect him back in one piece, Sweetcheeks.”

“Sure thing, Vince. I won’t even dent the suit.” He laughed.

Of course he wouldn’t. I had no intention of allowing it.

But then I wound up outside the darkened cafeteria of GW Hospital with a rent boy known as Sweetcheeks, drinking god-awful coffee.

We bantered a bit, chitchatted a bit, flirted a bit.

Theo. His name was Theo. He seemed surprised to have told me, but then his expression became teasing.

“So, you gonna tell me your name?”

“You know my name. Matheson.”

Theo took the cup from my hand and threw it along with his into a trash pail a few feet away. When he returned, it was to stand in front of me. My gaze swept the corridor, making sure it was empty.

He threaded his fingers through my hair, and the feel of his fingertips on my scalp was so erotic I hummed, closed my eyes, and leaned into his touch.

“I don’t intend to call you by your last name when I kiss you.” His voice was husky, and my eyes flew open. He wanted to kiss me?

Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice that sounded remarkably like Michael’s was saying, “This isn’t for you, you dope. This is for any man who has the price.”

Determinedly I ignored the voice. No one had ever wanted to…Oh, sure, the girls did, but that was when I was in high school, when we both knew that was all they would do. The women I’d slept with had been so worldly I’d worked overtime to pleasure them, sometimes at the cost of my own climax. Still, I’d wondered afterward why they’d agreed to have s*x with me. I was Mr. Matheson’s little boy, William. Granted I’d taken care of them and made sure they had the best orgasm possible, but they didn’t know I would beforehand.

And the hell with that. Why wasn’t Theo kissing me, if he really wanted to?

He stood there patiently. Right. He was waiting for me to tell him my name.

“William.”

“William? Billy?”

I scowled at him. I hated “Billy.” Michael would call me that whenever he wanted to see how far he could push me.

Theo gave his head a tilt. “So, not Billy.” He reached into my overcoat, unbuttoned my jacket, and rubbed his palms over my torso. “Wills? Open your mouth,” he whispered against my lips, his tongue lightly tracing first the top lip, then the bottom one, and finally the seam, not demanding entrance, but asking.

His lips were nothing like the lips I had kissed previously—girls’ lips, women’s lips—so yielding they needed to be caressed gently.

And kissing him was like nothing I’d ever done before. His lips brushed from one side of my mouth to the other, nibbling and nipping until I opened with a gasp. I expected him to thrust his tongue past my teeth and try to determine if I still had my tonsils, which I did, but his kiss was almost delicate, almost tender.

I shivered and let myself sink into the kiss, so lost in the sensations that I’d have let him take me right there in that corridor.

He pressed me back against the wall, and I didn’t even feel my Glock dig into my back, not with Theo’s fingers flexing in my hair, massaging my scalp. His hips rocked lazily against me, his c**k nudging the bulge of mine. I was so hard I thought I was about to explode.

He pulled his mouth off mine long enough to nip the tendon in my throat. Meanwhile, his hands were busy elsewhere. They’d slid into my trousers, and one was rhythmically squeezing my butt cheeks and tracing the crevice between them while the other stroked my d**k through my shorts.

Oh, God, I’d never felt anything that good before, not from the women I’d had in my bed, and definitely not from those infrequent encounters with Michael. I didn’t have time to worry if he should reach up and realize I was packing; I just knew I needed more of what he was doing to me.

I took Theo’s face between my palms and brought it up, then ran my tongue over his lips, teasing them into opening.

He was a little taller than me, but not so much so that I couldn’t comfortably rest my forearms on his shoulders. This was wonderful. This was the best. This was—

“Holy s**t!”

Dammit! I’d been so wrapped up in kissing Theo that my attention had only been on him, which could have gotten us both killed.

I had Theo’s hands out of my pants, had him spun behind me, and had my gun out before he realized I was moving.

Spike, the youngest rent boy, stood at the end of the corridor, his mouth gaping like a hooked fish as he stared at the Glock that was c****d, aimed, and ready to be fired at his head.

“Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot me!” he shrilled.

The man at my back gave a snort of laughter, and leaned forward and stuck his tongue in my ear. “Don’t shoot him, Wills.”

I hunched my shoulder and shivered again when his warm breath tickled the sensitive shell of my ear.

I frowned at the kid and tucked my Glock back into its holster. f**k it, what was the matter with me, pulling a gun on a civilian? How was I supposed to explain this to Theo?

How the f**k was I supposed to explain this to Mr. Vincent?

“Uh…some of the neighborhoods I work in are really dangerous,” I mumbled, cringing. In the back of my mind I could hear Mr. Vincent saying in that cold, flat tone of his, ‘Never explain.’

“Uh huh.” Spike’s eyes were enormous. He appeared fascinated with a spot below my waist. Oh s**t, had I leaked precome through my shorts?

But no, a quick, surreptitious glance down just revealed my shirttail was out of my pants. I was tempted to pull my overcoat closed, and the only reason I didn’t was because I thought that would be too obvious.

“You down here for a reason?” I snarled. I’d never been so into a kiss, and I resented like hell that Theo and I had been disturbed.

“Vince sent me to get you guys. He said Pretty Boy’s being transferred up to room 412, and he wants you there.”

That brought me down to earth with a thud. I’d completely forgotten my boss was in the house. “Okay.” Time to pull myself together. “Thanks.” I headed for the stairs, tucking my shirt in.

“Hey, wait a second! The elevator’s over here!”

I gave him a look over my shoulder. “I’m taking the stairs.”

“So am I.”

I’d been fumbling with the buttons of my jacket, but I whipped my head up at that. I’d been kind of worried Theo was playing with the straight—well, kind of straight—boy, but even though he was grinning, there was an expression in his eyes…My erection, which had vanished at the first sign of perceived danger, was back with a vengeance.

Theo grinned at me, and I knew—I knew—that once we were in the stairwell he would have his hands all over me. I liked that idea. I liked it a lot, and I was pretty sure my smile told him that.

Spike chewed irresolutely on his lower lip, then rushed across the space between us and threw himself at Sweetcheeks. “What if he…what if he dies?” His voice was thick with tears.

“He isn’t going to die.” They both looked at me in surprise. I shrugged. “Mr. Vincent won’t allow it. Let’s get going, all right? I don’t want to hang around a hospital basement all night.” Not that we were in the basement. I just didn’t want to tell them that while Mr. Vincent was their friend, he was my boss, and he’d have my ass if I didn’t ask how high when he said “jump.”

I opened the door and began to jog up the stairs. I could feel Theo right behind me, although he didn’t touch me, dammit.

Had he been toying with me?

And then I realized why he was keeping his hands to himself. Right behind him was Spike, griping unhappily every step of the way.