Mystery Chapter 10
And so we come to the end of Mystery. There were times I thought it would never be finished. Writer's block the size of Everest kept plaguing me, and I got so frustrated I wanted to give up. But couldn't. I'd invested too much time and sweat and love in the project.
I hope it's a satisfying conclusion. I think I'm pleased with it.
banner by light_ofmy_life
Chapter 10
Jared believes playing by the book is just as liable to lose you the game as win it. He’s never been a by-the-book kind of guy anyway. Seen too many dirty suspects walk for lack of a search warrant or failing to read them their rights. Lawyers love that kind of shit. They’d take a good cop apart for cutting corners. You had to mind your Ps and Qs if you wanted to stay on the Job.
But now’s not the time to let scruples get in the way, and no lazy-assed judge will issue a search warrant based on Jared’s intuition. Jensen’s life is at stake. Jared consoles himself with that fact as he easily picks the lock to Beaver’s apartment and slips inside the darkened rooms, heels quiet on expensive squares of imported tile.
He flicks on his flashlight, sweeps the area around him. The cone of brightness finds granddad the way a thirsty dog finds water, with barely a detour. It’s right there in the foyer, mirroring the position of Jensen’s clock perfectly. The hands are frozen at ten forty six, the pendulum motionless. Jared crouches quickly, knees popping, fingers skimming the edges of smooth, old wood. His thumb finds the notch he’s looking for. A gentle press and the hidden compartment clicks open. It’s empty.
Jared sighs, only mildly disappointed. What did he expect? Twin shotguns? Of course there wouldn’t two of them. There is only the one. And the killer somehow knew the infallible place to stash it once he’d committed his point-blank crime.
When the forensic team subjected the shotgun to every test imaginable, it refused to give up its secrets, besides the obvious ones. Mike’s team is still checking the thousands of gun shops in the greater L.A. area in hopes of discovering who purchased it, but chances are slim to none they’ll come up with anything. The sale of firearms has to be reported. No one has reported this sale, leaving the distinct possibility the killer went outside regular channels to obtain it-too smart to let the weapon be traced back to him. There was long-term planning involved, and if the murder was a crime of passion, it was one with a cold-blooded past.
Closing the wooden panel carefully, Jared stands, glancing at the clock face again. It still reads ten forty six. The time stirs a thought in his head, elusive, then almost tangible. He plucks at it but it slips away before he can catch hold.
Thoughtfully, he runs over his last conversation with Julia McBride. Leaving Beaver’s office last night, he’d perched his ass on the corner of her desk, taking advantage of the lingering effect of his dimples on the middle aged woman.
“Did you seen Beaver that night? After he went into his office?” Jared had questioned.
The thin, once beautiful face frowned, concentrating. “Just when he left. We walked out together. It was after one a.m.”
“And he didn’t have any visitors?”
Jared’s thinking of Morgan’s lame attempt at an alibi. He hasn’t asked Beaver about it yet. The vague idea of getting them together to watch their reactions forms itself when McBride’s answer clicks with what he suspects.
“No one.”
That “no one” had taken up residence inside Jared’s skull. Beaver was alone in his office from about six until he left with McBride at, according to Beaver, about one thirty. That left a considerable stretch of time when he was sequestered, unaccounted for, his voice the only evidence of his presence. The same voice Jared had heard rolling sonorously from a tape recorder in an empty room. The chink in Beaver’s alibi widens.
While Jared makes a quick search of the rest of the apartment, he mulls this over, the little tape recorder playing a starring role in the scenario he likes best.
There isn’t anything of interest in the apartment’s other rooms, except for a large photograph of Jensen, the one from the jacket of his first book, on Beaver’s bedside table, and a smaller, candid shot stuck in the frame. Jared stares at it, seeing Jensen against a backdrop of sand and heaving surf; shirt unbuttoned, pant legs rolled up, feet bare. He guesses it was taken a few years back and grins despite himself. Jensen, with longer hair and pouty lips, is the picture of the classic twink. It’s hot, and Jared’s cock throbs at the memory of what that mouth can do. He finds it more than a little interesting that shot has pride of place beside Beaver’s bed.
Tucking the picture back into the expensive silver frame, Jared smirks meanly. He’s pretty sure he’s just stumbled on Beaver’s spank bank, and it’s a piece of the puzzle that slots smoothly into place. All that platonic bullshit is just that. Bullshit. Beaver has the hots for Jensen and thought he was losing him. As motives go, that one’s a classic.
The drive back to Jensen’s has Jared tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in impatience. He has two prime suspects, Beaver and Morgan. It’s a coin toss who the perp is, but Jared’s has his favorite. He wants it to be Morgan. Just so he can have an excuse to beat the fuck out of him. The thought of those smarmy hands touching warm, naked skin churns a gut-clenching fury in Jared’s belly.
He’s ready to roll the dice. It’s a risky play he’s thinking of, one that will set Jensen up as a target for the killer. But Jensen’s done it before, and Jared knows he can’t go on living his life behind locked doors. In just a few days, Jared has seen the change in him, felt the knots of tension snarled in the curve of Jensen’s spine, seen it in the thin, belligerent line of his lips. It’s no wonder he shoves Jared away with one hand and grabs fiercely with the other.
When Jared lets himself in, the apartment is dark, the bedroom moon-striped in pale white and dense black. On the bed, a figure lies lax and half naked, breathing softly. As Jared moves closer, Jensen stirs, feet pedaling the sheet away from his hips, exposing the muscular gleam of one bare flank.
“Jared?”
“Yeah.”
Jared leans down with one knee on the bed and presses a kiss to fragrant skin, his head suddenly filled with the scent of sex.
“Been missing me?”
“Mmmm.”
“Started on your own?”
He nuzzles his nose into the firm, sweet flesh of Jensen’s belly button, licking up the salty taste. The flavor is pure Jensen.
“Finished, too,” Jensen mumbles, mostly asleep.
But he’s awake enough to tangle a hand in Jared’s hair and pull him in for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, more tongue than lips. His body languidly undulates against the sheets, seductive in its satiated pleasure. It’s so sexy-the scent and the taste, Jensen’s breathy little moan while the sheets whisper approval-that Jared pops an impressive boner. He fondles himself, lifting enough to rub the ache against Jensen’s bare belly.
“Still got a buzz on?” he asks, settling his knees around the squirm of Jensen’s hips, teasing the flat disc of a recently abused nipple with his thumb. “I like when you play with yourself.”
He leans down and suckles the small nub into a stiff peak, fumbling open his pants. Dick in hand, Jared rubs the leaking slit across the now hard knob of flesh, making the nipple shine wetly in the moonlight.
“I like seeing me on you,” he whispers, watching the thick brush of Jensen’s lashes fall, hiding the groggy pleasure that’s seeping through Jensen’s body. “Wanna go again?”
“Too soon.”
Jensen hisses as Jared’s continues to play with him, a shift bringing a knee to press against his nuts, nudging them until his spent cock throbs helplessly, unable to re-erect itself so soon after its recent, solo orgasm. “Can’t. Go ahead,” he pants, squirming under Jared’s fierce attentions. “Use me. You know I love it.”
“That’s...okay.” Jared chokes, words stumbling over each other. “Yeah, okay. S’all good.” He barely manages to push out his response. Reflex is taking over, the need to spill filling the back of his throat until he can’t breathe. Pulling the rest of the sheet away, Jared fists himself ferociously, thinking of the twink in the photograph at Beaver’s apartment. “Ima...come on your face, Jen,” he moans, hand speeding faster, the steel in his dick aching, Jesus, aching so good.
An uncontrolled shiver runs the length of Jared’s spine, centering in the tight, hot coil of his sac. Spreading his knees wider, he shoots, the creamy spend splashing over Jensen’s lips and cheeks, catching in snowy droplets on his lashes. The sight is so erotic, Jared can’t stop creaming, his belly done up in fiery knots, his thighs trembling until they’re no longer able to hold him up. He collapses, bones gone, his body useless.
Later, clothes shucked and Jensen a pliant weight in his arms, Jared puts voice to his conclusions.
“We’ll be ready for him this time. Set up surveillance in the empty apartment down the hall. The minute he sets foot inside and goes for the gun, he’s finished.”
“That’s your big plan? Dude, you’re gonna get me killed. How long does it fucking take to pull a trigger. I’ll be dead before you’re off you butt.”
“Jesus. Have a little faith. He won’t get anywhere near you. I promise.”
“And why do those sound like famous last words? I’m not an idiot, Jared. I can see in vivid detail what’s going to happen. And it involves my brains and the nearest wall.”
Jared curses obscenely before getting himself under some kind of control. And yeah. Maybe there’s an element of agreement with what Jensen’s saying, but the bottom line is: Jared’s a great cop, and he’s not letting this dick wad get away with murder.
“I’m good at my goddamn job, Jensen. Don’t think because we’re...fooling around, that makes me any less of a professional. This will work. There are always crazies confessing to every crime that hits the papers. We’ll book the next one for Welling’s murder. Then you make the calls. Tell them both the cops have pulled off their people because they have the perp. You on your own, and you need to get away and forget about the whole mess. Just like before-you and no protection. If that doesn’t tip him over the edge, nothing will.”
Arms suddenly empty, Jared watches Jensen climb out of bed and cross the room. Snatching a silk robe from the closet, he shrugs it over his naked body, turning to skewer Jared with an unreadable gaze.
“So I let you paint another target on me? And just why would that work when it didn’t before.”
“Because this time, I’ll be ready for him.”
+++++++++++++++++
Jared pops the plastic lid off his coffee and lets the thick caffeine fumes wake his brain. It’s 3am, and beside him, Mike sits with chin in hand, sound asleep, twitching occasionally when his snoring rattles him into semi-consciousness.
The six TV screens are the only light in the room, reflecting blue shadows on Jared’s face. One is trained on the hallway outside, where the elevator sits silent. The rest cover Jensen’s apartment. Jared lights a cigarette, the nicotine, working its way into his blood stream to sooth the frazzled itch crawling on his skin. He wants to do something. When he envisioned this, there was running involved and satisfying punches, not sitting on his ass for unending hours of boredom.
Jared knew better, but he let the finale seduce him. Police work was ninety five percent run-of-the-mill tedium, paperwork up the ying yang. It was the other five percent that kept him on the job. Those glorious moments when his hands closed around the bad guy and snatched him from his purpose into the arms of Justice.
On the screen to Jared’s far left, Jensen panther-stalked the caged confines of his bedroom, all supple grace, pacing from shadow to shadow, unable to sleep. Jared understood the restless expectation that must be churning inside him. He felt it himself as the minutes and hours ticked endlessly by. Waiting. For a killer to make his move.
Jensen had called Beaver first-on his speaker phone so Jared could eavesdrop. The man was smoothness personified, nearly hiding the pause that came after Jensen gave his rehearsed lines, said his goodbyes.
“I’m going away, Jim. Not to the cabin this time. Someplace else where I can get my head on straight. They won’t need me until the trial, and if I’m honest, Tom’s murder has really done a number on me. I’m thinking I need to make some major changes in my life.”
For a second, silence fills the air. Then Jim’s voice soothes across the distance, calm and taking charge.
“You have to do what’s right for you, Jensen. I’ll put things on hold until you make up your mind. Whatever you want.” Beaver’s voice skips a half beat. “When are you leaving?”
“Sometime in the next few days. As soon as Detective Lieutenant Padalecki gives me the go ahead.”
“That asshole.”
Beaver’s vehemence makes Jensen grin despite the seriousness of what he’s doing-baiting a trap. Jared has such a talent for making friends. Behind him, Jared twists a hand in the collar of Jensen’s shirt, teeth poised over the join of neck and shoulder muscle to administer punishment. A shiver and Jensen’s pulls away, licking his lips with a promise for later.
The second call goes pretty much as the first, except Morgan manages a few crocodile tears, talking about old times and nearly begging for Jensen to take him back. When Jensen hangs up, Jared threatens loudly to rip off what balls Morgan might have and shove them up his ass. A particularly gross image as far as Jensen is concerned.
The sound of a tentative voice brings Jared back to himself. He rises halfway from his chair, eyes focusing sharply on the screen that shows Jensen, having left the safety of his bedroom, standing a few steps inside the darkened front room, plainly having heard something and gone to investigate..
“Who’s there?” Jensen calls. “Jared is that you?”
Jared is moving before his brain has relayed the message to his feet: intruder. He sees the twitch of a shadow move in the foyer, hears the almost silent creak of a wooden panel opening. A gun barrel catches the gleam of moonlight from an uncurtained window as it swings up.
“Jensen! Get out of there!”
Jensen can’t hear him. Jared knows that, but Mike startles awake with a sputter. “What? What?” rubbing his eyes and looking around wildly. There’s no time for explanations.
Jared is out of the apartment before the first boom of the shotgun resonates in his belly, already at a dead run. Mike stumbles after him, pulling his Pax set out, hollering for backup. Going through Jensen’s door in a tuck and roll, Jared’s eyes sweep the scene with frantic haste. In front of him, a figure in a dark coat lifts the barrel of the shotgun to aim again. He surges up, the harsh tang of gunpowder filling his throat. Jared doesn’t see Jensen, and his heart is hammering in his chest like it’s going to break apart and fly into a million pieces.
Flinging himself at the killer, his shoulder plows into a bony spine that hurts like a son of a bitch, but Jared doesn’t even pause. There’s a loud “Ooof.” from the guy. Jared wraps the dark shape up in a rib-crushing hold and powers forward, skidding his feet along the slick tiles. The murderer staggers under the contact, then collapses in an ungainly sprawl on the floor, Jared right behind him.
They roll, silently fighting for control of the weapon. The mystery man lands a fist to Jared’s jaw, the kind of close-in jab that loosens teeth.
“Fucker,” Jared grunts out, tasting blood on the inside of his lips.
He wedges a knee into the assailant’s belly, pressing him flat, while their fingers claw at the gun between them. The struggle is short-breathed and violent. A flurry of punches set the gun off a second time. The shot blows away a lamp. When the perp loses his grip on the business end of the weapon, it skitters away to land with a crash on the glass coffee table in front of the couch, killing it dead. A low yelp, as glass flies in every direction, gives Jared hope Jensen is still alive.
“Jen! Stay down!”
The distraction gives the killer what he needs, a moment to slip free of Jared, who crawls on hands and knees after the hunched shape making for the door. It’s close, but Jared grabs a calf, feeling the strain in the muscles of his shoulders as he pulls with all his might, holding on, dragging himself up the thrashing body trying to fling him off.
That’s when the lights go on, a super nova that expels Mike and a phalanx of uniforms into the apartment, all burly black shoulders and a blur of motion. There are shouts and the solid, deadly click of guns being drawn. Hooray for the cavalry, Jared thinks in nonsensical relief, shifting onto his knees. He stares down at his prisoner with recognition and a sliver of disappointment, absently wiping the blood from his chin.
“Shit. I was hoping you’d be Morgan. Man, I really wanted to fuck that guy up.”
Beaver’s gaze holds clear disdain, and a hint of madness. Shaking free of Jared’s grip, he climbs to his feet, brushing neatly manicured nails over the rumpled cashmere coat he’s wearing.
“This really isn’t necessary. It’s a mistake. I assure you, I would never harm Jensen. I love him. He knows that. I heard a commotion...and came in to help. I thought Jensen was in danger.”
“Yeah, and you’d be right since you were trying to blow his face off.”
Two uniforms grab the editor roughly by the arms. Beaver struggles for a moment before straightening, a look of arrogance on his face.
“Have your little moment of fun, Lieutenant. My lawyer will sue your ass for false arrest.”
A change ripples over his expression abruptly, and Beaver’s eyes drop at a softly posed question.
“Jim. Why? I don’t understand. Why would you want to kill me? I thought...”
Jensen stands there, quiet in the chaos of officers reconstructing the crime scene, activity turning his apartment into chaos. Phones are ringing, neighbors peering in the front door again. Only this time, there is no corpse, only the slim stillness of Jensen stunned by his “friend’s” betrayal. A streak of blood highlights one cheekbone, a souvenir of flying glass. Jensen wipes at it with the clumsy fingers of shock.
“I thought you understood, son,” Beaver says in a calm voice. “You belong to me. You can’t just walk away from what we have. Let someone else put their dirty hands on you. I’ve always been the lover you need. Don’t you know that by now? That’s why I did it.”
“It was the clocks that gave you the idea, wasn’t it.” Jared speaks softly, not wanting to break into the trance-like serenity of Beaver’s confession. “You found the secret compartments, and when Jensen said he was leaving, you got the shotgun. Came here that night to kill him. Quick and clean. And hid the murder weapon where nobody would ever find it. Only problem was, you couldn’t see it wasn’t Jensen answering the door. Too wrapped up in your own sick rage. You just pulled the trigger, shoved the gun in the bottom of the clock and rushed back to your alibi before the tape ran out and your secretary discovered you weren’t there. That about cover it?”
Beaver’s gaze is pulled inexorably from Jensen, who is standing frozen, to Jared and the truth of what he’s saying. His eyes hold the faraway gaze of a madman.
Someone pulls out a set of hand cuffs. Jared doesn’t notice who it is, but he wants to shout, “No.” It’s too late. Seeing the evidence of his failure, Beaver’s eyes roll white, and he lunges forward after the shotgun, grabbing it off the floor before Jared can get to him. He swings the barrel up, pulling the trigger simultaneously.
The lack of aim is what saves Jensen, who is flattened to the floor by Jared’s crushing weight. Mike wrestles the weapon out of Beaver’s hands, the man suddenly losing his animation, going completely quiet as he’s surrounded and marched away.
“You okay,” Jared asks somewhat breathless.
A weak smile is his answer, Jensen lifting his head up off the carpet where Jared’s tackle has landed them.
“If I can survive your protective instincts, I think I’ll live to be a hundred.”
There’s a mocking affection in Jensen’s tone that has a blush pinking Jared’s cheeks.
“Hey, it’s my job, you ungrateful little jerk.” His offered hand is grabbed, and Jared hauls Jensen onto his feet, taking a second to rub a thumb over the cut on his cheek. “If you’d stayed where I told you to...”
His throat closes up at the near disaster.
“Bitch, I’m fine. Really.” A tongue snakes out over Jensen’s lips and he drops his eyes, lashes feathering across his cheeks. “You can do an inventory later to make sure everything still works.” Jensen lifts an eyebrow, standing tall and enticing, reminding Jared of the painting he fell in love with, what seems like ages ago.
They grin at each other, and it’s a near thing. Jared wants to kiss him so much his teeth ache. But a hand suddenly closes on his shoulder, drags him back to the reality of the crowded apartment.
“Jay. Just heard over the radio. Neighbors found a dead body in a locked room at a boarding house about ten blocks away. Blood everywhere and bite marks on the guy’s neck. No way in or out, but he’s still dead as a mackerel. We caught the call.” Mike’s voice is all innocence.
“You volunteered us again, didn’t you, Rosenbaum? We’ve got paperwork up the wahzoo to do on this one, and you volunteered us. You know I hate you, right?”
“What can I say? We’re dedicated servants of the people. And I’ll throw in the ever popular, no rest for the wicked cliche.” Mike’s teeth gleam in an ivory smile. “Besides, you love me, baby, and you know it.”
Jared’s eyes flick to Jensen, who is watching him with ill concealed-amusement. “Go on. Go on,” he says, chuckling. “I know you love that shit.”
With something like shame-faced delight, Jared grabs Mike’s arm and begins dragging him through the press of bodies towards the exit.
“You’re not seriously suggesting it’s a vampire, are you,” Jensen hears, before the pair disappears into the hallway outside.
He glances around at the busy mob, then shrugs and heads for the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. Jared most likely won’t be back until dawn. It’s best to keep occupied until then. The time will pass quicker that way.
Jensen boots up his computer, running his fingers deftly over the keyboard before opening Word Perfect. The cursor blinks. Jensen pauses, then types in the title of his new book. He’s calling it Mystery.
The End
I hope it's a satisfying conclusion. I think I'm pleased with it.
banner by light_ofmy_life
Chapter 10
Jared believes playing by the book is just as liable to lose you the game as win it. He’s never been a by-the-book kind of guy anyway. Seen too many dirty suspects walk for lack of a search warrant or failing to read them their rights. Lawyers love that kind of shit. They’d take a good cop apart for cutting corners. You had to mind your Ps and Qs if you wanted to stay on the Job.
But now’s not the time to let scruples get in the way, and no lazy-assed judge will issue a search warrant based on Jared’s intuition. Jensen’s life is at stake. Jared consoles himself with that fact as he easily picks the lock to Beaver’s apartment and slips inside the darkened rooms, heels quiet on expensive squares of imported tile.
He flicks on his flashlight, sweeps the area around him. The cone of brightness finds granddad the way a thirsty dog finds water, with barely a detour. It’s right there in the foyer, mirroring the position of Jensen’s clock perfectly. The hands are frozen at ten forty six, the pendulum motionless. Jared crouches quickly, knees popping, fingers skimming the edges of smooth, old wood. His thumb finds the notch he’s looking for. A gentle press and the hidden compartment clicks open. It’s empty.
Jared sighs, only mildly disappointed. What did he expect? Twin shotguns? Of course there wouldn’t two of them. There is only the one. And the killer somehow knew the infallible place to stash it once he’d committed his point-blank crime.
When the forensic team subjected the shotgun to every test imaginable, it refused to give up its secrets, besides the obvious ones. Mike’s team is still checking the thousands of gun shops in the greater L.A. area in hopes of discovering who purchased it, but chances are slim to none they’ll come up with anything. The sale of firearms has to be reported. No one has reported this sale, leaving the distinct possibility the killer went outside regular channels to obtain it-too smart to let the weapon be traced back to him. There was long-term planning involved, and if the murder was a crime of passion, it was one with a cold-blooded past.
Closing the wooden panel carefully, Jared stands, glancing at the clock face again. It still reads ten forty six. The time stirs a thought in his head, elusive, then almost tangible. He plucks at it but it slips away before he can catch hold.
Thoughtfully, he runs over his last conversation with Julia McBride. Leaving Beaver’s office last night, he’d perched his ass on the corner of her desk, taking advantage of the lingering effect of his dimples on the middle aged woman.
“Did you seen Beaver that night? After he went into his office?” Jared had questioned.
The thin, once beautiful face frowned, concentrating. “Just when he left. We walked out together. It was after one a.m.”
“And he didn’t have any visitors?”
Jared’s thinking of Morgan’s lame attempt at an alibi. He hasn’t asked Beaver about it yet. The vague idea of getting them together to watch their reactions forms itself when McBride’s answer clicks with what he suspects.
“No one.”
That “no one” had taken up residence inside Jared’s skull. Beaver was alone in his office from about six until he left with McBride at, according to Beaver, about one thirty. That left a considerable stretch of time when he was sequestered, unaccounted for, his voice the only evidence of his presence. The same voice Jared had heard rolling sonorously from a tape recorder in an empty room. The chink in Beaver’s alibi widens.
While Jared makes a quick search of the rest of the apartment, he mulls this over, the little tape recorder playing a starring role in the scenario he likes best.
There isn’t anything of interest in the apartment’s other rooms, except for a large photograph of Jensen, the one from the jacket of his first book, on Beaver’s bedside table, and a smaller, candid shot stuck in the frame. Jared stares at it, seeing Jensen against a backdrop of sand and heaving surf; shirt unbuttoned, pant legs rolled up, feet bare. He guesses it was taken a few years back and grins despite himself. Jensen, with longer hair and pouty lips, is the picture of the classic twink. It’s hot, and Jared’s cock throbs at the memory of what that mouth can do. He finds it more than a little interesting that shot has pride of place beside Beaver’s bed.
Tucking the picture back into the expensive silver frame, Jared smirks meanly. He’s pretty sure he’s just stumbled on Beaver’s spank bank, and it’s a piece of the puzzle that slots smoothly into place. All that platonic bullshit is just that. Bullshit. Beaver has the hots for Jensen and thought he was losing him. As motives go, that one’s a classic.
The drive back to Jensen’s has Jared tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in impatience. He has two prime suspects, Beaver and Morgan. It’s a coin toss who the perp is, but Jared’s has his favorite. He wants it to be Morgan. Just so he can have an excuse to beat the fuck out of him. The thought of those smarmy hands touching warm, naked skin churns a gut-clenching fury in Jared’s belly.
He’s ready to roll the dice. It’s a risky play he’s thinking of, one that will set Jensen up as a target for the killer. But Jensen’s done it before, and Jared knows he can’t go on living his life behind locked doors. In just a few days, Jared has seen the change in him, felt the knots of tension snarled in the curve of Jensen’s spine, seen it in the thin, belligerent line of his lips. It’s no wonder he shoves Jared away with one hand and grabs fiercely with the other.
When Jared lets himself in, the apartment is dark, the bedroom moon-striped in pale white and dense black. On the bed, a figure lies lax and half naked, breathing softly. As Jared moves closer, Jensen stirs, feet pedaling the sheet away from his hips, exposing the muscular gleam of one bare flank.
“Jared?”
“Yeah.”
Jared leans down with one knee on the bed and presses a kiss to fragrant skin, his head suddenly filled with the scent of sex.
“Been missing me?”
“Mmmm.”
“Started on your own?”
He nuzzles his nose into the firm, sweet flesh of Jensen’s belly button, licking up the salty taste. The flavor is pure Jensen.
“Finished, too,” Jensen mumbles, mostly asleep.
But he’s awake enough to tangle a hand in Jared’s hair and pull him in for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, more tongue than lips. His body languidly undulates against the sheets, seductive in its satiated pleasure. It’s so sexy-the scent and the taste, Jensen’s breathy little moan while the sheets whisper approval-that Jared pops an impressive boner. He fondles himself, lifting enough to rub the ache against Jensen’s bare belly.
“Still got a buzz on?” he asks, settling his knees around the squirm of Jensen’s hips, teasing the flat disc of a recently abused nipple with his thumb. “I like when you play with yourself.”
He leans down and suckles the small nub into a stiff peak, fumbling open his pants. Dick in hand, Jared rubs the leaking slit across the now hard knob of flesh, making the nipple shine wetly in the moonlight.
“I like seeing me on you,” he whispers, watching the thick brush of Jensen’s lashes fall, hiding the groggy pleasure that’s seeping through Jensen’s body. “Wanna go again?”
“Too soon.”
Jensen hisses as Jared’s continues to play with him, a shift bringing a knee to press against his nuts, nudging them until his spent cock throbs helplessly, unable to re-erect itself so soon after its recent, solo orgasm. “Can’t. Go ahead,” he pants, squirming under Jared’s fierce attentions. “Use me. You know I love it.”
“That’s...okay.” Jared chokes, words stumbling over each other. “Yeah, okay. S’all good.” He barely manages to push out his response. Reflex is taking over, the need to spill filling the back of his throat until he can’t breathe. Pulling the rest of the sheet away, Jared fists himself ferociously, thinking of the twink in the photograph at Beaver’s apartment. “Ima...come on your face, Jen,” he moans, hand speeding faster, the steel in his dick aching, Jesus, aching so good.
An uncontrolled shiver runs the length of Jared’s spine, centering in the tight, hot coil of his sac. Spreading his knees wider, he shoots, the creamy spend splashing over Jensen’s lips and cheeks, catching in snowy droplets on his lashes. The sight is so erotic, Jared can’t stop creaming, his belly done up in fiery knots, his thighs trembling until they’re no longer able to hold him up. He collapses, bones gone, his body useless.
Later, clothes shucked and Jensen a pliant weight in his arms, Jared puts voice to his conclusions.
“We’ll be ready for him this time. Set up surveillance in the empty apartment down the hall. The minute he sets foot inside and goes for the gun, he’s finished.”
“That’s your big plan? Dude, you’re gonna get me killed. How long does it fucking take to pull a trigger. I’ll be dead before you’re off you butt.”
“Jesus. Have a little faith. He won’t get anywhere near you. I promise.”
“And why do those sound like famous last words? I’m not an idiot, Jared. I can see in vivid detail what’s going to happen. And it involves my brains and the nearest wall.”
Jared curses obscenely before getting himself under some kind of control. And yeah. Maybe there’s an element of agreement with what Jensen’s saying, but the bottom line is: Jared’s a great cop, and he’s not letting this dick wad get away with murder.
“I’m good at my goddamn job, Jensen. Don’t think because we’re...fooling around, that makes me any less of a professional. This will work. There are always crazies confessing to every crime that hits the papers. We’ll book the next one for Welling’s murder. Then you make the calls. Tell them both the cops have pulled off their people because they have the perp. You on your own, and you need to get away and forget about the whole mess. Just like before-you and no protection. If that doesn’t tip him over the edge, nothing will.”
Arms suddenly empty, Jared watches Jensen climb out of bed and cross the room. Snatching a silk robe from the closet, he shrugs it over his naked body, turning to skewer Jared with an unreadable gaze.
“So I let you paint another target on me? And just why would that work when it didn’t before.”
“Because this time, I’ll be ready for him.”
+++++++++++++++++
Jared pops the plastic lid off his coffee and lets the thick caffeine fumes wake his brain. It’s 3am, and beside him, Mike sits with chin in hand, sound asleep, twitching occasionally when his snoring rattles him into semi-consciousness.
The six TV screens are the only light in the room, reflecting blue shadows on Jared’s face. One is trained on the hallway outside, where the elevator sits silent. The rest cover Jensen’s apartment. Jared lights a cigarette, the nicotine, working its way into his blood stream to sooth the frazzled itch crawling on his skin. He wants to do something. When he envisioned this, there was running involved and satisfying punches, not sitting on his ass for unending hours of boredom.
Jared knew better, but he let the finale seduce him. Police work was ninety five percent run-of-the-mill tedium, paperwork up the ying yang. It was the other five percent that kept him on the job. Those glorious moments when his hands closed around the bad guy and snatched him from his purpose into the arms of Justice.
On the screen to Jared’s far left, Jensen panther-stalked the caged confines of his bedroom, all supple grace, pacing from shadow to shadow, unable to sleep. Jared understood the restless expectation that must be churning inside him. He felt it himself as the minutes and hours ticked endlessly by. Waiting. For a killer to make his move.
Jensen had called Beaver first-on his speaker phone so Jared could eavesdrop. The man was smoothness personified, nearly hiding the pause that came after Jensen gave his rehearsed lines, said his goodbyes.
“I’m going away, Jim. Not to the cabin this time. Someplace else where I can get my head on straight. They won’t need me until the trial, and if I’m honest, Tom’s murder has really done a number on me. I’m thinking I need to make some major changes in my life.”
For a second, silence fills the air. Then Jim’s voice soothes across the distance, calm and taking charge.
“You have to do what’s right for you, Jensen. I’ll put things on hold until you make up your mind. Whatever you want.” Beaver’s voice skips a half beat. “When are you leaving?”
“Sometime in the next few days. As soon as Detective Lieutenant Padalecki gives me the go ahead.”
“That asshole.”
Beaver’s vehemence makes Jensen grin despite the seriousness of what he’s doing-baiting a trap. Jared has such a talent for making friends. Behind him, Jared twists a hand in the collar of Jensen’s shirt, teeth poised over the join of neck and shoulder muscle to administer punishment. A shiver and Jensen’s pulls away, licking his lips with a promise for later.
The second call goes pretty much as the first, except Morgan manages a few crocodile tears, talking about old times and nearly begging for Jensen to take him back. When Jensen hangs up, Jared threatens loudly to rip off what balls Morgan might have and shove them up his ass. A particularly gross image as far as Jensen is concerned.
The sound of a tentative voice brings Jared back to himself. He rises halfway from his chair, eyes focusing sharply on the screen that shows Jensen, having left the safety of his bedroom, standing a few steps inside the darkened front room, plainly having heard something and gone to investigate..
“Who’s there?” Jensen calls. “Jared is that you?”
Jared is moving before his brain has relayed the message to his feet: intruder. He sees the twitch of a shadow move in the foyer, hears the almost silent creak of a wooden panel opening. A gun barrel catches the gleam of moonlight from an uncurtained window as it swings up.
“Jensen! Get out of there!”
Jensen can’t hear him. Jared knows that, but Mike startles awake with a sputter. “What? What?” rubbing his eyes and looking around wildly. There’s no time for explanations.
Jared is out of the apartment before the first boom of the shotgun resonates in his belly, already at a dead run. Mike stumbles after him, pulling his Pax set out, hollering for backup. Going through Jensen’s door in a tuck and roll, Jared’s eyes sweep the scene with frantic haste. In front of him, a figure in a dark coat lifts the barrel of the shotgun to aim again. He surges up, the harsh tang of gunpowder filling his throat. Jared doesn’t see Jensen, and his heart is hammering in his chest like it’s going to break apart and fly into a million pieces.
Flinging himself at the killer, his shoulder plows into a bony spine that hurts like a son of a bitch, but Jared doesn’t even pause. There’s a loud “Ooof.” from the guy. Jared wraps the dark shape up in a rib-crushing hold and powers forward, skidding his feet along the slick tiles. The murderer staggers under the contact, then collapses in an ungainly sprawl on the floor, Jared right behind him.
They roll, silently fighting for control of the weapon. The mystery man lands a fist to Jared’s jaw, the kind of close-in jab that loosens teeth.
“Fucker,” Jared grunts out, tasting blood on the inside of his lips.
He wedges a knee into the assailant’s belly, pressing him flat, while their fingers claw at the gun between them. The struggle is short-breathed and violent. A flurry of punches set the gun off a second time. The shot blows away a lamp. When the perp loses his grip on the business end of the weapon, it skitters away to land with a crash on the glass coffee table in front of the couch, killing it dead. A low yelp, as glass flies in every direction, gives Jared hope Jensen is still alive.
“Jen! Stay down!”
The distraction gives the killer what he needs, a moment to slip free of Jared, who crawls on hands and knees after the hunched shape making for the door. It’s close, but Jared grabs a calf, feeling the strain in the muscles of his shoulders as he pulls with all his might, holding on, dragging himself up the thrashing body trying to fling him off.
That’s when the lights go on, a super nova that expels Mike and a phalanx of uniforms into the apartment, all burly black shoulders and a blur of motion. There are shouts and the solid, deadly click of guns being drawn. Hooray for the cavalry, Jared thinks in nonsensical relief, shifting onto his knees. He stares down at his prisoner with recognition and a sliver of disappointment, absently wiping the blood from his chin.
“Shit. I was hoping you’d be Morgan. Man, I really wanted to fuck that guy up.”
Beaver’s gaze holds clear disdain, and a hint of madness. Shaking free of Jared’s grip, he climbs to his feet, brushing neatly manicured nails over the rumpled cashmere coat he’s wearing.
“This really isn’t necessary. It’s a mistake. I assure you, I would never harm Jensen. I love him. He knows that. I heard a commotion...and came in to help. I thought Jensen was in danger.”
“Yeah, and you’d be right since you were trying to blow his face off.”
Two uniforms grab the editor roughly by the arms. Beaver struggles for a moment before straightening, a look of arrogance on his face.
“Have your little moment of fun, Lieutenant. My lawyer will sue your ass for false arrest.”
A change ripples over his expression abruptly, and Beaver’s eyes drop at a softly posed question.
“Jim. Why? I don’t understand. Why would you want to kill me? I thought...”
Jensen stands there, quiet in the chaos of officers reconstructing the crime scene, activity turning his apartment into chaos. Phones are ringing, neighbors peering in the front door again. Only this time, there is no corpse, only the slim stillness of Jensen stunned by his “friend’s” betrayal. A streak of blood highlights one cheekbone, a souvenir of flying glass. Jensen wipes at it with the clumsy fingers of shock.
“I thought you understood, son,” Beaver says in a calm voice. “You belong to me. You can’t just walk away from what we have. Let someone else put their dirty hands on you. I’ve always been the lover you need. Don’t you know that by now? That’s why I did it.”
“It was the clocks that gave you the idea, wasn’t it.” Jared speaks softly, not wanting to break into the trance-like serenity of Beaver’s confession. “You found the secret compartments, and when Jensen said he was leaving, you got the shotgun. Came here that night to kill him. Quick and clean. And hid the murder weapon where nobody would ever find it. Only problem was, you couldn’t see it wasn’t Jensen answering the door. Too wrapped up in your own sick rage. You just pulled the trigger, shoved the gun in the bottom of the clock and rushed back to your alibi before the tape ran out and your secretary discovered you weren’t there. That about cover it?”
Beaver’s gaze is pulled inexorably from Jensen, who is standing frozen, to Jared and the truth of what he’s saying. His eyes hold the faraway gaze of a madman.
Someone pulls out a set of hand cuffs. Jared doesn’t notice who it is, but he wants to shout, “No.” It’s too late. Seeing the evidence of his failure, Beaver’s eyes roll white, and he lunges forward after the shotgun, grabbing it off the floor before Jared can get to him. He swings the barrel up, pulling the trigger simultaneously.
The lack of aim is what saves Jensen, who is flattened to the floor by Jared’s crushing weight. Mike wrestles the weapon out of Beaver’s hands, the man suddenly losing his animation, going completely quiet as he’s surrounded and marched away.
“You okay,” Jared asks somewhat breathless.
A weak smile is his answer, Jensen lifting his head up off the carpet where Jared’s tackle has landed them.
“If I can survive your protective instincts, I think I’ll live to be a hundred.”
There’s a mocking affection in Jensen’s tone that has a blush pinking Jared’s cheeks.
“Hey, it’s my job, you ungrateful little jerk.” His offered hand is grabbed, and Jared hauls Jensen onto his feet, taking a second to rub a thumb over the cut on his cheek. “If you’d stayed where I told you to...”
His throat closes up at the near disaster.
“Bitch, I’m fine. Really.” A tongue snakes out over Jensen’s lips and he drops his eyes, lashes feathering across his cheeks. “You can do an inventory later to make sure everything still works.” Jensen lifts an eyebrow, standing tall and enticing, reminding Jared of the painting he fell in love with, what seems like ages ago.
They grin at each other, and it’s a near thing. Jared wants to kiss him so much his teeth ache. But a hand suddenly closes on his shoulder, drags him back to the reality of the crowded apartment.
“Jay. Just heard over the radio. Neighbors found a dead body in a locked room at a boarding house about ten blocks away. Blood everywhere and bite marks on the guy’s neck. No way in or out, but he’s still dead as a mackerel. We caught the call.” Mike’s voice is all innocence.
“You volunteered us again, didn’t you, Rosenbaum? We’ve got paperwork up the wahzoo to do on this one, and you volunteered us. You know I hate you, right?”
“What can I say? We’re dedicated servants of the people. And I’ll throw in the ever popular, no rest for the wicked cliche.” Mike’s teeth gleam in an ivory smile. “Besides, you love me, baby, and you know it.”
Jared’s eyes flick to Jensen, who is watching him with ill concealed-amusement. “Go on. Go on,” he says, chuckling. “I know you love that shit.”
With something like shame-faced delight, Jared grabs Mike’s arm and begins dragging him through the press of bodies towards the exit.
“You’re not seriously suggesting it’s a vampire, are you,” Jensen hears, before the pair disappears into the hallway outside.
He glances around at the busy mob, then shrugs and heads for the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. Jared most likely won’t be back until dawn. It’s best to keep occupied until then. The time will pass quicker that way.
Jensen boots up his computer, running his fingers deftly over the keyboard before opening Word Perfect. The cursor blinks. Jensen pauses, then types in the title of his new book. He’s calling it Mystery.
The End