the idle job | part two
Back to part one.
The coffee in this place sucks. It’s not stand-a-spoon-up-in-it bad, but the aroma lands somewhere between microwaveable instant coffee and scorching hot asphalt. This ain’t the only breakfast place in Idle, but Jensen’s stuck behind a plate of biscuits and gravy, and he’s too hungry to get up and leave.
Cassidy finds Jensen there at a quarter to seven on his third morning in Idle, taking the chair across from him without asking. Her uniform’s clean, unwrinkled, and her badge clings to the brown polyester over her chest where it’s plenty visible. Jensen, in typical no-nonsense jeans and a button-down, is less polished but thinks little of the differences between them.
“You’d tell me if you found something, right?”
Jensen swallows, stops his hand mid-reach on the way to the coffee mug. Not a good idea.
“You think I found something?”
“Just making sure we’re working towards the same end here,” she says, getting a whiff of the coffee and wrinkling her nose. “And that you know I can help.”
“This isn’t my first job.”
“Mine either.”
He stares, and Cassidy looks right back. He hasn’t read anything to say she’s not a good cop - he’d asked Morgan to pull up her jacket the first night he’d stayed in Idle, making the most of the satellite connection that was accessible from the station. Cassidy has worked a number of jobs up and down the western Secession States, landing in Idle a few years ago.
She leans her forearms on the table, blue eyes lacking humor. “Look, I’ve known a few Rangers. Trust no one, that’s the code, right?” Jensen keeps chewing, another forkful of spicy sausage to appease his empty stomach, and she sighs. “You don’t have to trust me. Hell, to be honest, I’m not entirely sold on you being here,” she says. “This town is my job - it’s what I care about, and if that means helping you out with whatever you’ll need, I’m there. Trust me on that much, at least.”
Jensen’s waitress, a petite woman with hard lines on her face and a smoker’s voice, swings by with a cup of coffee for Cassidy - must be standard procedure. The deputy doesn’t touch it.
“I stopped by Corbin’s house again last night,” Jensen says after a dry swallow. He asked for water ten minutes ago, but this dive must only serve their burnt-tire-flavored roast. “Didn’t see any sign that he’d been back.”
Cassidy’s eyes narrow but her posture eases, accepting Jensen’s silent apology.
“I don’t think the Sheriff’s coming back,” she continues down Jensen’s line of thinking. “It doesn’t feel right, whatever’s going on. I thought he had a handle on things a couple weeks ago, before things got bad and he brought in Gabe Hicks’ body, but as soon as he got word the Rangers were sending someone, then…”
Cassidy pauses as a long shadow darkens their table. Jensen’s eyes travel up and up to see the Doc grinning down at them.
“Hey, Cass.”
She smiles, more personality in it than she’s given Jensen all morning. “Is Bill working in the office today?”
“It’s his last day in before he heads down to Houston for a month.” Jared acknowledges Jensen with the barest of nods, turning around to find an open table.
The Doc’s hair is damp at the ends from a recent shower, his t-shirt crisp and loose around his waist. The v-neck cut dips low enough for Jensen to see a dusting of hair darkening Jared’s skin and the shadow in the dip of his throat, details Jensen’s long-suffering libido spends way too long contemplating.
“Why don’t you join us?” Cassidy asks. Jensen cocks his head, stares her down, but she challenges with a simple shrug. “I’m sure the Ranger here doesn’t mind, I’ve already crashed his lonely breakfast.”
The Doc grabs a chair, elbows spreading the width of the tabletop. Stabbing at a biscuit, Jensen doesn’t contribute to the conversation between the deputy and the doctor, eating becomes his singular focus.
Jared clears his throat a few minutes later, twirling the glass of cranberry juice set in front of him. The waitress had been kind enough to serve him something besides charred coffee, but she continued to ignore Jensen’s glare.
“Can I ask if there’s been any progress on finding the Sheriff?”
Cassidy shoots Jensen a look. “We don’t exactly have the resources for a manhunt, Jared.” Her voice is stretched, careful. “I’m looking into some things, but it’s been four days.”
“Meaning, you don’t think he’s coming back.”
“Meaning,” Jensen cuts in with a snarl, “I don’t think your Sheriff wants to be found.”
Two heads swing in Jensen’s direction; the Doc asks the question, “What?”
Cassidy suddenly finds the table interesting, rubbing at a smudge. She’s listening though, and Jensen’s surprised at her lack of reaction. Jared’s too, but he strikes Jensen as naturally more curious. That and he didn’t generally have to translate suspicions into theories every day.
Jensen hasn’t shared this with Cassidy, keeping his cards hidden, but they might be walkin’ the same path regardless.
“The timing of all this is pretty strange,” Jensen says, intentionally vague. Cassidy might trust the Doc and his easy grin, but Jensen hasn’t got him figured yet. He’s been wrong before. “You’ve both said things to make me question just how involved your Sheriff might’ve been in the trouble you’ve been having.”
Jared’s mouth opens and then quickly shuts, brain likely working back on what he said to Jensen during their only interview. No argument comes from either one of them. Jensen takes the moment of silence to scrape the last of his breakfast onto his fork, pulling out his wallet while he’s chewing and dropping a bill on the table.
“I’ve got a few things to check out this morning.” He has no intention of sticking around for another one-on-one with the Doc if Cassidy decides to abandon him again. “I’ll check back ‘round at the station this afternoon,” Jensen adds for Cassidy. “Y’all enjoy breakfast.”
Grabbing a to-go bag from the table’s lone empty chair, Jensen nods and heads for the door carrying Mo’s stack of plain pancakes. The mutt had better appreciate the food - Jensen’s regretting his own breakfast order as his stomach rolls.
Mo’s whining at the door when Jensen gets back to the room, leaping at his heels as soon as the mutt gets a whiff of the pancakes. Jensen pulls out his notes and adds new information, listening to a chorus of slobbers and licks as Mo chows down.
Three days in Idle and Jensen doesn’t have a hell of a lot to show for it. Most folks go about their business as if Jensen’s not poking his nose into their lives. There’s little to interrupt the lazy pace of life in the western farming town, but Jensen’s not fooled. Idle’s the perfect stop for rogue dealers, out of the way of the main transport routes. There’s nothing to the west besides more empty space, uninhabited land stretching all the way to the Union border, and miles of flat grasslands running east into Kansas.
Jensen has seen what drug money has bought - and paid for - in town: gambling joints, pawn dealers, and more than a few warm bodies walkin’ the streets at night to make a quick buck to feed their new and dangerous habits. Idle’s got a dark stain on its quaint fabric and it’s startin’ to spread.
One dead body and two open missing person cases are already on Idle’s books. The Sheriff makes three. Reading the files on the first two, Jensen draws similarities from what he’s gathered about the late Gabe Hicks. All were young adults, carving out their lives in Idle instead of moving on to college or trade school. Easy, impressionable, and naïve - good prey for runners to pick out and coax into doing their dirty work, helping them lay low in town.
Hopefully the road doesn’t end abruptly for the other two the way it had for Gabe Hicks.
Mo’s licking the last fluffy crumbs off his plate. Jensen gets the mutt settled with some water and a rawhide.
“Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll be back in no time,” he says, patting Mo on the back and avoiding those nipping teeth at the same time. “I’ve gotta go ’n talk to a few ladies about their connections. I bet that sounds boring to a pup like you, huh? You can come with me later tonight, alright?”
Mo barks like he gets it.
“Smart dog.”
There’s a crackle in the air from the storm line that’s just passed through, an eerie calm left in the wake of its natural violence. Darkness melts from the sky above, leaving the tarnished gray of twilight to prevail until the light’s gone completely.
The Sabre’s parked alone in an empty lot, buildings sitting abandoned on either side. Jensen gave up driving half an hour ago after taking a ride out to more than one outlying farm. If his drug dealers have a central hideout for business, Jensen’s willing to bet his badge that it’s out of the way - an old warehouse or foreclosed farm property. No luck so far.
He’s got a drive-thru burger settling in his stomach, Mo’s brown eyes keeping a lookout for squirrels through the windshield. Not much for human eyes to pick out, but the mutt won’t stop staring.
The day had been a bust, only picking up shreds of information from hookers who were too tired to talk even when Jensen waved fifty dollar bills in their faces. Trade must be pretty healthy - and their supply reliable - to wear them out like that. After that, he’d been forced indoors when the first rainclouds blotted out the sun, working with Cassidy back at the station and going through every crime reported in Idle over the last three years. The stack of cases had been thin and unhelpful. Now Jensen’s got little else to pursue besides an old-fashioned stake-out, haunting the streets at night to find some sort of action that’ll break his case.
Jensen’s always liked working alone, relying on his skills to finish a job. Felt that way about his personal life, too. He figures he’ll want to settle at some point, reward himself with the dream of fifty acres, no one pushing him in any one direction. He’s got to earn enough to get it first, wash the blood off his hands and finally start living. Give himself a shot at belonging somewhere, even if he’s the only body for a hundred miles, instead of being the outsider.
That line of thought takes Jensen’s mind back to the Doc. He’d printed off the guy’s record at the station this afternoon thanks to JD’s unmatched skills at tracking people down. Jared Padalecki was definitely Californian by birth; he grew up in Sacramento and graduated from one of the medical schools around the San Francisco Bay. Everything read as normal until two and a half years ago when the Doc pulled up roots and immigrated to the Union - a strange choice for anyone from the Union’s more prosperous and advanced western neighbor - leaving nothing behind to give a reason should anyone go looking.
And Jensen knows there has to be a reason. You don’t see a man like Jared out here tendin’ the sick in a small town for not a whole lot more than room and board if there wasn’t something giving him chase. The Doc’s looking over his shoulder, that’s for sure. Might be something dangerous lurking in his past, or Jared’s reason could be as mundane as wanting to escape from an overbearing family, Jensen’s got no idea.
Despite only meeting twice, neither time all that pleasant of a memory, Jensen’s been thinking about Jared more than he ought to. The Doc’s an outsider, and Jensen feels a grudging sort of kinship with the man, but Jared’s been accepted in Idle on a level Jensen envies when he stops to consider things.
Beyond the tint of the Sabre’s windshield, headlights cut through the night on the road ahead.
Mo whines and Jensen leans forward. One car’s not much to wonder at, but three pairs of headlights all in a row set his mind running, especially when he sees the reflective paint flash on the side panel of the middle car, caught in the beam of a high street lamp.
It’s the Sheriff’s Mustang.
The flanking cars are black, barely distinguishable from the night, but their makes are conspicuous. Jensen’s not seeing rugged farm trucks or modest sedans - just a single flash of chrome tips off his instincts.
Jensen radios Cassidy. “Just saw the Sheriff’s ride heading north on route 45.”
Static comes first, then Cassidy’s swift response. “Are you sure?”
“Yup. Two other vehicles in front and behind. I’m gonna follow them.”
“You can wait for back up.”
“You’re the only back up I know of,” Jensen says, lips touching the warm plastic transmitter. “Come in quietly, I’ve got a feeling something’s up.”
“Got it. Be careful.”
The Sabre roars to life. Jensen snaps his fingers at his pup.
“Down, Mo.” His mutt’s heard the same command, in that very tone, before. Mo jumps into the footwell, curling up on the floor mat and looking at Jensen with those big, shiny eyes. “I know, buddy,” he says. “Just stay put.”
Route 45 is two lanes of patchwork asphalt heading north out of Idle. Beyond town limits, there are no pull offs, no tire tracks leading away from the road, so Jensen keeps driving. Ten minutes out, he sees a flash out the corner of his eye, rounding to see three vehicles parked fifty yards off the road with their headlights on.
Jensen slows the Sabre and reaches for his radio.
“Looks like they’ve stopped seven miles up 45,” he says, never taking his eyes off the cars.
“I’m five minutes away,” Cassidy radios back.
Hell, this could be over in five minutes.
From the side of the road, windows down, he keeps a keen eye on the vehicles, sees movement but can’t make out the specifics. The Sheriff’s Mustang is obscured behind the other two cars and after a minute, a shadow breaks the beam of the headlights. Jensen can’t see anything back the way he came, just plain darkness. He waits, gun in hand, for Cassidy to show.
Until a massive crack thunders through the air and for a moment, Jensen thinks another storm’s rolling in. But there’s really no mistaking the blowback of a revolver, and Jensen has no choice but to gun the Sabre’s engine and roar off road towards the cluster of vehicles.
His tires spin up wet clumps of dirt as the Sabre tears over the two ruts in the grass. Pulling close enough to trap the other cars in his headlights, Jensen stops and kicks open the door, crouching behind the safety of the metal just as two more shots echo out into the night.
“Texas Ranger!” Jensen yells, a calamity of shouts and engines firing obscuring his voice. “Put your weapons down!”
One car throttles past the Sabre, its massive tires handling the rough ground too easily; Jensen doesn’t have a prayer of tagging the plate number. There are two cars left and one’s the Mustang. Even without knowing whose side the Sheriff is shooting for, Jensen’s got at least two gunmen to worry about.
“Throw your weapons down or I will shoot!”
A barrage of bullets slamming into the ground, a lucky few hitting the Sabre’s door panel, is the only answer Jensen gets. His ears are splitting, ringing with the pressure of high-decibel shots all around him. Jensen looks into the car and sees Mo crouched down beneath the passenger seat. He wishes like hell he’d never brought his pup along for the stakeout. These fuckin’ bastards shooting at him with piss-poor aim, whoever they are, are going to pay for traumatizing his damn dog.
A heavy silence follows - the shooters must be reloading. That’s Jensen’s chance. Using the Sabre to block his body, he pulls up and fires five shots in rapid succession, transitioning quickly when he catches even a hint of movement from the other cars, eyes one step ahead of his trigger. His rapid fire pays off when he hears a man groaning in obvious pain, but that victory is short-lived. Before Jensen can process the shot being fired, a bullet catches Jensen’s left arm, tearing through the meat of his tricep and electrocuting every nerve in his body.
“Son of a bitch!” Jensen curses. His entire left side shuts down but he only needs one arm to shoot. He sprays the rest of his clip into the space between the Sabre and the other vehicles, hoping like hell these guys don’t know how lucky they got.
Someone shouts, “Just fuckin’ leave him!” before two doors slam and the other black vehicle starts moving, cutting its tires away from Jensen and the barrel of his Browning to head in the opposite direction. Jensen doesn’t know enough about Idle’s outlying countryside to know if there’s a road they’re gunnin’ for, or what.
Either way, he has no time to wonder. All that’s left on the scene is the Mustang belonging to the Idle Sheriff’s Department and, lying on the ground in front of it, a body crumpled in the rain-soaked mud.
Jensen grabs the radio with his right hand, setting his gun on the driver’s seat. Warm blood’s seepin’ through his shirt, runnin’ like syrup down his left arm.
“Cassidy!” he’s yelling before the static clears. “Call for an ambulance!”
“Who’s hurt?”
Jensen looks again at the man folded over on the ground, legs twisted beneath him and khaki shirt mottled with blood. The man’s not so much breathing as rattling there in the mud.
“I think it’s Sheriff Corbin.”
“I see your lights, stay put!”
Jensen runs, weapon in his good hand, and drops to his knees beside the gasping man. Every breath rattles, blood in the man’s lungs and airway. He’s been shot twice that Jensen can tell, one bullet on either side of his sternum. His skin is pale where it’s not covered in blood, eyes glassy though there’s barely any light to reflect. This is beyond Jensen’s ability to help.
“Hey, Sheriff! Look at me.”
Corbin twists his head, only half in this world. Hard to imagine his eyes are really seein’ Jensen, but his bloody lips open.
“…Was supposed to get rid of the Ranger.” Corbin coughs and shudders unnaturally. “Told me to make sure he never came.” His words are broken, more painful than the burn fighting its way through Jensen’s body. “Couldn’t-”
“Don’t talk,” Jensen says. “There’s a bus on the way.”
“Couldn’t-”
Jensen knows Corbin’s gone before the last word passes his lips, light gone from the Sheriff’s eyes as death claims its prize.
Cassidy slaps the ambulance’s back door before it pulls away, red lights fading from Jensen’s vision.
“They’re taking the body right up to Hastings,” she says. “And for the record, you’re an idiot.”
“You’ve said that already.”
“It’s truer now.” Cassidy eyes the bandage wrapped around Jensen’s left arm over his jacket, rolling her eyes. “Refusing medical care…“
“It was just a graze.”
“Because you’re a doctor now, too.”
“’Cause it’s not the first bullet to make my acquaintance,” Jensen snarls, regretting the tone as soon as his arm throbs sickeningly. “I’ll be fine.”
The deputy gives up. Matthew Davis, the night officer, walks towards the Sabre where Jensen and Cassidy are standing, a grim look marring his features. Jensen hasn’t had much of a chance to work with the guy, but he’d hopped a ride out here in the ambulance, following Cassidy’s lead without question.
“I can’t believe it,” Davis says. “I thought Corbin just ran off somewhere. I never thought…” He trails off and looks at Cassidy. She shakes her head.
“Jensen, I’ve got your statement. Davis and I can handle the clean-up here. I called in some help from the Greeley station, they’ll be here anytime. Why don’t you go rest up that arm?”
It’s past midnight and Jensen’s been willing the pain to the back of his mind for a while now. Through Cassidy pulling up and seeing Corbin’s body, hard tears in her eyes for only a moment before she wiped them away. Jensen told her what the Sheriff said, confirmed suspicions that Corbin was playing both sides until Jensen showed up. They’d stared at one another, easier than looking at Corbin’s body, until the ambulance lumbered onto the scene and Davis jumped out to help the med techs.
Jensen’s ready to argue that he’s fine. He can work through a scratch, for God’s sake. It’s barely bleeding.
“Better yet,” Cassidy says before Jensen interrupts her, “why don’t you go and see Jared about your arm. He won’t mind being woken up for something like that.”
“I’m not gonna ruin the Doc’s sleep.”
She sighs. “Just take your dog and get out of here, will you?”
“Gonna be okay with just Davis?” Jensen tilts his head at the other officer who’s standing where Corbin had been laid out, contemplating whatever bloodstains are left in the mud.
“We’ll be fine. The Greeley volunteers’ll be here any minute.”
Mo doesn’t get up when Jensen sits behind the wheel; the pup’s been cowering since this whole mess started. Cassidy waves at Jensen through the windshield - luckily there are no bullet holes in the tempered glass to mar his view. The rest of the Sabre hadn’t fared as well. There are three holes in the driver’s side door and two more in the fender, but Jensen’s girl is drivable.
Beyond the pain, beyond the exhaustion, Jensen’s relieved to be pulling away from the scene. Nothing more for him to learn there, anyway. Sheriff Corbin wasn’t one of the good guys - no telling how long the racket in Idle would have kept up if Jensen hadn’t been sent in.
Though part of him’s dying to get back to his room, grab his bottle of Red Eye and pass out from the bullet wound, Jensen steers into town.
He puts the urge down to the throbbing on his left side; the pain’s like getting shot over and over again in slow motion. Seeing the Doc might not be a bad idea.
Jensen pulls around the corner and slams on the brakes. The Sabre protests with a horrendous screech that Jensen barely hears, too busy staring at the car parked out in front of the clinic with its black siding crunched in and distorted.
Bullet holes. Put there by Jensen’s gun.
In the next second, two men come tearing out of the clinic, one stumbling on legs thicker than tree trunks and the other clutching tight to his revolver.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!”
The man with the gun sees the Sabre and stops directly beneath a streetlamp, popping off two quick and badly aimed shots before leaping into the car his buddy’s got running. Jensen can’t grab his pistol in time but he’s got something more valuable: the shooter’s face in perfect detail, lit up under the streetlight.
The car peels out, quickly lost in the obscuring darkness. Jensen’s got a lead foot and he’s ready to pursue, but for the second time that night, Jensen watches the bad guy drive away.
The clinic.
Jensen pulls into the lot, damn arm a hindrance when he tries to climb out of the Sabre. Mo jumps out at his heels, following Jensen all the way to Jared’s door.
“Back, Mo!” he hisses, drawing down and peering around through the glass. His mutt processes the scene faster than Jensen, pawing at the clinic door and whimpering.
The door’s unlocked. Jensen pushes it open slowly, heart in his throat.
“Doc?”
Slouched against the wall, Jared’s folded up with his knees pulled to his chest, blank eyes forward on the neutral paint.
“Doc, you okay?”
“Stop calling me Doc.” The familiar line comes in a brittle tone, but that it comes at all has Jensen breathing a little easier.
Mo slips around Jensen’s legs when he turns to lock the door, trotting on his too-big paws over to Jared. Makes something sting in Jensen, and it ain’t his arm, to see Jared gently hold his hand out to the mutt. Abuse has made Mo shy, trusting only Jensen ‘til now. He’s happy for his pup and Jared’s eyes lose some of their emptiness.
Jared glances up, fingers scratching behind Mo’s floppy ears. His angular face is deeply set in shadow. “I heard shooting and I thought they were trying to get me through the - shit! Your arm.”
Jensen waves off the concern. “Just a graze, it’ll keep. What happened?”
Pushing up onto his feet, Mo leaning against his calves, Jared shakes his head.
“I was asleep when I heard the intercom, then someone knocking on the door to my apartment, yelling that it was an emergency. I threw on some clothes, opened the door”- Jared stops, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, hiding tremors Jensen would never blame him for - “and the next thing I know, there’s a gun in my face and this guy is threatening me.”
There’s barely any light in the waiting room, the only glow coming from an exam room down the hall. Jared turns, deep exhale poured out in uneven bursts.
“I tried to ask what was happening, and I saw the blood on the second guy’s shoulder, but I couldn’t… And then the guy with the gun - I guess I wasn’t moving fast enough for him.”
“Jared.”
The Doc turns, and Jensen rethinks getting back in the Sabre and running these bastards down. What he’d figured was just a shadow on Jared’s face is an extensive bruise, violently marred skin running from Jared’s cheek up to his temple.
“What the hell? Tell me what happened.” Jensen gets too close and Jared flinches. “Did the guy hit you?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Jensen demands in his steadiest voice. “You didn’t have that bruise this morning.”
“It was his gun.”
“What?”
“He hit me with his gun. Hard.” Jared coughs to cover his wry laugh, leaning away when Jensen instinctively reaches out. “A lot of good it did him. I couldn’t see straight for a minute, thought I was gonna fall over, and that wasn’t gonna help the guy with him.”
“Let’s get something on that.”
“It’ll keep.” Jared throws Jensen’s words right back. “Bullets trump bruises, okay?”
It’s not okay, but Jensen lets the argument leave him. Just so happens he’s in the mood to let the Doc have his way - his questions can wait.
“Something happened tonight, right?” Jared asks, leading Jensen into a different exam room, flipping on the light. The contusion on his face is sharper, swollen and already discolored. Steel versus skin ain’t a fair fight. “This is the second bullet wound I’ve had to treat tonight, so what was it?”
“There was an incident up on route 45.”
“You call a shoot-out just an incident?” Jared scoffs. He carefully unwinds the bloody bandage from around Jensen’s arm, dropping it in a marked container off to the side. “Take off your jacket.”
Jensen glares but Jared must be immune. When Jared turns away to grab gloves, Jensen shares a goofy look with Mo who’s curled up at Jensen’s feet. The Doc pulls a stool out for Jensen to sit on, holding gauze in his left hand, and examines the wound through Jensen’s shirt.
“Can you take this off too, or should I cut the sleeve?”
“It’s ruined anyway,” Jensen says. “Just cut it.”
“I’m guessing the bullet in that other guy came from your gun,” Jared comments after a few minutes spent cleaning Jensen’s wound with iodine antiseptic, the rust-colored liquid smeared all around his upper arm.
“You guessed right. How bad was it?”
“Bad.” Jared lets the iodine sit, holding gauze over the graze with significant pressure. “You hit his shoulder and practically obliterated his clavicle.”
Jensen couldn’t care less if Jared sees his satisfied smirk. “You able to fix all that?”
“Not with what I have here. I cleaned what I could, injected some pain medication around the wound since the guy wouldn’t shut up,” Jared says in a clinical tone that covers the tremor in his voice. “I taped it, told him he needed to get to a hospital before he lost any more blood, and then they just tore up out of here. Maybe they heard your car.” He grabs Jensen’s hand and places it over the gauze. “Hold this, keep pressure on it. You might need a few stitches, but there’s no major damage. You were lucky, Ranger.”
“Lucky would have been not getting hit at all,” Jensen complains with a grin. “You don’t have to call me Ranger.”
“You don’t have to call me Doc.”
The moment hangs in the air between them, easily going one way or another.
“Alright, Jared.” Jensen decides to give the guy a shot. “Truce?”
“Truce, Jensen.”
Tonight’s hardly the first time Jensen’s had someone stitchin’ him up, but he admits Jared’s got a decent bedside manner. The pain’s minimal though the Doc offers him an injectable analgesic anyway. Jensen refuses.
“Stop being stubborn. No one likes being in pain,“ Jared tries.
“I could introduce you to some very discreet women down in New Orleans who’d show you otherwise.”
“Alright,” Jared laughs, pulling the fine black thread through Jensen’s skin. “Enough.”
Jared’s stitches are precise, careful, and he distracts Jensen every time he needs to insert the curved needle. Jensen fills him in on the basic details of the shooting and its aftermath, delivering the news about Sheriff Corbin in a low voice.
“Are they bringing him here?” Jared whispers the question, cutting the slack off Jensen’s final stitch.
“No, they’re taking his body right up to Hastings.”
“Good. I don’t think I want to do an autopsy on anyone else I know.”
“I’m sorry you had to do it for Hicks,” Jensen offers. “Couldn’t have been easy.”
“I was just doing what I needed to.” Jared’s gloves come off with a snap. He replaces them with a fresh pair, swabbing an opaque jelly over the stitches. “This is just a topical pain reliever, nothing too heavy.”
As soon as Jared’s finished wrapping a fresh bandage around his arm, Jensen rounds on the Doc. “Alright, your turn.”
“I told you,” Jared argues, “I’m fine.”
“Sit down, Doc.”
Jared scowls, brow heavy. “I thought we talked about the Doc thing.”
“I’m reconsidering given how ornery you’re being about this.” Jensen changes tactics. “C’mon, let me live out my doctor-patient fantasy, here.”
“Do I want to know what your fantasy entails?”
“Only if you swing that way.”
Jared’s eyebrow goes up, scrunching his forehead even further, and points out which drawer contains the cooling antiseptic gel. While Jensen gathers supplies, Jared forgoes the stool and collapses in the exam chair. Sensing there’s been a change in patients, Mo yawns and crawls over to Jared, dozing right back off with his head on Jared’s foot.
Jensen’s temper flares all over again seeing the damage to the Doc’s face. The swelling’s made his face uneven, puffy skin around his left eye tender to the touch. Jensen hasn’t seen many men pistol-whipped, but he can tell the Doc’s gonna have a nasty shiner in a day or two, hard lines of the gun blooming across his cheek.
Jensen’s pissed. Beyond pissed, actually - he’s enraged on Jared’s behalf, but he wills the shaking out of his hands. If fate had sung her song a little differently tonight, Corbin might not have been the only body he’d have to deal with.
“Don’t put yourself in that position again,” he tells Jared. “Just give ‘em what they ask for. Arguing ain’t worth it.”
Jensen swabs the antiseptic on Jared’s cheekbone with his right hand, imagining he can feel the heat given off by the contused skin. Jared stares at Jensen with his jaw clenched, something intense hiding behind his eyes. Jensen scoffs to break the Doc’s gaze.
“Hell, if it was me and no one was holdin’ a gun to my head, I’d just let the guy suffer ‘til he died.”
“Ever heard of the Hippocratic oath?” Jared hisses, ducking away from Jensen’s hand. “Do no harm?” He sighs and adds, “I didn’t argue anyway. I was gonna help the guy, but I just…hesitated.”
“Rangers have an oath, too,” Jensen says, ignoring the throbbing in his arm to pin Jared in the chair.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t let dumb fuckin’ doctors get beat on.”
“God, you’re a son of a bitch,” Jared curses, but allows Jensen to touch his face again, even leaning into the unpracticed touch, as Jensen sweeps a cotton pad across the mottled puce and violet skin.
Jensen likes the way Jared curses, the words impulsive and pithy. No sense feeling insulted, though. “I’ve been told that a few times.”
“Shocking.” Jared leans away from Jensen’s hand to check his reflection in the glass cabinet door. “You know, I can do this to myself.”
“Impressive, Doc. Finer education teaches you all sorts of things.”
The banter fades as the weight of the night’s events sits heavily on their shoulders. Mo’s breathing is the loudest thing in the room besides Jensen’s heartbeat to his own ears, adrenaline crash hitting him full force.
“Do you need some sort of statement from me?” Jared asks.
“Nothing that can’t wait ‘til the morning.”
Hell, Jensen’s eager to put this puzzle together and get after the bastards who’d wreaked so much destruction in Idle, but tonight’s a lost cause. The Doc’s tired, no missing that, and Jensen’s bushwhacked, ready for a bottle and oblivion.
“Why don’t you come by the station in the morning and we’ll talk,” Jensen suggests. “Rest’ll do us both good, I think.”
“Are you gonna be okay tonight?” Jared absentmindedly continues to pet Mo who sleepily soaks up the attention.
“You offerin’ to make a house call?” The joke comes on instinct. Jensen’s not ready to delve into anything serious after all that’s happened. Jared’s green eyes are wide, his lips parted, and Jensen says, “I’ll be good.” With his right hand, he pulls a card out of his wallet. “Lock up good n’ tight. Don’t come to the door for anyone unless it’s me or Cassidy.”
Jensen takes it as a sign of Jared’s exhaustion when he doesn’t put up a fuss at Jensen’s concern. “You know the motel’s number, right? I’m in room fourteen if anyone comes back tonight. Call straight away, okay?”
Jared nods when he takes the card. “If your arm hurts worse than you can deal with, swing back by here and I’ll give you something. I don’t care what time it is.”
Mo nips half-heartedly at Jensen’s hand when he tries to get the pup out of Jared’s exam room.
“I know, buddy. Been a long night…”
Jared’s smile is soft when Jensen turns around.
“He seems like a great dog,” Jared says, turning off the lights and walking out of the clinic with Jensen. “It must be nice to have him around when you’re traveling.”
“He eats too much, drools, and snores all the damn time,” Jensen tells him, feeling Mo bump against his knees. “Other’n that, I’m not complaining.”
On that lighter note, the night finally ends. Jensen hangs around, right hand steady on his holster, until Jared locks the clinic and is safely behind the door leading up to the apartment. He senses eyes on him as he’s getting back in the Sabre, Mo curling up right next to Jensen on the seat, and knows it’s Jared.
It’s a full minute before Jensen drives away.
Jensen’s not in the business of lying. He meant it when he told the Doc he’d be okay, though he’d seen the doubt on the man’s face. On the drive to the motel, Jensen has to keep tellin’ himself it was true.
The shooting hadn’t shaken him much; in this line of work, Jensen’s gotten used to standing between a bullet and a target. It’s not the first time he’s been hit, and it ain’t pessimism to say that it won’t be the last time either. Truth is, sitting alone with Corbin’s body had been much worse than the pain. Knowing there was no life behind those eyes and that Corbin’s soul was long gone had rattled Jensen badly. But the Doc’s company had eased part of that lonely ache, though he was smart enough to keep that notion to himself.
When Jensen gets back to his room, he thinks about drinking. He thinks about it some more as he’s yankin’ off his boots and feels a leftover sting of pain down his left side. There’s a full bottle of whiskey looking welcoming on the nightstand. Without painkillers in his system, a finger or two wouldn’t do any harm, but he leaves the bottle capped. Mo’s belly-up on the end of the bed sleeping off whatever trauma the shooting had caused.
Jensen chases sleep for an hour but his heart’s beating too loud in his ears. He gets up and pulls a pad of paper and a pen out of the nightstand drawer, jotting down everything he remembers from the two shoot-outs. He writes ‘til his eyes start drooping and his blood’s not pumping so hard through his veins. While he’s still conscious, he sketches out the face he’d recognized outside of the clinic - the man who’d shot at him. The same man had answered the door at one of the outlying farms Jensen scouted, claiming to live alone and be in the middle of selling the property and oh, was Jensen interested in buying?
Bullshit, all of it. The man had triggered Jensen’s suspicions then, but with nothing else to go on, he’d left.
But Jensen’s got the man’s face in his sights. Give him a few hours to sleep and he’ll be back on the case, and this time he’ll be aiming to end it.
Davis is asleep behind the station’s front desk. Arms folded under his head, cheek mashed against his wristwatch. It’d be funny if it weren’t so damn inappropriate.
Jensen leans his hip on the desk and stares down, trying not to laugh. He’s regained a handle on his nerves and impulses, a few hours of sleep enough to recharge his mind; his body’s lagging a few steps behind.
He kicks the metal side of the desk, percussive clatter enough to send Davis into a flailing fit, pushing back so fast that he nearly topples over in his chair.
“Mornin’, Davis.”
The officer glances up, glares with blurry eyes. “It’s morning?” His words are broken up by a long yawn. “Good, that means I can go home.”
“Not just yet.”
Cassidy’s voice joins the conversation. Drawn by the racket Jensen and Davis are making, she steps out of her office and pins Davis in his chair. He groans and she adds, “The Ranger’s here to bring us up to speed on what he knows.”
“How long’s that gonna take?” Davis asks, rubbing his straight jaw with long fingers.
Cassidy grins. “As long as it takes.”
“Can I at least run out for coffee first?”
“What’s wrong with the pot I made in the back?” Cassidy asks. Davis pulls a bitter face and she concedes. “Fine, grab enough for four. I think Jared’s going to be joining us.”
Davis is thrilled to have an excuse to get out from under Jensen’s nose. Jensen hasn’t moved yet, hip cocked on the desk, watching Cassidy’s show with a grin.
“Long night?” he asks.
The deputy nods, cheeks stretched and mouth tight as she fights off her own yawn. “After Matt and I finished up at the scene, he drove the Sheriff’s car to the garage we have in the back. I made him stick around here just in case anything else happened, but it’s been quiet.” She eyes Jensen up and down, stopping on his left arm where the bandage creates a bulge under his shirt. “You doing alright?”
“The Doc patched me up last night,” Jensen explains, mum on the details. He’ll give Jared the chance to say his piece on it. “Aches a bit, but I’ll manage.”
They move into a small conference room, Cassidy’s files already cluttering one end of the table. She closes the blinds on the two windows that look into the main office; Jensen figures it for a nervous habit. Besides the Doc, he doesn’t expect anyone to walk in and crash the meeting since he knows Cassidy’s been giving her administrative staff time off.
While Jensen and Cassidy are alone, he asks, “You trust Davis enough to bring him in on this?”
Her blue eyes harden but she nods. “Matt’s a true Idle boy. He grew up here and made good on his potential when most of his buddies took up farming or left for better work. He’s loyal to the job - never wanted anything more than to be a cop.”
“Boy just seems a little…” Jensen twirls his finger around his ear.
“Show me a small towner who’s not a little crazy,” Cassidy counters.
Davis walks in as her laugh dies down, balancing a cardboard tray with four Styrofoam cups and leading Jared into the conference room. The second Cassidy gets a look at the Doc’s face, she’s across the room and up on her toes, turning Jared’s cheek to see the damage.
The swelling’s gone down since last night, the Doc must’ve kept an ice pack on it, but the sickening colors stand out vividly in daylight.
Jared gently holds Cassidy away, voice equally soft. “I’m fine, Paula.”
The look in their eyes reads like they know each other well. Knowledge born of living in a small town, in and out of each other’s business constantly. Jensen feels a pang in his gut.
“Paula?” He breaks the tense moment. “So Cassidy is your last name.” He knew it from the reports he’d received, but this is the first time he’s heard anyone use it.
Cassidy hits Jensen with a withering stare like it’d been his gun leaving the marks on the Doc. “What the hell happened last night?”
As reinforcement that Jensen’s the one holding the reins, Jared looks to him before taking a seat at the table. The only support Jensen can give him is eye-contact, gaze steady as Jared shares how the gunman had dragged him from his apartment, forcing him into the clinic to treat his wounded associate.
“The guy I treated,” Jared adds. “He needed more medical help than I could give him in the time he was there. If he didn’t get to the hospital, he could be pretty bad right now.”
Jensen wishes he could be honest and tell the group to fuck any thoughts of getting that bastard help. He remembers being open with Jared last night, but two extra pairs of eyes keep him from making an outburst. Jared’s brow is furrowed when he glances in Jensen’s direction, no sympathy in his eyes. Despite whatever oath binds Jared to his career, the Doc’s thinkin’ along those same lines. Jensen grins; he’s a horrible influence.
“Did you recognize either of the men?” Jensen asks.
Jared closes his eyes, remembering. “I thought I recognized the one who…” He touches his cheek. “He’s never been a patient, but maybe I saw him around town or something?”
Jensen pictures the ugly mug he’d seen under the streetlight: a gaunt face on top of a short neck, dark mustache under a sharply curved nose and narrow-set eyes.
“I got a good look when they ran out of the clinic,” Jensen says. “The one who pulled on me, probably the bastard who grazed me, looked like a guy I came across when I was checking out properties west of town the other day.”
“Are you sure?”
Jensen nods at Davis. “Sure enough to warrant another visit out there.”
“What would we be getting ourselves into?” Cassidy asks. “You said you had an idea of what we’re dealing with, right?”
“I’ve seen it before.” Jensen pauses to take a long swig of his coffee. This bitter roast goes down smooth, much better than the sludge from the diner. He licks his lips and catches Jared looking away. “Idle’s probably a stop on the supply line for some Californian cartel. The stops change all the time to throw off the authorities. Most runs are only in place for a single shipment to pass through. You’re out of the way up here, but you’ve got good roads, plenty of land, and enough people living here that a few extras ain’t gonna stick out too much.”
“Drugs?” Jared shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes.
“Suppliers. A few of them might spend their cut buying a little of what they’re moving, turning around and selling it off to locals for three or four times what they’re paying. Or, they’re stealin’ it outta what they’re supposed to be movin’. Either way, that’ll kick-start a chain of bad news for Idle,” Jensen adds. “I bet y’all were seeing the effects long before I got here.”
He lets that sink in.
“Idle’s part of the conduit, but the ones running the operation here are gonna be pretty far down on the food chain. Low level thugs charged only with keepin’ the supply going, not makin’ any big moves. Hell, they’d probably be eliminated as soon as the runs were done anyway.” Jensen smiles. “Less people for the cartel to pay.”
Cassidy is stoic. “How many people are we talking about?”
“If we’re lucky, less than ten.”
She nods. Davis doesn’t seem to be doing much thinking at all, eyes focused on something the rest of them can’t see.
“There were three guys handling the Sheriff last night-”
“Corbin,” Cassidy cuts in. “I still don’t believe it.”
“Yeah,” Jared speaks up. “When he asked me to do the autopsy here, I thought it was weird, but I never imagined he’d be working with these drug suppliers.”
“The autopsy being kept local was one clue,” Jensen says. “He also lied about where Gabe Hicks’ body was found, remember? Hell, he could have seen Gabe get shot and the body was never dumped.”
The Doc presses his lips together, guilt heavy on his brow.
“I think Corbin was in over his head,” Jensen says to distract everyone. “Whoever’s runnin’ this operation probably told him to make sure I didn’t show up, but when he couldn’t stop it-”
“That’s when he disappeared,” Davis answers for him, alert for the moment.
“Fits, doesn’t it?” Jensen drains the last dregs of coffee and envies Jared his full cup. “It takes at least half a dozen men to work a ring like this. They probably hired some locals, like Gabe and the other two you’ve got missing, to do odd jobs. Stuff around town that’d raise too many questions if it were a stranger.”
Cassidy swears, fingers tapping on the conference table. “I don’t want anyone else we know getting wrapped up in all this.”
“If folks you know are helping these bastards out, it might be a good thing.”
“What do you mean?”
Jensen turns back to Jared. “If they know you, they’re not gonna want to harm anyone. Locals are easy to talk out of doing something stupid. Just gotta remind ‘em of the consequences if they choose to go against us.”
“You make it sound easy,” Jared says.
“Like I said, this ain’t the first drug ring I’ve broken up.” He shoots the Doc a confident smile, hopin’ to smooth out those lines across his forehead. “And if these guys had any sense, they’d have stuck around to take me out last night. They knew I hadn’t followed them to the clinic, so they must’ve figured I was injured somehow. Could’ve ended it right there.”
“I’m glad they didn’t.”
Davis is halfway back to sleep. Drug dealers and plans of attack must not be enough to keep the officer on this side of dreamland. Cassidy’s pointedly looking down at her files. Jensen and the Doc might as well be the only ones in the room.
“Would’ve ruined our night, huh?”
Jared ducks his chin, pulling his eyes away. Jensen’s only got a second to find that interesting before Cassidy starts brainstorming a plan and the meeting’s back to being all business.
Whatever he’d seen in Jared’s stare is gone the next time their eyes meet.
“No shit. Corbin was dirty?”
“Or caught up in something he just couldn’t handle. If his back was against the wall-”
“No sense speculating,” JD tells him over the line. “Corbin’s out of the picture. Got a plan to wrap this up? McKellip’s been breathing down my neck, calling every day to see if you’ve made any progress. I’ll be glad when the Idle job’s finished and I can get rid of him.”
“Better he’s calling you than me.” Jensen’s not fond of thinking about the politician; McKellip’s interest in this town continues to not make a lick of sense.
“I’m sure he knows that,” his captain says. “Now, tell me how you’re gonna shut this down.”
“Cassidy pulled info on the farm they’re based out of.” Jensen paces in the narrow space between his motel bed and the wall, radiator clanking in the background. Mo’s up on the bed, panting happily while he watches Jensen go back and forth. “It was foreclosed on, but someone paid cash for it ‘bout five months ago. Cassidy had one of her men watchin’ the place yesterday.”
“I’m guessing he saw something?”
“A few cars coming ‘n going, but two of them matched the vehicles I saw the night of the shoot-out.”
“No shit,” JD repeats. “Not the smartest drug dealers you’ve ever been up against, huh?”
“I was thinkin’ along those lines,” Jensen says. Fed up with watching Jensen, Mo rests his head on his front paws. If a dog could project emotion, Mo would be telling Jensen that he’s beyond bored. “Cassidy’s still got those volunteers on call from Greeley, so we’ve got enough manpower to take down the operation. We’ll hit ‘em during the day since they seem most active at night.”
“Well, you’ve got the go-ahead from my end,” Morgan tells him, injecting unnecessary gravitas into his already rough voice. Jensen already knew he’d have the support. “Whatever you need to do, Jensen. Just make sure whatever drugs and money you find are kept in Ranger custody. We don’t need some radical or backwoods crazy thinking they can get to it and start their own little operation.”
“Will do.” Jensen doesn’t comment on the fact that the money and the drugs would provide a nice boost for the Rangers’ operating budget. Ain’t his place to change business. “Thanks, Captain.”
“You go get ‘em.”
The plan’s set for tomorrow, a showdown at high-noon.
Jensen leans back in his booth and tries not to think about the bust. He isn’t worried and there are plenty of distractions in this bar. Three local honeys are flaunting their ample assets in front of the bartender, angling for free drinks from him or any of the callused farmhands takin’ refuge in cold beer and the sports channel. A game of pool across the room could turn ugly at any minute - two men in clashing flannel shirts trading angry looks over the green felt top - and the Doc’s standing a few feet away from Jensen’s table, clearly waitin’ for an invitation.
“Can’t eat alone in this town, huh?”
Jared disarms him with a simple smile, previously unnoticed dimples outlining his mouth. “We just like company. Can I join you or are you working?”
“Seat’s yours.” Jensen pushes the sleeves of his henley up to his elbows. “I’m always on the job, but I could use the diversion.”
“I guess Rangers don’t have a dress code,” Jared says, grin still lighting up the dim corner they’re in.
“Think I’d do my job better in a fancy suit?”
As soon as Jensen says it, Jared’s eyes wander south, down from the henley’s unbuttoned collar, across the stone gray fabric and ending on the badge clipped to Jensen’s belt.
“Could be worth a shot.” Jared shrugs.
“Maybe.” Jensen folds his arms on the table. “What brings you here?”
“Charlie”- he points to the bartender- “brews the best sweet tea. I never drank the stuff before I moved here, but I’m addicted to all the sugar he puts in.” Jared stops and laughs when Jensen raises his eyebrow. “Yeah, and I saw your car in the lot too.”
“Fancy that,” Jensen remarks. “You eating?”
Jensen had polished off his hot wings not too long ago, catching every last drop of the chunky bleu cheese dressing with haphazardly cut celery sticks, but he’s willing to stick around a little while longer.
“I’m not too hungry,” Jared says. He catches Charlie’s eye and waves, and the bartender sets a large glass of amber liquid on the bar-top a second later. Jared steps away from the table, already sipping on his tea by the time he comes back. “And no offense to Charlie, but there are better places to eat around here.” He sighs. “I can’t seem to stop thinking about everything that’s happened. I thought I’d be living a quiet life and yet here I am, in the middle of all this.”
“It’s not happening because of you.”
“I know, but…” Jared grimaces, draws Jensen’s gaze up to the bruise marring a good portion of his face. “Kind of feels like I can’t get away from it, you know?”
“But you’re here, talking to me,” Jensen points out. “Can’t get much more involved than I am. If you don’t wanna think about it, probably best to stay away from me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Jensen laughs. “Didn’t think so.”
He likes that he has Jared smiling. The Doc’s been dragged through enough shit thanks to this job; Jensen oughta be shielding him from taking any more hits, but that’s not always the way things work out.
Jensen’s server, a little blonde thing in denim shorts, sets a box on the table with his check tucked in the lid.
“Two medium burgers, no bun and no condiments. “ She spots the Doc. “Hey, Jared. How are you?”
“Good, Zita. Thanks.” Jared’s all manners and polite gestures; it gets Jensen a little hot under the collar. “Busy night?”
“Not too bad. I see you’ve got tea, do you want anything else?”
“No thanks, I’m gonna take off soon.”
“Suit yourself,” she says, swinging her narrow hips around and walking away.
Jared nods at the to-go box. “Late night cravings?”
“Mo’s dinner,” he says. “I feel bad when I have to leave him in the motel room all day. I bring him real food so he won’t resent me.”
“How’d you end up with him?” Jared asks as Zita passes by and grabs Jensen’s cash, dropping a quick thanks before she’s off to another table.
“Picked him up a couple of jobs ago,” Jensen says. “It wasn’t a pretty sight. Some hick up along the Northern border thought dog meat would be a boomin’ business.”
“I hope you put him down,” Jared responds, venom on his tongue.
Jensen makes a fist and flexes it. “Bastard probably hasn’t graduated to solid foods yet.” He watches Jared slip a few bucks under his empty glass and says, “You goin’ somewhere?”
Jared looks right at him. “I thought we might take this conversation somewhere private now that you’re done.”
No mistaking that tone, honeyed and thick with intention. Jensen feels the warmth of it settling in his blood.
“Gotta bring Mo his dinner.”
Jared grins. “Your room works.”
Jared pulls his car in next to the Sabre. Jensen’s waiting, room key in hand, as the Doc hops out and wipes his palms on his jeans.
Jensen looks his fill the way Jared had back at Charlie’s. He likes the stretch of denim spanning Jared’s hips, color faded from years of good wear; he bets the fabric’s soft to the touch. Jared’s got an open collared shirt draped over his customary tee, brick red and tan over black. Jensen’s already come to appreciate the Doc’s shoulders, wide and capable - he looks like a man you’d want backin’ you up in a brawl - but Jared’s expressions are gentler. A man you know can fight, but chooses not to.
Jensen’s hoping he can bring at least a little of that fire out tonight.
“Are we talking out here?” Jared asks, shifting his weight on the concrete walk.
Jensen grins and unlocks the door.
Mo’s on them instantly, nose eager to catch every new smell they’re bringing in. Jared sets his keys and wallet on the table and starts scratching behind Mo’s ears. Mo melts right into the attention until he gets a whiff of the burgers and starts snapping at Jensen’s hands.
“Damn puppy teeth. Still sharp,” he laughs, letting his mutt eat right out of the container.
Mo’s slobbering doesn’t exactly set the right mood, Jensen imagines.
Outside, two tractor trailers rumble past on the highway and shake the faded pictures on the motel room’s wall.
“Nice ambience in this place,” Jared teases.
“You gotta pay extra for that.”
Jensen follows routine, unclipping his holster and setting it on the nightstand. There’s a loaded twenty-two under his pillow as well - he’s wise enough to remove it when the maid comes around. His badge goes right next to the holster, a Ranger’s Silver Star reflecting the low wattage of the bedside lamp.
He turns to Jared. “So, you wanted to talk?”
As soon as the words are out, Jared’s across the room slamming into Jensen’s space. He doesn’t spare Jensen a single breath before their mouths are opening together, tumblers of a lock sliding into place the same way Jared’s tongue slips right past Jensen’s lips.
Hell yes.
Jensen ain’t got the time, or the will, to second guess what they’re doing. He wants the Doc laid bare right next to him, bodies touching from chest to ankle, fucking in bursts of hard and sweet, but he’ll take this first and enjoy the hell out of it. He ravages Jared’s mouth and is turned out in kind, eyes closed because it makes the sensations coming from his lips that much better, the same way hearing Jared moan sets his body on fire.
Jared’s jeans are as soft as they looked. Jensen hooks his fingers in the beltloops, tugging Jared’s hips against his.
“I like this kinda talking,” he growls through his teeth, mouth lowered to the cut of Jared’s jaw.
“From the way you were looking at me, I thought you might,” Jared says, slotting his knee between Jensen’s legs and nudging him backwards.
Jensen becomes aware of the press of the bed behind his knees, heartbeat stepping up its rhythm.
“This is better than anything I had planned for tonight.”
Jared pulls at the back of Jensen’s neck, tugging Jensen’s mouth up to his. The Doc is strength and want all wrapped up in a deadly package that Jensen can’t wait to put through its paces.
“That so?”
“Night before a big bust, I’m usually-”
“Wait…”
All those good feelings suddenly halt in their tracks. Jensen groans. “What now?”
“The bust is happening tomorrow?” Jared’s still up in Jensen’s space which is damn frustrating. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“’Cause I never heard you ask,” Jensen says. “What’s it matter?”
Jared looks sidelong at Mo. Jensen’s mutt is watching them, eyes round and interest piqued like he and Jared are puttin’ on a show.
“When are you-”
“About noon.” Jensen’s voice is quickly gaining an edge. “Still not seein’ where this matters.”
Jared steps back, Jensen’s fingers holding on ‘til they can’t anymore. He feels like a kid, and the toy he wants is suddenly on the other side of a glass window.
“I should let you rest or something.”
“I don’t need to rest,” Jensen says. “And I don’t want to think about the bust either. I’m not gonna sit here ponderin’ the details if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Whatever Jensen’s saying isn’t doing a damn thing to get Jared back in his arms. The Doc’s totally out of reach and lookin’ like he plans to stay that way.
“Seriously, I should go.”
Before Jensen has the sense to argue otherwise, Jared picks up his wallet and keys and backs to the door. His expression is sending mixed messages: lips kiss swollen and bitten dark, a flush making his face look all kinds of sinful, but his eyes are wary, too cautious for Jensen to think he’s got any kind of hope of turning things around.
“Good luck tomorrow,” Jared says.
“Hang on!” Jensen gets to the door as it opens and hooks Jared’s elbow. The Doc doesn’t fight but he turns back, too many feelings in his eyes for Jensen to get a handle on. Jensen puts himself way out on that proverbial limb.
“Look, Jared. I won’t make you stay, but I wanted you here tonight if it makes any difference.”
“It does,” Jared says, leaning in for another kiss that Jensen happily surrenders to. “But I’m not staying. Tomorrow, after the bust, will you stop by my office?”
“You think I’m gonna need to be patched up again?”
“I hope not,” Jared says lightly. “That might make what I’ve got planned a little less entertaining.”
“Hell.” Jensen takes a deep breath. “I take back what I said about not making you stay.”
Jared’s eyes make a slow trip down below Jensen’s belt, and he smirks. “Good luck, Ranger,” he repeats, loosely pulling away from Jensen’s hold. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mo whines when the door shuts. Jensen looks over and scowls. “Tell me about it.”
PART THREE