Was he that kid, running around the theatre, awash with innocence?

  Was he that kid who witnessed his father bleed out on 10th Avenue?

  Or was he that adult who would never fully sleep until he understood who had killed his father, and why?

  Was he that adult who would find out what was really going on behind the scenes of T13?

  Lost in his own world, it was only a jarring sound that snapped him back. It was a cry for help, spoken not in words but in a shudder of emotion. Jimmy leapt into action, moving from the wings to the stage, following his instincts more so than the sound which had broken his reverie. It was here in the present now, he was not that kid but a private investigator, and he’d been hired to stop the threats, and hopefully ensure nothing bad happened.

  The sight of dripping blood made him realize he hadn’t achieved his goal.

  With the ghost light situated at the edge of the stage, Jimmy was alone with shadows. That didn’t stop his feet from progressing. He’d seen a lot over the years, and he knew you never learned anything from stepping back. Life was about moving forward, even if you didn’t want to. With his heart in his throat, beating rapidly, nervously, he hoped the blood was just a remnant of the end of the play, something the stagehands had missed…

  He knew otherwise.

  Creeping forward, Jimmy emerged center stage, the leading man of his own investigation.

  He wasn’t the only person there.

  He recognized Gareth Fitzroy, but his eyes were glassy, his pretention seeped out of him.

  Along with his blood.

  He sat in his own character’s chair, a knife protruding from his torso. It had been delivered by a direct hit from behind, right through the material of the doctor’s chair and into his body…and beyond. He was dead. Not just stage dead, like Jimmy had witnessed his character suffering not less than an hour ago. The curtain had finally come down, and the case of Triskaidekaphobia had reached a new, and much more palpable, level of fear.

  PART TWO

  AN OPENING TO DIE FOR

  CHAPTER NINE

  There were days when he might not agree that it was good to be alive, not with life’s twists and its sharp pain, its brutal reality of dead bodies, but right now, in this very moment in time, Jimmy McSwain wasn’t about to complain. Outside, rain poured down, splattering against the window, the dark clouds in the sky above making the late afternoon seem like midnight. Only candlelight from inside kept his heart aglow, that, and the sexy man who stared at him across the length of the sofa.

  An empty wine bottle stood on the table in front of them; glasses remained half-full.

  Remnants of a meal, red sauce splattered on the plate, went ignored on the coffee table in front of them. Jimmy was intent on shutting out violent images.

  Nothing existed but now, the two of them, deciding to become one.

  Jimmy slid over, his lips gently brushing against Frisano’s, mouth, his chin. He liked how that felt against his skin, the sandpaper-like roughness of the man’s shadowy beard sending electricity throughout his body. Jimmy hadn’t shaved since Friday, leaving his face scruffy, a thick stubble. He heard a moan of pleasure escape Frisano, a sound meant to urge him forward. Their kisses heightened, locking them together. When Jimmy at last parted, eyes connected even more intently than their lips had. He reached out, placing his hand upon the open triangle of Frisano’s blue shirt, fingers toying with the hair poking out.

  “You feel so good,” Jimmy whispered into the flickering darkness of the room.

  “Let me show you more,” Frisano said, going for his buttons.

  “No, no, that’s for me to do.”

  Frisano’s smile was one of amused encouragement and Jimmy nearly laughed. They had both been down this seductive road before and the pleasure that awaited them was known, but still Jimmy felt his heart racing inside his own chest, threatening to explode with anticipation. He needed this, of all nights, when death pulsed with life, where hope was denied its future. Maybe they could change the way the world worked. Maybe they could shut down the fear, the violence. Let something deeper create fresh sparks in a dark universe.

  Jimmy maneuvered himself on the sofa, better positioned to unbutton the white shirt, one button at a time, a striptease that already was pushing his arousal. At last, the folds of Frisano’s shirt fell open to display the blanket of black hair that defined his muscular chest. Jimmy pulled the shirt off Frisano’s big shoulders, fully unveiling his impressive torso. Jimmy brushed the thick hair before him. He leaned down, kissed the furry space between Frisano’s pecs, breathing in his musky, masculine scent.

  “You’re ridiculously sexy,” Jimmy said, leaning upward to kiss the man.

  A man who a week ago he’d decided should not be a part of his life. Who now he needed.

  “Shall we move, you know…?” Frisano asked, his eyes darting toward the bed.

  “Just wait, just relax,” Jimmy said, and again he kissed those lips before running a tongue across his chin, to the hollow of his neck and the first taste of his lover’s chest. Jimmy hungrily sought out hard nipples beneath the forest, like tiny stones in the earth. He moved from one to the other, licking, tasting…indulging in the whorls before him. He could feel his heart continue to race, and he could feel something else pushing at it. Pushing up at him as Frisano arched his hips upward. Jimmy switched directions, his tongue leading the way down a thick furry trail. He stopped at a barrier, happily unsnapping a button. He gazed up, watching as Frisano watched him. Jimmy slid a hand beneath the line of Frisano’s jeans, feeling for the thickness waiting for him. Soon he had unleashed it, a tree reaching up from a second forest.

  Jimmy licked his lips as his eyes again met Frisano’s.

  “You don’t have to…Jim…”

  They both knew what Jimmy had been through the last couple of days. Death, blood, long interrogations with the police, having to explain his case, why no one came to the police ahead of time about the threats to the playwright. Grueling questions, awful pictures, seared memories. He wanted them gone, if only for a while. If only for this moment. Jimmy said nothing in response. He didn’t move. Time held them. But then his thoughts stopped and he knew only action would suffice. Slipping off his own shirt, feeling droplets of sweat slip through his own chest hair, he then went down. Down deep, taking all of Frisano into him.

  Thunder rumbled outside, a late summer storm blanketing the city. The rain continued to assault the sidewalks and the lone pedestrians who’d been caught unaware, soaking them to their skin, reminding them of the safety of indoors. Indoors where candlelight could produce heat or where two people could generate even more, could become one, as Jimmy and Frisano were now. Both oblivious to the strains of the storm against the closed window. Frisano’s breathing increased, so did Jimmy’s quick motions, up and down, licking and tasting, rubbing a fiery tip against his scruffy chin and eliciting a cry of surprise. Brushing the thick shaft across his chest, tickling, teasing it in his thick, brown hair. A cry of pleasure shook the room. An eruption destined to happen. Then, Jimmy was in Frisano’s arms, finding comfort in the face of continual violence. Jimmy was quiet, gently stroking Frisano’s chest, never tiring of how soft the dense fur felt.

  The candles had burned down, flames flickering toward darkness.

  “You okay?” Frisano asked.

  Jimmy nodded. “Sorry if I, I know, if you didn’t want….”

  “Hey, that was great, Jim. No complaints. I just want to be sure you did it, you know, for the right reasons.”

  Was anything done in this world for the right reason? Was sex done for the right reason? Was love? What about death? Did death have a reason to exist? Was murder ever done for the right reason? Jimmy shook these overwrought thoughts from his mind. He fought back a tear he didn’t want to show. He was tough, he’d grown up that way. He’d been forced to be tough.

  “Can I ask you something, Frank?”

  “You can ask.”

  “No guarantee of an answer, right?”

  “Cops don’t like to be questioned.”

  Just then Jimmy pulled away. Frisano tried to take him back and came up empty.

  “Don’t be a cop now.”

  “Sorry.” Frisano’s voice held remorse, but even still, words were hard to take back.

  “Do you have an ex?”

  “An ex. As in boyfriend? That was a long time ago.”

  “Why did you break up?”

  “Career or him.”

  “So you had to choose.”

  “Not me. My father chose it.”

  “Your father.”

  “Salvatore Frisano.”

  “He sounds connected,” Jimmy said.

  “You mean Lieutenant Salvatore Frisano, deputy assistant to the police commissioner, assigned to an IA task force on corruption? That father? Of course, back then he was only a captain, like me today and that came, trust me, not without his help. But in a way he did help, because to get where I am I had to squelch an important part of me. One thing Sal wasn’t happy to learn was that the son he’d earmarked for the highest ranks of the force was gay.”

  “How did he know?”

  “The usual way. He found us, in my bed. I was nineteen, first year academy. Gabriel was two years older, working to be a chef. We were tough guys from Brooklyn, both of us, no one gave our friendship a second thought. We drank beer, we watched sports and hung with the gang in the hood, girls included. We high-fived in public, just like guys are supposed to do.”

  “And in private?”

  “In private, that was where it mattered. Where I got to be myself,” Frisano said. “He was the first man I had sex with, and for a while after that, the last. You never really know someone until you invite them into your private domain, your bed. Like now. Come back to me, Jim. I opened up. How about you? Talk to me about Remy.”

  Jimmy hesitated but then relented. Frisano wasn’t a talker by nature, and he’d said more now than at any other time. Wrapped up in his strong hairy arms, Jimmy allowed himself the chance to breathe, to talk. He said, “Yeah, my ex is back in town. He’s working on the show. He’s having a fling with the playwright.” He paused, a picture developing in his mind. “I witnessed them, in the wings of the stage the other day. Doing…”

  “What you just did to me,” Frisano said. “Were you getting back at him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is that why you’re suddenly back in my life? Because of your needs? Burying pain? Do you wish that I had been your ex just now?”

  “I hope not,” Jimmy said.

  “But that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Jim, even though I chose the police force over a man, that doesn’t mean I haven’t had my share of encounters. All of them done in secret, none of them relationships in the traditional sense. It’s just sex. We all have our motives.”

  “Remy hurt me. I could never go back to that.”

  “So then forget about him. I’m here. Be with me, Jim. Forget everything.”

  “You hurt me, too.”

  “I know about hiding, Jim. But I also know about healing.”

  Jimmy suddenly kissed him, and kissed him again, their heat growing. That’s when they got up from the sofa, and they stopped and drank the last of the wine in their glasses, a gentle clink between them like an opening bell. Beside the bed they fully undressed, naked selves on display, and soon they were in each other’s arms, and soon they were entwined on the mattress, and soon they were locked in a thrilling motion of physical craving. Jimmy entered him and felt like he’d opened up the only part of himself needed, shutting out the troubles of the world for these few stolen moments of pleasure. When at last he came, the thunder cried against the dark sky and the rain poured down, but then again, those sounds might have just been happening inside Jimmy’s stormy heart.

  This was the safest place in the world right now. It couldn’t last, not in their line of work.

  “You’re staying tonight,” Frisano said in a gentle whisper of hope.

  “I can’t, Frank. My case, it’s not over. This was a much needed port in the storm.”

  “It’s still raining out.”

  “I have to face it sometime.”

  “Not yet,” Frisano said, and this time he pulled Jimmy into him and into the folds of the soft blankets, where they disappeared.

  Jimmy gave himself till midnight, a few hours away. Till time advanced, even as he was lost to the sexy beast hovering above him, kissing him, touching him, sliding into him and claiming him as his. Jimmy latched onto Frisano with sudden ferocity, his nails scraping against the furry man’s shoulders and back, relishing the dark hair that coated him and feeling the movement of every muscle as he thrust at him, a bear showing him the sunlight through the forested trees.

  § § §

  “Next stop, Cold Spring. Cold Spring, folks, five minutes.”

  Monday morning, a dark day of theatre but of course, for the new play Triskaidekaphobia they had been shut down all weekend, still reeling from the shocking murder of its leading man. Gareth Fitzroy, never a household name throughout his career, had finally achieved stardom, but never in a way had he envisioned. Rather than a Tony or a rave in the Times, Fitzroy was front page news for the city’s tabloids. Ticket sales were brisk for the show, even though a new start date had yet to be announced. The public was suddenly very much aware of a Broadway play that had been flying, some might say intentionally, under the radar.

  Jimmy McSwain continued to wonder why that was, and he’d had the last two hours to think about that nagging question as he lazily rode Metro North’s rails outside of New York City and into Putnam Country. It was closing in on noon. Jimmy was told that Wellington Calloway’s limousine would be waiting for him at the train station, where he would then be whisked into the countryside to the Calloway’s family estate. The trip wasn’t a surprise, since Welly had invited him up when they spoke on the phone Sunday morning, after Jimmy’s latest round of questions with the cops of Midtown North regarding Fitzroy’s death. It’s one of the reasons Jimmy didn’t spend the night with Frisano, no matter how much he might have wanted. Frisano was one of the reasons Jimmy didn’t go upstate immediately after being summoned. He needed a day to clear his head. So after spending the night in his own bed and waking to the smells of eggs and bacon, he had breakfast with his mother and enjoyed the moment of normalcy.

  The Case of Casey Crais came roaring back, though, the moment the train pulled into the station, guiding its cars alongside the long platform. The stop was announced again and Jimmy grabbed his overnight bag—since he’d been told to prepare to stay—and detrained onto a lovely late summer’s day. Fall was just days away. He could smell the fresh fragrance in the air that the storm had awakened. The languid waters of the Hudson River lazed to his left as he headed down the stairs. A familiar black limo was idling, and as soon as Jimmy approached Markson stepped out.

  “Mr. Calloway will see you at the house,” he said.

  Which translated to mean Jimmy had the rear seat to himself. He settled in and watched as they drove through a charming downtown area filled with rustic buildings and small cafes, but soon they were on the open road, the limo stretching out its wheels as it climbed a winding hill. A house could be seen in the distance, rising up above the trees. The Hudson remained a constant as they arrived at their destination. Through iron gates with gray cement sentries, the limo took the final curves of the roadway until it emerged onto the circular drive and came to a halt. The door was opened and Jimmy got out, standing and admiring a house he’d heard about but had never been to. It was made of stone, and rose up three stories, two wings shooting off the main structure. It was impressive, more a fortress than house. For a moment he wondered why no moat while imagining one would come with alligators. Several cars were already parked under a portico. A full house, perhaps Tristan and Isolde were among them, and that’s when his mental image of a deadly, tooth-filled grin became reality. Emerging from the front door was none other than Tristan Calloway, dressed casually in bathing trunks and a towel around tanned shoulders. He still wore that supercilious smile.

  “Ah, McSwain. Uncle Welly mentioned you were coming up. Collecting a final check?”

  Jimmy wasn’t going to take the bait. “I’m surprised to see you, Tristan. On a Monday?”

  “It’s too lovely a day for the office, one of summer’s last hurrahs,” he said.

  Just then a woman stepped out from behind the rhododendron, a shapely form in a barely there bikini. “Don’t listen to him. He’s not working because it’s his birthday, and he never wants to work on that day. Isn’t that the truth, Tristan?” The woman, who had thick, ginger-colored hair and pouty lips to match, extended a hand. “Hello, I’m Gracie Moore.”

  “Jimmy McSwain, a pleasure.”

  “I’ve heard about you. Are you really a private eye?”

  “That’s what my license says. I tend to believe it.”

  “Ooh, he even talks like one. I do hope you’ll join us at the pool for a swim.”

  “I think I’ve got business to attend to with Mr. Calloway. Welly.”

  “It’s an awful business,” Gracie said.