Love had its own plan. Complications only made the bond stronger.

  “Frank…oh, oww…fill me, don’t stop…”

  He didn’t. Frisano pounded him, his thick cock rushing at Jimmy with the enthusiasm of finding a missing friend. Jimmy wanted to embrace him, to be part of him and remember what they felt, what they wanted, what existed between them. Jimmy felt every thrust, welcomed them, all while he ran his hands over Frisano’s chest. Damn, it was the hairiest he’d ever felt. Way thicker than his own. It was dark, thick, a pelt that had Jimmy coming close to orgasm. Another look into those deep, piercing eyes of Frisano’s brought him to his moment.

  “Oh…oh, shit.”

  Jimmy erupted. He exhaled. He grabbed for breath. All while staring at Frisano.

  “Sorry, too soon?”

  Frisano pumped at him again, again, again, saying no, no, no, and then he delivered on his own powerful release. Jimmy felt it, grabbed a tight hold of Frisano as he shot his load. Back hair in his grasp, Jimmy felt every drop, every pulse. Wanted it all. He’d missed this. He’d missed sex. What he’d most missed was Frisano.

  Frisano pulled out, rolled over, let out a deep breath.

  He’d earned that.

  This had maybe been their best sex ever. Because it mattered. A reconnection given fresh life. Jimmy slid beside Frisano, his hands brushing at Frisano’s chest, dragging a finger down his trail. Then back up, a steady rhythm. Silence enveloped them, the room, no words needed at the moment. What wasn’t said had more impact than any words could have. The kiss they shared said even more.

  Jimmy laid next to Frisano, kind of unbelieving over what had just happened.

  Three months ago, their relationship had been ripped apart. They had never truly spoken of it. The Why. Not until this case had pushed them together. But what did tonight mean? Right now, Jimmy wanted to experience life on hold. Except with Frisano. He wanted Frisano again. He felt a stirring within him. He noticed the same from Frisano, too. Jimmy leaned in, ran his hand across the dark beard. Again, it was thicker than his. As sexy as it was, maybe he’d grown it as a way to hide himself. From what he’d done, career-wise, romantic-wise.

  Jimmy thought of his own beard. Had he done the same?

  He kissed Frisano. Felt that he had words on his lips.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  That was the thing about their relationship. It had always been one of versatility.

  “Frank, we don’t have to…”

  Frisano rose off the bed, took hold of Jimmy’s hand. “I’m feeling sweaty.”

  It was moments later when they entered the shower, the hot spray doing nothing to quell the heat between them. Frisano positioned himself, hands planted against the white tile. Soap ran off his body, almost like a lubricant. Jimmy kissed Frisano’s neck, felt the damp hair of his chest. It fed his urges. He was hard, he was ready, and in seconds he was locked with Frisano with a power that owned them.

  He thrust.

  He fucked.

  He felt a swoon inside his mind as he realized not only what he was doing, but who.

  Unable to blot out the past, he thought back to their first time, their next time, next, next, but what he was left with, as he thrust into Frisano, was the idea of Frisano and the young man named Elliot, wondering how it had happened, and whether it was more about Elliot or Frisano, and what that next morning felt like. Regret always looked darker in the morning.

  Passion fed him. Anger did, too. Love did. Jimmy thrust Frisano against the tiles harder. He cried out, wanting it, wishing it, willing it. Jimmy knew his release was coming. Water spraying him, dousing him, he clung to Frisano’s strong shoulders. Hairy, wet, an attraction feeding both of them.

  “Jim, don’t stop…ever. How you feel…”

  But Jimmy would have to stop, because his passion bubbled over. Frisano turned him on so much, there was an inevitable end to their physicality. But not their connection, because soon they were wrapped in towels around their waists, finding their way to the soft sofa. They needed a break from sex, from heat. They each knew they needed words now. What did this all mean?

  Frisano opened a bottle of wine. A Cabernet Sauvignon. Jimmy took the glass. A sip.

  “You trying to get me drunk?”

  “I’ve already had my way with you. As did you.”

  “It’s not even midnight,” Jimmy said.

  Silence hit them. Not one of comfort, but a sense that after their physical reunion, it was time to address the emotional component.

  Frisano started. Simple words. “I’m sorry.”

  “Frank, I get it. I mean, I think I get. I had all summer to think about it…about us.”

  Frisano took hold of Jimmy’s hand. If they were going to talk about this, it was important to retain the connection which had enveloped them. Jimmy took it, felt its warmth. He recognized a genuineness. He hoped he sent off the same vibe.

  “That case. The hate crime against Elliot and Grayson. That Grayson died. All they were doing was being themselves, loving each other openly and honestly. I guess I had trouble wrapping my mind around…well, how comfortable they were with each other. With being gay. You know I’ve struggled with that, maybe because of my job, maybe because of my family—ha, my father—but ultimately, maybe because of my own fears. I didn’t know how to be myself.”

  “Frank, you always knew who you were. You were just worried about what people thought of you.”

  “You never did, Jimmy.”

  “Hey, after my father was killed, I had so many truths to admit to. The gay thing, that was the least. I had my mother to worry about, my sisters. I had to be strong. And I had a murderer to find—which I eventually did. What did it matter that I was attracted to men instead of women? So long as you know how to love.”

  Frisano leaned in, pressed his lips against Jimmy’s. It wasn’t a quick one, it lingered, like a mirror of their words. Above love.

  “That was nice,” Jimmy said.

  “There can be more.”

  “That sounds ambivalent. Like you’re putting this…us, on hold.”

  “We have a case to solve. Then we’ll be free.” Frisano rubbed Jimmy’s hand. “You’ll be free.”

  “Of Wu-Tin.”

  “Of what he did to your family. To Mallory.”

  “She’s trying to come back to work.”

  “Which means she gets rid of that annoying Brenden Hendricks.”

  Jimmy sat silent, his tongue caught in his mouth. Frisano offered up a conspiratorial smile. “You think you’re the only detective in this apartment? I know all about your other case, and I also know that the man who hired you and who you slept with is the prime suspect in a murder. I gotta say, Jimmy, where you’re mad, you make bad choices.”

  “I saw Brenden tonight,” Jimmy said.

  “And that’s why you’re here. I know.”

  “How?”

  “I like to go to Paddy’s Pub, too. He pours a mean Guinness.”

  Jimmy could have reacted any which way. Anger, pissed off, betrayed, spied upon. Except tonight, this moment, this exchange, had its own power and effect. So he chose to embrace a rarely seen whimsical nature.

  “You know what they say about Guinness?” he asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “It puts hair on your chest.”

  Still just dressed in a towel, shirtless, Frisano said, “Well, I must have had a keg.”

  They found themselves back on the bed. Jimmy welcomed him and wished this magical night would never end. Because when the sun came up, so did reality. Mr. Wu-Tin’s finale awaited them, knowing they knew his plan to eliminate the last evidence of his operation. His staff. And in the process, do away with Jimmy. Why did Jimmy feel so relaxed then in this moment? He had a bounty on his head, but right now he was secure.

  He fell asleep in Frisano’s strong arms after another round of intense lovemaking. Life was starting to move beyond the clouds. Nothing was insurmountable. Villains would meet their ends because the good guys were more determined.

  Jimmy stirred at six that next morning, finding an empty bed. A text message had awakened him.

  Wondering where Frisano was, wondering who was reaching out to him.

  “Frank?”

  From the bathroom, Frank said, “Be there soon.”

  Jimmy checked his text. Brenden.

  “I’ve been arrested for murder. I need you to prove my innocence.”

  Two men, two sets of issues. Crime, justice, sex, manipulation and regret, they all found Jimmy this morning. He didn’t know what he would do.

  Frisano emerged from the bathroom. He looked different, but yet, the man Jimmy McSwain had grown to know.

  “You shaved your beard.”

  “I wanted to see the real me again. I think I like him, finally.”

  “I think I do, too. Just don’t do anything with that chest.”

  Frisano came to him, kissed him. “I’m all yours.”

  Jimmy pushed every trouble out of his mind. Just this man lived here. He proceeded to let Frisano know how much he liked him. It took a while.

  * * * *

  Showered, kind of exhausted but kind of exhilarated and maybe a bit confused, Jimmy hit the hard streets of Manhattan with a decision looming over him. It was a conflict of two cases, and which of them mattered more?

  Well, of course the Wu-Tin investigation was foremost in his mind. It was personal.

  But wasn’t the Portnoy case, too? Even though he’d quit, but damn if Brenden’s text hadn’t exposed an inner desire in him to see it through. If it meant proving that the man who’d hired him, and slept with, was a cool killer, the truth would win. Detective Selfridge wouldn’t have arrested him if he didn’t have some kind of proof. Or was it a fake-out to smoke out the real murderer? He wasn’t sure if that’s how a cop’s mind worked. He knew that’s how a private detective thought. Suspicion reigned.

  He arrived at the Harrison Police Station just after ten in the morning. Not even sure what his goal was. Prove Brenden innocent, or help in his conviction? He felt it was wrong, as he was a material witness. Except he felt an obligation to himself—could he have misjudged Brenden, and was what happened between them really about them? Or about Frisano?

  Solve the murder first.

  Deal with Wu-Tin.

  The heart could wait.

  Through the glass doors he went, where the man at the desk eyed him with a wary look.

  “May I help you?”

  “A client of mine is here…he’s been arrested.”

  Jimmy read the nametag. Jones. Kinda boring, fit with the way he spoke. “You a lawyer?”

  “I work for his law firm.”

  “Which means you’re not. I can smell a private detective like a dog could.”

  “Tell Detective Selfridge that Jimmy Mc—”

  “No need, I can see for myself,” Selfridge said with a tug of his mustache. “Figured you’d show up.”

  “That’s what makes you a detective.”

  “Jones, I’ll take this from here. McSwain, follow me.”

  Jimmy was nothing if not compliant, and so he trailed back along the corridors into the same interrogation room he’d visited just a few days ago. He looked around at the drab décor.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  “Are all private eyes smart asses?”

  “We have to take a course.”

  A frown appeared, so did the business at hand. “I guess you were Hendricks’ one call?”

  “You get me, I can send out a lot of messages to others.”

  “And did you?”

  “I’m waiting for more information. What’s going on?”

  “Look, McSwain, you seem like a decent guy. But you’ve got no authority here. I’m really not allowed to share the details of the case. Especially considering your, uh…involvement.”

  “You mean because I’m Brenden’s alibi.”

  “Partial alibi.” Jimmy gazed forward, eyes focused. “Why’d you arrest him?”

  “Because of all the guests at the dinner, he had the means, certainly the motive. The weapon he used.”

  “Sounds like a game of Clue.”

  “That’s all I’m saying. Like I told you, you have no authority. A PI?”

  Jimmy reached into his pocket and he pulled out his NYPD badge. It laid between the two men like a beacon. Selfridge stared at it, almost out of respect. When he looked back up, he said, “What’s going on?”

  “Just letting you know I’m a fully deputized member of the NYPD, on special assignment. Mr. Hendricks is a resident of Manhattan, and so thusly, I’ve been charged with acting as a liaison between your department…and his rights.” It was all bullshit, and Jimmy suspected that Selfridge knew it. But he put the final stamp on his claim when he said, “Just call Deputy Commissioner Salvatore Frisano. He’s at One Police Plaza. And he likes me.”

  “I’ve already done that before. Why are you really here?”

  “Well, I want to talk to Brenden. Then make sure he has proper legal representation. I’m guessing he had a hearing this morning?”

  “Thirty minutes from now.”

  “He have a lawyer?”

  “He works for a high-powered law firm in the city. Didn’t you make a call on his behalf?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He’s a lawyer himself. I think he can handle his hearing.”

  Just then the intercom buzzed. He excused himself, not wanting to reveal to Jimmy what was going on. Exiting the room, it gave Jimmy a breather to figure out his next step. How much was the detective willing to share? What evidence did they have that tied Brenden to the murder? He’d had two, three minutes tops. Which meant the murder would have been fast, brutal, cruel. Did the man he’d slept with have such dark tendencies?

  Selfridge returned two minutes later, and it turned out, he wasn’t alone.

  The first thing he heard was a bark. His head turned, and that’s when he saw Shade.

  And his sister Mallory, Selfridge giving them both first entry into the room.

  “Mal? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here for my client,” she said.

  She entered the room, hesitant on her feet but still the best Jimmy had seen her in months. Perhaps the hunt of the law gave her purpose. Gently sliding into the chair, Shade kept watch over her. Tongue wagging, but protective.

  “Detective Selfridge, with all due respect, could you give my sister and I a moment?”

  The NYPD badge was still on the table. Acting with authority, and so Selfridge bowed out.

  “How did you know? I thought Brenden only called me.”

  “Streb has connections. He asked, since I was fairly nearby, could I handle the hearing.”

  “So it’s official, you’re back to work?”

  “You don’t seem happy about that, Jimmy.”

  “Mal, you know I want the best for you. I want you to be fully healthy.”

  “And my job will help with that. I’m fine.” She pet her dog. “Right, Shade? Look, Jim, for now, today, I’m going to help Brenden get bail, and then he can start building his defense. I’m not sure I’ll be the lead attorney for the trial, because, well, there is a conflict of interest. It could get messy. But before we get there, let me ask you: do you think he killed his mother?”

  He thought before he answered. Thinking of when he first met Brenden, his aggressive nature. Both in business and with sex. His take no no for an answer approach to life. He had an energy that Jimmy doubted would have forced him to do what he was accused of. But then again, there was a devious side to him. He’d lied to Jimmy about his real connection to the Portnoy case. Was it self-preservation or self-determination?

  Jimmy realized he hadn’t spoken for a bit, answering her question first in his head.

  “No,” Jimmy finally said. “What he and I had just, uh, done, is not what one does before a person kills someone. I mean, how could he have planned that? It would have had to have been done in a meticulous execution.”

  “So, if he’s innocent, who killed her?”

  “That’s for Selfridge to find out,” Jimmy said. “I quit the case yesterday.”

  “Yet you’re here.”

  Yeah, he was.

  “Mal, I was getting ready to leave and let Brenden deal with this himself.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m here for you. Let’s get to this hearing, and then I’ll get you home to Hester.”

  “I’m not going back there, Jimmy. Today I move back to the city.”

  That discussion would have to wait, as Selfridge returned, Brenden in tow. In handcuffs. It was time for them to head to the Westchester County Courthouse. Mallory (and Shade) followed, with Jimmy taking up the rear. He made eye contact with Brenden, but neither offered up words. What was there to say? Jimmy felt the badge in his pocket. It had more weight to it as he headed toward a courtroom.

  Jimmy sat in the gallery seats, while Mallory and Brenden sat behind the defense table. A pretty, tall woman with dark hair and a dark suit and focused eyes sat on the prosecutor’s side. To say she looked formidable was an understatement. Jimmy supposed you had to be in this profession. He observed Mallory. She had a similar sensibility. Battle lines had been drawn. Even though, the ultimate judgment came from on high. The judge’s bench. It was here that justice, even in the early stage of this case, would be served.

  “All rise,” a bailiff said. “Judge Amy Cummings presiding.”

  They did. Jimmy watched as Mallory grabbed hold of the back of her chair, to steady her, even as the judge settled behind her desk. A rap of her gavel got the proceedings going. Its sound was almost like the start of a prize fight, or maybe a horse race. Knowing here was the opening gambit of a game with high stakes. This was murder. This was the future.

  He stole a look around the courtroom. Vibrant drapes against wide windows, the pews—to put a church spin on it uncomfortable. The columns, the images of justice, the flag, and unseen, the notion that honor lived here. A pursuit of doing what was right. Lawyers could argue, judges would rule and juries would decide. Jimmy hoped to never be in such an environment, especially in the role now being played by Brenden Hendricks.