Chapter 1
“How far is too far,Sarge?”
Benton brushed back his graying hair.“What are you really asking me,Steven?”His drawl was smoother than Jack Daniel’s.Like so many on the Jacksonville PD,he was just a good ol’boy who’d done well.Lots of them didn’t care much for the younger,college-educated cops who came on board.Benton was always cool with me,though and he gave me this shot at high-level undercover work.Undercover was a young man’s gig;the guys over forty didn’t have much chance.
I had to know.“When you worked undercover,did you ever—sleep with a suspect?”
Benton’s gaze jerked around,some surprise on his worn features.He snapped the manila folder containing the Stalton crew’s operations file on the desk.“No,I never did.But I came close.You sleeping with one of the crew?”
If he only knew.
“No,it’s just…Things are getting kinda squirrelly.Tense,you know.”Working the Stalton gang was taking its toll on me;I hadn’t been sleeping oreating well the past month.I couldn’t stop thinking about Conrad and I couldn’t keep my focus on the job like I should.This quick meeting with my sergeant was supposed to make me feel better—not worse.
Benton clapped a hand on my shoulder.“Do what you have to,Steven.The Feds are in the case now,we can’t blow it.”
So I got the advice I needed—fuck whoever you have to in order to make the bust.
****
The bust went bad.Yeah,we had our SWAT guys,who are damn good but when you’re bogged down with DEA and FBI guys who only run a raid like this once a year,things go really wrong,really fast.Instead of waiting until dawn to move in,some bigwig Fed decided to go in during a rave.Civilians all over the place,the crew we were after tucked away in an upstairs backroom and sureenough,things got blown to shit.No civvies dead,but we took some hits,and two of Conrad’s crew got popped permanently.
I slammed up the stairs,found Conrad bending over Jason,the one of his crew who had hero-worshipped him the most.The knees of his pants were soaked with Jason’s blood,there was a bloody palm print on his white T-shirt and the look in his eyes when he saw me with a badge around my neck and a gun pointed at him…betrayal,grief,rage.
“You lying sonfabitch!”Conrad stood,hands wiping more blood onto his shirt.
“Conrad—I…”My voice cracked.Below us,the clatter of the SWAT team banged at the bottom of the stairs.Conrad flinched.“Run.”
I’ll never forget that night.
Or the night before when he lay me out on a rickety table in that room and tookme to heaven with his lips and his tongue and his hands.
Never forget.
I let him go,let him get down the fire escape,let him skip away into the night.
****
The Feds let us take the heat for the deaths,milked the media for all it was worth,then they charged the ravers they could arrest and left town.The case was closed,and I got sent back down to street units.
It took me over three months to track Conrad down.Once the Internal Affairs investigation was over,I knew my career in law enforcement was finished.Oh,they put me back on the street but I got the midnight shift in a toney part of town that never saw any action.After three weeks in a row with nothing more serious than a burglary call to an outside storage shed,I turned in my badge and my gun.
I’ll never shoot one again.
I ran the beaches for awhile,picked up some cash working the surf shops.It was fun at first,like being back in high school again.Nothing more to think about than the waves and the girls and whether I should wear the orange shortsor the green that day.
Except that I couldn’t really think about the girls.
I cruised the streets some nights to look for ravers.But the dance scene had ended once Conrad left;there was no one with the power and charisma to generate the interest,no one had stepped in to make money on raves.I did find one crew,but no one would talk to me about the Stalton team.
It was the‘net that helped me out.I got lucky in a Florida dance music chat room,found some kid who bragged a little too much about being in the scene,knew somebody who knew somebody who knew Conrad and sure enough,with some nudging from me(DanceBoy69),he dropped the dime on Conrad.
Conrad was in Tampa.
I turned in my keys to the surf shop the next day and packed for my trip.
****
My old friend Sheila was still at the bank.She was happy to plug in his card number and sure enough,his Visa spit out a cluster of purchases along Florida Avenue in the central part of the city.Gas once a week at a Mobil,groceries here and there,the liquor store once.CDs,of course,at a hip-hop store on Columbus Drive.All in a six block radius.
Once I got there,I felt the stares from the neighborhood folks.I was too white in a car that was too fancy.But Conrad would blend right in here with his caramel-toned skin and dark eyes.I wondered why he chose this part of town when the university neighborhoods would have a better music scene.
It didn’t take long to spot his souped-up Mustang at one of the motels on the strip deep in the heart of Hispanic Tampa.That was one of the things that intrigued me about him,his interest in old muscle cars.The‘stang was painted a rich metallic eggplant that looked black at night and sheened with purple sparkles in the daytime.
I parked across the street and watched the motel for an hour,telling myself Iwas just being cautious,casing the joint.In case he was working a crew in there.Told myself I was still thinking like a cop.
I was just scared shitless.
I waited until after dark,then made myself drive over.I parked next to his Mustang,picked a door and knocked fast,before I chickened out.
I wished I knew what to say to him.
He answered the door,bare-chested,work pants drooping loose over his hips like he’d just tugged them on.He was a big guy,over six feet,a solid two-ten and had shoulders about three feet wide.And that caramel skin and full as honey mouth—all the same.Just seeing him made me feel like I’d beenpunched in the stomach.
I swallowed and locked my knees.
“Who’s with you?”Conrad whispered the question.
My belly tightened and I felt my testicles crawl upwards.Fear felt like this.“What?”I could only stammer.
“I said,who’s with you,dumbfuck!The Feds?Jax PD?”
“No one!”I lifted high my palms.“I’m alone.Really.”
“I bet.”Conrad folded his arms over his chest.His deep voice rumbled,a growl like a lion’s.“Then what the hell are you doing here?”
I balled up my fists and shoved them in my pockets.I kept my gaze on him.
Don’t back away,don’t cringe.Be a man and face him.
“I needed to see you.”
“And I should care?”It probably felt good to strike back at me,if only with words.
“Conrad…”I managed a shaky breath.“Please.”
“You still a cop?”
“No.”
He just stood there,muscled arms over his smooth-skinned chest.A shoulder shrug.
I tried to speak calmly.“So,can I come in?”
“Suit yourself.”Conrad turned back into the room.
First I noticed the room smelled like Conrad.Not dirty and sweaty,just that he'd lived here long enough to make it his own.Both beds were neat,pillows were propped up on one,the outline of Conrad’s body clear on the mattress.Two pairs of work boots rested on the floor next to the TV;a few clothes dangled on the rack,shirts and pants together.Tidy.
I watched him move to the low dresser and tug out a tank top.As Conrad stretched it over his torso,our gaze met in the mirror.Conrad shifted his eyes away and pulled the shirt down.He buttoned his pants.
Conrad flicked the remote and the TV blared back on.He stretched out on the bed again,seemingly relaxed.
“Uh,can I use your bathroom?”It was all I could manage to say.
“Over there.”A dismissive hand waved towards the back of the room.
I leaned against the bathroom door once I shut it.My legs were trembling the same way they had that night in his apartment and I remember being pressed against another door,watching its hinges move as he thrust into me,feeling his fire and ice burn me.
I was glad that the fan worked.I flipped it on and just stood at the sink,looking at my face in the mirror.
What am I doing here?What can I possibly say to this man to make him forgive me?
I looked over Conrad’s toiletries carefully arranged on the sink.A damp towel hung over the shower curtain and I had to stop myself from reaching for it.
Screw this.You drove over three hundred miles—face him.