On The Line

Chapter 12: High Noon





“What are you doing?”

“Giving my friend Daphne a tour of your house.”

“This isn’t the White House. George Washington hasn’t slept here.”

“He’s the only guy who hasn’t.”

Brian and Justin, QaF, Season 1

 

The mail arrived the next day. When the UPS guy put the small packet on Sergeant O’Neill’s desk, it looked completely normal and was just one among six that were delivered the very same morning.



Patrick O’Neil had joined the police just like his father had. His two brothers were cops, as was his one sister. Their grandfather had left Ireland in 1925 because in 1924 he had fallen in love with the daughter of an English soldier and neither family looked favorably on their affair. So Donal O’Neil had packed his few possessions, the woman he loved and made for better shores in the one land that wouldn’t ask where his wife came from or if she and her father spoke perfect Oxford English.



Donal had worked hard, and in 1932, right in the middle of the great depression, he bought a butcher shop from an Italian guy who had gone bankrupt. His business thrived from there. Unfortunately, neither of his sons had shown any interest in the business, so he sold it and moved to Florida with his wife at the age of 73.



Patrick himself had another good six years as a police officer in him, he guessed. He didn’t do street duty anymore, was instead perfectly happy with his desk job. Everyone had to come past him. He liked to talk to people, liked to have little chats, loved to gossip and get the best news before anyone else. And he enjoyed his daily conversations with the UPS guy, whose name was Omar. His parents had come from Saudi Arabia, but Omar was a New York native, he was a Yankees’ fan and always wore a smile on his face.



He didn’t smile when he came in that morning.



“Omar,” O’Neil greeted him. “How is the wife?” He had never met Omar’s wife, but Omar talked about her or their two boys often.



“She is very well, thank you,” Omar said stiffly and O’Neill felt his gut react instantly.



“Is everything alright, Omar?”



The dark eyes skipped to the left for a split second, and the young man licked his lips nervously.



“Tell me what’s wrong, my friend?” O’Neill encouraged.



A laugh that was as false as the boobs of today’s supermodels tore from Omar’s throat. “Everything is just fine. Just fine.” The young man placed all packages on the desk and O’Neill almost missed the crumpled piece of paper Omar handed him with the signing device.



I need help. Someone has my boy and is threatening to hurt him.



The words needed a moment to register in O’Neill’s mind, but when they did, he forced himself to keep his cool. His eyes met Omar’s and he nodded almost imperceptibly. He saw Omar take a shaky breath, before he turned and left the station. The moment he was gone, O’Neill took a deep breath and then ran as fast as he hadn’t for at least twenty years.



+++



“Oh my God.”



Edward saw the young woman he only knew as Christine go even paler than she already was. She swallowed hard, obviously fighting her reflex to throw up.



“The guy is a sadistic bastard,” Michael said, his voice grim, his jaw set.



“We already knew that.” Karen was pale too, but she was looking better now than an hour ago when O’Neil had brought the package to Phillips’ office.



“We need an identification.” Phillips seemed to be the only one unaffected by the whole thing. Or maybe he was just a good actor. Some people were simply better at hiding emotions. Unfortunately Edward had never quite mastered that class. “I already called the ME’s office. They’re sending someone over to pick it up.”



Edward ran a still unsteady hand through his hair. “Does that happen often?” he asked, not sure why he felt the need to speak. He had seen his share of gruesome things, but somehow this case was truly freaking him out. And not only because he still felt that very stupid attraction for a closeted asshole who would just as well wring his neck if he made another move. Which he wouldn’t. Goodness gracious, he’d rather cut his own balls off.



“Not really,” Phillips said dryly. “I can’t remember ever having a little finger delivered to my desk before. What about you, Patrick?”



“No, Sir,” the Sergeant replied grimly. “But at least Omar’s boy is back safely. Too bad the kid couldn’t give us a better description of his captor.”



Karen made a face. “A guy in a clown’s mask. Great.”



“The kid is okay, that’s something.” Michael clenched his jaw. Edward could see muscles in his face work as if he was trying very hard to keep himself from exploding. “And something about the voice was – not quite familiar, but still…” He shook his head. “Shit.”



“One thing is certain. The guy has changed his MO.” Karen rubbed her nape. “He never sent us any body parts before. He never tried to contact us. And now he’s done both.” She stopped and looked at her partner, “I wonder why he called you, though.”



“Maybe he’s in love with me,” Michael snapped. “How the fuck should I know? Maybe he only had my number. What does it matter?”



“Too bad he called from a disposable cell phone.” Christine was a little less pale, but her freckles were still a stark contrast to her almost translucent skin. “At least we have the recording of his call.” She shot Michael a look, then her gaze turned on Edward. “Maybe you are the new player in this. He changed his MO the moment you turned up on the scene.”



“Good thought, Detective Givens.” Phillips gave his youngest officer a smile. “And quick acting, too.”



She blushed a little. “It was nothing. I think we should find out if there is a connection to Edward.”



The man in question felt his brows go up when all eyes were suddenly on him. “Don’t look at me! I have no bloody clue why the guy turned up when I did.” He was psychic, sure, but no quack who read in a crystal ball.



“Fess up, Edward. Show us the skeletons in your closet.” Karen tried for humor, but it failed miserably while the little finger that might or might not have once belonged to Nicholas Harcourt’s right hand was still on the desk.



Edward was saved from an answer by a knock at the door. A young Asian-American woman peeked inside. At Phillips’ nod, she entered fully. “Hey. I’m here to pick up the finger.”



“Thank you, Miss Liu.” Phillips smiled at her and Edward once again admired the guy’s way to deal with people. He was cool, and seemed always in charge. He made people in his vicinity feel safe. There was no doubt about it. The man was a born leader.



He was also more than fuckable – but that was just a side note and Edward instantly squished the idea. Here was neither time nor place to have these kinds of thoughts. Still, that silent aura of power was extremely attractive.



The woman from the ME’s office picked up the small package and with another smile left the office.



“She will get back to us as soon as possible,” Phillips said as soon as she was out. “Miss Liu is very thorough and very effective.” An almost fatherly pride shone in is eyes and Edward wondered what kind of connection there was between the young woman and the Lieutenant. Or maybe there was none, maybe that was just Phillips’ way to interact with the younger members of his precinct. Whatever it was – it seemed very effective.



“I wonder if he cut off the finger while the victim was awake,” Detective Givens mused, scratching her head at the same time.



“It would fit his profile,” Michael replied, his face showing all the disgust he felt. Edward could relate. “Fuck. Is it wrong to wish I could put a bullet between his eyes?” Michael asked, talking to nobody in particular.



“I’d rather tie him up.” Karen’s eyes were narrowed. “Then I’d pour honey over him and let a few thousands fire ants loose.”



Edward almost grinned then. “You have a real cruel streak,” he whispered as he stood next to her. “Does it make me a sick person when I say I like the idea?”



Karen gave him a tight smile.



Phillips cleared his throat. “Detective Hamilton. What did you find out at the Cuthbert’s?”



Edward listened to her quickly reporting what had happened at Ellen Cuthbert’s house, before she turned to the husband. “Steve Cuthbert was very open with us. He is incredibly guilt-stricken. He must have lost forty pounds or so. I barely recognized him. He told us that he despises himself for going along with all of his wife’s wishes.”



The man was in his forties but had looked as if he were sixty years old. Grief sometimes did that to you, Edward knew, but with Steve Cuthbert, it hadn’t just cost him years, it had also taken his career and his wife.



“He gave up his job,” Karen went on. “At the moment he’s living off the money he saved over the years. He also put their house on the market, which, given the current economy, is probably a mistake, but he doesn’t seem to care.”



“He agreed to send his son to a church camp,” Edward inserted, because he felt it needed to be said.



“So?” Michael looked puzzled. “Singing at the camp fire, running around in the bushes. That says fun to me.”



“It wasn’t that kind of camp.” Edward met Phillips’ gaze. “You know what I’m talking about.”



“I could guess,” the Lieutenant replied, his face grave. “But I’d rather not.” He sighed. “Robin Cuthbert was a gay teen,” he explained to Michael. “Some parents still think that you can change that by sending them to camps where certain people work them through a program.”



“Oh God.” Christine Givens had a hand over her mouth, looking shocked. Sergeant O’Neill on the other hand didn’t show any kind of reaction.



Edward let his gaze wander to Michael, and was surprised to see honest horror on his face. Michael licked his lips. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaken. He cleared his throat. “So, the mother decided on the camp and the father went with it?”



“Yes,” Edward said. Something strange was happening in his gut at seeing Michael Castellani like this. It was easier to deal with the jerk, but this Michael, this vulnerable, compassionate man – he was the one who had found his way underneath Edward’s skin. He was the one Edward was harboring secret fantasies about.



“Son of a bitch,” Michael cursed and turned away, his shaky hand combing through his hair. For a moment Edward felt the urge to reach out and touch him, to soothe his turmoil - to just be close.



He didn’t though. He stayed rooted on the spot, knowing that he didn’t have the right and that Michael would probably hit him if he tried.



The phone on Phillips’ desk rang a few minutes later.



“Yes?” the man answered. “Miss Liu. That was fast. I see,” he looked up, his eyes meeting Edward’s. “Okay. Thank you for getting back to me so quickly.” He put the receiver down and took a deep breath. “That was the lab. They can’t give us any identification yet, but,” he paused for a heartbeat, “the finger was cut off while the person was still alive.”



+++



Edward was bone-deep tired when he stepped out of the elevator. He wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower, if possible followed by several hours of uninterrupted sleep.



“Hello, Edward.”



Seeing Xavier sitting on a suitcase in front of his door hadn’t played a part in his plans for the coming night.



Xavier DuPont looked exactly the way Edward remembered him. His mocha-colored skin shone in the light of the lamp. His body was perfectly toned, his legs long and slim, just the way they had always been. Edward had never forgotten how it felt when Xavier wrapped them around him and …



“What are you doing here?” he asked, making sure his voice sounded extra annoyed.



“I was worried,” Xavier said simply. “You sounded awful on the phone.”



Edward’s brows came up. “Worried? What caused this sudden spur of conscience?”



Xavier’s expression darkened. “That’s not fair. You know I always cared for you. I didn’t leave because I stopped lo-- I mean. You know exactly why I left.”



That he did. Edward sighed and indicated the suitcase with a nod. “What about that?”



Xavier shrugged. “You know me. Clothes travel where I do.”



Edward had to grin. That much was true. Edward liked clothes. But Xavier adored them. Edward had once asked him if maybe clothes were his one true love – and then had barely managed to duck from a flying boot.



“You look so tired.” Xavier was suddenly very close and Edward could smell his scent, the cologne he always wore. And he could feel the touch of those slightly calloused fingers on his face. “I missed you,” Xavier murmured. “God, I missed you.”

Maybe on another day, maybe if he were a better man, he would have shoved Xavier away, would have told him that this had no future, that he was through with people who left him just because things got a little rough.



But not tonight.



Edward was tired. He was empty. And he felt so fucking desperate for human contact, he couldn’t have pushed Xavier away if his life had depended on it.



Before he could say something stupid, like I missed you, too Edward pulled Xavier close and before either of them could utter another word, he thrust his tongue into the familiar warmth.



Xavier had always been an enthusiastic lover, and he didn’t disappoint now either. He always gave as good as he got, melting his body to Edward’s, his hard cock an unmistakable sign of his arousal.



“We should-“ Edward began, walking toward his door while fumbling with one hand for his key. He pushed Xavier’s back against it, and swallowed the resulting moan in his mouth.



He finally managed to get the door open and they more stumbled than walked inside, their mouths still fused, their bodies like one as they moved toward the bed. Somewhere in the back of Edward’s mind it registered that Xavier had kicked the door shut, but only for a split second, because all his concentration was on Xavier, on the way his body gyrated, the way he smelled, the noises he made.



“Too … many … clothes,” Xavier murmured, tearing at Edward’s shirt. His jacket was already gone, Edward realized, but he couldn’t have cared less. And Xavier was right – they both were most definitely overdressed.



Thank God they both were experts in undressing each other, so the clothes were gone in mere seconds, right before the back of Edward’s legs hit the bed and he fell with Xavier’s familiar weight on top of him.



“God, fuck me, Edward. Fuck me!”



The words were said on a mere groan. Xavier reached behind them, his sure fingers finding condom and lube. Then he rolled it on Edward’s dick, and slicked it up.



“Just be still,” he commanded and slowly, but steadily lowered himself on Edward’s erection. The tightness of Xavier’s ass was almost too much to take. He’d always loved fucking Xavier, but tonight it seemed different somehow, as if their separation had heightened Edward’s senses. He seemed to feel every little squirm, every push, every movement until Xavier sat fully on him, a sultry grin playing around his luscious lips. They looked bruised and swollen from their previous kissing. Edward wouldn’t have minded to feel them on his cock, but this – this was so much better.



His eyes met Xavier’s and he knew they both felt the same.



“I almost shagged this cop,” Edward said when Xavier rose a little, then sank down again, a low moan finding its way past those fuckable lips.



He saw Xavier’s eyes close for a moment. When they opened again they were even darker than usual. “Closet - ed?” he asked.



“Hmmm,” Edward murmured and pushed upward a little, needing the connection. Fuck, Xavier was so tight. So good. So good. “More,” he said. “Faster.”



Xavier grinned and did just that, moving up and down and up and down, meeting Edward’s thrusts with his movements. It was almost frenzied by then, hard and rough and both of them were groaning, sweat pouring down their bodies, slicking them. Edward reached out and took hold of Xavier’s cock, jerking him off with the same urgency, willing him to come.



He did. He came with a low, keening sort of noise, spurting on Edward’s chest, on his own, coating them both. Xavier’s hole clenched, turning the hold on the cock inside even tighter, for a moment keeping Edward from coming as well. But then Xavier rose again and Edward felt his gut tighten, felt his balls draw up and release. He closed his eyes, arched his upper body and neck, pressing the back of his head against the pillow. The very same moment Xavier grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers, pressing down hard, then slumping down on him, his breathing fast and shallow, still keeping Edward in his body.



“I missed this,” Xavier’s mouth whispered wetly, his lips grazing Edward’s ear. “Nobody fucks like you.”



Edward felt a chuckle bubble up. Xavier joined him and shifted, so that Edward’s cock slipped from his body. He reached behind him, pulled the condom off and put it next to the bed.



“I needed that,” Edward admitted, touching Xavier’s face. “Thanks.”



Xavier smiled. “Being with you was never the problem.”



Edward felt like crying. It had to be the emotional overload, he decided. He swallowed the tears and smiled back instead. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”



He fell asleep with the same smile on his face and the warm body of the man in his arms he had once imagined he would spend the rest of his life with.



+++



Edward woke up later that night, feeling a little stiff but sated and his whole body still tingling from the amazing sex. It was dark in his apartment and all he could make out were shadows. He frowned when his searching hands came up empty. Xavier usually slept like a log, and not finding him in bed was unusual; but maybe he was sitting on the couch wondering why the fuck he had come here.



With a sigh, Edward rose from the bed, then almost fell on his face when he stumbled over something on the ground.



“Fuck,” he muttered, reaching for the light switch. “Xavier, dammit. Why do you always have to let your stuff lie around so that other –“ The words died on his lips when the light came on and he found himself staring down into the empty eyes of Xavier DuPont.



To be continued …