Page 24 of Darkness

The gray-haired guard sporting a walrus mustache gestured toward a tray under the vent. “IDs, please.”

Fuck. Morrisey should’ve left them out. He dug into his wallet for proof of his existence. The guard’s bored once-over clearly projected, not impressed.

"I'm here to meet with Agent Austen," Morrisey said, managing a passably sincere smile, although the expression made his head hurt. While more accomplished than Captain Gaskins at facial expressions, not having much to smile about lately left Morrisey badly in need of practice.

He slipped his information inside the tray, then watched the tray retract with rapt attention.

The guard examined the badge and license, then slid them back through the tray. He lifted the handset on his desk phone. Morrisey couldn’t understand the words, but the brief smile at the end offered reassurance. He occupied himself returning his IDs to his wallet.

A buzz and click announced a lock disengaging, and a slender blond man opened the door. Whoa! Was this an FBI agent? Damn! So unexpected. Most agents Morrisey had met paled in comparison to how TV showed them. This man? This man left the handsome actors gasping in the dirt.

“Detective James? Glad you could come. Follow me, please.” The man shook Morrisey’s hand. Electricity zinged between them from the palm-to-palm contact. Morrisey couldn’t pull away if he’d tried. “I’m Agent Farren Austen,” the blond vision announced.

Sincerity, with underlying sorrow and a double helping of loneliness.

Golden blond curls framed flawless pale skin on an oval face, guileless wide blue eyes down-turned somewhat at the corners, and a generous mouth some might think wide, but that seemed to suit this stunning Adonis. The man's suit perfectly fit his slight body, accentuating all the body parts Morrisey believed should be accentuated: broad shoulders and a trim waist. When Austen turned, Morrisey added a firm, rounded ass to the list of attributes. The man couldn’t be taller than five feet ten.

Wait a minute! Morrisey stopped in his tracks. "You were at the scene the night..."

Farren Austen flashed a megawatt smile. “Under the circumstances, I’m flattered you remembered me. You were quite… distracted.”

Absolutely no chance of Morrisey forgetting. “I’ve got some pretty odd memories of that night, but you, I remember.”

Austen led Morrisey to a bank of elevators. Most had only “Up” buttons. Austen stopped at the last one, pressing “Down.” Down? What little Morrisey had found about the building hadn’t mentioned sub-levels.

“After you.” Austen gestured in Morrisey's direction as the doors opened. Two men stepped off.

Morrisey jerked back, slapping a hand onto the wall for support. His heart raced. The men stared, as did Morrisey. For a split second in time, he swore he saw…

Austen and the two men exchanged knowing glances. “C’mon,” Austen said, “being late won’t put us on the boss’s good side.”

Morrisey got into the elevator, heart pounding a rapid staccato beat. His stomach dropped at the sudden plunge downward. How many damned subfloors were there? The buttons gave no sign. The barest hint of cologne emanated from Austen, something clean and crisp, reminding Morrisey that he’d forgotten to put any on. He possibly overlooked deodorant, too. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be here too long—or sweat too profusely.

“Do you like movies, Detective?” Austen’s manner remained casual, yet some hidden meaning lurked in the words.

Morrisey used to snuggle up in a blanket with Craig, watching movies on Netflix—or not watching movies. Sometimes they switched to porn channels. Chances were, Austen meant nothing with “Do Me, Daddy” in the title. Heat filled Morrisey’s face. “Some? Why?”

Thank God Austen couldn’t read Morrisey’s thoughts, or he’d never have managed to so casually ask, “Have you by any chance seen the movie Men in Black?”

Chapter Ten

Men in Black ? “Nah. I’m not much of a sci-fi fan.” Unless the sci-fi starred Chris Pratt. Then, Morrisey might not remember the plot later, but he would remember Chris Pratt.

Especially shirtless Chris Pratt.

“Ah, that’s a shame.” Austen sounded genuinely remorseful. He propped himself against the elevator's back wall;

“Why?”

“It would make explaining things so much easier.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors whooshed open before Morrisey could ask questions.

“This way.” Austen exited and stood at the elevator entrance leading to a long hallway.

Morrisey stepped off after him, struggling to keep up with the conversation. “You can’t go getting all cryptic on me and walking off. What are you trying to say?”

The edges of Austen’s lips tilted upward in the briefest of smiles. “Full disclosure is above my pay grade. I’ll let the boss explain.”

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