Page 3 of The Grave Between Us
Ian closed his eyes and imagined Cole spread in front of him. Tied down. Pleading. Terror soaking him. Would he cry? Maybe. If Ian was good enough, he could taste Cole’s salt.
He stirred, his erection rising again. This time he held his breath so the skier’s wrong scent couldn’t invade his mind, ruin the fantasy. This time, behind his eyelids, it was Cole beneath him. He savored the moment, running his touch up and down the cooling form. And when he came, he breathed Cole’s name, shuddering as he pushed his forehead between the man’s still, cold shoulder blades.
He gave himself another minute, letting the aftershocks quake through him, before he pulled back and tucked himself away. He sat on the skier’s legs as he pulled out a square of paper from his jacket pocket. After so many years, he could fold these birds in seconds.
Ian grabbed the skier’s hair and lifted his face out of the snow. His mouth was open, frozen in a scream, and it was easy to tuck the crane inside his cold lips, deep into the dark hollow. He pushed the jaw closed after. Rigor would take care of the rest.
Now, it was time to get to the grave.
Chapter Two
The conference roomchair creaked as Special Agent Jacob Moore leaned all the way back. Cole was still waiting for one of the chairs in the FBI office to break apart cartoon-style under his weight. Jacob was larger than an NFL linebacker. Cole had never met a bigger man.
Jacob wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin on his sandwich wrapper. “I think Holly and I are going to move in together.”
Noah, midchew, raised both his eyebrows at Jacob. He smiled and swallowed. “That’s great. You guys going to get a new place, or are you moving in with her?”
“I’ll move in with them. Brianna’s settled in there. No need to upend a little kid’s life moving.”
“Yeah, but.” Cole winked. “What about all the construction Holly will need to do? Making all her doorways taller?”
Jacob threw his napkin at Cole. Cole ducked and polished off his sandwich, grinning as Jacob shook his head.
The three of them were finishing lunch, sandwiches from one of Jacob’s favorite delis, in the same room where, eight months earlier, Cole had come face to face with the man who’d captivated him in Vegas and then ghosted him: Special Agent Noah Downing.
He hadn’t known about the agent part in Vegas. He hadn’t been thinking about the FBI that night. He’d been too dazzled by Noah, too enthralled. His heart had gotten away from him sometime between buying Noah a drink and listening to him explain how he wanted to know if what he’d been craving meant that he was gay. Noah had questions, and Cole helped him find answers, all night long. Cole had thought, in the morning, that they were at the beginning of something.
The next evening, Cole spent four hours in the hotel bar, waiting for a call, or a text, or a smoke signal, or a bike messenger, or something, anything, from Noah. But Noah never contacted him.
One week later, he’d walked into this conference room, and there Noah was, leading the investigation into the serial murderer case Cole had been assigned from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.
They had a few more stumbles, a few false starts, but by the time they’d put the Coed Killer down, Cole was ready to make Noah—and Noah’s teenage daughter, Katie—his number one priority. Three months later, he put in a transfer request and moved to Des Moines. They bought a house together, figured out how to live day in and day out together, raising Noah’s teenage daughter as they filled in the blanks on their love story.
Cole’s gaze drifted to Noah’s ring finger and the wide band set with three birthstones. It still stunned him sometimes. He hadn’t been looking for a man to spend forever with, but he’d met Noah, and that was that. How quickly he’d imagined a future filled with Noah, and with Katie. How quickly that imagined future became a necessity to him. Noah was the love of his life.
And his boss, now. Since the transfer, he technically worked under Noah, though there were some processes in place to avoid running afoul of fraternization rules.
“Cole, what time are you heading out today?” It was Noah’s turn to lean back. Stretch. Sip from his soda as his foot reached out under the table and brushed against Cole’s.
“About three. That will give me enough time to beat traffic and get to the school.” He was picking up Katie as soon as school let out. Normally, she stayed after for cheer practice, but today, she and Cole had a date at the mall. The winter formal was around the corner, and Katie wanted to go dress shopping.
Noah nodded. “I’ll be on the regional call after two thirty.” The weekly video call with Sam Bray, the Special Agent in Charge of the Omaha office, and all the other agents in charge of the satellite resident agencies, the smaller field offices scattered across Omaha’s area of operations.
“I’ll sneak in for a goodbye kiss.”
Noah’s cheeks flushed, and Cole winked at him. Noah was still getting used to living his life out and proud, but he was doing pretty damn well, considering. Unconditional support from his friends and colleagues helped. Jacob had given Noah the rainbow lanyard Noah wore his ID badge on every day, a match to Cole’s own lanyard. Katie already called Cole her stepfather. And even Lilly, Noah’s ex-wife, seemed to support them. Maybe Noah’s coming out had answered a few questions Lilly had always had, closed a few doors on fears and resentments that had lived deep inside her.
“Jacob, can we review the testimony for tomorrow?” Noah bagged up his and Cole’s trash.
“Sure,” Jacob rumbled. “I need the refresh.”
“This for the deposition?” Cole asked. “The soybean thing?”
“Yes, the illegal soybean blends.” Noah shook his head. “A big change of pace for you, I imagine. From profiling serial killers to agricultural crimes?”
“I have had enough serial killers for one lifetime.” Cole meant his comment to be lighthearted, as much as a comment about murderers could be. His throat seized, though, and he had to force his next words out. “Especially ones in Des Moines.”
Noah’s smile turned soft. His foot hooked around the back of Cole’s calf. “Well, you’re in luck. For the most part, it’s nice and slow around this here part of the country. The only thing Jacob and I were in danger from during this case was boredom. Do you have any idea how tedious it is to investigate eight warehouses and eighty tractor trailers for illegal oat and soy blending? I’m glad the USDA kicked in a handful of agents, or we’d still be searching.”
