Walk a Mile Page 13

  “Whoa. Sorry. Didn’t know you were right there.” Flynn dropped his gaze to the duffle in his hands. “Where’s your camera?”

  He didn’t look up as he spoke. He was breathing hard, however. Okay, so Flynn wasn’t immune to the sudden heat between them, combusting like a spark in a dry field. Whatever this attraction they had, Flynn could feel it too. He knew by the way Flynn wouldn’t meet his eye. By the way his hands clenched on the handle of the bag, and by the outline of his dick pressing up and to the left in his khakis.

  Goddamn, Jerry wanted to fuck him right now. Like he’d never wanted anyone before in his life.

  “Hey.” Flynn did look up then, frowning slightly. “Get a move on. I thought you were going to take a shower.”

  “You could join me.”

  “What?” Flynn sounded truly horrified. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Why not?” Jerry let his voice drop into that low, seductive purr that had always melted his resistance to any of Flynn’s proposals into mush. “The museum won’t open for several hours yet. What’s your hurry?”

  He knew he had Flynn’s attention by the way he swallowed hard. Temptation warred with resistance on his face until his expression hardened.

  “Forget it. No way. Don’t you find it the least bit gross? I mean, looking at yourself in that context?”

  “What are you saying, Flynn?” Jerry heard the silkiness of Flynn’s voice coming out of his mouth. Pissed Flynn. Dangerous Flynn. It was a heady experience, like that first sip of an expensive whiskey. Last night, he’d pretended to dominate Flynn. Right now there was no pretense, only the urgent need to slam him up against a wall and kiss him within an inch of his life. “That I shouldn’t enjoy the view?”

  No, crap. I didn’t mean that. I only meant—fuck, he’ll never understand.

  “Oh, I think I understand.” Jerry moved in on Flynn with the deliberation and patience of a panther ambling up to a tethered goat. “But I think you’re missing the point.”

  Flynn backed up at his approach, holding up the duffle like some form of protection until Jerry took it out of nerveless hands and dropped it on the floor.

  “The point?” Flynn cleared his throat, bumping up suddenly against the dresser and bracing his hands behind himself to keep from falling backward.

  “Yeah, the point.” Jerry put one hand on the mirror behind Flynn’s head, leaning in close as he spoke. It had the effect of being in a funhouse, as he was faced with the sudden look of hunger staring out of Flynn’s hazel eyes back at himself, even as he was looking at “himself” standing in front of him. “Think of how great it would be. No one knows your body as well as you do, right? No one else can touch you in the way that gets you off best. You know all your hot spots, all the things that really drive you wild. And I know everything there is to know about turning me on as well. No one else will ever have this experience—what we have right now.”

  “We don’t have time.” Flynn frowned. He ducked out from under Jerry’s arm and bent to pick up the duffle. Pivoting away as he straightened, he moved out of Jerry’s reach. He couldn’t avoid their reflection in the mirror, however, and he met Jerry’s gaze in the glass. Jerry moved in behind him, placing his hands on Flynn’s arms and pressing up against his ass.

  “Yes, we do. You want this. I know you do.” He ground up against Flynn ever so slightly and felt the push back of Flynn’s pelvis into the firm length of his cock. Jerry brought his hands up over Flynn’s chest, smoothed the crisp perfection of Flynn’s cotton shirt, thumbing a nipple in passing, watching the two of them in the mirror all the while. Flynn gave a little jerk and gasp at the touch, and Jerry chuckled in his ear, holding Flynn’s gaze through the looking glass, daring him to deny what he was feeling. “See? I know what you like. I know there is a direct line of current between my nipples and my cock and if I do this,”—he pinched a nipple hard, and Flynn stiffened, bucking his hips almost convulsively—“you’ll be begging me to fuck you.”

  Oh, fuck. Flynn tossed aside the duffle and turned into Jerry so close they bumped noses.

  Before Jerry could pretend it hurt, Flynn had taken his face in both hands and was kissing him with a fervor Jerry could not remember before. Flynn sought out Jerry’s mouth and savaged his lips, surprising Jerry with how sensitive and responsive that mouth was. He should have known. He’d always envied Flynn those full, generous lips, and now as Flynn nipped at them, he opened his mouth and drank Flynn in.

  This wasn’t desire. This was passion in all senses of the word. Jerry scrabbled at Flynn, pushing against him, until the entire length of their bodies were pressed together. He was wearing too many clothes, and the layers between them had to go. They must be peeled away until there was nothing but skin between them, until Jerry had crawled inside Flynn and had pulled Flynn inside of him, and there was nothing to separate them ever again.

  Flynn scrabbled at his T-shirt, even as he pulled at the white cotton dress shirt Jerry was wearing. For once, Jerry didn’t give a good goddamn about his clothing, and buttons flew off in all directions as he tore the shirt open. Not to be outdone, Flynn tugged at the bottom of the T-shirt until he could pull it off over his head. He was smiling as he tossed it aside, as eager for the sex to come as Jerry was. That is, until he suddenly stopped and stared at Jerry’s naked torso. His expression was that of a man who couldn’t process the fact that he’d just been shot at point blank range.

  Oh no. No, I can’t.

  “What?” Jerry reached out for him. “Come on, it can’t be this sexy body of yours. Do you know what I’d give to have this build? Well, okay, right now I do have it, and let me tell you, it’s pretty damn hot.” Jerry dropped a hand to his abdomen, trailing it down the dark line of hair that marked Flynn’s chest, reveling in how this felt from the inside for a change. That’s when he saw it. The glint of the silver cross lying against the coarse hair on his skin. The cross that Flynn almost never removed. The cross that had been Rachel’s.

  “I can take it off.” Jerry was in the act of removing the cross when the wave of Flynn’s remembered thoughts hit him.

  Young Flynn and his friend again, playing video games. Unlike Jerry, who—if he said so himself—had been heartbreakingly gorgeous as a teenager, only to age into something verging on the ordinary, Flynn’s youthful features still looked unformed. His was the sort of face that had improved with maturity, and yet the promise of it had been there, just the same. His friend, freckled with hair bordering on ginger, had the coltish grace of youth that may or may not have grown into its potential. There was heightened excitement and the adrenaline rush of the gaming within the memory, as well as the bitter aftertaste of irritation. A little sister who had wanted to go home when Flynn was having fun.

  Jerry made an involuntary movement toward Flynn, but the soundproof booth slammed shut with a vengeance. Flynn disappeared before Jerry’s eyes as the barriers slid into place.

  “Flynn.” Jerry’s voice was soft, pleading.

  “I have to go.” Flynn shimmered into view again, his face stony with concentration.

  “No, wait. Let’s talk this out.”

  Flynn looked at him as though he’d proposed the two of them go streaking downtown. Consternation and puzzlement were the predominant expressions on his face. “You don’t understand. I remembered something. About Rachel’s murder.”

  Despite his thwarted desires, Jerry alerted like a guard dog hearing the footfalls of a stranger. Flynn rarely referred to his sister by name. “What?”

  The look Flynn turned on him was one of awe mixed with a slowly dawning enlightenment. “I saw a van. When I was walking home that afternoon. The day Rachel disappeared. A white van parked on the side of the road.”

  The unspoken words, “before your gift for memory,” hung between them.

  Flynn shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing in his mind. “I didn’t get a clear look at the plates, but the license began with ABX.”

  The fervent l
ook in Flynn’s eyes reminded Jerry of an Old Testament Prophet. “Don’t you see? I can go back now and review the police files. It’s possible someone else saw the van as well, or it turned up in the investigation. If we can trace that van—” He broke off, eyes blazing with hope and vengeance.

  Desire took a backseat to duty, but this time it went back into its kennel like an angry dragon, muttering under its breath as it dragged its chain behind it. It was unthinkable to let Flynn go alone to review his sister’s case once more. “I’ll go with you.”

  Flynn’s cheekbones turned bright red. Hell, the flush extended out to his hairline and ear tips as well. Jerry had always known his face was an open book, but this was ridiculous. “Um, yeah, about that. Well, after I graduated from the academy, I spent a lot of time going over the case files. I sort of made myself persona non grata with the local police department.” He shifted uncomfortably. “So, it might be best if you stay here. I’ll take the car. I won’t be gone long.”

  “You want me to just hang out in the room and wait for you to come back?” He had to be kidding, right?

  Flynn had the grace to look embarrassed. The worst thing that could happen would be if he had a meltdown at the precinct because the telepathy became too much. They’d probably have me up for a psych eval…. “Look, I’m not happy leaving the artifact with Nancy. I think you should get a second rental and head back to the museum, take charge of the artifact, and then shadow her until I arrive. A second car could come in handy for tailing someone as well, always providing someone makes another attempt at stealing the artifact.”

  Well, fuck. His logic was hard to beat. What choice did Jerry have but to let him go?

  Chapter 8

  THE HOTEL room was too quiet in Flynn’s absence. The thoughts of others battered against Jerry like bees inside a jar. He’d never been a pacer before, but now he could hardly keep still. He knew Flynn was right and it was best he meet Nancy and take possession of the artifact; they couldn’t afford to have it disappear, not when they didn’t know how to reverse the body swap. It still stuck in his craw. Good luck getting Flynn to take the more passive role for him under similar circumstances. Yeah. He’d like to see that. Only, this really wasn’t a passive role, was it? After all, Flynn was the only one who could see if his memory had any bearing on Rachel’s murder. Hopefully, Flynn’s trip to the Richmond police department, in the guise of Special Agent Jerry Parker, would prove fruitful. If Flynn had been moody and irritable before, Jerry shuddered to think what he’d be like if he came up empty on the white van. Though all this time later, would the lost memory really prove useful? He hoped so for Flynn’s sake.

  He hoped so for both their sakes. It was starting to dawn on him that unless they bagged some of Flynn’s demons, he’d be out tilting at windmills.

  The weirdness of Flynn’s brain suddenly being able to access memories because it was now housed in Jerry’s body didn’t make sense to him, but hell, they were talking about body-swapping here. It’s not like there was a rulebook out there somewhere. Or maybe they were dealing with repressed memories here—and in Jerry’s body, Flynn couldn’t hide from them any longer.

  Ditto the way he’d felt toward Flynn just a short time ago. He’d wanted to fuck him, regardless of whose body Flynn was in. The fact that he’d been so aroused only to have the opportunity for sex snatched away from him left him irritable and restless. And with a hard-on he couldn’t believe. Jesus, he’d known Flynn had a decent size on him, but experiencing that ache from the other side of the fence was killing him.

  But just what was it he was feeling? The arousal of a healthy man in the presence of his lover? The forbidden thrill of having sex in a different body, taking part in something he might never be able to experience again? Was Flynn’s body just responding to the familiarity of his own? Maybe none of that mattered. Maybe it had nothing to do with any of that. Maybe Jerry just needed a little stress relief.

  If he was hoping for answers as to the problems with their sex life, he probably wasn’t going to figure them out until they switched again.

  He couldn’t let it go, however. All he knew was that moments before, he’d have given his right arm to fuck Flynn and he would have bet Flynn wanted that, too. Right up until the point when he’d spotted his sister’s necklace.

  Jerry fingered the silver cross, warm from lying against his skin. That had stopped Flynn cold. Well, Jerry could see why. There was a lot of guilt tied up in the murder of Flynn’s little sister. He was supposed to have been watching her that day, and instead of walking her home from their friend’s house, he’d stayed behind to play video games. He’d only been thirteen. It was the sort of thing you never really got over.

  Jerry took the necklace off and laid it on the table. He knew Flynn always wore it, but at least while he was taking a shower, he didn’t want it hanging about his neck like some albatross.

  The phone buzzed on the table. Jerry picked it up, only to realize it was Flynn’s phone, and that Flynn had his, and that meant he’d have to use the laptop to check his messages. Flynn had sixty-one messages in his inbox. Jerry rolled his eyes and switched the phone from vibrate to ringtone so he would be able to hear it from the bathroom. Setting the phone aside, he opened the laptop. While it was booting up, he used the room phone to call the front desk and arranged for a rental. A quick check of his e-mails next; that was all he would do before stepping into the shower.

  He worked through the ten messages still left in his inbox, smiling to himself when he noted Flynn was keeping the number below thirteen. Oddly enough, the huge number of e-mails in Flynn’s inbox bothered him not in the slightest. Not sweating the small stuff? He could get used to that. Besides, it looked like Flynn was answering the most urgent e-mails addressed to the two of them for a change.

  Just as he was about to close the browser, the IM window opened. It was Jane.

  Just checking to make sure everything’s okay.

  The irony of that made him snort. He began typing his response, but had to backspace frequently when Flynn’s fingers refused to fly over the keyboard the way his would have done.

  No, not really. Been sort of a crappy trip so far. He immediately felt bad. It wasn’t fair of him to dump on Jane because his life had taken a right turn onto Crazy Lane. Nothing horrible, mind you. But John and I seem to have a lot of unresolved issues.

  What else is new? :-)

  Jerry stuck his tongue out at the viewscreen. A thought occurred to him, and he tried rolling Flynn’s tongue. Hah! It couldn’t be done! Well, only 65 percent or so of the general population could roll their tongues in the first place. He wondered what else might be different. Experimentally, he made the Vulcan salute. Well, that still worked.

  LOL. You’re killing me here. This is a little weirder than usual. Can’t go into details, though. It was really annoying typing with Flynn’s fingers. They were longer than his own, and Jerry had to slow down to avoid making repeated typos.

  Understood. You can tell me to butt out here, but I think you might be just a little too accommodating to Flynn and his issues.

  Jerry stared at the blinking cursor. He looked down at Flynn’s hands, beautiful and strong, fingers so much more elegant than his own. He typed his response slowly. I love him. I don’t want to lose him.

  Sweetie, if he doesn’t want to stay of his own choosing, you can’t make him. I’m not saying stop loving him. I’m saying it’s got to be a give and take relationship if you want a grown-up kind of thing.

  Jerry took a deep breath and blew it out. She was right, he knew it deep down inside, but, then, this was Flynn. He was worth it. I hear you. I’ll keep it in mind. Remember, though, you only see the whining on my part and never the good stuff!

  Just think about it, okay? The relationship seems a bit one-sided to me.

  Jerry could feel the Great Wall of Flynn shutting around him, like the portcullis on a castle gate coming down. Right, he typed. Gotta go. Catch you later.

  He shut
the laptop down without waiting for an answer. Jane would probably worry she’d offended him, but he’d e-mail her later. God knows what explanation he’d give. He just didn’t want to talk about Flynn right now. How could he discuss his relationship with Flynn when he didn’t know what the hell to think about it?

  He practically stalked into the bathroom. Switching on the light, he turned on the hot water in the shower. He peeled off the running shorts and dropped them on the floor beside his shoes and socks. There was a little jolt of surprise when he faced himself in the mirror and saw Flynn staring back at him. You’d think he’d be used to this by now. He leaned into the glass and examined his face carefully. It wasn’t a perfect face, not by a long shot. There was a fine array of lines around the eyes from a lifetime of outdoor sports. The first silver threads appeared at the temples and sideburns, just a glint when he turned his head to inspect his jawline. He rubbed a hand over his chin, amazed at how much stubble had appeared overnight. Taken piece by piece, Flynn’s features were nothing to write home about. It was only in the collective that they wowed.

  He touched the puckered scar on the left shoulder, watching in fascination as Mirror Flynn did the same. A small, starlike pattern. Hard to believe it was the source of so many problems. He twisted around so he could see the back of his shoulder. The taut pull of inflexible scar tissue bound to muscle went all the way down his spine. The exit pattern was much larger, indicative of the bullet that had smashed its way out the back of Flynn’s shoulder blade. Experimentally, he flexed his shoulder. Definitely sticky, and with less range of motion than it should have. There were other scars too, some merely a fine ghosting of white lines against tanned skin. The scars had stories only Flynn knew.