Free L.A. Bytes by P.A. Brown Page B

with a kitchen knife during an arrest six years ago. “And that.”
    David shifted under his touch, his breath catching in his throat. “Chris... ”
    “But mostly it’s for this,” Chris smoothed the heel of his hand over David’s chest, where the cool medal lay over his rapidly beating heart. “Because I love you and I will never do anything to hurt you or bring you harm. I don’t ever want you to be jealous of anyone. There’s no one in my heart but you.”
    Before David could answer, Chris planted his lips over the same spot his hand had been. He could feel the furious pumping of David’s heart. Chris slid down the length of his body, taking him in his mouth.
    David groaned.
    David’s hands settled on Chris’s shoulders, surrendering to his desire. Chris brought him to the brink again and again until 68 P.A. Brown
    David was nearly mindless with lust. He climaxed with a shout.
    They embraced until sleep claimed them both.
    After several quiet minutes David started snoring.

CHAPTER NINE
    Thursday, 7:50 am, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles
    The next day David shoved open the door to the detectives’
    room and felt half a dozen pairs of eyes follow him in. The rumor mill had never let up since his precipitous outing years ago. His marriage to Chris had put it into an overdrive that had never abated. Sometimes it was like living in the midst of a pack of hyenas, waiting for their blood lust to overcome caution.
    Martinez was already at his desk. His phone pinned under his chin, he sucked back station coffee. He waved David over, hanging up before his partner reached his desk.
    “We got our warrant,” Martinez said. “You want to head over this morning? Landlord will let us in. He asked us to be there no later than ten.”
    “Sure.”
    The other desks fi lled up as the day shift signed in, phones were answered and keyboards tapped. The smell of bad coffee and too many bodies crammed into a small space fi lled the narrow detectives’ room. Overhead the buzz of a failing fl uorescent light did nothing to improve the color of the pale brown walls. Dirty sunlight leached through the blinds and, just outside the window, the cell tower at the rear of the building cast a thin shadow.
    David went around to his own desk. He stared down at the mauve box covered with big-eyed kitten graphics on top of his keyboard and sighed. Another prank. He wondered if it was any more imaginative than the pink plastic tampons he had received last month. Or the invitations to join a gay chat line the month before.
    David slipped the lid off the box and found it crammed full of fuchsia colored condoms. He rolled his chair back and 70 P.A. Brown
    dumped the box and its contents into the wastebasket. Without a word he turned his monitor on. Unlike Chris, he had never grown comfortable with computers. But his reports wouldn’t write themselves, so he might as well spend the waiting time doing paperwork. Behind him he heard Lieutenant McKee talking on the phone in his offi ce. As usual his door was open.
    McKee didn’t believe in shutting himself off from his men. No doubt he would be over soon to check up on him, and make sure his most troublesome detective was really well enough to be back to work.
    David opened the blue three-ring binder he’d started on the Scott case. The murder book was distressingly slim. Nearly as empty as the cork-board he shared with Martinez. As the case progressed, it would be covered with the bits and pieces their investigation uncovered.
    With any luck their second visit to the woman’s apartment would yield something useful.
    “Nothing from the ME?”
    Martinez shook his head. He tugged at his dimpled golf ball tie. “What do you think about the kid?”
    David shrugged. “I’d like to keep him on our radar. He didn’t convince me he’s grieving.”
    David’s phone rang. He scooped it up. It was Chris.
    He kept his voice cool. “What’s up?”
    Chris’s laugh