Paying The Piper - 36. Chapter 36

Although Drew was expecting to be thrown against the door and ravished as soon as they arrived at the apartment, Cale passed him without a word and headed straight for the kitchen. Surprised, Drew stood by the front door, feeling bereft for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Cale came to the kitchen doorway and smiled at Drew. He was holding a glass of water in his hand. "Is something wrong?"

Drew shook his head with exaggerated slowness. He didn’t move from the small tiled entry.

Cale’s smile became a grin. "Are you waiting for something in particular?"

"Actually, yes," Drew said, head cocked to the side. "I was waiting for my usual greeting."

Cale laughed. He reached around the corner and set his glass on the kitchen countertop. "I didn’t realize we had a routine already," he said.

A smile teased at the corners of Drew’s mouth. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door and stalked across the living room. Cale held his ground, eyes smoldering. When they stood face to face, Drew reached for Cale’s hands. He guided one to the left side of the doorway where Cale was standing and one to the right. Cale looked puzzled, but complied when Drew indicated he wanted Cale to grab and hold onto the doorframe.

"A new game?" Cale asked. He drummed his fingers on the molding. Drew moved close and teased one of his legs between Cale’s, urging them farther apart.

Cale’s breath hitched. He bucked up against Drew’s thigh, but Drew removed it in a flash. "Don’t move," Drew said. "Don’t let go."

Cale’s hands tightened on the doorframe. "For how long?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Drew smirked. "Until I say you can. Let go before that and I win."

The word ‘win’ penetrated Cale’s desire fogged brain. "Win what?"

Drew laughed under his breath. "Whatever I decide."

Cale started to protest, but Drew silenced him with his mouth. "Good luck," Drew said. "But don’t be too disappointed when you lose."

Cale’s eyes flashed. "We’ll see about that," he replied.

Drew used his tongue to lick around Cale’s mouth, before giving in to a deep probing kiss. Cale moaned and arched forward. With one last lick across Cale’s lips, Drew pulled back. Cale started to protest, but clamped his mouth shut at Drew’s mocking smile.

Drew waited, but Cale remained silent. Shrugging, Drew placed his hands on Cale’s hips. With slow, practiced movements, he slid his thumbs back and forth. At the same time he delivered fleeting kisses to Cale’s neck, never staying too long in one spot. Cale began to breathe heavily.

"Wanna let go?" Drew asked when he pulled back.

Cale clamped his mouth shut, silencing the needy noises he was making. He didn’t answer, refusing to give in. He stared at Drew’s mouth, but didn’t speak.

Drew smiled at him. "I’m impressed," he admitted. He slid closer and pressed their bodies together. He slid his arms around Cale and pulled him close. Cale’s breath caught again, but for an entirely different reason this time. Drew’s touch felt loving and intimate. Perfect. As though he was soothing him. Comforting him. The realization set Cale’s heart pounding and had the added bonus of knocking his arousal down a few notches. He leaned forward as much as he could without letting go of the door and nuzzled the soft fuzz on Drew’s neck.

The moment of lazy intimacy ended as soon as Cale felt Drew’s hands slip down his back, then up and around to his chest. The teasing touches did more to arouse Cale than their most rough and tumble love play. His fingers tightened on the door frame.

"Do you know what it felt like, those first days after we met?" Drew asked out of the blue, his voice a whisper in Cale’s ear. "I wanted you so much."

Cale made the barest of sounds, a cross between a moan and a plea.

"I jerked off constantly." Drew emphasized his statement with a sharp tug to Cale’s hips. Their bodies bumped and Cale made another desperate sound. His knuckles turned white where they clenched the molding.

"You were so hot. The way you held everything back. I wanted to show it all to you. Teach you how to touch me."

"Oh fuck, Drew," Cale groaned. He tilted his head back and arched toward Drew’s mouth, begging.

Drew ignored the wordless plea and kept his touches soft and teasing. His own control wavered when Cale pleaded with him, whispering soft promises into his hair. "Wanna let go?" Drew asked again. By now, both knew Drew wasn’t talking about their bet.

"Yes," Cale ground out.

"Then do it."

"Can’t," Cale said, but his voice lacked conviction.

Drew sighed and went for the jugular, both literally and figuratively. He ducked his head and lapped at Cale’s neck, ending with a bruising kiss to the hollow of Cale’s throat. Cale’s knees began to tremble.

"Cale," Drew whispered into his neck, "I need you to touch me. I want your mouth on my cock. I want – I want you in me, Cale. Filling me and making me yours."

Cale gasped and stiffened. Drew allowed himself one small smile before Cale ripped his hands from the door frame and clamped them onto Drew’s arms. He swung Drew around and pinned him against the kitchen countertop.

Drew gave himself over, shaken by how intense it felt to have Cale lose control and allow his most primal instincts to take over. Gone was the tentative inexperienced man Drew had taken to his bed a week ago. In that time, Cale’s hands had explored Drew’s body intimately, and he knew the path to each and every spot that made Drew moan and writhe and buck and thrust.

Drew was beginning to suspect Cale knew the path to his heart as well; he found his way there often enough.

Drew gasped a warning when Cale’s ministrations threatened to push him over the edge. Cale’s hands stilled and he backed off to whisper in Drew’s ear. "Did you mean that?" he asked in a breathless voice.

Drew’s muddled brain struggled to remember the last thing he’d said. When he recalled his exact words, a loud groan escaped his throat. "Yes, every word," he said.

"Good," Cale answered before crashing their lips together. Drew tried to clamp his arms around Cale, wanting the kiss to continue, but Cale broke away.

He grabbed Drew’s hand and pulled him down the hall. "I don’t know how I’m going to hold it together," he admitted as they reached the bedroom.

Drew kicked the door shut with his foot. "It’s not the end of the world if you don’t." He grabbed Cale’s t-shirt and ripped it over his head. "We have all night to get it right."

Cale stopped Drew when he reached for the button on his jeans. Drew looked up, his eyes questioning. Cale faltered for a second. "Thank you, Drew," he said.

Drew’s hands forgot what they were doing. "What?" he asked. "For what?"

Cale nodded. "You know," he whispered.

Drew did know. His eyes caught and held Cale’s. Never breaking eye contact, he pulled the button open on Cale’s jeans. Then he led his lover to their bed.

**********

Rob immersed himself in paperwork for the next couple of hours and only looked up when the door to the station opened. When he saw who came in, his face split into a grin. "Hey, Doc! You got here quick."

Stuart grinned back at him. Rob faltered, put off by the million-watt smile. "Um, do you need me to do anything?" he asked as he stood. "Do you want me to come in there with you?"

Stuart continued to smile. Rob felt a small chill travel up his spine. Marcus’s word association game popped into his mind and he swallowed nervously.

Stuart finally spoke. "No, Rob. Leave it to me. I'll do my best not to upset Mr. Mullen, but a short exploratory visit will go a long way toward determining what type of care he needs, if any."

Rob raised an eyebrow. "You think he’ll be okay?"

Stuart shrugged. "It may just be the stress of Cynthia’s murder catching up with him. Once he comes to terms with it, he may be fine." The grin returned. "Of course, that will have to be determined by the professionals." As if to emphasize his point, he hoisted his black doctor’s bag in his hand.

Rob smiled back uneasily, wondering about the bag. It’s not as though Mullen was ill or anything. "Okay, sure," he replied.

Stuart began to bounce on the balls of his feet. "I think I should see him now."

Rob bit back his retort, which he swore was going to be, ‘I don’t think so,’ but realized his knee-jerk reaction didn’t make any sense. Why should he care if Stuart talked to Steve? That’s what he was here for. "Sure," he said. He motioned for Stuart to follow him and started back toward the holding cells.

When they reached Steve’s cell, Rob hesitated again. "You sure you don’t need me in there?"

A flash of something resembling impatience flashed over Stuart’s face. "That’s quite all right. I will be fine." He flashed another grin and the hair on the back of Rob’s arms stood on end. He cursed Marcus for stirring up old memories.

"Okay. I’ll be up front if you need me."

Stuart nodded and gestured toward the holding cell door. Rob unlocked it, stood aside, and Stuart walked through, closing it behind him. After standing outside the door for a moment, Rob headed back to the front office.

**********

Inside the room, Stuart watched Steve sleep. With careful steps, be bypassed the folding cot and took a seat at the small table. When he was seated, bag at his side, he withdrew a small handgun and pointed it at Steve. Only then did he speak.

"Hello, Steve."

Steve’s eyes popped open. He stared at the ceiling, but didn't turn his head. Stuart laughed softly. "I suppose you’re trying to pretend I’m not here," he said. His smile turned poisonous as Steve slowly turned his head. When their eyes met, an evil grin spread across Stuart’s face. "I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this is no dream."

Steve’s gaze dropped to the gun. He made no effort to get up. "Hello, psycho," he said in a rough voice.

Stuart’s grin faltered before returning. "Your childish taunts don’t bother me. And they are so rude. You never did evolve, did you, Steve?" He shifted the gun in his hand. "A shame you’ll never get the chance."

Steve shifted on the bed and sat up. He swung his legs over the side and faced Stuart across the small space. "Do you think you’ll get away with shooting me? In a police station? With an officer not fifty feet away?"

Stuart pretended to ponder. "No," he said. "I don’t." He chuckled and patted the bag next to him, "I have a much more civilized death planned for you."

Steve set his jaw. "You’ll never get near me. I’ll scream my head off and Rob will be in here in ten seconds flat."

"That’s what I’m hoping."

Steve stared, flabbergasted. "You’re crazier than I thought," he whispered.

Stuart clucked his tongue. He sat back in the seat and crossed his legs. The gun never wavered. "First, you and I are going to have a little talk. Rather, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. It’s important to hear one’s sins before meeting one’s maker, I think. Then, I’m afraid, you’ll be so distraught and, quite possibly, raving, that you’ll need a sedative." He patted his bag again. "Lucky for both of us, I have one right here. I’m sure officer Skinner won’t mind helping me subdue you while I administer it. We wouldn’t want you to hurt anyone, after all.

"It amazes me that you can live with yourself," Stuart continued. "You were her brother. Why didn’t you protect her? Why didn’t you stop her?"

Although Steve understood Stuart’s twisted reasoning behind the questions, he still felt a stab of guilt. The fact that it was Cynthia’s murderer asking those questions leant a surreal aspect to the confrontation. He dropped his face into his hands. Why hadn’t he protected her better? A hundred ‘what ifs’ flashed through his mind. He would have accepted failure in every other part of his life, if only he could have had this. This one thing. If only he could have saved Cynthia.

Stuart stabbed the gun in the air. "Why, Steve?" he pressed.

Steve’s anger surged. "Why didn’t I keep you away from her?" he asked. "I tried. But in the end, you won."

Stuart’s smile broadened.

"You killed her," Steve spat. "You're the one who took away her chances. Not me." He leaned forward. "And, I’m sure that wherever she is right now – she hates you for it."

"She’s thankful."

Despite his dire circumstances, Steve’s temper flared. "She still had most of her life to live!"

"NO!" Stuart thundered. "Her life was over. It had been since the moment she was forced to spread her legs for money." Spittle flew from his mouth as he ranted. "The McCoys are to blame. They killed Cynthia, as surely as they killed this town."

"They?" Steve asked.

"Angus. And Cale."

"Cale?" Steve asked. He shook his head in disbelief. "You’ve got this all twisted around in your head. Cale was a kid when the mill closed. We all were. He couldn’t have prevented it."

"The sins of the father," Stuart whispered. When Steve narrowed his eyes, he said more clearly, "He never spoke against it."

Steve swallowed and slumped back against the wall. "I’m not claiming to know how the other half live, but my father told me aboutAngus McCoy," he said. "The man didn’t have a heart. I wouldn’t have traded my three-bedroom, seven sibling house for every cent Cale has in the bank." He leaned forward again. "You can’t possibly know what he went through. Being Angus’s employee was hard enough. I can’t imagine what it was like to be his son."

Stuart wagged his index finger at Steve. "That’s no excuse."

Steve nodded. "Maybe not. But I don’t think he should take the blame for things his father did."

Stuart’s grin returned. "Unfortunately, what you think has little bearing on the truth. Cale will be made to suffer. First he’ll watch as his love is taken from him, as mine was from me. Then, after I believe he’s suffered enough, he’ll join her in hell.

Steve’s mouth gaped open. "You won’t get away with this."

"I know. I don’t plan on trying. My last act on this earth will be to send the last of the McCoys to hell."

As horror dawned on Steve’s face, Stuart glanced at his watch. "I think your time is up," he said, wild eyes at odds with his calm voice. He stood, walked to the door and banged on it.

Steve’s heart pounded in his chest. The beginnings of panic clawed at him. He twitched with the desire, the need, to defend himself. Stuart could obviously sense the tension coiling in Steve’s body, because he kept the gun on him the entire time. Only when Rob had unlocked the door and stepped inside did he slip it into his pocket. As soon as Rob entered the room, Stuart’s personality morphed into that of the concerned doctor.

"I’m sorry, Rob," Stuart said, "but he’s not cooperating. He’s hysterical and said he’d kill me if I tried to give him a sedative. But he needs one, he really does. His delusions are worse than I suspected."

While he spoke, Stuart walked to his bag and retrieved a syringe from inside. "I’ll need you to help me hold him down while I administer it."

Rob turned curious eyes to Steve. Instead of the hysterical, uncooperative individual Stuart was describing, however, Steve was calm. He stared at Rob, his eyes clear with purpose. His hands, however, were twisted together in his lap. They were shaking.

When Rob took a step forward, he said, "Rob, I’m not hysterical. I’m not upset and I haven’t threatened the doctor." He took a deep breath and continued, his voice low and even. "Please don’t let him give me that. I don’t need it."

Rob stopped. Behind him, Stuart’s nostrils flared. "Officer, please. Just hold him for a moment. That’s all it will take. We’ll all be much happier, I think." He moved forward, brandishing the syringe as he walked.

Steve used every drop of fortitude he had not to flinch away, or make any other sudden moves. Instead, he appealed to Rob again. "Please, Rob. Look at me. Do I look hysterical to you? Out of control? You know this isn’t right. Don’t let him do this."

Stuart moved in front of Rob. When he was face to face with Steve, he snarled silently at him. He grabbed Steve’s arm. Steve drew a sharp breath, but didn’t pull away. If this was going to work, he couldn't look scared or uncooperative in any way.

When Rob didn’t answer, Stuart gave Steve an evil grin. He brought the needle close.

"Please," Steve asked one last time. He put a stranglehold on his fight or flight reflex as the dripping needle touched his skin. There was no doubt his mind that the syringe held more than a simple sedative. Just as the needle pierced the skin, it was abruptly pulled out. Stuart’s surprised yelp was music to Steve’s ears.

"I’m sorry, Doc," Rob said. "But I can’t let you do that."

Steve let his eyes drift shut for a moment while he rode through the wave of relief. He felt queasy and breathless. When he reopened them, Stuart and Rob were in the same position, Rob’s hand on Stuart’s arm. Neither had moved.

Stuart recovered first. "I’m sorry, Officer Skinner, but I really do know what’s best. I’m going to insist."

Rob shook his head. "You can insist until you’re blue in the face. And if he gets to the hospital and you still think he needs a sedative, that will be your prerogative. But right now, he’s my responsibility, and I say no. With the exception of looking terrified, I don’t see any indication that he’s violent or out of control." Rob’s voice was low and brokered no argument. Still, Stuart hesitated. He didn’t back away. Rob’s hand inched toward his hip, where his gun was holstered. Steve held his breath.

A huge grin appeared on Stuart’s face. He straightened and stepped back. "If you insist." At Rob’s nod, he carefully replaced the syringe in the bag. He snapped the bag shut with an efficient click and hoisted it in his hand. "I suppose I’ll go and make the arrangements then," he said through his grin.

Rob stepped in front of Steve, blocking Stuart’s view of him. "That sounds like a plan."

If possible, Stuart’s grin grew even wider. He spun and disappeared through the door.

Steve released a shaky breath. He legs wobbled when he stood from the cot. "Skinner," he started.

"Save it," Rob barked over his shoulder. "This doesn’t make us best friends. I still don’t believe you. Now, just stay calm and get some rest. I don’t have time to deal with any more trouble from you."

Without giving Steve a chance to reply, he left, locking the door behind him. By the time he reached the front of the station, Stuart’s car was pulling out. He watched it through the window until it had disappeared down the street and out of sight.

**********

Cale lay in the dark room and listened to the shower running. He knew he should probably get up and strip the bed, giving Drew clean sheets to fall into when he was done, but his body felt boneless and tingly with the aftershocks of their lovemaking.

When the bathroom door opened and Drew stepped out, spilling steam into the cool room, Cale was just dragging himself from the bed. Drew laughed and pulled him up. He turned him in the direction of the bathroom and swatted his ass.

"Go," he said. "I’ll take care of this."

Cale made a token noise of protest, but Drew pointed to the bathroom and pushed him forward. A few minutes later, when he emerged, Drew was already lounging amid fresh bed linens. Cale watched, bemused, as Drew rolled a quarter back and forth over his knuckles. His eyes followed the coin hypnotically as he murmured quietly to himself.

Sighing with contentment, Cale dropped his towel and slipped between the sheets. "What on earth are you doing?"

Drew jumped. The coin dropped with a plunk onto the blanket. In answer to Cale’s arched eyebrow, he gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Just thinking." He cleared his throat. "At work, it’s how I concentrate – focus – when I’m trying to figure something out."

"Like what? What do you do exactly?"

Drew scooped the coin off the blanket and dropped it onto the nightstand. "Profiling, mostly. For the violent crimes unit. There’s more to it, though. To be picked for the unit, you need particular talents."

Cale was intrigued. "Like what?"

"Strong intuitive empathic abilities."

Cale blinked. "You mean, like ESP?"

Drew laughed. "No, nothing like that. Just…an ability to read people."

Cale slid down under the sheets, and Drew smiled down at him. "Give me an example," Cale said.

Drew hesitated, then grinned. "Quent."

"What about him?"

"He likes me. A lot."

Cale burst into laughter. "Drew, he hates you."

Drew shook his head. "No. He doesn’t. That’s what I’m talking about."

Cale shook his head in wonderment. "It sounds fascinating. Your job."

Drew’s grin disappeared. "It’s okay."

"Do you miss it?" Cale asked carefully. He dreaded the answer.

Drew raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding?" At Cale’s probing look, he laughed. "I’ve had a larger dose of excitement here in the past two weeks than in the past two years combined at the Bureau."

Cale chuckled under his breath. "Still, I know how much training is involved in what you do. The level of commitment is enormous. It couldn’t have been easy to walk away from it."

Drew shrugged. "It wasn’t what I thought it was going to be." He stared into space, eyes unfocused. "Originally, I was told that in time I would head my own group. That I would be able to use my own theories and methods for profiling and pursuit. I’ve had so much success with them, Cale. I know I could have made a positive impact on the whole program." He sighed. "That never materialized. The Director…." Drew paused and sighed again. He glanced over at Cale. "Are you sure you want to hear this?" he asked with a self-conscious laugh.

Cale moved closer and ran his fingers over Drew’s cheek before sliding them into his hair. "Of course."

Drew leaned into the caress. "The Director is a friend. An old friend. Many people didn’t – don’t – appreciate our relationship."

"Hence the prejudice and jealousy," Cale cut in.

Drew gave him a sharp glance. "I see you were listening when I talked about this before."

"Is that why your back-up didn’t come? Some sort of stupid juvenile jealousy?"

Drew’s lips quirked. "Not officially." He saw that Cale was upset and pulled him in for a lingering kiss. "It doesn’t matter anymore," he said. "I’m not sure I’ll be going back. They don’t take well to rule-breakers," he joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"But it’s hard to see your dreams die," Cale said in a soft voice. His own eyes had taken on a faraway look. Drew frowned and reciprocated with tender touches of his own. "You okay?"

"Mmm. Yes," Cale said, coming out if his trance. "I just never pictured my life to be like this. Endless paperwork and meetings where little of consequence ever changes." He shrugged. "Doesn’t matter now. Not every child gets to grow up and become what they want. I’ve learned to accept that." Groaning, he rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow. "So what were you just thinking about? When I came out here," he asked, effectively ending the previous conversation.

Drew noticed the ploy, but let is pass without comment. "I was thinking about what Steve was saying. And about some other things that I hadn’t put together before now."

Cale rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Like what?"

Drew answered with a question of his own. "What do you think about Steve’s accusations?"

Cale frowned. "About Stuart?"

"Yeah."

"He sounded crazy to me," Cale scoffed.

Drew tapped his lips with a finger as he thought. "Maybe. That doesn’t mean he was lying, though."

Cale sighed. He fluffed his pillow against the headboard and sat up next to Drew. "Do you really suspect Stuart in Cynthia’s murder?"

"I’m considering it." Drew looked over at Cale. "How well do you know him?"

Cale floundered. "Well, I mean. He’s – he’s nice. And a great doctor." He shook his head. "I don’t see him as psycho material."

"Really?" Drew asked. "Believe it or not, according to Quent, you’re in the minority." Before Cale could comment, Drew continued. "He was in school with you, right?"

Cale nodded. "Same year."

Drew shifted on the bed so that they were facing each other. "What was he like in school? Popular?"

"No," Cale answered, with a laugh. To the question in Drew’s eyes, he shrugged. "He was a bit odd. He smiled at everybody." Cale’s eyes took on a faraway look. "Even when he was being teased. In fact, ridicule only made him smile more." Cale paused, lost in thought for a moment. He shivered.

Drew grabbed Cale’s hand and stroked his fingers. "What is it?"

Cale shook his head. "Nothing, really. I guess I never thought about it before. But he really was kind of – creepy." Cale rolled his eyes. "But knowing what we know about Jim, I guess that shouldn’t come as a shock."

Drew furrowed his brow, both at the word ‘creepy’, used such a short time ago by Rob, as well as the reference to Jim. "What do you mean?"

"You know how Quent said that Jim was always with the doctors and the school counselors?"

Drew nodded.

"Well, Stuart was the Jim of my generation."