A gay sex story: The Magic in Your Touch Ch. 14
Even though Brandon had seen pictures of Wilson, the image he’d built of him in his mind was of a man with almost super-human abilities, able to blend in anywhere at any time. A chameleon capable of wreaking havoc and destruction of mammoth proportions. He’d inflated Wilson, made him into some type of mythological phantom. Now he saw him for exactly what he was: a corpse. Death, the great equalizer.
The Sunshine Motel didn’t exactly live up to its name, but had the room not been crawling with Howard’s men, it wouldn’t have been half bad. The single bed and double dresser looked new, and the floral wallpaper gave the place a homey touch. The carpet was clean, and the sheets probably had been, too, before Wilson decided to die on them. A table beside the bed held a bottle of whiskey and an empty glass.
Brandon stood in the doorway surveying the scene when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Howard standing behind him.
“Thanks for getting here so fast, Nash. How’s Doc doing?”
“Anxious. I called my brother to stay with him until I get back.”
Howard nodded. “This place has a coffee shop just around the corner. We can talk there while my guys finish up in here.”
Brandon followed Howard into the brightly lit café. An attractive young waitress came and took their order, smiling and laughing as if it was an everyday occurrence to have a customer die in one of the rooms. Not that Brandon could find fault with her. Personally, he felt like doing cartwheels over Wilson’s dead body. The coffee arrived and he took a bracing sip before saying, “What do you know so far?”
Howard drank down half of the scalding liquid in his own cup in one long sip. “Wilson had a telephone call up at the main desk sometime around eleven o’clock. The clerk transferred it to his room, but no one answered. The caller, who identified himself as Wilson’s brother, insisted that the clerk go down there and check on him. The door was unlocked, so he went inside. That’s when he found the body.”
“Any ideas on cause of death?”
“The coroner didn’t find any signs of physical trauma, but you know as well as I do that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve put a rush order on the autopsy, so maybe we’ll know within the next couple of days. We’re running a trace on the phone call, and of course, doing the whole ‘fine-toothed-comb’ routine on the room. So far, we haven’t turned up anything useful, but there’s always hope.” Howard took another swig of coffee. “At least you know Wilson’s no longer a threat to Doc.”
“It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”
Howard leaned back against the vinyl booth and eyed Brandon with a cop’s perception. “What’s with you, Nash? I should think you’d be damn happy right about now. I know I am, and it’s not even my fiancé that was being threatened.”
Brandon ran his fingers through his hair. “Am I happy that Wilson’s no longer in a position to hurt Nate or anyone else? Hell, yes. But doesn’t it all feel a bit too easy to you?”
“Explain.”
Brandon pushed his cup aside and said, “I’m not sure Ican explain it, exactly. It’s more a feeling than anything.” He pulled a hundred dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the table in front of Howard. “Ben Franklin there says that the autopsy reveals Wilson died of natural causes. Four more just like him if it isn’t said to be some kind of heart failure.”
Howard whistled “Five hundred bucks on heart failure, huh? I might take that bet if you didn’t seem so damn sure of yourself.”
“Right now all I’m sure of is that this whole thing is coming together just a little too neatly for my taste. The evidence against Calder, the connections to Wilson, and now the only witness, the hit man, all nice and dead, almost as if on cue. I’ve been a cop in one form or another for too damn long not to know that cases don’t just come to a pretty little gift-wrapped conclusion.”
Howard said, “Not that I’m disagreeing with you, but you should know that once the autopsy’s done, my office is going to call me and my team back to Washington. With Wilson dead, we’re officially out of it.”
“No offense, Howard, and don’t think I haven’t been grateful for the help, but I believe I can take it from here.” The gleam in Brandon’s eyes was savage, feral. “If Calder isn’t Wilson’s money man, I’ll find the bastard who is. And God help him when I do.”
* * *
Nate was sitting at the table when Brandon came in the next morning. The minute Bran walked through the door, Nate got up and fixed him a plate of eggs, sausage and biscuits. Brandon walked over to the stove and gave him a slow kiss. He pulled back and took his plate over to the table. Nate brought over two fresh cups of coffee and sat down beside him.
“You look like you’ve had a rough night.”
Brandon took in Nate’s bloodshot eyes and uncombed hair. “So do you. Did you sleep at all?”
“A little bit.” He gave Brandon a sheepish grin. “I have trouble sleeping when you aren’t with me.”
Brandon thought back to his long month in the guest room, and to all the nightmares he’d had before Nate came along. “Believe me when I tell you, I know how you feel.” He looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Keith? Come to think of it, I didn’t see his car outside.”
“He got a call from the hospital about an hour ago. One of his MS patients was having an episode, so he had to go. And before you have a fit, Deputy Mason has been on duty all night long. If you look through the kitchen window, you can see his car.”
“I’m not going to pitch a fit, but I didn’t want you to be alone. I know how hard this has been on you.”
Nate reached across the table and took Brandon’s hand. “I’m alright, Bran.” He took a deep breath. “Is Wilson really dead?”
Brandon stood up, bringing Nate with him. He led him into the living room and sat down on the couch, pulling Nate onto his lap. He wrapped both arms around him and said, “He’s dead, baby. I saw the body myself.”
Nate laid his head against Brandon’s shoulder. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”
Brandon rubbed his hands up and down Nate’s back. “I’m not worried about food right now. All I care about is how you’re taking all this.”
Nate drew in another deep breath and let it out again slowly. “I’m not sure, Brandon. I mean, as a doctor, I was taught that all life is sacred. At the same time, I feel like doing flips in the back yard because the bastard who put poor Marjorie Newman in a coma and killed Amy won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.” He caressed Brandon’s shoulder and fingered the ridge of scar tissue under his shirt. “The stitches may be gone, but you’ll always have a scar from that knife Wilson tossed at you. I wanted him dead for that alone.”
Brandon un-tucked Nate’s shirt so he could massage the small of his back, skin to skin. The contact with Nate’s warm flesh helped drive away the chill of the last few hours. “I had to force myself not to do a gymnastics routine over Wilson’s corpse, so I imagine those feelings are normal. Even if they aren’t, nobody’s gonna fault you for them.”
Nate sighed as Brandon worked the tension out of his muscles. “Any idea as to cause of death?”
“Howard put a rush job on the autopsy. We should know within the next couple of days.”
“What about my dad? What’s going to happen to him?”
Brandon tipped him back over his arm so he could look into his eyes. “I’m not going to lie to you, Nate. There’s enough evidence for a good prosecutor to put him away. Are you going to be okay with that?”
Nate’s face hardened. “Yeah. Before, when it was just me, I had mixed feelings, but with you getting in Wilson’s way and Amy gone. . .” He trailed off as tears filled his eyes.
Brandon brought him against his chest again. “Shh, baby. We don’t have to talk about this right now.”
Nate shook his head. “Actually, we do. Now that my father is in custody and the investigation on what’s left of my office has been concluded, the insurance agent is anxious to settle. He called me yesterday afternoon. Apparently Howard filed his report and my insurance company wants it all over and done with.”
Brandon kissed Nate’s forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
Nate leaned back and gave him a grin. “If you’ll remember, I had other plans last night.” His expression grew serious again. “Then Howard called, and you had to leave. This is really the first chance I’ve had to discuss it with you.”
Brandon studied his face. “Something about this is bothering you, I can tell. What is it?”
“Just a weird feeling I got from talking to the agent on the phone. His name is Ralph Tatum. He seems like a nice enough guy.”
“But?”
Nate looped his arms around Brandon’s neck. “Tatum was really nervous on the phone. Kept talking about the importance of settling this right away. He’s coming out to the house this afternoon.”
Brandon raised a brow. “On a Saturday?”
“That’s what I thought, too. He said it was of the ‘utmost importance that we reach an understanding as soon as possible,’ whatever the hell that means. When I bought the policy, I thought the whole thing was pretty cut and dried. I bought the building because Amy and Mike had just purchased a house, and she and I thought it would be easier if it was only in my name. Since my name is on the deed, I bought the insurance. My policy was all inclusive, so what’s there to settle?”
Brandon leaned his head against the couch. “What time is he coming?”
“Three.”
Brandon glanced down at his watch. “It’s just after eight now.”
“Why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest? You’re dead on your feet.”
Brandon hated to admit it, but Nate was right. “Promise you’ll get me up in a few hours so I can meet this Tatum guy with you?”
Nate gave him a soft kiss on the lips and smiled. “I promise. Now get that sexy butt of yours in bed.”
A few minutes later, Brandon went, thinking about all the things he wanted Nate to do to his butt, sexy or otherwise.
* * *
Ralph Tatum was a jittery little thing. Nate guessed him to be about five-four, five-five, tops. He was paper thin and almost bald with just a touch of bright red peach fuzz on top of his head. Nate surveyed the twitch in his jaw and figured it was probably a permanent affliction.
[zilla_likes]