“Damn straight,” Nick said.
JD smiled softly. “You’re awfully optimistic for a cop.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, I thought all you police-type guys were these brooding, stoic, ‘drink yourself blind to drown out the ugliness of the world’ types.”
Nick barked a laugh. “You’re thinking of Vice.”
JD just shook his head. “This happy exterior is hiding some deep, dark secret in your past, isn’t it?”
Nick shook his head in amusement as he reached for his drink.
“You’re an alcoholic. You’re closeted. You obliterated an innocent town while you were in the Marines. You’re a macho cop who likes to shoot a pearl-handle .22.”
“I drink in moderation unless I’m pregaming, I’ve quite openly liked dick for the past couple of years, I obliterated a lot of things in the Marines, and the pearl-handle is a .38 Special with a pink tint to it,” Nick answered with a sly grin before taking a sip of his water.
JD laughed, his eyes sparkling. “You’re not mysterious at al . You should try amnesia.”
“I’ll leave that to you,” Nick offered with a mockingly humble shrug.
JD rolled his eyes. Nick took the opportunity to study him for a moment. He seemed better than he had, but that wasn’t saying a lot. He still had dark rings under his eyes, and prominent worry lines around his mouth and on his forehead. He probably wasn’t as old as he looked right now, maybe younger than Nick. He’d spent a lot of time in the sun, judging by the difference in his blond hair versus the scruff of darker beard growing in. He had no visible scars or tattoos, nothing to identify him with. And his strange blue eyes were truly haunting.
“So,” JD said on a sigh. “A hotel with an armed police guard?”
Nick stared at him thoughtfully. “Until we get all this straightened out, yeah.”
JD smiled weakly. “Sounds lovely. I don’t guess I can count on you being there at al , huh?”
“Not until the first of the week, but hopefully we’ll have this all figured out by then. You’ll be safe. And I’ll find out who you are. I promise.”
JD nodded, chewing on his lip. “You always keep your promises, Detective?”
Nick was silent for several tense seconds before smiling.
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I believe you.”
“Good.” Nick grabbed his coat and slid from the booth, gesturing for JD to stand with him. “And right now I have to get you to your room, because I promised someone else I’d pick them up at the airport tonight.”
Kelly Abbott’s flight from Colorado had taken nearly four hours longer than it should have, including a lengthy layover in Charlotte where he’d played with every gadget in the Brookstone store and then made good use of the bar. He was tired, a little wobbly, and had a cramp in his neck because he’d fallen asleep with his head against the window instead of drooling on the guy next to him on the plane.
When he hit the escalators that would take him down to the baggage claim at Logan, he bent to scan the crowd below for Nick. It was June in Massachusetts, so it wasn’t like people were all bundled up, but it was busy as hell, so it was hard to tell if Nick was down there.
Before Kelly had left his house for the Denver airport this morning, Nick had warned him that he might have to send a car to pick him up if his new case warranted it. Kelly didn’t mind; in fact, he was the reason Nick had gone back to work at all.
Nick had been ready to quit. He’d been a cop for almost as many years as he’d been a Marine, but when the Corps had called him back for a last tour of duty, something inside Nick had snapped. He’d come home and declared he was done with carrying a gun. Kelly had given it a few weeks to let the boredom set in before convincing Nick he was acting rashly.
Nick never acted rashly; that was Kelly’s job. Besides, he’d been bored as hell without his badge, so he’d gone back to the department for a test run. The first few months had gone off without a hitch.
Kelly was halfway down the escalator when he caught sight of Nick, and his heart skipped a beat. Nick was dressed in a suit and tie, with a tan trench coat that made him look like a private eye from the ’50s. He was wearing his badge on his belt, and Kelly’s trained eyes could see the telltale outline of a gun at his hip. He had his phone out, frowning at the screen.
Kelly’s feet hit the end of the escalator as he stared, and he nearly fell all over himself.
He stumbled out into the baggage claim area, and Nick obviously saw the motion out of the side of his eye because he looked up quickly, flinching like he might be going for his gun. A smile graced his handsome face when he saw Kelly, though, and he moved toward him, meeting him halfway and wrapping him up in a hug.
“Have a nice trip?” he asked, laughing softly.
“Shut up. Jesus, you look good.”
Nick kissed his cheek, then his lips. He didn’t linger over it, though. “I barely got here, didn’t have time to change. You look rough, babe.”
“I feel rough. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Nick grabbed his hand to halt him as Kelly marched toward the door. “Don’t you have a suitcase?”
Kelly glanced at the crowd around the baggage conveyors.
His shoulders slumped. All he wanted to do was get Nick somewhere private. Now. “Oh yeah.”
Nick pulled him closer, sliding his hands under Kelly’s jacket to rest on the small of his back. He kissed him gently, with the crowds bustling around them. Kelly realized this might be their first official PDA, and neither of them cared.
Nick rested his temple against Kelly’s and smiled against his neck. “I missed you.”
“Me too.” Kelly wrapped his arm around Nick’s neck and dropped his carry-on bag to the floor to get another kiss, but Nick raised his head instead.
“Is that your bag? With all the patches on it?”
Kelly grunted and turned to the conveyor. His rucksack had patches from almost every destination he’d traveled, so it was hard to miss. “Yeah. Fucking cockblock.”
Nick burst out laughing. It was a sound Kelly had sorely missed. It sent a shiver through him, making the scar of the bullet wound on his chest throb. He rubbed at it as Nick kissed him again before letting him go and then striding over to catch his rucksack for him. The coat made him look even wider at the shoulders than he already was. Kelly flashed back to all the many mornings he’d seen Nick stalking across whatever camp, base, or ship they’d been stationed on, barking orders.
He wondered sometimes how he’d gone five years in Recon without molesting his friend. He’d either been absolutely blind to the attraction or he was rewriting the memories in his head, because damn.
Nick returned, Kelly’s bag thrown over his shoulder and a smile on his face. “Ready to go home?”
“You’re not even going to feed me first?” Kelly teased.
“Just going to take me to your boat and fuck me?”
“That’s SOP, yeah. Come on.” He led Kelly out into the brisk evening.
His Range Rover was parked in a no loading zone right beside the taxi lane, and airport security was standing beside it, writing out a ticket. Nick handed Kelly his bag and gestured for him to load it in the car. Kelly watched him as he slid his overcoat and suit jacket aside and tapped the badge on his belt with one long finger.
The rent-a-cop gave him a wave and moved away, and Kelly climbed into the passenger side. Nick got into the car a moment later, grinning crookedly.
“You just abused your authority,” Kelly told him.
Nick nodded and started the car.
“You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
Nick side-eyed him. “So did you.”
“So much.”
Chapter 2
he choppy water lapped at the hull of Nick’s yacht, Tthe sound rhythmic and deep, like Kelly could feel it in his chest as he lay awake in the main cabin. Nick was curled beside him, his breathing uneven, his body tense.
He was dreaming, and his restlessness made it impossible for Kelly to sleep. Nick tossed his head and murmured something, and as he moved, his fingers grazed Kelly’s arm.
Kelly flinched, wincing in anticipation of Nick waking. The last time Nick had rolled into him during a dream, he’d startled awake and pinned Kelly to the mattress, his hand around Kelly’s throat, before Kelly could say anything to calm him.
Not that Kelly minded, because not only could he defend himself with ease, but also the way Nick apologized was pretty fantastically sweaty and naked.
That had been weeks ago, of course, in Kelly’s cabin in Colorado where Nick wasn’t quite as familiar with his surroundings. Nick usually slept easy, especially on his boat, and the more time that passed since his last deployment, the fewer issues he had. But on stormy nights, when the seas tossed the boat beneath them, when thunder crashed above them and the sounds of the sea infiltrated the hul , Nick was restless and quick to strike out when his nightmares were interrupted.
Nick murmured something in his sleep again, and Kelly finally gave up on trying to get to sleep himself and pushed the blanket off. He slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Nick as he headed for the salon upstairs.
Photos were scattered on the walls there, and the occasional knickknack sat around, but other than that the décor of the yacht was pretty sparse. It wasn’t Spartan or empty, though.
Kelly had spent plenty of time aboard the yacht since Nick had purchased it. He’d thought nothing on board was foreign to him, but when Nick had shown him the drawer full of sex toys beneath his bed, Kelly had been both shocked and incredibly turned on. He kind of wondered what else Nick had managed to hide away in spaces Kelly didn’t know were there.
The clouds hid the moon in the sky, and only the skyline of Boston provided light. Kelly closed the shades against it and threw the yacht into almost pitch darkness. He didn’t like the press of a big city so close to him.
He flopped onto the couch in the salon, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness and glancing around at the nooks and crannies where Nick stored all his personal belongings.
Hardback books were piled everywhere, most of them on history, archaeology, or lost treasures and mysteries. That had always been Nick’s thing, though. Nick was one of the only jarheads Kelly had ever met who didn’t have a single gun magazine subscription or hang knives on his walls. Kelly wasn’t even sure where Nick kept his medals, because he sure as hell didn’t have them sitting out or displayed.
The coffee table was covered with files Nick had brought home from work. He’d intended to take vacation days, but Kelly had convinced him not to. He’d used enough of his vacation last year for emergencies; Kelly didn’t want him wasting more to stay home. He wanted him to take real vacations this year. Preferably somewhere warm. Preferably with him.
Over dinner Nick had mentioned a few details of the case he was working on, a robbery gone wrong that had ended up in murder. Then he’d apologized for bringing work home when Kelly was there to spend time with him, and he’d shoved the files away in favor of resting his head in Kelly’s lap as they watched a movie on Netflix.
Kelly smiled softly with the memory. Nick had swiftly drifted off to sleep, and Kelly had ignored the movie in favor of twisting his fingers through Nick’s curly hair.
The memory made the silent boat feel that much lonelier.
Kelly fought past the tumbling feeling in his gut. He had two more weeks here. He wasn’t going to start getting melancholy about leaving yet, Jesus.
He stretched to flip on a lamp beside the couch so he wasn’t sitting in the dark like a creeper, and then absently flipped through the pages of Nick’s files on the table. Was it illegal for him to be seeing this information? He shrugged and scanned Nick’s handwritten notes. He loved the way Nick wrote; block print, no discernible quirks, only the slightest hint of a lefty slant. But the faster he wrote, or the more agitated he grew, the more beautiful the scrawl became. He lost the blocking and it took on a personality all its own, a hybrid of print and cursive with precise curves and flourishes.
It was so telling of Nick’s personality, the hidden part of him only a few people got to see.
He must have written the notes in shorthand or some sort of code, though, because it read like nonsense. Kelly placed the notepad back where he’d found it and sighed deeply, then hunted for the remote. He might sleep if the television was going.
He found the remote resting on top of a book beside the lamp: Mysteries of the Golden and Rosy Cross.
Kelly frowned at the title. Nick liked adventure books, especially the ones that added a little historical mystery to the story. Maybe Kelly could read himself to sleep and he wouldn’t risk waking Nick with the sound of the TV.
When he opened the book, though, a sheet of paper fell out. Kelly scrambled for it before it could flutter to the floor or disappear into the couch cushions. It was the same kind of paper as in the Moleskine notepad Nick carried around.
It had obviously been torn away, and on it were two grids, like tic-tac-toe boards, and two Xs, all with symbols in each empty space. A pigpen cipher: a simple substitution cipher that usually used dots instead of symbols. Kelly had taught the kids at the camp he worked at in Colorado how to do these, trying to get them interested in linguistics.
Kelly had his thumb in the pages the note had been stuck between, and on them he found the same sort of cipher, this time with the correct series of dots, and notes explaining how it was used. Not that Nick needed to look up a pigpen cipher; he was the one who’d taught Kelly how to do them.
Kelly flipped through the rest of the book. It wasn’t a novel after al , but a book about secret societies, specifically one called the Rosicrucians. Kelly had never heard of them.
