by Lianne Burwell
ictor stood on the edge of the water—you couldn't call it a beach when there were only boulders to mark the end of the island and the start of the lake waters—dripping wet, and watched as the last bit of the boat sank out of sight. "Great," he muttered to himself as the only chance of escape disappeared. "Just great."
"Hey, a little help over here would be good."
"Of all the people to be stranded on an island with and it has to be Mac." Vic took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to get his temper back under control. "And just what do you need help with?" he asked in a normal tone of voice, turning around to face his equally soaked partner and reason for being in this situation. They could have called it in when their target had hit the water but no, they had to get into another speedboat and follow. Only problem was, neither one of them knew where the water was too shallow for the bottom of the boat, while their quarry did. That left them stranded on one of a million small islands along the BC coast line, while the bad guys got away clean. They were going to be so dead when the Director found out.
Mac rolled his eyes. "I grabbed the emergency supplies when the boat started going down," he said. "You, on the other hand, just thrashed around like a swimmer in Jaws."
Vic raised an eyebrow. "Jaws? I thought you didn't watch anything but Hong Kong martial arts flicks." Being forced to put Mac up for a couple weeks while LiAnn headed off to Toronto as part of their upcoming move had left him knowing more about Mac's viewing and listening habits than he'd really wanted to know. Why couldn't the man listen to something decent? But no, Mac scoffed at Vic's blues albums—only dinosaurs listened to vinyl, he said—and taste in TV. They'd already come to blows once. Mac still had the visible remnants of a black eye from that little spat.
"Yeah, well my dad had a thing for disaster movies, and that one definitely counted as a disaster in my books. Now lets get this stuff sorted out before the sun goes down and it gets cold."
Vic was tempted to refuse, but deep down he knew that Mac was right. It was going to get cold, and with both of them wet, it wasn't going to be a pleasant night. And rescue wouldn't reach them before morning. Assuming that the Director—he must have been insane to agree to work for the woman; prison had been safer and more comfortable—even knew where they were. Hell, knowing her, she might even leave them there for a couple of days, just for the fun of it.
He headed over and looked at the open metal box sitting next to Mac. "Where the hell did you find that?"
"Under the back seat, right where it should be," the younger man said with a frown. "Don't you know anything about boats?"
Vic felt his face heat up. "My parents weren't into the vacation stuff. And they definitely weren't into the outdoors type of vacations."
"And you weren't a boy scout?" Mac asked. The sneer in his voice made Vic want to blacken his other eye for him, but the Director had made it clear that they were to work together, and any more fights would get them both sent to Dobrinsky for 'togetherness training.'
Vic shook his head. "I was 'allowed' sports, since it gave them something to brag about, but they were more interested in getting me into educational programs to help me get ahead in school. I graduated from high schooltwo years early, which they lorded over their friends. Wonder what they told those friends when I dropped out of business school to join the police academy as soon as I was old enough," he added with a small grin. He hadn't talked to his parents since then, except for a very awkward Christmas call that LiAnn had talked him into the year before. LiAnn was bigger into family than he was. He took in Mac surprised expression and had to hide his grin. He knew that the younger man had decided he was just a hick cop, so it was fun deflating his assumptions.
"What about you?" Vic asked. "You look very comfortable doing the camping thing."
Mac's expression hardened. "My dad's schemes took us all over the world, and didn't always involve hotel rooms. You learn."
Vic frowned. "I thought the Tangs raised you," he said, trying to remember what little LiAnn had told him of her past.
Mac glared at him. "From the age of twelve. Before that I spent a little more than a year on my own, and the rest with my father."
"He died?"
"I don't know and I don't care."
Vic's curiosity was aroused—old cop instincts, perhaps—but Mac's expression told he had better back off or there would be a fight, consequences be damned. "So how did you live before the Tangs took you in? Foster care?"
Mac snorted. "An illegal alien in Hong Kong? Give me a break." He pulled a flashlight out of the emergency kit and flicked it on. "Fuck," he muttered when the light came on as a dim glow that quickly disappeared. "Dead batteries." In a flash of anger, he tossed the flashlight out into the water. The anger was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and he went back to pulling items out of the box.
Vic bit the inside of his cheek and stopped asking questions. His time in Vice gave him a pretty damned good idea of just how Mac had survived that year on his own. All of the sudden, the mental image he'd built of the man shifted. Up until now he'd seen Mac as a rich brat, a wannabe playboy who'd had everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter. His fancy clothes and LiAnn's easy sophistication had just reinforced that image.
Of course that shift in image didn't change the fact that Mac was an annoying little shit who enjoyed getting on his last nerve, Vic thought as he sorted through what they had to work with.
There wasn't much. A flare gun that wouldn't do them much good in the cluster of small islands unless a boat or plane happened to be close by. That was carefully put aside until they actually saw signs of searchers looking for them. At least he assumed that the Director would send searchers. She had too much money and time invested in them just to leave them to rot. He hoped.
Along with the flare gun were a first aid kit, and couple of thin space blankets. Waterproof matches were a relief with the sun going down, although they would have to move fast to find enough dry wood to light a fire. Vic hoped that Mac's unexpected new skills included building a proper fire, since Vic had never tried. He was a city boy, after all.
And finally, a soggy box of granola bars. The cardboard crumbled away almost as soon as Vic picked it up. Good thing that the individual bars were packed in waterproof sleeves. Just the sight made Vic's stomach rumble. It had been a long time since lunch. He picked one up. Then his conscience pricked.
"Granola bar?" he offered, nonchalantly.
"Thanks," Mac said, eyeing him a little cautiously. He tore open the wrapper and almost inhaled the contents. "Mmm. Apple."
Vic checked the remains of the box. Yep. Apple crisp. Not his favorite, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He ate one, then carefully set the rest aside. He was still hungry, but they had no idea how long rescue would be coming. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion that the Director was going to take her time. He figured she had ways of finding them quickly, but leaving them there for a day or two would appeal to her twisted sense of humor and her determination to get them to 'play nice.'
Mac glanced up at the sky, which was getting darker by the minute. "Wood," he said, then stood and brushed his hands on his pants and headed into the trees. Vic followed.
The island wasn't huge, but it was big enough to have a small forest, it seemed. Within a few steps, he couldn't see the shore, and the darkness got even thicker. He started picking up wood that seemed pretty dry, keeping an eye on his partner as he went. It wasn't as if he could lose the man, but the silence was starting to get to him. No traffic, no shouts. No sign of life. Just the wind making an eerie whistle, and a distant sound of water. Not even a single bird. It was creeping the hell out of him. He couldn't wait for the move to Toronto. He might have enemies back there, but it was familiar territory.
They both had large piles of wood by the time Mac decided that they had enough for the night and they headed back to where their things were. Thankfully Mac did know how to build a campfire, and he did so with such speed and competence that Vic was reluctantly impressed.
By that time the sun was almost completely set and the wind was picking up. With their wet clothes, they were both shivering. Vic huddled closer to the fire. Mac, on the other hand, stood up and started stripping. "What the hell are you doing?" Vic asked, his eyes going wide before he shut them. He wrapped his arms around himself and clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering.
"It's cold, and sitting around all night in wet clothes is just going to make us sick," Mac said reasonably, spreading his clothing over a rock, then picking up one of the space blankets and wrapping it around himself. He looked perfectly at ease, sitting there, naked other than the space blanket.
Vic just shiverred.
By the time the sun came up in the morning, Vic was cold and stiff and in a really bad mood. He'd been wondering if the night was ever going to end. He'd only been able to sleep in fits and starts. He was cold and wet and the ground under him was hard and lumpy. Even with the space blanket, which was designed to hold in body heat, he'd been badly chilled. He'd finally squirmed out of his soaking wet jeans, although he hadn't been able to work up the nerve to strip right down to skin like Mac.
Mac, on the other hand, didn't seem to have had any trouble sleeping. At least, every time Vic had rolled over and looked towards the other side of the fire where the other man lay, Mac had looked to be sound asleep. He never moved, never opened his eyes. Hell, he didn't even snore. If his chest hadn't been moving, Vic might have thought that he was dead.
Of course, he might have been faking it. Vic had never bothered to check out just how Mac slept normally; he'd done his best to ignore the man sleeping in his apartment's spare room. As a result, he didn't know whether Mac usually slept that still. For all he knew, Mac hadn't slept a wink, but was pretending to, just to play with Vic's mind.
Now that the sky was bright enough to see by, it was time to get moving. Vic sat up and glanced over at his partner only to find that Mac's spot was empty except for the folded space blanket, sitting on the ground with a stone on it so that it wouldn't blow away in the wind coming off the water. Mac's clothes were still there, though, so Vic didn't think that the man had found a way off the island and had abandoned him in the night. But still, where was he? And why the hell was he wandering around naked? For that matter, why was he running around, period?
Vic stood and immediately started shivering. The wind was chilly and cut through him like a knife. He grabbed his jeans from the bush they were hanging on, and even though they were still unpleasantly clammy, he pulled them on. They didn't warm him at all, but at least they protected his legs from the worst of the wind.
Still shivering, he threw a couple more branches on the fire. Mac had obviously stirred up before disappearing. Vic was amazed that he'd managed to sleep through the man moving around their makeshift campsite. He was relieved to see that the emergency supply box was still there—further proof that he hadn't been abandoned; something that he wouldn't put past his annoying partner. He looked inside, and everything was still there, except for one granola bar, the wrapper tucked in with the two from the night before. Vic's stomach started grumbling, and since Mac had obviously had his breakfast, Vic felt no guilt at all grabbing one for himself and wolfing it down.
His first impulse was just to toss the wrapper away, but Mac's stared up at him accusingly, so he tucked his own next to it. There was no one around to see him litter, but he could just imagine what Mac would say. Another facet to add to his quickly changing mental image of Mac.
He was still a little shit, though, Vic thought to himself as voice in the distance started singing.
The singing was quite good, actually. A warm baritone, rich enough to make him shiver. He assumed that it was Mac singing—who else would be on this tiny island with them?—and was quite surprised at how good the man was. He could sing professionally and do quite well at it. A pity that what he was singing was some modern trash. His voice would be perfect for jazz or the blues. Real music.
As he followed the music, Vic was a little surprised to find that instead of the shore, it was leading him deeper into the island, small as it was. As the music got louder, it was joined by the sound of water splashing. Immediately his throat tightened up, reminding him that he'd had nothing to drink since before their spectacular boat crash the day before, and he was parched.
Pushing past the last scrubby bush, he found the source of the splashing. At what looked to be the center of the island was a small spring that had collected into a pool that was probably not even waist deep at the deepest point. Mac was taking a bath in it.
Considering the fact that his partner's clothing had been left back at their makeshift camp, it shouldn't have surprised Vic that Mac was naked, but somehow it did. He was standing in water up to his knees, bent over to splash water onto his chest, accidentally presenting Vic was an excellent view of his rear end. Vic froze and closed his eyes, trying to block out that view.
It wasn't that it was an unappealing ass, mind you. He'd always appreciated a nice ass, male or female, although admitting the first wasn't something he did, considering both his current and previous lines of work. But he was engaged to LiAnn, so he shouldn't be looking at anyone else's ass; especially not the ass of their partner, her ex-fiance. Besides, he didn't like Mac. At all.
"Finally decided to wake up, did you?"
Vic jumped as drops of ice-cold water hit his face, making his skin tighten with a shiver. "Shit, Ramsey, are you trying to freeze your dick off?" he snapped without thinking. Then his eyes flew open, and he fought the urge to blush. Mac was standing right in front of him, hands on his hips. His skin was puckered with goosebumps, and drops of water gleamed in his chest hairs. There was something almost primal about him, and Vic clamped down his reaction to it.
Mac snickered. "Trust me, there is nothing wrong with my equipment," he said with a leer, looking down briefly. "Any particular reason why you're so worried about it?" He winked in a way that made Vic want to punch him. Or something.
"No!" Vic was proud of himself. His gaze didn't flicker downward. Not even for a second. Much. Okay, for a millisecond, maybe. Just long enough to know that if the other man's dick had shrunk from the cold, then he must be hung like a horse. Vic shivered slightly. This was getting freakish.
If anything, Mac's grin got wider. "You can take a longer look if you like. You know you want to. It's got to be a struggle to deny it."
"You know, not kneeing you in the groin is a constant struggle," Vic shot back. This time he did look down. Slowly. Deliberately. And, he hoped, in a way that expressed his disdain for this confusing man he thought he had already known too well. "Although it's a very small target to hit," he lied.
Mac just laughed. "Come on, Vic, you know you want me. Aren't you even a little curious about what LiAnn and Michael found so appealing?"
Michael? "No," he said firmly.
Mac stepped forward, and Vic quickly backed up until his back was pressed up against the twisted trunk of one of the island pines, feeling a little foolish. This was completely ridiculous, and he didn't like that Mac was able to do this too him.
It was also disturbingly reminiscent of how he and LiAnn had gotten together. He'd been so busy trying to ignore the attraction that he was feeling that he hadn't noticed she was pursuing him until she had knocked him on his back during a sparring session then hadn't let him back up. Come to think of it, that was how most of his relationships went.
But that wasn't going to happen this time. He was taken, and he had no interest in Mac, no matter how attractive he was. As Mac tried to press his advantage, Vic pushed back, refusing to be distracted by the crisp feel of Mac's chest hair under his palms. "This isn't going to happen," he said. Despite the cold, he was starting to sweat. He hated Mac, he reminded himself. He was a rival, for position and LiAnn. He was an arrogant little shit, completely self-centered.
And yet, he wasn't sure who Mac was anymore. In the last twenty-four hours he had learned more about the man than he had in the month since the man had been dumped on them by the Director.
And he was too damned close. Too confusing and too close. And LiAnn was on the other side of the country.
"Come on, Vic, don't you want a little taste? I know you do. I've known since our little... swing, stealing that painting. LiAnn won't mind. She shared me with Michael, after all."
Vic was starting to breathe heavily as he fought to keep himself under control, but something in the way Mac said the last bit caught his attention. Meeting Mac's eyes, he realized that they had gone almost dead. The grin was still in place, but the teasing twinkle in his eyes were gone. "I thought Michael wanted LiAnn," Vic said, calm descending on him.
Mac shrugged. "So?"
"You were in love with LiAnn. Michael was in love with LiAnn. But you slept with Michael? How did she feel about that."
"It was her suggestion."
This was too damned weird. "Why?"
"It was just sex," Mac said, looking confused.
Vic sighed. "Sometimes I wonder about you."
Mac grinned. "I wonder about you, too. Like, are you a screamer or the silent type? I've been tempted to find out, you know. I could just sneak into your room one of these nights. Would you like that?" He reached towards Vic, but Vic just twisted out of the way.
He was no longer off-balance. This had become too similar to some of his experiences as a cop in vice. That let him step back and control himself. "The Director should be arriving soon," he said calmly, turning to head back towards the camp. "She can't afford to leave us running around on our own for too long."
Behind him he could hear the soft patter of bare feet on the ground as Mac followed him. He could tell from the silence that he'd finally managed to throw the man completely off-balance, but he didn't feel the sense of triumph in it that he might have a few days earlier. It was quickly becoming clear to him that Mac's past had left him completely screwed up. The only question was whether or not he was beyond repair. Strangely, Vic found himself hoping not.
Unfortunately, one side effect of this was that he was also getting a closer look at LiAnn, and he was beginning to wonder about her, too. The idea that she would cheerfully let Mac sleep with Michael, even though she had told Vic that she'd been in love with Mac at the time, was disturbing.
Still not looking at Mac, Vic crouched down and fed a few more branches to the fire. It was throwing off enough heat that he stopped shivering, despite the win. "Get dressed before you get sick," he said.
"But..."
Vic smiled, although he made sure that Mac couldn't see it. "Get dressed, Mac. Now is not the the time and definitely not the place."
There was no sound after that, except for the wind whistling, the fire crackling, and the rustle of cloth as Mac got dressed. Then he came over to the fire and they sat in almost comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional confused look from Mac, which Vic carefully ignored.
Almost an hour later, the distant drone of a motor announced that rescue had arrived. They ran down to the water's edge and waved and hollered until they were sure that they had been seen.
"You know, Vic," Mac said, finally, "I don't understand you at all."
Vic quickly covered up a smile. "That's all right, Mac. I'm beginning to understand you." And as far as he was concerned, that was what really mattered.
END
