Star Struck      Star Struck

 by Grey

  

 Author's website: http://www.e-fic.com/~grey

 Disclaimer: Not mine, but that won't stop me.

 Author's Notes: I'd like to thank Bast and XFreak for their support.

 Story Notes: The character of Rick Mercy is loosely based on the the rock
singer and actor Hugh Dillion of THE HEADSTONES.

 

 

 Summary: Ray's relationship with a rock star changes his partnership with
Fraser. 

 Star Struck
 by Grey 

 Ray tapped a finger against his right temple as if pretending to think
really hard before a revelation. "That's, what's the word, sir, stupid." 

 "Did I ask your opinion, Detective?" 

 Arms crossed tightly around his chest, his hands tucked under his
armpits, Ray shook his head. "No, sir, you didn't, but this is a stupid
idea, a rotten idea. With all due respect, sir, this is the worst idea
you've ever had." 

 Welsh sat back at his desk, hand to his cheek, his face haggard as
always. "Rick Mercy's at risk. Whether he likes it or not, his manager
wants protection." 

 "Why not go with private security? Why the police?" 

 "Rich or not, he's a citizen. He's entitled." 

 Ray stood very still, his gut clenched. "But why me?" 

 Welsh snorted as if the reason should be obvious to a star detective.
"Because you're a blender." 

 "I'm an appliance?" 

 "Don't pull that Canadian malarkey with me, Detective. You blend in. This
guy's a punk rock singer. I look around and I'm pretty sure Huey won't
blend, Dewey won't blend, but you, you Vecchio, you'll blend." 

 Fuck. Ray sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose to fight back
the building headache, wishing like hell he hadn't done the experimental
hair thing again. "Sir, I don't know about this." 

 "All you need to know is that the higher ups want his ass covered. Until
we catch the guy who's trying to crack his skull open, that's going to be
your job." 

 "I'm a detective, not a babysitter." 

 Welsh's frown deepened. "You got a problem with Mercy?" 

 "You know anything about The CryptSingers or Rick Mercy?" 

 "Just that he's pretty famous and sings stuff that makes my ears bleed." 

 Ray paced a few times, his shoulders still hunched, his body tight all
over. "He's got a bad rep, drugs, booze, lots of fights. Tends to fly off
the handle even at the guys in his own band." 

 "Drugs? What kind of drugs?" 

 "Heroin mostly. Last I heard he was clean, but that could just be PR. Now
he just gets arrested for drunk and disorderly and tears up hotel rooms
when he's on tour. He's trouble with a big T. He's not going to let me
stay close enough to do any good." 

 "That might be, but for now that's your assignment, stay close while he's
in town and see if you can figure out who's trying to kill him." 

 "You want me to go undercover while I'm undercover?" 

 "No, they'll know you're a cop. You just have to fit into the crowd, not
stand out too much. The last detective on the case seemed to think it
might be someone close to Mercy." 

 "Last detective? Why's he off the case?" 

 Welsh shook his head. "Personality clash with Mercy, apparently." 

 Shit. "I'll bet. Can I talk to the guy?" 

 Welsh picked up a folder and handed it to Ray. "Detective Markowitz of
the one five. Number's in there. Mercy's manager's name is Alex Rich. He
wants a meet and brief at two this afternoon. Wants you to meet Mercy and
to sit in on the rehearsal." 

 "I've got open cases." 

 "Reassigned. This takes priority for the moment." 

 "I need to go through all the background stuff first, sir, and I need
Fraser on this, too." 

 "I fear Constable Fraser might have a problem blending in with this
crowd, Vecchio." 

 Ray didn't bother to argue, just cracked his neck as he studied the file
about the three break-ins and the most recent attempted assault on Mercy.
The notation of shots fired at the scene jumped out. "Fuck." 

 "Detective?" 

 "Mercy's got a gun." 

 "His manager's got a permit. Apparently, he'd left the gun at Mercy's
place." 

 "That's not good, not good at all. A guy like Mercy could do some serious
damage with a stray bullet." 

 "Which is where you come in. With you there, he shouldn't have to use a
gun." Welsh leaned forward, his hands together on the desk. "Look, go meet
this guy, see what you can do about this mess." 

 "It's not going to be easy." 

 "Few things ever are, Detective."  

 Rick "Don't Touch Me or I'll Break Your Face" Mercy. Of all the stinking
luck. Fuck. 

 Nothing like a good kick in the teeth just to make his lousy day even
better. 

 Sitting in his car, the motor running, Ray remembered that night he'd
first seen Mercy and his band play. The man rocked, hammered the air with
his powerful voice, the sexual heat burning the place down. Ray drank too
much, building up his nerve to sneak backstage to see him, to maybe talk
to the guy. Talk to him. Right. Ray snorted to himself, like talking was
what he really wanted from Mercy. 

 Instead, he got abuse, the guy too stoned on H to stand up, stumbling and
puking all over himself, threatening to break his face if he touched him
at all. Ray called for someone to help get the guy off the floor and into
the dressing room, away from the cameras and people just standing around
gawking, just letting the sick fuck lie there in his own shit. 

 Later, hurried out with a free pass shoved in his hand, Ray went home,
got wasted, and passed out. Ray saw it all in his head like it was just
yesterday, felt the humiliation, the disappointment. Rick What a Loser
Mercy. Fuck him. Now he had to see him again, erase that whole bad scene
from his mind, and start over. 

 Ray's curse meant remembering all the shit, good or bad, it didn't
matter. Ray never forgot anything personal in his life even when he wished
like hell that he could. 

 The car door opened and Ray turned to see his partner climbing in to sit
beside him. Smiling, Ray nodded his approval at the jeans and brown
leather jacket. He'd told Fraser to dress casual and Ray loved the look,
but he still had to do something about that hair. He couldn't wait to
spike those dark wavy locks. He took his mind off the thought of messing
up Fraser's hair by asking, "Where's Dief?" 

 "From what you told me, I thought it prudent to ask Turnbull to watch
him." 

 "Good idea." 

 Ray checked his mirrors, gunned the engine, and sped into traffic. Fraser
closed his eyes and shook his head at the loud screech of tires and the
horns of the other cars. "Ray, I wish you wouldn't do that." 

 "Do what?" 

 "Drive in such an hazardous manner." 

 "We wreck yet?" 

 "Aside from the crash into the Lake they call Michigan, you mean?" 

 "Not my fault, and aside from that, yeah." 

 "Well, no, but that's no reason to increase the probability by driving
faster than the posted limits and ignoring the rights of the other
motorists." 

 "Yeah, right, whatever. Okay, here's the deal. We've got to figure out
who's trying to whack this rich asshole. We need to do this fast. I do
not, I repeat, I do not want to hang around this guy any more than I have
to. Got that?" 

 "Yes, indeed." Fraser studied him for a few moments. "Perhaps if you
could fill me in on the details of the case, I could better assist you." 

 Ray drove with one hand and reached into the back seat. He only swerved
once before giving the file to Fraser. "Check it out. I talked to this
Markowitz guy, the detective who worked the case up until he walked out on
Mercy yesterday." 

 "He quit the case? Did he give a reason?" 

 Clearing his throat, keeping his eyes on the road and away from Fraser,
Ray nodded. "He said Mercy's been trying to get into his pants." 

 "Into his pants? Mr. Mercy wanted to wear Detective Markowitz's pants?" 

 Groaning in frustration, Ray shook his head. "No, Fraser, Mercy wanted to
fuck him." Ray didn't have to look to see the red. 

 "I see." 

 "Yeah, so anyway, Markowitz went to his Lieutenant and told him he'd file
a lawsuit if he had to stay on the case. Seems this Mercy guy won't take
no for an answer. Markowitz walked, so we get it dumped in our laps. Lucky
us." 

 "Then I take it that Mr. Mercy is homosexual." 

 Ray glanced sideways, Fraser's attention still trained on the file. "Gay,
straight, what's the difference? Nobody's got the right to keep hitting on
somebody who's not interested." 

 Fraser jerked his head up, meeting Ray's heated gaze before Ray looked
back to the road. "I completely agree. That's not what I meant." 

 "Then what did you mean?" 

 "It was just a statement. I thought perhaps his orientation might be a
factor in the attacks." 

 "You mean like bashing? I doubt it. From everything I've read, he swings
both ways, men, women, it doesn't seem to matter." 

 "Still, if he's promiscuous, there's a possibility that there might be a
disgruntled ex-lover to consider." 

 "Yeah, that's an angle, but, hell, with his history, we might be spinning
our wheels for a long time to find the right one. And being a prick, he's
probably pissed off a lot more people on top of that. Still, it might be a
disappointed or obsessed fan. We could go with that until we know
different." 

 "Perhaps." Fraser studied the file a bit more. "Ray, I'm concerned about
this assignment." 

 "Yeah, me, too." 

 "What's your concern?" 

 "That I'm going to deck the guy when he runs his mouth." 

 "Ah." 

 "Don't ah me, Fraser. Do not do that. What are you worried about?" 

 Closing the file, Fraser rubbed his left eyebrow. "What will you do if he
tries to get into your pants as well?" 

 Ray almost wrecked the car. Once he stopped giving the jerk in the green
Volvo the finger, he shook his head. "What do you think?" 

 "I think it's a valid question." 

 "I'll tell him to fuck off. I'm on duty." 

 "And if he persists?" 

 "I can handle myself, don't worry." Ray pulled up in front of his
apartment building and parked the car. He turned sideways, his arm across
the back of the seat. "Better question. What will you do?" 

 "What will I do?" 

 "Yeah, if Mercy comes on to you?" 

 "Comes on?" 

 "You know, makes a play, makes a pass, tries to get you to be his next
fuck buddy." 

 Fraser blushed brightly and pulled at the collar of his black T-shirt. "I
seriously doubt that I'm his type, Ray." 

 "You're breathing, you're his type. Throw in you're easy on the eyes,
he's going to make a move. Just be ready if he does. Tell me and I'll
stomp his sorry ass." Ray saw a flash of something, a spark maybe, some
kind of heat in Fraser's eyes. It made his cock twitch, made him shift in
his seat, his jeans snugger than before. 

 "I'll be fine, Ray." 

 "Just let me know, Fraser. I know how to handle guys like Mercy." 

 Instead of answering, Fraser got out of the car, put his hat back on, and
waited for Ray to get out and lock the doors. "So why are we here, Ray?" 

 "I need to change and you need a new hairdo." 

 "New hairdo?" 

 "Don't worry. It'll look great. You just have to blend in more and you
can't do that looking all smooth and clean cut and wearing a big hat." 

 "Oh, dear."  

 Ray's face beamed at Fraser's new look, that damned hot, how the fuck
could I be a Mountie look. Ray liked it, liked it a lot. Fraser, on the
other hand, needed convincing. 

 "Ray, it looks wild and unkempt." 

 "It's supposed to look that way, all messy. Besides, you like it on me,
so what's the problem?" 

 Fraser frowned and tilted his head as he checked out the new spiked do.
"This rather aggressive style suits you, but I can't say it does much for
me. It just looks silly." 

 "Are you kidding? You look great. Trust me on this, Fraser, it works."
And, oh, man, how it worked. Ray shied away from that thought as he stood
behind him and stared into the mirror. "A pierced ear would look good,
too. A little diamond stud would set it off just right." 

 Fraser turned, wide-eyed and dismayed. "Pierced ear? Please, tell me
you're joking." 

 Grinning, Ray patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Easy much?" As
soon as Fraser relaxed, Ray continued, "Besides, we don't have time and
even if we did, I wouldn't ask you to do that." 

 "Thank you." Fraser frowned and turned back to the mirror. "It feels
strange, like it's not me." 

 "I know. Funny how a different look does that. Speaking of which, I've
got to change." 

 "What's wrong with what you're wearing?" 

 "Too fancy." 

 "Jeans and T-shirt are too fancy? Then I fear I'm overdressed." 

 Ray shook his head as he went into his bedroom and opened closet door.
"No, you're fine. The leather jacket's a nice touch. Me, I go a bit more
grungy." He pulled out a grey plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped out.
Then he went to his bureau and got a raggedy, long-sleeved, off white
thermal top and a pair of jeans with no right knee. 

 As he striped off his Bull's T-shirt, Fraser cleared his throat. "I'll
just wait in the living room." 

 "Sure. Fix some tea or coffee while you're at it. Oh, and the file's on
the table. Take a another look. See if you can see anything that might
give us a clue about who might be behind the attacks." 

 "Certainly, Ray." 

 As soon as Fraser left, Ray changed quickly, surprised that the jeans
hung loosely on his hips. He didn't remember losing weight, but that
didn't mean much. Ray hardly ever worried about shit like weight, never
did. 

 As a final touch, he got out his dangly, silver skull and crossbones
earring and stepped back to the bathroom. His left ear hadn't closed up
completely, but it stung and bled a little as he pushed it through. Ray
studied the final effect in the mirror, pleased with the overall look. He
had it down, the punk look, the look he had all through high school, cool
before it was cool. He smiled at his reflection and threw a quick jab at
the glass. Fuck Rick Mercy and his hard ass attitude. Ray could throw back
whatever he got and then some. 

 Fraser turned as Ray walked into the room, startled. He licked his lower
lip and cleared his throat nervously. "Dear Lord, Ray, you look very
different." 

 "Yeah, that's the point." He ignored the intense scrutiny and sat down at
the kitchen table. "Coffee done yet?" 

 Shaking himself as if to wake up, Fraser went to the counter and poured
Ray a cup. He put it in front of him and then settled into the chair
beside Ray's. "I was going over the file as you requested and I found
something interesting." 

 "What?" 

 "Mr. Mercy said there were only a limited number of people who might have
reason to break-in or to attack him." 

 "Yeah, and he gave us a list of four names, which is a crock. We know
there are a lot more people than that. The names he did give all had
alibis." 

 "True, but he doesn't say anything about his ex-partner Bobby Hatchett.
From what I've read about their break up, Hatchett has a lot of reasons to
want to do harm to Mr. Mercy." 

 Ray sat back, shocked. "How the hell do you know about Bobby Hatchett?" 

 "I took the liberty of looking up the files on Mr. Mercy when you called
and told me about the assignment." 

 Ray did quick math in his head. "But that only gave you about 30 minutes.
You're telling me you could find out about Hatchett and that whole deal
just like that?" 

 "Well, yes, Ray. The Consulate has state of the art computer systems
which allow us access to a huge number of databases and news services." 

 "So you're telling me that between the time I called and the time I
picked you up, you got changed and managed to do a background check on
Rick Mercy along with taking care of everything else?" 

 "It wasn't that difficult." 

 Ray smiled in admiration. "Good job." 

 "Thank you kindly. But I take it from your reaction that you already know
about the rather messy Mercy/Hatchett break up." 

 "Yeah, but I don't think Bobby Hatchett's responsible. Still, we should
check to rule him out if nothing else." 

 "Why don't you think Hatchett's responsible without first looking into
his whereabouts on the dates of the attacks?" 

 "Last I heard he was still singing with JESSIE'S SISTER out in LA. It'll
be easy enough to check, but I don't see Hatchett going to the trouble to
come back to Chicago and attack Mercy, not that he wouldn't deserve it." 

 "I don't understand. Why would you say Mercy would deserve being
attacked?" 

 "Right before their last performance, Mercy found out Hatchett was
leaving the band without telling him. Beat the guy bloody on stage." 

 "Were charges filed?" 

 "Hatchett wouldn't file. Rumor is that they were an item and Mercy took
Hatchett's quitting the band personal, real personal, like dumping his ass
in public personal." Ray leaned his elbows on the table. "Still, I don't
see Hatchett coming back and doing something like this. From everything
I've read, he left for LA the next day and never looked back. Mercy OD'd
on smack and The CryptSingers didn't play again for almost six months." 

 "We should still check for an alibi just the same to see if he took any
flights to Chicago during the time of the break-ins." 

 "Sure, that should be easy enough." Ray finished his coffee. He put his
arms up, his hands behind his head as he stretched back. His muscles ached
with the pull, way too stiff. He needed to work out more, go to the gym,
do something besides ride around or sit at a desk all day. 

 "Ray?" 

 "Yeah?" 

 "I'm uneasy about my part in this assignment." 

 Ray put his arms down and leaned forward on the table. "Why's that?" 

 "I'm not familiar with this world. I fear I'll be a hindrance rather than
be helpful." 

 "And it makes you uncomfortable, right?" 

 "Yes." 

 "Yeah, I get that." Fraser looked about as nervous as he did before going
to the church when Stella got a bug up her ass about attending services.
"Look, you'll be fine. Just follow my lead. Just keep your bat ears open
and see what you can pick up from the background. Me, I'm going to focus
on Mercy. I want to know who's saying what. I think Markowitz is right
about it being somebody close." 

 "The pattern would suggest that, yes." 

 "And I need you at my back on this one because I figure Mercy's going to
be a handful. I can't do this by myself, Fraser, and I don't trust anyone
more than you." 

 Fraser's face broke into a smile. "Thank you, Ray. I trust you more than
anyone else as well." 

 "So it's settled. We're going to catch this guy so you can comb your hair
again as soon as possible." 

 "Meanwhile, I might need your assistance in maintaining the present
state. I really don't think I can in good conscience arrange it this way
on my own." 

 "You want me to keep fixing your hair?" 

 Fraser snorted lightly. "It looks more like you're breaking it than
fixing it, but yes, Ray, I do." 

 "Deal, and remember, no hat." 

 Fingering the brim of his Stetson, Fraser gave in. "Agreed." 

 Ray leaned back, arms crossed. "One other thing." 

 "What?" 

 "Mercy's main hangouts are his home, which contains his studio, and his
bar. It's called Mercy. When we're in the bar, be sure to watch what you
drink." 

 "I don't drink." 

 "Even if you just get juice or water, be careful. Guys get their drinks
spiked in these places all the time. The best thing is to order something
bottled and have the bartender uncap it right there just to be on the safe
side. And never leave it unattended and then drink it." 

 "I appreciate the warning, Ray. You should also be careful. If the person
is someone close to Mercy, then he or she will know you're a police
officer." 

 "You, too." 

 "True, but my point is, that this person might want to render you
unconscious at some point to get to Mr. Mercy." 

 "Right. Good point." Ray stood up and checked his gun holstered under the
ripped shirt. "I'd feel better if you were carrying on this." 

 "You know my position on that, Ray." 

 "Yeah, yeah, I know, too much paper work. Still, I've got a bad feeling
about this one." 

 Fraser frowned as he stood up. "Bad feeling?" 

 "Yeah, the creeps, a bad vibe, the willies. I just think Mercy knows more
than he's telling and it's going to backfire on us." 

 "Then I suggest we go meet the man and see what we can do to get him to
spill the coffee." 

 Ray grinned, amused. "You mean spill the beans?" 

 "Quite right, spill the beans." 

 "And you think I can get him to spill the beans when Markowitz couldn't?"


 "If anyone can get Mr. Mercy to confide, it'll be you, Ray. You have
uncanny skills of persuasion." 

 Pleased with the compliment, Ray cracked his neck sideways and beamed.
"Yeah, the kick'em in the head thing works like a charm." 

 Fraser didn't argue, but just followed Ray out to the car wearing a cute
blush from the strain of keeping his hands away from his own unruly,
unMountie-like hair.  

 Even in the middle of the afternoon, the club Mercy had people milling in
and out. Ray had to blink several times to get used to the dark and dingy
interior. Apparently, Mercy didn't believe in a no smoking section, the
thick, grey air nearly triggering Ray's urge to light up and renew an old
addiction. Ray scanned the room and spotted Mercy at the bar, the singer
complaining as he finished off a bottled beer. "I told you, I don't want
Warner on lights tonight. Tell Jerry to get his sorry ass in here." 

 As the other man walked away, Ray stepped up, Fraser right behind him.
"Sorry to interrupt, but..." 

 "Who the fuck are you?" 

 Ray met Mercy's steel blue eyes, but kept his anger in check and his
voice steady. He showed his badge quickly and then put it away. "Detective
Ray Vecchio." He thumbed in Fraser's direction. "This is my partner,
Benton Fraser." 

 Mercy ignored Fraser and smiled at Ray, his lips thinned almost to a
sneer. "You're the cop bodyguard? What, they don't pay you guys enough to
eat anymore?" 

 Ray wanted to knock the guy's teeth down his throat. He stepped into
Mercy's space, his eyes locked onto his. "Look, I don't want to be here,
but somebody wants your miserable ass dead, like that's so fucking hard to
imagine." Before Mercy could speak, Ray raised his finger in a warning
motion and continued. "You don't want me here, tell your manager to call
the fucking Mayor and I'm gone, zero to sixty, out of your hair. Until
then, you listen to me, do what I say, and I might keep your ass alive
long enough to make some money. Save your life, don't save your life,
makes no fucking difference to me." 

 The whole bar stilled, the tension nearly vibrating the air. Nobody
stirred as they waited for the next move. Mercy never took his eyes off
Ray. Finally, Mercy grinned and practically purred. "Tough guy, huh?" 

 "Tough as I need to be, yeah." 

 Mercy's easy smile let everyone relax enough to start talking and working
again. The singer scratched the fresh dagger tattoo on his neck. "You want
a beer?" 

 "I'm on duty." 

 Licking his lower lip, Mercy leaned in, his voice husky and suggestive.
"How about when you get off?" 

 Ray didn't miss the double meaning and neither did his cock. "Yeah, when
I'm off duty." 

 "When's that?" 

 "Later. For now we need to talk." 

 Mercy nodded, lifted his hand, and signaled for the bartender. "You want
coffee or something?" 

 "Not now." Ray looked around the place, unhappy with the set up, too many
doors and easy ways to get at Mercy. "We need to find a place away from
the crowd. You got an office?" 

 "In the back, yeah." 

 "Good. Let's go there and talk." 

 Mercy picked up the fresh bottle of beer and motioned toward Fraser. "He
can stay out here." 

 Unsettled, Fraser frowned. "Ray?" 

 "He's right, Fraser. You stay here. Keep an eye out and your ears open." 

 "You're sure?" 

 Fraser's worried tone amused him, but made him a little tingly all over,
all that Mountie concern aimed in his direction. "Yeah, I'm sure. Won't be
long." 

 Not completely convinced, Fraser stared at Mercy as he spoke to Ray.
"I'll be right here if you need me." 

 Mercy laughed out loud, the sound harsh, almost like a cough. "Don't
worry, Ben, baby. Promise not to eat the boy alive or do anything lewd or
indecent." Mercy made a point of then gazing at Ray, his look hungry.
"Yet, anyway." 

 Ray snapped, "Knock it off, Mercy." 

 Holding his hands up, acting all innocent, Mercy laughed again. "Touchy
much, Detective?" 

 "Touchy as hell. Now, let's get started. Where's the office?" 

 "Down the hall." 

 Ray glanced once more at Fraser and then headed off through the door with
Mercy right behind him, his partner's worried expression burned into his
memory. He couldn't help wondering if Fraser might be smarter than he was
when it came to dealing with hard cases like Mercy.  

 Mercy sat behind the desk and put his feet up, his leather boots clunking
against the wood. "Take a load off, Ray. Get comfortable." 

 Ray remained standing just to be contentious. Mercy's obvious sexual
interest made him uneasy, the edginess not unlike how he felt about
Fraser, a slick hunger that sometimes slipped to the surface no matter how
hard he worked to keep it in check. He jerked his neck quickly sideways
and cracked his spine, reminding himself of the job at hand. Pulling out
his notebook, he got a pen and focused on the paper. "You told Markowitz
that there were only four people who might want you dead. We both know
that's bullshit. I need more to work on." 

 Dropping his feet back to the floor, Mercy leaned forward, the beer
bottle between both hands. He stared at Ray, his face hostile. "Markowitz
was an asshole." 

 Ray met his eyes, challenging. "He said you came on to him." 

 "Yeah, so?" 

 "So, he told you to stop and you didn't." 

 "Because he didn't want me to, not really." 

 "So to you no means yes until you get clobbered or shot?" 

 "Or some drama queen like Markowitz files charges." 

 "He didn't file." 

 "Figures. Asshole wanted it and then chickened out. Believe me, I know
guys like him. They want it bad, but they're afraid of what wanting it
means." Mercy paused, his eyes narrowed with amusement as he studied Ray,
waiting for his reaction. "You know what I mean, right? Fucking cock tease
walked around begging me to fuck him, but one little kiss and he's out the
door. Fucker left me hanging." 

 "No means no, Mercy. Guys like you, you don't get that. You're lucky he
didn't file charges. I would have." 

 "I doubt that." 

 Ray never took his eyes away from Mercy's, didn't blink, never hesitated.
"Don't ever doubt it. I say no, I mean no, period." 

 Mercy looked away first and then took a deep drink. "Okay, we're clear
about that, but let me ask a question." 

 "What?" 

 "You want me, right?" 

 Ray snorted with laughter and shook his head. "Arrogant prick." 

 "Still waiting for an answer." 

 Ray ignored the original question, but kept smiling. "Look, let's get
back to business. Who do you know besides the people you listed who might
want you dead?" 

 Settling back in his chair, Mercy put his feet up again and drank a few
sips. "I honestly don't know. I mean, what the fuck? I'm a singer, not
some fucking politician." 

 "Most people get killed for one of two things, love or money. You've got
money and you've had a lot of lovers." 

 "Nobody's got too many fucking lovers." 

 "Somebody else might not feel that way. Somebody might have thought you
meant all that pillow talk, might be stupid enough to think you really
cared. Then the poor slob found out what a heartless bastard you really
are and decided bashing your brains in might be doing the world a favor.
You know anybody like that, someone who wanted to keep going when you were
finished or who got pissed about being fucked over?" 

 "Hundreds." 

 "I'm serious." 

 "Me, too." Mercy's expression darkened. "But there was one guy who kept
coming back. Fucked him pretty hot and heavy for a couple of weeks, but he
got clingy. Had to cut him loose. Not a bad guitar player, but not good
enough for the band." 

 "Not as good as Bobby?" 

 Mercy's head jerked up, his voice sharp. "Don't talk about Bobby." 

 "Sorry." 

 "Just don't say his name again." 

 The passion shocked him, made Ray want to say the name again just to see
what would happen. Mercy's angry eyes convinced him not to be that stupid.
"Speaking of names, what was the name of the guy you were talking about
before, the clingy guy?" 

 "Emerson." 

 "First or last name?" 

 "I don't know, just Emerson. Wanted me to call him Emmy or some such
shit. I about puked. Way too fucking sweet for my diet." 

 "Too sweet, but you still fucked him?" 

 "Being a prissy queen didn't make his ass any less tight." 

 "You're a classy guy, Mercy." 

 "Never claimed classy." Mercy lifted his head and smiled. "But I fuck
like a stallion." 

 Ray looked away first that time, his face heated. He so didn't need to
think about Mercy naked and fucking. He cleared his throat and got back on
track. "Listen, did this Emerson ever make any threats?" 

 "Nothing serious." 

 "What'd he say?" 

 "Said he'd cut my dick off. Didn't think he had the balls, but I have to
admit, I didn't give him another chance to get close enough." Mercy's
frown deepened. "You know, now that I think about it, he did say something
about getting even. It's just a lot of people say shit when they're
pissed. Doesn't mean they'll really fucking do it. I had this one chick
who said she'd kill me, but the bitch was always screaming shit like that.
I mean, how am I supposed to fucking know who's serious and who's not when
they're leaving." 

 "You ever listen to yourself?" 

 "All the time. Got my CDs on replay." 

 "Asshole." 

 "Prick tease." 

 Ray ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in frustration.
"What's the woman's name?" 

 "Who knows? Beth or Bertha or something like that. Some B name. Tripp
could tell you. He fucked her, too." 

 "Tripp Henderson, the drummer?" 

 "Yeah." 

 "Anybody else?" 

 "I don't know if she fucked anybody else. Just me and Tripp as far as I
know. Wanted a three way, but they wouldn't go for it." 

 Rubbing his mouth, Ray shook his head again. Surely the guy couldn't have
such a one-track mind. "I mean, is there anybody else you can think of who
might want to break into your house, trash the place, and then kill you?" 

 "And I keep telling you, I don't fucking know." 

 "Then tell me about this last time, the time you shot off the nine rounds
and emptied the clip. You actually see who you were shooting at or are you
just that bad at hitting the target?" 

 More serious, Mercy finished his beer before he spoke, his voice more
strained. "That night's kind of a blur." 

 "The report said you were drunk." 

 His tone turned defensive. "I was in my own fucking house." 

 Ray prompted the story. "Asleep. A sound woke you." 

 "Yeah, yeah." Mercy closed his eyes as he tried to remember what he
could. "It was dark. I turned on the light, but it didn't work." 

 "The intruder cut the wires." 

 "Yeah, the cops said that. Anyway, it kind of freaked me out, so I
grabbed the gun Alex gave me." 

 "Your manager's gun?" 

 "Yeah, he told me to keep it after the last break-in." 

 "You know that's illegal. You don't have a permit." 

 Mercy opened his eyes, suddenly pissed. "Fuck you and fuck your permits.
They won't give me a fucking permit." 

 "Because of your priors." 

 "I have a right to defend myself." 

 Not wanting to debate the point, Ray steered him back to the story. "So
the lights wouldn't work, you get the gun, then what?" 

 Rubbing his face with both hands, Mercy sat back, obviously disturbed.
"Do you really need to know this?" 

 "I really do." 

 Mercy nodded and started talking again, this time more softly. "I was out
of it. I'd come home early from a bad night. The sets didn't work. Tripp
and Barry both kept fucking up, missing cues. Anyway, I was still wasted
when whoever broke in woke me up. I couldn't think straight." Mercy looked
up, searching Ray's face for some kind of understanding, some kind of pass
for his behavior. "You know what it's like to be wrecked, right? Don't
tell me you've never been drunk off your ass." 

 "A few times. I don't have a problem if that's what you're asking." 

 "Lucky you." 

 "Back to the night, Mercy. What happened?" 

 "I got up. Stumbled a few times before I made it downstairs. The noise
came from the studio." 

 "The report said you found the intruder smashing up your sound system." 

 "Yeah, cost a fucking fortune to replace, too. Anyway, I shouted for him
to stop, but he kept wrecking stuff with this hammer or crowbar or some
such shit. He turned to come at me and I shot." 

 "And you missed all nine times?" 

 "I fell down and I was drunk. I'm lucky I didn't shoot myself." 

 "And you didn't see who it was before he ran out?" 

 "Hardly any lights. When the door came open for him to run out, I got the
impression that it was a guy, but I can't really say why." 

 "Tall, short, medium?" 

 "Tall, taller than me, thin, too." Mercy checked out Ray and then smiled,
his voice teasing. "Sort of like you. Fuck. Could've been you." 

 "And several hundred other folks in your life." 

 "True." 

 Ray closed up his notebook. "I'll need to interview Tripp and the other
guys in the band along with your manager and anyone else you see on a
regular basis." 

 "That should keep you fucking busy for a while." 

 "And you need to bring more men in for security when you're working. Call
Boyd's. They're good. You need at least four men on the club and another
four for the house, two man teams for rotating shifts until we get this
thing cleared up." 

 "I thought you were supposed to be the bodyguard." 

 "I can't do both. I can protect you when I'm here, but not all the time,
not and investigate the case, too. This place has too many doors and
cubbyholes. It's the perfect place to get shot." 

 "I'll tell Alex about getting more men, but none of the attacks have been
here. They've all been at my place." 

 "There's always a first time. Speaking of your place, I need to check it
out, go over the floor plan." 

 Pleased, Mercy nodded. "I've got a practice set, but then I'll go home
before the show tonight. You can come then." 

 "Me and Fraser both." 

 "Fraser." Mercy said the name like it hurt. "What's the deal? You two
together?" 

 "He's my partner." 

 "He doesn't look like a cop." 

 "Neither do I." 

 "Good point." Mercy considered Ray another moment and then he smiled, his
eyes suddenly more dark. "You ever fuck him?" 

 "What the hell kind of question is that? Of course not." 

 "You ever want to?" Ray didn't answer right away, the slight hesitation
enough. "Fucking figures." 

 Ray wanted to smack that stupidass grin right off his face, slam his body
against the wall, and kick his smug ass all at the same time. "It's none
of your fucking business." 

 "He's pretty. Got a great mouth and an ass to die for. Can't blame you
for wanting a taste of that." 

 "Shut the fuck up, Mercy." 

 "Or what?" 

 Ray didn't know what to say right away, so he stepped closer to the desk.
Then he leaned in. "Fraser's like Bobby. Off limits." 

 The hurt at hearing his lost friend's name tamed the hunger in Mercy's
eyes. "Deal."  

 Mesmerized, Ray swayed with the beat of The CryptSinger's music. He got
off on this stuff, the hard punch of a voice doused in whiskey and smoke
that gutted his insides. Mercy might be a pig, but he sang like a fallen
angel. Leaning back against the bar as the song ended, he glanced over at
Fraser. He frowned with concern. "You okay, Frase? You look a little green
around the gills." 

 Fraser tugged at his ear. "I'm sorry, Ray. This isn't my type of music." 

 "Too loud?" 

 "Very." 

 "With sensitive ears like yours, I guess it really does hurt when it gets
that loud, huh?" 

 "I'm afraid so, yes." 

 Ray moved closer, keeping his eye on Mercy, but listening to Fraser. "So,
while we were in the office, what'd you hear?" Fraser shifted uneasily.
"What?" 

 Blushing slightly, Fraser lowered his voice to a whisper. "Mr. Henderson,
the drummer, was making a wager with the bass player, Mr. Davis." 

 "A wager? On what?" 

 "I'd rather not say." 

 Ray's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You can't not tell me, Fraser.
What'd they bet on?" 

 "Well, it's got nothing to do with the case, Ray." 

 "Then why'd you bring it up?" 

 "I suppose because it was rather disturbing." 

 "If I knew what the hell we were talking about, I might agree." 

 Fraser rubbed his eyebrow nervously and kept his voice low. "Mr.
Henderson bet Mr. Davis that Mr. Mercy would try to seduce you. They made
the wager conditional on when the actual consummation would occur. Mr.
Davis is of the opinion that it will be tonight. Mr. Henderson believes
you will hold out until the case is over." 

 It was Ray's turn to blush. "So you're saying Davis thinks I'm easy and
they both think I'm a slut? Didn't either one of them think I might not
swing that way?" 

 "Apparently not, Ray." 

 "Shit. It's the earring." 

 "I believe it's probably more than that." 

 Shocked, Ray met Fraser's clear blue eyes. "What?" 

 "That is to say, you did give off a rather heated reaction when you first
met him." 

 "You saying you think I'm hot for the guy?" 

 "Are you?" 

 "That's rude, Fraser, totally out-of-line and unMountie-like." 

 Bright red, Fraser straightened, but he didn't back away. "I know that,
Ray, but I think as your partner I have a right to know if your obvious
attraction to Mr. Mercy is going to be a problem." 

 "Obvious attraction?" Ray swallowed hard, hating that he was so fucking
easy to read about Mercy. How the fuck could Fraser see that and have no
clue about other attractions, other needs? "You really think it's that
obvious?" 

 "Well, he is a famous rock star, Ray. If I close one eye, I suppose one
could call him attractive in a rather crude, earthy kind of way." 

 Ray laughed at that, the image of Fraser trying hard to see the
attraction worth smiling about. "One eye, huh?" 

 "Seriously, Ray, is it a problem?" 

 "You mean am I star struck, stuck on the guy, hoping he'll see more than
a Chicago detective when he looks in my direction and sweep me off my
feet?" 

 "Ray..." 

 "No, Fraser, it's not a problem." 

 "You're sure?" 

 "Very sure." 

 "I'm glad, Ray." 

 Ray smiled and punched Fraser lightly in the arm. "Had you worried." 

 "I must confess, the band members seemed very confident in the matter." 

 "But you know me, Fraser. I'm not going to fall for some guy like Mercy.
Hell, I had enough of that out of your league stuff with Stella." 

 "He's not out of your league, Ray, not in the sense that he's better than
you. If I understand the meaning of the phrase, I think it's more a matter
of him not being in your league." 

 "Some people might not think so." 

 "Some people might be wrong." 

 The conviction behind the words surprised him, made him dizzy. "I
appreciate that, Fraser." 

 "You're welcome." 

 Ray chewed on his right thumb for a second and then cocked his head
toward the stage. "Now, before Mercy gets over here, tell me what else you
heard, any impressions you got while you were eavesdropping on the crew." 

 Back to the case, Fraser related what he'd learned. "It would seem Mr.
Mercy has a problem with the morale of his group." 

 "What kind of problem?" 

 "Mr. Henderson wants to leave and has for some time. Barry Goldman, the
lead guitarist mentioned that Mr. Henderson had been talking to Bobby
Hatchett. He said there was a possible contract offer with another band
with the same manager Mr. Hatchett has." 

 "But they all have current contracts with The CryptSingers." 

 "All the members seem rather disgruntled with Mr. Mercy, Ray." 

 "They were all smiles when he came in to play." 

 "True, but it's been my experience that people aren't always truthful
when they're afraid of a confrontation with a strong-willed leader." 

 "You mean an unpredictable son of a bitch like Mercy." 

 "Precisely. In this case, I believe that we should investigate the band
members about the nights of the break-ins and the attempt on Mr. Mercy's
life." 

 "I think you're right." Ray paused. "We're supposed to go to Mercy's
house to check it out before coming back to the show. You want to
interview the other guys while I do that?" 

 "I don't like the idea of you being alone with the man, Ray. I'll admit
his obvious disdain for any sense of propriety makes me uncomfortable, but
it's more than that. I don't trust him." 

 "I don't trust him, either, Fraser, but if the guys in the band think
that I'm his next lay, I doubt seriously they're going to open up to me.
You've got a better chance at getting something out of them. You're good
with reading people." 

 "Thank you, Ray. Still..." 

 "Don't worry. I'll just check out the layout of the house, set up some
security plans, and, lickety split, be back for the show. You won't even
know I was gone. You should probably get something to eat, too. It's going
to be a long night." 

 Nodding, reluctantly agreeing to the plan, Fraser asked, "What about
after the show, Ray? That's when all the break-ins happened before. Will
we be spending the night at Mr. Mercy's house?" 

 "His manager is supposed to arrange for security teams from Boyd's to
come over and watch the house. Until then, we'll have to play it by ear,
see what happens. They might not get that set up until tomorrow. If that's
the case, I can't ask you to stay up all night just because I'm on
assignment." 

 Fraser stood straighter, his voice taking on more force. "Ray, you're not
staying in the house with that man alone." 

 Ray couldn't help but smile. "What? You're going to protect my honor?" 

 "You don't need me to do that, Ray. I just want you to be safe." 

 Warmed by the words and Fraser's intense blue eyes, Ray nodded. "Thanks,
Fraser. Same here. I want you to be safe, too." 

 Before Fraser had a chance to respond, Mercy stepped up and shoved his
way between the two men. He wrapped an arm around Ray's shoulders and
rested against him. "You two look cozy as hell." 

 "Fuck off, Mercy." 

 Mercy grinned. "Call me Rick, Ray." 

 "I'll call you an ambulance if you don't take your arm off. I look like a
fucking lamppost to you?" 

 "God, I love when you talk butch." Mercy fluttered his eyelashes and then
removed his arm to stand straight. He turned his attention to Fraser. "You
like when he talks tough like that?" 

 Fraser's words came out icy as hell, ignoring the question. "I believe we
are supposed to meet with your manager." 

 Mercy looked at Ray. "He always like this?" 

 "Like what?" 

 "All business." 

 "Don't worry about him. Just answer the question. Where's your manager?" 

 Annoyed, Mercy stepped away and turned to face Ray and Fraser. "He'll be
here tonight. Now, are we going to my place or not?" 

 Ray glanced over at Fraser, noting the troubled expression. "Don't worry,
Fraser. I'll be back before eight." 

 Reluctantly, Fraser nodded, but he wasn't the least bit happy with the
plan. "As you wish, Ray." 

 It wasn't as Ray wished at all, not even close. Walking out with Mercy
and leaving Fraser behind was about as far away from his dream world as it
was when he walked away from Stella.  

 Mercy's place turned out to be a massive converted warehouse down by the
docks. Ray checked out the huge space, white rooms sparsely furnished with
all black leather and chrome. A few ashtrays dotted the surfaces, but
otherwise, everything had straight, clean lines. The only splash of color
came from the huge canvas portrait over the fireplace of Rick Mercy with
his arm draped around Bobby Hatchett as they sang into a microphone. No
mistake, Mercy still loved Bobby Hatchett whether he talked about it or
not. 

 "Fucking awesome, huh?" 

 "It's big." 

 "Fucking huge." 

 "It's not what I expected." 

 "What'd you expect, a pig sty, some messed up piece of shit down by the
waterfront?" 

 Ray heard the defensive tone and backed off. "It doesn't matter what I
expected." 

 "Yeah, you're right, it doesn't fucking matter. Follow me." 

 Ray walked behind Mercy as he made his way through the living area, past
the bar, through to the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances lined the wall
and Ray thought it looked more like an industrial kitchen rather than one
for a home, way too cold and too big to ever feel cozy. Mercy opened one
of the refrigerators to a whole collection of beer. "Sure you won't have
some? I've got imported, domestic, just about any brand you can name." 

 "No, thanks. Still on duty." 

 "Relax. One beer won't kill ya." 

 "Tell that to your liver." 

 Mercy ignored the jab and grabbed a Miller's at the front. He slammed the
door shut with more force than he needed. "You want to look around first
or get something to eat?" 

 "Let's look around first. Walk me through the layout. I want to see your
studio, too." 

 Opening the bottle, Mercy threw away the cap and motioned for Ray to
follow. Ray moved through the office, then past an entertainment room with
a TV that took up one entire wall and a sound system that took up another.


 After that, they came to Mercy's bedroom, an inner room with no windows
and empty grey walls, no paintings, no personal pictures of any kind. A
large bed raised on a platform sat in the center covered with black
bedding and a mountain of pillows. Other than one bedside table with a
simple lamp and an ashtray, nothing else decorated the space. Ray checked
the ceiling expecting mirrors, but didn't see any. All he saw was a dark
cave with the bed as center stage. It made Ray twitchy, made him think
about all the grunts and moans and the parade of nameless people Mercy
fucked in that bed, something he so didn't want to have in his head at the
moment. 

 Mercy interrupted his thoughts. "What do you think?" 

 "I think it's depressing." 

 "Depressing?" 

 "Yeah." 

 "It cost a fucking fortune." 

 "You paid money for someone to make it look like this? That's even more
depressing." Ray turned to face Mercy, the man's piercing blue eyes
studying him intently and obviously looking for approval Ray couldn't
give. "You really like sleeping in a room with no windows where
everything's so gloomy?" 

 "Gloomy's a fucking state of mind, my friend." Mercy walked out of the
room, leading Ray down the backstairs to his studio. "I sleep weird hours
and shit. I like it dark." 

 "Dark you've got." 

 "What's your place like?" 

 Surprised by the interest, Ray shrugged. "Not as big as your kitchen, but
it's good enough for me and I've got windows. I don't need much." 

 "I like the space." 

 "You've got plenty." Ray didn't add how empty it all felt, how it made
him uneasy to even be there. "You have someone come in and clean?" 

 "What? You think I'm a fucking slob?" 

 "I just need to know who has access to the place." 

 "Oh, yeah, right. Makes sense." Mercy relaxed and nodded as he opened the
door to the underground studio. "Her name's Debbie Winslow. She comes in
every other day except weekends unless I need her for a party or
something. She's a good worker, doesn't bitch too much, and knows the
meaning of private. Her old man's in a rest home. I don't think we have to
worry about Deb." 

 "I just need to check." Ray scanned the high tech electronic studio and
wagged his head in admiration. "This is something else." 

 "Fucking cool, huh?" 

 "Very." 

 Mercy stepped in and picked up a guitar resting on a stand and sat down.
He fingered the strings, but didn't turn on the amplifier. "Who'd have
thought a punk like me would ever be mainstream enough to make money?" 

 "I like your music." The praise came out before Ray could snatch it back.


 Mercy lifted his head and smiled, sitting back, even more cocky than
before. "I know. I can tell a fan a mile off. You ever been to one of my
shows before today?" 

 "Once." 

 "When?" 

 "A while back." Ray hesitated, his face warm from the bad memory. 

 Mercy recognized the look. "How fucked up was I?" 

 "Pretty bad." 

 "The show any good?" 

 "The show was great." 

 "Then that's all that matters." 

 Ray frowned and shook his head, not really understanding the man staring
back at him. "You really believe that, that it doesn't matter that you
fuck yourself up like that?" When Mercy didn't answer, Ray pushed harder.
"You still using?" 

 "Is that the cop asking?" 

 "I'm always the cop, but I'm not here to arrest you. I just want to
know." 

 "I'm clean." 

 "But not sober." 

 "I'll never be sober, man, no can do. But I don't do shit anymore. It'll
be six months tomorrow. Might throw a fucking party." Mercy put the guitar
back on its stand, his voice a whisper as he touched the instrument
lovingly. "Surprised the hell out of me, but I finally figured out I ain't
ready to die yet." 

 "And when you are?" 

 "Then I'll shoot my way to Heaven." 

 "Or hell." 

 "Most likely, yeah." 

 "No wonder you live in a black and white world." 

 "That what you think?" 

 Ray stood straighter, realizing he'd slipped into dangerous territory,
making a personal connection he needed to avoid like crazy. "It's not my
business." 

 "You started it. Don't be a pussy now. You think I want everything cut
and dry with no color, that I fuck myself up because I can't handle shit?"


 "You tell me." 

 Mercy got heated, stood up and paced the room, his hand running through
his thick black hair as he pushed it behind his ear, an ear studded with
heavy loops of silver. "You're a fan, you know the whole rag to riches
spiel, right?" 

 "I've heard it, yeah." 

 "And it's true. I didn't have shit growing up, nothing but an old man who
liked booze better than his family, a mom who let him beat us until we
were black and blue and bloody. We lived in a broken-down trailer not fit
for a fucking dog, man. I left home with Bobby when I was fourteen.
Believe it or not, he had it worse than I did. At least my dad didn't fuck
me on a regular basis. We were a team, Bobby and me. We swore we'd always
be together." 

 Mercy's voice choked. Ray never expected this kind of raw emotion, this
kind of vulnerability. Mercy kept giving him more, kept laying it out like
a present. "And it wasn't easy. We had it rough for a while, but we made
it, just Bobby and me. We got the group going and I thought it'd be great,
you know, getting rich and being able to do whatever the shit we wanted.
Then I discovered the joy of a needle. Bobby got jealous." 

 "Of the dope?" 

 "Yeah." 

 "Maybe he was just worried you'd take him down with you." 

 "Fuck that. I could handle it." 

 "Yeah, right." 

 Mercy stopped pacing and crossed his arms, but didn't argue the point.
"Doesn't matter. Thing is, once I finally decided to quit, Bobby was
already gone." Mercy jabbed a finger at his own chest, seriously pissed.
"Fucker left me. I'll never fucking forget that." 

 Ray kept a check on his emotions, knowing that when Stella left, the hurt
and anger nearly brought him to his knees. "Maybe he just needed something
different. You said you knew him from when you were kids. People change,
grow up, need different things, move on." 

 "Fuck that shit. He wasn't supposed to leave, not ever." 

 "Is that why you practically beat him to death that night?" 

 Mercy sagged back into the chair, his face in his hands. "I'm tired. I
don't know why I'm telling you all this shit. It's none of your fucking
business." 

 Ray agreed and gave the man an out. "You're drunk." 

 "Not drunk enough." 

 "You've got a show soon. Why don't you go sleep it off while I finish
checking the security set up?" 

 Mercy didn't look up, didn't move. "You remind me of Bobby." 

 A chill washed over Ray's skin followed by an involuntary shudder. "I'm
not him." 

 "I fucking know that." Mercy lifted his face, his lips thinned and his
eyes narrowed. "You walked into the club and the first thing I thought
was, fuck, he looks like Bobby. Then you opened your mouth and you talked
like him, too, same accent, same tough tone. Your lips even look like his,
and your hands..." Mercy stopped himself and his voice hardened. "Fuck, I
need to cut this shit out. It ain't healthy." 

 Ray didn't know what to say at first, embarrassed by Mercy's admission,
even more attracted than ever. Shit, he needed a good smack in the head to
snap himself out of it. He didn't need Mercy, not with all that baggage.
The man offered nothing but an emotional disaster, a train wreck with no
survivors. "Go take a nap. I'll wake you up in time to go to the show." 

 "I need to shower and eat something. I can't sleep before a show." 

 "You got more than beer upstairs?" 

 "Yeah, but not much. There's a list of places to call to deliver." 

 "You get a lot of your meals delivered?" 

 "I never cook if I can help it." 

 "Shit." 

 Mercy looked up, confused. "What?" 

 "I need to check those, too." 

 Mercy laughed and sat back. "What? You think some crazed delivery boy's
going to break in and tear up all my shit and try to kill me?" 

 "Depends on how many you fucked." 

 "Fuck you." 

 Ray stepped closer, leaning against a column beside where Mercy sat.
"Look, anybody you messed over might carry a grudge. The more you help
with this, the sooner this thing will be over." 

 Mercy studied him harder and then pursed his lips. "You really don't like
me much, do you?" 

 "It doesn't matter what I like or don't like. I'm here to do the job." 

 Nodding, Mercy's voice took on a sharper edge. "The job, right, being a
fucking cop. How long you been doing that gig?" 

 "Long enough." 

 "Long enough to be good enough?" 

 "For this case, yeah." 

 Mercy tilted his head and then smiled like he knew a secret. "You know,
you don't look like a Vecchio." 

 Ray stood a little straighter, more on guard. "Not everybody gets to pick
his name like you did, Mr. Sammy Finklestein." 

 "Ouch." Mercy grabbed his chest, faking serious pain. "Fuck. That hurts.
Guess you really are a fan. I tried to bury that shit deep, but it keeps
floating to the surface." 

 "Shit does that. Don't blame you for changing your name, though." 

 "You sure you didn't change yours?" 

 Ray didn't bother to answer. "Look, just go upstairs, take your shower,
and then make me a list of those names from the deliveries. I'm going to
finish up here and then call Boyd's to see if your manager's made the
arrangements for security yet." 

 Mercy got up and saddled up beside Ray, his voice low and husky. "Bossy
cops are a real turn on. You got a uniform you could wear for dress up?" 

 "Cut it out, Mercy." 

 "I told you to call me Rick." 

 "I'd rather stick with Mercy. Now get going." Mercy ran a hand up Ray's
arm and captured the back of his neck, not pulling or pushing, just
resting it there, all warm and getting warmer. "Hands off." 

 "Call me Rick first." 

 Ray debated, struggled with whether to give in or hold his own ground. As
fingers teased his skin and played with his hair, he closed his eyes, his
breathing a little faster. Mercy smelled of stale cigarettes and beer, of
sweat and musk, and a clear invitation to so much more. "We've got no time
for this." 

 "Maybe later, after the show?" 

 "I can't." 

 "But you want to." 

 Ray opened his eyes, his throat tight, knowing he so didn't want to want
Mercy. "I can't. Now, get your hand off and just go do what I asked." 

 Hesitating, Rick nodded and then smiled knowingly before backing off.
"You like Chinese?" 

 For a moment, Ray couldn't think, didn't understand the question. After a
few seconds, blood returned to his brain and the meaning sank in. "Yeah, I
could eat." 

 "Good. I'll order us something. You can talk to Kim in person if you
want." 

 "You fucked Kim?" 

 Rick laughed as he turned and headed up the stairs. "I'm into diversity,
so fucking sue me." 

 Controlling the impulse to call after Rick, to beg him to return and
touch him again, Ray sagged down into the nearby chair. He held his head
as he muttered to himself, "I am so fucking fucked here."  

 Kim turned out to be Asian jailbait, barely old enough to drive, but with
soulful dark eyes that made him look a hell of a lot older. Ray grumbled
and paid for the meal, gave the kid a tip, and didn't bother to ask any
questions. 

 Rick came into the kitchen bare-chested, wearing only tight jeans and
rubbing his hair dry with a white towel. Despite all the booze, the guy
still had a great body, flat stomach with well-defined muscles under
naturally light brown skin. A few inches shorter than Ray with broad
shoulders and narrow hips, Rick weighed at least thirty pounds more than
Ray did. Mercy had Bobby tattooed in crude letters right under his navel.
It looked like a homemade ink job, something he'd done himself or maybe
let Bobby do for him. Ray wondered if Bobby Hatchett had Rick permanently
inked in anywhere on his body and how it made him feel now that it was
over. 

 Rick sniffed at the bags of food while Ray got some plates out of a
cabinet. "Smells good. You talk to Kim?" 

 "You're lucky your ass isn't in jail, asshole, and you owe me $38.50."
Ray added the cost of the tip just to be contrary. 

 "What the fuck are you talking about, jail?" 

 "The kid's barely sixteen." 

 "Barely's all that counts." 

 Ray didn't bother to argue. "I want my money." 

 Rick laughed as he threw the towel over the back of the chair. "All the
places that deliver here run a tab. You got played, my friend, very well,
too. Looks like Kim ain't just a pretty face with a tight ass." 

 "Fuck." 

 Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of twenties, tossing
them on the table in front of Ray. "Here. It's no big deal. Next time
you'll know. Cheap lesson." 

 Ray ignored the money as he scooped out some rice and then explored the
six boxes of different dishes. He settled on the sesame chicken and
spooned some on his rice. "What makes you think there'll be a next time?" 

 "Instinct." Rick handed him a beer. 

 "I'm still on duty." 

 "Fuck that. Have a beer. It's either that or mixer from the bar. I had a
blow out last weekend and Deb's hasn't restocked yet." 

 Reluctantly, Ray took the beer and ate some of his food. Rick settled
across from him, fixing his own dish of sweet and sour pork. After he took
a couple of bites, Rick washed it down with the beer, and then sat back.
"You hear from Alex yet about the extra security?" 

 "Yeah. Boyd's sent a couple of guys over to the club and there are two
guys sitting outside right now." 

 "Outside here?" 

 "Yeah. They'll be here around the clock, one in the back, one in the
front. Anybody comes in here or goes out, those guys will see him. Before
we leave, I'll set up the radio so that you can call them at night if you
hear something or if somebody gets past them. You shouldn't have a repeat
of what happened last time." 

 "What about you? If you're not going to be here to bodyguard, what'll you
be doing?" 

 "Working with Fraser to find out who's behind this." Ray wiped his mouth
with a napkin and then pulled out his notebook. "I've listed some more
people to talk to and I want to check on some leads. Fraser's interviewing
your band and people who work at the club. He's got a good nose for
people, can smell a lie a mile off." Ray took a drink and then added, "The
security here's pretty good. Whoever broke in, he had your code, had to,
no other way from what I can see." 

 "I changed them each time." 

 "And each time he got in without setting off the alarm. Now, either this
guy has the code or has a way around it like some kind of electronic
device. My money's on somebody close." Sitting back, Ray kept his voice
steady. "So, Rick, who do you give your security code to besides your
housekeeper?" 

 "You really think it's somebody close like that?" 

 "Probably, yeah. Answer the question." 

 Rick rubbed his unshaved face with one hand, obviously disturbed by the
suggestion. "Alex, my manager, all the guys in the band, Tripp, Lane,
Barry. There's also a couple of sound men who work in the studio. Nobody
else has it." 

 "No tricks, nobody you slept with?" 

 "No, never." 

 Ray paused for effect. "I've got the code." 

 "Yeah, but..." 

 "I asked who had it and you didn't say me." 

 "What's your fucking point here?" 

 "I need a complete list." 

 Rick took a deep breath, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Bobby." 

 "Bobby Hatchett has your security code?" 

 "I send it to him every time I change it." 

 Ray had a hard time taking in the confession, but he tried to keep the
surprise out of his expression and to keep his voice neutral. Being a
hard-nosed cop paid off sometimes. "How do you send it?" 

 "I mail it." 

 "Mail it? Regular mail or email?" 

 Crossing his arms over his chest, his head down, his eyes closed, Rick
bit his lower lip. "I have to mail it because he blocks my email." 

 "You think if he does that, he bothers to open a letter?" 

 "Maybe." 

 "So he might or he might not have your code." 

 "Yeah." 

 Both men remained silent a while longer. Appetite gone, Ray took another
drink and then cleared his throat. "If it's any consolation, I doubt that
Hatchett's got anything to do with this." 

 "Yeah?" 

 "We checked and he's not taken a flight to Chicago during the times of
any of the break-ins and he was on stage for two of the times." 

 Ray saw the relief, saw how Rick relaxed suddenly and leaned forward, his
elbows on the table and his hands fisted in front of his face. "Thank
god." 

 "You could've check that yourself." 

 "Yeah, I could've." 

 "But you didn't because you were scared it might be him." 

 "Maybe." 

 "Or maybe you were more afraid of hoping that it was Bobby, afraid of
hoping that maybe he still cared enough to try to hurt you." 

 "Fuck you." Pissed, Rick Mercer stood up, picked up his towel, and then
turned his back on Ray. Instead of denying the charge, he called over his
shoulder. "We leave for the club in ten minutes. Get your ass moving." 

 Ray didn't bother to get up, just finished his beer and pondered how the
hell he could still get hard over a twisted fuck like Mercy.  

 After the openness of Rick's place, the club made Ray claustrophobic. A
crush of bodies packed the dim space even though the first set didn't
start for another hour. Pushing through the crowd and the smoky air, Ray
ignored the complaints and the grumbled profanities as he made his way to
the back wall. 

 Ray screamed to be heard. "Hey, Fraser. Let's hit the office and talk." 

 Fraser smiled, obviously relieved and happy to see him. "With pleasure,
Ray." 

 They walked back to Mercy's office without speaking. Ray knocked, got no
answer, and walked in. Once inside, he closed the door. The music and
noise stopped. Ray nodded with approval. "Good sound proofing job." 

 "Good God, Ray, it's a wonder these people aren't as deaf as
Diefenbaker." 

 "Who says they're not?" 

 Fraser didn't answer, but glanced around the room. "Do we have permission
to be in Mr. Mercy's private office?" 

 "Sure. He's out front meeting the public and getting loaded before the
show." 

 Fraser frowned with disapproval and sat down in one of the chairs by the
desk. "I must admit he does seem to have a rather high tolerance for the
excesses of alcohol." 

 "Years of practice." 

 "No doubt." 

 Ray settled behind the desk and pulled out his notebook. He pinched the
bridge of his nose, the headache getting worse. The quiet helped, but the
pressure behind his eyes didn't give up. He focused his mind on the case,
blocking out all the conflicting images of Mercy in his head. "So, Fraser,
please tell me you've cracked the case and we can go home." 

 "I'm afraid not, Ray. However, I did have some very interesting and
productive conversations with the band members." 

 Ray glanced up and smiled, hoping like hell that Fraser had it all
figured out Mountie-style. "Oh, yeah? Lay it out for me." 

 "To start, I would recommend we look more closely at the drummer, Tripp
Henderson. He seems to harbor the most complicated and ambiguous emotions
concerning Mr. Mercy." 

 "What do you mean, complicated and ambiwhatever?" 

 "Ambiguous. It means..." 

 "I know what it means. Just tell me what it means when you're talking
about Tripp." 

 "Ah, well, he appears unsure of his own feelings. On the one hand, he
admires and seems rather adoring of his leader. He spoke very highly of
Mr. Mercy's voice, his appearance, and even his skill at handling their
image despite personal setbacks. I believe he was referring to Mr. Mercy's
drug problems and his previous relationship with Mr. Hatchett." 

 "Yeah, probably." 

 "However, on further discussion, he also showed great disdain for some
aspects of Mr. Mercy's character." 

 "What about his character?" 

 Fraser dipped his head, not meeting Ray's eyes. "I believe he mentioned
the promiscuity in particular." 

 That got Ray's goat in a big way. "Tripp Henderson's a hypocrite, Fraser.
He sleeps around as much as Mercy." 

 Fraser raised his head. "How do you know that, Ray?" 

 "It's common knowledge." 

 "The term common knowledge implies that many people know about this, Ray.
I'm not sure that's an accurate assessment." 

 Ray leaned back, closing his eyes briefly as he rubbed the sides of his
head with both hands. The achy throb got worse, started to set up a
serious foothold right across his forehead and down the back of his neck.
"Look, Rick told me that Tripp and him share lovers sometimes. From
everything I've heard, Tripp goes for the groupie types and ain't shy
about it any more than Rick is." 

 "Rick?" 

 Ray shrugged, his face a bit warmer. "Yeah, Mercy." 

 "You call him Rick?" 

 Fraser's hurt tone surprised him. Ray glanced up and met his partner's
searching eyes. "Yeah, so?" 

 Hesitating slightly, Fraser tugged his right ear. "Are you sure it's a
good idea to get involved with Mr. Mercy to a point of being on a first
name basis?" 

 "Involved? I'm not involved with Mercy. I'm on a case." 

 "I didn't mean anything untoward, Ray." 

 "You sure about that?" 

 "I didn't mean to make you angry." 

 "I'm not angry." 

 "Your tone would suggest otherwise." 

 "Fuck my tone, Fraser." 

 "Ray..." 

 Ray took a deep calming breath and cut in. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to bark. It's just I've got this killer headache and I want a
cigarette so bad I could kill for a smoke." 

 "You don't smoke, Ray." 

 "Not now, not since I took this job, but I used to. Being around the
club, well, it just makes me want to start up again." 

 "I would think the second hand smoke alone would be enough to abate that
craving." 

 Ray snorted. "Joke, Fraser? I didn't know Mounties joked." 

 "I wasn't joking, Ray." 

 The twitch in Fraser's lip said differently, but Ray didn't argue the
point. Instead, he checked out his partner really closely and then
frowned. "You've been combing your hair." 

 Fraser's hand went automatically to his head. "I'm sorry, Ray. I just
couldn't maintain it." 

 "Like an itch, huh?" 

 "Itch?" 

 Smiling, his voice teasing, Ray explained. "Like an itch that had to be
scratched." 

 Fraser smiled at the understanding. "Yes, exactly. Besides, I don't think
for one moment that I was fooling anyone. The hair only made me look
silly." 

 "It made you look hot." Ray realized what he'd blurted out the instant
the words hit the air, so he backpedaled as fast as he could. "I mean, you
looked cool, but the hair doesn't make the man, right? It's not like a
good-looking guy like you even needs hair. Combed, uncombed, you've got
the hair of greatness. People would kill for your hair." 

 "Ray, you're blithering." 

 "Fuck." Ray covered his face with his hands and wanted to dig a hole
somewhere, a hole that that would bury him before he buried himself any
deeper. "I'm sorry, Fraser. Didn't mean to call you hot." 

 "It's quite all right, Ray. That is to say, I wasn't offended. If I take
the meaning correctly, I'm flattered." 

 Ray risked a peek to get the full picture. "You're flattered?" 

 "Certainly, Ray. I appreciate the compliment." 

 "You're welcome." 

 Neither man spoke for a few moments and then Ray cleared his throat,
still off kilter from his screw up. "Okay, I guess we should talk about
the case. So, you think Tripp might have done the break-ins because he's
jealous or something?" 

 "He could be responsible, but I believe we also have to check Lane Davis,
the bass player. He, too, has some serious issues with Mr. Mercy." 

 "Which are?" 

 "Mr. Mercy apparently makes a habit of berating him in public. He seemed
very tense when he related a particular incident which involved spittle
and venomous comments." 

 "Spittle?" 

 "Mr. Mercy spit on him when he missed a cue." 

 "You mean spit on him more than usual?" 

 Fraser tilted his head, puzzled. "More than usual, Ray? I wasn't aware
that spitting on people was a common occurrence during most musical
performances." 

 "It's not. But these guys do it, have from the start. They all spit." 

 "They spit?" 

 "Yeah, all the time. It's part of the show." 

 "That sounds very unsanitary, Ray." 

 Ray snorted to himself. "Oh, yeah, Mr. I lick boots for a living." 

 Fraser blushed and sat a little straighter, suddenly defensive. "There's
a reason for me to taste for trace evidence, Ray. What's the point of
spitting on people?" 

 "No point. They just do it. So why's Lane Davis so bent out of shape over
this one time?" 

 "I believe it had something to do with the inclusion of more than just
spittle." 

 Ray got the point and screwed up his face in disgust. "Fuck. Are you
saying that Rick shot him a goober?" 

 "Goober?" 

 "Snot, nasty stuff that comes out of..." 

 "I get the point, Ray. Yes, that's what I'm saying." 

 "That's gross." 

 "Indeed, which is why it was a point of contention between them for some
time." 

 Ray crossed his arms as he considered the theory and then shook his head.
"Still, that's no reason to take a hammer to the guy's stuff." 

 "Possibly. Which brings me to Barry Goldman." 

 "The lead guitar, the guy who replaced Bobby?" 

 Fraser nodded. "Mr. Goldman wants out of the contract. He might have
motive to destroy the recording studio more than the others. After all, we
only have Mr. Mercy's word of the attempted assault and by his own
account, he went down to the studio during the attack. The intruder did
not go into the living area, but was destroying equipment downstairs." 

 "That's true." 

 "As for the other break-ins, they all allegedly occurred when Mr. Mercy
wasn't home. I don't think this person wants to physically harm him. In
fact, I think we might be dealing with two different people." 

 Ray frowned, not sure how his partner would come to that conclusion.
"Two? Why two?" 

 "The first three break-ins have a different MO than the last one." 

 "Yeah, Rick shot a whole clip on the last job." 

 "Just the fact that he was there makes that incident different from the
others. No, I was referring to the nature of the attacks. In the first
three, personal items were destroyed. In the last one, it was only
recording equipment which was wrecked, nothing personal." 

 Ray resisted. "You really think we've got two whackos instead of just
one?" 

 "I'm merely stating the possibility." 

 Reluctantly, Ray nodded. "Yeah, you might be right. You have a chance to
check on the whereabouts of these guys on the nights of the attacks?" 

 "Not yet, no. I took down the alibis, but I haven't had the opportunity
to confirm the information." 

 "I can do that tomorrow." Ray scratched his head as he glanced down at
his notes. "Any mention of a guy named Emerson? Don't know if that's a
first or a last name." 

 "No, no Emerson was mentioned." 

 "Any woman with a B name?" 

 "B name?" 

 "Mercy wasn't sure. He said he had a thing with some woman named Beth or
Bertha, some B name, and she threatened to kill him." 

 Fraser pursed his lips like he'd tasted something nasty, something far
worse than bok choy on a dead guy's boots. "I see." 

 "See what? We already know he sleeps around. Did you run across any B
names?" 

 "No B names for women, no." 

 "What's that mean?" 

 Fraser rubbed his eyebrow and frowned. "Bobby Hatchett's name was
frequently mentioned." 

 "How so?" 

 "In Mr. Goldman's case, he said Mr. Mercy is constantly comparing him to
Mr. Hatchett, something that Mr. Goldman finds extremely annoying." 

 Ray thought about his own situation, being the second Ray, having to bear
the comparisons, not always feeling like the winner. "Yeah, I get that.
Who else mentioned him?" 

 "Mr. Henderson. Apparently, the group dynamic changed drastically when
Mr. Hatchett left the band." 

 "I'll bet." 

 "According to Mr. Henderson, Mr. Hatchett was, for the most part, a
calming influence on Mr. Mercy's mercurial moods." 

 "Mercurial?" 

 "Volatile, having an abrupt change of mood with little or no reason." 

 Ray shrugged. "Sounds like me." 

 "Indeed." 

 Startled, Ray met his partner's keen gaze. "That a bad thing?" 

 "Not in and of itself. It depends on the situation." 

 "And how much sleep you've had when you have to deal with it?" 

 Fraser smiled in agreement. "Somewhat, yes. I must confess that it took
some adjustment on my part not to be disconcerted by your perpetual
emotional shifts." 

 "You adjusted pretty good." 

 "Well." 

 "Well what?" 

 "I adjusted well, not good." 

 "I said that." 

 "No, what you said was..." 

 "Fraser, shut up." 

 "Right you are, Ray." 

 Ray sat back, the headache making a huge comeback. "Look, Rick's a wreck
without Bobby. He puts on a front, but he told me some things that make it
clear he ain't over his partner yet. Probably never will be." 

 "What things did he tell you?" 

 "Personal things." 

 "Ah." 

 "Ah what?" 

 "Personal as in not part of the investigation." 

 Annoyed at the critical tone, Ray rubbed both eyes with the heel of his
hands. "Look, not everything Rick and I talked about is part of the
investigation. I just wanted to get a feel for the guy." 

 "A feel, Ray? Is that what you call it?" 

 Ray jerked his head up, not sure if he'd heard right. "What?" 

 Instead of repeating his comment, Fraser's voice softened. "I'm just
concerned, Ray. You don't seem yourself on this case." 

 "Don't seem myself? What's that supposed to mean?" 

 "It means your attraction to Mr. Mercy seems to have affected your
professional objectivity about what's important to the case and what's
not." 

 Ray couldn't meet Fraser's eyes, couldn't defend himself against the
accurate judgment. Being pissed wouldn't help, wouldn't solve the problem,
so he tried something else. "You ever have that happen, Fraser? You ever
meet someone and right away it's like someone kicked you in the head, like
you couldn't think straight when this person got close?" 

 Fraser hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes." 

 "What'd you do?" 

 "You know what I did." 

 Ray frowned, confused. "I do?" 

 "Victoria." 

 A kick start to the brain and Ray remembered. "Oh, yeah, her." 

 "Yes, her." 

 "Then you know what it's like." 

 "Which is why I'm worried about you. I don't mean this as a criticism,
Ray, but you do tend to fixate." 

 "Fixate?" 

 "Become obsessive, get preoccupied..." 

 "Lose my mind." 

 "I wouldn't go that far, Ray. You've always been able to stop yourself
before things got too out of hand." 

 "Or Stella slapped me with a restraining order." 

 Fraser didn't say anything and Ray sat back and fingered the edge of his
notebook. "You don't seem to care that Mercy's a guy." 

 "Excuse me?" 

 "Doesn't it bother you that I'm attracted to a man?" 

 "Ray, your sexual preferences haven't been a mystery to me for some time
now." 

 That caught Ray's attention in a hurry. "What? I don't get that." 

 "It's been obvious for a while that your attraction to people isn't
governed by gender." 

 "What people?" 

 "Attractive people mostly." 

 Ray got heated, wanted to know what the hell Fraser meant. "Like who?" 

 "Well, there's Stella." 

 "Of course there's Stella. Who else?" 

 "Francesca." 

 "Frannie's my sister, Fraser. That's not even funny." 

 Fraser shook his head as he explained. "She's not your real sister, Ray,
and the unresolved sexual tension between you two is probably the reason
you tend to bicker so much." 

 Ray couldn't believe Fraser missed the jealousy angle on that bickering
thing. "You're nuts. I'm not attracted to Frannie, not like that." 

 "If you say so, Ray." 

 "Hell, yeah, I say so. So, who else you got?" 

 "Luanne Russell." 

 "I meant guys." 

 "Well, there's Sam Franklin for one." 

 Ray couldn't breathe, couldn't make his lungs take in air for several
long moments. How the fuck did Fraser do that? "What makes you think I had
eyes for Franklin?" 

 Fraser sat back, his hands on the side of the chair as he spoke calmly,
like he did when he told one of his Inuit stories. "It's interesting that
you should use that expression, Ray, because the way you looked at
Inspector Franklin made it very apparent that you did more than respect
his skills as an investigator." 

 "Fuck." 

 "Ray..." 

 "Just be quiet." Ray covered his eyes and lowered his head to the desk.
He didn't move right away, razor-sharp pains shooting through his brain.
After a few more moments, he mumbled, the words muffled by his face-down
position. "Why didn't you say something?" 

 "You said to be quiet." 

 "Fraser..." 

 "What was there to say, Ray? I don't believe for a moment that you acted
on that attraction since you were married to Stella when you worked with
the Inspector. What would be the point of mentioning it?" 

 Ray sat back up, still holding the side of his head in case his brain
wanted to leak out, not that he really thought he could catch it. "You
still could've said something." 

 "Perhaps, but I thought it might be an uncomfortable subject for you, so
I didn't." 

 "So why are you saying something now?" 

 "Because I'm worried about your reaction to Mr. Mercy. As I mentioned
before, I don't trust him." 

 "You don't know him." 

 "True enough. However, I do remember you saying I needed to hone my
instincts more, to go with my intestines." 

 "Intestines? You mean, go with your gut?" 

 "Yes, yes, that's it. My gut." 

 Ray swallowed hard. "And your gut is telling you that Rick's trouble." 

 "Screaming more like." Fraser suddenly shifted in his chair. "That is to
say, Ray, I'm worried. I don't like the way he looks at you." 

 "Or how I look at him?" 

 Fraser ducked, glancing away quickly, not meeting Ray's gaze. "You're not
a casual person, Ray. I don't believe Mr. Mercy has your best interests at
heart." 

 "No, Fraser, I know that." Ray bit his lower lip, sick of the whole
conversation. "Look, I know he's out for one thing, but sometimes,
sometimes that's not always a bad thing." 

 "Ray, there are diseases." 

 "Jesus, Fraser. You think I'm stupid?" 

 "Of course not. I never meant..." 

 "Then don't say shit like that. I'm not going to go out and be dumb no
matter what it looks like." Ray ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I
know I was married a long time, took that whole sex thing for granted, but
I know guys who've messed up, got sick, died even. I'm not doing that for
anybody. I can handle myself." 

 "I'm pleased to hear that, Ray." 

 Anger writhed inside him, that sanctimonious, know-it-all tone too much
all at once. Ray stood up, closed the notebook, and slipped it back into
his pocket. "Then hear this. For somebody who's so damn smart and
observant, you don't see shit. You don't see what's right under your nose.
Maybe that's because you're too close." Ray stepped around the desk and
leaned in, his face only a few inches from Fraser's. "Step back and look
again. See what you've missed while you were so busy keeping an eye on me.
Figure out who really turns my crank and then we'll talk about me being
stupid." 

 "I don't understand, Ray." 

 Shaking his head, Ray stepped to the door, and spoke just as before he
opened it and walked out. "Yeah, tell me about it."  

 Ray spent the rest of the night watching Mercy spin a web of seduction
over the crowd. He always knew the guy could turn a head, but put him in
front of a microphone and he got drop dead gorgeous in a big way. That
edgy, sultry voice went right to the heart, made the head spin with
promise. He made the girls wet and the guys hard, made them all swell with
need and longing for more. Energy poured off the man, made everyone hungry
for a piece of that fantasy. Just a chance to touch him, just to be in his
line of sight for a moment made a whole lot of people keep coming back for
more. No wonder the guy made a fortune singing in his own club, going on
tours, and selling platinum CDs all over the world. 

 Halfway through the second set, Rick called out to the crowd, "Listen up,
fuckers. This one's for my new best friend, Ray." 

 Ray's head came up and he locked eyes with Mercy, who smiled that cocky
grin that made Ray want to get fucked right then and there. Rick threw him
the finger and then started singing about lost chances and heartbreak. Ray
got the message and smiled back with an obscene gesture of his own. Son of
a bitch loved to screw with people's heads and had a lot of practice at
getting whatever the hell he wanted. Shaking his head with frustration,
Ray turned back to the bar and finished off his beer. 

 When the set ended, Mercy moved in beside him, an arm draped over his
shoulders. Sweat pouring down his face, his voice raspy from singing too
hard and too long, Rick leaned in. "Come home with me." 

 "I can't." 

 "Come on. We'll have the rest of that Chinese and just shoot the shit. I
need to wind down after a show." 

 Ray closed his eyes, flattered more than he wanted to admit. He took a
deep breath, praying for more willpower. "Forget about it. I'm on a case."


 Rick didn't give up. "Look, I won't make a move if you don't want it, but
I don't want to be alone tonight." Rick leaned in closer, his mouth only a
few inches away. "Don't make me beg, man." 

 "Then don't." 

 "Don't you ever just want to be with somebody, not just to fuck, but just
to be with?" 

 Fraser's face popped into his head and Ray nodded with complete
understanding. "Yeah, I get that." 

 A hand touched his arm, fingers wrapping his wrist. "Come home with me,
Ray. I mean it." 

 Ray met bloodshot blue eyes, the intensity like fire. "I'm not Bobby." 

 "I know that." 

 "You sure?" 

 "Yeah, I'm sure." 

 Against his better judgment, Ray nodded and stood straighter. "I've got
to tell Fraser." 

 "He's in the back with Alex." 

 Frowning, Ray shifted. "Why's he's in the back with your manager?" 

 "Beats me. I figure it's about the attacks or some shit. The guy never
takes a break, one of those type A fuckers." 

 Ray's voice hardened. "What'd I say about talking about Fraser?" 

 Lifting his hands in surrender, Rick smiled and changed the subject. "We
going to take your wheels home?" 

 "Why not take yours?" 

 "I sent my driver home already." 

 "Fuck you. What if I'd said no." 

 Rick moved in closer, his groin pressed into Ray's. "Look around, Ray.
I've got a lot of options, but you're the one I want." 

 Ray pushed him away, but leaned his face in so he had Rick's full
attention. "Keep acting like an asshole and you'll need'em. Now, I'm going
to go talk to Fraser, then I'll be back." 

 Rick never stopped smiling as Ray stormed off, more pissed at himself
than Mercy. 

 Ray found Fraser alone in Rick's office. "I thought you were talking to
the mystery manager, Alex Rich." 

 "I was. He just left." 

 "And?" 

 "And what, Ray?" 

 "What'd he say? Did he have some clue or theory about what's going on?" 

 Fraser reached over and picked up his leather jacket. He spoke as he
slipped it back on, but he never looked over at Ray. "He proposes that
we're wasting our time questioning the band members. He thinks our focus
should be on protecting his client and looking for some jealous rival
singer, a theory I find ludicrous." Fraser finally glanced over at Ray.
"In all honesty, I got the definite impression the man's hiding
something." 

 "Like what?" 

 "That's yet to be discovered, but we should add him to the list of
possible suspects." 

 "Already done. Me, I talked to the guy on the phone and I got a real vibe
that he's not in this because of his love for Rick." 

 Fraser stopped at the use of Mercy's first name and studied Ray with
concern. "You've been drinking." 

 "Just a few beers." 

 "While on duty?" 

 "Lay off, Fraser. I'm fine." 

 Fraser's lips thinned like they did when he forced himself to hold back.
Finally, he whispered, "It's late, Ray. Let's not argue. Let's go home,
get some rest, and start fresh in the morning." 

 Embarrassed, not sure how to say it without getting a lecture, Ray just
said it. "I'm going home with Rick." 

 "Ray..." 

 "Don't say anything. I know what I'm doing. I swear, we're just going to
talk. I won't stay the whole night." 

 "How long you stay is up to you, Ray, but I advise against this." 

 "I already figured that. Look, I'm driving so get a cab home and I'll
pay." 

 "That's not necessary." 

 "Sure it is. You're on a case, so it's my treat. Besides, this place is
too far away from anywhere to walk when you don't have Dief or me at your
back." 

 His features grim, Fraser reluctantly agreed. "Thank you, Ray." 

 "Sure thing." As he turned to leave, he found Fraser's hand on his arm.
"What?" 

 "Be careful." 

 "You don't trust me?" 

 "Do you trust yourself?" 

 Ray shrugged. "I don't know. Mostly." Meeting Fraser's eyes, he removed
his arm from his partner's touch. "Don't worry. I'll be fine." 

 As Ray moved down the hall, he got his keys out and refused to look back,
knowing that if he did, he'd never walk away.  

 Mercy had his latest music piped into all the rooms, including the
bathroom, at the push of a button. Arrogant prick sure liked the sound of
his own voice. 

 Ray finished off another beer. "You want to turn that stuff off?" 

 Rick frowned. "Why?" 

 "I thought you wanted to talk." 

 Mercy walked over to the wall and cut off the sound. "Better?" 

 "Thanks." 

 Sitting down next to Ray on the sofa, Rick took a cigarette from his pack
and lit up. He took a long drag and glanced over. "Tell me about your
partner." 

 "What'd I say about that?" 

 "Look, I told you about me and Bobby. Tell me about this guy Fraser." 

 "No." 

 "No?" 

 "No." 

 "Stubborn fucker." 

 Ray smiled and leaned back, his arm stretched out over the back of the
sofa. The beers made him fuzzy, all kind of easy under his skin despite
the heat of Mercy's body so close by. "Fraser's my partner, my good buddy,
the one person I trust in the whole world. That's all you need to know." 

 "But why him?" 

 "It's a long story." 

 "It's a long night." 

 "Forget about it. Move on." 

 "Okay. Show me your gun." 

 "My gun?" 

 "Yeah, show me your gun. Take it out." 

 Ray reached under his arm and pulled his gun, holding it up, safety still
on. As Rick reached out, Ray shook his head. "Don't." 

 "Why not?" 

 "It's not a toy." 

 "Put it over there on the table out of the way." 

 "Why?" 

 "Just do it." 

 Stella always hated his gun, too, so he put it over on the table, and
waited, wondering what the hell Rick really wanted. Mercy puffed some more
on his cigarette and picked up his beer. "Why'd you want to be a cop?" 

 "Why'd you want to be a singer?" 

 "Had to be." 

 "Same here. Next question." 

 "Ever been married?" 

 Ray closed his eyes. No way did he want to talk about Stella or pretend
to be Vecchio. "Next question." 

 "Wanna mess around?" 

 Laughing out loud, Ray shook his head. "Fucking one-track mind." Ray
jerked back and opened his eyes as a finger traced his lower lip. 

 "Sexy mouth, man." 

 "Don't." 

 "Don't what? Touch you? Make you feel good? Don't what?" Rick put down
his beer and cigarette and eased in even closer. His hand cupped Ray's
face as he whispered huskily, "What the fuck are you so afraid of?" 

 Moving away should've been easy, should've been a breeze. Instead, Ray
let it happen, let Rick kiss him, allowed the singer to shove his tongue
in his mouth while his hand explored between Ray's legs. Suddenly dizzy,
Ray's head swam with both desire and fear, fear of letting it go too far,
of not being able to stop, of not wanting it to stop. 

 Rick moaned into his mouth, tasting of wet ashes. "God, you're so fucking
hot. I want to fuck you so bad, man." 

 Pulling back just enough to suck in air, Ray shook his head. "I can't." 

 "You can. I'll make it easy." Rick pushed him down on the wide sofa,
spreading his weight over Ray. He ground into him, Rick's jeans already
unzipped as his erection rubbed against Ray's thigh. 

 Grabbing both Ray's wrists, he held them up over Ray's head against the
leather of the sofa. "I've wanted to fuck you all day, all fucking day." 

 No longer uncertain, Ray shoved his hips up and tried to pull away. "Cut
it out. Enough of this shit." 

 Mercy just laughed, a deep, throaty sound, a warning as loud as a siren.
Panicked, Ray struggled harder, but didn't have the strength to get loose,
not against the larger man. Still struggling, he rasped, "Get the fuck
off." 

 Instead of releasing him, Rick smiled and humped faster, still holding
Ray's arms above his head. "Make me." 

 "Fuck you." Ray fought even harder, but Mercy's thirty pound weight
advantage and the extra beers didn't give Ray much of a chance to break
free. "I swear to god, I'll press charges." 

 "Who the fuck would believe you?" 

 The words took the fight right out of him, made him still, made him see
the whole set up. Son of a bitch. "You fucker." 

 "You love it." 

 Ray took a deep breath, called on all his reserve, and suddenly twisted
underneath the heavier man. It gave him just enough leverage to buck Mercy
off and then to scramble to his feet. He stood, feet apart, fists balled
and ready to fight. 

 Stunned, Mercy struggled to sit up, using one hand to brace himself
against the couch and the other to push up from the floor. He settled on
the sofa and stared up at Ray in disbelief. "What the fuck's your
problem?" 

 "You." 

 "Me? I'm not the one putting out all the 'fuck me' signals." 

 "Touch me again and I'll pop you." 

 Mercy shook his head and held up a hand. "Don't bother." 

 Relaxing slightly, Ray didn't move any closer. "You done? You through
fucking around?" 

 "Apparently." 

 "Good. Now, what the fuck did you think you were doing?" 

 "I thought I was going to get lucky." 

 "You thought wrong. I'm a cop. I'm on a case." 

 "Didn't feel like a cop when we were necking." 

 Ray blushed and nodded as he took a deep breath. "Yeah, well, I lapsed,
but I'm not stupid enough to let things go that far, not when I'm on a
case." 

 Mercy looked up, his face again hopeful. "And when the case is over?" 

 Ray shook his head, trying as hard to convince himself as much as Mercy.
"I don't need this shit. You're too fucked up." 

 "Yeah? Well, at least I'm not pretending to be straight. I'm not the one
walking around hard for his partner and getting turned on by a rock star."


 The attack made Ray's head swim. "No, you're just the asshole who needs a
good kick in the head." 

 "And you think you're the one to do it?" 

 "Maybe." 

 Without embarrassment, Mercy stood up, stuffed his wilting dick back in
his pants and zipped up. "You want a beer?" 

 "A beer? After what you just did?" 

 "What'd I do? I tried to get some? It didn't work. Nobody got hurt. It
wasn't like I slapped you around and tied you to the fucking bedposts."
Mercy smiled, his face suddenly lustful again. "Though that sounds pretty
fucking hot." 

 "You're a sick fuck." 

 "So I've heard. What about the beer?" 

 "I should go home." 

 "Go. I'm not stopping you." Mercy's voice softened as he took a step
closer to Ray, not touching, standing only a few inches away. "I like you,
Ray. I'm not going to lie. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you more
than I've wanted to fuck anybody in a long time. If that freaks you out,
that's your problem, not mine." 

 "I'm not freaked out." 

 "Seen your face lately? Looks freaked out to me." 

 Ray swallowed hard and worked to find a steady voice. "I don't do casual.
I won't just jump into bed and fuck because it feels good." 

 Mercy nodded, his eyes bright, his hand easing its way to the back of
Ray's neck, his fingers teasing the edge of Ray's hair. "What if I told
you, I was tired of casual?" 

 "I wouldn't believe you." 

 "Smart guy." 

 Ray stiffened as Mercy drew him closer, resting his forehead against
Ray's. "But I'm willing to give it a shot if you'll let me." 

 Thinning air made it hard to breathe, hard to form words. "Why me? Is it
because I look like Bobby?" 

 "Maybe at first, but not now." Mercy lifted his head, meeting Ray's blue
eyes, his voice suddenly more raw. "You want me to make this more than a
casual fuck, I can do that. I've done it before. I never thought I'd get a
second chance, not since Bobby. Come on. Meet me half way here." 

 Dizzy from the words, Ray still didn't believe it. "I'm not sure I want
this." 

 "Because of your partner?" 

 "Yeah." 

 "Fair enough." Mercy stood straighter and dropped his hand to Ray's
shoulder. "But I want this. I want to give this thing between us a shot. I
think you should at least try it out before you turn it down for something
you don't even really have yet, might never get." 

 "But I might get it someday. I just haven't had the balls to bring it
up." 

 Rick cupped his face, his hand firm, but gentle at the same time. His
thumb traced the edge of Ray's lower lip. "Meanwhile, you've got me,
willing and able. Which do you want, someone who wants you for sure or
someone you probably can't get?" 

 His defenses lazy, Ray sighed. "What if I want both?" 

 "I don't share." Rick leaned in, Ray's face captured with both hands, his
hungry eyes searching for resistance and finding none. Ray relaxed into
the kiss, accepting the rough probes of the tongue, the rusty swell to the
back of his throat as Rick shoved him against the wall and ruthlessly
crushed all his protests. In the back of his mind, Ray knew that Fraser
would never share, either, but for the moment his starved body didn't much
care.  

 Stumbling down his hallway, key in hand, Ray stopped in his tracks. His
partner stood there leaning against the wall, hat in his hand, patiently
waiting. "Fraser?" 

 "Ray. We need to talk." 

 Fuck. Ray stood a little straighter, putting on his game face, the one he
saved for the really tough cases. "It's three in the morning. Go home."
Fraser frowned and stepped closer, lifting his hand to Ray's face.
Flinching away, Ray shook his head. "Don't." 

 "Your bottom lip is injured." 

 "Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal." 

 "How did you do it?" 

 "None of your business." 

 Fraser nodded, his eyes definitely unhappy. "We still need to talk." 

 "Guess you'd better come in then." Ray unlocked the door and Fraser
followed him in, keeping quiet. "I need to use the can." 

 "I'll make tea." 

 "Sure. Coffee for me." 

 "As you wish." 

 Like what Ray wished had anything to do with anything at the moment. Ray
headed to the bathroom and checked himself out in the mirror. Bruised eyes
stared back. He wiped away the blood from the swollen lip, grateful that
Rick hadn't marked him any place else that Fraser could see right off the
bat. What the fuck was he thinking? Making out and getting off with Mercy
only made things worse, made him more confused about what to do. He needed
to put everything on hold until after the case. Then he'd decide what to
do about Mercy and Fraser. 

 Walking into the living room, he found Fraser leaning back against the
counter drinking tea. Fraser picked up a mug, poured the coffee, and
handed it to him. "Sugar?" 

 "I'll get it." 

 Fraser didn't argue, just waited while Ray doctored his drink. Ray sat
uneasily at the table, both hands around his mug. He didn't drink it, just
sat there until Fraser came to the table and joined him. Ray didn't meet
his partner's gaze as he spoke quietly. "Mercy doesn't want you there
tomorrow." 

 "I'm sure he doesn't." 

 "Anyway, you're off the case." 

 "I'm on the case as long as you're on the case, Ray." 

 "Don't give me a hard time about this, Fraser." 

 "Then don't ask me to do something I can't do. I won't leave you on this
case alone." 

 "Even if I ask you to?" 

 "Even if you ask nicely." 

 "Pig-headed Mountie." 

 "I prefer the term tenacious." 

 "Because nobody knows what the fuck it means." 

 Fraser didn't pick up the beat, didn't play the usual word game. "Ray,
please, tell me what happened." 

 "Nothing happened." 

 Frustrated, Fraser sat back and shook his head. "What about your face?" 

 "It's nothing. I got carried away and bit my lip. It happens." Eyes
squeezed shut, avoiding those damning blue eyes like crazy, Ray whispered,
"Leave it the fuck alone, Fraser." 

 "I can't do that." 

 "You mean you won't do that." 

 "Perhaps, but you know I'm not asking just to hurt you." Fraser paused,
wetting his lower lip. "I care about you, Ray. How can you desire a man
like Mercy?" 

 "You don't understand." 

 "Then explain it." 

 Ray got up, too wound up to sit still. He ran a hand through his hair as
he paced the room. "It's not just about him." 

 "Then what's it about?" 

 "About me, about what I want. Besides, I like him." 

 "You like him?" 

 "Yeah. Is that so hard to believe? He's good looking, rich, and believe
it or not, he's no idiot. We've got a lot of things in common." 

 "Like what?" 

 "What do you mean, like what?" 

 "What do you have in common?" 

 "Well, we both like the same music, like the same kind of clothes.
Neither of us put up with bullshit." 

 Fraser shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And you think this is enough
commonality for a relationship?" 

 "We don't have a relationship, Fraser, but he says he wants one." 

 "I'll bet he does." Fraser's voice had a hard edge. 

 "I think he means it." 

 "And what about you, Ray? Do you really want to pursue some sort of
relationship with a man like Mercy?" 

 "Everybody deserves a second chance, Fraser." 

 "I understand that, Ray, but I'm worried that your recent break with
Stella has clouded your judgment." 

 "It's not so recent, Fraser. It's been a few years." 

 "But you've remained attached to her for some time. I just feel you need
to take extra care to protect yourself in your vulnerable condition." 

 "You think I'm looking at Rick because I'm on the rebound?" 

 "It's possible." 

 "It's not that." 

 Fraser shook his head, his eyes never drifting from Ray. "Then what is
it? I don't understand." 

 Ray sat back down at the table beside Fraser and then took a deep breath
before he mustered the words. "I'm lonely and he's interested. I mean,
here's this guy, this famous guy, someone who can have just about anybody
and he wants me. Why should I turn that down?" 

 Shock registered in Fraser's eyes as he focused on the most important
part of the confession. "You're lonely?" 

 "Yeah? Don't you ever get lonely?" 

 For the first time Fraser glanced away, his mug suddenly more interesting
than Ray's face. "I'm well acquainted with loneliness, Ray." 

 "Then you understand." 

 "About loneliness, yes, about your attraction to Mercy, no. I don't like
you seeing him." 

 "It's my life." 

 "I'm well aware of that, Ray, but I fear I'm partly responsible for
what's happened. I should never have let it go this far." 

 "Huh?" 

 "I told you I didn't trust him, that's true, but I was also jealous of
your attraction to him." 

 "Jealous?" 

 "Yes." Fraser looked up, meeting Ray's confused gaze. "I wanted you to
look at me the way you looked at him." 

 Ray wanted to laugh, but he blinked back tears instead. "You stupid
Mountie. I've been looking at you like that from the beginning." 

 Fraser's eyes narrowed, searching Ray's face for the truth, his mouth
still open in surprise. "Are you saying..." 

 "Yeah, I'm saying." 

 "Oh, dear." 

 "Some observation skills you've got." 

 "So it would appear." Fraser reached up and touched Ray's cheek lightly.
"Ray, I wish you'd said something." 

 "I tried to." 

 "Ah." 

 "Ah?" 

 "The right under my nose thing." 

 "Bingo. We have a winner." 

 "I think we have two, Ray." 

 Ray ignored the pain in his lip and smiled, pulling Fraser into a hug,
letting his friend's strong arms wrap him up. He ignored the voice at the
back of his head screaming that Mercy wouldn't like being rejected. At the
moment, he had an armful of Mountie and he didn't much care about a rock
singer with an appetite for Chicago flatfoots. 

 Pulling back, Ray whispered, "It's late. Spend the night." 

 "On the couch?" 

 "In my bed." 

 "Ray..." 

 "Just to sleep. We need to talk first and I'm too tired to do much more
than snooze right now anyway." 

 Fraser nodded, his eyes happy and twinkling. "Understood."  

 The loud knocking and Fraser's voice woke him. Stiffly, Ray sat up to
find Fraser at the doorway instead of in his bed where Ray most wanted him
to be. "Ray, there's a delivery man here. I think you should handle this."


 "Delivery man?" 

 "Something about stereo equipment." 

 Confused, Ray rubbed his eyes and got up. He pulled on his jeans and a
T-shirt before he walked to the front door. That's when he saw two men
with a whole ton of boxes. One of the men looked down at the paper and
then at Ray. "Ray Vecchio?" 

 "Yeah?" 

 "I've got a delivery." 

 "I didn't order anything." 

 "Says here we're supposed to bring it here and set it up." 

 "What is it?" 

 "A new sound system, all bought and paid for." 

 Ray rubbed his face with both hands. Fuck. He should've figured. "Let me
guess. Rick Mercy sent it." 

 "Yeah." The delivery man grinned. "It's top of the line, too. Where do
you want it?" 

 "Up his ass for starters." 

 Confused, the delivery men looked at one another and then back at Ray.
Fraser stepped in, his voice calm and diplomatic. "I think what Detective
Vecchio is saying is that he won't accept delivery." 

 "Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Take it back." 

 "You sure?" 

 Ray wanted to explode, but contained himself. "Yeah, I'm sure." 

 "Whatever." The delivery man turned to his partner. "Okay, Jerry, back on
the truck." 

 As they headed off down the hallway, Ray slammed the door shut, his head
about to come off. "I don't believe that guy." 

 "Ray, calm down." 

 "Fuck calm down. You know what that was?" 

 "While most people send flowers, I presume Mr. Mercy felt stereo
equipment might express his romantic intentions more clearly." 

 "Fuck." 

 "I'm sure he meant well." 

 "Meant well? He's trying to buy me, Fraser. He thinks because he's got
all that money, that he can make me like him more by doing this kind of
shit." 

 "Possibly." 

 "The guy's got some nerve." 

 "Most definitely." 

 Before he built up enough steam to keep going, another knock interrupted
his rhythm. Ray shook his head. "I don't want to see anybody, Fraser." 

 Nodding in agreement, Fraser opened the door while Ray ducked into the
kitchen. "Delivery for a Ray Vecchio." 

 Fraser once again turned in his direction. "Ray?" 

 "It's okay." Ray walked over and glared. "What is it this time?" 

 The new delivery man wore a suit and tie. He held out a small black
velvet box and a clip board. "If you'll just sign here, sir." 

 "I'm not signing anything. Tell Mercy I don't want it." 

 "Sir?" 

 "You heard me, whatever the fuck it is, I don't want it. Take it back." 

 "Sir, if you'll forgive me, you don't even know what it is." 

 "I don't care what it is." 

 "It's a flawless diamond stud earring in a brilliant platinum setting,
the very best of our collection. Mr. Mercy was very specific in his
instructions. He said he wanted you to have it before this afternoon so
you could wear it to his performance later this evening." 

 Like Mercy could dictate what he'd wear and not wear, son of a bitch. 

 "What part of, I don't want it, did you not get? Now, take it and go. If
he sends anything else, I'll flush it down the toilet. Tell him." 

 "Yes, sir." Shaking his head in bewilderment, the suit and tie guy headed
off. 

 Ray shut the door and went to the phone. He snatched it up to dial.
"Enough of this shit." 

 Fraser put his hand out, took the receiver, and hung up before Ray could
stop him. Ray eyed him in shock. "What the fuck?" 

 "Not yet, Ray, not while you're this angry." 

 "I've got a right to be pissed. He's trying to buy affection with fancy
gifts I don't want. He's already trying to control me." 

 "You need to calm down before you talk to him." 

 Biting his lower lip, Ray walked over to the window, his arms crossed and
his back to Fraser. "Can you believe this shit?" 

 "Based on my observations of Mercy, yes. He wants to win your favor by
using expensive gifts to his advantage." 

 Sighing heavily, Ray nodded, his jaw clenched. "Yeah, I get that." 

 Fraser moved closer. "What will you do?" 

 "We have to work the case, but I need to talk to him. Alone. I need to
make it clear that things have changed." 

 "You'll tell him about us then?" 

 Ray turned and moved back to the center of the room, his body just an
arm's length from Fraser. "Us?" 

 Fraser reached out and drew Ray close, meeting Ray's questioning gaze
without hesitation. "Us." 

 "What do you want me to tell him?" 

 "That you're taken." 

 Ray grinned with satisfaction. "Taken?" 

 "Committed, in a relationship, not available, whatever suits you, Ray. I
just want you to make it clear that you're no longer going to accept any
advances on his part." 

 "You okay with that, me telling him I'm with you?" 

 "The truth is always better than a lie." 

 "And if he makes a stink?" 

 Fraser smiled and caressed his cheek. "Then we'll deal with it together."


 His body tingling, Ray leaned in closer, his lips a breath away. "You
sure about this?" 

 Fraser's mouth closed on Ray's with an unexpected possession and kissed
away the fears, made Fraser's position on the matter more than perfectly
clear.	

 Ray spent the rest of the morning at the station running down the leads,
checking alibis, and trying to keep the grin off his face. He kept rubbing
his hand across his mouth, his lips still tingling from all that jealous
Mountie action. 

 Dewey didn't fail to notice. 

 "So, who's the new chick?" 

 Glancing up from the witness statement, Ray frowned. "New chick?" 

 "Yeah, new chick. I know the look." 

 "What look?" 

 "The one that says you were doing it most of the night when you should've
been sleeping." 

 Ray's skin pinked and then he snarled. "Listen, that's for me to know and
for you to forget about. Got it?" 

 "Hey, I'm just doing my job." 

 "How's making stupid ass comments about my personal life part of your
job?" 

 Dewey snickered and got up, picking up a folder as he turned to leave. He
shot back over his shoulder. "Just being observant." 

 As Dewey headed to the break room, Ray muttered, "Asshole." 

 Huey nodded in complete agreement as he continued to type his report. "At
least you don't have to work with him every day." 

 "You have my sincerest sympathies." 

 "Want to trade?" 

 "Trade?" 

 "Yeah, Fraser for Dewey." 

 Ray shook his head and closed his file. "Not if you paid me a million
bucks, which on our salary might take a few years." 

 "Just for a few days?" 

 "Nope." 

 "You've got no heart, Ray." 

 "I've got brains instead." 

 Huey laughed and then swiveled in his seat as he spotted Fraser coming
down the hall. "Speaking of your brains, here comes your partner." 

 "Low blow, Huey." 

 "Truth hurts." 

 Fraser came to attention at the edge of Ray's desk, his face beaming and
happy. He wore his red uniform and Diefenbaker stood by his side. "What
truth would that be, Detective Huey?" 

 Ray interrupted before Huey could answer. "Never mind, Fraser. You ready
to go see Mercy?" 

 "Indeed, I am, Ray." 

 "Good." Ray grabbed his black leather jacket and slipped it on while they
moved down the hallway together. "I see you got dressed for the occasion."


 "I thought it prudent." 

 "Why's that?" 

 "Perhaps Mr. Mercy will feel less inclined to pursue you if he knows who
your partner truly is." 

 "Show your true colors?" Ray nodded, his lips pursed with amusement.
"Yeah, that works." 

 "I'm glad you approve." 

 Ray eyed him and then took a deep breath, wishing like hell they were
back in his apartment. Instead, he contained himself and unlocked his car
door. Instead of moving away, he leaned in close enough to whisper in
Fraser's ear. "I approve like nobody's business, Fraser. We need to talk,
the sooner the better." 

 Fraser blushed, his eyes lifting and meeting Ray's. "I agree." 

 Ray cleared his throat, his cock aching like crazy. "I don't know if I
can wait until tonight." 

 "The unresolved tension is rather disconcerting." 

 "You feel it, too?" 

 "I dare say that if we weren't in public, I'd demonstrate first hand how
much I feel it, Ray." 

 Ray gulped, Fraser's sexy voice like a steady hand stroking his dick.
"Jesus, Fraser, shut up and get in the car. Now." 

 Fraser put the wolf in the back and then obeyed as Ray made his way to
the other side of the GTO. Ray got in, closed the door, and then shut his
eyes. "We can't do this here." 

 "Do what, Ray?" 

 "Talk like this." 

 "Like what?" 

 "Like this, like this, like how we were just talking." 

 "Are you suggesting that your self-control has limits?" 

 Ray turned his head, seeing the teasing eyes and the slightly parted lips
with just the slightest flick of tongue. "You keep talking like that and
I'll show you limits." 

 "Is that a promise, Ray?" 

 Ray gripped the steering wheel and then banged his head several times in
complete frustration. "Stop or I swear..." 

 "Ray..." 

 "I said stop. I can't play like this, not now, not yet." 

 Fraser's voice changed, lost its sexy edge. "I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't
mean to upset you." 

 "You didn't." 

 "Striking the steering wheel repeatedly with your forehead would
certainly indicate an increased level of distress. I assure you it was not
my intention to..." 

 "Shut up, Fraser." 

 "Understood." 

 Ray kept his eyes closed and his head against the wheel as they sat in
silence for a few more moments. Finally, Ray found his voice. "I'm not
used to this." 

 "Used to what, Ray?" 

 "You being like this." 

 "Like what? I'm not sure I understand." 

 Ray lifted his head and stared at Fraser, his eyes narrowed. "You
understand. You're doing it on purpose. You're making me crazy on
purpose." 

 "Crazy in what way, Ray?" 

 "You want me to jump you right here, is that what you want?" 

 Fraser's tongue licked his lower lip, his voice softened. "We're on duty,
Ray." 

 "Exactly." 

 Reluctantly, Fraser nodded. "I understand, Ray, but I've found that
sometimes one can increase one's pleasure by increasing the level of
anticipation." 

 "Right now it's distracting. Keep it up and it'll just be damn
dangerous." 

 "Duly noted." 

 Ray took a deep breath to settle himself and refocus, his cock
complaining. Starting the engine, he ignored the discomfort and headed out
in traffic as he changed the subject. "What'd you find out when you
checked the alibis?" 

 "I found that Mr. Henderson lied about who he was with on two of the
nights in question. The other two nights, I'd say his witnesses are at the
very least questionable." 

 Ray frowned, upset by the new information. "Tripp Henderson? Why would he
want to hurt Rick? They've been together since Rick started the band years
ago." 

 "As I suggested earlier, the motive could be that Mr. Henderson wants to
leave the band and Mr. Mercy refuses to let him out of his contract." 

 "So he goes in and trashes Rick's place? That doesn't make any sense." 

 "It's been my experience that crimes of passion rarely make sense, Ray.
If it is Mr. Henderson, his motive would likely be very personal." 

 "You mean because he and Rick used to get together?" 

 Fraser turned slightly in his seat. "According to Mr. Davis, your Mr.
Mercy and Mr. Henderson had a very intense relationship after Bobby
Hatchett left the band." 

 "And you're saying Rick broke it off and Tripp is pissed about that,
pissed enough to pull this kind of shit?" 

 "It's a theory." 

 "I don't buy it." 

 "Still, you should question Mr. Henderson more closely." 

 Ray ignored the angry honking as he cut off a driver in the other lane
before making a sharp turn. "You got no other leads?" 

 "Have you?" 

 "Nope. I dead-ended on the crazy fan thing. You got any idea how many
Emerson's there are in Chicago? Anyway, it's still early." 

 "Ray, if we look at it logically, it has to be someone close to Mercy." 

 "I know. I don't like it, but I know." 

 "You should talk to Henderson." 

 "I will, after I talk to Rick. I have to get this thing about him and me
straightened out first." Ray stopped at a light and stared out the window,
dreading the whole conversation. 

 "Ray?" 

 "Yeah?" 

 "I understand that this isn't easy for you." 

 Ray glanced over, heartened by the concern in Fraser's eyes. "Thanks.
It's not, but he knew from the get go that I wanted you." 

 Fraser frowned, confused. "You talked about me with him?" 

 "He figured it out almost from the start." 

 "Really?" 

 "Yeah, just like I did about him and Bobby. We agreed not to mention it."


 "I see." 

 The light changed and Ray drove on. "What do you see?" 

 "I find it oddly disturbing that a stranger could see something I
couldn't." 

 "He's not really a stranger, Fraser." 

 "You just met him yesterday, Ray. I would say that qualifies him as a
relative stranger." 

 "Maybe, but it feels like I've known him a lot longer." 

 "Because he's a celebrity?" 

 "It's more than that." 

 "Then what is it?" 

 "I can't explain it." 

 Fraser didn't give up, kept pushing. "Try, Ray. I want to understand your
obsession with this man." 

 Ray frowned and turned his head. "Obsession?" 

 "Yes." 

 "I'm not obsessed." 

 "What do you call it?" 

 "Chemistry." 

 "Chemistry?" 

 "Yeah, we've got chemistry. Boom, boom, boom. We sparked. We've got the
same thing, you and me, but we just didn't take off right away." 

 Fraser nodded thoughtfully. "Some reactions can be quite destructive,
Ray, while other combinations create more favorable results. Rather than
an explosion, I'd like to think our union would result in a steady heat." 

 "Steady heat? Oh, yeah, I'm all over that." 

 "However, some might prefer the excitement of an explosion." 

 "Is this your not so subtle way of asking whether I want you or Mercy?" 

 "I wouldn't dream of putting you in such an awkward position, Ray." 

 Ray shook his head in amusement. "Jesus, Fraser, it's not awkward to ask
me what I feel. I love you." 

 "I love you, too, Ray." 

 "Thanks. And, sure, Mercy's hot, but so are you. You're just hot in
different ways. The point is, I want you, not him. I get that now." 

 Still unconvinced, Fraser persisted. "You think Rick Mercy's sexually
attractive?" 

 "I just said that." 

 "Why?" 

 "Why?" 

 "Yes, Ray, why do you think he's attractive? I mean, he and I are
completely different. It's hard for me to imagine that you find us both
desirable." 

 "Actually, you're not completely different. Sure in looks, you're not the
same, but in a lot of ways, you're more alike than you might think." 

 Fraser turned in his seat and stared at Ray like he'd lost his mind
completely. "Are you unhinged?" 

 Ray couldn't help but laugh. "Why do you think he turned me on, Fraser?
He's tough, knows his own mind. He's bossy as hell. He walks in a room and
all the eyes turn to him. Plus, he's got a voice that can melt concrete.
It's the same thing with you." 

 "You are unhinged. I'm nothing like that." 

 "You're exactly like that. You've just got a different angle. You get
your way, but you do it politely, with smiles and thank you kindlys.
You're the toughest, most strong-willed person I know. Nothing fazes you.
And believe me when I say this, everybody checks you out when you walk in
a room, to say nothing of your voice that makes me shiver all over. Oh,
yeah, you both have a lot in common." 

 Fraser shook his head, shocked. "You really see me like that?" 

 "Yeah. It's all good stuff, Fraser." 

 "It doesn't sound good. I don't consider myself domineering." 

 "Well, take my word for it, you are and it is." 

 "Then how did you choose me over him?" 

 Ray hesitated and then took a chance. "Because I've loved you from the
start. The only reason I even went for Mercy is because I thought you
didn't want to do this." 

 "So you're saying if I weren't receptive to you, you'd go with Mercy?" 

 "It doesn't matter now." 

 "I think it matters a great deal." Fraser's tight tone brought Ray's head
up. 

 "Why? Why should it matter now?" 

 "How do you know that you couldn't fall in love with Rick Mercy given
time alone together?" 

 Ray didn't hesitate, didn't even stop to think. "Because I love you,
Fraser. I don't need time alone to figure that out." 

 Fraser reached over and touched Ray's thigh, his hand searing through the
denim. "Is that what you're going to tell him, that you love me?" 

 "Partly, yeah." 

 "And the other part?" 

 "That I'm sorry for getting his hopes up." 

 Nodding in understanding, Fraser kept his hand on Ray's leg and they
drove on in silence.  

 Rick met them at the door of his office, his blue eyes clear and
sparkling for a change. He stalled when he saw Fraser and Diefenbaker.
"What the fuck?" 

 "Rick Mercy, I'd like you to meet my partner, Constable Benton Fraser of
the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He first came to Chicago on the trail
of his father's killers and for reasons that don't need exploring at this
juncture, he's chosen to remain as Liaison Officer at the Consulate." 

 Fraser tipped his hat, but Mercy ignored him and stared at Ray, his
expression dark and suspicious. "You're kidding? The guy's a fucking
Mountie?" 

 "Yeah." Ray pointed at their wolf companion. "And this is Diefenbaker." 

 "Looks like a wolf." 

 Fraser nodded and explained, "Half wolf actually, and he's deaf. Still he
seems to have adapted fairly well to the urban environment." 

 "No shit." Mercy shook his head and then focused again on Ray. "You want
to tell me why he's wearing that get up, or better yet, why the fuck he's
even here? I told you last night I didn't want him on the case anymore." 

 Ray snapped, "He's my partner. Where I go, he goes. Deal with it." 

 Mercy hesitated, measuring the conviction of the words, obviously
weighing in his head whether to argue or not. Still ignoring Fraser, he
gave in. "Okay, but we have to talk. Alone." 

 "Yeah, I know." Ray touched Fraser's arm and motioned to the front of the
bar. "Give us a minute. See if you can track down Henderson. I need to
talk to him." 

 "Certainly, Ray." 

 As soon as Fraser left, Mercy slammed the door shut. He moved to hug him,
but Ray stepped away. "Don't." 

 Rick stopped and shook his head in anger and disbelief. "Fuck. You've
changed your mind." 

 "It's more complicated than that." 

 "Oh, complicated, like I couldn't see that Red finally made a move on
your ass just as soon as he thought you might move on to somebody else." 

 "It's not like that." 

 Rick stepped closer, facing off, his voice tight and hateful. "Then tell
me what's going on. Why'd you send my shit back?" 

 "You don't need to buy me." 

 "Fuck you. I wasn't doing that." 

 "That's what it looked like." 

 Mercy shook his head and ran a hand through his messy hair. "After last
night, I just wanted to give you something. I like giving shit to people I
like." 

 "I don't want it." 

 "Okay, fine, but why the cold shoulder?" Instead of waiting for an
answer, Rick got even closer, his voice tight again. "Tell me that me
sucking your dick last night wasn't good." 

 Face heated, Ray wrapped his arms around his middle. "I'm not saying it
wasn't good. It just shouldn't have happened." 

 "So what happened to you not doing casual, fucker?" 

 Ray stood his ground, but his whole body tensed. "I wasn't lying. I don't
do casual, but last night was a mistake." 

 "You saying my mouth on your dick was a mistake, that you giving me a
hand job didn't matter?" 

 "I'm not saying that. It did matter." Ray cleared his throat and tried
not to back away. "I like you, I like you a lot, but it's not enough. I
love Fraser. Last night when I left you, he was waiting at my place and we
talked. We straightened some stuff out, stuff that we needed to get
figured out for a long time. In a way, I owe you for that." 

 "Fucking convenient timing." 

 "Look, I know you're angry. I'd be pissed, too." 

 "Why? Because someone you thought was different screwed you over?" 

 Ray had no defense, couldn't find anything better to say than to
apologize. "I'm sorry." 

 Rick studied him, Ray staring right back and holding his breath. Finally,
Mercy nodded and then stepped back. He moved to sit behind his desk,
taking several long moments before speaking. "I knew you were too good to
be true. I should've figured." 

 "Didn't mean to hurt you." 

 "Yeah, well..." 

 After a long silence, Ray thumbed toward the door. "Look, I need to
interview Henderson. His alibis don't check out. Any reason to believe he
might be the one?" 

 Mercy shook his head stubbornly, not ready to let the matter go. "So
that's it? You just want to drop this thing between us for a fucking
Mountie?" 

 "Come on, leave it alone." 

 "I'm serious." Mercy leaned in, his hands fisted together on the desk. "I
was there last night, man, and you weren't faking. You were into me as
much as I was into you. You can't fake that shit." 

 "I wasn't faking." 

 "So what's the fucking problem?" 

 "I love Fraser." 

 "Fuck Fraser." 

 "Shut up with that shit." 

 Ignoring Ray's protest, Rick waved him still. "Look, I've got an idea.
I've got a ten-week tour coming up. I need a security man. Come with me." 

 "I've got a job. I'm a cop." 

 "You'd be making five times what you're making now to start and you'd
still be doing what you're doing now, protecting me." 

 "Being a cop is more than bodyguard work." 

 "You're missing the fucking point here, Ray. I want you to give me a
chance. It's not fair to give me a taste and then cut me off like that.
You think you love this Fraser guy so much, why not test it? See if you
can do the tour with me and still want him when it's over. If you can,
then I'll back off. If you can't, then I'll get what I want." 

 "I can't." 

 "Chicken shit." 

 "It's got nothing to do with being afraid. I've got my head on straight
finally and I don't want to fuck it up." 

 "Right. You want to go on making peanuts and living in a fucking dream
world, which, by the way, will be fucking shattered when your cop buddies
find out you're fucking a Mountie. At least if you're fucking me you don't
have to deal with that shit. People don't give a shit about who's fucking
who when you're doing a rock star." Mercy paused and then met Ray's gaze.
"Speaking of giving a shit, you tell your boyfriend about what we did last
night?" 

 Chest tight, Ray kept his voice neutral. "He knows we were together." 

 "He know how far we went?" 

 "It doesn't matter." 

 Rick smiled and sat back, suddenly smug. "Fucker doesn't know you jerked
me off, doesn't know I gave you a blowjob." 

 "You going to tell him?" 

 "Might." 

 "Might get your head kicked in." 

 Rick snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time." 

 "Hard to sing with no teeth." 

 "Done it before." 

 Ray swallowed hard. "I'll tell him." 

 "When?" 

 "Later." 

 Rick's expression softened, the pain making his eyes bruised, his face
even more grim. "You really love the guy." 

 "Yeah, I do." 

 Mercy shook his head and reached for his beer. He took a long swallow.
"Don't tell him. What happened between us, that's between us. It's not his
business." 

 Ray shook his head, more convinced than ever that he had to come clean
with Fraser. "I'll tell him." 

 "That's up to you. What we did, it was private, but what you tell him is
up to you. He won't fucking hear it from me." 

 Reluctantly, Ray nodded. "Okay." Stepping forward, Ray studied the
haggard features, ashamed of his own part in adding more lines to the
already wounded expression. "No hard feelings." 

 "Too fucking soon to say." 

 "Right." 

 Leaving, Ray reached for the door as Rick asked, "You really think it's
Tripp?" 

 Ray hesitated and then turned back around. "I'm not sure. So far he's the
only one whose alibis didn't pan out." 

 "Tripp's been with me for fifteen fucking years. Why would he trash my
place?" 

 "You tell me." 

 Rick shrugged. "He ain't happy. Hasn't been for years." 

 "Who is?" 

 "Good point." Rick stood up and came around the desk. "I want to talk to
him myself." 

 "I don't think that's a good idea." 

 "I need to do this, Ray. If it's him, I can't just turn him in. He's like
family." 

 "You mean like an ex-husband?" 

 Rick smirked, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, sort of.
Anyway, let me see what he has to say first." 

 "He might deny it." 

 "If you ask, yeah, but I can tell when he's lying." 

 "You think he's been lying about this?" 

 Rick didn't look up, but opened the door as he spoke quietly. "It'd
explain a lot of shit. I don't know, but I'll find out." 

 "What are you going to do if it's him?" 

 Rick stopped in the hallway, their bodies a few inches apart. "Knock him
on his ass and then forgive him." 

 "I have to arrest him anyway." 

 Rick met his eyes, his voice angry again. "Then I'll get him a fucking
lawyer, Mr. Detective, Mr. By the Book Vecchio. Next to Bobby, he's my
oldest friend." 

 "A friend who destroyed your stuff." 

 "Well, if he did, he probably had a good reason. Fuck, he's put up with
my shit for fifteen years. That's probably reason enough to make anybody
crazy." 

 Ray agreed, but decided that he had no room to talk, so kept his mouth
shut.  

 Ray poured himself another drink, but held it between both hands on the
table. He played the scene between Rick and Tripp over and over in his
head, the screamed curses, holding Rick back as Tripp blamed him for every
bad thing in his life ever since Bobby left. Ray sipped the scotch, the
liquid heat warming up his belly as he thought about friendships going
down the drain without one of the guy's even noticing. Stella came to
mind, the last months of their marriage. She'd sucker punched him with the
divorce papers pretty much the same way Tripp hammered his point home with
Rick. Love and hate danced too close together sometimes to tell the
difference. 

 "Ray." 

 "Yeah?" 

 "You had no choice. You had a duty to arrest him." 

 "I know that." 

 "Duty comes before our personal feelings." 

 "I know that, too, Fraser. Sucks, though." 

 "Yes, Ray, sometimes, it does." 

 Fraser settled in the chair beside him and reached over, moving the
scotch bottle to the other side of the table. He never said anything about
the drinking, but Ray got the message. He finished off the last of the
booze in his glass and then met Fraser's worried eyes. "You think the DA
will charge him?" 

 "I don't know. Mr. Mercy seemed pretty insistent that he wouldn't press
charges and that he'd make restitution to the insurance companies himself.
The only one benefiting from prosecution would be the media." 

 "It's going to be a circus no matter what." 

 "From what I've seen of the American press, quite likely." 

 Ray sighed and sat back, his body exhausted and complaining. "So, how do
you think it happened?" 

 "What?" 

 "How did it get to that point? I mean, these guys came up through all the
rough times together, were tight, even lovers. How did it get to the point
that Tripp lost it like that, started wrecking Rick's stuff to get back at
him for rejecting him?" 

 "Unrequited love is difficult at best, Ray. Sometimes the effects can be
mitigated with distance, but in Mr. Henderson's situation, he was forced
by the contract to stay with the group, to witness Mr. Mercy's promiscuity
close hand. It couldn't have been easy for him." 

 "You sound like you have experience." 

 "With what, Ray?" 

 "With that unrequited love thing." 

 Fraser glanced away and shrugged. "I suppose at one time or another
almost everyone suffers from it." 

 "Yeah, I get that, but I'm not asking about everybody. I'm asking about
you. Who was it?" 

 "Innusiq." 

 "Innusiq? Your best friend growing up?" 

 Fraser's voice tightened and he didn't look up, didn't meet Ray's eyes.
"It was a long time ago, Ray." 

 "You were kids." 

 "Young men. He was very handsome and he extended his friendship to me
even though it cost him friends of his own." 

 "I don't understand." 

 "I was an outsider." 

 "By outsider do you mean white?" 

 Fraser looked up and nodded, the pain in his eyes from telling the story
evident even years later. "The Inuit people have very strong traditions,
many of which revolve around family ties. I had few of those." 

 "Sounds like discrimination." 

 "Or self-preservation. Their history taught them to distrust outsiders
and in particular the Canadian government and I was the son of one of the
government's greatest heroes. Innusiq didn't care about that. He saw me as
an individual." 

 "Like it should be." 

 "But often isn't." 

 Ray reached over and took Fraser's hand, squeezing it. "So what happened
between you and Innusiq?" 

 "Friendship." 

 "But you wanted more?" 

 "Yes, but he was strictly heterosexual. I, to my great consternation,
found myself different in yet one more way. I found that my sexuality
permitted me to be attracted to both men and women." 

 "And to Innusiq in particular." 

 "Exactly." 

 "So you left." 

 "He started to date one of the local girls and eventually it became clear
that I could stay and irreparably damage our friendship or leave. I chose
to leave." 

 "I'm sorry it didn't work out, Fraser." 

 Nodding, Fraser sandwiched Ray's hand between his own. "I appreciate
that, Ray, but as I said it was a long time ago." 

 "Still hurts." 

 "Yes, sometimes." Lifting a hand to Ray's face, he caressed his partner's
cheek. "I must admit that I feared that my feelings for you were a repeat
of my earlier experience. I was afraid you would reject me as well." 

 Ray captured the hand at his face, turning his head and kissing the palm.
"Didn't happen." 

 "No, it didn't." Fraser leaned in, pulling Ray closer. He traced his
finger along Ray's lower lip. "You're tired. We should eat and then you
should rest." 

 Ray shook his head, Fraser's warm breath on his face turning him on.
"Later." 

 "Ray." 

 "Fraser." 

 "Call me Ben." 

 Ray smiled. "About time. Ben it is." 

 "Though you should probably still call me Fraser when we're working." 

 "We're not working now, Ben." 

 Fraser smiled. "No. No, we're not." 

 Ray shifted closer, taking Ben's face between his hands before kissing
that mouth, those lips parting immediately. Tongues met, wrestled and Ben
moaned into Ray's mouth. Pulling back, Ray smiled. "You want to do this at
the table or move to the couch?" 

 "Are those my only options?" 

 Ray pulled back even further, staring in surprise. "Bed?" 

 "Preferably, yes." 

 "Eager much?" 

 "Ray, we're consenting adults who..." 

 Placing a finger over Ben's mouth, Ray shushed him. "It's okay. I want
it, too, but we should probably talk first." 

 "Talk?" 

 "We said we were going to talk last night and then again this morning,
but we never did." 

 Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're absolutely right. I
don't know what I was thinking." 

 "I know exactly what you were thinking." 

 Fraser choked back a laugh. "Am I that transparent?" 

 "Just that horny." 

 Bright, playful eyes met Ray's. "I am aroused, Ray, I won't deny that. I
don't mean to rush the conversation, but if we're going to have any kind
of meaningful discussion, we should probably hurry." 

 "You saying I turn you on?" 

 "Absolutely." 

 "Same here, buddy." 

 Fraser's expression became more serious. "But I understand your
hesitation, Ray. If you need assurances that my intentions are honorable,
then I can give you that. I love you with all my heart. I can promise
loyalty and faithfulness. I cherish your friendship and your devotion more
than my own life." 

 Ray blinked hard to fight the sting. "I love you, too, Ben, but you have
to know something about last night, about me and Rick first." 

 This time Ben shushed Ray. "No, I don't. We weren't together, so you owe
me no explanation of your behavior. However, should you decide to be with
Mercy instead of me at some later point, I would be quite devastated." 

 "Won't happen." 

 "It might." Ben's lips thinned as he spoke, his words tight and
difficult. "He's wealthy and famous. You admitted that you find him
sexually attractive. Being with me offers you none of the benefits a
relationship with such a man would offer. You could be quite wealthy and
travel around the world. You could have many things with him that I can't
possibly offer." 

 "But I don't love him. I love you." 

 Eyes closed, Ben swallowed hard as Ray wrapped his arms around his
shoulders. "I love you, too, Ray." 

 "Then it's settled. No more talk about Rick Mercy." 

 "But..." 

 "What'd I just say?" 

 Ben smiled and lifted his head as he sighed in relief. "No more talk
about Rick Mercy." Ben hesitated and then added, "You're sure?" 

 "You want me to pop you one?" 

 "Well, actually, I'd prefer a kiss." 

 Ray obliged, taking Ben's mouth again, making sure his partner had no
more doubts about his feelings. Breaking the kiss, Ray whispered, "Bed?" 

 "If you don't mind." 

 Chuckling to himself, Ray stood up and pulled Ben up with him. He glanced
over at Diefenbaker who quietly followed the proceedings with great
interest, but without lifting his head from his paws. "You stay out here,
Dief. No peeking." 

 "Ray, Diefenbaker has never shown any inclination towards voyeurism." 

 "Has he had a cause to be a peeper before?" 

 Diefenbaker lifted his head as he woofed and snuffled an answer. Fraser's
eyes darkened as he motioned to the wolf. "That was different. Mind your
own business. We'll go for a walk later." 

 Ray raised an eyebrow. "What was different?" 

 "Never mind." 

 "This is something I don't want to know about, right?" 

 Ben pulled Ray into a hug, kissing his shoulder and then running a tongue
up the side of Ray's neck. "Jesus." Ray grabbed Ben and led him to the
bedroom in a hurry. "Forget the wolf tales. Let's get busy." 

 Ben answered by quickly undressing Ray, pulling off the T-shirt before
attacking the zipper. 

 "Wait, wait. Boots first." 

 "Right you are, Ray. Boots." 

 Pushing Ray to sit on the side of the bed, Ben dropped to his knees and
tugged Ray's boots off. Then Ray stood and dropped his pants and
underwear, kicking them off before reaching for Ben's tunic. "Fair's
fair." Ray pushed Ben's hands away and did the buttons himself, working as
fast as he could. He peeled it off and then took down the suspenders.
"Lift." 

 Ben raised his arms and let Ray undress him, slipping the Henley over his
head. "Your boots now." 

 "Ray, perhaps I should do those." 

 "I want to." The urgency in his own voice surprised him. Ray kneeled at
Ben's feet, undoing the laces, his own breath growing faster and more
labored as he thought about what it all meant, this thing between him and
Fraser, this partnership moving to a whole new level. His hands shook as
he wrestled off the right boot and then the left. He pushed Ben on his
back and then pulled off his lover's trousers, leaving him lying there in
only his shorts, his feet still resting on the floor. Ray stood and shoved
Ben's legs apart, standing between them. "What do you want, Ben? Tell me."


 "I want you, Ray." 

 "Yeah?" 

 "Very much so, yes." Ben lifted his arm, reaching out. Ray took his hand
as Ben shifted up on the bed, pulling Ray's naked body down next to his.
"I've wanted you so much, for so long." 

 "Why didn't you say something?" 

 "I couldn't." 

 "Why not?" 

 "I wasn't sure. I couldn't risk losing you, too." 

 Ray frowned and raised his head, turning his body more toward Ben.
"Losing me, too? You mean you thought I'd be freaked out if you said you
loved me?" 

 "Yes." 

 "Idiot." 

 "It would seem so, yes." 

 "Blind, too. I did everything but jump you." 

 "I admit freely to being less than perfect, Ray. I thought I was seeing
what I wanted to see. I convinced myself you couldn't possibly be
interested in me, not when I saw how devoted you were to Stella." 

 "Stella's history, Ben. I loved her, will always love her at some level,
but she's gone, donesky, over and done with." 

 "But she was a huge part of your life, Ray. How was I to know you were
ready to accept closure and move on? You never told me." 

 Ray closed his eyes with frustration and cupped Ben's cheek. He dropped
his face only a few inches from Ben's before he opened his eyes again, his
voice even stronger. "I'm an idiot, too, okay? I should've told you, but I
figured you'd run away. You do that, Ben. You run away and hide when
things get too hot to handle." 

 "I do not." 

 "Do, too." 

 "You're exaggerating." 

 "Fraser, you go away inside yourself, to some place deep inside I can't
reach. I was afraid you'd run off again, or even worse get transferred
back to Canada. I should've said something. But that's all over with.
Let's forget it and move on." 

 "Agreed." Ben ran the back of his hand up the side of Ray's cheek before
he drew him in for a kiss, a long exploration, the tongue moving slowly at
first and then faster, the faint whisper of bark tea teasing the back of
Ray's throat. 

 Ray grew hard, his cock already leaking as he shoved his hips against
Ben's thigh. 

 Ben growled as he turned, slipping a hand down to pull off his shorts.
Soon bare, he lined up their erections and thrust, meeting each of Ray's
eager shoves into him with one of his own. The heat seared Ray's crotch,
his balls throbbing as he groaned, grabbing Ben's ass with both hands to
pull him even closer, to make the contact harder, rougher. Ray's head fell
back as Ben nipped at his neck and licked down his chest, sucking on his
nipples. It took only a matter of minutes before electric charges zapped
along Ray's gut, his dick exploding. His whole body jerked with coming,
bright flares in his head celebrating the release and delicious pleasure
of Ben still humping up against him. Panting, Ray wrapped his arms around
Ben and held on as his lover finished, the sharp scent of semen spiking
the air and slicking his belly. All those tight muscles tensed and then
relaxed in his embrace as Ben's head fell forward and rested on Ray's
shoulder. 

 "Dear Lord." 

 Ray chuckled and kissed the side of Ben's damp face. "Yeah, feels good."
Ben didn't answer, just shifted a little, refusing to give up contact.
Shutting his eyes, Ray basked in the glory of holding Fraser, of having
Ben for his very own forever. 

 After a few minutes, Ben's breathing returned to almost normal and he
lifted his head, his face still flushed and his lips red and swollen. The
words came out raw and still husky. "Is it always like this?" 

 "What?" 

 "Sex with you. Is it always so primal?" 

 Ray grinned. "Primal? You saying I'm like some kind of primitive caveman,
Ben?" 

 "Not at all. It's just that I've never..., what I mean to say is, it's
not at all what I expected." 

 Ray's grin melted. "You're disappointed?" 

 Fraser snorted and buried his face against Ray's sweaty chest. "Not in
the least, more like amazed." 

 "And pleased?" 

 Ben lifted his head, his voice suddenly more soft as he caressed Ray's
face. "More pleased than I can ever say, Ray." 

 "Then show me." 

 "Show you?" 

 "Do me again." 

 Ben smirked and shook his head. "I'm almost forty, Ray. I'm afraid I need
some recovery time." 

 Ray nodded and rocked his body, pushing Ben up and over on his back. He
straddled Ben's crotch and balanced himself forward with his hands palms
down on Ben's chest. "I'm not good at waiting." 

 "So you've said." 

 "So, I guess we'll have to do some other stuff while I'm waiting." 

 "Other stuff?" 

 "Yeah, other stuff. You game?" 

 Swallowing hard, his eyes still dark with arousal, Ben nodded with a
greedy gleam of anticipation. "I'm in your hands, Ray." 

 "You bet your Mountie ass you are." 

 "I don't wager, Ray." 

 "It's not a bet when it's a sure thing." Ray leaned down and kissed those
puffy lips and then whispered, "I love you, Ben." 

 "And I you, Ray." 

 "Mean it?" 

 "I don't lie." 

 "Cross your Mountie heart?" 

 "You have my word." 

 "Good enough." Ray took a deep breath and then stretched out over Ben's
body, his knees pushing between Ben's legs. He drank in the heat, the rush
of firm muscles pressed like brands against each of his own as he rested
his face over Ben's heart. "It won't be easy, but it'll be real, as real
as it gets. That's the thing with Stella. I sometimes think it was never
real. And Rick, that was like some kind of dream, like make-believe or
something." 

 "Ray?" 

 "Yeah?" 

 "Would you mind not discussing your former lovers when we're in bed?" 

 Ray lifted his head from Ben's chest, embarrassed. "Sorry." 

 Cupping the back of Ray's head, Ben drew him back down. "I understand.
I'm just selfish. When we're naked, I want you all to myself." 

 "Selfish, huh?" 

 "Completely self-centered." 

 Ray grinned as he felt Ben's returning erection pushing into his own.
"Oh, yeah, I can see that." 

 "I thought you might." 

 Hips shoved up as Ben took the initiative and pushed Ray onto his back.
Dipping down, Ben sniffed loudly, first along Ray's neck and then shifting
to get a whiff of his belly. "Uh, Ben, what ya doing?" 

 "You smell wonderful, Ray." A tongue flicked out and Ben licked up along
Ray's chest. "You taste even better." 

 Ray smiled lovingly as he combed his fingers through Ben's dark, wavy
hair. "I taste and smell like you." 

 "On the contrary, Ray. Your scent and flavors are quite unique, easily
identifiable from my own." Ben lowered his face and then nuzzled an
armpit, the words muffled. "So very exhilarating." 

 "Yeah?" 

 "Oh, yes." 

 Ray laughed as he teased. "Freak." 

 "A freak in love." 

 Ray sobered as Ben lifted his head, his eyes nearly black again from
arousal. "Yeah?" 

 "With all my heart." 

 "Same here." Thumbing Ben's lower lip, Ray gently drew him closer,
kissing him before he whispered, "Knock yourself out. Whatever you want." 

 "I want you, Ray." 

 "Show me." 

 And in true Mountie fashion, Ben did just that for the rest of their
lives both in Chicago and later when they ended up in Canada, snowbound or
traipsing across the tundra. They fussed and made up, bickered and made
love, always remaining faithful no matter what. 

 **************The end 

End Star Struck by Grey: grey853@aol.com

Author and story notes above.