By the time Mike made it home, Peter was just about climbing the walls. He transferred his attentions happily to Mike.
“Nice to see you too,” Mike said, breaking from the kiss long enough to dump a bag of Chinese takeout on the floor near the door. He turned back to Peter, who slipped his arms around his neck. Mike slid his free hand down the back of Peter’s trousers, his bare hand palming and kneading Peter’s ass, drawing him even closer.
“I’ve got a plan,” Mike said between frantic, hungry kisses.
“Me too.”
Mike maneuvered them toward the sofa. The arm hit Peter beneath his butt, and they fell backward onto the cushions—and then onto the floor.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry,” Mike gasped.
“This is beginning to be a habit…”
“That a problem for you?”
Peter raised his head and met Mike’s glinting gaze. He shook his head.
“Good.” Mike kissed him again.
There was mutual fumbling with buttons and zippers, a lot of flapping and kicking out of unnecessary clothes, and then they were rocking and rubbing against each other with an animal enthusiasm that most people who knew Peter would never have thought him capable of. Maybe he wasn’t capable with anyone but Mike.
Mike nipped Peter’s chin and then kissed him hard and wet, while Peter ground his hips against the stiff erection poking him in just about every vulnerable place of his anatomy but the one that counted.
Thrusting powerfully against Peter, Mike reached down and his fist closed around Peter’s bobbing cock, pumping him with pleasurable efficiency. Peter arched his back and groaned into Mike’s mouth.
The next moment he was coming in hard, creamy jerks. Mike kissed him harder as though in congratulations. He was still doing the bump and grind. Peter shivered in the aftermath, his cock giving a last spurt. Mike’s hand turned gentle and soothing. His wet fingers stroked Peter’s flank, and Peter shuddered again, pleasurably.
Then, a few seconds later, Mike was coming too, and Peter felt more liquid heat splashing him from chest to belly.
They lay on the floor breathing hard. Peter asked finally, “You said you had a plan?”
Mike nodded. “Yours wasn’t bad, though.”
Peter huffed a laugh. Rubbed his nose. “Is that Chinese I smell?”
Mike snickered. He expelled a long breath and sat up. He was on his feet and reaching down to Peter.
“Let’s shower and eat. I’ll tell you what I’ve got in mind.”
They dished out the Chinese food in the kitchen. Spicy-hot garlic beef for Mike, and plain chicken chow mein with crispy noodles for Peter. Either that was a happy coincidence or Mike remembered what he liked, and that flattered Peter probably more than it should have.
Mike put a bottle of Tsingtao beer in front of Peter and sat down across from him. “So how is your memory now?”
Peter gave him a self-conscious smile.
Mike laughed. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “Although…” His expression softened fleetingly. “Yeah, I’d like you to remember. We had some…times worth remembering.”
And if Peter didn’t wind up in a state prison, maybe they’d have more.
“It’s like I’ve plateaued,” Peter admitted. “At first it seemed like I was going to get it all back, but…now I think a lot of it might be gone for good. I can’t seem to remember anything about last week, and I…” He gave Mike an apologetic glance. “It seems like I’ve blocked out everything about you.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound physical. Those are two completely separate chunks of time. If you’re not remembering, it’s because—”
“I don’t want to.”
Mike said with unexpected sensitivity, “Maybe you can’t yet. Maybe it’s more than you’re ready to deal with.”
Peter nodded, reaching for his beer.
“So you don’t remember anything about the night the mural was stolen?”
Peter shook his head. “Every so often I get a flash…like a series of impressions. I know I probably just walked down there for a breath of fresh air. I used to do that—sit on the stone bench near the koi pond at night and just…watch the stars. I guess I must have heard or seen something that night, and the thieves must have seen me before I could get back up to the house.”
“Who knows that? That your memory of that night is still a blank?”
“My lawyer. Pretty much everyone.”
Mike seemed to consider this. “Okay. Well, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to phone Cole and tell him that you’ve got your memory of that night back. Tell him you’ve remembered it all, everything.”
“You’re kidding. That sounds like an idea I’d come up with.”
“I know,” Mike said. “That’s why I think he’ll believe it.”
“He’ll just ask me what I saw.”
“It doesn’t matter. You tell him that he knows damn well what you saw—and what you heard. Don’t let him bully you into giving up details. Tell him you’re going to the police with everything you know, unless he’ll pay you one million dollars.”
Peter choked on his beer. When he could breathe again, he said, “One million dollars? He’ll laugh in my face.”
“His old lady is worth ten times that.”
Peter knew his gut reaction was not a logical one, but he heard himself protest, “That’s true, but Angie controls the purse strings pretty tightly.”
“I don’t blame her,” Mike said dryly. “But Cole can get the money. I think you’re forgetting how he supplements his income—and who his partner is.”
Yes. He was still resisting believing that. Why? It was obviously true. Why was it so hard—so painful—to accept that his friendship with Cole had been mostly one-sided? That he had spent years loving and serving a dream. Or maybe he had just answered his own question.
“And after I ask him for the money, then what?”
“Tell him to bring you the cash tonight at the grotto. Nine o’clock. Tell him if he’s even five minutes late, you go straight to the cops.”
“Nine o’clock at the grotto? He’s going to know that’s a trap.”
Mike said, “No. He’s going to think it’s exactly the kind of silly storybook plot you’d cook up. He thinks you’re a fool, Peter. And he knows that you’ve been in love with him a long time and that—more than anything—you want to believe he cares about you too.”
Peter couldn’t hold Mike’s gaze any longer.
“All right. I’ll do it.”
He could feel Mike’s scrutiny. “I’m not going to lie to you. We’re taking a risk here. He may just let Herschel handle it, in which case…we’re going to have a few interesting minutes keeping you alive.”
“He won’t do that.” Peter’s tone didn’t even convince him.
“Or, if he’s got balls, he’ll turn you over to the cops. If he does that…it’s going to be bad. They’ll have you for extortion as well as the rest of it.”
“They’ll have you too.”
“I can take care of myself. You…”
“What option do we have?”
“We have other options,” Mike said seriously. “You could take your chances in court, for one. Most of the case against you is circumstantial. The most damning testimony is Herschel’s ID, and with a little time we can throw significant doubt on his credibility as a witness.”
“But in order to do that, you have to reveal your hand, don’t you?”
“Reveal my hand?” Mike was faintly amused. “Why yes, I would. But I’m going to reveal it tonight too. That’s not my main concern. My main concern is that there’s a possibility that you might lose your court case and end up doing time.”
Peter heard his own gulp.
“Yeah. That’s my thought,” Mike said. “You won’t do the kind of time you will if you’re nailed for extortion as well as grand theft, but even if you just wound up in county…no. On the other hand, we could keep digging. We could stall for a few days. You could hide out here while the investigation continues. The proof against Constantine and Herschel is there, we just have to find it.”
“But if you don’t find that proof…and I go to trial and lose…” Peter closed his eyes, then opened them. “Even if I don’t lose, I don’t want to waste all those months to this. It’s a nightmare having this hanging over me. You don’t know. I have no place to live. No job. And what museum will hire me? How am I supposed to survive for…however long before my trial date comes up? I’d rather do this, take this chance and maybe be able to start work on having a normal life tomorrow.”
Mike said seriously, “Are you sure you can do it?”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “What do you mean? You think I’ll panic? I’m not a coward, Mike. And I’m not as stupid as you think, even if I have made some dumb decisions in my personal life.”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t think you’re a coward. And I don’t think you’re stupid. No. We’re talking about you setting up Cole Constantine. Are you sure you can handle that? Because for a very long time, Constantine’s been the most important person in your life.”
Peter said, “Cole stopped being the most important person in my life the day I met you.”
Mike blinked.
“I know.” Peter grimaced. “More than you wanted to hear. But it’s the truth. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You did me a favor when you gave me that ultimatum, even though I didn’t see it at the time. I think I had pretty well worked the truth out for myself by the time I got some sense—literally—knocked into me.” He rose. “Talking makes it harder. Let’s get it over with.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.” Mike was still giving him a sort of quizzical look.
“I’m sure.”
Mike rose and grabbed his keys from the counter. “You can’t call from here. We’ll have to find a phone booth.”
They found a phone booth in the valley, and Peter dialed the Rowland mansion while Mike leaned against the side of the booth, head close to Peter’s as he listened in.
A maid answered the phone, and Peter asked for Cole.
The maid asked who was calling. Peter looked at Mike, who nodded infinitesimally. His breath was warm against Peter’s cheek, and Peter could see how long his eyelashes were.
There seemed to be a delay on the other end and then a couple of clicks. Were the police tapping Cole’s phone? Or was Cole just having the call transferred to someplace where he could talk in private? Cole came on the line, and Peter almost jumped at the suddenness of that familiar voice in his ear.
“Pete, where have you been? The police are looking for you. They’ve found—I’m sorry, you must know that already.” Beneath the regretful warmth, Cole didn’t sound sorry. He sounded edgy, a little impatient. Like Peter was a pain in the ass for not hanging around to get himself arrested. “When the police searched the bungalow this afternoon, they found a number of items missing from the museum.”
“I know.”
“Pete. Listen to me. You’ve got to give yourself up. What the hell are you thinking? You’re not…you’re not cut out for life on the run. I’ll help you however I can, you know that. We’ll get you a good attorney.”
“Like Stephenson?”
There was a little hesitation. Cole said, “Stephenson seems like a good man to me, but if you don’t like him, we’ll find you someone else. You have to realize, though. You’re in a bad spot, Peter. There’s a mountain of evidence against you.”
“Planted evidence.”
Cole said in the tone of someone humoring a nut, “Of course. But the bottom line is…things look very bad for you, and running away like this, well, you must realize you’re just making it all that much worse.”
A part of Peter felt a bitter satisfaction that Cole was so predictable, that he was making this easy. But the other part of him felt sick. Sick that Cole could do this to him, sick that Cole had taken all his admiration and affection—say it, love—and used it against him.
“Did you tell Stephenson to instruct me to take the plea bargain?”
“You’re getting sidetracked,” Mike said very softly.
“I did, Peter.” And Cole sounded regretful and kind. “And he told me how…how wildly you reacted. You don’t seem to realize we’re all trying to act in your best interest. You don’t seem to realize the trouble you’ve got yourself into. But if you want another lawyer, I’ll see what I can do to find someone who’ll work harder to see you don’t have to do any…er…jail time. But you have to give yourself up. You have to face up to this.”
“Stop it, Cole,” Peter said. “We both know I didn’t take so much as a marble from the museum.” He felt Mike relax beside him, saw the nod of approval out of the corner of his eye.
“Peter. They found enough evidence to—”
“I know exactly what they found. And I know who put it there. Listen to me. I’ve regained my memory.”
Another beat that felt like a misstep. “Excellent,” Cole said heartily. “All the more reason to come in and talk to the police. We all want to get this mess straightened out…” His words died off in the face of Peter’s stony silence.
“I don’t think you understand,” Peter said coldly. “I remember everything I saw that night. And I don’t plan on doing one minute of jail time.”
“Well, that’s… I’m not sure what…” Cole seemed to give up midsentence.
Mike mouthed, Offer him the deal.
“Since you’ve pretty well already ruined my name and my career, I’m willing to make a deal with you.”
Silence.
“I’ll give myself up and plead guilty to stealing from the museum in exchange for one million dollars.”
Cole laughed, although it sounded slightly hysterical. “That knock on the head must have scrambled your brains. This is clearly a desperate attempt at blackmail on top of your other crimes. Listen, old friend, I suggest you count yourself lucky the board isn’t demanding you pay restitution. That’s what Sally wanted.”
“One million dollars, old friend, or I tell everything I know.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Cole asked angrily. “Dragging me into this won’t save you. The police will see this for what it is!”
“That’s why I’m willing to make a deal. According to Stephenson, I’m going to prison either way. This way at least my future will be secure when I get out. Either pay up or I tell everything I know—and I know quite a bit. I covered for you for a long time, Cole.”
“Y-y-you covered for me!” Cole was stuttering his astonished outrage.
Mike whispered, “Don’t debate it. Wrap it up.”
“I’ll meet you at the grotto tonight.”
“I can’t get a million dollars by tonight! Are you crazy?”
“I’ll take a down payment, and we’ll arrange how you’re going to pay the balance.”
“You’re out of your mind. This is ri—”
“Ask Herschel for the money. I’m sure he can lay his hands on some quick cash.”
Mike was nodding approval. Dead silence from Cole.
“Tonight. Nine o’clock at the grotto.” Peter hung up the phone hard.
“Okay?” Mike asked brusquely.
Peter shook his head. His eyes met Mike’s and then he looked away. “Yeah. It’s just… I guess I hoped…”
Mike snorted.
“He sounds like he’s going to turn me over to the police. If he does, I’m sunk. We both are.”
“They won’t turn you over to the cops.” Mike sounded very confident.
“I would.”
“That’s because you’re looking at this from the standpoint of an innocent person.” Mike touched his arm, indicating they should head back to the car. “Anyway, if he does report your extortion attempt, I’ll get a call and we’ll abort.”
They did not get a call, however, and at seven o’clock, Peter and Mike drove behind the back of Constantine House, hid the car, and climbed over the back fence into the museum grounds.
While Peter waited in the grotto, Mike did a quick reconnoiter of the garden.
“All clear,” he said when he’d returned to where Peter was nervously pacing up and down.
Peter watched while Mike set up the tape recorder he’d brought from work.
Mike showed him where to stand. “Say something.”
“I hope this isn’t a mistake,” Peter said.
Mike pressed Stop and then Play. Peter’s voice said faintly, “I hope this isn’t a mistake.”
“You’ll have to speak a little more loudly,” Mike told him. “Constantine’s voice will carry, but yours is softer. So speak up.”
Peter nodded.
“How often does the security guard make his rounds?”
“Donnelly is supposed to patrol the grounds every hour, but”—Peter shrugged, his eyes meeting Mike’s—“I wonder now if there was a reason the museum security was so lax. I always put the board’s resistance down to cheapness, but now I think Cole must have actively discouraged investing in decent security to make it easier for him to pilfer.”
“I think you’re right.”
At eight o’clock, they heard the whine of the security cart at the top of the hill and a few seconds later Donnelly zoomed by without even glancing down at the grotto.
Peter and Mike spent the next half hour talking desultorily, and then Mike told Peter they’d better get into position in case Cole was early.
Peter nodded and Mike faded into the deep shade beside the grotto.
“Mike!” Peter said sharply.
Mike appeared again. “What’s wrong?”
“I just wanted to say…either way this goes down, thank you.”
“Thank me when it’s over,” Mike said briskly and stepped back into his concealment.
Peter was left on his own in the grotto as the night deepened and cooled. Moonlight sifted through the jacaranda, casting odd shadows over the grass and still water of the koi pond.
Chjjjj…chjjjj…chewk, scolded the mockingbird from overhead.
And just like that…like a key turning a lock, tumblers clicking over…Peter’s memory came flooding back.
He had been thinking about Mike. Thinking how good it would have been to come home and find Mike waiting for him. Thinking of those hot, wicked things Mike used to do to him—and would never do again because Mike didn’t do second chances, and Peter had blown it. But he’d had a couple of drinks that night, and as he walked down to the grotto, he was thinking that maybe he’d try to call Mike. Maybe use the excuse of the continuing thefts at the museum, because something had to happen there. It had to stop. Had to. And…because he wanted to see Mike so badly it was worth taking the chance that Mike would tell him to go to hell. He would take the chance because maybe Mike would say—like he’d used to—“Why don’t you come over?” It had been a beautiful night, the air sweet with flowers from the garden above and the music of the crickets and the frogs, and he’d heard voices from the grotto—
Cole appeared in the mouth of the grotto, and Peter’s reflections broke off.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Cole said. “This was your idea, remember?” He tossed Peter a bundle of money wrapped in plastic.
Peter caught the bundle. It took him a second to reconcile the past with the present. So Cole had come on his own. He had not gone to the police, and he had not sent Herschel in his place. Maybe it was going to be all right after all.
Peter found his voice. “How much is it?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.” Cole added coolly, “You’ll get the rest after you turn yourself in and plead guilty.”
“That’s…not what we agreed.”
“That’s the deal, though. Once you keep your end of the bargain, we’ll deposit the balance of money in an offshore account for you.”
Absorbing this, Peter almost laughed. Not a bad move on their part at all. Once Peter had been arrested and pled guilty, no one would listen to his protests when the rest of the money didn’t suddenly appear in a mysterious offshore bank account. He’d have effectively discredited himself by that point.
Cole was watching him closely, waiting to see if he swallowed it.
Peter said, feigning reluctance, “I guess I don’t have any choice.”
“No, you don’t.”
“All right then. We’ll do it your way.”
“Yes, we will. Which means Stephenson is handling your case again—and this time you take the plea bargain like a good boy.”
“I’m not going to jail.”
Cole snorted. “For one million dollars? I think you’ll do whatever you have to, don’t you?”
Peter said bitterly, “And you’re okay with that? With me going to prison? All these years I thought we were friends. The best of friends.”
“We are friends,” Cole said curtly. “Don wanted to kill you. I’m the one who insisted we should just pay you off. I saved your life, so don’t forget that.”
“‘Just pay me off.’ You do remember that I’m the victim in all this, right? I’m being paid off to take the rap for you. You and Herschel.”
Cole’s gaze flickered. “I remember.”
“And before you take credit for saving my life, did you give him the key to my bungalow so he could try to kill me last night?”
That seemed to spark something in Cole. He snapped, “He wasn’t supposed to try to kill you. How can you think I’d agree to that! He was supposed to plant a few items from the museum to guarantee the police would have enough to strengthen their case. That bastard Griffin apparently had some doubts even after Don identified you in the lineup.”
“Herschel tried to shoot me while I was sleeping.”
“I know. I know.” Cole even looked a little queasy. “But that was not the plan. Don’s impulsive, but I never agreed to that. Never. No one wants you dead, Pete, least of all me. If you’re smart, you’ll simply do the jail time and collect your money. Think what you can do with fifty thousand dollars.”
“Let alone a million.”
“Uh…yes.”
Peter smiled, though it wasn’t much of a smile. All at once he was very tired of this game they were playing—and of Cole. He raised his voice slightly, saying, “That’s got to be enough, surely, Mike?”
Cole whipped around as Mike stepped out of the shadows beside the grotto.
“That’ll do it,” Mike agreed. To Cole, he clarified, “For both you and Herschel.”
Cole seemed to actually sway, as though shock had knocked him back on his heels. He stared at Mike in disbelief. He turned to Peter. “It’s a setup?”
When Peter didn’t answer, he repeated in a stunned tone, “You set me up?”
Mike said dryly, “Seems only fair, doesn’t it?”
Cole ignored him, speaking directly to Peter. “How could you do this to me, Peter?”
“I guess it was easier knowing that you could do it to me.”
There was a rustle of bushes behind Mike.
“Don’t move,” a harsh voice said as Mike half glanced around. Mike froze.
It took Peter’s eyes a few seconds to adjust to the flickering light, and then he made out the burly figure of Donald Herschel standing half in shadow. Light gleamed off the barrel of the gun he was aiming at Mike’s back.
For what felt like a very long time, no one moved. No one spoke. One of the koi in the pool drifted lazily to the surface, gulping for air.
It occurred to Peter, on some very distant plane, that the pond must need tending—and that he and Mike were probably going to die in the next few seconds. His gaze found Mike’s.
Herschel said in that same hard tone, “You dumb bastard. Didn’t I tell you? I told you it was going to turn out to be some kind of trap.”
Cole blustered some protest. Peter was still staring at Mike. He was hoping that Herschel would shoot him before Mike, because he really couldn’t take losing Mike again, not even for the few seconds before he died himself.
Mike looked right back at him. He looked utterly calm, utterly cool. “It’s under control,” he said to Peter—and he actually smiled.
And to Peter’s utter astonishment, the grove was suddenly ablaze with lights. Cops were seemingly springing out from behind every bush and rock, and Herschel was being ordered to throw down his weapon.
For a tense moment, Peter was sure Herschel would open fire like someone in a bad TV movie, but instead he tossed his gun into the koi pond. It landed with a heavy plop as uniformed officers moved forward.
“I told you,” Herschel said to Cole. “You never listen.”
* * * * *
It was Mike who walked Peter up to the bungalow as Herschel and Cole were handcuffed, and listened stonily to their rights being read to them. As they reached the top of the stairs, Peter could see red and blue lights cutting swaths in the warm night air. There was a veritable fleet of cop cars waiting up there.
Mike had not chosen to share that information with Peter—the fact that they were going to have backup for their little charade—but it was hard to feel resentful about having his life saved. Maybe later. Maybe after he’d had time to accept the fact that he was going to be okay after all.
“I’ve got to go down to the station to interrogate these assholes. It’s probably going to take most of the night,” Mike was saying. He broke off.
Peter looked his way and found Mike watching him alertly.
“I’m listening.”
It wasn’t easy to tell in the eerie flashing light of the police cars, but he thought Mike’s expression changed. “You okay?”
Peter nodded. He had no idea if it was true or not. Too soon to tell.
Mike nodded too, as though this confirmed his own thoughts. He didn’t say anything else until they reached the bungalow. Peter fumbled for his keys, got the door open, and felt around for a light.
The living room looked weirdly untouched. He had that sensation again of being in a museum. He had lived here for how many years? And he had never felt as at home here as he had in Mike’s apartment. Suddenly, he wondered what they were even doing there.
Mike cleared his throat. “Hey.”
Peter looked at him.
“You…you did great tonight.”
“Thanks. So did you.”
Maybe the wryness showed, because Mike said, “Peter, I didn’t tell you about the backup because you’re not very good at hiding your feelings.”
“And yet you thought I was capable of faking amnesia and stealing from my own museum.”
Mike grimaced.
“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said. “You’re right. I probably would have given the whole thing away.” He gave a short laugh. “I thought Herschel was going to kill you.”
Mike’s gaze slid back to his. “Sorry. I mean that.”
“It’s okay.”
“You…er…got the rest of your memory back, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Peter was surprised. “How did you know?”
Mike raised a dismissive shoulder, and it occurred to Peter that he was nervous. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. Something else: Mike was hovering. He wasn’t much of a hoverer, but it was clear he didn’t want to walk away, and Peter felt his hope rise.
“Not sure. Something in your voice changed. Your stance too.”
“I remembered, yes.” Not that it really helped. Other than to clarify exactly how much he had to be depressed about, because six months ago Mike had been very definite that it was over between them. And Mike was not a man given to easily changing his mind—despite the fact that he was still standing in Peter’s living room looking like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
“So what are your plans now?”
“Well, I’m still out of a job and a place to live, but at least I’m not going to jail.”
Mike took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you need a place to stay—I mean, until you figure out what you want to do—you can stay with me.”
In the pause that followed Mike’s words, Peter could hear the distant crackle of police car radios.
“Mike, I’m sorry about before. When you told me to make up my mind and decide if I wanted a real relationship with you or a pretend relationship with Cole, and I chose… It was a big mistake.”
“So you said before.” Mike sighed. “Hell. I guess I could have been a little more tactful. A little more patient.”
“I could have been a little smarter.”
“That’s for sure.” Mike relented slightly. “But maybe I could have been a little more honest too, because what we had was worth some extra effort.”
Peter gathered his courage. “Was?”
Mike stared at him for what seemed a long time. “Is,” he said finally.
One word. And such a little word to contain so much hope. Peter said carefully, because if he had this wrong the disappointment was probably going to kill him, “I thought that door wasn’t open anymore.”
“So did I.” Mike shrugged. Then, as he studied Peter’s face, his wolfish grin appeared. He reached for Peter. “But I’ve been wrong before.”