“That’s not your gut he’s grabbing, Kane. Those are your balls.” The man chuckled. “I saw the way you were looking at the boy. He’s trouble… trouble you don’t need, kid.”
Kane finished the rest of his coffee with a gulp and balled up the paper cup in his fist. Lobbing it toward the trash can, he made an open-mouthed hissing noise to mimic a crowd. He grinned at the man who taught him how to play basketball and said, “I’m a Morgan, sir. We always need trouble. It’s how we survive.”
HIS cop was waiting for Miki when he came out of the interrogation room. Miki wasn’t sure when the man became his cop, but that’s how he felt when he spotted the lanky, loose-hipped Irish man leaning against the wall. The detective had shed the leather jacket at some point, and the stretch of T-shirt across his wide chest made Miki wish his dick would respond with more than a tingling lift at the sight. An ancient pair of jeans, complete with frayed rips and bare spots on the man’s thighs, hugged the inspector’s long legs, but nothing the cop wore unmanned Miki as much as the man’s cocky, uneven smile.
“Hey.” The cop’s deep voice warmed Miki’s cold belly. He held up a blue SFPD T-shirt and a pair of black sweats. “Want to change out of that crap they gave you to wear?”
“You going to watch me get naked like that other cop did?” Miki growled, but he limped closer to take the clothes. Stiff from being in the cold cinder block room, his right knee began its familiar salsa of pain and throbbing.
“You offering?” Kane asked with a wider smile. It faded when Miki stared back with an uncomprehending look on his face. “You have no idea what you just said, do you?”
“Look, I just want to go home and get warm,” Miki replied. “I’ve got to feed the Dude.”
“Home’s off limits for now. Forensics isn’t done with the place yet. Might be another hour before the Lieutenant says you can head back, then. Your dog’s fine. They put him in the bathroom with some food and water.” He shrugged helplessly at Miki’s disgusted hiss. “I was thinking you probably needed some food in you. God knows I do. How about if we get something to eat?”
“I don’t have my wallet. You guys grabbed me before I could get it. I don’t have anything on me.”
“I’m buying,” the cop offered, falling in behind Miki.
Miki pressed his hand against the wall, using it for support as he limped toward the bathroom. “Fuck this shit. God, I hate cops.”
“Hey, I’m one of those cops.”
“You can cut the I’m-a-nice-guy shit out. I don’t know anything. I keep telling all of you that, but you’re not listening,” Miki said, wincing as the feeling started to come back into his leg.
“Mieko, stop.” Kane came up behind him. The whisper of breath on his neck brought Miki up short. He inhaled deeply, pulling in the rich scent of masculine skin with a hint of coffee and mint. “I’m just trying to help. Let me help you.”
The cold in Miki’s bones evaporated when Kane touched his arm. The thin cotton of his borrowed scrubs separated their skin, but the heat of Kane’s fingers burned through him. He wanted to lean back against Kane, to rest his head against the other man’s chest until the chill inside of him whispered away and he fell asleep, safe from the darkness that stalked him.
“Like that’s ever going to happen,” Miki muttered to himself. He pulled away, working the kinks out of his thigh with a shake of his leg. “Let me get changed, then I’ll figure out how to get home.”
“Easier if I take you,” the cop said. “There are reporters outside waiting for you to come out. Cops find dead body inside of rock star’s car. You’re a big story, you know. They’re outside the station like fleas. I’m parked in the inside garage. My car’s windows are tinted, and no one will know you’re inside. Go get changed, Mieko. I’ll wait for you out here, and we’ll grab something to eat before I take you home.”
Miki turned and stared up into Kane’s unwavering blue gaze. Discomforted, Miki looked away, blinking away the sting of tears in his eyes. Nodding, he started to move forward and sniffed as he reached the bathroom door. “Fine. Just stop calling me Mieko. That’s a girl’s name.”
FRAGILE wasn’t a word Kane would have associated with the young man who served him back his attitude a few days ago, but when Mieko St. John came out of the bathroom, he looked like he was made out of glass. Ghostly pale and dressed in Kane’s too-large T-shirt and the pair of sweats Kane swiped from his younger brother’s locker, the young man struggled to pull on the black hoodie he’d been given.
And looked as fragile and as dangerous as a million shards of broken glass as he did it.
A pair of socks was all the footwear Kane could find to protect Miki’s feet from the cold, and the man wore them like tabi with the flip-flops he’d been given. Miki fought with one sleeve, and Kane stepped in, grabbing the material bunched up around his elbow.