The abrupt chirping of Kane’s phone dashed every scorching thrill Miki’d built up. The initial chirp churned off into some kind of salsa-dance-inducing tune. Kane stilled, then sighed, resting his head on Miki’s shoulder. Then came the heart-agonizing slide of Kane’s hand leaving not only Miki’s body but also the back of his jeans.
“I’ve got to get that. Fuck.” The Irish was still there, but it’d hardened into the granite gravel Miki associated with Kane’s cop voice. “It’s Sanchez.”
“Think he’s calling to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day?” Miki growled. He’d been close, and if possible, Kane’d been even closer to shooting off.
“Sorry, babe. People like killing each other on Valentine’s Day. Kinda like it’s a murderer’s holiday. More than Halloween.” Kane gave Miki a final sweet kiss and pulled away to wash his hands. He caught Miki’s narrow-eyed glare. “I’m not… fuck. Um….”
“You had your fingers up my ass. Dude, I get it. Your phone.” Miki shook his head. “I’m more pissed off at Sanchez, and it’s not even his fault. Fucker.”
He got off the counter, trying not to wince at the echo of Kane’s play when he slid over the hard stone edge. Crossing his arms over his chest, he lifted up the saucepan’s lid and sniffed at the fruity mixture simmering on a low flame. It smelled like berries and jalapenos, but he couldn’t figure out what the hell Kane was going to use it for.
Or used to have planned for it, since when he put the lid down, Kane was staring at him with a too-familiar apologetic expression on his face.
“You have to go.” Miki sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah.” Kane reached for him, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s fucking Valentine’s Day, and I wanted to… shit, you know I love you, right? I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to.”
“Dude, if someone killed you on Valentine’s Day, I’d sure as fuck would want a Morgan to come by and kick some ass.” Miki cocked his head. “Someone’s dead out there. And someone somewhere loved them. They deserve to know that whoever did it gets their ass nailed to the wall.”
“God, I fucking love you.” Kane’s kiss deepened, leaving Miki with very little air. “I’m going to grab my things and be back as soon as I can, okay?”
“Okay.” Miki nodded, and Kane gave him a sweet smile. “Just tell me one thing. What the fuck do I do with the food?”
Juniper wine and long shots of gin
That’s where this damned hell all begins
Blood on a mirror, taint of a sin
He’ll break my heart
And get under my skin
Can’t help myself.
Butterfly on a pin.
Lord help stop this damned madness
’Cause he’s done pulled me in.
—“Crazed and Moonshined”
“THIS WAS a damned stupid idea.”
Dude looked up from the Tyrannosaurus rex bone Kane gave him earlier. The dog had no comment. Even more insulting, the terrier cocked his head for a brief second, regarded Miki with curious brown eyes, then fell back to chewing on his prize.
“Thanks. I fucking really appreciate how much you give a shit about my nervous breakdown.” Miki blew air out from between his pressed lips. Another glance at the oblivious dog only confirmed Miki’s suspicions. Not only did the terrier not give a fuck, he also scooched his butt around so he didn’t have to watch Miki’s futile attempts at Valentine’s Day.
“Great.” He turned around to look at his original present. The one he’d bought for Kane way before he’d let Damie talk him into the second stupid thing he’d purchased. “I so suck at this.”
He’d searched for a couple of weeks before he found someone who could hook him up, and even then his source had been reluctant to cough up what Miki’d asked for. A stealth delivery during Kane’s working hours deposited a huge crate into his garage studio.
One he’d thankfully paid extra to leave on a trolley because the crate was too fucking heavy for him to move around by himself. Even pushing it out of the studio and into the main part of the warehouse was a bitch and a half. His knuckles were hurting and scraped raw from being slammed against a doorjamb when the crate went left when it should have gone right, and for some stupid reason, he’d thought a crowbar would help him open the fucking thing.
All he’d done was jab himself in the balls with its blunt end just as he noticed the handle-and-tie mechanism on one side.
Once he’d gotten the sides off—he was going to leave the damned thing on its trolley—Miki stood and stared at the tree, wondering what the hell had crawled into his brain and told him what he’d dug up was a good idea.
“Why the fuck did I buy him a chunk of wood?” It was a very large chunk of wood. Almost as tall as Miki and certainly wider, it sat on its trolley, a sullen sentinel to Miki’s stupidity. Then he remembered the car and Damie’s delight at seeing it in front of the warehouse. “That’s what it needs. A bow. Or something.”