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Court Appointed by Annmarie Mckenna

Jackson strode past Trey, blatantly brushing up against the man and not excusing himself. Might as well get all the touches in he could. Who knew how long their little tryst might last. Besides, the man smelled incredible. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so hard just from looking at a man. Fully clothed no less.

Okay, the kiss helped. Big time.

He slipped into the leather chair at his desk and yanked open the middle drawer on the right side. Inside lay the object he’d found on his desk this morning. It had been delivered to his secretary and she had placed it on his desk, not knowing what it was. She figured if it had gotten through security—they didn’t let just any package in to a federal judge—then it must be all right. And it had been a safe enough package. Meaning it hadn’t exploded or been laced with a mysterious nerve-eating powder. However, what had been inside had been no less shocking to Jackson.

Lifting it by one corner, he flipped it face-up onto his desk.

Trey sauntered—there was no other word for it—and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets before leaning over to take a closer look.

“What is it?”

Jackson gave a snort of impatience. Was the man American? “It’s a baseball card. A nineteen fifty-two, Topps, Mickey Mantle rookie card, mint condition.”

Trey rolled his eyes. “I can clearly see it’s a Mickey Mantle baseball card. I also know it’s worth a lot of money. But it’s not really a mob kind of mentality if you catch my drift. They tend to drift more toward the breaking of fingers or sinking your feet in cement blocks before throwing you off a bridge to feed the fishes. So what kinds of things did you get before this?”

Jackson slumped back in his chair. “The typical cut-out newspaper letters that said, ‘Things aren’t always what they seem.’”

“Huh?”

“Exactly. I had no clue what it referred to so I discounted it like I do ninety percent of the things I get.”

“Okay. You keep it?”

“Yes. I’ve got it back at home with all the rest of the lovely letters I’ve gotten.”

“Nice keepsakes.”

“I like to think I’ve affected someone’s life somehow,” he half joked. The truth was, he had no clue why he kept them. They served to remind him he was doing the right thing by removing the scum so they couldn’t hurt anyone else. It wasn’t like he had cabinets full of them, just a file folder. An overstuffed one, but still, a file folder. He wasn’t popular enough to warrant the hardcore death threats some of the other judges he knew had received.

“All right, what else?”

Jackson sighed. “A black rose, a paper mock-up of my headstone.”

“Very original.”

“Yep.”

“And…”

“A photo.” With a nice little message on the back.

“I feel like I’m pulling teeth here, Judge. You’re going to have to fill me in a tad bit more. What’s in the photo?”

“A picture of me with my face scratched off and some…friends.” Including a past lover who probably wouldn’t be too happy to find out there was a picture of them together, even if it was a group photo.

Trey stared hard at him for long seconds, and Jackson suspected he was wondering what exactly he and his friends were doing in the picture.

Trey swallowed and sucked his lips in before saying, “Is this the kind of picture you wouldn’t show to your mother?”

Yep, Jackson had guessed correctly. Was that a hint of jealousy Jackson detected in the agent’s voice? He could have pushed to see just how jealous Trey was, but he didn’t.

“Not at all. It was taken at a baseball game and there was nothing the least bit incriminating going on between us, unless you consider kicking back and having a beer at the ball game incriminating.”

Trey nodded. “So who are these friends and why would someone send you this particular picture?”

“A couple of longtime buddies and two men from my father’s law firm, and I have no idea why this one. I’d never seen it before. I don’t even know who took it, but I remember it because it was one of the few times we went out in public.”

“We, who? And I assume by your comment about not going out in public that one of those men was someone you were seeing as more than a friend?”

Jackson grimaced. “Yes, and had my father found out I had taken a boyfriend into plain view of everyone, he would have had a coronary. I can’t imagine what would have happened if it had hit the papers.”

“If it’s just a pic of some guys at a game, why would it matter if it hit the papers? You said yourself there was nothing incriminating.”

“Nope, but to Allenton, my being seen with another man could only mean we were having sex.”

Trey raised an eyebrow. “Would he think you were having sex with all four of them at once?”

Jackson snorted. “Probably.”

“Can you give me some names?” Trey took a small pad of paper and a pen from an inside pocket on the jacket.

“Sure. Two of my closest friends, Eric Kinder and Daniel Gardner and Caleb Murphy and Michael Green from my father’s firm.”

“Which one were you seeing?”

“Caleb, but I got the feeling he was just trying out the lifestyle anyway.” It had pissed Jackson off and left him feeling used, but then Caleb had broken things off and practically disappeared. He’d never felt comfortable seeing Caleb anyway because he worked for Jackson’s father, but there’d been something about the man that drew him in enough to take a chance. In the end, Jackson had decided to view the few months they’d been together as a live and learn experience. Not every man Jackson saw as partner material had the same thing in mind.

“Any reason he’d feel the need for revenge or blackmail, maybe? Would he have hired someone to take the picture, only to produce it now?” Trey pointed to the baseball card. “Is it possible he could have sent this? Or more importantly, what made you call us for having received what amounts to a birthday present?”

Jackson shrugged. “My guess would be because it’s mine.” He lifted his gaze to Trey’s, ready for the man to explode. What he got was a fair share of confusion.

“You want to tell me what you mean by that?” he asked with deadly calm.

“Exactly what I said. It’s mine. Two days ago it was tucked up in my wall safe at home, and now it’s here—”

“They got into your house?” Trey roared.

For Love and Country by Mary Winter

Business. Forcibly, he reminded himself of the reason why he was there, the young man’s discreet knock on Basile’s door drawing his thoughts away from sex.

“Come in.” Basile’s voice wrapped around Emil and compelled him forward.

He stepped into the captain’s quarters, a low room under the slope of the deck, a large bed in the corner, shutters open on the windows to reveal the inky water beyond. The vessel swayed back and forth. Emil stepped into the room and firmly into Basile’s sanctuary. The vampire’s scent surrounded him, as salty and clean as the fresh ocean air. The young man closed the door behind him, leaving Emil alone with the man he still loved.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Emil said. “I apologize for the lack of notice.”

Basile waved his hand dismissively. Light gleamed on his blue-black hair. A bit of ribbon held it away from his face and Emil’s fingers itched to run through the silken strands. A dark blue waistcoat highlighted the darkness of Basile’s hair, as did the matching trousers. His white shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a large expanse of his hairless chest. His flat pectorals invited touch, and Emil remembered long nights doing just that, tracing the contours and planes of Basile’s body with fingers and tongue.

Basile remained quiet. Emil stumbled, acutely feeling his far younger age. His former lover was at least two hundred years old, and such experience tended to widen the gulf between them, especially when he was mortal and Basile hadn’t been for quite some time. Emil opened his mouth to speak and closed it quickly. With a small shake of his head, he clenched and unclenched his fingers. He forced his shoulders to relax.

“The years have treated you kindly.” Basile turned to face Emil, his gaze sweeping over the insignia on Emil’s chest and the slightly visible uniform. If he noticed Emil’s erection he gave no sign, instead, looked dismissively away. “I thought I made my views on our acquaintance clear.” He pursed his lips.

“Things have changed since then, and you know I wouldn’t seek you out if I didn’t have a good reason,” Emil countered. He sensed the walls Basile built around himself. Ten years ago Emil’d carefully torn them down, emotional brick by emotional brick. The vampire had grieved for his long-time human lover who’d succumbed to illness and had vowed never to get involved with a mortal ever again. Until Emil.

“Your reasons are not my reasons. I’ve had a long night. Say your piece and then leave. I have no desire to reopen old wounds.” Basile rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

Emil’s heart leapt. He drew in a lungful of Basile’s scent, filled his pores, his very spirit with the essence of the man he still loved. A grin twitched the corners of his lips, and he relaxed his hands. “Neither do I. I wouldn’t be here except our need is vital. We need ships and men to help us with the blockade of the Confederate states. Your ship, a French gunboat, one of the first and finest models, would be a great asset to us. We need the Commerce de Souverain. We need you.” Emil hadn’t intended to blurt out his mission. He hoped to warm Basile to it, to maybe talk about old times, about the change Emil had undergone. If Basile had noticed Emil’s transformation he gave no sign.

Basile stared at Emil, his eyes blank. Lips drawn tight, he turned away and strode to the windows. Curling his fingers around the sill, he stared over the glassy smooth waters of the Atlantic. His back was ramrod straight, shoulders square, though Emil sensed the heavy weight settled on them.

Emil stepped forward before he could stop himself. His feet carried him across the cabin, past the heavy oak desk in the corner that was older than the vampire, past the bed rumpled from sleep and redolent with memories. He stopped behind Basile and rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come had we any choice. But when I found out you were in port… We need you, Basile. The Union needs you.”

Hot Ticket by K. A. Mitchell

“Sorry I’m late,” the man said as he slid into the chair across from Elliot, but he didn’t sound at all sorry. “I’m Cade McKeun.” He held out his hand.

Elliot shook the offered hand, startled by the rush of heat until he realized it was the hand that had been cradling Cade’s mug of inky black coffee. “Elliot Graham.” And as he always did, he added, “Please spare me the E.T. imitations. I’ve heard them all.”

Cade grinned. “So, Elliot, how did you end up on the wrong side of trash collection?”

“I was trying to buy a Christmas present for my sister.”

“Sounds innocent enough.”

“The present turned out to be stolen.” And like an idiot, he’d paid for the Coach bag with a check. Helen at work had told him her brother-in-law could get him a good deal. Elliot just had no idea how good the deal was. At least he’d been arrested before he’d given the bag to his sister so no one in his family was aware of his disgrace. His parents didn’t read the Montpelier paper.

“Fourth-degree possession of stolen property,” Elliot clarified. It felt good to actually say it to someone who couldn’t judge him. After all, Cade could hardly be critical when he must have done something similarly stupid. “What about you?”

Cade took a sip of his coffee, long fingers wrapping around the porcelain mug in a way that made the warmth Elliot had felt in his hand jump into his stomach.

“Vandalism.” Cade’s smile suggested he wasn’t any sorrier about the vandalism than he had been about keeping Elliot waiting.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

Elliot tried to imagine this smiling man spray painting a building or slashing tires. He waited, but Cade offered no further explanation. Did Cade do that kind of thing often? In the sanitation building, Elliot had thought Cade was about his age, but now, seeing his hands and face under the golden light of the coffee shop, Elliot realized Cade was older, way too old to be entertained by Halloween-style pranks.

Cade watched him, amusement making his light brown eyes even warmer.

“What?” Elliot asked.

“You look like you just figured out you’re handcuffed to an axe murderer.” Cade smiled again and Elliot felt that warmth tug at him, pulling tight and deep. James, he reminded himself. James, who was attending the New England Culinary Institute and did not commit unrepentant acts of vandalism and wear fifteen—Cade flicked his tongue forward as he drank from his mug, revealing yet another piercing—sixteen pieces of metal in his head.

The man’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. “It was a personal thing. Between me and my ex-boyfriend.”

The confirmation that Cade was gay acted like an accelerant on that heat in Elliot’s belly. It sizzled along his nerves, turning his skin hot and sensitive under his sweater. The information gave Elliot’s brain permission to replay the way Cade’s ass had looked when he leaned over the counter to kiss the barista, that worn jacket riding up far enough to show how tightly fitted the jeans were over his round ass. Elliot’s fingers twitched at the idea of running his hand over it. He gave himself a mental shake. James. The ticket. Elliot had plans, and they didn’t involve a detour to find out how that ball sitting on Cade’s tongue would feel if they kissed. If Cade licked his skin.

Cade’s look held something other than amusement now, and his eyes seemed darker. As if he could tell where Elliot’s thoughts were, Cade pushed the barbell piercing his tongue out between his teeth and let it flick back with a click. Elliot licked the foam off his own lips, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a sip of his cappuccino.

Cade’s gaze followed the movement of Elliot’s tongue. Was it his imagination or had Cade leaned closer? The tug Elliot felt inside made him fight against the need to pull at his jeans. So they were attracted to each other. God knew why. There was just something about Cade McKeun.

Elliot had to get things back on track. “Umm, about that ticket. I’d be willing to give you two hundred for it.”

Cade’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s definitely something to think about.”

“Why do you want it?”

“I love live music, and you gotta admit, that kind of quality performance is pretty rare around here.”

“But Haydn and—”

“William Boyce? Little known eighteenth-century composer? I have all his sonatas right here.” Cade placed an expensive-looking MP3 player on the table and spun the wheel. “See?” He turned it to show the display.

“You could have just put those pieces on there now.”

Cade laughed. “So I could drive up the price? Do I look like a ticket-scalping con man to you?”

“No.” He didn’t know what to make of Cade. Elliot would have sworn an hour ago that he would never find a tongue ring anything but repulsive, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about how that ball would feel on his skin, rolling over his—for the love of God, Elliot, stop thinking with your little head.

Elliot fidgeted with the sugar packets he’d brought to the table. “Want some?”

“Of that crap? Hell no.”

“I wish I could drink coffee black.”

“You really ought to get off the milk. They put so many hormones in it you’ll be growing tits.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. The government doesn’t care what crap we’re fed. They just want us docile.”

First piercings, now Elliot found paranoia cute? It had been a long winter. Or maybe he just needed to get laid. “You have evidence of this?”

“Have you been paying any attention for the last ten years—oh.” Cade’s smile took on a cynical twist. “Ten years ago you were still playing in a sandbox.”

Anger rather than embarrassment forced heat to Elliot’s cheeks. “So do you want the two hundred or not?” He wasn’t about to get into some kind of contest with someone who thought he knew everything because he’d been on the planet longer.

“You have the money with you?”

“No.” And he certainly wasn’t going to be stupid enough to pay with a check again. He took a deep sip from his mug.

“Look, kid, I’ll give you the ticket.”

Elliot choked on the hot liquid in his throat, finally managing to croak, “What?”

“All you gotta do is meet me Thursday at five thirty at Verde Loco.”

“You’re going to just give me the other ticket?”

“If you show.”

“I just have to show up?”

“Mostly.” Cade leaned over and wiped at Elliot’s lips with a napkin. His thumb brushed the corner of Elliot’s mouth. With a wink, Cade popped the thumb in his own mouth and made a show of licking it clean.

“I—I thought milk was dangerous.”

“Sometimes the risk is worth it.”