Note: Because you guys asked so nicely… here’s another chapter to tide you over till next week! Don’t say I never gave you nuthin’.

This entirely original, exclusive free-to-you story features hot-man-love, explicit sex, explicit language, explicit violence, and… explicit fabulousness! If you’re NOT an m/m fan, check it out anyway… you might enjoy it.

Please read chapter one, if you haven’t already.

Presenting Forsaken by Jamie Craig…

Five years since Detective Xavier Landis walked away from the man who loved him.

Four weeks looking for the stalker nobody but he believed existed.

Three years of his life Detective Jeff Keyes wishes he could get back.

Two cops, both brilliant, both determined, trying to move on from a past neither can forget.

One dead girl.

And now…

Chapter Two

“Bodyguard?” Xavier hoped if he tried the word, it would make more sense. But it didn’t help. He stared at Jeff’s familiar features, a memory pushing its way to the surface. Lying in bed while Jeff slept, tracing the outline of his face, ghosting his fingers over Jeff’s nose and cheeks. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s evidence on my new case. Robin Potter’s phone. Her killer left you a message.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I didn’t like it.”

Xavier pushed the memory out of his mind. Jeff wasn’t his ex-boyfriend right now. He was Detective Keyes, and now they had a case in common. “What was the message?”

“Stop listening or you’re dead.” Leaning against the corner of the desk, Jeff folded his arms over his chest. Their paths rarely crossed; it had been nearly a year since the last time Xavier had gotten a glimpse of Jeff. He was bigger than he expected. Xavier had to refrain from looking him over again, just to be sure. When he thought about Jeff, he already seemed larger than life. “So until we catch this guy, you’re stuck with me.”

“Stop listening or I’m dead? It was personally addressed to me?”

Reaching into the pocket of his blazer, Jeff pulled out a small mp3 player. Xavier listened as he played back the killer’s message, the color leeching out of his skin with every word. By the time it was done, he felt numb.

“I knew you’d never believe me unless you heard it for yourself. So I had the techs transfer it for you.” Jeff tossed the player onto the desk next to the evidence bag. “Keep it. Use it to remind yourself you need me now when you want to tell me to fuck off.”

“Why you? There are a lot of people in this department who can help me.” Xavier kept his voice even. He didn’t want Jeff to know he was shaken to his core—Jeff didn’t need more ammunition.

“There are a lot of people in this department who are idiots.”

Xavier sighed. “Right. I forgot. You’re the only person in the department who is at all capable. It’s a wonder they haven’t promoted you to captain yet.”

“I’d say sarcasm doesn’t become you, but…” His unblinking gaze raked over him. Did he linger a moment too long on his hips? The rest of his sentence was loud and clear, even if he didn’t finish it. “But what I meant was nobody knows you like I do. Everybody else will be too stupid to realize you’ve given them the slip until it’s too late.”

“And what are you going to do? Cuff me to…” Xavier stopped short. Jeff had cuffed him to the bed. More than once. “To my chair?”

Sighing, Jeff shook his head. “Why are we doing this already? I just want to find this guy who killed the girl, X. And I want to make sure he doesn’t get you, too. Do we really need to do this song-and-dance where you try to pretend you don’t need me and I try to pretend I don’t care and we both try to pretend three years of our lives never happened at all?”

Xavier looked down, ashamed of himself. Robin was barely in the morgue, and they were losing precious seconds over this fight. Seconds they would never be able to recover. His gaze fell on the evidence bag. Something was wrong. He picked up the plastic and studied the phone carefully. “Did you find this on her body?”

“No, it was in her purse. Why?”

“I don’t think it’s her phone. Has it been dusted yet?”

“You think they’d let me walk out of there with it if it wasn’t? My partner’s supposed to let me know when they’re done processing everything.”

Xavier nodded and sank into his chair. He took his small case of tools and a latex glove from the desk drawer. Jeff hovered above him, watching with intense eyes as Xavier carefully took the phone apart.

“Robin started receiving threatening calls on her cell,” Xavier explained. “She thought if I put a mic in it, we’d get the evidence she needed to prove somebody was stalking her.”

Though he kept his attention focused on his work, he felt Jeff lean in to watch. No, felt wasn’t completely accurate. Felt, heard, and even smelled was closer to the truth. Taste would have tossed its hat into the ring, too, but a familiar scent ground Xavier’s awareness to a halt.

His stomach lurched. Jeff still wore Polo Blue. The original bottle had been a gift to Xavier from his mother that Jeff had borrowed once, but it only took one sniff of it on Jeff’s skin for Xavier to push him to the bed and promptly devour him with kisses. They’d both missed classes that day, and Jeff had worn it from then on.

“There’s no mic. It’s not hers.”

“No, it’s not.” Xavier looked up. “If he has her phone, he has all of her contacts. Her entire address book.”

“Tell me she didn’t have your information.”

“I wasn’t formally working her case. All our contact was off-hours. We mostly met in public places, because that’s where she felt safest, but she did have my contact information.”

Jeff swore under his breath. His jaw hardened; it was amazing how that was possible when the man already looked like he was chiseled from stone. “And you had no leads whatsoever on who he might be?”

Xavier felt a twinge of something bitter. Something like shame.

“No. His e-mails came from anonymous, throwaway accounts. All of his calls could be traced to payphones, and those phones you can buy cheap and pay for by the minute. I never caught any suspicious activity around her home once we installed security cameras. Whoever he is, he’s good at hiding himself.”

“Good is an understatement if even you haven’t managed to catch him yet.” Straightening, Jeff looked at his watch. “We’ve got at least an hour before I need to start nagging the techs. That should give us enough time to hit both your place and mine.”

“Your place? Is there any way I can convince you I’ll be perfectly safe in a hotel?”

Jeff cocked a brow. “We are going to stay at a hotel. But I’m not wearing the same clothes for the next week, and I really don’t think you want me sleeping in the buff. As much fun as that might be.”

Xavier couldn’t help his smile. “When did you turn into a gentleman?”

“I didn’t.” His heavy gaze weighed not only on Xavier’s flesh, but on something deeper, a spot Jeff had always claimed to know even when Xavier didn’t. “I just don’t need constant reminders that you wish you were stuck with anybody but me.”

Xavier’s smile faded. “Yeah, well, I’m sure you’re equally thrilled to be stuck with me.” He carefully replaced the phone in the evidence bag, and pocketed the mp3 player Jeff brought. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you everything I know about Robin on the way.”

True to his word, Xavier detailed the short history of his four-week, professional relationship with Robin. The more he talked, the more he became lost in his memories, desperately searching each one for a clue. He didn’t know if he had a photographic memory, but he did know he rarely forgot a fact or a conversation. He replayed her words now, considering each offhand comment and throwaway aside. The detached part of his brain knew he probably looked and sounded crazy, but Jeff never interrupted him.

Xavier was so caught up in the recounting he didn’t realize where they were until Jeff stopped outside a very familiar house. It was tiny—the best a student could afford to rent—and over a hundred years old. It was drafty in the winter, and hot in the summer, and the third step from the bottom always threatened to buckle and break. Especially when Jeff would chase him upstairs to the narrow bedroom.

“You never moved.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I like it here.”

Xavier swallowed. “I’ll wait out here for you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He pointedly looked up and down the sleepy, silent street. “Nothing is going to happen to me here, and if somebody jumps out at me, I’m armed. I know how to use my gun. I’m not a defenseless nineteen-year-old.”

Jeff’s lips thinned. “I’ll be back in less than ten minutes.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Jeff slammed the door almost hard enough to shake the car, and Xavier regretted his sarcasm. It wasn’t Jeff’s fault. None of this was Jeff’s fault. Jeff was entirely blameless in the situation, and somehow, that just annoyed Xavier more. He didn’t want Jeff to be blameless. Not when he felt steeped in guilt. And now Jeff was focused on him instead of actively searching for Robin’s killer. How was that supposed to help anybody?

Jeff was actually back in eleven minutes, carrying a familiar black duffle bag. He tossed it in the back seat, slid behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled onto the street without speaking. Xavier didn’t resume his narration of events. He took the mp3 player out of his pocket and ran his thumb over the plastic case, like if he studied it long enough, he could figure out who the voice belonged to.

“Where do you live now?”

The question surprised Xavier. Somehow, he expected Jeff to know exactly where he lived. He murmured the address. He only had to say it once. Jeff had a good memory, too.

Once Jeff parked in front of his building, Xavier didn’t even try to argue with him. Jeff followed him to his second floor apartment, and hovered as Xavier fished out his keys. Jeff wasn’t touching him—not quite—but Xavier was still acutely aware of his large frame, of his steady breathing. He had always been too aware of Jeff’s body, like he had a special sixth sense, honed specifically to his ex-lover.

He unlocked the deadbolt, then gripped the knob to unlock it, too. Except, it turned in his hand. Xavier paused, frowning down at it. Jeff didn’t miss the hesitation.

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Oh. Nothing.”

He never forgot to secure both locks. Except…maybe he had forgotten that morning? Either way, he made a mental note to get the locks changed. It couldn’t hurt, and Jeff would probably insist on it purely on principle.

“Just wait here,” Xavier muttered before turning to the short corridor leading to his bedroom. The last thing he wanted was Jeff invading what was left of his personal space. He didn’t need the smell of Jeff’s cologne lingering in his bedroom.

He packed quickly, tossing everything haphazardly in his duffle bag. He packed like he planned to go away for a single weekend. He wasn’t going to let Jeff, or some psychopath, keep him from his own home for much longer than a few days. He saved the toiletries for last, but he was brought up short as he approached the closed bathroom door.

His pulse jumped.

He never shut the bathroom door. He left it open so the draft from the half-window above the tub would keep the bedroom cool. Advancing carefully, he imagined the culprit waiting for him on the other side, or maybe trying to wiggle out of the window.

Xavier took a deep breath. Nudged the door open.

Exposed nothing more than his not-quite-tidy bathtub and sink.

“X? Are you about done?”

He jerked at Jeff’s voice. Snorting self-consciously, he shook his head at his reckless nerves and stepped into the bathroom. “Yeah. I’ll be right out.”

When Xavier emerged, Jeff stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a photograph between his fingers. A quick glance at the now empty fridge told Xavier exactly what interested Jeff.

“Who is this?” Jeff didn’t even look up.

“Jessica.”

“And she is?”

“My girlfriend.”

Stay tune next week for Chapter Three…

___________________________________________

Jamie Craig is the penname used for the collaborative efforts of Pepper Espinoza and Vivien Dean. Both successful authors on their own, they began working together in early 2006. Pepper lives with her husband and cats in Utah, where she attends graduate school, and Vivien resides in northern California with her husband and two children.

This an original story given generously to us by Jamie Craig. DO NOT post any part of this story on your site without attribution to Jamie Craig or a holla-back at her site. That’s not cool. Always give credit where credit is due, yo.

Note: Hey, other writer-types, do you want to contribute to The Serial? If so, email me and I’ll hook you up, yo.

Till, then… Love, peace, and snarkage, my babies. Peace!

This entry was posted on Friday, May 9th, 2008 at 7:30 am and is filed under The Serial. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.