Fearless Leader (Juxtapose City) Page 4

  CHAPTER ONE

  The nightmare again. It was bitterly easy to recognize it now: the unlit hallway with the familiar pansy wallpaper, the sickeningly sweet scent of the gardenia air freshener. The nightmare. Even while immersed in it his dream-self protested that it had been weeks since he'd last endured this. What had brought it back? Why now? No one answered.

  He was walking down the hallway, hemmed in by jittery bodies that eagerly herded him forward. Under the cloying aroma of gardenia were other smells: a sticky and sharp scent like copper, the acrid smoke of gunpowder. Below it all like the bottom note of a perverse perfume was the strange lemony tang of addiction as it sweated through skin pores. In this nightmare it was all one big stink. He'd walked this hall a hundred times and inhaled the same gagging smells. He knew what lay ahead and it never changed.

  When he entered the bedroom they were kneeling on the carpet just like always. The man was dressed in a white T-shirt and blue striped pajama bottoms. She was wearing a plain cotton nightgown. A gift, said a whisper in his mind. He looked down at their bandana-covered faces; he listened to their muffled sobs beneath the cloth. He knew who these people were. Their faces haunted his life. But knowledge could do nothing to stop this dream from unfolding.

  Two shots, clean and quick. Their blood pooled on the carpet, seeping towards him. He tried to back away but the blood followed him. He began to panic, knowing what was going to happen next. Memory didn't disappoint.

  Familiar, hated hands settled on his shoulders, holding his struggling body still for the encroaching wetness. "Don't be ashamed," a raspy, disembodied voice spoke from the air. "Now everything you want is yours. And you're all mine..."

  Hands slid down the front of his chest in a sensual caress, pulling at his shirt. He fought against the grip, his stomach roiling. He tried to yank the hands away but his grip was too slippery. When he looked down to see why he discovered that his own hands were stained with blood.

  The black wetness was everywhere, soaking his clothes, his face -- he could taste it in his mouth when he screamed. He watched as the bandanas were removed from the two bodies lying on the carpet. He knew whom he would see. He didn't want to, shaking his head around a silent scream of denial.

  But when the cloths were removed his heart stopped. Not the same nightmare. This one was even worse. The dead faces of his teammates -- Max and Lucas -- stared up at him.

  "Don't be ashamed. Now everything you want is yours." A chuckle sounded near his ear. "And you're all mine..."

  The dream shattered as Black shot upright in bed. A scream welled in his throat, seconds from bursting free. He clenched his jaw to hold it in. Gasping, his first frantic instinct was to look to the bed beside him. A shaky breath that would have surprised his teammates fluttered past his lips. The sheets next to him were empty just as they should be, the way he made certain they were. No one -- no one -- would ever know that the leader of Juxtapose City's most powerful elite police force woke up some mornings with a fear in his heart that left him shivering in the sheets. No one would ever know. He would sooner die.

  He ran a hand down his face. Not yet six in the morning. His alarm would go off in another four minutes. He turned off the alarm and sat in the sheets for a moment, ruthlessly sweeping the last remnants of the nightmare from the corners of his mind. Today was an important day for JC2; he needed to be clear-headed and composed. Today they were integrating two new members. One of them was Calyx Starr.

  He slid from the bed and began to dress because he needed the distraction of movement. He pulled on blue sweatpants and a JCPD T-shirt. He tugged a windbreaker over his shoulders before kneeling to tie on running shoes. The laces shook, refusing to cooperate. He stared at his trembling hands a moment before curling them into fists. Not now, he told himself angrily.

  He went to the connecting bathroom and ran the tap. Cool water flowed over his cupped hands before he splashed his face with it. Go away, he demanded, throwing more water in his face as if he could dash away the memories. Don't make me remember.

  When he raised his dripping face and looked in the mirror he didn't like what he saw. He looked his age. Being the youngest team leader in JCPD's history, that was not a good thing. Water dripped from his soaked brown bangs -- too long, he reflected distantly -- and spilled onto his pale cheeks. He looked like his mother. That's what he had been told. The wide brown eyes -- currently sunken from lack of restful sleep -- were definitely hers. Her mouth -- yes, generous lips now tightened to a pale slash. Definitely her cheekbones. But the rest was his father's from pure luck rather than genetics -- from the skin that tanned so easily to the firm, stubborn jaw. The chin was different, new. It kept him from being taken too lightly, from veering into "pretty".

  A face that was not his. It stared back at him looking too tired, too strained with the attempt to be taken seriously. It was a face that creased easily into an expression of frustration. There were so many things he could have done differently, so many ways he could have spared more lives. The thoughts took their toll on days like this. Black had to turn away.

  When he jogged downstairs he was met with a silence normally filled with the sounds of his teammates. The eerie quiet that met him now had pervaded the house for almost a week. This morning he hadn't the strength to break the silence on his own. He let himself out of the house without a sound.

  The air was crisp and redolent of smoke and the smell of burning leaves and wood. Fall was fast approaching but for now it was like any other early morning in Juxtapose City. A cold, harsh sun was slowly burning away the last traces of run-off fog from the bay. The air was still. He burst through the white clouds of his own breath as he began to run down the empty street of their neighborhood.

  Lucas used to complain that they lived in the ghetto.

  "For all the money they spend on our equipment you'd think they could afford to get us digs in a decent part of town," the agent had grumbled. He'd made the mistake of parking his electro-craft on the street and woken up the next morning to find it vandalized. "I mean, come on -- we're important."

  It had been a hollow complaint, Black remembered. Private citizens provided JC2 with a housing arrangement to be envied. Yes, the buildings he currently ran past might have seen better days -- some were failing, all were old and had never been remodeled. But JC2's building had been discreetly renovated. It looked as old as its neighbors on the outside but inside the connecting wings had been gutted and customized to provide his team with everything they needed.

  Jumping a gutter and briefly skirting a sidewalk, Black wondered if Lucas would have been similarly disappointed with his funeral service scheduled for tomorrow. Having attended one such service already, Black knew it would be a simple affair with a quick speech attended by only a few higher-ranking officers in the department and the survivors of his team.

  Survivors. That's all that it came down to, didn't it? Whoever was left standing got to pick up the pieces and try to continue on. He didn't want to be the last one left.

  Don't think about it. Think about... Calyx Starr.

  It was a distraction that almost sent him stumbling over a hubcap that was lying on the side of the street. An empath for JC2... What was Captain Dickerson thinking? If Black allowed himself such indulgences he would say that Starr would end up being his personal albatross, his bane. But that was thinking foolishly. He told himself that nothing could bother him if he didn't want it to. It was all a matter of control: controlling Starr, controlling his own reactions to the empath. And, yes -- controlling the Bliss that he and the others would have to use when dealing with Starr. That last would be the most difficult.

  So difficult in fact, that if it had been any other person besides Dickerson demanding this Black would have told that person to take his empath and shove it. But this was Dickerson's game and Black was his star player. The man had done Black a favor no one else in this world would have done. Questioning when his debt to the older man would be repaid was a waste of time. Black
rounded a street corner, picking up his pace. He could never satisfy that debt. Ever. Black owed Dickerson his life. Whatever Dickerson wanted of him, whatever the captain decided he wanted Black to do for him, Black would do it. It wasn't a question.

  He came to the two-mile stretch of street that was shadowed by the overhead tram that ran the length of Juxtapose City. He usually took note of the time at this point, setting personal goals each time he ran this circuit. Today he ignored his watch and simply ran as fast as he could, forgetting about pacing himself or the fact that there was another mile to go after he finished this part. He knew he would make it home if it killed him. For now he wanted to run so hard he could think of nothing else but his breath laboring in and out of his lungs, of the asphalt turning to fire beneath his feet, of the heavy swing of his arms by his chest as he reached for that unattainable relief from his thoughts--

  Bliss. Starr.

  You're all mine.

  Desperation made him push harder, faster. When he'd passed the liquor store that marked the end of the two miles he kept up his punishing pace. His lungs and throat screamed at the stab of the cold air. His thighs burned. Physical pain he could handle. Strength and sheer will allowed one to endure almost anything. It was the other he didn't want...

  He pushed himself faster. Faster and faster until he rounded the last corner and the familiar grey square of JC2's housing complex burst upon him like an exuberant friend.

  Gasping, he slowed to a walk, his legs trembling. He raised his arms above his head as he strained for breath. His face was so hot not even the sweat drying on his skin could cool him. He almost smiled at the blankness of his mind. Almost, until he saw the figure sitting on the steps of Black's building.

  He braced his hands on his hips and eyed Jake warily. "You're up early," he panted, pausing on the sidewalk.

  His teammate and sometime lover shrugged. He was wrapped in a heavy coat with jeans underneath and ragged sneakers on his feet. "So are you." Jake panned the other man with his eyes, taking note of Black's harsh breathing. "Hard run today, huh?"

  Black knew where this was going. "Can it, Jake," he warned as he bent over his knee to stretch.

  "You only try to break the sound barrier when you're upset over something," the other man continued, unfazed by the warning. "Is it the new guys joining today?" In a quieter voice he added, "Is it Starr?"

  "I said leave it alone," Black snapped, his hard-fought equilibrium starting to waver.

  "Oh, no you don't," Jake shot back, standing up. "I can see those wheels turning, telling you to push me away. Not gonna happen, Black. I'm on your side, remember? I'm not trying to weaken you I'm trying to help you. You keep it all bottled up like you do and you're gonna explode one of these days. JC2's leader can't afford that risk."

  Black stormed up to the other man and though Jake was taller and currently stood on a step above him Black's glare was no less powerful for the height disadvantage. "Don't you dare threaten me with losing the team!" he snarled. "Just because you and I fuck once in a while doesn't give you any rights to me, Jake."

  Hurt made the other man twist his lips. "That's right; I'm just a convenient lay. I don't own any part of you, do I?"

  You're all mine.

  The voice from Black's nightmare drifted on the cool morning air, sending chills over his skin. He took a breath and unclenched his fists, forcing his body to unwind from the tight spool Jake had wrapped it around.

  "This isn't something I want to talk about," he muttered, his tone forestalling more conversation.

  He waited for the man to step away but Jake wouldn't budge, daring Black to push him out of the way. Black looked up into the other man's golden eyes. Fight me, Jake's eyes demanded. But Black knew better than that. He deflated the situation by sliding sideways to slip around Jake. As he let himself into the building he heard his older teammate sigh in defeat.

  He left the door open for Jake even though the man didn't live there. JC2's housing consisted of two main buildings shaped into a U around a central courtyard. A narrow catwalk ran over the courtyard, connecting the largest bedrooms of each building. Black lived in one of those bedrooms in the first building the guys had nicknamed the Clubhouse. Jake, Bee, and Haney lived in the second building -- the Dugout -- and it was Jake's bedroom at which the catwalk ended. Across town, JC1 lived in identically planned housing.

  Jake followed Black into the kitchen. Black noted that Jake seemed uneasy at how quiet the Clubhouse was now that Lucas and Max were gone. He sincerely hoped the older man wouldn't comment on it.

  "When I provoke you you're supposed to take it out on me, you know. That's the healthy thing to do."

  Black opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of clean water. "Jake--"

  The other man raised his hands. "I know, I know. Shut the hell up. You're doing a kick ass job of leading us and all I seem to want to do is rattle you to prove that you're human. What's the point, huh?"

  Black knew but he wasn't about to voice it. Jake was growing too attached. He took a healthy swallow of water, studying the light-haired man as he did so. When he lowered the bottle again he met Jake's eyes. "I think you and I should take a break." He didn't temper it with 'for a while', or 'for the time being'. He didn't pull punches that way.

  Jake dropped his eyes to the countertop, shaking his head slowly as a bitter smile curved his lips. "Yeah, fuck you too, Black. Alright, you want a break from me? You got it. After all, you've got Dickerson's toy coming in today. I'm old news."

  Black stared back. "Don't ever say that again."

  Jake looked up at him and this time his smile was almost sad. "You know what the funny thing is? I know why you're doing this and it has nothing to do with me or Starr, does it? It's all those fucked up notions you have about responsibility and duty and all that shit. I've got news for you: Max and Lucas aren't dead because of you. If something happens to me or any of the other guys in the future I doubt it will be because of you either. We can take care of ourselves. I can take care of myself."

  Black's eyes didn't waver. "I trust you to do your job. I just don't want you to forget that that's why you and I are here. We're not here for each other; we're here for the job."

  "So it's wrong that I care if you get hurt," Jake returned evenly. "You're saying it's not part of my job to care whether or not I think you're pushing yourself too hard even if it might endanger the team."

  Black didn't blink. "Your job is to put your life in my hands. My job is to see that I don't lose it. If you question my ability to lead this team you know you are always welcome to inform Captain Dickerson of your opinion."

  Jake smiled bitterly. "And get myself canned or demoted to street duty? No thanks."

  Black didn't bother refuting the assumption. It was probably true.

  Their eyes met in the ensuing silence. Jake eventually sighed in capitulation. "Stressed or not you can still handle JC2 better than anyone I know. I don't want you to lose it. That wasn't my point in coming over here." He moved to the front door and paused with it open. "You take care of all of us," Jake said quietly, "when are you going to let any of us take care of you?"

  Black tried to think of things he could say to make Jake understand that such concerns weren't needed or deserved. He tried to think of ways of explaining the unexplainable. The front door shut before he could come up with a single thing. He looked down at his hand and studied its fine tremor. He could never reveal those secrets to anyone. Not in a million years.

  ~~~~~

  "Please, God, tell me it's Haney who made breakfast."

  Bee raised his butter knife threateningly. "I can kill you with this in three seconds." He dipped the weapon into the communal butter dish. "But for now I need it to eat with. And for your information these are Haney's pancakes, but only because I was late getting ready."

  "Well, thank God for alarm clocks that don't work," Jake breathed, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs and grabbing his silverware. "No offense, Bee, but y
our flapjacks pull the fillings from my teeth."

  "Screw you, I love 'em."

  "Yeah, but you love mine better, don'cha, big guy?" Haney teased, one green eye winking at the large man. He speared a couple of pancakes and tossed them onto his own plate. "Fastest way to your heart, Bee. I learned that a long time ago."

  Bee colored slightly, his eyes dancing nervously to Jake. Jake rolled his eyes. As if he didn't know that the two men fooled around. "Please," was all he said, throwing a disgusted look at the big man. "Give me a little credit for not being a complete idiot, would you?"

  Bee's blush faded and he grinned around a mouthful of pancake. "Wish I could but it's kind of hard what with you actually being an idiot and all."

  Haney passed the syrup to Jake. "So where's Black? He wanted a meeting, right?"

  Jake scowled, his humor fading. "Probably still trying to get the pole out of his ass," he muttered into his plate.

  "I'm right here."

  Jake didn't bother to look guilty. He didn't care. His knew his eyes glowed with childish petulance as he looked up at their leader but he couldn't help himself. Black left him feeling nervous and unsure of himself without even trying.

  Because Black tries so damn hard to be perfect and you know you don't give a rat's ass about such things.

  "I actually managed to keep three pancakes out of Bee's mouth," Haney said with an earnest grin. The youngest-looking member of JC2 handed their leader a full plate. Haney looked like a kid and they always teased him as though he were one but Jake doubted that the other guys even remembered that the youngest member of their group was in fact Black. Wasn't he something crazy like twenty-three? No wonder everyone hated him down at police headquarters. Black had managed to snag a job other officers had been working years to get.

  None of Jake's admiration showed on his face however as he regarded the other man. He was still pissed at Black for dumping him.

  "Last night we met the replacements for Max and Lucas," Black said quietly, leaving his silverware on the table and sitting there with his hands resting carefully on the table top. "They're joining us this afternoon."