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“Nope.” I shake my head. “I am gay, you know.”
Mitch grins. “I know, and I couldn’t be happier about it.”
“Ha!” I smile back, glad for this moment of levity.
“The city can be dangerous,” Mitch continues with his story. “There’s a lot of crime in D.C. despite all the wealth and the posturing of politicians and the huge number of FBI and other law enforcement agents living in the area.” He inhales deeply. “There was a kid in the news. A gay kid. He was attacked, snatched off the street, beaten, raped, killed…” Mitch’s breath hitches in his chest. “Then another, and another.”
My blood goes cold, the icy feeling sending goose bumps on my skin. “A serial killer,” I whisper.
Mitch closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah.” His voice is raspy, a near sob. “Five young gay men in total before they caught the bastard.”
The pieces all click into place. “That’s why you joined the FBI. That’s why you track serial killers.”
Mitch doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. I pull him against my chest, holding him tight. His arms snake around my waist and he lets me comfort him. How long has he kept this inside?
“Did you ever tell anyone why you joined the FBI?” I murmur into his thick, dark hair. I inhale, filling my nostrils with his scent, wishing I could crawl inside him and take the pain away.
Mitch pulls back. “No. No one even knew I was gay. Only one person found out and it ended up being why I quit the bureau.”
Mitch
I feel Gavin tense up at my words. I’m torn. I want to tell him, to tell someone, to rip down the last barrier separating me from happiness.
Gavin sits quietly, waiting patiently for me to decide. His eyes are kind, accepting, but pained. For me. Not pity, but empathy reflecting in the blue depths.
“My partner,” I whisper. “Grant.” My heart is racing and my palms feel sweaty. I stand up and pull on briefs and T-shirt. “I need a drink for this story. You want one?”
“Sure.” Gavin follows me to the common area, grabbing his own briefs on the way. “Sit,” he commands from the stocked bar.
I drop onto the nearest couch and he hands me a glass with ice and clear liquid. “What is this?”
“Gin and tonic.”
The cold liquid hits my tongue, burning a path down my throat. Gavin waits for me to finish it before taking my glass. “More?”
I shake my head. “No. I still have to work tonight at the event.”
He looks as if he bit a lemon. “Right.” Gavin places the glass on the table. “Grant?” he prods.
My stomach twists and turns, the nausea intense as my nerves light up like a Christmas tree.
“He was partner at the bureau—another profiler. A seasoned one. One of the best, in fact. They put us together so I could learn from him.” I laugh, but nothing is funny. “What I didn’t know was that he had me profiled from the minute we met.”
“What do you mean?”
I turn and lock eyes with Gavin. “He knew I was gay. I didn’t even have to say a thing.”
“That’s good, right? So you didn’t have to tell him,” Gavin says.
“No. He never told me he knew and I never said anything.”
“What? Why?” Gavin’s forehead crumples up in confusion.
“Because he screwed with my head for six years. He flirted with me all the time, but never obvious enough for me to think he was interested. He would do things when we were on a case, staying in hotels together across the country. Like masturbate loudly from the bathroom, knowing I could hear him.”
“That’s sick,” Gavin snarls.
“Is it more sick that I let him do it for six years? I… I thought I was in love with him. But to him, it was all a game. I didn’t know what he was doing.” My face heats up with humiliation.
