Chapter Ten

That night Doyle slept soundlessly, and, even more importantly, dreamlessly. Not so much as a single nightmare disturbed Ray's rest. It was only his full bladder that awoke him just before dawn.

After giving the lightly snoring bundle of warmth beside him a soft kiss, Doyle slipped from the bed and crossed to the shadowed bathroom. Besides having to pee, his mouth tasted like a thoroughly used litter box.

As he brushed the foul taste from his mouth, Ray's body still seemed to be thrumming from the intimacies of last night. He was unable to believe what he'd done to Bodie, or, rather, how much he'd enjoyed doing those things to Bodie. And what his partner had done to him . . . Doyle grew hard simply remembering.

He felt reborn. Every cell in his body felt tingly and alive.

His business in the bathroom completed, Doyle padded barefoot from the room to go down and put the kettle on.

Twenty minutes later, Doyle was sitting in the centre of Bodie's unused cot, a few short feet away from the double bed in which his partner still slumbered. His legs tucked up under him, sketchpad in hand, Ray was busy attempting to capture the ephemeral sense of innocence that clung to his partner only while Bodie slept. Concentrating on that fleeting, near ineffable quality, Ray absently sipped at his tea between frenetic bursts of activity.

As ever, Doyle was struck by the sheer animal beauty of his friend: the milky white skin, so pale as to be almost translucent in places, the deep black of Bodie's impossibly long eyelashes, the feathery fall of brown hair, the impressive musculature, so strong even in repose . . .Bodie was a magnificent physical specimen.

As Ray watched, his magnificent physical specimen gave a sudden start in the bed, one hand reaching out to the empty spot on Doyle's side of the mattress.

Bodie's eyes snapped open, something close to panic gripping his features. "Ray?"

Unable to credit the open anxiety, Doyle cast his sketchpad aside and climbed back onto the double bed, "Right here, mate."

To his consternation, Bodie's distress didn't lessen any. Those sleepy blue eyes still stared at Ray as though unable to believe that Doyle were really there.

"What is it, Bodie?" Ray asked gently, reaching out to touch a black-stubbled cheek.

"'ey?"

"You always look at me like . . . I don't know . . . like you're surprised to see me here or somethin'," Doyle cautiously explained.

"Maybe I am," Bodie's reluctance to discuss this subject was a tangible presence.

Temporarily ignoring the puzzling problem, Ray moved in to indulge in the one, sure-fire cure to all of Bodie's strange moods – a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Bodie had enjoyed it yesterday, so had he.

This morning Bodie tasted different. Yesterday's kisses at dawn had shown Bodie's mouth to be dry, but its sweet, Bodie-flavoured self. But today there was a sour, thoroughly unpleasant aftertaste that Doyle slowly realized was the residue of his own semen.

"Gawd, is that horrible taste me?" Doyle chuckled as they pulled apart, realizing only after the words were out how undiplomatic they sounded.

But Bodie just grinned. "Must be. You're the only bloke I've been having it away with lately. I take it you brushed your teeth already."

"First thing," Doyle admitted. "Thought something had died in my mouth."

Abashed, Ray recognized that he'd once again put his foot in it.

"Christ, but you're a romantic bugger first thing, Ray," Bodie laughed.

"Sorry, I . . . . " Doyle searched for a proper apology.

"It's okay," Bodie dismissed, and somehow it was okay.

"Don't know why waking up with that taste in my mouth should bother me so much," Ray admitted, settling down on the pillow beside his friend to stare at Bodie's handsome profile. "I mean, it's not like I never did it before . . . it's just . . . I don't remember it tastin' so bad the next morning."

Bodie was quiet a moment, as if debating whether he should voice his thoughts. It felt like a major victory to Ray when Bodie eventually spoke, as if Bodie now considered him stable enough to be totally honest with him.

"From the bruises those bastards left on you, you probably had a lot more than a bad taste in your mouth to think about the morning after," Bodie said.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Knowing his lover wouldn't touch him when such memories were uppermost in his mind, Doyle hugged Bodie close to him, confident enough in their relationship now to reach out and take what he needed. The alacrity with which Bodie squeezed back told him that he'd guessed right, that Bodie had held back only on Doyle's behalf.

"Bodie?" Doyle asked after a few moments, pulling far enough away to see Bodie's eyes.

"Mmmm?"

"Before – you said that I was the only bloke you'd been having it away with lately. Does that mean there've been others? Other men, I mean," he qualified. Bodie's abilities last night had indicated his friend was no stranger to same sex relationships. As the laughter seeped from his partner's face, Doyle realized he'd overstepped himself. "Sorry. That was a stupid thing to ask. It's none of my business."

The silence that followed seemed to be the longest and most tension wrought in the history of the universe.

Just about the time that Doyle was convinced that he'd ruined everything, Bodie reached out and stroked Doyle's broken cheek with his pinkie in that strangely cherishing manner that got to Ray every single time. "Of course, it's your business. You've made yourself an open book to me, told me nightmares no man should be forced to relive. It's just . . . remember last night when I told you . . . how I'd push you away when it was time to balance the scales?"

Doyle nodded, and then assured, "Bodie, you don't have to tell me anything. I was just curious, tha's all." At the glance that earned him, Ray explained, "You just seemed to know what you were doing last night. It piqued my curiosity. That's all. C'mon, let's . . . . "

Bodie snagged his elbow as he sought escape, guiding Doyle back against the pillows.

"I'm just saying it's hard for me, Ray. I . . . ahh . . . didn't come up through the police force like you did. I didn't always wear a white hat."

"I wasn't always that lily-white myself, mate," Doyle reminded. Ray tried to gentle the wariness from those magnificent blue eyes with soft caresses to Bodie's tense neck and shoulders. "I told you 'bout that gang I remembered being in and – "

"Ray, that's penny-ante stuff. Gangs and Saturday night rumbles. I was a hired killer. We prettied it up by calling ourselves soldiers of fortune, but we were the worst kind of murderers. Didn't matter who we killed or why, just so long as the money got banked."

"I'll never believe that of you. Ever," Doyle insisted. "You may have been there and done those things, but I know it could never've come easy to you."

"It did come easy, mate, far too easy," Bodie protested, looking away. "I was a born natural. The best of the best."

Doyle sighed, realizing that he was never going to win this particular argument this way. "Okay. You were the best of the best or the worst of the worst, or however you want to phrase it. Whatever you were, whatever you did, it kept you alive and got you out of that hellhole. That's the only thing that matters to me."

Bodie met his gaze with obvious difficulty. "I could tell you stories that'd straighten your curls . . . and make you hate me so much that you'd be callin' Cowley collect for your ticket home."

Bodie was serious; Doyle was stunned to realize. Tiring of the senseless debate and wondering just what the devil they were really talking about here, Ray glared down at the stubborn fool beside him. "All right. Let's have the worst of it, then. Did you ever rape or murder innocent women or children?"

The lines in Bodie's wary face grew deeper as he answered, "No, of course not. But there were some in my troop that did."

"You're only responsible for you, mate. I'm sure there were blokes on the Force with me who didn't walk the straight 'n' narrow . . . . "

"And you turned them in . . . every one of them. That was why Cowley chose you for his squad. You paid more than lip service to the rules. I . . . I never turned them in, Ray. There wasn't anyone to report them to, no one to care what we did out there, really."

Doyle absorbed that in silence for a moment. "That sounds hard."

"You don't know the half of it," Bodie evaded.

"So tell me. All of it. Let me share it with you . . . . "

"You can't share this. You wouldn't want to, truth be told."

Bodie looked so damned sure of that fact that Ray just wanted to knock that certitude right out from under him. He knew his partner. He would back Bodie to do the right thing, no matter the circumstances. Whatever this shady past was, it simply couldn't be as terrible as Bodie was making it out to be.

"Let me be the judge of that."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Bodie muttered.

"What?"

"Nothin'," Bodie glanced over at the sketchpad Ray had left on the cot before meeting Doyle's gaze again. "It's ugly, Ray. I don't know where to start. You're going to have to ask me what you wanta know, 'cause there's just too much to tell."

"Let's stick to the important stuff, then." Trying to focus only on the things that mattered most, Ray asked, "Did you ever shoot someone in the back who was depending on you to protect him?"

"No," Bodie swiftly replied.

"Did you abandon your mates in the thick of things and leave 'em to die?"

Bodie grew paler. "No, but . . . . "

"No buts. This is my show," Ray snapped. "You were at war, not a Sunday picnic."

"I know, but . . . . "

"How old were you when you signed up with those mercs?" Doyle questioned, genuinely curious. Those anecdotes Bodie used to tell him in the long days before Doyle had trusted his partner enough to speak had left Doyle wondering just how old his partner was. Bodie looked his own age or younger, but the living his partner had crammed into those thirty-some odd years seemed suited to someone twice their age.

"Ahh . . . almost eighteen," Bodie answered.

"And when you got out?"

"Not quite twenty-two."

"You were nothin' but a scared kid, fer Christ's sake, doin' what you hadta to stay alive. I love you, Bodie. That's not going to change. Whether it was gun runnin' or sellin' your skills to the highest bidder . . . it doesn't make a bloody bit of difference to me. Not now, and not back when we were partners, either, I'll wager."

To Doyle's frustration, none of the wariness faded from Bodie's doubtful eyes. The larger man still looked like a trapped animal determined to gnaw its own foot off to regain its freedom. His face steeling with resolve, Bodie began in a deceptively casual tone, "You asked about my experience with other blokes. I picked most of that up over in Africa, too. None of it's pretty, Ray. Still want to hear about it?"

A warning prickle blew down Doyle's spine. Whatever Bodie had to say, the hard set of the handsome features warned Doyle that this wasn't something that he really wanted to hear. But Ray knew if he copped out now, if he drew back from whatever this unpleasantness was, that Bodie would never completely relax in their relationship. Every morning Doyle would wake up to that same, uncertain gaze as Bodie lay there waiting for the day when Doyle would figure out the ex-merc's deepest, darkest secrets and cut out on him. Not that Ray ever thought that would happen, but he didn't want Bodie living with that kind of fear.

There was also a part of Doyle, a side he rarely touched these days, that seemed to wake up and pay attention. Ray didn't know how he knew, but somehow he was certain that he had waited years to hear whatever it was that Bodie was so afraid to tell him. That side of him was quietly rejoicing, even as his conscious mind braced itself to handle some ugly information.

Consciously blanking all emotion from his face, Doyle answered, "If you want to tell me about it, I'm all ears."

"All right, but remember that I warned you."

"Bodie . . . ."

"Like you guessed, I was a green kid when I landed in the Congo. Had a headful of grand dreams. Thought I'd find adventure and romance in the Dark Continent. Those romantic illusions were ripped from me my first night in camp, along with my virginity."

Ray winced at the studied calm with which Bodie related what must have been one of the most horrible events of his life. His heart bleeding inside for the eighteen-year-old boy that Bodie had been, Ray watched his partner avert his gaze.

Bodie directed the rest of his story to the nightstand, as if unable to even bear looking in Doyle's direction while telling this tale. Ray had the distinct impression that he was probably the first person to ever hear this particular story. "We'd parachuted in. The nearest town was a two-week trek by foot through the deadliest stretch of jungle known to man. I was completely out of my depths there, Ray. There was no way I could have made it out of that jungle alive alone. I needed the others just to survive. That first night in camp, the fellows introduced me to a charming game that they play in those parts. It's not quite as refined as chess," Bodie joked darkly, "but it's a hell of a lot more interactive."

Bodie's clue about the loss of his virginity had already cued Doyle into the type of games that they were discussing here.

"What happened?" Ray gently asked.

"I was stupid, Ray. Thought it was just a wrestling match. You know, best two out of three. I ignored the 'winner take all' portion of the prologue. I was good, for an eighteen-year-old kid. But I just didn't have the ruthlessness to win first time out. I went down in under two minutes. In less than three, I was on my knees with his cock up my arse. He took me there in front of the campfire with the entire squad watching on. It was . . . quite an eye opener of an introduction."

So much so that Bodie still couldn't meet his gaze.

When he felt he could talk without losing it, Ray gripped Bodie's shoulders tight and gruffly asked, "You thought I'd hate you for this?"

His fingers were clenching Bodie's bare shoulders so hard that he knew his paler companion would have bruises there later.

"Nah, that was the part I knew you'd understand. It's the rest of the sordid mess that . . . ."

"Tell me," Ray entreated. Knowing how hard it was for his embarrassed partner to do this while staring him straight in the eye, Doyle slid around Bodie and encircled him from behind, drawing Bodie back to lean against his chest. It was like embracing a block of stone; Bodie was so tense. "Please? It can't be any worse than some of the stuff I've told you."

The reminder worked. Bodie's hand settled atop both of Doyle's where they lay with fingers laced on Bodie's flat stomach. It seemed to take Bodie a few minutes to find his voice, then the halting narration continued, "It went on that way for a few nights. A different bloke each night, same conclusion. By the time we met up with our main group four days later, I was a right nutter. Really outta my head. There was a man in the new group . . . Wallace was his name. Well . . . he wasn't as bad as the rest. He was big and blond and laughed a lot and, if I'd met him under different circumstances, we might've been mates. When one of the bunch challenged me that night, Wallace stepped in. He said it wasn't rightly a fair fight, me bein' just a green kid and all. Wallace pushed me aside and took on the challenger. I didn't realize it then, but he was staking out his claim. After that, the others left me alone and Wallace . . . I was green, Doyle. He set himself up as my protector and I was so fuckin' naοve that I didn't even know it until too late. Within a week, I was eatin' outta his hand. I did anything he asked . . . anything. He, ah, taught me most of what I did to you last night."

"Was he good to you?" Doyle asked the only important question, hugging his friend closer.

Bodie shrugged. "He didn't humiliate me by buggering me in front of the squad like the others, but I was on my knees for him every night. He made it clear if I didn't, that he'd toss me back to the pack."

Ray shuddered. "Christ, what a prick!"

"You don't know the half of it," Bodie amazed him by chuckling. "He was built like a bloody stallion."

"How long . . . ?" Doyle started to ask, before his better sense told him that Bodie mightn't be prepared to recall how long he'd endured that abuse, anymore than Ray himself was inclined to dwell on the length of time he'd suffered in Van Cleef's clutches,

But Bodie's brain operated along different lines than his did, his partner taking his question as a literal reference to their former topic, "At least ten inches, maybe more."

Ray couldn't stop himself from chuckling at the indelicate response. He wasn't sure if Bodie's ability to joke about this subject was a sign of how well he'd healed over the years or just another diversionary tactic to hide how much the events still pained him. Either way, Ray kept his arms where they were and just held on. "Wasn't talkin' 'bout that, you daft bugger. How long were you . . . with Wallace?"

"'bout six months. He got blown to pieces in a mortar attack one morning. The bastards took out the jiffies."

"The what?" Doyle questioned.

"The latrines."

Doyle was quiet for a moment before asking, "So what happened to you after Wallace died?"

"I was back in the Game again. Only, this time I knew what the stakes were. I'd toughed up in that six months with Wallace. He liked to work out and practiced with me, so I was fitter than ever. Wallace had taught me a few dirty tricks, too. If he'd lived, chances were that I'd've been challenging him myself within the year. Don't know about that for sure, though. Like I said, he wasn't really all that bad to me."

It was on the tip of his tongue to challenge Bodie's claim, to point out that the guy had extorted a young kid into a predatory sexual relationship and used Bodie like a sex toy, but for once Doyle's better sense prevailed and he held his tongue.

What point would there be in making Bodie feel bad about the events now? If telling himself that Wallace wasn't so bad to him made the entire humiliating situation more acceptable to Bodie, who was he to destroy those illusions? And, for all he knew, the guy might've been okay to Bodie. There was a note of fondness in Bodie's voice when he talked about Wallace that Ray wasn't entirely comfortable hearing.

Recognizing his own response for the jealousy it was, Doyle let the entire issue drop and asked instead, "So what happened then?"

"This is the part you're not going to like," Bodie warned.

Ray didn't see how he could like anything less than the idea of some thug buggering his teenaged partner every night in exchange for protection against public rape.

"Tell me anyway," Ray urged, kissing the soft skin of Bodie's neck.

Bodie shivered, sighed, and then seemed to force himself to answer, "I, ah . . . started winning the Game. Anyone challenged me, I made sure I won, then fucked them bloody. I was . . . vicious, ruthless . . . utterly without mercy. I killed more than one man in the fight itself, Ray. Like you said, I was the worst of the worst."

Bodie became so still in his arms that even the larger man's breathing had seemed to cease.

It didn't take much in the way of brains to realize that Bodie was awaiting judgment.

Clearing his throat, Ray tried to shake free of the savagery to which Bodie had confessed. This was not something he had ever imagined of Bodie. A victimized kid, he could relate to. This was . . . hard to accept.

His Bodie had played those sadistic sex games and raped other men in public? It was something worthy of Van Cleef, not something Doyle could ever envision his gentle caretaker as getting off on. And he had no idea how to respond to the confession.

Knowing he had to say something, Doyle bluffed it out with, "You did what you had to do to stay alive, mate. I'd've done the same. So would any man."

But Bodie knew him too well. His tone strangely bleak, Bodie countered, "No, Ray, you wouldn't. At least, not the way I did it. You see, there was a part of me that . . . truly enjoyed winning those games. I took real pleasure buggering those bastards in front of the entire troop. You never would've . . . . " the words stopped, as though Bodie had realized he'd said too much.

And perhaps Bodie had.

This time it was Doyle who held still, barely able to breathe. What his friend had admitted to was both sick and sadistic. It repulsed Ray down to the very fibre of his soul. This seemed to go against everything he thought he knew of Bodie's character. Could he have been so mistaken about this man? Could this gentle, loving man really harbour the kind of monster Bodie was confessing to being?

For the first time since Bodie had rescued him, Doyle cursed his lack of memories. He wished he had some frame of reference beyond the six months he'd spent with Bodie to judge this by. His heart told him that even if this were true of Bodie twenty years ago, it was no longer true of him now, but, what did his heart really know? Every instinct Doyle possessed would have had him wager his soul that his partner could never be involved in the kind of bestial acts Bodie had confessed to. If his instincts were so far off, then how could he trust his heart any better?

Doyle didn't know how long he lay there just trying to wrap his mind around the unbelievable thing Bodie had told him. His next awareness was of Bodie breaking free of his embrace and, for all that Ray wanted to hold onto his partner, the shock of it all wouldn't allow him to.

"Too much truth, 'ey?" Bodie practically spat out, meeting Doyle's eyes this time with the look of a man who'd seen his worst nightmare given form.

It was that hard, despairing expression that shook Doyle out of his stasis. Ray reminded himself of how Bodie had insisted he wasn't going to like this, how Bodie had feared that Doyle wouldn't be able to accept this, and, with the moronic trust of an amnesiac, he had blithely assured Bodie that it wouldn't change anything.

And what had it really changed, Doyle asked himself as he met those discouraged blue eyes. Bodie was still the same man he'd woken up cuddling this morning, the same man who'd risked everything to save him.

Taking a deep breath, Ray tried to stamp down hard on his moral response to his partner's revelation. If what Bodie had confessed to was sick and sadistic, so was the world in which the innocent kid Bodie had been back then had found himself trapped. Ray knew from his own captivity that only the strongest survived in situations that horrible. After the degradation and humiliation Bodie had suffered at the hands of those bastards, was it any wonder that Bodie had enjoyed his revenge?

Doyle knew how he'd feel if given the opportunity to pay Van Cleef back for some of the degradations he'd suffered. Rape wouldn't come close to a proper revenge for Van Cleef. Disembowelment and vivisection wouldn't even do the trick. If he, as an adult, weren't able to control his hatred in a civilized manner, how could an eighteen-year-old boy who'd been so brutalized have any hope of making a better showing? Who was he to judge Bodie when Doyle's hatred for his own abuser made him equally bloodthirsty?

"It's all right, Bodie," Doyle whispered, meeting and holding that troubled gaze.

"Is it?" Bodie challenged. "We're talkin' rape and murder, sunshine."

"Manslaughter, not murder," Ray corrected, not sure where that piece of information came from. "Besides, it was self-defence. Your opponents would've raped or killed you if given the chance."

And somehow, that knowledge made what Bodie had told him a little easier to handle. They weren't talking about decent, upstanding citizens here, but degenerates that would rape a young boy in public and call it a sport.

"I made damn sure they never got the chance again," Bodie told him. "When I knew I couldn't beat them in a fair fight . . . I-I made sure I killed them in the first few minutes. It was premeditated, Ray, straight down the line."

As he stared into Bodie's tortured eyes, Ray realized that Bodie had already judged himself far more harshly than anyone else would have. His mind at a loss as to how to proceed here, Ray's heart stepped in and handled it. "Look, did you ever issue those challenges?"

"What?" The look Bodie was giving him could only qualify as a glare.

"Did you ever challenge one of those rats first or make a move on some green kid?" Doyle asked, almost afraid of the answer he might receive. A man pushed to his emotional extremes often gave as bad as he got, and, although Doyle couldn't imagine Bodie preying on some innocent kid, after what Bodie had been put through, it wouldn't particularly surprise Doyle. Men tried to regain their lost self-esteem in strange ways, sometimes by trying to reclaim it by becoming the very bastards who had stolen it from them in the first place.

"As far as the pack was concerned, if they left me alone, I left them alone," Bodie said. "I only ever challenged two of them . . . after they'd tried the Game on some wet-behind-the-ears kid who was already pissin' his trousers over the mistake he'd made in getting involved with that outfit."

"You stepped in to protect them?" Doyle glowed with relief, having known all along in his heart what his Bodie was made of.

"Yeah, I played the White Knight. Had to kill the challenger in both cases, but I spared the kids that first night initiation," for some reason, the words sounded like another confession.

Not understanding Bodie's marked hesitation, Doyle asked, "So what are you acting so ashamed of, then?"

"Ray, you don't know what it's like out there. I didn't do those lads any favours by stepping in. I knew neither of them had a snowflake's chance in hell of going up against a veteran fighter and winning, not when they didn't understand what was truly at stake, but I might've been wrong. If I hadn't interfered, maybe one of them would have won."

"What does it matter? You spared them that," Ray argued.

"I spared them nothing. All I did was give them a different role to play," Bodie countered, looking both weary and sick at heart, like he was trying to explain something incomprehensible to Doyle in a language that didn't have words to relay the concept. The world Bodie was describing was so alien to Ray that he didn't doubt for a minute that it must feel that way to Bodie. For the first time, he began to understand why Bodie had remained so silent about these things for so many years, even though Bodie fully understood that his reticence had kept him from gaining Doyle's complete trust.

Still not understanding what Bodie was trying to tell him, Ray brilliantly enquired, "Huh?"

"Ray, kids like that . . . unless they can win the Game or find a protector, they end up being passed around the camp like a pack of smokes. I set myself up as their protector, killed to keep others off 'em . . . that wasn't a passive role or philanthropic act. There aren't any fairy godmothers in the jungle and I was no altruist."

Slowly, Bodie's meaning penetrated Doyle's disbelief. "You mean you . . . ."

Bodie's jaw tensed, his lips straightening to a hard, white-rimmed gash in his face. "I never forced either of them. Didn't haveta. The others let 'em know what was expected of them, what would happen if they didn't spend their nights in their protector's tent."

"Just out of curiosity," Doyle asked, a cold, disillusioned edge, audible to even himself, creeping into his tone, "what would've happened to them if they didn't . . . repay their debt to you?"

Bodie's features were like stone, but there was still a haunted cast to his eyes that made it plain that Bodie believed that he'd already lost Doyle's respect, in addition to anything else Ray might've felt for him.

Though that look hurt Ray, he was too disgusted at the moment to do anything to ease it.

As though resolved to get through the worst of it, Bodie started speaking again, "When I first joined up, there was a kid named Jerry there. He was only a year or so older than me. A bloke had stepped in for him in the Game his first night out. His protector wasn't an animal, but he wasn't an especially nice guy, either. The kid came to him that night to thank his benefactor, but said that, although he appreciated what Jones, that was the older bloke's name, had done for him, he didn't want to sleep with him. Jones just said fine and let Jerry walk away."

"What was so wrong with that?" Doyle asked, thinking that that was what Bodie or any other honourable man should have done in similar circumstances.

"Nothing was wrong with it, except Jones didn't warn the kid. By letting the older bloke step in for him, Jerry had demonstrated that he wasn't man enough to fight his own battles. He lost the troop's respect. After that, the pack wasn't going to approach Jerry man to man. There would be no more challenges . . . ."

"What's so bad about that?" Doyle interrupted, still not understanding.

"The Game's no joy, Ray, but it's a fair fight. One on one, winner takes all. Jerry didn't have that protection anymore. It wasn't just one man did him his first night in camp. Jerry's first night there, four men visited his tent. All of them had both his arse and his mouth. The next morning, Jerry went to Jones, begging him to let him sleep in his tent with him, but the prick told Jerry that he didn't like shop-soiled goods. He kicked the kid out. When I arrived, Jerry had been there a year . . . and every night at least three guys had him. The night Wallace stepped in for me, it was Jerry who convinced me that I should go to Wallace and be whatever I had to be to stay in his tent."

"My God . . . . " Ray stuttered, unable to believe that anyone could survive three years in that kind of vipers' nest as Bodie had claimed to have done. Hearing the truth, it was little wonder to Doyle that Bodie had never confided in his partner before. "So, ah . . . what did you do when your, er . . . wards showed up?"

"What do you want, Doyle, explicit blow by blow details, fer Christ's sake?" Bodie demanded, calling him Doyle as he only did when perturbed with him.

"You said you didn't force them," Doyle reminded. Not knowing why, he was somewhat calmed by Bodie's bluster. Perhaps because it revealed how none of this came easily to his friend. It was obviously something Bodie was far from proud about.

"I told each in his turn that he could spend the night in either my bed or on the tent floor, but if they knew what was healthy for them, they wouldn't leave until daylight."

Doyle waited silently for the rest. He didn't want to push again, but he needed to know all of it.

After a moment of staring at him, as though awaiting judgment, Bodie continued with, "Jeff was the first. He spent three months sleeping on my tent floor before he stopped a bullet. Ken came to my bed his first night in camp. He was a terrified kid who needed a teddybear to cling to. Barring that, he settled on me. He bought it two weeks later."

"Ah," Doyle managed, his throat too tight to risk anything more.

"Is that all you have to say?" Bodie demanded, appearing terrified and furious in equal measures.

"No. I'm . . . sorry that you had to go through all that. You were just a kid and you didn't deserve any of it."

"That's it? You're sorry?" Bodie questioned in a sceptical tone.

"Yeah. I'm sorry it happened and even sorrier that you never trusted me enough to confide in me before. You should have done. You're not at all the monster you paint yourself to be."

Bodie averted his gaze again, "It sure isn't anything to be proud of, Ray."

The raspy admission melted Doyle.

"Maybe not," Ray replied, "but what you made of yourself after that kinda start – that is something to be proud of. And, may I remind you, that if it wasn't for that shady past of yours, I'd be dead or languishing away in some nutter's clutches."

"How do you figure that?"

Ray crawled closer to the naked man huddled on the far side of the bed and gently guided Bodie's chin up. "You told me yourself that it was your contacts from your mercenary days that got you the cash to buy my freedom. And it was the Bodie who was born in those jungles that rescued me, who stood unarmed amidst an army of villains, ready to take them all on for my sake. So, don't go regretting that past too much, mate."

So close to those passion-reddened lips. Doyle couldn't resist the allure. His mouth moved of its own accord to claim Bodie's.

After his reassuring words, the action shouldn't have come as any surprise to Bodie, but Doyle could feel Bodie's shock in the tense body he held. It was almost as if after all Ray had said, Bodie still expected rejection.

Ray pulled back far enough to stare into those shadowed blue eyes. "What's it going to take to get you to believe in me, sunshine?"

The tender exasperation in his tone brought a smile to Bodie's face. "I believe in you . . . now."

"I don't think I like the sound of that qualifier," Doyle complained.

"Where'd you learn a word like that?" Bodie demanded, his smile forced, but there.

"Bodie . . . . " Ray warned, unwilling to be sidetracked. "What did you mean?"

Both of Bodie's hands rose to frame Doyle's face, his ring and pinkie fingers stroking gently over the mismatched cheekbones. "I know you love me. Right now you'd forgive me almost anything, but when you get all your marbles back . . . . "

"When I get all my marbles back, I'm going to throttle you with them," Doyle promised, frustrated enough to shake some sense into his lover. "Anyway, accordin' to you, there's only one Doyle, so you don't have anything to worry about." At Bodie's expression, he added, "You can't have it both ways, sunshine. Either you're right and I'm the one and only or . . . ."

"Or nothin'. You're the one and only." Bodie's right hand left Doyle's cheek to playfully ruffle his chestnut curls. "My one and only."

Warmed by the atypically sentimental admission, Ray kissed his companion again, a deep and thorough exploration, after which he pushed Bodie back onto the pillows and rolled on top of him.

"Ugggh," Bodie chuckled. "You've put on weight, mate." As Doyle leaned in for another kiss, Bodie's hands intercepted his shoulders, halting the oral contact. "If we're going to carry on like this, I better brush my teeth."

"Later," Doyle dismissed, too excited by the press of their lower bodies to consider disengaging for anything short of a major catastrophe. He hungrily sought the mouth in question, not caring what flavoured it. Being turned on like this, feeling confident enough to indulge it without worry was a freedom he was still unaccustomed to.

"Ray," Bodie weakly protested after an interval of breathless exploration.

"Later," Doyle growled, reclaiming Bodie's mouth with gusto.

Bodie groaned as Doyle moved to feast on the white skinned neck. Ray's hand stroked over the impressive musculature of the taut nippled chest, pausing to carefully squeeze the pebble hard buds until Bodie was crying out loud from the pleasure of it.

"God, Ray . . . ." Bodie gasped.

Unable to credit how little effort it took on his part to turn this fierce warrior into a quivering heap of protoplasm, Doyle slowly worked his way down the other man's body, caressing, stroking and nibbling until he reached his partner's steamy groin. The scent of Bodie's musk was heavier than last night, which only made sense, since neither of them had showered yet.

Though Bodie's scent was strong, Doyle wasn't particularly bothered by the smell today. On Bodie, it was a pleasant aroma, that filled Ray with hot longing instead of the normal disgust. That earthy aroma of Bodie was fast becoming one of the constants of his universe, Doyle acknowledged.

With no hesitation at all, Ray palmed Bodie's pulsing cock. A few, well-timed squeezes brought Bodie up to his full, impressive size. Even last night Doyle had experienced some lingering trepidation, but not this morning.

His heart was so touched by Bodie's sad history that there was hardly any thought of himself in Ray's actions. All he wanted was to soothe and reassure. Today all he smelt, tasted and knew was Bodie . . . the patient companion who had brought him back from the Gates of Hell. The unpleasant parts of the tale Bodie had told were still troubling, but they were the story of another man, not his gentle lover. Staring up into that passion-dazed handsome face, which even now seemed to show traces of disbelief that Doyle would want to touch him this way after hearing the truth, Ray resolved never to let what Bodie told him make a difference between them. He would trust his lover until given reason not to. And in his heart, Ray firmly believed that Bodie would never give him cause to doubt him.

"Ray . . . oh, God, yes, please, right there . . . . " Bodie pleaded as Doyle's mouth moved lower.

He took in the straining shaft in a single suck, Bodie's rich, salty flavour tanging through him like the purest malt scotch. Sucking the way Bodie seemed to like it best, Doyle lightly trailed his fingers up and down his lover's inner thighs, delighting in the gasps that earned him. When he thought Bodie'd had enough of that, he quit petting there and claimed the mossy balls for his own, rolling them between his fingers with growing skill.

Within moments, Bodie was grunting with pleasure. Doyle glanced up from his work to find Bodie's eyes clenched shut, his face contorted with pleasure. He returned his full attention to what he was about, sucking that pulsing shaft like he'd worked his favourite cherry lollies as a kid . . . which was probably the first flashback that hadn't upset him.

Doyle felt Bodie's body still beneath him, and then with a surprised sounding outcry, climax claimed his lover. Although it still freaked him out to feel hot semen spraying the back of his throat, Ray hung on and drank Bodie down till he was dry. Only then did his mouth release the flaccid cock.

Tasting the same horrid flavour in his mouth that had been there this morning, Doyle grinned. Obviously, this was something he was going to have to get used to. The sheer adoration shining from Bodie's satisfied blue eyes ensured that this was something he was going to be doing as often as possible.

Venting a satisfied sigh, Ray pulled back and climbed up to lie beside his partner.

Bodie's left arm and leg settled comfortably across him, their hairy legs resting against each other with charming familiarity.

"God, Ray, that was fantastic," Bodie said in a hushed tone a few minutes later, looking as if it had taken him that long to return to reality from wherever Ray's touch had sent him.

"Good," Doyle yawned, ready for a nap. He smiled softly as Bodie showered each of his facial features with lazy kisses.

After a few moments of that, Bodie's hand stroked down Doyle's bare chest, fingertips lightly breezing across Doyle's sweaty genitals.

"What about you, mate?" Bodie sleepily enquired as his fingers moved in for a more up close and personal exchange.

What Bodie was doing felt damn good. Sighing, Ray stretched out on his back and lightly ruffled the dark hair on Bodie's forearm. "Did I tell you that you've got beautiful hands?"

"Didn't haveta, did you?" Bodie replied, the hands in question demonstrating that they were more than just a pretty face, mixed metaphors be damned.

Face . . .hands . . . all Doyle knew was that those fingers were lethal in their capacity to excite.

"How's that?" Ray tried to stay focused, but the pleasure jolting through him was totally distracting.

"I was born tall, dark and handsome . . . and engagingly modest," Bodie joked.

The attempt was painfully forced, but Doyle appreciated the effort Bodie was making. That little reminiscence had shaken them both.

"First thing I noticed 'bout you was that modesty of yours, mate," Doyle sassed back, arching up like a cat as Bodie's fingers introduced his balls to new levels of delight.

"Shift up a bit, Ray," Bodie suggested after a few moments of that incredible torment, guiding him up onto his knees. Doyle watched in bemusement as his partner dragged all the pillows together until they were in a mound. Then Bodie lay across them, his body positioned so that his mouth was on a level with Doyle's aching groin.

Ray could barely draw in breath as he deduced his lover's intent. His insides clenched with delight as Bodie reached for him.

"Chrisst . . . Bodiee . . . . " he moaned, his fingers digging deep into Bodie's shoulders as his hips bucked forward to meet that open mouth.

Doyle knew he'd gone too long feeling nothing. In the six months he'd been in Van Cleef's clutches, Ray had had more sex than ten men did in their entire lifetimes, but all of it had been forced and painful, and he'd hidden from it . . . hidden so well that nothing they did could touch him, buried himself so deep that he'd become lost inside himself. These last few days, Bodie had been finding that lost man, coaxing him out of his numbing shell with tenderness, teaching him to trust in a lover again enough to feel. And now that he was feeling, Ray was blasted away by the ferocity of the sensations.

Bodie was like nothing he'd known. His amnesia aside, Doyle's body was telling him that what Bodie was giving him was unique. Ray was certain that even if he'd had his full memories, Bodie's loving would be something special. Perhaps he was delusional and the extreme reaction he was having to Bodie was just a natural response to coming out of such a long dry spell, but Ray's instincts kept insisting that no one had ever spent the kind of time kissing and caressing him that Bodie lavished upon him as a matter of course.

He could barely breathe, his body was reacting so hard as he knelt there and pumped into Bodie's bobbing mouth. Doyle's heart was pounding like he'd made the track to Anna's at a dead run in this lethally high altitude, the sweat that was pouring off him only confirming that impression. And the sensations sizzling along his nerve paths . . . Doyle knew his body had never felt this much pleasure.

His hips bucked forward in a wild, primal rhythm as Doyle pounded into Bodie's all too willing mouth, burying his throbbing dick deep in Bodie's throat. The liquid heat was sheer heaven, the best feeling Doyle had ever known. Bodie's teeth never even grazed him as he fucked that beautiful mouth like it had been built to handle this kind of action.

The intensity of his release frightened Ray in some ways, for he never wanted to be out of control and hurt someone during sex as his captors had hurt him, but Bodie seemed to be encouraging his abandon. Those large hands were cupping the cheeks of his arse, pulling Doyle forward and in deep, then hauling Ray further back with each withdrawal so that Ray would have that much more ferocity behind him when he slammed back in. Those fingers squeezed and kneaded Doyle's butt as Ray flew higher and higher.

The action wasn't lost on Doyle. He'd noticed an emerging pattern over the last few days. Bodie would wait until Ray was mindless with wanting before he would dare a touch to Doyle's posterior . . . and touch it Bodie always did, with a look of longing on his handsome face that just about ripped Doyle's heart out. Ray knew what his partner wanted, and was equally certain that Bodie would die before asking for it.

Bodie would never ask . . . which meant he should offer . . . only, everything was just moving too fast. A month ago the idea of voluntarily sucking off another man would have been unthinkable, yet for the past two days now, Ray had been blissfully fellating his friend. Instinct told Ray that it would be the same with that. No matter what, Bodie would never hurt him . . . only, Doyle couldn't even face the thought of taking a cock up his arse again, let alone make any kind of invitation along those lines. Yet he loved Bodie and wanted to make him happy.

It was all moving too fast, all happening too quickly to assimilate. Sex with Bodie was like one of those amusement park rides where they twirled you around in a centrifuge until you no longer knew which way was up or down, or what was right and wrong. It was all just a dizzying swirl of pure sensation. Like now. All there was was the unmitigated joy of riding Bodie's mouth. It was such a pure, primitive delight that nothing else mattered. Those powerful hands taking up their proprietary holds on his butt cheeks, the well-timed squeezes . . . it was all just a part of this fierce and crazy ride Bodie was taking him on.

Ray was so far gone that reason had left him. He knew he was slamming into Bodie's mouth far more forcefully than he ought to be, and it didn't matter. Nothing did except the wildfire sparking through his loins. Doyle knew nothing would ever feel this intense or good again in his entire life. You only reached peaks like this once, and this was his chance for it, so he was going to grab it. Ray fully believed that it didn't get any better than this . . . couldn't get any better . . . and then, as had happened so many times in the last three days, Bodie showed him different.

Doyle was going at it like one of those porn idols who could pump it out like this for hours, dancing on the edge of climax, without crashing over. Then something happened that toppled the scales . . . something that had no right to take him over the top as it did.

Ray was lost in the sensation, fucking Bodie's mouth with a carelessness he had no business displaying when Bodie's right hand shifted infinitesimally on his butt cheek. As Ray slammed in again, Bodie scrambled to get a better grip. Instead of remaining chastely on the rounded globe of his posterior, Bodie's fingers dipped down between the dark, sweaty crease between his cheeks for the very first time.

The gesture was purely accidental. Ray could tell by the scared look that touched Bodie's face as Ray pulled back in the natural pattern of thrust/withdrawal.

Their eyes met.

Doyle was panting so hard he couldn't take in enough oxygen to clear his senses to get a rational thought in. His only awareness was that there was no fear here at the moment.

The hot glitter of Bodie's eyes told him that his lover was almost as gone as he was. Only, Bodie was coherent enough to be watching him, no doubt trying to judge Doyle's response.

Their gazes still locked, Ray saw his partner's face fill with resolve.

Looking like he expected his entire world to explode at any second, Bodie deliberately dipped his middle finger deep into that dark rift between Doyle's cheeks. Like a homing missile, that slender digit hit its target on its first sweep.

The rockets that went off following Bodie's finger's initial probe into forbidden territory turned into an all out nuclear blast as the wide pad brushed across Doyle's tight puckered sphincter. His system reached critical mass and melted into a zillion bursts of radiant energy that was so far beyond a simple orgasm that it didn't even belong in the same category. That was all she wrote. Every neuron Ray Doyle owned spasmed and shorted out under the fireball of unexpected ecstasy that blazed through him.

Bodie's head lowered and sucked him in again at that vital instant and Ray was coming and coming and coming . . . .

His semen geysered forth like it would never stop, while Bodie drank him down

like a man dying of thirst in a desert who'd stumbled into an oasis. Bodie sucked, Doyle came . . . and then Ray felt his calves being splattered behind him as the propped up body that was curled around him reached a second climax.

The truth that Bodie's finger had taught him was something Doyle wasn't prepared to accept, but he couldn't refute it, not as he fell forward and hunched there on all fours just trying to drag in enough air to survive the next few minutes. Pleasure like that didn't lie. That one little finger just brushing him there had left him so wiped out that he couldn't even breathe right, let alone think straight.

"Christ, mate," Bodie gasped out from where his head was folded somewhere between Doyle's thighs and bent over chest.

It was a statement of how blown away Ray was that, even though he understood that the position had to be uncomfortable for his partner, he was too far gone to do anything about it at the moment.

Left on his own, Bodie managed to squiggle his squashed face out from the vice of Doyle's body. Bodie didn't move far, though. He just shifted far enough back to breathe, and then collapsed beside Doyle.

Ray's eyes were clenched shut as he knelt there almost in panic, struggling to accept what his extreme response to Bodie's finger revealed about him.

Bodie's hand gently stroked over Doyle's spine and flanks. Ray could tell from Bodie's bellows-like gulps for air that his partner was still too far gone to be too aware of Ray's crisis. It was almost as though Bodie's hand sensed Ray's mood and offered comfort of its own accord.

Ray shivered in something that was definitely not repulsion as that palm swept over his butt in the course of its travels. There was nothing overtly sexual in Bodie's gesture; it was simply a comfort thing.

To Ray's consternation, his reaction was anything but oblique. His climax had blasted his cock into the stratosphere, taking all of its innards with it in that transformative climax . His shaft should have been hanging there like an empty sock. What his cock had absolutely no business doing was filling up and coming to attention at the mere brush of Bodie's hand in that no trespass zone.

"You okay, Ray?" Bodie questioned, sounding much more himself.

"Yeah," Doyle answered, knowing he sounded too sharp, but having no way to keep his irritation from flavouring his response.

Aware that if he didn't demonstrate his well being soon that there'd be more questions, and possibly more touches to that traitorous area, Doyle forced himself up into a sitting position. A couple of deep breaths, and he thought he could dare Bodie's gaze.

Doyle needn't have agonized so, his shagged out mate looked seconds away from sleep. Little wonder. Bodie had had two orgasms in less than an hour.

"You goin' back to sleep?" Ray asked, praying that he didn't sound too hopeful.

"Thought I might," Bodie yawned. "You mind?"

"Nah, thought I'd work on that landscape for a while, catch the fall colours in the mornin' light," he extemporized. Hating the fact that he didn't have the discipline to resist that sleepy smile, Ray bent down and deposited a soft kiss to Bodie's forehead. His partner was asleep before Doyle's lips left the smooth, warm skin.

Disturbed by what else he mightn't be able to resist, Doyle pried himself from the bed and headed for the shower.

---

Chapter Eleven

Aside from the occasional popping of a burning log in the hearth, the rustle of turning papers, or the steady scratch of a paintbrush across canvas, the sitting room was silent.

Bodie sat on the couch, trying to concentrate on the mass of papers Cowley had left for him, but his gaze kept creeping back to his partner. Ray was totally engrossed in his work, completely oblivious to everything but colour and shape.

They'd been in here since early this afternoon, working on their separate projects, not speaking much, but highly aware of each other on a physical level after this morning's loving. The picture window and everything behind it was now nothing but a field of black, reflecting their images back into the brightly lit room. His stomach was beginning to remind him that it was long past time for dinner, but Bodie was too caught up in watching Ray to pay those hunger pains much mind.

He was still in awe of his partner, unable to believe what had passed between them this morning. His darkest secrets were now out in the open. Ray knew all about his past now, and he was still here. Ray hadn't bolted from him, hadn't judged him as the monster Bodie had branded himself for decades. His partner had been shocked and upset as any decent human being would have been at the exposure of such savagery, but Ray had stayed. More than that, Ray had laid him down and loved him like he was still worthy of affection and care. It was the tenderness Ray had shown him more than anything that had gotten to Bodie.

"You're burning a hole down the side'uv my face," Ray remarked into the silence.

"Sorry," Bodie said, forcing his gaze back to the security documents, but within minutes, he was staring at those long, loose curls again.

Ray's brow puckered in a frown and then he turned to look at him.

Bodie felt his cheeks warm. Yesterday, he would have given Doyle an amused grin at being caught again, but he felt unaccountably shy around Ray since this morning. Unconsciously holding his breath, Bodie waited to be politely asked to leave the room so that the artist could work in peace, but after a moment, Ray gave him a smile and asked, "You hungry?"

Bodie swallowed hard and nodded.

"Help me clean my brushes?" Ray peeked up at him from under his lashes.

"Sure," he agreed, that look constricting his heart. He stowed his papers safely out of harm's way and moved to take the jarful of soaking brushes to the kitchen sink, conscious of Ray's heat beside him all the way. Quickly and efficiently putting to good use the turpentine that sat next to the dish liquid on the sink, Bodie cleaned the paint off a rainbow variety of brushes.

Ray must be doing an autumnal piece, Bodie thought, judging from the rusts, golds, and oranges he worked out of the soft bristles.

While he dealt with the cleanup, Doyle quickly assembled a variety of leftovers from the refrigerator.

"Cold chicken, carrots, and potato salad okay?" Ray asked, dumping the jar of carrots into a small pot for reheating.

"Uh huh," Bodie absently agreed, concentrating on working a clump of Indian Red out of a fan brush.

When he was done and the brushes were all neatly drying upside down in their jar on the counter, Ray replaced him at the sink to carefully wash off his hands with turpentine and soap, doing things backwards as usual. Washing the hands was supposed to come first, before touching the fridge and every surface in the kitchen.

Bodie automatically moved to the stove to start heating the veggie. He felt a small smile touch his lips as he noticed the burnt sienna paint streaking the handle of the little aluminum pot. Ray's toothbrush handle was a multicolored spectacle these days as well. Bodie supposed that he was lucky his cock wasn't speckled with paint at this point.

In a few short moments, they were sitting down across from each other at the small cedar table between the kitchen and sitting room. Bodie stared down at his plate as he attacked his food. He tried to keep his gaze off Ray, but that was like trying to keep himself from breathing.

After a few minutes of companionable munching, puzzlement touched Ray's features.

"Are you all right?" Ray asked.

"Yeah. Why?" Bodie answered too fast.

"You've been awful quiet," Ray said.

"Have I?"

"Yeah," Ray's gaze was level, the concern in it unmistakable.

All Bodie wanted to do was run. He waited for the inevitable barrage of questions that always came when he felt backed to the wall like this, but aside from watching him, Ray made no further fuss.

They finished eating in the slightly heavy silence and then cleaned up the dishes together. Their wordless routine went a long way in soothing Bodie's ruffled nerves. Nothing was different. This was the way they'd cleaned up every night since Ray had started to come out of his shell. It was like this morning's bombshell had never happened.

As he dried off the last plate, Bodie wondered if this was what a stable relationship felt like. He'd only had two lovers in his life who'd hung around long enough to be contenders. Marika and Jimmy Keller. Marika had been more about chemistry than commitment, and Keller . . . well, the less he thought about Jimmy, the better.

"You want to call it a night?" Ray asked.

Bodie glanced at the kitchen clock. It had almost gone nine thirty. "Sure, why not? I'll close up down here."

Ray gave him the same kind of bone melting smile he had last night and then headed up the stairs.

Bodie took his time locking up. When he returned to their room, Ray was in the shower, no doubt trying to work stray paint splatters out of his curls. Bodie had given up the hope of ever seeing his mate in solid coloured clothes again. Everything Ray owned these days looked like a Jackson Pollock print.

He popped into the half bath across the hall to see to his own ablutions and was waiting in bed when Ray sauntered out of the master bath in a cloud of steam twenty minutes later. Ray was dressed in his blue striped pyjama bottoms – the only pair yet that wasn't dotted with paint – and a bath towel.

The warm, damp scents of Ray's shampoo and soap filled the room as Ray paused in front of the mirror to towel the water out of his long hair.

"Do you think I should cut it?" the muffled question came from beneath the moving towel and was barely comprehensible.

"Hmmm?" Bodie asked.

"My hair." Ray's pink face popped out from amidst the voluminous white folds. "Do you think it's getting' too long?"

Bodie took in the wet sheepdog look and tried to be objective, but there was nothing he loved more than feeling those long locks slide between his fingers. "I think it suites you, but if it bothers you . . . ."

Ray grinned and chuckled. "Some help you are."

Bodie found himself smiling back.

"That's better," Ray approved, dispensing with the wet towel by the expedient of dropping it on the floor as he approached the bed.

"What's better?" Bodie asked as Ray climbed in on his side.

"You've been a million miles away all day," Ray said. It wasn't voiced as a complaint, more like an observation.

Tensing inside, Bodie realized that there was no avoiding the issue. Ray wasn't his bird of the week, nor was he simply his partner anymore. As much as he'd like to, he couldn't just walk away from this kind of conversation, not without setting a very bad precedent and hurting Ray. Even if he were willing to do the first, the second just wasn't happening.

Feeling every muscle he owned turn to stone, Bodie softly offered, "A couple of thousand miles south would be more accurate."

"Ah." Ray watched him across the pillows. "The memories botherin' you?"

Doyle's warm hand settled on his bare shoulder. It wasn't a sexual touch, just a point of contact.

Those particular reminiscences always left Bodie feeling so unclean that it was a wonder to him that Ray could touch him at all. That worried green gaze was watching him, waiting. Everything in him was screaming for Bodie to run, but this was Ray. So, instead of fleeing, he did his best to answer honestly, "I . . . never told a soul about any of that stuff, Ray. Never figured anybody would hang around after hearing it."

Doyle's gaze never wavered. His voice thick with emotion, Ray pointed out, "I told you some fairly disgusting details of what happened to me. You're still here."

"That's different," Bodie dismissed.

"How?"

"You didn't sign on for any of that, Ray. I . . . volunteered."

"You didn't volunteer for that nightmare. You were just a kid. You made a mistake that nearly killed you. But you got through it; that's all that matters." Ray leaned in to deposit a gentle kiss on his forehead and then gathered him into his arms.

Burying his face in the hollow of Ray's neck and shoulder, Bodie snuggled closer, his cheek resting on Doyle's wet curls as he breathed in Ray's soapy clean scent. He simply could not believe this man was real.

Ray held him that way for a very long time, stroking his back, easing his troubled nerves through sheer proximity.

This was another thing he wasn't accustomed to. There had never been anyone he could turn to for comfort like this, providing that he'd ever been man enough to admit he needed it at all. His relationship with Jimmy Keller had been the closest thing in his past to what he had with Ray, and even there, Bodie had never been able to trust enough to allow his vulnerabilities to show, even after Jimmy took that bullet for him. His caution had proven wise in the long run, for Keller had played him for a fool the same way Marika had. Even so, it would have been nice to have had this kind of closeness somewhere down the line. That Ray could offer comfort to him now, after everything his partner had been through, only proved how strong Ray was inside. Or how much Ray loved him. Either way, Bodie recognized that he was a lucky man.

When he eventually lifted his face to look up at Ray, Bodie's mouth was immediately taken in a kiss. His partner's hands tightened on his back as their mouths melded. As the kiss deepened with passion, it felt like Ray knew exactly what he needed, without his having to ask for it.

Doyle made no protest when Bodie's lips moved to his neck. Bodie loved the sensual lines of the long throat, and he loved what his mouth could do to Ray when he put it to proper use there. Within moments, Ray was moaning, his body melting in open invitation and absolute trust.

If ever Bodie had needed concrete proof that his revelations hadn't changed anything, this was it. Words of acceptance and consoling gestures could be offered for the sake of propriety, but his abused partner would never have been able to fake passion like this. If Bodie's disclosure had changed Ray's feelings for him, his touch would have revealed it.

What it did reveal was an incredible amount of enthusiasm on Ray's part. Every time they made love, it seemed to get easier. There would be fewer walls, fewer roadblocks. Tonight Ray didn't even tense as Bodie's bulkier body covered him. Ray just pulled him closer, those long fingered hands claiming his back with the same artistic flair they'd use to map out a new canvas.

While those hands moved restlessly over his back, Bodie worked his way down Doyle's front. He could have spent all night at that artfully dusted chest, but Ray kept thrusting his hips up at him in silent invitation, just begging for more attention down below. And it wasn't in Bodie to deny him anything.

Bodie's fingers followed the soft, intimate trail of hair that arrowed down the centre of Ray's flat belly. His fingertips drifted over the elastic waistband of Ray's pyjamas, lightly skimming the cotton-covered flesh below. Ray's helpless whimper had to be the hottest turn on he'd ever had.

Bodie pressed the heel of his palm against that demanding cock, intoxicated by how much Ray was loving this. Doyle's muscles remained wonderfully pliant as Bodie peeled the obstructing pyjama bottoms off his mate. There seemed to be no fear at all tonight.

The lamplight caught the red highlights in Ray's pubic and thigh hair, and glistened off the moisture sheening that delicately sculptured penis. Moved by Doyle's slender beauty, Bodie could only stare for a while.

The pause was obviously too much for Ray. Within a few heartbeats, Ray was thrusting his hips up at him again and there was nothing to be done but touch that tender jewel. Bodie gathered the moist flesh into his hand, delighting in how it pulsed and grew larger at his first touch.

"Ahhh . . . Bodie, pleassssse . . ." Ray sobbed.

Even if that request hadn't reduced him to jelly, Bodie couldn't have resisted the lure. Bending his head, he sucked in that straining shaft, greedily lapping in Ray's succulent flavour. So hot, everything about this man was just so unbelievably hot.

Ray's hands cupped his head, frantic fingers gripping his short hair to hold him close.

With someone else, Bodie might have been tempted to string this out, but Ray had suffered so much that all he wanted to do was lavish pleasure on his lover. So, he sucked Ray for all he was worth, letting his fingers pay homage to those soft balls while he serviced that hungry penis.

When he brushed his index finger over the sensitive flesh behind the testicles a few minutes later, Ray hissed and spread his thighs wide apart. Bodie repeated the action, this time earning a full-fledged moan. This previously verboten territory was obviously an intensely sensitive erogenous zone. Ray's hips jerked up so high that they almost sent Doyle's cock poking out the back of his throat.

Bodie knew from personal experience that that particular area was a landmine of sensation, and Ray Doyle was the most sensual person he'd ever met. It only stood to reason that Ray would be excited by this.

He raised his head from his service for a moment, needing to see his partner's face.

It was just as Bodie suspected. Ray looked turned on as hell, and equally freaked out by the source of his excitement.

"Hey," Bodie called, drawing the torn gaze his way. Doyle seemed to calm some when their eyes met. "Your body's designed to give you pleasure. It isn't a crime to enjoy it, sunshine."

To illustrate his point, Bodie allowed his forefinger to brush over the tight bud of muscle directly behind the perineum he'd been stroking. Doyle had enjoyed it this morning when he'd touched him there, even though Bodie had known that it was unnerving his partner on any number of levels.

Doyle's body liked it just as much as it had this morning, if not more. Ray gasped, his hips instinctively lurching up at him.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Bodie checked.

He saw Ray's Adam's apple gulp upwards as he gave a guarded nod.

"Nothing's going to happen that doesn't feel good," he promised.

Ray gave a noisy swallow and then admitted in a low tone, "I'm . . . afraid."

"Of me?" Bodie asked, freezing all motion.

Ray gave a negative shake of his head and followed it up with a low, "No. I just don't know if I'm ready . . . . "

"This isn't about that," Bodie assured. "This is about finding out what feels good. You seem to like it – "

"I shouldn't," Ray said, his cheeks turning scarlet with shame.

"Why? Because of Van Cleef?" Seeing that horrible self-consciousness enter Ray's previously passion-dazed eyes, Bodie said, "Ray, you have a right to enjoy your body. If you don't reclaim that right, then that bastard wins. Nothing's going to happen here that you don't like. If something makes you uncomfortable, you just say and we stop immediately. Don't let him win, Ray. Please."

"It's a question of trust, isn't it?" Doyle said after a silent moment, appearing even more stricken, if possible.

Bodie caught hold of one of the hands in his hair and guided it down to his face. Depositing a kiss on the sweaty palm, he shook his head and said, "No. I know you trust me. It's a question of how much control you're going to let that bastard have over you. "

"How so?" Doyle grated out.

"If you don't like something and don't want to do it, that's one thing. But letting that degenerate poison your pleasure . . . that's another."

Ray squeezed his eyes shut and then softly admitted, "He used to say I was born to be buggered, that I took to it like a babe to mother's milk."

"You never liked what he did to you, never," Bodie soothed. "Just because your body might've responded, doesn't mean you liked him forcing you. Every man's body is sensitive there. It's no different than stroking a bloke's balls. No matter who you do it to, you're going to get a strong reaction."

"Truth?"

"Didn't you like to be touched there before Van Cleef?" Bodie questioned.

That flush was now making its way to Doyle's neck. "I don't remember."

Bodie recalled his partner's amnesia. More and more, it was getting easier to forget about it as Ray recovered.

"Damn. Sorry. I forgot," Bodie said.

"It doesn't seem the kind've thing you could ask most women for, though, does it?" Ray hazarded. "Wouldn't it get you some peculiar looks?"

"Guess I'm used to peculiar looks, sunshine," Bodie grinned. Relieved he saw a smile touch Ray's face and some of the embarrassed colour recede.

"You like it, then?" Doyle asked, looking as though he weren't certain if he should have voiced the question.

Realizing that he was going about this all wrong, Bodie turned his face into the hand that had been absently petting his cheek throughout their discussion. Capturing Ray's middle finger between his lips, he sucked it into his mouth and slicked it up. Taking hold of Ray's wrist, he withdrew the tasty finger from his mouth and said with a grin, "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Not waiting for a response, he guided Ray's captured hand to his bottom.

His eyes very wide and endearingly uncertain, Doyle tentatively brushed his fingers between the crease of Bodie's arse.

Bodie didn't have to exaggerate his enjoyment. The whoosh of abruptly released breath was ripped from his lungs as the shiversome delight inspired by those tentative fingers slithered through him. It had been so long, so damn long since anyone had caressed him there. Bodie's head tilted back, his eyes sinking shut and mouth parting as he savoured the sensation to its fullest.

"You weren't kiddin', were you?" Ray asked in a hushed tone.

Bodie gulped, trying to find his voice, but he didn't even have the wherewithal to open his eyes under the deluge of feeling.

Always a quick study, Ray didn't wait for instruction. His touch growing far more confident, Ray slipped his fingers further in, pausing only when they brushed over the tight guarded bud of muscle hidden there.

Bodie's entire body jolted at the contact, the flash fire of delight ripping a helpless gasp from him.

Doyle didn't disappoint him. That talented finger stroked and rimmed the puckered opening until Bodie felt he'd explode.

"More?" Bodie begged when that precious dalliance finally faltered.

"Wha – ?"

Bodie opened his eyes at the stunned sounding question.

Pausing long enough to assure himself that he hadn't put Ray off, Bodie straddled Ray's waist and leaned over as far as he could to reach the nightstand's drawer. Fortunately, the cream he'd used this summer to ease Ray's sunburn whenever his nudist partner lingered too long in the sun was right where he remembered leaving it. Fumbling the lid off the blue and white jar, he held the open jar of fragrant white cream out to Doyle.

He expected some kind of smart comment on the floral scent, but Ray only dug his fingers into the offered cream. A moment later, those gooey digits were back where they could be put to best use.

Bodie groaned as that long middle finger greased the aperture, and then slowly slid up its centre. There was nothing shy about Ray now. Bodie could hear his partner's hoarse breathing as Doyle pushed his way up that tight passage.

A sudden twist, and Ray found that magic spot for which he was obviously searching. Bodie couldn't hold back his outcry as the resulting sensations pummelled him. So good . . . near perfect. There was only one thing that would make it better and Bodie didn't hesitate to demand, "More."

Once again, Ray humoured him. A second finger pushed up into his bottom. The talented duet twisted around, delighting him with every wiggle. Concentrating on the pleasure, Bodie felt himself gradually stretching around Ray's fingers.

Opening his eyes, Bodie sought his partner's gaze. He didn't know what he was expecting – an indulgent smile perhaps – certainly anything but the passion flushed cheeks and hot, glittering gaze that speared his own.

At that moment, they were of one mind, one soul, one need. Bodie dug his fingers deep into the jar of cream. Taking up a heaping helping, he reached for Ray's hungry-looking shaft.

The tensing of his partner's muscles brought his gaze up to Ray's face. An intriguing struggle was going on there. Passion and prudence were a bizarre mixture, but Bodie knew without asking that his partner was experiencing both.

"Give me this, please?" he all but begged.

"It wouldn't be fair for me'ta – "

Bodie covered those luscious, full lips with his index finger. "Ssssh. I'm never going to ask for something you're not able to give me, Ray. We're not keeping score here. You want it. I want it. What would be the harm?"

Ray relaxed some. "You sure?"

In answer, Bodie slathered the now-warm cream over Doyle's straining penis.

Ray groaned at the touch, his cock twitching like he might shoot his load right then and there. But Bodie was able to get him greased up before disaster struck.

Rolling over onto his back, Bodie pulled his knees up tight to his chest, while his hands guided Doyle in between his dangling ankles.

Ray looked a little overwhelmed, but there was no protest in his eyes. Moving with a confidence for which Bodie would be ever grateful, Ray guided his enlarged shaft to Bodie's anus and carefully pushed through the outer ring of muscle.

Bodie grunted at the sensation. It had been so long, and Ray was big by any standards. The stretch and bulk were impressive.

"You okay?" Doyle froze, uncertainty touching his face.

Bodie gave Ray's shaft an internal squeeze and rasped out, "Never better, sunshine, never better."

To illustrate his point, he hooked his ankles together behind the small of Ray's back and gave a suggestive push.

With a grunt of his own, Ray nudged the slightest bit further into him. A sheen of fresh sweat broke out over Doyle's entire body, making him glow in the lamp light like a well-oiled body builder.

Looking up at those wild, chestnut curls and Ray's passion-torn expression as he slowly claimed every inch of Bodie as his own, Bodie almost felt as though he'd slipped into one of his old, late night fantasies. He'd dreamed of this for so many years. But he'd never thought it could happen. Oh, he'd been fairly certain that he might have lured Doyle into his bed for a night of wild, sexual frolics, but Bodie knew that he'd never have had the nerve to ask this of his partner if he'd manoeuvred Doyle into his bed while they were back in C.I.5. It was one thing to have it off with your partner in a mutual shedding of inhibitions. Life could go on pretty much the same as normal after a blow or hand job; Bodie's relationship with Keller had more than proven that. However, asking your partner to bugger you could change the dynamics of a relationship forever – as Bodie had also learned to his detriment with Keller.

Yet, what he was sharing now with Ray had nothing to do with the failures of his past.

As Bodie watched the incandescent joy take hold of Ray's eyes as Doyle seeped into him as smooth as melting butter and felt the growing confidence in Ray's movements, he knew that he wasn't going to ever regret this night. This wasn't about roles or power. It wasn't even about hot sex, even though it was probably the most significant sex he'd ever had. Bodie knew on an instinctive level that he wasn't going to come out the loser in this union or be made to feel diminished by it. Doyle would never throw it up in his face that he'd wanted this like Jimmy had.

No, this was the complete antithesis of everything he'd come to expect when having sex with another man. This was about healing . . . and trust . . . and an emotion that Bodie knew he'd never truly felt in his life before, for all the lip service he'd paid that particular four-letter word over the years.

As his body stretched to accommodate Doyle's bulk, Bodie clung onto those broad shoulders, watching every nuance of expression that flickered across his partner's sweat-drenched face. Ray was loving it as much as he was . . . loving him.

After that brief period of initial discomfort when Ray reintroduced Bodie to this pleasure, Doyle changed his angle of entry slightly, and Bodie's universe realigned. That huge cock of Ray's nudged into his prostate with that move, opening the floodgates of pleasure that had made this often painful act one of Bodie's most cherished delights.

Ray mightn't have any memory of his sexual exploits, but his body obviously remembered. Ray pulled out and reentered, hitting that same spot again, blasting Bodie with the sheerest of ecstasies.

Bodie's eyes snapped shut, his lips parting in a helpless, "Ahhhh."

Ray started thrusting in earnest then, taking Bodie higher and higher with every plunge in. The only sounds in the room were their hoarse breaths, grunts, and the slap of their flesh.

Bodie could hardly hear any of it over the pounding of his heart. He was nothing but feeling. His whole life, his whole body, everything he'd ever dreamed, wished, or felt had been done to bring him to this moment in time. As Ray joined them in the most primitive, primal way possible, Bodie knew that he was never going to be the same man again.

Orgasm hit him like a runaway train, bursting through every neuron he owned in a dizzying swell of sensation. Bodie felt his body explode at almost the same instant Ray stilled inside him in a final, wild thrust. Whose cry was the loudest, Bodie couldn't say. All he knew was that it sounded like the response were torn from their very souls. It certainly felt that way from inside it.

They seemed to soar in that transcendental moment of utter bliss for an eternity, before coming back to themselves.

Ray slipped out of Bodie's body and then sagged down on top of him in a boneless, but heavy, sprawl.

Bodie closed his arms around Ray and just hung on while the world slowly righted itself around him.

When they were breathing at something near a normal rate and the sweat had begun to cool off both their bodies, Ray lifted his head to look down at him.

Bodie experienced a moment of pure terror at the thought that Ray might expect him to express his feelings on what had just passed between them. But all Ray did was take his mouth in a slow, sultry kiss that had parts of Bodie tingling that had no right to be working after such an immolating climax.

Ray pulled the duvet over them both mid-kiss, and shifted his weight so that he was lying beside Bodie, rather than on top of him. And then Doyle did the most reassuring thing another man could do at such a moment. He closed his eyes and went to sleep – mid-kiss.

Chuckling to himself, Bodie gave his unconscious partner one last smooch before following him down into Morpheus' sweet embrace.

---

Chapter Twelve

"Hey, there."

Bodie grinned at the familiar deep voice, his stomach lurching with longing.

Their first separation. He'd never thought four days could last this long.

"Hey, yourself. How are you?" Bodie asked, sinking down on the side of the hotel bed.

"More lonesome than I should be," Doyle admitted. "This is pathetic. It hasn't even been a full day since we spoke."

"Yeah, well, who called who last night?" Bodie reminded, so Doyle would be in no doubt that their separation was a mutual ordeal.

"Thanks for ringing me up," Ray said. "It helped."

"A couple hours and I'll be on my way home," Bodie promised. "A couple of very long hours."

"How's it going?" Doyle asked.

"Slow. Did I mention that I miss you?"

Doyle's loving laughter rippled through him. "Several times last night."

"It's worse this morning," Bodie complained.

"But aside from that?" Doyle prodded.

"It's a pretty big aside. But if you're asking about the conference, it went well. Mohammad was pleased with the security arrangements."

"Mohammad?" Doyle interrupted, sounding confused before he finished with, "Oh, yeah, that was what you said Cowley called C.I.5's Minister, right?"

"Actually, it was what the Minister called himself. But, to answer your question, Sir William was happy with the team I put together. He asked this morning if I could provide security for his friend's meeting in Paris in April."

There was a long pause, and then Ray asked in too casual a voice, "Are you goin'ta do it?"

"Thought we'd talk about it when I got back," Bodie said, wishing he could see his lover's face.

"Paris in April, huh?" Ray asked after a momentary silence.

"Yeah. Does it appeal to your artistic streak?" Bodie asked.

"What?"

Hearing the pleased surprise, Bodie said, "I thought maybe you might like to come next time. We could take a few extra days. Do the town. How's it sound?"

"Like you're in as bad a state as me," Ray joked, but Bodie could tell how happy the suggestion had made him.

"I think I mentioned that I missed you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, maybe once or twice," Ray said, his tone warm and embracing. "When did you say you were leaving?"

Bodie chuckled. "I'm just packing up now."

"Good."

"You keeping busy?" Bodie asked, just wanting to hear his voice.

"Marie's running me ragged with busywork. Wilhelm and I fixed both sheds, painted the deck and all the outside furniture, and waxed the rental skis. We're waiting for her to order us to paint the lodge next. And I finished two pieces." Ray reported and then added, "Did I mention that I miss you?"

The laughter felt just as good as it had when they'd been doing this in the dark last night.

"You might have done," Bodie said when they'd calmed. "Just once or twice, though."

"Well, I do," Ray said.

"Not for long. I'll be back before you know it."

"Good." Ray's voice was touchingly hopeful.

The silence and the miles stretched between them.

"Guess I'd better let you go," Ray sighed.

"If you want me to get home," Bodie replied, equally reluctant to end the conversation.

"I want you home. I want you anywhere," Ray said in a low tone.

Bodie shivered. He wasn't used to Ray being that vocal about his wants, but then, Ray was healing by leaps and bounds. What didn't fly one day, was often on the menu the next. Sometimes, he just had to give his partner some room to ponder an issue.

"Yeah, me too," Bodie gruffly admitted.

"Bodie – "

"Yeah?" he encouraged.

"I, ahhh . . . ."

Hearing those three words that neither of them were comfortable voicing echo unspoken in the line, Bodie softly admitted, "I feel the same way."

"You do?" Ray's voice hovered somewhere between wonder and pleasure.

"Yeah, and I'll prove it to you when I get home."

"Hurry," Ray urged.

"Will do. See you."

"Bye, then," Ray said, sounding as miserable as Bodie felt.

God, he hated this.

"Bye." He waited till Doyle rang off before returning the receiver to its cradle.

The room seemed incredibly empty as he turned back to his packing. It was amazing how quickly humans became accustomed to things. A month ago, he never would have dreamed it possible that Ray and he could be lovers, and now it seemed almost alien to sleep alone.

Bodie took one last look around the elegant room and closed his suitcase. For all the Marriott Hotel's luxuries, he was eager to be home. His heart light as a schoolboy's, he headed for the door.

South African marble floors, antique oriental rugs, brass and crystal chandeliers . . the room the lift spat him into was more of a palace than a lobby.

"Bodie!" a voice stopped him as he exited the lift.

Recognizing Sir William's cultured tones, Bodie turned to C.I.5's former Minister. The older gent looked fairly much as he had when Bodie had worked under him. His hair was still as white, his Seville Row suit as impeccable, and his gaze just as alert and perceptive. "Sir William."

He was relieved to see that Reynolds and Parmington were still where they were paid to be – at Sir William's side. It would be the foolish villain, indeed, that tangled with the impressive bodyguards.

They paused beside a Duncan Fife table with a vase of red roses on it to speak. Bodie could smell the roses from three feet away.

"Once again, I must congratulate you on your fine work," Sir William said, his brown eyes alight with pleasure.

"All the result of good training, sir," Bodie replied. "Are you on your way home, then?"

"Yes. Garrett's gone to arrange for the car. Have you given any thought to my proposal?"

"The Marcharet gig?" Bodie checked.

"Yes. It's not as sensitive or as high profile a situation as that Parsali operation you handled for George, but Pierre could use a good man like you running the show."

He fervently hoped it wouldn't be as hot a situation as the Pasali case. That one had nearly gotten them killed. "I'd like to discuss it with my partner before making a firm commitment."

"Ah, of course. How is Doyle these days?" Sir William politely enquired.

Hard up didn't seem the appropriate response somehow, even though it was the first rejoinder that popped into his mind. Bodie confined himself to a bland, if honest, "He's getting better by the day."

"Ah, that's good to hear. He's a fine man. I wouldn't want to see – "

"Excuse me, sir, but your car is here," the bulky brunet Reynolds interrupted.

"Ah, yes. Well, good seeing you again, Bodie," Sir William said.

"Always a pleasure, sir. Have a safe trip home. Give my regards to old George, will you, sir?" Bodie grinned.

"Shall I phrase it that way?" Sir William asked with a sly glint in his eye.

"Er . . . ."

"I thought as much," the older man grinned. "I will give George your regards. You will let me know your decision about the Paris security job? I'll need your answer within the month."

"Yes, sir. I won't forget."

"You have my card?" the former Minister checked.

"Don't need it," Bodie said and then rattled off the number.

"George trained you well. It's a pity . . . well, time to go."

Bodie quickly shook Sir William's offered hand. He watched his fellow Englishman until Sir William disappeared with his bodyguards into the dark sedan out front.

Checkout was for once an uncomplicated affair. Bodie was on his own way out the door within moments.

Two more of Bodie's hired talent were escorting the Israeli delegate to his car. Bodie observed the smooth professionalism with which his men worked. They were competent without being overbearing, able to remain in the background while executing their duties. He was pleased with this crew. Between his own contacts and Jacques', he'd been able to assemble an impressive team. If he took that Paris gig, he'd want to make sure several of these men were available.

Following behind, Bodie watched Carter, the unusually tall black man in his employ, precede his charge through the hotel's revolving door. Carter's partner trailed the delegate like clockwork. The three stepped out onto the busy street, and were passed by an enormous man in a blue jacket who made Carter seem small.

Bodie frowned as he followed his men out of the revolving door into a grey, cold day. He'd only caught a glimpse of the passing man's face, but he'd seemed very familiar. While Carter and his partner hurried the Israeli delegate to his car, Bodie stared after the huge passer-by.

He couldn't place where he knew him from, but his instincts were telling him that the man meant trouble. Suitcase in hand, Bodie turned and followed the stranger.

After a right turn at the corner onto the less crowded side street, his quarry slowed down some. The man made the next right, which Bodie knew led to the hotel's service entrance.

Bodie fished his RT from his pocket and quickly clicked it on. "Jenkins?"

"Yes, sir?" his assistant swiftly replied.

"I've got an intruder coming around the service entrance. Get someone down here right away to check it out," Bodie ordered. "Damn, I've lost sight of him. I'm going in."

"I'll get someone right on it. Please don't – "

Bodie clicked off the transmitter and re-pocketed it. Hugging the wall, he cautiously eased himself into the shadowed alleyway.

It was almost a universal law that these types of service entrances be poorly lit and offensive to the nose, Bodie thought as he silently moved into the seemingly empty alley.

The hotel door was still locked tight. At this proximity, he would have heard it if the door had opened and closed, so the man still had to be out here somewhere.

Bodie carefully eased his way around a delivery crate . . . and grunted as something hard and painful bashed into the back of his skull. His last awareness was of his suitcase tumbling to the dirty ground, and himself following it down.

---

"Ray, dear," Marie called from the attic workroom's doorway. "Telephone."

"Have you been calling me long?" Ray asked, dumping his brush to soak in the nearby jar and then wiping his hands on a rainbow speckled towel. He was making a conscious effort to use the towels and hand rags to clean his hands off before moving out of the room. Just this morning he'd done inventory of his clothes and realized that he didn't have a single shirt or tee shirt that wasn't speckled with paint. The blue one he had on today was a veritable smorgasbord of colour.

His plump taskmaster was looking very fetching today in a rust coloured skirt and gold jumper, he noticed.

"No," Marie entered the room to peer at his latest work. "I like it."

"You always like it. You're my biggest fan," Ray grinned, giving her a quick peck on the forehead beneath her blonde curls.

"Second biggest fan. I think Bodie is even less objective than me," she laughed.

"Well, there's that," he was forced to agree, "Is it Bodie on the phone?"

He knew he sounded too eager, but he couldn't help it. If Bodie didn't get back here soon, he was going to go insane.

"No, I don't know who it is. He said it was important, though," Marie said as they started down the stairs together. "Run along, Ray. Don't let me slow you down. It's important."

Giving her a quick smile as he passed, he hastened down the steps.

The phone's receiver was sitting on the spotless reception desk. A little breathless from his sprint, Doyle picked it up. "Hullo."

"Mister Doyle?" The man was British, but a stranger.

"Yes," Ray warily acknowledged the unfamiliar voice. "Who's this?"

"I'm Paul Jenkins. I've been helping Bodie out on the Marriott security job," Jenkins briefly explained.

"Ah, yes. Bodie's mentioned you." Ray knew without asking that Jenkins wasn't calling him for a good reason. Everything tightening up inside him, Doyle quickly asked, "Is he alive?"

The resulting pause was the longest ten seconds Ray had ever endured. Finally, Jenkins said, "We don't know."

Not knowing was good, Ray told himself. It was definitely better than the alternative. "What happened?"

"The conference was finished. We were closing up shop, getting the few remaining delegates to the airport, when Bodie called me on the RT to report a suspicious intruder at the delivery entrance. When my men got there, they were nearly mowed down by a blue Chevy van. They gave chase, but lost the vehicle in the warehouse district. That was . . . ten minutes ago, now," Jenkins reported.

His brain frozen with shock, it took Ray a moment to get the wherewithal to ask, "Bodie was in the van?"

"We can't say for sure, Mr. Doyle, but it seems likely. We found Bodie's suitcase abandoned in the alley. I think if he were able to, he would have contacted us by now, though it's only been a half hour since I got his call."

"Yes, of course," Doyle said, his world dropping out from under him. Bodie was missing – kidnapped from the sound of it. From somewhere inside, a competent stranger emerged to ask the pertinent questions. "Are the police there yet?"

"They just arrived on the scene. We're waiting for Interpol. I'm going to have to go speak to them."

"Yes."

"The authorities will be contacting you as his next of kin shortly, no doubt, but I thought you'd appreciate a head's up," Jenkins said.

"Yes, thank you," Doyle numbly acknowledged.

"Mr. Doyle?" Jenkins said.

"Yes?"

"I've known Bodie for nearly fifteen years. The boys and me feel pretty much the same way. This was a choice job Bodie hooked us into. We owe him. If there's anything we can do to help, we're your men."

"Ah . . . thank you, Jenkins. I'm leaving now. I should be down to you in . . ." Ray winced as he calculated the time it was going to take him to reach Geneva, ". . . in a couple of hours."

"It looks like this circus will be here all night. But if it's not, we're in the hotel, registered under my name, Paul Jenkins."

"I'll see you shortly," Ray promised and hung up.

"Ray?" Marie's uncertain tone drew him back from the nightmares his all too lurid imagination insisted on torturing him with. Ray knew better than anyone the horrors of abduction.

"Yes?"

"What's happened?" Marie asked, her face already pale.

"It's Bodie. He's been . . . kidnapped."

"Dear God," she grabbed onto the reception desk's sturdy ledge to steady herself.

"Marie, I'm going to need to borrow the Land Rover. I've got to get down there." His mind already on his destination, Ray turned for the hall that led to the hotel staff's quarters.

"Get there? Ray . . . !"

He was already halfway down the hall before she finished speaking. He tore into his room, moving so fast that he frightened the cat from its nest at the foot of his bed. Chloe jumped off and ran for cover, a grey streak making for the door.

Ray grabbed his black leather jacket out of the closet. Instincts he didn't understand seemed to be taking over. His gaze jumped to the hook on the inside of the closet door – where he normally stowed his gun at home, he abruptly recalled – but all that was on it was a paint-stained work shirt. No gun.

Ray wasn't even sure he'd know what to do with it if he had it, but everything inside him insisted that he couldn't go into this situation unarmed.

"Ray," Marie's frightened sounding voice called from behind him.

"Have you got a gun I can borrow, luv?" Ray asked as he shouldered into his jacket.

"Gun! Ray, you can't do this!" she argued.

"They've got Bodie," he said, trying to remember if either Wilhelm or Marie had ever mentioned possessing a weapon for self-defence. He rushed to the dresser and pulled his wallet out. There was plenty of cash in it, but no ID, nothing that would help him legally procure a handgun, and even if he'd had the ID, Switzerland didn't exactly have a reputation for being militia central.

Deciding that he'd just have to wing it, Ray started for the door

He only stopped when she caught onto him and held him in place. "Ray, be sensible. This is crazy!"

"They've got Bodie!" he repeated, hearing the strain in his voice.

"And what are you going to do about it? Bodie asked me to look after you. I can't let you do this. You don't even rightly remember who you are. What good are you going to be running off half-cocked like this?" Marie asked, her trembling hand gripping at the slick leather covering his shoulders.

"I don't know what good I am anymore," Ray answered, stamping down on the panic that was coursing through him. "All I know is that Bodie is my partner and I can't let him down."

"He wouldn't want you to do this. You know that," Marie reasoned.

"Marie, I don't have time to argue. You can either help me or get out of my way."

He could see that he'd shocked her and perhaps even frightened her a bit, but she didn't move from in front of the door. Her face tightening with resolve, she started, "Ray –"

"It's Bodie," Ray said, wanting to scream it out loud, but somehow he kept the words at a decent level, although he could do nothing about the desperation flavouring them "I don't have a choice."

He didn't know what emotion was showing in his face, but whatever it was, it seemed to overwhelm her.

"All right," she said in the tone of one who knew they were making a grievous error. "But Wilhelm is going with you."

"Wilhelm took those three snowmobiles down to the mechanic to be repaired. He won't be back for hours," Ray reminded. "You've got to trust me, Marie. I'll bring the Land Rover back as soon as I can."

"I don't care about the damn car, Ray! It's you and Bodie I'm worried about!"

"I know that. But I have to do this." he said, touching her cheek. She'd done so much for them both – taken them in and treated them like her own sons. Even though they hadn't said anything to her about the change in their relationship, Ray knew that she'd guessed. And nothing had changed, except that maybe she made a bit more noise when approaching a room if she knew that Bodie and he were alone together in it. She was still the same incredibly loving woman who'd spoon-fed him when he was too confused to want to live – and he was standing here menacing her. What was worse was that he couldn't back down. So he tried to explain, "I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Bodie. You know that. I can't hide my head in the sand while he's in trouble."

Tears swelled in her crystal blue eyes, so close to Bodie's in colour. "I know. Come on, I'll get the car keys."

Together, they rushed to the office where she kept the keys to the various vehicles on a rack of hooks above the desk. As she handed the Land Rover's keys over to him, she abruptly looked her age.

"Thanks, luv," Ray said and kissed her cheek.

"What are you going to do, Ray?" Marie asked as she hurried with him out to the car. It was bitterly cold this afternoon. The slate grey sky looked as though it might snow at any moment.

He paused to look down at her, hating how frail and old she suddenly seemed. "Whatever I have to."

Her face white as chalk, she nodded and swallowed.

"Will you be back?" Marie asked in a small voice, visibly shivering in the cold.

The fear in her eyes hurt him, he knew what she'd been through in her life, all the losses: her parents had turned their backs on her decades ago; her little girl had died unexpectedly; her only son was now away in an internship in Brussels and hardly ever had time to visit anymore; and now the two newcomers she'd taken to her heart were about to disappear as well. Little wonder she was so upset.

"If it's humanly possible, Bodie and I will be back. I promise you, luv," Ray assured. His own mother had never been half as nurturing to him as Marie had.

Seeming calmer, she nodded and then said, "Ray, Bodie told me that you were both with the police, but . . . if something should happen and you need a place to stay where no one can find you . . . this is your home; remember that. Wilhelm and I will do whatever we can to help you. There are places up in the mountains where a man can hide for years, where not even your Mister Cowlick can find you."

"Cowley," Ray corrected with a small smile. "And thank you. We'll be back."

"Please God," she said and threw her arms around him in a brief hug. "Go now. And may God go with you."

He opened the Land Rover's door and slid into the icy cold passenger seat. It was only as he turned the key in the ignition that he realized that this was the first time he'd driven a vehicle since . . . before Van Cleef. Fortunately, driving seemed to be one of those automatic activities like walking that didn't require much in the way of memory.

The trip to Geneva was the longest two hours Ray had ever spent in his life, including the time he'd been held captive. He floored the accelerator most of the way, driving as fast as the road conditions would allow. Somehow, he managed to evade both the notice of the police and ending up in a ditch.

His only thought the entire time was Bodie: where his lover was, why he'd been snatched, what was happening to him . . . .

Ray did his best not to dwell on that last bit. He knew better than anyone the kind of things that happened to a person when they were abducted. By his estimation, Bodie had been missing for two and a half hours now. Not a hideously long time, but it could seem like years when in the hands of a nutter like Van Cleef.

At least that was one thing he didn't have to worry about. Bodie had assured him months ago that the call he'd made to Interpol the night he'd rescued Doyle had resulted in Van Cleef's capture and life imprisonment.

Two and a half hours, Ray raged as he finally reached the city proper. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear a voice reminding him of how a hostage's chances of being found alive decreased with every hour that he remained missing. He didn't know where that troublesome fact came from, but Ray filed it away with the rest of his worries.

The Marriott Hotel wasn't hard to locate. Doyle thanked whatever star had guided him into reading over Bodie's shoulder as they'd sat together on the couch at night when Bodie was going over the building's security arrangements. It was strange. He'd barely glanced at those papers, and yet he remembered the hotel's address, its six entrances, its two-hundred-seventy-six windows . . . . Why he would have taken such close note of these details, Ray had no idea, but he'd done it without thinking, as though it were something he'd been trained for years to do.

It was only as he turned down the Marriott's street that he realized that was precisely the case. He had trained to do that kind of thing his entire life. Bodie and he were partners; it only stood to reason that he'd be competent at whatever Bodie excelled at.

Bodie's assistant, Jenkins, hadn't lied, Ray thought. The crime scene was a circus, even nearly three hours after the abduction. There were half a dozen police cars blocking the road onto which the Marriott's service entrance opened out. A forensics team was hard at work taking samples from the area. There was enough yellow tape cordoning off the alley to seal King Tut's tomb for another four thousand years. The crowd was a mob scene of reporters, thrill seekers, and bewildered Marriott guests trying to get back into their hotel through the throng. And everywhere Ray looked, he could see a crisp uniformed police officer interviewing witnesses and taking notes.

Ray didn't know how he knew, but he was fairly sure that line of investigation was going to dead end. Whoever had snatched Bodie would have had to have been damn good. There wouldn't have been any witnesses, at least none left alive.

The closest thing to witnesses would have been Bodie's men who had chased the van, and Interpol was sure to have them hidden safely away.

Ray bit his lower lip, at a temporary loss as to what to do. His choices were limited. He could try to locate Jenkins in this mass of confusion. Or he could work the crowd on his own and see if he learned anything. Or – and this was his least viable alternative – he could identify himself as Bodie's partner to the authorities and pray he didn't end up stuck in a nightmare of bureaucratic red tape for the next six weeks.

His eyes restlessly scanned the crowd as he inched the car past the police barriers in the line of bottlenecked traffic. Maybe he should find a parking space and –

The thought cut off as his gaze came to rest on a familiar face in this place where he'd expected to know no one.

Ray knew every line on the face of the muscular blond man with the black jacket. That long nose, the alcohol-reddened blue eyes, the pointed chin . . . Ray knew the onlooker, biblically. It was one of Van Cleef's henchmen, the one who'd liked to use his teeth.

Ray felt his blood turn to ice. The contents of his stomach lurched upwards as he remembered hard teeth and hands, biting and hitting and eventually . . . .

He cut the reminiscence off.

Sweating and panting in an incipient panic attack, Ray tried to get hold of himself. This wasn't about him. It was about Bodie, and he couldn't let his partner down.

He forced himself to take a few deep, cleansing breaths, and thrust all imagery from his mind. That wasn't who he was anymore. Those horrors had happened to a different person. Bodie, that was what was important here, not a ghost from his past. All he had to do was concentrate on getting Bodie back alive, that, and breathe.

Slowly, his heartbeat returned to something near normal. Breathe and get Bodie back. He could do that.

Followed close on the heels of that resolution was the recognition that none of this was coincidence.

Van Cleef was safely locked away for life, but what would have stopped any of his accomplices from continuing his lucrative business? If Miller or Van Cleef's accountant had escaped arrest that night, they would have been more than capable of continuing their master's work. The conference Bodie had been covering would have been exactly the kind of target they would have hit. And if they'd recognized Bodie . . . . His partner was in a hell of a lot more trouble than Ray had thought.

Bodie hadn't testified at the Van Cleef trial, but Schueller, the Interpol agent Bodie had alerted, had named Bodie as his main informer. Van Cleef's surviving business associates would probably be quite eager to take their revenge on the man responsible for incarcerating their leader and shutting them down, however temporarily.

As he watched, Van Cleef's man left the crowd and started to stroll down the street in the direction Ray had just come.

Doyle saw an opening in the opposing lane of traffic, and spun the Land Rover around a hundred-eighty degrees.

He was surprised by how smoothly he executed the move. There was no telltale tire squealing or skidding. It was almost as though he were accustomed to haring off in the exact opposite direction on a second's notice. He accomplished the turn so uneventfully that the man he was tailing never even looked back over his shoulder.

Ray was grateful that the traffic in this direction proved much lighter than it had been the other way. He was able to keep a half block or so behind Van Cleef's man without arousing any suspicion.

The bulky thug walked a good distance, far enough for the upscale neighbourhood of the posh hotel to give way to a warehouse district. Ray recalled Jenkins saying how his men had pursued the van somewhere into this area before losing it.

Ray kept driving as the man turned into a dark alleyway. He parked the Land Rover at the next open spot, and then got out to pursue his suspect on foot.

He hurried back to the lane the man had turned down, but the villain was nowhere in sight.

That was all right, though. He didn't need to see his suspect to know where he'd gone. The rickety looking staircase at the back of the alley was frighteningly familiar.

Ray stared up at the faded green and white sign that read OBERSTEIN'S IMPORTS, unable to believe the sheer brass of the operation. And if he'd needed any further confirmation that this was the right place, there was a Yank van parked to the side.

He'd come full circle. A little less than a year ago, Bodie had risked his life to rescue him from this very building.

It was unbelievable. Who in their right mind would have thought that Van Cleef's followers would return to the very building their leader had been arrested in? It was so monumentally stupid a move that it was brilliant.

Hiding in the shadowed doorway of another building, Ray studied the entrance to Oberstein's for a long moment. The staircase was out. Even from here Ray could pick out the lens of the security camera that was pointed at the stairs. Fortunately, it was not a mobile camera. Its limited range was focused squarely on the entrance.

Even so, when he decided to move, he took no chances. He sidled along the adjoining warehouse wall, approaching the Oberstein warehouse from the far right.

Quick as a bullet, he shot over to Oberstein's brick wall, drawing in rushed, relieved breaths once he reached its cool sanctuary. There was a drainage pipe on the far corner that he might be able to scale to a first story window.

Ray was easing along the wall in the drainpipe's direction when a door opened out almost in front of him. His back to the wall, heart racing, Ray tried to still his breathing to remain unnoticed.

Shocked, he watched the blond man he'd been following step out through the door. His suspect had a bruise on his right eye that hadn't been there earlier. Ray suspected the man had been reprimanded for the monumental stupidity of returning to the scene of the crime.

The thug paused in the doorway, fiddling with a cigarette and lighter while staring in the opposite direction from Doyle.

Recognizing a now or never moment, Ray lunged at his target. He hadn't been sure what he was going to do when he first moved, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own.

He slammed the smoking man hard into the wall. The cigarette went flying off into the night-dark alley in a shower of sparks as the muscular thug gave a startled grunt.

As if this were a dance he'd practiced so often that the moves were instinct now, rather than conscious, Doyle's right elbow came up in a wide circle to catch the point of the man's chin dead centre. The move sent his opponent's shaggy blond head cracking against the brick wall.

Ray's knee caught the henchman in the family jewels as the man bent forward after hitting the wall. Doyle clasped his hands together, his fingers tightly interlaced. His arms raised in another wide circle for momentum, after which he brought his joined hands down in a sweeping arc that caught the back of his opponent's head again.

A sickening snap that heralded the breaking of the neck followed, and then the blond man fell like a ton of bricks.

Panting, Ray stared down at his handiwork, unable to believe what he'd just done. There had been no thought involved at all after the initial decision to attack. It all had been sheer instinct.

Ray bent to assure himself that the man was still alive. Placing his hand on the throat, he felt a slow, but steady pulse. Before he stood back up, Ray searched the unconscious man. Switzerland mightn't be military central, but villains like this were usually well heeled.

Doyle froze when he grabbed his opponent's arm to roll him over. There was something solid, with the particular hardness associated with metal, beneath the jacket sleeve right above the wrist. It was a strange place to carry a gun, but Ray sensed he'd seen stranger over the years.

He shoved the sleeve up the hairy arm, and gaped at what was revealed. It had been years since he'd seen a knife sheath like that one. Ray was startled to realize that the design was very similar to the one he'd worn in his days with the Dragons.

Ray unstrapped the sheath and removed it from the fallen villain's arm. Then he slid the knife out. It was a beauty, as far as such things went. Sleek and elegant, the Bowie knife was a good six inches long and wickedly sharp.

Doyle quickly removed his jacket and fastened the knife sheath to his own forearm. He experimented with the mechanism that would release the knife directly into his hand below it. Like the one he'd worn in art school, it was a touchy release.

Once he was fairly certain that he had the hang of the knife sheath's release, Ray quickly put his jacket back on and returned to searching his opponent.

Usually men who fancied a blade like this one didn't carry guns, but he was in luck. He found a shoulder holster on the left side under the jacket. Doyle smiled as he extracted the deadly black Beretta from its leather sheath. Bingo, he was in business.

After a second's pause to check the clip, Doyle stuck the gun in his jacket pocket. A moment later, he dragged the man in through the still open door.

The corridor the fire exit opened into was nearly pitch black, except for the glowing red lights on the Emergency Exit sign over the door through which he'd just entered. Ray had the strong feeling that the man he'd followed wasn't supposed to be where he'd caught him smoking.

He took a few moments to adjust his eyes to the inky environment and then cautiously slipped down the hall.

The building felt empty.

He paused at another dimly visible door and put his ear against its cold surface for a while before opening it. The large, dust filled room with its high, broken windows was also deserted, but it was better lit then the hall by dint of its many windows.

Ray stared at the shadowy stage up front, haunted by memories. The pain of the people who had passed through this place felt etched into the very dust.

Finally, he closed the door on the past, both literally and figuratively, and moved on.

His recollections of the time he'd spent in this place were hazy and nightmarish, but he seemed to remember Van Cleef occupying a room upstairs. Most of the prisoners had been confined on this story, but Ray had been a special case. His cell had been next door to Van Cleef's quarters, no matter where the auctions were occurring. Ray remembered moving around a lot. The entire incident was a daze of agony and terror.

Since Van Cleef had always claimed the best accommodations, Ray thought it was a natural enough assumption to expect his successor to be rooming there.

He found the staircase. Every small creak seemed to shriek through the darkened warehouse like a siren, but no one came to investigate. He could see light on the floor at the top of the stairs, so someone was up there.

If this were not an auction night, security would probably be minimal. Most nights, it was only the drugged prisoners, Van Cleef, and a couple of guards. Having dispensed with one guard, Doyle knew the man's partner was probably prowling around here someplace.

Nervous as a cat, Ray slipped against the wall at the top of the recessed staircase. As below, there was a single long corridor that was bisected by the stairs. The hall to his right was as dark as the rest of the place, but the area off to Ray's left was lit.

Ray peeked around the corner and pulled quickly back at the sight of the huge man guarding an open door in the middle of the hall.

Damn. It was just his luck that it would be Miller. The man was built like a brick wall.

On the heels of that thought, Ray found himself wondering who was running the show now, if not Miller. The accountant, whose name Ray had never known, had probably had enough knowledge to get the auctions up and working again, but Ray would never have thought the nervous bookworm would have had the gall. And even if he had, was it possible that both Miller and the accountant had escaped the Interpol raid?

A distinct, pained-sounding grunt filled the corridor. Ray peered around his shielding corner again.

Miller had turned to stare into the open room behind him.

Ray knew he was never going to get another chance like this.

He was down the corridor, fast and silent as a passing breeze. He only had the one chance, and he couldn't blow it.

Once again, there was no thought to his attack. He came up behind the big man, reached up and around his shoulder to press the flat of his left forearm across Miller's windpipe, then he locked his left hand around his right wrist, and pulled straight back in a classic choke hold. Tugging for all that he was worth, Ray dragged the resisting, bulkier man backwards behind the shelter of the wall, out of sight of the open door.

Miller gave a startled whoosh as his air cut off. His beefy hands came up to claw at Ray's strangling arm, trying to free his breathing while simultaneously bending forward in an attempt to dislodge Doyle. They banged into the wall beside the door, but not hard enough to make any real noise. It wasn't anything that would carry above the scuffling sounds emerging from the room behind them, at least.

Ray held on tight and kept pulling his arm back against the throat harder and harder. If Miller got enough air to cry out, he was done for.

Even as he did what he had to, Ray was appalled by the savagery of the act. He wasn't just cutting off his opponent's air; he was crushing his windpipe. It was a nasty way to die, but it was the only soundless way Ray could take the enormous man out.

It seemed to take forever.

Finally, Ray felt a revolting sag in the cartilage under his forearm. Miller gave a small sound that was a cross between a wet gurgle and a whimper. Immediately, the huge man went lax in his arms.

Miller toppled forward, nearly taking Ray down with him. But he held on tighter and guided the giant's descent. Once Miller was face down on the floor, Doyle maintained his crushing hold for another minute or two and then released the limp form.

Ray's unsteady hand sought out the side of the bruised and crushed throat. Unlike the lucky chap with the broken neck downstairs, Miller wouldn't be waking up again. There was no pulse.

Ray straightened up, shaken by what he'd just done. One man dead, one man crippled for life – all in the course of ten minutes. What the hell kind of monster had he been, that killing like this was second nature to him?

Recognizing that this was not the time for that kind of thinking, Ray concentrated on the only thing that had any real meaning to him – finding Bodie and getting him out of here alive.

Breathe and find Bodie, those were his orders of the day.

A couple of deep breaths, and his nerves were as calm as they were likely to be. Knowing that he probably wouldn't be surprising anyone within the room from behind, Ray withdrew the Beretta from his pocket. He slipped off the safety, and raised the gun so that it was up in front of him, ready to take out any threat within.

Another deep breath to steady his nerves, and he jumped over Miller's dead body to land in a crouch in the doorway. His gun was trained on the room's occupants with the same unerring instinct that had brought him this far.

Everything stopped for Ray as his eyes took in the sight before him.

His partner was there, shackled to a metal headboard that was frighteningly familiar. Bodie was alive, thankfully, and much the worse for wear. His face was bruised and bloody, his wrists torn beneath the silver handcuffs with which he was bound, but he was still mostly dressed, and looked as though he were putting up a decent fight to remain so.

It was the other figure that stopped his blood. The man running the hostage auction was not the accountant, as Ray had presumed. To his horror, Ray found himself face to face with his worst nightmare – Van Cleef in the flesh.

He stared into those bottomless black eyes, feeling everything freeze up inside him – thought, feeling, will . . . everything. Abruptly, he was as impotent as he'd been when Bodie had saved him from this monster's clutches.

Maybe it was the fact that Van Cleef hadn't changed much in the last year. The dark suit was the same high quality Ray remembered. He was a bit thinner, perhaps, and his eyes wilder with madness. But the cadaverously pale face was the same evil incarnate, if sporting a fresh bruise that Doyle suspected might have come from Bodie's boot. His mousy brown hair hung around his cheeks in an unsightly, sweaty mess that Doyle remembered only too well.

His shock paralysing him, Ray stared at the knife in Van Cleef's hands. He'd obviously interrupted the nutter in his attempt to cut Bodie's clothes off him.

"Ah, Mr. Doyle," Van Cleef said in that deep, melodious voice that turned Ray's blood to ice. The madman seemed completely unsurprised by Doyle's arrival. "How good to see you again. Your partner and I were just discussing your location. So good of you to spare me the trouble of collecting you myself."

"Ray!" Bodie's puffy eyes strained to focus on him. His voice was rife with despair.

While Ray was standing there frozen in shock like a wax sculpture, Van Cleef's knife moved quickly to rest against Bodie's throat.

"Now, if you'd be so kind as to drop that gun," Van Cleef requested. When Ray didn't instantly comply, Van Cleef said, "I assure you that I will have no compunction in killing your partner before your eyes. As you might remember, I always keep my promises."

Doyle shuddered at the reminder. He could feel the icy beads of sweat dripping down his back. The very thought of placing himself under this madman's power again made him want to turn the gun on himself, but he knew that if he did anything that stupid, his last sight would be Bodie's bloody throat.

"Well, what will it be, Doyle? You're free to pull that trigger, but I assure you, I can sever his jugular before the bullet gets me," Van Cleef said, visibly enjoying himself.

Ray remembered that the man had relished the act of tormenting his victims nearly as much as he had raping them.

"Don't, Ray! Shoot the bastard!" Bodie cried.

Van Cleef's knife pressed a little harder against that snowy white throat that Ray loved to nuzzle. A thin river of red trickled down over the blade as it pricked the skin.

Sick to his stomach, Ray made the only decision possible. He dropped the Beretta to the floor.

"No, Ray, no," Bodie said, turning his bruised face away.

"Well done," Van Cleef approved. "Now kick it over here, if you'd be so kind."

Ray did as asked.

"I've missed you, my pet," Van Cleef said in an unctuous tone as the gun came to rest on the floor to his right, below the sparsely furnished room's single window. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to remove your clothing and join us over here, I'd be most grateful."

Van Cleef was obviously counting on the terror quotient to keep Ray frozen in place as the villain rose from his awkward bend over Bodie to move to retrieve the Beretta.

Why shouldn't Van Cleef be smug in his victory, Ray thought with self-disgust. They both knew that Doyle's fear had kept him docile as a lamb for months. Toward the end there, all Van Cleef had had to do was voice a command to be obeyed.

But tonight it wasn't only his own life that hung in the balance here. If he cocked this up, Bodie was going to suffer for it. That just wasn't happening.

The second that knife was clear of Bodie's throat, the deadly stranger inside Ray who'd been running the show all night reasserted himself.

However, this time, it wasn't temporary occupancy the stranger sought. While Ray's body moved into action, so did his mind. One moment he was standing there puzzling over the alien presence time-sharing his brain tonight, and with his next heartbeat, all the clouds were clearing from his memory. There were no longer two separate Ray Doyles. The lethal stranger Doyle melded smoothly with the artist Doyle, and there was only himself, Ray Doyle – William Phillip Andrew Bodie's partner and lover.

Even with the smooth transition, it was a bit much to assimilate in a life and death struggle. But both sides of him were agreed on this course of action. His follow through was as instinctive as the rest of his actions tonight.

Ray released the catch on the hidden knife sheath. That impressive Bowie knife he'd lifted off the first guard slid smoothly into his palm. Like the professional he was, Ray took the knife's balance in the instant he was lifting it to throw. By the time the blade was released, it flew as true as his bullet would have.

The blade caught Van Cleef just slightly left of centre of his chest as he was rising with the Beretta in hand. Doyle's former captor stared down at the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest and at the red stain which was rapidly spreading across the front of his white shirt.

Fury rapidly overtook disbelief on the madman's face. Van Cleef raised the Beretta and pointed it at Doyle.

No thought, just instinct. Ray ducked down and rolled to cover beside the nightstand as a volley of bullets blasted where he'd stood seconds before. He grimaced as he realized that he was still mostly exposed behind the nightstand, but there was no other cover to be had. He prayed with all his heart that the shots wouldn't hit the bed, where his lover was stretched out like a sacrificial victim.

He waited for the next blast. By his count, Van Cleef still had four bullets left.

But there was only silence and the smell of spilt blood and cordite wafting through the room.

Not trusting the pause, Ray waited a minute more before cautiously peeking around the nightstand. Van Cleef lay unmoving in a gory, scarlet puddle by the window.

"Ray?!" Bodie sounded frantic on the bed. Ray realized that his handcuffed partner wasn't able to see him while he was down behind the nightstand like this. For all Bodie knew, the shots had killed him.

"I'm okay," Ray said, rising shakily to his feet. He kept waiting for his newly regained memories to retreat again, but he still knew who he was and who he'd been. He remembered London and Bodie, and C.I.5 and Bodie, and the chalet and Bodie, and bed and Bodie . . . .

As he stood there in the suddenly quiet room, Ray searched for the shock he'd expected to experience upon finding himself Bodie's lover once he regained his full faculties, but it wasn't there. It wasn't like the memories of his time at the chalet had switched off when his old memories switched on. They were there together, a coherent whole. The battered man staring up at him in open disbelief from the bed was the cement holding both parts of him together.

He wanted to run straight to Bodie, but he wasn't the same Ray Doyle who'd woken up at Marie's this morning with no other concerns in life other than finishing his latest canvas. You put a knife in a man's chest, even a mad bugger like Van Cleef, and certain protocols had to be followed afterwards.

Ray quickly crossed to Van Cleef and kicked the Beretta free of the long-fingered hand. Then he knelt down to check the throat for a pulse; for all that he cringed to initiate any physical contact with his rapist.

Though warm, the skin beneath his fingers was as still as Miller's had been.

It was over.

"He's dead," Ray said, hearing the hollowness in his own voice. Remembering the cuffs on Bodie's hands, Ray reached out to search Van Cleef's jacket pockets for the key. Sure enough, the right one disgorged the tiny handcuff key. He looked over at the bed as he rose to his feet and demanded of his shackled partner. "What's he doing here? You told me he was in prison for life."

Maybe if Bodie's face hadn't been so roughed up, Ray would have been further enraged by the guilt that flashed across it. But taking in Bodie's puffy, blackened eyes, bloody right cheek, and bleeding, cracked lips, Ray couldn't get too angry.

"The day Cowley came to visit us I found out he'd been shot in a prison escape attempt. The officials were pretty sure he'd drowned. They found a body that they thought was his," Bodie answered, seeming almost afraid.

"And you didn't think I had a right to know?" Ray hissed, almost too furious to listen to the answer.

Bodie's stricken expression was not feigned. Ray had never seen his partner so miserable. At least, not since they'd become lovers.

"I wanted to tell you, but I wasn't sure how you'd react, and then . . ." Bodie faltered for a moment, his expression as grave as if he were wagering his entire world, ". . . and then we became lovers, and I honestly forgot all about the bastard."

Ray scoured those banged up features. He knew truth when he heard it.

Suddenly, he became aware of the fact that he was haranguing a man who'd just been abducted and worked over by professionals, a man who was still in handcuffs. Whatever Bodie had or hadn't done, this wasn't the time for this.

"How are you feeling?" Ray belatedly asked as he approached the bed, key in hand.

"Like a proper idiot," Bodie said, his face red from more than blood. "They caught me cold again, Ray."

Ray eased himself onto the side of the bed, taking stock of his partner. Bodie appeared to be in about the same state as his clothes – banged up and dirty, but for the most part, intact. Thank God.

Almost weak with relief, Ray forced a smile and said lightly, "Nah, there's nothing proper about you, mate."

Then he bent down to press a gentle kiss to Bodie's forehead, which seemed to be the only uninjured part of his face.

Rising, he quickly undid the handcuffs, wincing in sympathy as the grimace Bodie gave as sensation returned. Once both cuffs were off, Ray helped his partner sit up in the bed and then quickly started rubbing his arms.

"How bad is it?" Ray asked, hoping there was no nerve damage. Bodie's hands looked red and swollen, but the colour wasn't as bad as it would have been were there sustained lack of circulation.

"'s okay," Bodie lied, in visible agony. "They only cuffed me to the bed an hour or so ago, though it felt like years."

Ray kept rubbing, grateful for the warmth and life in the flesh beneath his palms.

"Not to sound ungrateful, but what the hell are you doing here, Ray?" Bodie asked after a few more moments, his voice dramatically less distressed.

"Your man Jenkins called the lodge to tell me what happened," Ray said.

"That mad bugger brought you here? Where the devil is he? What was he thinking, letting you come up here alone?" After a pause for breath or thought, Bodie asked in a more sombre tone, "Paul's not dead, is he?"

It took Ray a moment to recall that Jenkins Christian name was Paul.

"No, and he didn't let me come here alone," Ray said and then briefly described how he'd followed Van Cleef's guard back to the warehouse on his way to meet Jenkins.

"Bloody hell, Ray! Are you trying to get yourself killed? What if you'd been seen? What if the guards were here?" Bodie fretted, his split lip starting to drip blood again.

Feeling a tightness in his throat, Ray quietly answered, "They were here. Where do you think I got the gun from?"

"You . . . ." It was hard for eyes as swollen and discoloured as Bodie's were to look truly thunderstruck, but somehow Bodie managed it.

"Miller, the econo sized goon, is dead in the hallway. The man I followed back is down in the ground floor corridor with a broken neck," Ray grimly reported.

He waited for more questions, but Bodie simply stared at him. After a minute, Bodie raised his arm to give Doyle's shoulder an encouraging squeeze, wincing at the motion. A short time later, Bodie said, "We've got to find a phone to call this in. My RT's out of range."

Ray nodded. "We have to call Marie, too. They'll be worried sick by now."

"Yeah," Bodie nodded, looking as though he immediately regretted the action.

"How's your head? You dizzy? Any double vision?" Ray quizzed before allowing his lover to move.

"My eyes're too swollen for double vision," Bodie complained, which more than anything told Doyle that he wasn't suffering anything too severe.

Relief sweeping through him, Ray helped his partner up from the bed. He was happy to see that Bodie was standing on his own, even if he weren't moving too quickly.

Together they made their way out the door.

Bodie paused in the corridor to stare down at Miller's still form. Even flat on the floor the man was enormous. With his black jacket, pale white skin, and light coloured trousers, the dead man looked like a beached orca.

Without another word, they headed for the stairs.

---

With a heavy sigh, Bodie climbed into bed what felt like centuries later. He leaned gratefully back against the mound of pillows, stretching his legs out in front of him. Every inch of his body ached to get intimate with the mattress, but he wanted to wait for Ray to finish in the loo before giving into his exhaustion.

What with the interview with Schueller and the stop at the nearest hospital, it had been 3:00 a.m. before they'd made it home. Well, not home per se, but Marie's was close as made no difference.

They'd been damn fortunate, straight down the line. His unbelievable rescue alone would have used up a lifetime of luck, but the fact that Ray and he hadn't been detained by the authorities was nothing short of miraculous.

Once again, Bodie blessed whatever star had prodded him to contact Shueller directly, rather than go through normal channels. If they hadn't had a personal relationship with the Interpol agent, they would still be down at the office answering questions. Ray's lack of a passport alone would have kept them there for days, but Schueller had been surprisingly accepting of Bodie's explanation of Ray's ID being lost in the chase. Bodie suspected that Schueller's good will had as much to do with the promotion he'd received due to his fast action on Bodie's tip off last year as to any true belief he had in Bodie's story. All that really mattered to Bodie was that they'd let them go home. First thing in the morning he knew he was going to have to call Cowley to see if the old man could straighten out Ray's passport problems, but that could wait until daylight.

Bodie shifted in the bed, moving very carefully. The soles of his feet were about the only thing on him that didn't hurt. He had a spectacular collection of bruises popping up on his arms, chest, thighs, shins, and legs, and he suspected he had about the same developing on his back. In short, he hurt all over. But nothing was broken or ruptured, and he was glad to be hurting. For a while there, he hadn't been certain that he was going to be around to enjoy the morning.

Even now his mind was filled with the image of Ray bursting into that room, gun drawn, face intent as the old days, but wearing that totally incongruous, paint-speckled tee shirt under his black leather jacket. He'd looked sexy, and deadly. Very much the Ray Doyle Bodie remembered of old.

He smiled as the object of his thought slipped silently into the bedroom and eased the door shut behind him. It closed with a quiet snick.

"The cat'll be mad," Bodie said, gesturing with his chin at the closed door and wincing immediately at the resulting pain.

Ray was dressed in his usual pyjama bottoms. He had a glass of water in one hand and something cupped tight in the other.

"The cat's in with Marie," Ray said.

"They finally went to bed, then?" Bodie asked, relieved. He'd been horrified to find the Grubers up and waiting when they'd pulled into the lodge half an hour ago. Bodie didn't know if he could stand any more fussing over. But it had felt good, like the home he'd never had as a kid.

"Yeah," Ray answered. "This really shook Marie up."

"She all right now?" Bodie asked, stricken with guilt. It seemed that he'd brought these good people nothing but trouble since he'd first darkened their doorstep.

"She will be," Ray said and climbed into bed beside him. "Here, take your pain pill."

Bodie stared at the large white pill.

"If you don't take it, I'll tell Marie," Doyle threatened with a smile.

Bodie took his pill, doing his best to ignore Ray's stare. There was something different about the way Ray was looking at him, but he couldn't say just what.

The water was cool going down his throat and he greedily drank the entire glass. Ray took the empty glass from him and put it on the nightstand. He waited for Doyle to turn out the lamp, which was on his side of the bed, but Ray made no move to do so, even though he was nearly white with exhaustion.

"How're you feeling?" Ray asked.

"Rough, but better than I should be." Thinking about all Ray had done today, Bodie asked, "You?"

Those eloquent green eyes lowered to stare at the floral duvet. "I killed two men tonight."

"I know," Bodie said, wishing that it could have been himself who'd done the job. He didn't enjoy killing like some did, but when he put a mad bastard like Van Cleef down, he knew he'd done the entire world a favour. Ray had never been able to see it that way.

"I should be . . . guilty about that . . . but I'm not," Ray whispered, seeming almost ashamed to meet his gaze.

Well, that was unexpected. While in C.I.5, Ray usually suffered the torments of the damned over what the job forced them to do. Bodie had figured that this shattered, more sensitive version of his partner would be even more torn apart by the necessity of killing. But, then, the villains Ray had put down were the monsters who had abducted, tortured, and raped him. Perhaps the lack of guilt wasn't so inexplicable, after all. Bodie knew he sure as hell would be sleeping better after seeing Van Cleef's corpse.

Looking for the right words, Bodie said, "They were evil, Ray. Maybe it isn't our place to judge, but no one knows better than you how dangerous those men were."

"And that gave me the right to kill them?" Ray challenged softly.

This conversation was familiar of old to Bodie. "Maybe not the right, but definitely the responsibility – to stop them any way possible."

Ray nodded, seeming to think about what he said. Finally, Ray looked over at him and announced, "I don't want to do that anymore, Bodie."

From the tension in his features and slender body, Ray looked as though he were waiting for his world to fall apart.

It was a strange conversation, but Bodie's life had never been normal. "You don't have to, sunshine. I still can't believe you were able to do what you did tonight."

Ray took a deep, shaky breath and seemed to force himself to say, "Bodie, I remembered."

The pain pill starting to kick in and ease his aches, Bodie asked a little sleepily, "Remembered what?"

"Everything."

That single word froze his blood. Bodie looked at the man sharing his bed. "You – "

"Got my memory back tonight," Doyle finished. He appeared as nervous as Bodie abruptly felt.

Doyle remembered – everything. He knew he should be happy for his lover, but all Bodie could see was his world crashing down around him. The amnesiac Ray Doyle had needed him, but Ray Doyle of C.I.5?

That Ray Doyle had never needed anyone. Bodie knew he'd be lucky to keep the man's friendship. The love that had felt so right between them in this isolated corner of the world might be viewed in a very different light by his self-sufficient partner. No matter how Bodie looked at it, he knew he'd taken advantage of his friend when Ray wasn't in full control of his faculties. Going into this, Bodie had known that it was wrong of him to touch Ray, but he simply hadn't been able to stop himself. And that was no more of a valid excuse than the one that bastard Van Cleef might have offered.

"Bodie?"

"Yeah?" he snapped. He wasn't up to this – not physically or mentally, and definitely not emotionally. He couldn't lose Ray now, but . . . Bodie knew he was going to have nothing to say in that. It would be the same as always. Ray would do whatever he damn well pleased; only, this time, the partner who'd violated Doyle's trust wouldn't even be a factor in the equation.

Ray was watching him like a hawk.

Only now did Bodie wonder why Doyle was in here with him at all. If Ray had got his memory back, shouldn't he be down the hall in a bed of his own, or on a plane to England?

"I'd like for us to stay here, for a while at least," Ray quickly amended, sounding and looking as anxious as Bodie felt.

"Huh?" Bodie blinked his swollen lids. Ray was acting like the one who was about to lose it all.

"I know this place doesn't have the pubs or the nightlife to offer that London does, but – "

Bodie reached out his bruised-knuckled hand to still Ray's words and then asked the only question that mattered to him, "You want to stay with me, the way we've been these last few weeks?"

Bodie's free hand gestured at the bed they were sharing.

Ray's eyes widened huge as saucers. He reached up to push Bodie's palm from his mouth, but he didn't let go of it. Ray clenched Bodie's hand as though it were his last hold on life.

The surprise left Doyle's face, and most of his worry. "Whatever we do, we do it together, agreed?"

Bodie gulped. The steel in that question did more for him than a dozen avowals would.

"Agreed," he rasped out.

The action seeming strangely significant, Ray sidled close to him, put an arm around his shoulders, and gave him as much of a kiss as Bodie's battered mouth would allow, which was basically the lightest brushing of their lips together.

The pill must have kicked in big time at that point, for Bodie felt dizzy when Ray pulled back.

Ray seemed to study him for a moment. Then he softly said, "In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm in love with you."

It was the first time either of them had said the word out loud.

Looking into those warm, loving eyes, Bodie didn't know how he could ever have doubted that. Ray had spent the last month showing him how much he meant to his partner.

Feeling very foolish, Bodie whispered, "I thought you'd hate me for taking advantage of you."

"Figured it was something like that," Ray said. "Listen up. I remember what happened – everything. I remember how often you said no to me, and I know who took advantage of who."

"I'd hardly say you took advantage of me, Ray," Bodie protested, just managing to keep his laughter back. He knew how prickly Doyle could be, and, whatever he did, he wasn't going to cock this up by being facetious.

"Then we're all right," Ray said, visibly relieved.

Both of them relaxed against the pillows, seeming to just want to enjoy the proximity. This wasn't exactly what Bodie had envisioned doing on his first night home after their separation, but in light of his injuries and both their states of exhaustion, this cuddling seemed all they were up to. Not that Bodie could find much fault in it. Holding Ray close like this seemed to be precisely what he needed.

After a time, he softly commented, "So, you want to stay here in the chalet?"

"If it's all right with you," Ray answered.

Feeling the tension in that lithe figure that Ray was obviously working to keep out of his voice, Bodie asked, "If you had your choice of anyplace in the world, where would you want to live?"

It wasn't an idle question. As long as Doyle didn't ask for a Mayfair brownstone, Bodie's ill-gotten gains in the safe downstairs would pretty much set them up comfortably for life. Not to mention the lucrative fee he'd charged for this weekend's security gig. The money Ray's artwork was bringing in was nothing to sneeze at, either. A little startled, Bodie realized that for the first time in his life, he didn't have to work if he didn't want to.

"With you," Ray promptly replied.

Smiling, Bodie said, "Let's take that as a given, okay?"

"Okay."

"So?" Bodie prodded.

"I guess my answer would depend on what you want to do," Ray said at last. "Do you want to go back to work for Cowley? And, before, you ask, I know I'm not ever going to make the squad again. Tonight was sheer desperation. I don't want to make a life of it."

Bodie thought about C.I.5 without Ray as his partner. It wasn't too long a think. "I don't want to work in C.I.5 without you to back me up, but even if I did . . . I'm nearly forty. Even if I get in good enough shape to take my old job, Cowley won't be able to keep me on the A-Squad for much longer. And I'm too much of a prima donna for B-Squad."

"So, what do you want to do instead?" Ray asked and then added. "We don't have to decide anything tonight, but it'd be nice to have some idea."

This answer didn't require much more thought than his previous one had. "I sort of like this security gig business, Ray. The team I put together was a good one. Think I'd like to give it a go."

To his intense relief, Ray looked neither threatened by the idea nor dead set against it. "Think you could do that kind of work from here?"

Translation – Ray really liked it here, as if Bodie hadn't known that. He could also sense how nervous Ray was that he didn't. Knowing only one way to assure his lover, Bodie decided to spoil his surprise. "I spoke to Jacques about the chalet when he came by the Marriott for dinner on Friday night. He's agreed to let me buy it from him."

"What?" Ray asked, seeming both shocked and overjoyed.

"It seemed like a good investment," Bodie said, his words ending with a painful "Umppphf!" as Ray hugged him tight.

"Sorry," Ray pulled back and apologized the instant he realized he was hurting him. "You really want to stay here long enough to buy the place?"

Bodie could see what a salve that had been to Ray's worries. "Providing Marie and Wilhelm have no objections."

Ray snorted. "You're kidding, right? I'll be lucky if I can get you back to the chalet this month."

Doyle didn't seem any more concerned about that than he was.

His gaze going abruptly dark and serious, Ray reached out to touch his face. "I didn't think I'd ever see you alive again. It scared me."

A year and a half ago, it would have been like pulling teeth to get either of them to admit that aloud to each other.

Bodie reached out to bury his fingers in Ray's long, soft curls. "I know. I lived that for the six months you were missing, remember?"

"I don't want us to ever go through that again," Ray said fiercely.

"Me, neither." Seeing the worry in Ray's eyes, Bodie said, "Today was personal, Ray. It's not likely to be repeated. I'm going to be coordinating security, not working it."

When he'd worked for Cowley, he'd always thought that the men in the field protecting the target had the harder job, but after these last few weeks, he'd come to appreciate how hard the man who decided where the bodyguards would be stationed and coordinated the million other details of getting a couple of scores of dignitaries safely in and out of a security nightmare worked. His new job might be less perilous, but it was much more demanding.

Ray nodded and snuggled down beside him. After a quiet minute, Ray sat up to turn off the light and then helped Bodie lie down flat to sleep.

Bodie smiled as Ray's head settled next to his on the oversized pillow they were sharing. After another minute, Doyle's arm landed lightly across his chest.

Bodie could just make out Ray's profile in the dim light seeping in from the dark mountain night outside the curtained window. Ray's eyes were still wide open.

"What's up?" Bodie asked.

"You think we can make this work?" Ray questioned, the light pressure his arm gave Bodie's chest illustrating what this was.

"It's been working, hasn't it?" Bodie asked, knowing how Ray worried about problems long before they manifested . . . if they did at all.

"Yes, but . . . ."

"Go on, spit it out," Bodie encouraged with a yawn.

"Back home, you always fancied variety," Ray discretely answered.

Hearing what Doyle couldn't bring himself to come out and ask him, Bodie gave his partner the truth. He figured he'd let Ray make what he would of it. "I always fancied you; I settled on variety."

"Oh."

"Can we go to sleep now, Ray?" he all but begged. "Or do you want to iron out our retirement plans while we're at it?"

The warm breath from Ray's snort caressed his face. Peeking out one discoloured eye, Bodie saw that Ray had finally closed his own eyes, even though his face was still tensed with thought.

"It'll be all right, Ray," Bodie whispered, and opened his cracked lips again as he pressed a kiss to his partner's cheek.

Somehow, Bodie knew it would. Shifting closer to Ray, Bodie closed his eyes, already anticipating the morning and the start of their new life together.

-- THE END --

Originally published as a zine novel by CrowRow Productions, 2003

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