Page 1 of Under Cover

Prologue

CROSBY TRIEDto slide out of bed stealthily, but he must have failed. When Garcia wrapped an arm around his middle, he mumbled something about going to the bathroom.

Shit.

He used the facilities, but he also put his socks on while he was in there because that got tricky when you put them on after you put on your jeans. He was trying for casual here. No big deal. Two colleagues who’d hooked up after a drink or two when the workday was over.

Happened all the time.

They were professionals, right? And it had been a sucktastic case.

Crosby made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror when he was washing his face in the bathroom, and unbidden came that moment when the nine-year-old girl had been in his sights as he’d aimed at the murderer behind her.

“Don’t take it if it’s not good,” his AIC had said in his earpiece, but the guy had a knife in his hand. They’d been hunting him, one crime scene after another. So much blood.

And here he was, knife dripping, holding it to her throat, and Crosby wondered which one would make him feel worse—if the killer got her or if Crosby got her, aiming for the killer.

And that hadn’t been the worst of it. Garcia… he’d been so close. In Crosby’s sights. If Crosby had been just a hair off….

He shuddered then and tried not to retch and splashed more water on his face. Garcia had toothpaste and a fresh toothbrush in the cupboard; Crosby took advantage of it. What was raiding the guy’s cupboard when he’d had your cock in his mouth the night before, right?

The memory of the moment overwhelmed him.

Garcia, slighter body moving quickly down the street, Crosby’s big blondness lumbering behind him. Crosby had never felt clumsy before in spite of the breadth of his chest, the muscular thickness of his thighs, but Garcia was so tightly wrought.

“Naw, man, I should go home,” Crosby had said halfheartedly in response to Garcia’s suggestion that Crosby not go back to his uncomfortable living sitch.

“You said she’s not your girlfriend!” Garcia laughed. “Besides, you’re just crashing at my place!”

From behind Crosby could see the slenderness of his hips, the wiry refinement of his ass and thighs. Garcia wore his black jeans tight—Crosby liked that.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he defended. “I knew that from the beginning. We haven’t been together since I got hurt.”

It would have been awkward to hit her up after nearly six months of not so much as a text. And he didn’t want to be needy, although God, tonight he needed somebody.

And Garcia hit him that way. Some girls did, some guys did—just hit.

Even in the spring chill, sweat dotted Crosby’s chest under his fleece jacket. He wanted to take off his watch cap, but it was still in the thirties at night, and he knew his ears would be bright purple by the time they got to Calix Garcia’s neat little house in Queens.

Sometimes, guy or girl, they hithard.

Garcia had been hitting him pretty hard since he’d shown up in their unit six months ago. Small, quick, compassionate, and with zero ego, the guy was a dream agent. Crosby had looked forward to working with him every day.

And as he followed his fellow agent—and friend—to the door so he didn’t have to drive crosstown to the place where he roomed with his old college buddy who was throwing a constant party, he thought hungrily aboutworkingGarcia, from toes to nipples, from mouth to cock to ass.

Working him. So hard.

Garcia let Crosby in first. Crosby had paused in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust so he could find the light, when Garcia closed the door behind him and came up hard against Crosby’s back.

“Tell me to turn on the light,” Garcia murmured in his ear, and Crosby’s heart pounded. Oh wow. Ohwow.

His mouth went so dry he had to clear his throat twice to speak. “No.”

Garcia let out a breath, hot and violent, into his ear. They were both still wearing jackets and hats, but Garcia’s hands came to rest on his hips, then snuck under the hem of his jacket, and Crosby quaked at the chill of his fingers near his flat, molded abdomen.

“Tell me to back off,” Garcia murmured.

Crosby’s entire body shuddered violently, and he turned in Garcia’s arms and shoved him back against the door. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes in the darkness, Garcia’s gleaming black and excited, before Crosby lowered his head enough to whisper in Garcia’s ear for a change.