This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Fox Tale's Folly

Edited by Robin Jones

Published by Bon Publishing Company

in association with Produx House, Corp.

P. O. Box 3847

Ft. Myers,Fl.33918

www. bonpublishing.com

ISBN#978-0-9744160-2-1

Kindle books by Kracken:

Ajay Kavanagh Detective series:

Book One:Tapping Darkness

Book Two:Fortune's Lightning

Shatterbox

Printed works:Angel Within

Chapter Three

“Like old times,” the red headed waitress said to Ajay with a smile. ”I haven't seen you since you were married.” The older woman nodded to Ajay's 'wedding' ring as she put a sandwich, a black coffee, and a piece of peach pie on the table that was clear of Ajay's spread out notes.

Ajay wasn't sure how to reply to that. His date with her daughter had been disastrous. When she had discovered that he had rejected her for a man, her attitude towards him had turned frigid. Now she seemed willing to forgive and forget. Ajay could honestly say that he would never understand women. Her sudden change in attitude was unfathomable.

“I didn't have time to return home for lunch,” he replied uncertainly.

She lifted a red eyebrow that had been penciled on, and made a noise that sounded as if she considered some unspoken opinion vindicated. “You need to find time, Detective Kavanagh, or that man of yours is going to find time elsewhere,” she said firmly and then walked away to wait on someone else in the noisy, crowded diner.

Ajay blinked, confused, and then shook his head and decided that he didn't have enough facts, would probably never have enough facts, to understand what she was implying. He needed to concentrate on his notes and finish his case. His client shouldn't have to wait for her support payments, because he was allowing himself distractions.

Ajay had managed to get photos of the ex husband living a rather expensive lifestyle for someone reporting that he was out of work and only receiving government benefits. He had yet to get a photo of the man at work, though, and had decided, early on, that the man was taking night work under the table. Ajay's failed first attempt to document that fact had made Ajay nervous about attempting it again.

It was ridiculous, of course. Running into those men had been a fluke, not something to have repeated by simply being in the same area again. If they had a base of operations for their lawful, or unlawful business dealings, Ajay doubted seriously that they would have threatened men, or worse, committed murder, nearby. Krowl used to have a crude saying, one that was nonetheless very true, Dogs didn't take a dump in their own yards, if they could help it, and neither did men. It was more likely that those men had taken a drive before deciding that the building under renovation was a perfect stage for their threats.

“Yum, pie,” Devon said in pleasure as he slid into the other side of the booth and smiled at Ajay. He pulled the desert towards him and took Ajay's fork. “I'll leave you half.”

“Thank you,” Ajay replied with mock sarcasm, but then couldn't help a smile. “How did you find me?”

Devon pointed his fork at the long bank of windows facing the street. “It was a brilliant deduction, of course. I saw you as I was walking to the market.”

“Work was short, then?” Ajay wondered as he reached out and plucked a pink feather from Devon's braided gold hair. Blue eyes followed it and then rolled. “Why do they always think that I look good in feathers?”

Ajay blushed a little, remembering seeing a certain photo of Devon rolling in white feathers and wearing a black leather biker outfit, with mirrored sunglasses. “You do look good in feathers.”

Devon smirked, but then sighed. “Well, as long as you think so, but they are a pain. The little ones get everywhere, especially when the shot is a nude one.”

He took a bite of pie, chewed, swallowed and then said, “In answer to your question, yes, I did get off early. If I knew that you had time for a sit down lunch, I would have called and brought something home for us both.”

“This is actually work related, with some food thrown in,” Ajay replied as he picked up his sandwich and took a bite one handed. He rearranged a note and stared at it. “I have to do some more surveillance, make a report, and then spend a few hours tonight taking photos.”

Devon froze, staring at Ajay, fork poised with a bite of pie on the end of it. He went back into motion, deliberately, ate the pie, chewed, swallowed, and then put the fork down. He regarded Ajay again. “Thank you,” he said at last.

Ajay raised eyebrows as he put down his sandwich and wiped off his hands on a napkin. He thought that he understood, but he had to ask, “For?”

“I know how upset you've been,” Devon replied. Upset had been carefully used instead of the word, terrified. “I'm glad that you've decided to continue with the case and to not let what happened affect how we live our lives.”

“It's not easy,” Ajay admitted and felt the tightness in his chest, the fear for Devon that could so easily paralyze both of their lives. He stacked his notes and put them in his coat breast pocket. “Let's not talk about it,” he added firmly. He was too aware of the noisy crowd, the people pushing past their table, and the feeling that everyone was trying to listen to what should be private between them.

Devon looked sad for a moment and then made an effort to comply to Ajay's wishes by sliding eyes at the red headed waitress and changing the subject. “I've never been in this diner other than to pick up takeout. Care to tell me why that woman looks at me like I smell bad?”

“She's Mrs. Monnety. It's not important,” Ajay replied. “It's old history.”

Devon cocked his head to one side with wide, astonished blue eyes, “If you're going to tell me that you... and her...?”

“No!” Ajay retorted in disgust and then sighed, realizing that he needed to explain. “I took her daughter on a date. You met her, remember? She was the woman that I took to that expensive restaurant when I was working your case.”

“Soft hearted Ajay. I remember,” Devon chuckled warmly. “That date ended rather badly, as I recall. No wonder her mother is pissed at me. I wasn't the other woman. I was the other guy.”

Ajay had a disturbing thought. “Does it bother you?”

“Her not liking me?” Devon wondered with a snort. Devon had never been the type of person to care about someone's bad opinion of him, unless that someone was Ajay.

“No, the women that I dated, before I met you?”

“Dates.” Devon repeated. He reached out and touched Ajay's hand as Ajay reached for his sandwich again. “You don't even call them relationships,” Devon pointed out. ”That tells me that you didn't consider them important to you.”

The intimate touch and the rub of Devon's thumb over the back of his hand, was almost enough to make Ajay want to forget about the case and take Devon home. He very much wanted to show the man how much he loved him. The clatter of a plate startled him out of the thought, though, and Ajay was acutely aware of the other diners, again. The fact that he knew many of them was like cold water poured onto his hot libido.

Ajay turned his hand over, clasped Devon's tightly, and then released him so that he could wrap the rest of his sandwich in a napkin. He handed it to Devon, who looked at it curiously. “I need to get back to work,” Ajay told him. “Take that home and I'll finish it for dinner.”

As he slid out of the booth, Devon said ruefully, “I'm sorry if I interrupted your lunch. It wasn't my intention to keep you from eating. I think I'll cook dinner, tonight, to make it up to you.”

Ajay looked down at his lover with a grimace and then asked, cautiously, “You will be making one of the five dishes that my mother taught you to make?”

Devon raised a hand with a laugh and promised, “I swear. No experiments. I have canned ham, noodles, and I can make a simple white sauce.”

“All right,” Ajay replied, but he couldn’t help the note of trepidation in his voice.

Devon reached up and gave Ajay a small punch on the arm. “For that,” he said with mock irritation, “I'll eat the rest of your pie.” He slid the plate of what was left of the pie towards him, gave Ajay a wink, and then began eating.

“Later, love,” Ajay told him with a laugh. He went back to work, feeling better than he had in days.

It wasn't until Ajay was standing on the same street, where he had been attacked, that he realized that he hadn't once thought about the danger that Devon might be in going to the market and going home alone. An improvement, he thought, but found it hard to dredge up a sense of accomplishment, as he stared at the Victorian renovation across the street.

In daylight, it seemed harmless enough, certainly not the focal point of his anxiety. He considered going in, perhaps explaining to the workmen there, that he was part of the investigation. He rejected it in the next moment. He couldn't allow himself to become distracted from his present case to satisfy a part of his psyche that couldn't stop wanting to solve a case so personal to him and Devon.

The street was busy, but the neighborhood was middle class and well kept, even though it was peppered, here and there, by businesses. The people moving about, cleaning up their front walks, walking their dogs, or just enjoying the day, gave the neighborhood an even greater impression of a quiet, nothing ever goes on here, atmosphere. It made Ajay's memories of that terrible night seem the stuff of nightmare. He couldn't place the darkness, the stark terror for Devon, harsh street lights, pouring, cold rain, and his death defying climb down to safety in this place of sunshine filled, well kept homes and businesses.

And that's how Krowl would see it as well, Ajay realized with a sick feeling in his stomach. Ajay's story would seem less than credible when Krowl was confronted by this slice of Americana normalcy. Why would violent men choose such a place to threaten one of their own? If they were only passing through, and the construction site had seemed an obvious choice, perhaps in the heat of their altercation with their victim, then where had they been going? Where was point A and point B in relation to that quiet neighborhood? Krowl would travel the neighborhood; take the road in both directions, looking for something to support the need for a further investigation.

Ajay heard the sound of paint sprayers, nail guns, and heavy duty air compressors from across the street. Evidence, if there was any, was being destroyed. Ajay had no way of knowing if Krowl had finished his investigation there, or if he had even begun it. As he called Krowl on his cell, his feet went into motion, taking him through traffic and up to a knot of workers standing by the front doors of the building. There was nothing conscious about the act, and Ajay didn’t have anything prepared to say to them, as Krowl answered his call.

Ajay flashed his detective credentials at what he thought was the foreman, but didn’t wait for the man to respond as he snagged a hard hat from one of his workers, put it on his own head, and then went quickly into the building.

“It’s Kavanagh,” Ajay said to Krowl as he took the stairs and ignored dust, workers, and noise as he went up to the floor where he had almost lost his life.

A new floor greeted Ajay and finished drywall. He walked the floors, hoping for the slightest bit of evidence, as he assured himself that Krowl had already been there and had swept the area himself.

“Unlike you, Kavanagh,” Krowl snarled, “I’m not a third rate detective. I managed to find some blood stains and bits of your skin on the metal scaffolding, as well as under the new oak floor of the upper offices.”

“You pulled up the floor?” Ajay asked in disbelief.

“Of course I did!” Krowl barked, making Ajay wince. “Hopefully the precinct won’t be getting a bill for it. I’m pretty sure that no one saw me when I used the crowbar to pry those very expensive oak boards up. I wasn’t able to find any evidence that anyone was there but you that night, though, and I didn’t locate any witnesses when I walked the neighborhood, either.”

There was silence while Ajay went down to the first floor, handed his hard hat back to its puzzled owner, and went back out onto the sidewalk.

“Look, Kavanagh, I don’t like the thought of gang type activity happening in quiet neighborhoods, either. That’s why I gave it the attention that it deserved.” Ajay heard the sound of Krowl shuffling papers and then he continued, “Come in and try to identify the suspects, so that we can at least have some names to go with the report. You know as well as I do, though, that without evidence, and because of your shaky reputation in a courtroom, it likely won’t go any further than that.”

“Thank you for investigating the case, thoroughly,” Ajay said almost automatically. “I-“

“Look, Kavanagh,” Krowl interrupted. “I know you care a lot about that little model guy-boyfriend-whatever of yours, but if you’re going to find these guys and pretend that you have the balls to carry out a personal vendetta, then I’ll tell you right now that I won’t bother showing up at your funeral.”

“Why not?” Ajay asked, feeling cold and sick as he threaded his way through people on the sidewalk and entered into the heavier business section of the community.

“I don’t go to the funerals of stupid people, Kavanagh!”

The man hung up on him, as abrupt as ever.

Ajay stopped, staring at nothing, his cell turning over and over in one big hand. His injuries ached. His memory of a journey down a long hallway to reach a pristine, white note pinned to his apartment door, played itself over and over in his head. Violence had come calling. It had been that close to the man that Ajay loved. Could he accept that a man who had tried to kill him and harm Devon, who knew where he lived, was not going to see justice?

Logic told Ajay that it was a remote possibility, at best, that those men would take an interest in him again if he stayed clear of their business. His heart was another matter. It was ruled by fear and that feared was more than ready to spin out scenarios where he inadvertently came to the notice of those men again. He couldn’t rule out a chance meeting, a simple matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and having those men think that he was still pursuing their case.

Someone bumped into him, swore under his breath about idiots blocking the sidewalk, and then was past and walking quickly, head down, and hands in the pockets of his blue coat. Ajay blinked after him, his brain suddenly shifting gears as he recognized the man that he was supposed to be investigating.

Ajay let the man get some distance before he began following him. Fears, thoughts of going through every criminal file in search of his attackers, and vague feelings of failure and depression, were gone as Ajay went to work. His ability to focus on his cases had been his greatest asset and his failing when it came to relationships. That focus was in full force now, as his client’s ex-husband entered a newer apartment building with a keen look of anticipation in his eyes and a smile on his lips. Ajay wasn’t far behind.

“Gigolo?” Devon repeated and blinked in astonishment. He was carrying dishes of noodles and garlic bread to the table for their dinner. Ajay was already seated, and he looked the food over with a wariness born of many nights spent feeling ill after experiencing Devon’s cooking.

Dressed in a loose white t-shirt and white drawstring pants, hair a tail of braided gold over one shoulder and the rest of his hair lightly mussed, he looked relaxed and rather proud of himself as he assured Ajay, “It’s safe. I tried it, myself, and I haven’t become ill yet.”

Ajay looked guilty and then began forking the noodles and ham in cream sauce onto his plate with an air of daring.

“Gigolo?” Devon prompted as he sat and cut the garlic bread.

“My client’s husband went to the homes of four women looking…”

“Smug?” Devon guessed with a chuckle, “Sated. Tired? Did you sneak inside and spy on them? How do you know that he was being a gigolo?”

Ajay glared. “It wasn’t anything that in depth.”

“In depth,” Devon repeated with an outright laugh. “Now that’s an innuendo.”

Ajay felt embarrassed and uncomfortable as he replied, “I saw him paid at the door, twice, and one woman complimented him on his… skill.”

“Skill?” Devon put garlic bread onto Ajay’s plate. His eyes were sparkling with good humor. “If he has four women on a string, I’ll bet there’s some skill involved.”

“Women like someone to pay attention to them. He might be very good at that,” Ajay said, thoughtfully, as he slowly brought up a forkful of noodles and then took a cautious bite. He smiled in surprise. “This is good! We should take it to Sunday dinner and let everyone try it.”

Devon winced, remembering previous disasters. “I’m not sure that we can get them to try it. Last time, they decided to put the hospital on speed dial.”

“Ma will try it,” Ajay assured him as he savored another bite.

“Is she braver than the rest of your family?”

“No, she’ll try it, because she loves us more than they do. Being our ma, she’s obligated,” Ajay chuckled.

Devon looked wide eyed for a moment and then a warm smile spread across his face.

“What?” Ajay wondered, fork full of noodles and ham poised.

“Our ma,” Devon repeated, his voice telling Ajay how much that meant to him.

Ajay felt embarrassed but he insisted, “Maybe we can’t go into the church and marry, but we have rings and I intend to be with you for the rest of my life. Ma considers you to be family.” Ajay frowned, thinking of Devon’s rejection by his own family. “I wish that I could speak with your father and reassure him that-“

“Don’t!” Devon barked, sitting up straight and clearly anxious. “My father picked my replacement, as soon as he discovered that I wasn’t going to be standing at stud with any of his carefully picked out candidates to carry on his pure genetic heritage.”

“Devon, he’s your father,” Ajay protested. “I’m sure that he must care how you’re doing? I want to reassure him that I love you and that I’ll take care of you.”

Devon frowned, temper suddenly sparking. “I’m not your wife, Ajay. You don’t get to ask my father for my hand in marriage.”

Ajay put down his fork and sighed. “It’s traditional.”

“And Kavanaghs are old school about traditions?” Devon let his temper go and sighed, instead. “Jay,” he said, almost sadly, “I love your family and your traditions. I was born into a different world where people care more about money, inheritance, and how they look in society. I was given the option of pretending to be something that I wasn’t or to lose everything. I’m sitting here, with you, because I was true to myself. There will never be a second chance.”

Ajay reached and took Devon’s hand. “I can’t wish that you chose differently.”

“Good,” Devon told him. “You’re family is all the family that I need. I’m happy, with them, and with you. Now, eat, before your food gets cold.”

Ajay kissed Devon’s slim hand and then let it go to take another bite of food. “This really is good. Please, let’s take it over Sunday?”

Devon looked pleased. “All right, but we need containers. That last dish ruined the baking pan. That’s all we had.”

“I’ll borrow some from my brother, Kile,” Ajay promised, recalling that his brother’s wife owned a great deal of them from her days when she used to sell them for ‘mad money’.

Ajay and Devon finished their food and then they both began cleaning up the dirty dishes. It struck Ajay, as they moved around each other in the small kitchen, that he was feeling a sense of peace and warmth that he had been sorely lacking since being attacked. It was strange that he was feeling it, now, especially when it was clear that he was not going to be able to pursue that case, even through Krowl.

Was that why? Ajay wondered. Failure meant that there wasn’t any reason for those men to return and harm Devon. He could fear misunderstandings and chance meetings, but he knew that those were remote possibilities. Ajay wasn’t sure that he liked being safe because of failure, but he supposed it was at least better than feeling safe because of cowardice to pursue a case.

Devon picked up a rag and began cleaning off the table. His white shirt hitched up and his pants slipped down as he leaned into the task, revealing a length of waist. Muscle sliding under smooth skin, made Ajay stare. He decided, then and there, that Devon had the most erotic hipbones that he had ever seen. When he leaned over the man, pressing against his back, until Devon's upper torso was flat on the table, he surprised them both.

Ajay was usually the one to wait for Devon to initiate something. Being new to a relationship like theirs, he wasn't sure, yet, what was permissible. He didn't want to pressure Devon in any way or feel like he wasn't able to control his urges. His libido seemed to want to make up for lost time, though, lost years, actually, when he had been nearly celibate.

Any flash of thigh, view of softly rounded shoulders, or even the creamy length of Devon's neck, often caused Ajay to forget careful control and his quiet, usually oblivious nature, and to want all of Devon, then and there, without reservation.

“This is a new way to help clean the table,” Devon chuckled

Skip sex scene

When they could talk, again, both of them sitting on the floor and leaning into each other, Devon said with a smile, “I think that I like your way of cleaning off the table.”

Ajay pulled him in tight, battling an urge to hide Devon in the embrace and to never let him go. His upsurge of emotion and a choking noise that came from a throat battling not to sob, embarrassed him. “Love you,” he finally managed.

Devon held Ajay’s face in his hands, looking deeply into his eyes. “That didn’t come from a good dinner, or feeling bad about my horrible family, did it?” He sighed and kissed him gently. “You’re still worrying, love. You have to stop. You have to let it go.”

“I searched the building, before I ran into the man that I was supposed to be investigating,” Ajay admitted, relieving that burden. “I didn’t find anything and neither did Krowl. I’m going to go through mug shots, but even if I find them, I don’t have any evidence to support what happened that night.”

Devon broke away and stood up, swaying as if his knees were weak. He motioned Ajay to get up as well and then clasped hands with him. “Shower,” he urged. “Hot water. Clean up. Get into bed. Leave the dishes.”

Ajay wiped hands over his face and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined our evening, again. I wish that I could forget this, and accept that it’s not something that I can solve, but it involves you. I feel like I’m failing you.”

“You are not failing me,” Devon insisted as he pulled him towards their bedroom. “You have to stop believing that you can make the world safe for me. No matter who you put behind bars, that won’t ever happen.”

Ajay nodded, but the facts had never been enough to make him see sense. He was like a victim of an emotional trauma, only time was going to dull the sharp edges of his fear for Devon. It didn’t help matters when he left Devon in the bathroom, drying his long hair, and found the gun and ammo magazine on his lover’s side of the bed. Stacked with his motorcycle magazines, it gave Ajay a chill to see it, as if he had suddenly seen a snake poised there.

“Dev!” Ajay exclaimed in angry exasperation as he picked up the magazine and saw folded over pages that advertised certain guns. ”If this is your idea of a hint, then you might as well just tell me what's on your mind, because it's not subtle at all.”

A long moment passed and then Devon came out of the bathroom toweling his hair dry. Another towel was wrapped around his hips. It told Ajay that he was feeling vulnerable. The man never had a problem with walking about in the nude in front of Ajay. The tight expression on his handsome face was another clue as he draped the wet towel over his shoulders and faced Ajay.

“You should carry a gun,” Devon said with conviction. “Your job is dangerous.”

Ajay sighed as he opened a drawer in the side table, and dropped the magazine inside. Closing the drawer firmly again, he straightened and faced Devon. “I've already explained why I don't have one. If I'm doing my job right, I shouldn't be the one confronting criminals. I investigate, and then turn the case over to the police.”

“That philosophy didn't work very well when you were handcuffed in an abandoned warehouse and freezing to death,” Devon reminded him. “It certainly didn't work well when you were being assaulted in that building by those thugs.”

Devon dropped his towel and slipped into a white robe. He didn't belt it. He walked across the floor to Ajay and slipped arms around him. His hands were painful as they gripped Ajay's back tightly.

“You carried a gun when you were on the police force,” Devon added, looking up at him with blue eyes that begged him to give in. “I would feel better if you carried one now. You’re afraid for me. Can’t you understand that I feel the same way about you?”

Ajay smoothed a hand along Devon's face and replied with heartfelt regret, “You know that I would do anything for you. I don't like to think that you're worrying this much.”

“Then consider it.” Devon begged.

“When you wear a gun,” Ajay explained, as he sat them both on the end of the bed. ”It can draw its own kind of violence. Some people see it as a challenge, or even permission to do someone harm. They also see it as a threat.”

“Concealed weapons, remember?” Devon retorted impatiently, turning so that one long, naked leg was across both of Ajay's, his slim hands locked behind Ajay's neck. “No one has to know that you're packing.”

“Packing?” Ajay lifted an eyebrow. “You've been talking to Weasel, haven't you?” Ajay's cousin loved crime dramas. It was that love that fueled his interest in helping Ajay with his cases.

“Maybe,” Devon replied evasively.

“People are good at spotting even concealed weapons,” Ajay informed Devon as he slowly pushed the wet, golden strands of Devon's hair from his frowning face. “Word also gets around. I don't think it would be better for me, if people fired their guns at me, right away, because I was known to have my own gun. Don't you think it's possible that Angelico never fired his weapon because he was certain that none of us had one? Not having one kept us safe and alive, in that case. It's much better to be No Gun Kavanagh, than Dangerous Kavanagh, who needs to be shot on sight.”

Devon struggled with that logic so Ajay took out his last argument, the one that was most important to him.

“Dev, love, I don't want to keep our nieces and nephews from visiting us, or worry every moment that I'm with them, that something might happen with the gun. ”Ajay didn't want to relive a bad memory, but it was necessary for Devon to understand. “When I was on the police force, I carried a gun at all times. I left it in its holster, on the bed, while I changed my clothes. I was going to lock it up after Ma stopped by with Betsy, Mark's little girl. Ma was babysitting and decided to take her to the neighborhood garden. She decided to stop by and see me, first. Betsy, while ma and me were talking at the door, ran into my room, grabbed my gun, and came out, pretending... pretending to be a cop.”

Ajay swallowed hard, head bowed at the memory that was ingrained with terror into every fiber of his being. He had softly told her to put the gun on the floor, afraid to startle her and have her pull the trigger. She had, luckily, been old enough to understand that something was scaring them and that she should do as she was told. Retelling that part to Devon took time and he was shaking at the end of it, the feeling of the gun safely back in his hand, still as vivid as when he had picked the gun up off of the floor that day.

“I'm sorry,” Devon finally said after a moment of simply holding onto Ajay and resting his cheek against Ajay's chest. “I'm letting my fears get the best of me. You know how to handle yourself. It's just hard knowing that you might be in danger, and defenseless.”

“I'm not defenseless,” Ajay told him, wrapping his arms around Devon and not caring that the man's wet hair was soaking through his shirt. “I have the best weapon that a man can have.”

“What's that?” Devon asked in confusion.

“Experience,” Ajay replied, recovering enough to lay back and slide Devon on top of him. Devon straddled his hips, white robe open and revealing his slim body, but he was looking down at Ajay with a serious expression and didn't look ready for anything erotic.

“Just like you, I can't stop worrying,” Devon admitted, placing his hands flat on Ajay's wet chest. “I keep remembering how close you came to dying, the look on your face when you came into the apartment, the blood when you held me; your blood, Jay. You’re scared for me. I’m terrified for you.”

“Everyone worries about the person that they love,” Ajay replied as he slipped hands under Devon's robe and cupped hands around the globes of Devon's small ass. “We just have more dangers to worry about than most. I didn’t learn how to deal with this on the police force, because I didn’t have someone that I loved as much as I love you.”

Devon leaned down and nuzzled Ajay's neck, nipping and delivering small kisses. “Somehow, we have to learn not to let it cripple us. Can we do that?” he breathed into Ajay's ear with warm breath.

“I know that you can take care of yourself,” Ajay decided to say first, knowing how angry Devon could become when he doubted that Ajay felt that way. “Knowing that doesn't stop my irrational fear that something might happen that you can't handle.”

“For example?” Devon challenged as he sat up and looked down at Ajay.

“It doesn't matter, so I won't explain any further,” Ajay decided. “Just know that I can feel afraid, just as you do, and that I have to not act on it. No guns. No following your every move to make sure that you’re safe. No second guessing cases or being afraid to take them because they might be dangerous.”

Devon sighed as his hands rubbed down Ajay's chest to the broad expanse of his six pack stomach. “It isn't easy,” he complained, “but the good has always far outweighed the bad in this relationship, lover.”

Ajay felt the same. Fear went hand in hand with love. Everyone was afraid of loss. A person couldn't let that fear change them or stifle the person that they loved, he thought. If only he could make the irrational part of himself believe that.

Chapter Four

“You're drunk,” Ajay complained as he moved out from under Kile's heavy arm.

Kile nodded and waved his beer bottle at Ajay. “My little firecracker, and kids, are away at her sister's for the evening and I have the house all to myself. I get to drink, watch sports, and fart in peace. Or I did, until you showed up.”

“You called me, remember?” Ajay reminded him as he moved out of the small foyer and into the living room of the two bedroom walk up. A black and white cat on the flowered couch gave him a slow look and then went back to sleep.

The décor was definitely feminine. There were doilies on the side tables, tasteful lamps, and pictures of flowers on the walls. It was a far cry from when Kile had been a bachelor and had left his uniforms in a pile near the door and had used salvaged cinder blocks from burned out buildings to make furniture.

Kile followed him, waving his bottle at a small stack of plastic containers on the coffee table. “You asked for those. My Queen of Tupperware went through her entire closet of those things to find you the the size that you asked for. Her warnings were, I quote,” He drew himself up importantly, bottle lifted as if giving a proclamation, “Put any nefarious item into those and you die. Lose them and you die. Call them and tell them that I found them and stop being a lazy arse! Uh, that last was for me. If you know what's good for you, you'll pay attention to those first two.”

Ajay went through the stack, measuring by eye. “I'll take care of them,” he promised.

“What are they for?” Kile wanted to know. “A big case?”

“Something for Sunday dinner,” Ajay replied as he stacked the containers and tucked them under one arm. He turned to go and found Kile standing in front of him, frowning as if he was thinking hard. That was never a good sign.

“Something for Sunday dinner,” Kile repeated, trying out each word and not liking any of them. “Please tell me that you are not going to cook?”

“If I did, it would be a lie,” Ajay replied as he tried to move around his brother. “We're bringing enough to give everyone some to take home, just like everyone else in the family does. We didn’t have enough containers.”

Kile blocked his way again and asked, “Is there a reason that you've suddenly decided to murder the entire family?”

Ajay frowned irritably. “It's ma's recipe, the one with the noodles, ham, and white sauce. We've managed not to ruin it.”

Kile's red eyebrows went up to his equally red hairline and he looked sad, “The noodle recipe with the buttered bread crumbs on top? You're going to ruin my favorite dish?”

“We didn't ruin the recipe,” Ajay protested. “Devon-”

Kile went a little pale, his freckles standing out sharply. “Devon is cooking? Jay, I have to tell you, he's a looker, but Devon in a kitchen is like fire in a fireworks factory. The two don't go together. The man ruined potato salad. Who the hell ruins potato salad? I thought that I was eating wood paste.”

“We've both improved since then,” Ajay protested and tried to push past his brother.

“That cook out was only two weeks ago, brother,” Kile pointed out. He popped a cigarette into his mouth, tucked his beer bottle under one arm, and lit it as he gave Ajay an appraising look. He took a few puffs, took it out of his mouth, and pointed it at Ajay as he said, “You know, I've always wondered....”

Ajay had a feeling that he didn't want to hear what his brother had been wondering about, but Kile deftly blocked him from leaving again without losing either his cigarette or his beer.

“What do you like about him?” Kile went on. “I mean, just curious about what he has that turned you away from the girls.”

“From paste potato salad to none of your business in under two seconds,” Ajay growled, blushing in embarrassment. “You're rude when you're not drunk and obnoxious and rude when you are.”

“I like butts,” Kile said with a leer. “Round ones. My wife definitely has a great ass.”

“I'm not discussing this with you.”

“Why not?” Kile wondered as if hurt. “If you can't talk to your brother... you know... ?”

“No, I don't know.”

“It's his legs, isn't it?” Kile guessed with a smirk. He put a hand on Ajay's shoulder and leaned in. His other hand was gesturing with the cigarette and Ajay fended it off when it came too close to his face. “Not much to him, but he does have some leg.”

Ajay blushed hotter. “And you noticed this?”

His attempt to embarrass his brother failed. “Well, I could have said what was between them but that's a given. I mean I like my wife's-”

“Kile!”Ajay exclaimed. “I don't want to hear about any of this. You're drunk. I need to go.”

“Not until you tell me.”

They glared at each other and then Ajay admitted with a growl, “All right, it's his legs. I'm leaving, now.”

Kile stepped aside, untucking his beer bottle from under his arm and spreading his hands wide, the beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Brother,” he admonished. “You have to learn to loosen up. You don't need to defend Dev from me or anyone in the family. There's nothing wrong about talking about him.”

“You're crude,” Ajay pointed out. “I feel as if you're trying to insult him, or me.”

Kile sighed, took a swig of his beer, and then let it dangle by his leg as he took a drag of his cigarette. He pointed the cigarette at Ajay, “Brother, I'm just trying to understand you, talk, get past this firebreak that you keep making. What I'm saying is, stop trying to put out a fire when there isn't one.”

They stared at one another. Ajay tried to see it from his brother's point of view, tried to understand how his brother was trying to make conversation, and understand something that was uncomfortable for them both. He was trying, Ajay thought, to regain a relationship with a brother that had turned out to be something other than what he had imagined. It wasn't Kile's fault that he could only accomplish that in his usual abrasive manner.

Ajay gripped his plastic containers hard. It wasn't easy for him to talk about something personal. He said, staring down at them, “His legs are perfect; muscle, knees, ankles, everything is perfect.”

Kile was quiet a moment and then he took a long puff on his cigarette. “I noticed, at the cookout, the way you kept staring at his legs when he was wearing those shorts. He must like you staring at them. The weather wasn't warm enough outside to want to wear something like that.”

Kile stepped aside and motioned to the door.

“Okay, brother talk over,” Kile told him. “You can go now.”

Ajay snorted and then asked, “Do you talk about things like this with the others?”

Kile laughed, short and sharp, “Just the married men, little brother. It's what we do, so get used to being a part of it, now that you're … married.” He nodded to the ring on Ajay's finger and looked uncomfortable.

Ajay felt at the ring that Devon had given him and smiled. “Thank you,” he said, not finding any other words that could express being that accepted by his rough around the edges brother.

Kile made waving off motions. “Don't get all sappy on me. Time for you to go. I want to enjoy my man time alone.”

Ajay nodded and opened the door. Kile said, before he could go, “Don't ruin ma's recipe.”

“I'll try not to,” Ajay promised.

“Especially since I think my wife was talking about your cooking when she said, no nefarious items in her Tupperware.”

Once on the porch, with the door closed firmly behind him, Ajay had to admit that his brother was right. He was defensive, more so than even Devon himself, when he suspected that his lover, or his relationship was being attacked. It was still enough of a new thing, that relationship and his awakening to his true sexuality, to leave him floundering in these types of situations. His brother was trying to overcome the same awkwardness, trying to find a way for Ajay and Devon to share in the same camaraderie that he experienced with the other married Kavanaghs.

Tradition. Kavanaghs lived their lives by it. This club of married Kavanaghs was another tradition, one that Ajay’s parents had hoped he would join by finding a nice woman to marry. The woman hadn’t come along, but Devon was accepted and loved enough to gain him admittance.

Ajay thought of another Kavanagh tradition as he went down the steps and walked down Devoe, street lights coming on and the night life of his quiet part of the city beginning to stir. A man asked his wife’s father for their hand in marriage. A man explained his intentions. Devon wasn’t his wife, but Ajay’s father always insisted that a solid foundation was the key to any good marriage.

Ajay tried to imagine speaking to Devon’s father, explaining that even though they were both men, he was still determined to make sure that Devon was well taken care of. Ajay felt a hot blush. Devon had often described his father as a harsh, larger than life, businessman. He never spoke of love, only respect for the man; a respect that seemed to be based on the same healthy fear a person might feel for a man eating tiger.

Book One: Tapping Darkness

Other books by Kracken:

The Angel Within

Tapping Darkness: Part One of the Ajay Kavanagh detective series

Shatterbox

Email: kracken@bonpublishing.com