Praise for the writing of Evangeline Anderson
The Punishment of Nicollet
Ms. Anderson wrote a sensational book laced with intrigue and sexual tension in each page-turning scene. This reviewer certainly recommends this story to those who love edgy romance and witty, well-developed characters that would heat any rainy night.
-- Mila “Bean” Ramos, Just Erotic Romance Reviews
Some of Nicollet's antics to get Jack to react were truly funny in their outrageousness. As for the sex... it couldn't be hotter… The Punishment of Nicollet was, for carnal sex and characterization, an excellent story.
-- Dani Jacquel, Just Erotic Romance Reviews
The Punishment of Nicollet was an enjoyable quick read. I was quite impressed with Jack's character and his struggles to adjust to the changing relationship with Nicollet.
-- Xtal, Romance Junkies
Ms. Anderson is a gifted author who has penned an extraordinary tale of love and lust. I loved The Punishment of Nicollet, and I highly recommend the book to readers who love a good hot story with Western flavor.
-- Susan White, Coffee Time Romance
The consuming passion that Jack and Nicollet are riddled with is sizzling and explosive. Both will be left breathless in its wake as will readers. Although this story is short, readers will be pleased with the emotional struggles that both characters endure to have what they want.
-- Jessica, Fallen Angel Reviews
The Punishment of Nicollet is now available from Loose Id.
THE ASSIGNMENT
Evangeline Anderson
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * * *
This book is rated:
For substantial explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (homoerotic sex).
The Assignment
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29
Carson City NV 89701-1215
Copyright © February 2006 by Evangeline Anderson
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-225-7
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Catherine Gilbert
Cover Artist: Sable Grey
Chapter One
Early 1980s
“This is gonna take some getting used to.” Detective Sean O’Brian plopped down on the huge, four-poster, king-sized bed and slid one hand up the elaborately carved post nearest him thoughtfully. “Lap of luxury,” he muttered.
“What, sleeping in the same bed, or being my ‘boy’?” Detective Nicholas Valenti, O’Brian’s partner of six years, grinned at the smaller man while he stowed his folded clothes in the carved oak dresser that matched the bed. O’Brian was done with that chore, having shoveled his own clothes into the two drawers above Valenti’s the minute they walked into the room.
Usually O’Brian was the neatnik, while Valenti tended to let things go, but the tall man felt the need to have something to do with his hands. As for O’Brian’s hasty unpacking job -- well, Valenti reflected, it wasn’t the first thing his partner had done out of character lately -- not by a long shot. The fact that they were unpacking their bags at the RamJack was ample proof of that.
“Both,” O’Brian said succinctly. “But I still don’t understand why I have to be your boy. Why can’t I be the sugar-daddy, huh? I’m butch enough.”
Valenti sighed. Not this again. He was beginning to think that O’Brian was whining about their arrangement just to get to him. A small smile playing around the corners of his partner’s full mouth told him his guess was probably correct.
“We agreed that you would be the boy because you’re so little and cute and furry -- like a blond teddy bear, remember?” He looked over his shoulder and grinned at O’Brian, who had flopped onto his back, the better to enjoy the plush mattress.
Valenti knew his partner hated to be teased about his blond good looks and compact stature. O’Brian wasn’t exactly short at five-nine, but he wasn’t exactly tall, either, especially compared with Valenti’s six-two. “Also, because you’re better at shaking your ass,” Valenti added.
“You got that right.” O’Brian grinned back, refusing to rise to the bait. The grin reaching all the way up to his sea-green eyes, fringed thickly with reddish-blond lashes. “Yeah, I know I’m cute, and I’ll play your boy. Just don’t expect me to suck your dick, all right?”
“I think I can safely promise it won’t come to that,” Valenti answered dryly. But his partner’s words caused something low in his body to tense. “After all,” he continued, trying to put O’Brian’s careless words out of his mind as he shoved the rest of his socks in the drawer, “Captain Harris told us to go undercover -- not under the covers.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Remind me again how we got such a plum assignment,” O’Brian grumbled. He rolled over on the bed so that he lay on his stomach and looked at his partner in the mirror over the dresser. “Oh, yeah -- ’cause none of the Narc detectives that should be doin’ this job are comfortable enough together to play ‘gay.’ But apparently we are.”
“You have to admit, O’Brian, we don’t freak out if we accidentally touch each other, like a lot of guys do.” Valenti caught himself noticing in the mirror how tightly his partner’s jeans were stretched over his firm ass and had to look down quickly at the drawer he was filling so methodically.
“That’s ’cause we’re so studly, we don’t have to worry. We’re secure in our masculinity, corazón. Muy macho,” O’Brian answered contentedly. It was a joke between them that the Irish O’Brian knew more Spanish than his partner. Valenti couldn’t speak a word despite the fact that he looked every inch of his Colombian heritage, with his black hair, brown eyes, and natural tan. He was actually more WASP than Latino in temperament and background.
“Yeah, we’re a regular couple of studs, all right,” Valenti answered distractedly, still unpacking. “Wish you wouldn’t call me that, Sean.”
O’Brian had always had a penchant for crazy nicknames, and he had picked up the affectionate Spanish corazón, which meant “heart,” from Valenti’s grandmother on a trip back east to visit his best friend’s family a few years before.
Abuelita was the only member of Valenti’s family to retain her ethnicity in the move his parents had made from the south side of the Bronx to the Hamptons when Valenti’s father had made it big. Valenti had only been three at the time, and his upwardly mobile father had insisted that nothing but English would ever be spoken in his new home.
So aside from a few standard phrases and his grandmother’s pet name for him, Valenti didn’t speak a word of Spanish. O’Brian, who had no formal training but a natural ear for languages, did.
“What, corazón? You know you love it, Valenti. Besides, what are you afraid of -- that people are gonna get the wrong idea about us? In this place, it’d be the right idea, ya know?” O’Brian laughed, a musical tenor that always fooled people into thinking he had a beautiful singing voice. Valenti knew the truth about that -- his partner might have an ear for languages, but he was completely tone-deaf when it came to music. O’Brian couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.
“I should never have let you know I hated that nickname,” Valenti grumbled, still trying not to look in the mirror. Honestly, he didn’t see how the hell O’Brian’s jeans stayed on at all. He wore them so tight over his round, firm ass, they always seemed in imminent danger of spontaneous combustion -- the way Valenti felt any time he was around his partner lately. Since he and O’Brian were almost always around each other, it was creating something of a problem for him.
“Make ya a deal: I promise not to call you by your abuelita’s nickname for you, if you’ll just hurry the hell up with the unpacking. I wanna go check this place out -- it’s s’posed to be really ritzy.” O’Brian sat up suddenly on the bed.
“Almost done. Can’t wait to get out there and shake your groove thang, huh, partner?” Valenti answered, trying to get back to their normal banter. He risked a look in the mirror and saw his own worried eyes looking back.
“You know it babe -- I’m hot.” O’Brian jumped off the bed and did a few impromptu dance steps to prove it, shaking his round ass for the benefit of Valenti and thousands of adoring invisible fans.
Valenti shook his head in mock exasperation. This was the first really big case they’d been assigned since O’Brian’s near-fatal stabbing over six months ago, and his partner was a ball of nervous energy.
“Get outta here,” he growled, slapping O’Brian on the back with a folded undershirt. “Go explore on your own for a while and leave me to finish unpacking in peace. Just try to stay out of trouble, and I’ll meet you later.”
“You sure you wanna risk some other daddy bear grabbin’ my tender virgin ass when you’re not there to protect me?” O’Brian grinned and batted surprisingly long eyelashes. He stripped off his leather jacket, revealing the familiar furry chest underneath a skin-tight white T-shirt.
Twonnie, their consultant about all things gay, had tried his best to convince O’Brian to wax, arguing that gay men in general and boy toys in particular didn’t go for that much body hair. But O’Brian had adamantly refused. Secretly, Valenti was glad about that -- his partner wouldn’t have been the same without the mat of wiry, reddish-gold hair that decorated his well-defined chest.
Still posing for his fans, O’Brian preened for the mirror. “I’m a hot little twinkie.” The skin-tight jeans clung lovingly to his plush ass and outlined his heavy cock, which bulged suggestively through the worn material.
Valenti groaned and rolled his eyes in mock disgust, although he privately agreed with his partner’s assessment of his own body. “Would you get outta here?” He shook his head sarcastically. “You’re driving me nuts with your blatant sexuality.” In fact, he was more than half hard from watching his partner move so provocatively, but he kept up their usual casual banter, hoping O’Brian wouldn’t notice. There was no reason for his partner to be looking at his crotch anyway. O’Brian didn’t swing that way, no matter what Valenti had been wishing lately.
“I’m goin’ already.” O’Brian threw one last grin over his shoulder as he sashayed to the door of their suite in that hip-rolling, ass-shaking swagger he had perfected for this assignment. “But you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.”
“Yeah, I’ll miss you like a bad rash,” Valenti said lamely and made as if to throw a pair of rolled-up socks at his partner’s head. Pretending to duck, O’Brian scooted out the door quickly, only to open it a second later, poking his head through the crack to say, “See ya later -- daddy.” The socks hit the door as he banged it shut with a flourish, and Valenti could hear him laughing all the way down the hall of the luxurious resort.
Valenti closed his eyes and sank onto the plush surface of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched in defeat. He had a bad feeling about this assignment. A feeling that it could alter their partnership forever. He wondered again how he and O’Brian had ever let themselves be talked into going undercover in the country’s largest gay resort.
His mind flashed back to the scene in Captain Harris’s office a week ago ...
Chapter Two
“Got something for you two.” Harris was quieter than usual, almost subdued, Valenti thought. He studied their captain, waiting to hear what he wanted. Harris’s usually neat gray hair was rumpled as though he had been running both hands through it, and his red-and-yellow “power tie” was pulled loose so that the knot hung a good three inches below his collar. It was an unheard-of informality in a man who valued an orderly personal appearance.
“Yeah?” Beside him, O’Brian slouched easily on the arm of Valenti’s chair rather than getting one of his own, legs spread wide to give his heavy cock more room in the skin-tight pants he habitually wore. He had one arm thrown around his partner’s shoulders in a comradely fashion.
Valenti knew the picture they must present to anyone passing by the big glass window of Harris’s office -- the dark head and the light, closer than they ought to be if you listened to the dictates of a homophobic society, which he and O’Brian never did. Coming from a large, affectionate Irish family, O’Brian was a touchy-feely guy. He was comfortable displaying affection and always had been, ever since the two men had met in the LAPD Police Academy and become instant friends.
Valenti had come to California on his own private exodus. He had been trying to get away from his controlling father, who couldn’t believe his son would rather be a cop than a doctor or a lawyer or a broker or any of the other “respectable” professions that his family’s wealth and privilege demanded. O’Brian had been a smart-mouthed Irish kid fresh out of the army.
They had been a perfect match right from the start, complementing each other’s strengths and shoring up each other’s weaknesses. The Ivy-League-educated Valenti had been top of their class academically, while O’Brian had led in physical aptitude and was a deadly marksman. They had become inseparable, dubbed “The Mick and the Spic,” and the gag at the academy was that they were only one ethnic group away from a pretty good joke. But the way Captain Harris was looking at them now, Valenti tended to think that the case he was about to assign was no laughing matter.
“Yeah,” Harris said shortly, finally acknowledging O’Brian’s one-word question. He was playing with a yellow number-two pencil nervously, moving it between his fingers and thumbs as he spoke. “Something from Narcotics, actually, but there’s nobody in their department can handle it. You guys heard about the kid who OD’d down at the Dancing Queen last week?”
“On coke, right?” Valenti asked. The Dancing Queen was a notorious gay night spot downtown that was constantly being raided for illegal drugs and yet somehow still managed to stay open. The overdose Harris was talking about was the fourth one that month, and every one had involved large doses of cocaine.
“Uh-huh. A shitload of it, cut with something toxic -- possibly rat poison. Heavy-duty stuff and very dangerous. We raided the place again last night and got a supplier. He agreed to talk in return for immunity, so we cut a deal. Now we know where the stuff is coming from, and we have an idea who the guy behind it is. Name is Vincent Conrad, and he’s been in the drug scene a long time.”
“So you need someone to go undercover and make the bust,” O’Brian finished for him. “But why us, Cap’n? Ain’t Narc got enough guys without draggin’ our asses outta Homicide? Valenti an’ me were getting’ so comfortable.” He gave his partner’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. Valenti smiled humorlessly. He’d been anything but comfortable around his partner lately, and what department he was in had nothing to do with it.
“Well, yes, but I don’t think any of them is as qualified to handle the situation as you two are.” Harris looked distinctly ill at ease, and the pencil he had been playing with suddenly snapped in his hands. “You see ...” He studied the two pencil halves carefully, as though thinking of gluing them back together, before placing them on his desk. “The guy we want has his headquarters in ’Frisco.”
“Ah, good ol’ San Fran, city of brotherly love.” O’Brian grinned at his partner, and Valenti grinned back uneasily, wondering where this was headed.
“Uh, I think that’s Philadelphia you’re thinking of, O’Brian,” he said.
“Nope, Philly don’t have nothin’ on the City by the Bay when it comes to that kind of action -- or so I hear,” his partner said, looking back at their captain. “So, he’s in ’Frisco and you want us to make the bust. But you still didn’t say why us.”
Valenti was already beginning to get a bad feeling, and it only deepened when Harris cleared his throat and said, “Conrad has his headquarters at a resort he owns -- the RamJack.”
“What?” Valenti couldn’t keep the apprehension out of his voice. “You’re saying you want us to go undercover at the biggest gay resort in the country?” The RamJack was so notorious that even outside the gay community it had a reputation for decadence and corruption.
He half expected his partner to explode at the suggestion, but O’Brian just lay even further back on the arm of his partner’s chair. There was a dangerous glint in his sea-green eyes, and Valenti watched them change to a flat, hard emerald when he addressed their captain.
“And what makes you think Valenti and I would be so good at this assignment, Cap’n?” he asked, his voice dangerously low and cool. “You sayin’ Valenti and I are gay?”
Valenti could understand his partner’s defensiveness. He knew there had been rumors about them before because of their close friendship and the way they were so comfortable in each other’s space. Rumor was one thing, but to hear their captain say they should play a gay couple because they were more “suited” for the part than any other detective team was something else. Talk about damning us with faint praise, Valenti thought sourly.
“No, hell, no!” Harris blustered furiously, finding another pencil to bend. “But, well ... damn it, O’Brian, you two are just more comfortable around each other than any other detectives we’ve got. You’ve been partners a long time -- you know each other. And you’re not a pair of rabid homophobes like a lot of the guys here. Who am I gonna send, huh? Jenkins and Johnson? Jenkins snickers like a schoolboy every time he sees a drag queen, and Johnson would lose his lunch if I asked him to stay at a gay resort -- let alone pretend to be gay himself. And the rest are just as bad or worse.
“No.” Harris shook his head. “You two are my only option. I know it’s awkward, but that can’t be helped. Of course ...” He put the pencil down on his desk blotter beside the broken one and leaned back in his chair. “... you two can refuse the assignment. Technically it’s out of our jurisdiction, so it’s strictly voluntary.”
“But this Conrad is putting some heavy-duty shit on the street, and kids are getting killed because of it. I’d really like to nail this bastard, and I thought you’d agree with me.”
“We’ll do it,” O’Brian said, at the same time Valenti said, “No way,” emphatically. They looked at each other, confused. They were almost always in agreement.
Harris looked at both of them and frowned. Valenti knew what he was thinking -- O’Brian should be the one having a problem with this assignment, not his partner.
Everyone knew that despite being so touchy-feely, O’Brian was the more macho of the two men. Valenti knew that his partner’s upbringing probably had something to do with that. Growing up in one of the toughest blue-collar Irish-Catholic neighborhoods in Boston, and being short and blond, with features that were so finely molded they were almost pretty, had given O’Brian something to prove. Valenti was more easygoing -- more willing to keep an open mind about things like this. But, then, he hadn’t had to fight every dumb jock in his neighborhood that called him a “fucking faggot” growing up because he was small and cute, either.
Captain Harris just sighed and shook his head. “Talk it out and let me know. Got to have both of you on board for this one to work.” Harris motioned for them to leave. “Shut the door behind you, and let me know by the end of the day,” he said, turning back to the paperwork on his desk.
Outside the office, the partners argued in lowered voices.
“What’s with you, O’Brian? I thought this kind of thing made you sick. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Valenti was genuinely baffled. O’Brian had never been one of those cops that went in for gay bashing, but he had never been exactly gay-friendly, either. Valenti usually ended up dealing with their few homosexual informants. And ever since O’Brian’s little brother, Ian, had left his wife and three young children for his insurance salesman, homosexuality -- especially man-on-man homosexuality -- had been a touchy subject. Valenti sometimes thought it was Ian’s duplicity more than his sexuality that bothered O’Brian, but it still wasn’t something they talked about very much or very easily.
“What’s with you, Valenti?” O’Brian demanded, without answering his partner’s question. “You never struck me as a homophobe. Thought you were a real open-minded kinda guy.”
“I am open-minded, but Sean, we don’t know what we’re getting into here,” Valenti protested, knowing it sounded lame, but unable to come up with a better excuse. There was no way he was going to give the real reason for his reluctance to accept the mission, given his partner’s usual take on the gay lifestyle.
O’Brian snorted dismissively. “Yeah, I do -- we’re gonna go in there and nail the scum that’s been handing out poisoned candy to every twinkie in town. Ya know, Valenti, I may not agree with the lifestyle, but they got a right to live, same as you and me.”
“I know. It’s just ...” Valenti floundered, completely unable to find the words. “Well, the captain’s right -- we are more comfortable around each other than the other guys, but still -- we’re only comfortable up to a point, you know?”
“Aw, whatza matter, Nicky, afraid you’ll have to hold my hand?” O’Brian made light of it, but there was an angry glint in his eye.
He thinks I don’t want him -- don’t want to touch him that way, Valenti thought despairingly. God help me, if only he knew ...
“It’s not that, and you know it,” he said quietly. “It’s just ... aw, hell, Sean, I don’t know. You don’t think it’ll be weird?”
“Not if we don’t let it bother us,” his partner replied, lightening up and clapping Valenti on the back. “It’s just another undercover assignment, Nick, that’s all. Now come on -- you in or out?”
“In, I guess,” Valenti replied, feeling like a drowning man going down for the third time. He wondered if it was O’Brian’s use of his first name that made him agree; his partner only called him Nick when he was really serious about something.
“Great.” O’Brian’s face lit up, and his eyes were deep sea green again. “I’ll go tell Harris. We’re gonna nail this scum, partner. You wait and see.”
“As long as we don’t get nailed in the process,” Valenti said. He had meant to be sarcastic, but his words came out quiet and a little sad. O’Brian looked at him strangely and shook his head.
“Don’t worry, Valenti. Nobody’s goin’ down but Conrad. Hey, it’s us-against-them time -- the Mick and the Spic against the forces of evil. Who do ya think’s gonna win? Gotta be us, right?” He winked and ran one hand through his thick thatch of reddish-blond hair.
“Right,” Valenti returned dutifully. He wondered why, if the outcome was so certain, he felt such a sense of foreboding as his partner turned and walked with jaunty steps back to Harris’s office.
“We’ll take it,” he heard O’Brian say. “So when do we leave?”
Chapter Three
“A project like this, you got to do some research. Got to e-du-cate yourselves, you know?”
They were sitting in the ShySide bar, talking with their good friend and best information source, Turk. Turk was a huge black man with a head as bald and shiny as a billiard ball, and enough muscles to crush anyone who was stupid enough to get on his bad side. He was the owner of the ShySide and regularly wore color combinations that would make a blind man cry. But he always had the latest news on the streets, and his information was never wrong.
Today Turk was dressed to the nines in lime-green pants and a bright pink shirt. The outfit made Valenti think of a psychedelic watermelon, and the white slice of a smile that split Turk’s face almost lightened his mood. Almost.
“Hey, we didn’t come here to ask for advice on how to work the case, Turk,” O’Brian replied, grinning to show he was kidding. “We came for information. I mean, me and Valenti been in and outta the gay bars on different cases often enough to know what’s going down in there.”
“Yeah, but every time you been there, it was as cops, not as patrons,” Turk pointed out. “I’m just sayin’, it wouldn’t hurt you to go down to one of those...
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