Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

private for a more intimate recreational activity.
    Two things I could see clearly from the video. First, Gauthier had been the cab driver that night, and the look of disgust on his face was unmistakable. Second, the boots and blue jeans turned as if the owner was following the path Carmichael and I took to get to the cab. The same boots, two nights later, so close to where I was hitting on another man felt like too much of a coincidence. It felt like I was being watched. We'd scored. I look over at Travis and saw that he approved. This was what he'd wanted the team to see.
    We spent the next several hours reviewing the tapes, on regular speed, sometimes on slow speed, looking for another glimpse of those boots. I thought I caught a glimpse once, but we went frame by frame, and I couldn't actually locate them again. Twice in a week felt good, though.
    We'd been sitting and looking at video for hours. Travis stood and stretched his back. To keep from staring at the visible bulge in his crotch, I rubbed at the spot between my brows where headaches formed when I watched too much television. Jesus, it looked like a nice package… ready for me to unwrap—
    "All right, what now?" I asked, before I thought any more about what I wanted to stick down my throat.
    "We're going back to Lucan's tonight."
    "Yeah, small problem there, Trav. Who the hell am I gonna hit on? You told everyone else to stay home."
    "What do you think, Rainbow Brite? You're going to hit on me. Now you want to crash here for a few hours? You can have the couch. It's going to be a late night."
    CHAPTER 3
    Travis had managed to snag a stool near the center of the bar, and nursed a glass of something amber. Three empty glasses formed a line in front of him. He looked like a convention escapee, on the rumpled side of business casual. I was dressed much as I had been all the other nights, in tight jeans and my black leather vest. Tonight, I'd left the shirt off and added some flash with a heavy gold necklace and diamond stud earrings. Without the shirt the gold hoops through my nipples would stand out against my darker skin and lightly furred chest.
    I knew what we were there to do, and based on the surveillance videos, it looked like we had a real shot at drawing the moth to my flame. I would play my part for all I was worth, and if Travis Boudreaux got a little more than he bargained for… so be it. He was the one who'd decided to play Lone Ranger. Even if Travis hadn't kicked everybody else off the surveillance, the Loo would have taken them for a new string of murders that had just cropped up. We were only investigating crimes against gays, after all. The newest task force was hunting some bizarre ritual killer and murders that involved blood draining. There was always something weird going on in the Crescent City. We'd been promised backup tonight if our case turned hot.
    I took my time, danced with a couple of guys, careful to keep my credentials as a player open. I didn't want to do anything differently than I'd done here the night I'd "hit" on Carmichael. One particularly persistent twink was doing his best to snag me for a private trip to the back room. The third time he approached me to dance, he writhed and bumped his slender body against mine in time to the driving beat of the music, apparently in an effort to impale himself on my dick through my jeans. I might be working, but shit… I was only human . I gripped his hips and ground against his ass. I wasn't going to get off, but after all, the goal was to make me look like I was chasing white meat. I was only doing my job. Besides, turning him away didn't seem polite.
    Hands grabbed me from behind and hips pressed against my ass, much as I was doing to blondie. For a minute, I was the main course in a serving of manwich. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and enjoy. Then a familiar voice spoke low in my ear…
    "Lose the fluff," Travis all but growled. Before I could react, the song ended. In that momentary quiet that sometimes happens in a crowded room, he leaned around me and said very clearly. "Get. Lost." As the next song cranked up, he leaned in and spoke loudly against my ear. "Hey, you want to dance?"
    Apparently, we were changing the game plan. He was supposed to wait for me at the bar, so that I could pick him up. It wasn't a hard and fast rule, because of the seven victims we'd identified, only four had been in bars just before the attacks. The last three, plus one of the Baton