Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

Nathan replied softly, remembering how close he had once been to not being so. He climbed back into bed and let Harlan pull him into his arms again, only this time he squeezed Nathan tight in order to convince himself that Nathan was in fact there.
    "Thank God," Harlan breathed. He pulled back and kissed Nathan's lips, then his brow. Exhaustion quickly took over and he laid his head on the pillow. "I'm sorry I woke you up again," he said quietly, his eyes drifting shut even as he spoke.
    Nathan merely told him gently to go back to sleep, which he knew Harlan would do quite peacefully now. Harlan didn't need to know that Nathan had been awake for hours, or that he would do his best to remain so for as long as his body would hold out in an attempt to keep the nightmares at bay. Harlan didn't need to know that his dreams were so terrifying, his body seized up, leaving him unable to move or even make so much as a sound. How they were so bad, when he woke, he did so silently, merely opening his eyes. Then he would see Harlan breathing beside him, and feel relieved that he was no longer in the hell he'd just experienced.
    His nightmares were always followed by an overwhelming need to feel and touch the man who kept him whole, and he'd carefully nudge himself as close to Harlan as he could. He'd hold him and bury his face against Harlan's chest, fighting back his tears. Sometimes he'd lose the battle, but regardless of how bad it was, he refused to wake Harlan up and add to his troubles, or guilt. They all carried enough of that as it was.
    Nathan's exhaustion soon won out. He surrendered and held onto Harlan, telling himself whatever happened, when he woke, Harlan would be there, and all would be right with the world.
    CHAPTER 3
    "What do you mean 'it's taken care of'?"
    Harlan cringed and took a sudden interest in the desk's blotter, feeling absolutely certain that Nathan's voice could be heard on the other side of the building. It didn't help that the man on the receiving end of his partner's wrath was their Supervisor. Not that such an exchange was uncommon between the two.
    Supervisor Dench had made it clear on more than one occasion that his tolerance for Nathan's arrogance and complete disregard for rank was solely due to the State Director and the speech the governor had given the previous year where he'd declared them, "… a beacon of light in the fog of corruption, complacency, and cowardice. A shining example of what the Bureau of Prohibition could be if we had more men like Agent Nathan Reilly and Agent Harlan Mackay of the southern district. Those boys fought for our country, and now they fight for our city. God bless them."
    To this day, Harlan didn't know what they could have done to receive such an honor, except maybe do their jobs. They'd been offered more bribes than he could remember, and each one had been met with not only a rejection, but an arrest. One saloon owner had even offered them twenty-five thousand dollars once to keep their agents away. Harlan had taken the man's outstretched hand, smiled, and cuffed him. Some things were more important than money, and that something was now turning red in the face and gripping their Supervisor's desk so hard; Harlan wouldn't be surprised if a chunk snapped off.
    "I meant exactly what I said," Dench replied calmly. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his growing gut. "I've already sent someone to interrogate Regal. He's there now."
    "Who did you send?" Nathan demanded.
    "New boy. Just transferred from Chicago. Got one hell of a reputation. Personally, we could use some new talent around here."
    "Regal is mine," Nathan all but spat out as he jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "I got the tip-off, I set up the raid, I brought him in, and I should be the one interrogating the bastard. It's not bad enough you send some other mug without discussing it with me first, but some asshole from Chicago?"
    Dench jumped out of his chair— which only went to show how much of a lather he was in. The only time the guy made that kind of movement was when someone informed him they were down to the last donut. He slammed his beefy palm on the desk, his jowls turning a purplish-red, and his eyes narrowed at Nathan. "Now you listen to me you arrogant little shit. I don't give a damn if the governor thinks the sun rises and sets out of your ass, this is my unit and I'll run it as I see fit." He turned to Harlan, who braced himself. "Get him the fuck out of my office