Jack's message had been simple, telling him that they had a case, Christopher Larabee, but he hadn't left any additional information about the man. He'd gone over what he wanted Martin to do once he was brought up to speed on the case, and that he'd be back to the office soon. Martin sighed as he turned on his computer, his mind already thinking about the various databases he might need for this search. Telephone records, cell phone records, all financial records, criminal records, division of motor vehicles records were the ones that came first to mind.
It wasn't until the computer had fully booted up that Martin thought about checking the whiteboard. Stretching as he stood, Martin walked over to it, and he came to a sudden stop as he saw the picture of the missing person. It was Chris, the man that Martin had made plans with for that very night. The man that Martin had been with for the past five nights in a row.
Martin swallowed hard as he read the name, Christopher Larabee. This was the first that he'd seen Chris's last name, but then again, Chris didn't know his last name, either. Martin reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and fingered the key to Chris's hotel room as he read the little bit of information on the board. Chris had gone missing that morning after leaving his hotel for a conference. He'd never arrived at the conference, but this wasn't noticed until around 12:30 that afternoon. Martin glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that it was now 7. Chris had mentioned to him that the conference sessions began each day at 9, broke for lunch around noon, then ended at 5. Even though Martin was long gone from the hotel by the time Chris left for the conference, he knew that Chris left the hotel at 8:30 each morning, walking the three blocks to the conference center. If Chris had left on time, then that meant he had been missing now for ten and a half hours. Where could he be? He'd been having a good time at the conference, and Martin knew that Chris was supposed to give a lecture that morning. He hadn't told Martin what it was about, but he had talked about how honored he'd felt to be asked to give the presentation. Chris would never willingly miss it.
The problem was, Martin knew far more about what Chris liked to do with regards to sex than he knew about what Chris did for a living, or even where he lived. Their one night stand of anonymous sex had turned into five nights, and Martin didn't regret a single one of them. No, regret wasn't what he was feeling right then. He was afraid. Afraid for Chris and what might have happened to him, and he was afraid of how his co-workers would look at him once they knew that he'd been spending those nights with Chris. He hadn't outted himself at work, so the fact that he liked both men and women was going to be a surprise right there. And if Jack asked him to go into details about the relationship he had with Chris, well, that wasn't going to go down very well, especially when he revealed that he didn't even know the man's last name. And then it would all be in the official reports on the case and everyone up the food chain would see those reports and know, and his father; well, Martin's stomach did a hard flip when he thought about what his father might have to say on the matter. He'd have to call and tell him before the reports were filed.
Martin closed his eyes and leaned against the nearest surface, wondering how a good week could turn bad so damn quickly. The vending machine lunch of hours ago was threatening to come back up, and Martin swallowed quickly in an attempt to avert vomiting. He was still trying to decide whether to rush to the men's room or just drag a trash can over when he heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind him. Turning slightly, Martin saw that it was Jack. Just seeing his boss and knowing that he was going to lose any and all respect that Jack might have for him was the deciding factor. Martin quickly moved over to Sam's desk, grabbing her trash can and throwing up until there was nothing left in his stomach.
Martin couldn't stop himself from flinching when he felt a hand touching the middle of his back.
"Easy there, Martin," Jack's voice soothed.
Of course, Jack would be kind to him, but it pained Martin to know that that kindness would be gone once he told Jack the truth. While Martin was pretty certain that Jack would easily handle the knowledge that Martin liked men and as well as women, he wasn't naïve enough to think that Jack would easily accept the kind of things Martin liked to do with other men.
"Sorry," Martin said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I just wasn't…Jack, we need to talk." Martin looked over at Jack and it nearly killed him inside to see the concern in the older man's eyes.
Jack nodded. "Go wash up and meet me in my office. I'll take care of this," Jack indicated the trash can.
"Thanks." Martin hurried to the men's room where he wasted no time rinsing out his mouth and then washing his face. As he dried his hands, he took a long look in the mirror. He really liked working in the Missing Persons Unit, liked his co-workers. Some of them he liked too much, like Sam and Danny, and there were times when Martin knew he'd never stand a chance with either one of them. Sam kept giving the impression that she was untouchable, and Danny, well, Danny just liked women too much to ever consider being with another guy. That didn't stop him from fantasizing about Danny, though, and from wishing that those innocent, flirty remarks that Danny was so good at were for real.
Martin tossed the paper towel into the trash, then headed for Jack's office. He paused just outside the door, watching as Jack worked. Jack finally looked up, meeting Martin's eyes, and he motioned for him to come in. Martin opened the door and then took a seat across from Jack.
"I take it that court didn't go well?" Jack said.
Martin shook his head. "No. Or rather, yes. It went well. The jury came back with a guilty verdict. The A.D.A. is pretty certain that the defense is going to file an appeal, so we sat down and went over everything again. He feels that the case will hold up on appeal, though."
Martin looked down at the front of Jack's desk. "It's this case. I can't work it, Jack."
Jack made a noise and Martin looked up. Jack looked slightly aggravated. "I take it that you spoke with Danny. Martin, I don't really care about your opinion on homosexuality. Chris Larabee is missing, and it's our job to find him, no matter how we feel about how he spent his spare time, do I make myself clear?"
"Jack…" Martin began, but was immediately cut off.
"I said, do I make myself clear?"
Martin nodded, wishing that Jack wasn't so damn stubborn. "Crystal clear."
"Good. Danny interviewed a room service waiter and got a lead on a guy that was spending the nights with Larabee. He's checking now to see if the hotel has security cameras in the lobby or elevators so we can try to identify the boyfriend. In the off chance that the boyfriend is actually a hustler, we're having the waiter come in tomorrow morning to look at some mug shots."
"He won't find him," Martin said. He looked directly at Jack. "He won't find him because there isn't a boyfriend."
Jack and Martin stared at each other for a few moments. Martin felt the room growing warmer by the second, and his stomach was doing those odd little flips again.
"No boyfriend?"
Martin shook his head. "No boyfriend. I didn't even know his last name until I saw it on the board."
"You didn't know his last name? You mean that you…that you're the…" Jack looked about as flustered as Martin had ever seen him look.
"I mean that I've spent the last five nights with Chris, Jack. I can't work this case because of that."
There. It was now out in the open, and despite his fears that Jack would now treat him differently, Martin felt a bit of relief. The times when he'd gone out looking for a man, he'd been careful to ensure that he didn't see anyone he recognized from work, not back in Seattle, nor here in New York. Not ever. As far as Martin knew, Jack was now the only person in the Bureau who knew that Martin liked men that way. Well, as soon as Danny looked at those security tapes, he'd know it, but Martin could only handle one anxiety attack at a time, and right now was the time for feeling anxious about what Jack would say and do about this. He'd have time to panic about Danny later.
Jack stared at Martin, then reached for his phone and dialed. For one brief, panic-filled second, Martin thought that Jack was calling Victor to tell him that his son was not only gay, but perverted and demanding that he transfer his butt out of there. Instead, Martin found himself hearing Jack telling Danny to collect the security tapes and bring them back to the office as soon as possible. Jack would be going through them himself.
Jack ended the call, then looked at Martin. "I need you on this case, Martin. Larabee is a Group Supervisor with the ATF, on one of their Regional Mobile Enforcement Teams, no less, so finding him is of utmost importance. What I can do is get you away from here. He works out of their Denver office, and I need agents out there to go through his office and house and to liaise with Larabee's team on possible suspects there. I'm sending you and Danny on that. Danny interviewed the waiter, and I'll have him turn his notes over to me. As far as I'm concerned, nobody but me needs to know right now that you were the person keeping company with Larabee this past week. However, if that needs to be revealed, then I won't have a choice to bring up your name, but I'll do my best to keep the details out of the paperwork."
Martin thought that Jack looked sincere and a bit concerned. The hate and revulsion that he'd expected to see just weren't there. Then again, Jack hadn't read Danny's notes, and there was no telling what that waiter had told Danny, especially considering what they'd done last night. "I appreciate that, Jack, but it's not necessary. I'm prepared for the fallout from this, and I don't want you risking your job trying to keep this a secret."
"Let me be the judge of what's necessary and not necessary, Martin," Jack said, his voice stern. "And I'm also the one to be the judge of what and who I risk my career for."
Jack opened up a notebook and held his pen ready. "I need you to tell me everything you know about Larabee. How and when you met, what he was like, you know the drill."
Martin nodded. He'd lost count of how many times he'd told a witness to tell him everything, because it could be the most littlest of things that broke a case open. "We met Sunday night. I was standing outside of the Falcon, it's a gay bar over on the west side. I think it was around 8 or so, and Chris was heading for the door when we saw each other."
****************************************************
Martin leaned against the brick wall of the club, feeling the vibrations from the music that blared on the other side. Having been in the club on more then one occasion, he could easily picture what was going on inside the building. Bodies pressed close against each other, jockeying for position on the dance floor. Bodies pressed close against each other as they tried to get the attention of the bartender so they could order another round. Bodies tense and sweaty as they rubbed against each other in the booths, the smell of sex mixing with the odor of alcohol, tobacco, sex and leather in the room. And that was just the front room. Martin's time at the Falcon was usually spent in the back rooms, where the real action was to be found.
Standing with his back against the wall, Martin had a clear line of vision of not only the door, but of the men who entered and exited that door. Some of the men entering the club looked eager, some looked downright mean, and some looked a bit desperate, their pants tight and shirts even tighter, nipple rings pushing out the fabric of the shirts, begging to be played with.
And the men leaving the club were a varied bunch as well. Some looking sated, some feral, and some disappointed. Even some who still looked mean because they didn’t get any satisfaction inside. A few of those men had approached him, looking for that satisfaction, but none of them interested him. Martin wasn’t exactly sure just what kind of man he was waiting for that night, but he knew that when that right man approached him, he’d know it, and they wouldn’t need many words to let one another know what they each wanted.
And so Martin waited, for once glad of all of the times he’d spent on stake-outs, since that had helped to teach him patience.
That patience was rewarded when Martin looked toward the street in time to see a man getting out of a taxi. It wasn't an unusual sight in front of the club, but for some reason, Martin didn't want to look elsewhere. The man turned around as the cab drove away, and Martin took quick note of the tight black jeans, black, form-fitting T-shirt and matching leather jacket that the man was wearing. His blonde hair seemed to shine in the streetlight, and the man hesitated for a few moments. Once he finally started toward the doors of the Falcon, Martin saw that he was wearing cowboy boots, and he immediately profiled this man as a stranger to both the club and New York, since those native to the area generally didn't wear those kinds of boots.
The man came to a stop a few yards away, his gaze on the door and then he looked over at Martin. For a moment, it felt as if time stood still as their gazes met. Martin could have sworn that he saw a spark of recognition in the man's eyes, but it quickly passed. The blonde slowly walked over to him, a grin spreading over his face. Everything about this guy, from the way he looked at him to the way he carried himself, screamed at Martin that this guy was into domination and Martin had to fight back the urge to drop to his knees right then and there, freely offering himself.
Instead, Martin pressed his back against the brickwall and did his best to give off an aura of availability and willingness without seeming too desperate for what this man had to offer.
Martin held the other man's gaze a few moments longer, and then found himself looking down at his own boots, signaling his willingness to submit. He knew that the other guy was looking at him, assessing him. Martin had dressed carefully for the evening, black leather pants that hugged his body, black engineer boots, and a tight white T-shirt that left little to the imagination. Clothing that revealed a lot, but still left something there for an interested man to remove, or order to be removed.
"I'm Chris." Just two words, and yet Martin could pick up on the confidence in the man's voice.
"Martin."
"Look at me, Martin."
Martin looked up and saw that Chris had stepped closer until there were just a few feet separating them. Chris reached out with his hand and cupped Martin's jaw, holding his head in place as he looked at him.
"I want you tonight, and I think you know what that means. I want all of you, Martin. The question though, is if you're willing to come back to my hotel with me? Will you trust me that much?"
Martin's mind was racing, trying to make some sense of the situation, since his body was totally in agreement with Chris and wanted to go with the man. It was dangerous to go to hotel with a stranger. Hell, it was dangerous to go home with a stranger, or anywhere else where they'd be alone. Under normal circumstances, a trick would have asked Martin to go to one of the Falcon's back rooms with him. But there was something about Chris that made Martin trust him. Oh, Chris would hurt him, of that Martin had no doubt. But it would be the type of hurt that Martin wanted, and nothing dire or life threatening.
But there were stipulations, things that Martin never backed down on. "You have condoms?"
Chris rubbed his thumb lightly over Martin's cheek. "I have a whole box of condoms. I don't have sex without them." Chris seemed pleased that Martin had asked, and Martin took that as a good sign. Yes, he trusted this man.
"Yes. I want to go back to your hotel, sir."
****************************************************************
Martin realized that Jack was staring hard at him, a look of anger in his eyes. "You know better than to go back to a stranger's hotel room, Martin. How could you be that reckless?" Jack demanded to know, making Martin feel about two feet tall and guilty as sin.
"I know how to handle myself, Jack. I've never gone off with anyone who made me feel uncomfortable, and with Chris, I felt very comfortable."
"You make it sound as if you always go off with strangers for sex." Again, Jack's tone of voice made Martin feel worse than before.
"Not always, no. Just sometimes." There was no way in Hell that Martin was going to even try to explain to Jack how sometimes he just craved anonymous sex and the chance to lose himself in whatever happened; that sometimes he wanted to be hurt, wanted to submit to another man, needed to be punished. There was no way Jack could ever understand those feelings, and Martin knew it would be a lost cause for him to even try to explain them.
"Anyway, as we rode back to the hotel, Chris told me that he was in town for a conference, but he never said where it was being held or what it was about. He mentioned that he was giving a presentation during it, and he seemed to be proud about that. Chris mentioned that several times during the week." Martin shook his head, "I'm sorry that I can't give you more details, Jack, but that first night we didn't talk all that much, and the little bit of talking that we did do was mostly about what we each liked and didn't like, sex-wise. He asked me to stay the night, I told him that I would, but that I had to leave early the next morning, and he had no problem with that. Monday morning, he asked me if I'd come back that night, and again, I agreed to do that. Tuesday morning he brought up the idea of me coming back each night, and he gave me the extra keycard for the room."
Martin pulled the key out of his pocket and put in on Jack's desk. "We were alone each night. And except for Wednesday, Chris was there in his room by the time I arrived, but he never asked why I didn't show up at the same time each night. The only other person we ever saw was the room service waiter. When Chris called for room service on Monday night, he specifically asked for that waiter. It was the same each time. Chris would call to place the order, then he'd open the door and flip the security latch so that the door wouldn't fully close. Once that was done, he'd go back to whatever it was we were doing before he called. The waiter would arrive, Chris would call out for him to come in and then he'd basically ignore the guy until he had the food set out on the table. Chris would then sign the bill and give him a tip, asking him to shut the door behind him on the way out."
"Except for last night," Jack said, his voice almost a monotone.
Martin once more found his face growing warm as he wondered just how much of that interview with the waiter Jack knew about. "Except for last night," Martin agreed.
Jack tossed his pen onto the desk as he leaned back in his chair, confusion in his eyes. "I don't understand how you could let yourself be used like that. Martin, what the Hell were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all? If he'd offered your services to the whole hotel staff would you have complied?"
"You're right, Jack. It's not something you'd ever understand." Martin's embarrassment was now turning to anger. How dare Jack sit there and pass judgment on what he liked or on what he did? "You know, my sex life is really none of your business. And if I was a stranger to you, you wouldn't be asking me a question like that. You'd at least pretend that it didn't matter to you what I did."
They stared at each other for a few moments. Or rather, Jack stared while Martin glared. Jack finally sighed and nodded. "You're right. I wouldn't be asking those questions of a stranger. But you're not a stranger to me, Martin. I can't help it if I feel concerned for you over what you've been doing. Anonymous sex, especially the kind of sexual activity that you seem to be engaging in, can be dangerous."
Already knowing the statistics that backed up Jack's comments, Martin remained silent. He had no argument other than that he felt that he could trust Chris, and Chris had not done anything during the week to prove Martin wrong.
Jack picked up his pen again, "So, the only phone calls that were ever made from the room were when Larabee called room service."
"When I was there, yes. I don't know who he called the rest of the time. I do know that he had a cell phone because he put it on a charger each night, but I never saw him using it."
"What about incoming calls? Were there any of those?" Jack asked.
Martin shook his head. "No. There was a message on his phone the one evening that I got there first, and Chris listened to it once he arrived, but he didn't say anything. He just listened to the message, then deleted it. But, he was a little distracted at the time," Martin remembered. Most men didn't pay too much attention to things when they were having their cock sucked, and Chris seemed to be like most men in that regard.
Jack reached for the phone, "I think we're done here. I'm going to call now to get the plane reservations. I'm going to try to get the two of you out of here tonight, so go home and pack, then get back here."
Martin nodded and got to his feet. He was almost at the door when Jack spoke again. "Martin, I know that you don't feel this is any of my business, but please tell me that you were careful, that you used protection each time. You're a good agent, and I'd hate to lose you to something that could have been avoided by using a condom."
"I always insist on condoms," he assured the older man.
Jack nodded, and began to dial. Martin looked at him for another moment, relieved that Jack was handling this so well. Hopefully, Danny would handle it just as well once he found out about Chris. He left Jack's office, retrieved his belongings from his desk and then headed out. He spared a glance to the white board, his gaze lingering on Chris's picture. Where the Hell are you, Chris, Martin thought. Please, please don't be dead on me.
Part Three