Cassidy - Wish List

B ERG took the train instead trying to find a cab, or car service, or whatever they called it here. It was early evening, Christmas Eve, and between the time change and traveling for nearly a day, the last thing he needed was to try to work out alternate transport. All he had was an address, and the directions hed loaded into his phone. The train left him off on a bleak, windy platform, and before he even reached the street, it started to rain.

The rain soaked through his fatigue blouse after two blocks, and the two shirts underneath it didnt last much longer than that, leaving him wet to the skin. Sixteen years in the US Army taught him to suck it up and keep goingamong other things, some of which were actually useful.

He checked the screen on his phone twice to make sure of the right block, and found the house right about the time the precipitation went from plain old rain to icy plasma.

For some reason, hed expected a detached house, and newer; the house in front of him was a red brick duplex that he guessed predated World War II. A Christmas tree glowed and sparkled in the front window on the right, and the door on that side wore an evergreen wreath wrapped in red and silver ribbon. The blinds were down on the other side, and the door was bare.

Taking a guess, he rang the bell on the right, ducking close to the house to get out of the rain.

A woman opened the door, dark-eyed and dark-haired, wearing jeans, a red sweatshirt, and a frown. Oh Lord, hed rung the wrong bell.

Berg took a step back. Sorry, maam. I was looking for Rob

Hes still at work. And you are?

Her suspicious tone of voice sent the bottom dropping out of his stomach; that, and the carved sign on the wall inside the cramped foyer: Rob and Liz Harman, with a date underneath. And her wedding ring. The wail of a child from the depths of the house sealed the deal.

Right. Um. I think I have the wrong house. He lied automatically, twenty-plus years of denial kicking in. He dredged up a grin. Damn Internet. Shoulda checked better. Sorry. He backed up the whole time he made his lame excuses, right up until she shut the door on him, leaving him outside without a clue what he was going to do next.

It started to snow.

I T MADE perfect sense, considering the last craptastic month, that the first time in fifteen years DJ managed to get Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off, not to mention most of December twenty-sixth, he would have preferred to work. Hed tried, offered to switch shifts last minute with some of the guys who had kids and families.

Ortiz had flat out laughed at him. Delaney, you think I want to go to my in-laws? No thanks.

So DJ went home and cursed the Harman bitch next door for taking up two spaces with her goddamn minivan the entire time he tried to wedge his Ford Explorer into the last legal space anywhere on the block. He cursed at the snow too; because the snow blower was pretty much dead and he had no idea if there was a shovel in the cluttered basement. Worst-case scenario, hed pay the first enterprising kid from the neighborhood who offered him snow removal services and save wear and tear on his back. Thirty-six wasnt old, but he wasnt twenty anymore, with the indestructible body that went along with being young and stupid.

A big guy in army fatigues holding a huge duffel stood in the middle of the walk, and DJ slowed down, curious. The guy was soaking wet, and his broad shoulders were slumped. He turned around as DJ started up the walkway.

DJ recognized the look on the guys face; hed seen it whenever hed had to tell someone theyd lost a loved one. It was a look of total devastation, the blank shock before the sky fell on you and the world ended.

Are you all right? DJ tried to make eye contact, and the guy ducked his head and nodded.

Im fine.

I dont think so, DJ told him; and just in case the soldier thought DJ was some random whack-job being a pain in the ass, he pulled out his shield.

Ah, fuck. The guy blinked at DJ, revealing startlingly pale eyes. She called the cops? A shiver racked him from patrol cap to combat boots. I didnt do anything. I just I rang the wrong bell is all. Another shiver, and the guy swung his head from side to side. Look, Im going, okay? I dont want any trouble.

She didnt call the cops. DJ jerked a thumb at the house. I live here. Next door. Without thinking, he reached out and squeezed the other mans shoulder. Seriously, guy, you okay?

The guy looked at DJ then, full-on eye contact. Oh man, did he have great eyes: light, light blue, and thick, dark lashes spiky with water. Nordic or German or something, if the blond stubble on the square jaw matched his hair color. A very pleasant shiver ran through DJ, and to his surprise, the pupils in those blue eyes flared with interest.

Yeah, the soldier said, and then one side of his mouth quirked up. Im good. I just gotta call a cab. He took a step around DJ and headed for the street.

DJ turned around to watch him, a little disappointed the wet camouflage overshirt obscured the view. Oh well. He turned back around, narrowing his eyes at the Harmans front door. Knowing that rat bastard Rob Harman, he could think of one possible reason for a guy in fatigues to show up at the Harmans, and an equally plausible reason for said guy to look like hed just taken a knee to the nuts.

Hey. DJ opened his mouth before his brain could tell him to keep quiet. Why dont you call from inside? No point in freezing your butt off.

Yeah? The other man swung around. You sure?

Fuck, man, its Christmas Eve. Come in and get warm.

The soldier followed him up the walk, and DJ unlocked his front door and moved out of the way. Closing the door required some maneuvering since the two of them more or less filled the tiled foyer. DJ was an inch or so taller, but the soldier was bigger, all wide shoulders and a thick chest.

Where do you need to go? DJ asked, trying not to make more than minimal contact. His gaydar sucked, and interested looks or not, he wasnt in the mood to get hit or yelled at because the guy objected to up close and personal. He could be totally wrong about this guy and Rob.

Hotel, I guess. Can I take the train?

The resigned tone tightened DJs chest. Fifteen years with the NYPD had taught him to go with his gut when it came to threat assessment, and his gut told him this guy was okay. Cold, wet, and miserable, but okay. He stepped away so they werent right on top of each other and stuck out his hand. DJ Delaney.

The soldier set the duffel on the floor. Berg Pedersen. His hand was ice-cold and damp; even so, a tingle ran up DJs arm at the firm grip. Berg glanced up, a quick flash of light blue, like he was surprised. Or hed gotten the same tingle. He wasnt pretty, not with that hard jaw or the once-broken nose, but he was still one fine-looking man.

Once again, DJs mouth ran ahead of his brain. So heres the thing. You need to get into dry clothes and warm up before you go anywhere, and Im ravenous. How about you get changed while I heat up something for us to eat, and then Ill take you wherever you need to go?

You dont have to. I can just call a cab. Berg looked up again, eyes guarded now.

Okay, fine. But its five oclock on Christmas Eve, and I guarantee its gonna take forever for car service to get here. And its snowing. You might as well be dry and comfortable in the meantime, yeah?

B ERG planned on coming up with some kind of New Years resolution, something along the lines of not making more than one spectacular mistake per year, because hed really screwed the pooch on this one. Big time. The only possible upside to this massive clusterfuck was the reassuring way his body responded when the cop made eye contact outside. Good to know that even wet, cold, hungry, and depressed, a look from a hot guy could still rev his engine.