Carol Lynne - Different Suits

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Different Suits

ISBN # 978-1-907280-38-2

Copyright Carol Lynne 2009

Cover Art by April Martinez Copyright October 2009

Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the authors imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner,

Faldingworth Road , Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

Poker Night

DIFFERENT SUITS

Carol Lynne

Dedication

For Angelo Cicatello.

Who knew such a wonderful man and friend could be the

inspiration for an entire series of books? Love you, Ang!

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Mercedes: DAIMLER AG CORPORATION FED REP GERMANY MERCEDESSTRASSE

Nike: Nike, Inc. CORPORATION

Harley: H-D MICHIGAN, LLC LIMITED LIABILITY COMPANY

Chevy Impala: General Motors Corporation CORPORATION

Spaghetti Os: CSC Brands LP

Los Angeles Times: TRIBUNE LICENSE, INC. CORPORATION

Blackberry: Research In Motion Limited CORPORATION

Corona: Cerveceria Modelo, S.A. de C.V. CORPORATION

Monte Carlo : General Motors Corporation CORPORATION

Coke: The Coca-Cola Company CORPORATION

Chapter One

Angelo Pilato yawned as he tossed his briefcase in the backseat of his Mercedes. He started the car and pulled out of his parking space. Maybe hed just go home and drink enough wine to pass out on the sofa.

Three weeks earlier, hed pushed Carl Blakely, the religious zealot whod become the self-proclaimed defender of heterosexuality, down on the courthouse steps. Thats what was bothering him, not the fact it had also been the last time hed seen a certain Neanderthal police detective.

Hed been hearing noises, feeling like he was being followed and getting fucked up phone calls in the middle of the night. See? Nothing to do with the detective. He tried to push thoughts of Moody Torrence from his mind.

The six-foot-six-inch detective wasnt even his type. Sure Moody was sexy as fuck with that shoulder-length black hair and the body of a god covered in tattoos, but his damn feet had to be at least a size thirteen. The idea of those big, black biker boots made him shiver. Nope, definitely not my type.

Angelo made his way through the heavy rush hour traffic and pulled onto his quiet street. He waved at the neighbours kid as he grabbed his briefcase and headed towards the mailbox.

He noticed the flowers around the mailbox needed watering and groaned. He loved his flowers, but the thought of watering the front and back beds left him even more tired. Opening the front lid of the box, Angelo was surprised to see it stuffed full.

Confused, he reached in and pulled out the stack of mail. His breath hitched as he saw what was in his hands. Pamphlets. There had to be at least fifty of them, all proclaiming the evils of homosexuality.

Angelo wasnt surprised to see the vile things were the product of Carl Blakelys ministry. Fucker.

As he let himself into his house, something dawned on him. If one of Blakelys flunkies had stuffed the pamphlets in his box, then they knew who he was and where he lived. He started to toss the vile literature into the trashcan but dropped them on the counter instead.

He reached for the phone and dialled 9-1-1. Despite what Trey had advised him a few days earlier, Angelo refused to call Moody.

After explaining the situation to the dispatcher, Angelo hung up and removed his tie. He retreated to his bedroom and carefully hung his suit and tie in the closet before placing his dress-shirt in the dry cleaning bag.

The dispatcher told him shed send a car out, but Angelo knew without it being an emergency, he could be in for a bit of a wait. He quickly showered and dressed in his normal designer jeans and T-shirt.

His friends enjoyed teasing him about his wardrobe, but Angelo didnt care. Hed grown up wearing used clothing purchased for pennies at the second-hand store in his rough Oakland neighbourhood. Now he had a good job, Angelo allowed himself to indulge in the things hed never had as the kid of a single parent.

Opening his closet once more, Angelo stared at the racks of shoes. It was well-known he had a thing for sneakers, not only on hot men, but buying them for himself as well. He selected a pair of seldom-worn Nikes and slipped them on, tying them tight.

He wandered his way into the kitchen and selected a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from the wine rack. After uncorking the expensive bottle, he poured it into the crystal decanter and left it to breathe as he began to prepare a salad.

In the middle of cutting up a tomato, the doorbell sounded. Angelo set down the knife and wiped his hands on a towel before making his way through the living room to the small foyer.

He opened the door expecting to see a uniformed officer and found Detective Torrence instead. It seemed every time he turned around lately, Moody was on his doorstep. The guy seemed to be his constant protector and it was starting to put Angelo on edge. Whatre you doing here, Juan?

Moody gave Angelo a bored look and leaned an arm on the doorjamb. Did or did you not call into the police station?

I called 9-1-1, not you.

If you mentioned Carl Blakely, you basically did call me. All things pertaining to the investigation into Overtons death go through me, and the names Moody. Moody leant down until he was nose to nose with Angelo. Now, you gonna ask me in and tell me about it?

Knowing he wasnt going to win, Angelo stepped back and gestured Moody inside. The pamphlets are in the kitchen.

He walked back down his hallway, aware of Moodys big body behind him, the heavy tread of biker boots sounded unusually loud on his pristine hardwood floors. Angelo motioned to the stack of papers as he poured himself a glass of wine without offering Moody any.

Angelo peered over the edge of the glass as he took a much needed sip. Moody didnt even bother reading the pamphlet. The big man tossed them back on the counter with a grunt.

You gonna share some of that with me? Moody asked, gesturing to Angelos glass.

Arent you on duty? Angelo countered, taking another sip.

Nope. Dispatch called me at home. I just got off an eighteen hour stakeout.

It was then Angelo noticed the dark circles under the detectives big brown eyes. He suddenly felt guilty. Turning towards the cabinet, he withdrew another glass and poured a generous amount of the crimson liquid before handing it to Moody.

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