Sweet Southern Comfort

He didn't answer. His eyes were shut. I felt my throat clog with unshed tears and emotions. I picked up my cell and called Sam. When he answered, I didn't even give him a chance to talk. "I got another victim."

"Who is it?"

"Liam McCoy. My... My boyfriend." I choked on the words. He was more than a casual fuck, more than a mere boyfriend, but Sam wouldn't understand what I couldn't put into words. "I'm ten minutes out of the city. I'm heading for Memorial Hospital. I want the club shut down and everyone rounded up. I have three ideas who could have done this. Hurry, Sam."

He must have heard the desperation in my voice, the panic in it, because he talked to me, slow and steady. A cop voice, the one that tells hysterical people that it will be okay when it really isn't. "Just get him to the hospital, buddy. I'll meet you there soon with some mug shots."

"Hurry, God damn it!"

"I will. I promise."

I kept up speed, even when the highway ended. I took corners too fast, whipped through red lights, anything to get Liam to the hospital. He'd thrown it up; the drug couldn't be too badly in his system. But he was unconscious. All I could see were the three men's faces that had died from this drug. Not Liam. Not him. No!

The emergency room finally came into view. I barely parked the car and called out for help. Two orderlies came running with a stretcher as they took him, wheeled him into the emergency room and through the doors, back to a cubicle. They tried to keep me away, but my badge got me through. I stood by his side as the doctor came in to work on him, muttering about the damn drug and how he'd seen too many such cases. He worked fast and diligently, using a machine to pump the rest of the contents out of Liam's stomach. A nurse came in to draw blood, and then rushed out to get the lab results. I stood, staring at Liam's unconscious face, his pale, sickly skin, and prayed that he would be okay. That he wouldn't be hurt. That he'd come out of it okay.

After an hour, they ordered an EEG test to check brain activity. He was in a coma. I left the room then so I could make some calls, check on Sam. When I got back into the waiting room, Sam stood there, with a uniformed officer. "How's he doing?"

"He's in a coma. I didn't get here in time."

Sam wrapped his arm around me. A year ago, hell, a month ago, his comfort would have soothed me. But all I wanted was Liam and his arms now. "You did all you could do. This drug is nasty and works fast."

In my heart, I didn't want to believe him. It was my fault. I wanted to go back to the club. But my head and all my training knew Sam was right. I rolled my shoulders to ease some of the strain and looked in his eyes. "What have you got?"

"One of the bartenders took off a few minutes after the two of you left. He was in a hurry. He's our first suspect. I have some pictures of some of the other guys, their arrest shots from the two brawls last week."

"Let me see them." I thumbed through the pictures until I found the guy who'd bumped me. "Pick him up. He's the only other person who came close to me with anything Liam had to drink."

Sam took the picture and nodded to the plainclothesman that ran off to do his bidding. "Have you notified his family?"

The words sliced through me. Claire. Shit. "No. He only has his cousin. I'll call her in a minute."

"I can—"

"No. I need to do it." I walked off, my shoulders slumped, self-hatred filling me. I went outside and bummed a cigarette off an ambulance driver. I'd given it up six years ago, but I had to have something. I took a long, heavy drag off it, realized why I quit, and then picked up my cell phone. I pushed the numbers, staring at my watch, knowing I'd wake her up. She picked up on the third ring with a very tired. "Hello?"

"Claire? It's Jackson." Fuck! This was gonna be hard. "I don't know how to tell you this, but Liam's in the hospital. He's been drugged. He's at Memorial Hospital."

I let her scream and yell, cry and panic. Then she got real calm and told me she'd be there shortly. I hung up, and then went back inside, searching for the doctor so I'd have the latest news for when Claire arrived.

I was informed the doctor had moved Liam to Intensive Care. Sam came with me up the elevator and I went into his room, saw the heart monitor, and heard it beep, slow and steady. He looked so small, so lifeless. I sat in the chair and waited; finally letting the tears come. Now, finally, I had found the missing piece of my life. His words, by my car, even under the influence of ecstasy and whatever the unknown additive was, his words of love echoed inside me. I loved him. I'd fought it. I'd not wanted it. But it didn't make it less true. I took his hand, and whispered for him to come back to me. "I love you, Liam."

I sat in the chair by Liam's bed, holding his hand for almost two hours before the whirling dervish that is Claire came in. She marched in, her features set in anger. Once she saw her cousin lying prone and nearly lifeless in the bed, her face crumpled. Not knowing what to do, I turned back to Liam and let the tears fall that I'd been trying to keep back. My own pain I could deny, but hers added to mine was too much. When I sniffed and blinked back the tears so I could still see Liam, the noise alerted Claire to my presence. I expected anger, at least hatred, but saw nothing, nothing at all. I stood and took her arm and led her to the elevators.

Claire rode in silence with me to the roof, where I knew of a quiet place we could talk. Once outside, I stared at the stars, not feeling the chill of the air. I turned to see Claire looking down at the city below us. Worry, hurt, guilt, and fear rode me hard, making my voice tight. I had to clear my throat twice to get any words out at all. "I'm sorry. I failed you and him."

Claire shook her head at me, rolling her eyes. "What happened?"

I turned back in my mind, reliving each moment; from the second I turned him loose after dancing. "After dancing, I went to get us something cold to drink. Some guy bumped me on the way back to our table. It must have been him. I don't know who else could have done it."

Claire walked up to me, and opened her arms. I was powerless to step away. I folded myself around her, taking her comfort, no matter how unworthy of it I felt. "I'm so damn sorry."

Her arms tightened around my neck. She was almost a foot shorter, and the motion caused me to stoop lower. "Stop that right now. You couldn't have known. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes. Yes it was."

"No."

"But..."

She pulled back and wiped a tear from her cheek. "You didn't know. It's okay. I'm sure he doesn't blame you either."

I turned away, because it hurt to see her so trusting, when I felt so awful. "I should go get the rusty knife and put my bib on."

I heard her laugh. "You didn't think I was serious, did you?"

I shrugged my shoulders, not really knowing what to say. "You have the right to it."

"No. I don't. And when I said I would castrate you, I meant if you hurt him emotionally."

I nodded. "I know." I looked back at her, watching her. "I thought if you were angry, or violent with me, I would hurt in a different way than I do now." I hugged her again, holding her head against my chest. "I'm sorry for being selfish."

She chuckled and swayed with me. "You're very, very human. And now I know."

I felt my eyebrows arch in confusion. "Know what?"

"That you love him too."

Instead of feeling cornered or angry, I laughed. "Yeah, I do. Don't know how or why, but I do."

"You're intelligent. I knew that from the start."

I pulled back to look in her smiling face. "What does my intelligence or lack thereof have to do with anything?"

Her smile was small and impish. "An intelligent person will fight and rail, but give in eventually. Stupid people walk away." No wonder Liam got nowhere with her. She was a dynamo of emotion and logic, a truly lethal combination.

"Okay, I give in."

"Good. You'll be much happier giving in to me."

Once the tension broke between us, we went together to stand vigil over Liam. In the wee hours of the morning, Sam returned with news that the man I wanted picked up was at the police station. Being undercover and too attached to the latest victim, I couldn't oversee the questioning, but because of my friendship with Sam, I could at least witness the interview. I kissed Claire's sleeping forehead and left the hospital with Sam, letting him drive in silence.

*** Villain ***

Why couldn't my victims stay around or go outside so I could take them? No! They all have to leave. They all have to drive away with someone. God damn it all to hell! I followed the jeep, trying to see if I could snag him. I almost collided with them when they pulled off the road. I swung around and watched from the other side of the highway. Then it hit me. I got the wrong one. That tall, stupid looking one got the drink. Not the cute, slender one, but the oaf who danced all night. What the fuck?

When they got back in the car and took off, I followed them back to the hospital. Interesting. I drove home, my plan percolating in my mind. Obviously, he cared about him; they were kissing on the side of the road. I'll just have to go back. He has to go home sometime. I chuckled as I fell asleep, feeling good because the anticipation would be so much better.

*** Jackson ***

I stood in the observation lounge of the interrogation room, looking down at the face of the man who had bumped into me. Not two questions into it, I knew, without a single doubt, that this was not the man who had drugged Liam. I alerted Sam, so they could let him go. Once Sam knew how certain I was, he changed tactics and started asking the man if he'd seen anything. Unfortunately, he hadn't.

While Sam drove me back to the hospital so I could get my jeep, after all, work won't go away because your heart's reason for beating is lying in a coma, Sam tried to start up conversation.

"Who is this guy, LeDeux?"

Anger flooded through my veins. Defensive, possessive feelings welled inside me. "He's none of your business." The acid in my voice shocked both of us.

Sam turned his head towards me at a red light. "Don't go there. As a victim, his life is an open book to me. As my friend's lover, he's important."

Disgust at myself and fury at Sam had me shaking my head. Sam sounded jealous, possessive even. "You don't have any right to talk to me like that."

"I have every God damn right!" Sam's knuckles turned white against the steering wheel. "You were supposed to monitor the clubs, help catch this bastard. Instead, you use it to pick up some guy and fuck up the case!"

I grabbed the steering wheel and forced Sam to pull over. After he slammed on the brakes, I got out of the car. "You son of a bitch!"

Sam got out of the car, fury mottling his pale skin pink. "How dare you! But then again, you've always thought with your dick."

What the hell did I ever see in this guy? He had no right to any of this. He'd come to me when his marriage was rocky, allowed what happened between us to happen, then chose to ignore it until now. "You weren't that good, Sam. I've had better. Now that I've met Liam, I've had the best."

Sam looked as if I sliced his guts open, lost and hurt. "You bastard..."

I didn't want to fight. Not with Sam. Not with anybody. "Sam, go home. Leave me alone."

"No, you started this. We finish it."

I sighed, knowing that the eighteen months of silent truce was over. "Why'd you sleep with me, Sam? Why?" He looked up at me, with nothing to say. "I agreed to keep quiet about it. But I've been here for months. Why are you upset now?"

Sam laughed and turned away, no humor easing the tension in his shoulders. "Do you know what you do to people? Do you have any clue?" When I just stared at him, he snorted then shook his head. "Of course not. When I first met you, engaged less than two months, you absolutely stole my breath. Until you, I'd never looked twice at a man. Then there you were. We shook hands and I got so damn hard, I stayed that way for hours."

I continued to stare at him, lost. Where was this? What was he saying? "Sam..."

He held up his hand, stopping my words. "It isn't your fault Jackson. When you went back to New Orleans, I denied that it had ever happened. My wife and I had the girls, I had my job, it was perfect until the trip to New Orleans. Sherri and I had a huge fight before I left. I liquored myself up, told myself it didn't matter, and went for it."

"Jesus, Sam. Why didn't you say something?"

Sam shook his head, looking miserable as he stared at his shoes. "I'm not in love with you, Jackson. I love my wife. But I can't deny how much I want you. I look at you, and I have to have you." He looked up at me. His face crowded with bewilderment and confusion. "It's become an obsession."

Slinging my head down, utterly defeated, I walked up to Sam and put my arms around him. "You have to give me up, Sam. I can't be your obsession. I need my own life, and someone of my own to love and live for." My hands stroked his back as his body shuddered. "Would you want me to live alone? Unhappy? Waiting for something that could never be more than occasional?"

Sam let out a soft sob. "No. Never." He looked up at me. "I'm so sorry."

"No. Shhh. Don't." I kissed his cheek. "Let me go, Sam."

Why I offered him comfort, I'll probably never know. Although now, finally, I had answers for why it all happened back in Louisiana. Did I feel good knowing that I was an itch that Sam could never scratch? Hell no! But at least know I knew why he stayed away, why he kept his distance from me. It seemed that our friendship was now over, at least as I knew it. In a small way, it is flattering to know that someone is that consumed by you. In another way, I was freaked beyond belief.

"Come on Sam. Take me back to my jeep please."

I stopped in to see Liam again, but there was no change. Sam promised to keep me apprised of any new developments, especially with the missing bartender. I left the hospital in time to go home; shower and change, then go to work. That is how I spent my days, working, cleaning up a bit, then spending as much time as possible with Liam.

After three days, they moved him out of intensive care. Not that he improved, only that his coma was not life threatening. But he would not wake up. After listening to the doctors, I doubt they knew what would wake him up. The mixture of the two chemicals he'd been given seemed to have stopped the brain from functioning normally. Of the other people who had gone into comas, only one other had woken up. The others were still in their comas. Every time I saw Liam, lying in bed, seeming so lifeless, I had to fight the tears. But I didn't stay away. When I absolutely did not have to be at work, I was at the hospital, sitting by his side, holding his hand or talking to him.

Erik Johansen started working on Monday. I give the man credit; he packed his home in Minnesota, moved across country, and started working first thing in the morning. He turned out to be a godsend. With him around, the workload was taken off my shoulders, allowing me to spend more time at the hospital.

Because Erik had joined our little force, I took three days off, so I could spend every waking moment with Liam. Some doctors believe that a soothing voice, words of comfort and care from a loved one can help a coma patient. I spoke to Liam of inconsequential things until my throat was raw. I told him how much I loved him. I continued to murmur nothing words when I could no longer hold my head up, collapsing against the bed, holding his hand, sleeping fitfully.

On Thursday, Claire and Erik found me propped in a chair, holding Liam's hand, staring out the window. After nine days, my hope was beginning to wane. I hadn't slept and had existed solely on coffee for three days. When Claire wrapped her arms around me, smelling her crisp, clean scent, I realized that a shower or shaving had fallen by the wayside on Monday. I pulled away from her, feeling my face heat with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how rank I was."

Claire cupped my face, looking into my eyes. "Sleep was pretty low on your list too."

I shrugged, feeling awkward. "It didn't seem important."

Claire frowned, her eyebrows creasing with displeasure. "No, I'd say not. Stupid man."

Erik strode towards me, clapping me on the shoulder. "You should go home, boss. Get some sleep."

I looked at Liam, still prone and far away from me. "What if he wakes?"

Claire pulled my face to hers. "One of us will find you. You'll be the first to know. I promise."

My bed called to me, the need to lie down and drown in sleep was so sharp, that my body ached with it. But Liam... It killed me to leave him. "Promise?"

"We promise. Go home, boss man."

I turned to leave, heading for the door when I stopped, stared back at Liam, and didn't once try to fight back the tears in my eyes. "Watch over him for me."

I didn't wait for an answer before I turned and left. The drive home was nearly blank in my mind. I drove on autopilot. Once home, I took off my clothes and crawled under the hot spray. After several long minutes with my head bowed under the spray, the hot water beating into the knots in my neck, I started feeling close to human again. I grabbed my soap and lathered my hands, rubbing over my body, scouring grime and nervous sweat from my body, tearing up as I remembered Liam and I sharing the same activity together.

Once out of the shower, I stood at my mirror and shaved the four days of growth from my face, smoothing lotion across my cheeks as I finished. I wrapped my towel around my hips and left the steamy bathroom, wanting a beer to relax me enough to fall asleep. As I rounded the corner in the hall, I stopped cold, staring down the barrel of my gun, looking into the eyes of a man I instantly hated; eyes that were cold and devoid of emotion, even of life itself. The bartender.

"You take a long shower, chief."

His voice made the fine hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. "How'd you get in here?"

His scoff and a wave of the gun had my gut clench. "It's easy to get in, when you want to bad enough."

I swallowed over the lump of fear, kicking myself for letting my guard down. "What do you want?"

His smile arched somewhat attractive features, causing a dimple to appear in his cheek. But those dead, cold eyes chilled me to the bone. "You. Always you. That drink was meant for you."

I leaned against the wall, to keep my unsteady knees from dropping me. The raw fear, the cold chill that shuddered through my body took hold of me. Then guilt slammed into my gut. If I'd handed Liam the other glass, he'd be fine, warm and caring, in my bed, in my life. "What do you want?"

The same half smile, half smirk crossed his face before he reached into his pocket and took out my handcuffs. "I think we should get comfortable." His eyes tracked up and down my body once before settling on my eyes. "Lose the towel." When my eyes opened wide, his voice grew cold. "Now!"

A cool head and a distant memory took hold. Fight the fights you can win, otherwise, survive. I lowered my hands and undid the loose knot on my hip, letting the towel slip down my hips to pool at my feet. I stood before him, terrified beyond belief on the inside, calm and cool, even indifferent on the outside. The idea that this pervert, this asshole was leering at me made me ill, but I wouldn't let him know.

The bartender stood, never letting the gun waiver. "Nice bed in there, why don't you go on ahead and get comfortable." It wasn't a request. I turned to move, and before I'd taken one step, I felt my gun pressed into the back of my head. "I suggest you walk slowly, and no sudden moves."

I focused on breathing as I walked down my hallway. Breathe in. Breathe out. Over and over I told myself to calm down, keep my head, take advantage of any moment. When I turned into my bedroom, the slim amount of calm I'd found flew out the window. I saw what was left of my phone, ripped from the wall. The bed had been stripped of all bedding but the bottom sheet. For once I cursed the four-poster bed. But with one set of handcuffs, my hands might be bound, but my feet would be free.