Fair Game Read Online Free Page A

a guidance counselor? And what does the FBI have to do with it?” That was the nosey writer looking for a scoop. Roche was always after Elliot to discuss his old cases. The more lurid, the better. And Elliot was always after Roche to mind his own business.
    He ignored the question and turned on the oven to heat the skillet. “I guess you’re staying for dinner?”
    Roche said cheerfully, “I thought you’d never ask.”
    *  *  *
    Back when he’d been a hot shot special agent for the Bureau, Elliot had operated out of Seattle. He was familiar with the Tacoma RA, though, and even if he hadn’t worked with the team there a few times, there wasn’t that much of a difference from satellite office to satellite office. Not really.
    He arrived in plenty of time for his meeting with Tucker. Unless Tucker had changed a lot, he’d be striding into the building about four minutes before the hour. Tucker was rarely late, but he cut it close plenty of times. Elliot preferred to arrive early and well-prepped—today in particular he felt he needed the advantage of surprise.
    He was annoyed to recognize the signs of nervousness in himself: damp underarms, elevated heart rate, and his tie felt like it was choking him. He fought the desire to pace, forcing himself to sit at the battered table in the plain meeting room. Expelling a long, calming breath, he stared up at the millions of tiny black holes in the soundproofed ceiling.
    The last time he’d seen Tucker—
    But no. Not a good idea to rehash those memories. Certainly not at this moment, when he was about to beard the lion in his den.
    Anyway, what was the big deal here? Maybe things hadn’t worked out for them, but had either of them ever really expected them to? It would have helped if they’d been friends before they fell in the sack, but…the fact was, they hadn’t. Their working styles were very different and they really hadn’t had a lot in common off the job either. Tucker liked sailing and poker nights with the guys. Elliot liked rock climbing and miniature war-gaming. Not much in the way of shared interests. Except sex.
    The sex had been fantastic.
    Elliot had a sudden vivid memory of Tucker’s unexpectedly soft lips tracing a moist path from the nape of Elliot’s neck down, all the way down, to his tailbone…Tucker’s big, freckled hand wrapping around Elliot’s cock.
    What do you want, Elliot? Say it out loud. Tell me…
    As though feeling that ghostly tug, the cock in question gave a hopeful twitch.
    The door to the meeting room swung open and Elliot snapped to his feet, ignoring the wrench of his wrecked knee.
    Tucker strode in, bigger than life. That’s how Tucker always seemed: bigger than life. Just walking into a room he seemed to fill it, while at the same time emptying it of half the oxygen. Elliot had never known anyone who took up more metaphysical real estate than Special Agent Tucker Lance.
    Uncomfortably aware of where his thoughts had been seconds prior, Elliot’s voice was stiff. “Hello, Tucker.”
    Tucker froze mid-step. His knuckles whitened on the file he held. His eyes—a color known in painting miniatures as Prussian blue—went arctic.
    “Is this a joke?” He sounded almost conversational.
    “Good to see you too.”
    Tucker glanced around and then behind him as though looking for The FBI Files film crew. He turned back at Elliot. By then he had himself under control.
    He said evenly, “You’re looking fit, Elliot.”
    Well, Elliot had known the advantage of surprise wouldn’t last long. “Thanks. You’re looking hale and hearty yourself.” Hale and hearty? He sounded like he was reading from a bad script. He made himself stretch out a hand in greeting.
    Instead of shaking hands, Tucker thrust the file folder into Elliot’s fingers. “So you’re the consultant the Bakers brought in.” It wasn’t a question.
    “That’s right.”
    Tucker’s lip curled.
    Elliot curbed his temper but it wasn’t easy. He refrained