SABRE is now available!
Gay romance/suspense/spy games
Sam Breeden is a highly skilled operative known as SABRE. Genetically engineered, Sam is very good at what he does, but his propensity to act on the truth, and not his orders, continually lands him on the bad side of his handlers. When he’s instructed to find, and eliminate, a mythical assassin known only as Absinthe, Sam quickly becomes aware all is not as it seems. He suspects the evidence against Absinthe was planted and goes against his orders.
The man called Absinthe holds the key to Sam’s past. He inserts himself into Sam’s orbit – and bed – with the intent to lead Sam to the truth. He’s not guilty of the crime, but he’s far from innocent. He knows Sam’s been played by his agency and the path to their survival means walking a crooked line.
Finding the truth isn’t easy, and believing it is even harder. Sam and Absinthe make a desperate play for freedom, because if they can’t get free, they can never be together.
And that’s when it hit me.
“It was you in DC, in the Romp Club. You kept buying me shots and we ended up in my hotel room. You slipped me a roofie, you bastard.” I propped up on an elbow. “And me without my gun.”
He held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Sorry about the Rohypnol. I’m not armed, Sam. I mean you no harm.” He rolled to his knees and fell back against the plush pillows. I joined him.
“So why target me? You’re that interested in my ten-inch cock?”
He shook his head. “Ten inch? Now who’s having sexual fantasies? I’m interested in Frederick Milan.”
“I find it very curious you know that name. Pick up the phone and call room service. I want a big pitcher of iced tea.”
He leaned back. “And let them all know you’re a Yank? Make the call yourself, mate.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then get anything cold and refreshing. Sparkling water. How’s that?”
He picked up the hotel phone and placed my request - along with two steak dinners and two bottles of a pricey Cabernet. He set the receiver back in the cradle and turned to me.
“Are you finished watching me, Sam?”
“Nope, so get used to it. Frederick Milan. Talk, now.”
“Milan was collateral damage.” He looked worried. “Melvin McCune wants you out of the way.”
If he thought McCune wanting me to disappear was news to me, he was sadly mistaken. “Yeah? So? Who do you work for? What the hell is your name, anyway?”
“All in due time. Milan stumbled upon some records that were supposedly destroyed. And you can call me ‘Darling’.”
I snorted. “Well, ‘Darling’, I’m very interested in where you’re getting your information.”
“I just bet you are, SABRE.”
We stared at each other, and not with lustful longing or budding friendship. But maybe there was a bit of grudging respect floating between us.
“Look, ‘Darling’. I know you can’t tip your hand too far. Neither can I. You’re correct. I’ve got a problem with McCune. But I want to know why and how a middle-aged banker, a do-gooder, ends up dead in the middle of what might be a mob hit.”
That got his attention. “Mob hit? How do you figure?”
“You said look into Hawkes. I did. He’s got Chicago political connections and that could indicate organized crime. If you can believe anything on the Internet, that is.” I didn’t tell him I likely had more information waiting. Deborah had surely dumped whatever she’d found on my server by now.
He scratched his chin. “The only dot that connects here is Hawkes is the one who wants Milan’s death investigated. He called McCune and invited the NSCA to become involved, being Milan is an American citizen, and all.”
I stretched, arching my back and wiggling my toes. “Darling” was correct, but I sensed something more sinister at work. I beat my pillow to fluff it. “And Hawkes is Sinope, something the Internet doesn’t know. He’d have the clout to have Milan silenced and to make any evidence implicating himself vanish. So why would he call the NSCA if he’s implicated in anything? That’s a hanging dot for me. It doesn’t connect based on what little we know.”
“So we really need to know what Milan was doing.”
I stared at him again. “We? We? Who’s ‘we’?”
“Darling” looked out the window. “London’s nice, but I like Paris. City of Light and all that.”
I stood, stepped out of my jeans, and draped them over a chair. I either had to avail myself of the laundry service or have some new clothes delivered.
“Darling, I’m not fond of Paris. I killed man there.”
I was surprised by the compassion in his blue eyes. “I know it was self-defense.”
How much about me did he know? Did he know I still had nightmares about what had happened in Paris? I shook my head.
“It doesn’t matter that he pulled a gun and got off a shot at me. There was a truth to learn and I failed.
He couldn’t tell me after I put him down.”
“You won’t fail this time. You’ve got me on your side.”
Inexplicably, his words buoyed my spirit. I didn’t want him to see that in me so I rolled my eyes at him. “Why am I not reassured?”
* * *
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