Wildest Dreams

SMB_AFDARSM_WildestDreams

Wildest Dreams can come true.

CID Detective Inspectors Frederick Dick and Riley Silcox have more to worry about than how their names create merriment with other officers and suspects alike. There’s the complication that Riley is gay and very happy to be that way, while Frederick’s desire for his fellow officer causes him nothing but misery. Riley suspects Fred might be gay, but if that’s the case, he’s sure the man isn’t happy about it, and Riley doesn’t intrude where he isn’t wanted. Riley has no reason not to pursue other relationships, especially the attractive Scotsman, Calhoun. If only he knew how much Fred does want him it could be a very different story.

When they track down the supplier of REM — a new upmarket and very secretive drug that not only does strange things to those who take it but could have amazing recuperative properties — they become the victims. Is Frederick only hallucinating running wild in the woods, or like Riley will he choose to run naked, baring not only his body but also his soul, revealing why he promised to remain celibate, and why having Riley around means that isn’t working out for him, at all.

Read an excerpt:

“I thought there was little on Bradan Peninsula other than a small town of less than three hundred inhabitants and a campsite. When Calhoun mentioned this estate, this is not what I pictured. Did he warn you about this?”

“No.”

Annoyed with his feelings, Frederick couldn’t help adding, “I dare say you were making too much noise to hear if he had said anything pertinent to the case.”

Riley tapped the wheel, seeming to have removed his mind from the sight of the house before them. Would he apologise for being so vocal? Or for inviting Calhoun up to his room at all?

Much to Frederick’s surprise, Riley did neither. “We were off duty.”

“On assignment.”

“Evening hours.”

“Away on assignment.”

“I said sorry at breakfast. I’m not saying it again.”

“We’re not really off duty until we’re back home.”

“Whatever, man. Don’t be such a tight arse.” Riley sounded exasperated. “I work better when I’m not all pent-up and frustrated. You should try it sometime.”

Frederick opened his mouth to say something, realised they sounded like an old married couple arguing, and zipped his lips. Anyway, Riley had now parked, turned off the ignition, and was already reaching for the door handle.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sounding possessive. As flattered as I am, as you rightly point out, we’re working here. You want a confrontation, we’ll have it some other time.”

Was Riley really flattered by the attention? Frederick took a moment to consider that and another to realize his response should have been to deny being possessive, but by then Riley was already out of the car.

He heard his partner mutter something that sounded like, “And anyway, you’re not interested,” before he slammed the door, but he couldn’t be sure and hadn’t a clue as to his meaning, even if he had heard him right. By the time Frederick managed to reach for the handle, Riley had walked around to his side. Frederick stepped out and joined him—a simple action that forestalled any attempt to argue the point. The house loomed.

From a distance the building had appeared regal and elegant. Up close it was easy to spot that the house was dilapidated. As much as Frederick wanted to examine the structure more carefully, the condition of the property was only relevant if Maccallion was the drug dealer and he was using his illegal gains to fund improvements. It didn’t look as if anyone had attempted to upgrade this place in several hundred years. That didn’t mean Maccallion didn’t have such plans.

“I’m Wallace Maccallion.” The man had dismounted and now introduced himself with a nod but made no attempt to shake hands. “This is Steafan.”

Frederick had noticed the other man but had paid him little consideration until now. When Steafan had taken the reins of Maccallion’s horse, Frederick had presumed he was a hired hand. One look at the expression on his face said otherwise. Some people assumed all men with red hair to have a universal appearance of a nerd. This fellow would prove them wrong. He was handsome in an ill-defined way. His features were unusual in that his jaw and mouth seemed prominent. His eyes were reddish brown, not quite as red as his hair, but a close enough match that made Frederick question his own eyesight. His gaze spoke of danger, the impression backed up a second later as, already handing the reins over to a third man—one who looked more like the sort to be a stable hand—Steafan promptly rounded on the one Maccallion hadn’t bothered to introduce and backhanded him.

Frederick started forward, unable to stop himself. Riley caught hold, placing a hand on his forearm. Frederick looked down, more surprised by the sensation of touch than the fact Riley had forestalled him.

“Your friend has sense,” Steafan sneered.

“And we’re police officers witness to an assault.”

“Assault?” Steafan grinned, looping an arm around the neck of the dark-haired man who had struggled back to his feet. “Nothing of the sort. He just likes it rough.”

Not knowing what to think of that, his hormones responding in some disturbing way, Frederick could only hope the heat he could feel spreading into his face didn’t manifest. Riley still had a hard, fast grip on his arm, and the man’s touch was helping none.

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© Sharon Maria Bidwell, all rights reserved.

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