Sweet Obsession

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A drug lord with a penchant for Hutch causes Starsky to confront his own true feelings for his partner. When Starsky acts upon these emotions, Hutch disappears, leaving him to wonder if he is to blame, or if one of his worst fears has been realized.

 

Originally published in Venice Place Chronicles III in 2003.

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The unmistakable roar of the Torino’s engine sounded from outside Venice Place, as Kenneth Hutchinson bounded down the stairs toward his waiting partner. Sliding in the passenger’s seat, he greeted his friend with a warm smile.

“‘Morning, Starsk,” he said cheerfully to his partner. “Thought you might be running late, so I got these for your breakfast this morning while I was out jogging.” Tossing a white paper sack in the direction of his curly-haired friend, Hutch waited for Starsky to peek inside.

Starsky picked up the sack while eyeing the blond suspiciously. “Aw, you shouldn’t have, but you know I don’t eat anything labeled all-natural.”

“Just look in the sack, wise guy. It’s not anything I would eat,” Hutch replied sarcastically.

Satisfied he wouldn’t be faced with one of his partner’s famous health food concoctions, Starsky opened the sack. The scent of fresh jelly donuts wafted from the bag. “Hey, now that’s what I call breakfast. Thanks.” With a donut clenched between his teeth, Starsky put the Torino in gear and pulled away from the curb.

“Thought you might like those.” Hutch tilted his head toward the passenger’s window, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on his face.

“So, what’s the special treatment for?” Starsky asked curiously, unaccustomed to his health-conscious partner supporting his love for junk food. “It’s not my birthday. Do ya think I’m mad at you or somethin’?”

“Nothing like that. I just wanted to thank you for last night.” Hutch reached over and gave Starsky’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You were great, Starsk.”

Starsky smiled smugly. “Just one of my many hidden talents.”

“How’d you learn to do it like that, anyway?”

“I read a book on it.”

“You read a book on it?”

“Yeah, don’t look so surprised. I wanted to do it right, you know? It can hurt if you aren’t doin’ it right.”

“Well, it did hurt a little at first.”

“That’s because you were so tense, plus there wasn’t enough room on my couch. Once I got you on my bed, you relaxed. Made it a lot better.”

“You need a bigger couch.”

“No, you just need shorter legs.”

“And how’d you learn to do that one thing with your left hand?”

“You liked that, huh? There was a whole chapter in the book on that.”

“It really helped me relieve a lot of tension. I need a release like that every now and then. I’m glad you talked me into it.”

“The next time your back is hurting you like that, Hutch, don’t just suffer in silence. Now, that I read that book on the art of giving good back rubs, I can give you a massage anytime.”

“I appreciate that, partner. My back feels better today than it has in a long time.”

The rest of the drive to the station was spent planning their morning. After a weekend off, there was sure to be plenty to keep them occupied.

The two detectives trudged into the squad room, ready for whatever the day ahead may hold. Starsky was reaching to hang his leather jacket on the back of his chair, as their captain came in the door behind them.

“They found a dead body over on Wellington early this morning.” Captain Dobey tossed a file folder on Starsky’s desk, as he briskly continued on by. “I want you two on it; see what you can find out.” The burly man disappeared into his office without looking back, closing the door behind him.

“Morning, Cap’n,” Starsky called to the closed door as he reached for the folder. “How was your weekend? Mine was great. Thank you for asking.”

Hutch chuckled at his partner as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “C’mon, Starsk. Edith was gone for the weekend, and he was on his own with Rosie and Cal. You know how stressed he gets when he’s in charge of the cooking and cleaning.” Pausing in thought for a moment, he added, “Was it my imagination or was that a pink shirt he had on under his jacket?”

Before Starsky had a chance to answer, the door to Dobey’s office opened again, only their captain’s head visible from inside. “Hey, Hutchinson, what’s the name of that dry cleaners over on Kirkman?” he asked impatiently.

“Dry cleaners?” Hutch’s eyebrows rose inquisitively.

“Yeah, there on the corner. You think they would know how to get my white clothes white again? I had a little incident with Edith’s red sweater and…oh, just what’s the name of the place?” Dobey snapped.

Starsky had turned his back to his captain to keep him from seeing the ear-to-ear grin spreading across his face.

“You mean Sunrise Cleaners?” Hutch replied, using every ounce of composure in his body to keep from cracking a smile.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Dobey answered gruffly.

Starsky snickered to himself, unable to control his laughter any longer. Hutch darted him a warning glare while still struggling to keep a straight face.

“I heard that, Starsky!” Dobey bellowed. “You two get busy on that case.” Another giggle emanated from the brunet, angering the heavy-set man further. He glanced at the cup of coffee Hutch was still holding. “That is, unless you think it’s time for a coffee break already.”

Hutch looked guiltily at his cup of coffee and then to his captain. He quickly put the cup down on his desk. “Uh, no, sir. We’ll get right on it.” He knew better than to push Dobey when he was in such a foul mood.

The loud slam of their captain’s door signaled what the detectives knew was going to be the beginning of a long day.

“What’s the matter with you, Starsk?” Hutch sat down at his desk and scowled at his partner, who was now chuckling incessantly. “You want us to have to work the next six weekends in a row?”

Starsky settled in his chair and peered across at Hutch, still grinning. “Sorry, but you gotta admit the sight of Dobey in a pink shirt is not somethin’ we see every day.”

The image of their captain in the pastel-colored shirt flashed briefly in Hutch’s mind. He quickly placed his hand over his mouth, attempting to stifle the chuckle that was escaping him. “Okay, okay, but just try to keep it to yourself, all right?” Turning his attention to the case at hand, he motioned at the folder his partner was holding. “So, anybody we know?”

Starsky opened the file and studied the picture of the victim, immediately recognizing the man. “‘Fraid so.” Turning the folder so Hutch could view the photo, he announced, “Matt Carnahan. Found him with three bullets in his chest in an alley off Wellington.”

“Matt Carnahan?” Hutch took the file from Starsky, shaking his head in disappointment as he observed the picture. “Damn, there goes our chance of tying that cocaine bust to Alex Christian. I could tell Carnahan was getting nervous about us asking him so many questions. He knew it was just a matter of time before we got some concrete evidence to blow the case wide open. I think he was ready to talk to save his own skin. We just needed a little more time.”

“Well, after we questioned him twice last week, maybe Christian got the feeling Carnahan was getting ready to spill his guts, and he decided to do away with him.” Starsky nonchalantly bounced the eraser head of a pencil on his desk. “Christian knows we’ve been trying to take him down for a long time, and Carnahan would’ve been just the man to help us do it. He wanted out and knew all of Christian’s dirty little secrets.”

Hutch closed the folder and stood up from his desk. “I guess we need to pay Mr. Christian another visit.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Starsky answered reluctantly.

Hutch noticed the hesitation in his partner’s voice. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem too keen on the idea of going back out there.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to go back there. I want to bust Christian just as bad as you do. It’s just that every time we’ve been there, he, you know…”

“What?” Hutch pressed his partner to continue. “He what?”

Starsky finally blurted out, “The way he stares at you, Hutch. It gives me the creeps.”

Hutch laughed aloud at first, thinking his partner was kidding but, seeing the sincerity in those azure blue eyes, knew he wasn’t. “Oh, c’mon, Starsky, he hates my guts.”

“Oh, yeah? Have you seen the company he keeps?” Starsky was determined to prove his point. “All blonds and all male.”

“So, he likes blonds.” Hutch shrugged his shoulders. “Starsky, we’re the ones who could bring his entire empire crumbling down. He’s probably looking at me thinking he’d like to wring my neck. Now, let’s go.” Taking his jacket from the back of his chair, he headed toward the door.

“Well, just the same, I wouldn’t leave you alone in the same room with him for a minute,” Starsky stated protectively, as he followed Hutch, pulling the door closed with his foot.

~*~*~*~

Alex Christian’s sprawling estate was one of the most elaborate homes in Bay City. Set on over twenty acres, it was enclosed by a seven-foot brick wall and accessible only by a double wrought-iron gate, manned by two security guards.

The Torino was immediately recognized from their previous visits, as they pulled up to the closed gate. Both guards walked out to the detectives’ car, one on either side-one donning a clipboard, the other keeping a protective hand on the pistol at his side.

“Look, Hutch, it’s Mutt and Jeff,” Starsky quipped, while peering over the sunglasses perched on his nose.

“That’s Mark and John,” the taller of the two guards retorted in anger as he approached. “Don’t they teach you cops how to read?” He pulled at the nametag on his uniform.

Hutch watched as the guard harboring the pistol approached his side of the car. He smiled broadly at the irritated man. “Good morning.”

“What the hell do you want now?” the guard on Starsky’s side asked.

“We’re here to ask for donations for the policeman’s ball-what do you think we want?” Starsky had little patience with the man.

“We’d like a word with Christian,” Hutch said more calmly.

“You got an appointment?” the guard inquired, gripping his clipboard.

“Yeah, I got an appointment.” Starsky revved his car engine and nudged the Torino forward until it bumped the wrought-iron gate. “Now, unless you want this gate as a new yard ornament on Christian’s front lawn, I suggest you open it!”

Hutch smiled once again at the guard glaring at him. “I’d do as he says. He means it.”

The guards peered apprehensively at each other over the roof of the car before giving a quick nod in agreement to let the detectives enter.

“I’ll have to phone Mr. Christian and let him know you’re coming,” the first guard said, as he walked toward the guardhouse.

“Ask him if he’s got any of those little round crackers with cheese on top,” Starsky taunted. “Those are yummy.”

The guard spoke briefly on the phone, then motioned for his cohort to open the gate.

The Torino wound along the paved driveway leading to the Mediterranean-style home, set amidst flowering trees and immaculately trimmed shrubs. Water flowed from a marble fountain in front of the three-story mansion.

“I still can’t get over this place.” Starsky gaped at the massive columns that adorned the front of the home. “Can you imagine living in a place like this?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Hutch was not impressed. “How many bedrooms and bathrooms does one person really need? I think Christian just likes to flaunt his money and his power, and this home is one way to do it.”

“Well, if I ran drugs out of Mexico, I guess I’d have money to flaunt, too,” Starsky retorted, as he parked his car at the end of the paved driveway.

“Mining tools, Starsk. He made his fortune selling mining tools,” Hutch reminded his partner mockingly.

Starsky snickered. “Yeah, and he had Carnahan killed for threatening to divulge his selling techniques to us.”

The two men made their way up the steps to the hand-carved mahogany door at the entrance to the home. Before Hutch could ring the doorbell, the massive wooden door opened before them. A stone-faced man with dishwater-blond hair stood in the entryway and motioned the two detectives inside. “Mr. Christian will see you in the library.”

Starsky glanced up the spiral staircase and around the large open foyer that led to four different corridors lined with doors. He looked at Hutch and shrugged his shoulders.

Hutch examined the man’s name badge closely. “Uh, and where might this library be, Martin? I don’t think we’ve seen that room yet, have we, Starsk?”

“Nope,” Starsky quipped in agreement. “I think that’s a new one.”

Sighing impatiently, the man gave a quick roll of his eyes and turned to the hallway on the right. “Follow me.”

“Looks like Martin is going to give us the guided tour,” Starsky whispered behind his back.

Leading the men down the hallway, the servant approached two sliding wooden doors and knocked lightly. A voice from inside the room called out, “Yes, Martin, send them in.”

Martin slid the two doors apart and moved aside, allowing Starsky and Hutch to enter the room. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls of the large room, all illuminated by a massive crystal chandelier that hung from the twenty-foot ceiling. At the end of a long cherry-wood table sat Alex Christian, surrounded by several books and stacks of paperwork. A tall, handsome blond, presumably a bodyguard, stood close by, arms folded across his broad chest. The 9mm automatic he carried in his waistband was in plain view for the detectives to see.

The man seated at the end of the table stood from his chair and motioned for the detectives to come forward. Alex Christian stood a towering 6’3″ tall. His 225-pound muscular physique was evident even through the double-breasted suit he wore, giving him the appearance of being younger than his forty-two years. The white starched shirt under his jacket was in stark contrast to his bronzed skin. His close-cropped hair was light brown with golden highlights, obviously from exposure to the sun. Piercing eyes that were hauntingly clear blue watched as the two detectives came closer. “Detective Starsky, Detective Hutchinson, so nice of you to pay me another visit. Please sit down.”

Starsky and Hutch approached and sat down at the table, one on either side of Christian and across from one another. Martin still stood at the doorway awaiting further instructions.

Christian called to the servant across the room. “Martin, could you please bring my guests something to drink?” He looked to the two detectives. “Bloody Mary? Vodka sunrise? Good way to start the morning, gentleman.”

“No, thank you,” Hutch replied bluntly. “We’re working.”

“Very well,” Christian replied. “Two glasses of Perrier water with a twist of lemon for my guests, and I’ll have a vodka sunrise.”

With a quick nod, Martin left the room, sliding the doors closed behind him. Christian turned his attention to the detectives, his gaze immediately focusing on Hutch.

“So, what gives me the pleasure of your company, gentlemen?” he asked, smiling broadly and staring intently at Hutch.

Trying to divert his attention, Starsky loudly cleared his throat and tossed a picture on the table in front of Christian. “Know this guy?”

Christian finally tore his gaze away from Hutch. Picking up the picture, he studied it and flippantly tossed it back down. “Matt Carnahan. He’s in charge of maintaining some of my accounts. Why?”

“He was murdered sometime early this morning,” Starsky stated. “Three bullet wounds to the chest. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would ya?” He leaned forward, propping his chin on the palm of his hand; this time it was his turn to do the staring.

“Matt was murdered?” Christian asked with surprise. “I wondered why he wasn’t at work this morning.” His brow furrowed. “That’s truly a shame, but I had nothing to do with his demise.” He smiled amorously over his shoulder at his bodyguard. “Damian can vouch for my whereabouts the entire night. Can’t you, Damian?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Christian,” the cocky blond answered with a smirk. “All night.”

With a brief roll of his eyes, Hutch continued the interrogation. “You knew we were questioning him. Maybe you were afraid he was going to say a little too much.”

“About what?” Christian asked innocently. “Who I sell mining tools to?”

“Oh, come off it!” Starsky was losing his patience. “We know you have ties to the cocaine shipments coming up the coast. It’s just a matter of time before you slip up. Carnahan knew how you run your operation. He was wanting out because he knew we were getting closer to tying him in with the drug shipments, too. You were afraid he was going to take you down to save himself.”

“Detective Starsky, I assure you I run a completely legitimate business.” Christian held up several stacks of paper. “I have some of my accounts right here that I am going over. Feel free to look at any of them. You’ll find everything in order.”

Martin returned with the drinks and placed the glasses before the detectives and Christian before hastily retreating from the room.

Hutch took a drink from his glass of Perrier water, savoring its crisp taste. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his partner taking a drink of his, making a face, and pushing the glass away. He couldn’t help but smile, before his gaze turned back to Christian. Folding his hands in front of him on the table, Hutch warned, “It’s just a matter of time before you fall, Christian, and when you do, you’re gonna fall hard.”

Christian had refocused his attention on the blond detective. Hutch seemed uneasy as the blue eyes seared through him, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Christian stood up and walked directly behind him. “Is that so? I’m going to fall hard?” he asked in amusement. “And when I fall, will it be you that catches me?” He ran his hand lightly up Hutch’s neck and across his cheek. Hutch didn’t flinch, refusing to give Christian the pleasure of initiating a response from him.

Starsky was not so forgiving. “You son of a bitch!” In a split second, the infuriated detective was out of his chair, across the table, and had Christian by the knot of his silk Halston tie.

Equally as quick, Damian had his weapon drawn and pointed at Starsky’s temple. Hutch, in turn, had drawn his Magnum and was ready to fire.

“Damian, no!” Christian shouted. “It’s okay.” He held up his hand, signaling the threatening bodyguard to back off.

Damian relaxed his finger on the trigger of his gun and reluctantly stepped away, even though Starsky still gripped Christian’s tie.

Breathing hard in the face of the man in his clutches, Starsky warned, “You ever touch him again, you’ll be conducting your business from a body cast. Got that?”

Christian was undaunted. “Is that a threat, Detective Starsky?”

Starsky jerked harder on the tie. “No, that’s a promise.”

Hutch returned his gun to its holster. Patting his partner gently on the stomach, he tried to calm him down. “C’mon, Starsk, that’s enough. Let’s go.”

With a final tug, Starsky relinquished his hold on Christian and strolled toward the door, Hutch following closely. Christian immediately straightened his suit and tie, as he watched the men leave the room.

As they left the grounds of the estate, Hutch looked over at Starsky who was still obviously upset. “Hey, what got into you back there?” he asked quietly. “I’ve never seen you act like that before.”

Starsky paused before speaking, unable to fully explain it himself. Their friendship had always been extremely close, and even their sporadic relationships with women through the years had never infringed upon that closeness, but watching Christian become so absorbed in Hutch’s presence awakened a fear in him that seemed to threaten that bond. “He had no right to touch you like that, Hutch. His eyes were on you the minute you walked into that room, and when he did that, I just lost it, that’s all.”

“Starsky, I can take care of myself.” Hutch was somewhat bewildered by his partner’s actions. Starsky had always let him fight his own battles, unless he wasn’t able to. Still, he appreciated the protectiveness and tried to brush off the whole incident. “All he was trying to do was elicit a response from one of us, and he succeeded. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Starsky was not convinced. “I just hope we’re able to nail that creep soon. With Carnahan dead, that’s one less chance we have to get a lead on when the next shipment is coming in.”

Hutch tried to get Starsky’s mind back on their murder case. “Let’s head back to Metro. We can obtain a search warrant for Carnahan’s apartment. Maybe that will turn something up.”

~*~*~*~

Once again engrossed in his paper work, Alex Christian was interrupted by a knock on the library door.

“Yes, what is it?” he called out.

The doors slid open and a sandy-blond-haired man with a muscular build entered, neatly dressed in pleated slacks and an oxford shirt. “Mr. Christian, I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“That’s perfectly all right, Eric.” Christian laid his pen down and smiled briefly at the man. “I trust you retrieved what I was looking for?”

Eric Talbert rubbed his hands together nervously. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Christian. Jensen and I searched Carnahan’s entire apartment. The ledger was nowhere to be found. He must have done something with it.”

Christian slammed his fist on the desk as he stood up, shouting at the man before him, “That ledger has all the information on my past shipments-times, dates, names-everything! I want that book! Now, I don’t care what it takes to find it. Search his apartment again, search his mother’s house, but you find that book. I didn’t have you take him out just so all the information he was going to give those two detectives turns up written in detail for them. If I don’t have it in my hand by day’s end, you are going to have to answer to me. Is that clear?”

Sweat dripped down the side of Talbert’s reddened face. “Yes, sir, Mr. Christian. I’ll find it.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky seemed to calm down on the way to Metro, their conversation drifting to their plans for beer and pizza during the following night’s football game on TV. Upon arrival, they briefed Dobey on their visit with Christian, never mentioning the incident that had upset Starsky. Fortunately for them, Dobey’s mood had mellowed somewhat. Both men avoided any comments on the pastel-colored shirt he wore, not wanting to get their hot-tempered captain upset again.

They obtained the search warrant and headed to Carnahan’s apartment in a middle-class neighborhood on the city’s east side. The apartment was in a small complex of six units, two of which were vacant.

“We’ll get the manager to let us in.” Starsky looked at the mailboxes and motioned toward a rear unit. “I think he lived in the last one.”

Carnahan’s apartment was directly across from the manager’s. Before attempting to summon the manager, Hutch glanced over at Carnahan’s door. The lock had obviously been jimmied and the door stood ajar. “Hey, Starsk.” Hutch pointed at the door and immediately drew his gun.

Starsky also drew his weapon, and they positioned themselves on either side of the entryway. Hutch reached down and slowly pushed open the door. Giving a quick nod to one another, they barged into the apartment, Hutch going high, Starsky low. What once was a tastefully decorated apartment was now in shambles. The couch cushions were shredded and drawers were dumped on the floor with their contents strewn about. Cabinets were emptied; even the mattress had been sliced open.

Making a quick check to ensure that the intruders were gone, Starsky and Hutch replaced their guns in their holsters and began looking over the damage.

“Holy cow,” Starsky exclaimed as he glanced around the room. “Whatever they were looking for, it doesn’t look like they found it.”

“Yeah, it must’ve been pretty important to take a chance on ransacking the place with the manager right across the sidewalk.” Not wanting to disturb any possible evidence, Hutch was already on the phone requesting a crime team.

While waiting for them to arrive, the men knocked on the doors of the adjacent apartments, trying to find out if anybody had heard anything. The only one they were able to question was an extremely hard-of-hearing lady in her eighties. She informed them that the landlord was away on vacation and the other two tenants were rarely home. Of course, she hadn’t heard a thing.

The crime team arrived and thoroughly went over the apartment. Nothing out of the ordinary was found, just a few odd fingerprints, none of which looked promising. Two hours later, they were no closer to any substantial leads, and once again, headed back to the station.

It was nearing lunchtime as Starsky and Hutch settled at their desks to write a report on the Carnahan break-in. Starsky, as usual, was famished. Looking up from his typewriter, he announced, “Hey, Hutch, I’m gonna grab something from the cafeteria. Want anything?”

Concentrating on his typing, Hutch briefly glanced up. “Huh? Oh, just grab me a sandwich-turkey on wheat, hold the mayo, and a carton of skim milk.”

“Yuck.” Starsky wrinkled his nose. “How can you drink that stuff?”

“I drink it because they don’t have goat’s milk,” Hutch stated simply.

Starsky just shook his head as he swaggered out the squad room door. “I worry about you sometimes, Blondie.”

While Starsky was gone, the mail was delivered to their desks. Quickly shuffling through his, a small bulky envelope caught Hutch’s attention. There was no return address, and the envelope simply read: “Ken Hutchinson, Bay City Police Department.” He tore open the end and pulled out a small bound book. Thumbing through it, he observed what appeared to be details of cocaine shipments via cargo boats coming from Mexico. Though there was no reference to Alex Christian, there was little doubt in his mind who the buyer was. One small piece of loose paper was folded and tucked in the front. Hutch unfolded the note, which read: “Christian knows. I’m a dead man. Here’s what you need. M.C.”

“Bingo,” Hutch whispered aloud.

With an assortment of food piled high on a tray, Starsky returned to the squad room. Before he had the chance to set down the tray, Hutch announced jubilantly as he tapped on the book, “This is it, Starsk, everything we need-dates, names, times-it’s all here!”

“What’re you talking about?” Starsky inquired, trying to catch a glimpse of the envelope and book his partner held. “What is it?”

“This must be the reason why Carnahan’s apartment was ransacked.” Hutch gave the book to his partner to examine. “Carnahan kept a ledger with details of all Christian’s past shipments. He must’ve known Christian was looking to do away with him. This was his way of getting even, even after he was dead.”

Starsky munched on a few potato chips, as he glanced over the pages of the notebook. “Well, if we know what the shipments were and when they came in, we can find out who the buyer was. We’ll have everything we need to put Christian behind bars for a very long time.”

“You got it, partner.” Hutch was elated. “There’s a small shipping company down by the pier that’s mentioned in here. Looks like most of the shipments were received there. You can bet they knew the cargo wasn’t Mexican jumping beans. We can start there.”

Starsky tossed Hutch his sandwich and carton of milk. “Let’s eat so we can get down there. If we can establish a connection between any of these shipments and Alex Christian, we’ll have enough to bring him in. The sooner we put that guy behind bars, the happier I’ll be.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky and Hutch questioned several people at the shipping company, but no one was willing to provide any useful information that would tie Alex Christian to any of the shipments mentioned in the ledger. After an implied threat to have immigration check into the employment history of two-thirds of the dockworkers, a man in the office hesitantly agreed to let them look over the receiving book. They perused the records, taking careful notice of the shipments received on the dates mentioned in Carnahan’s ledger. All of the cargo shipments detailed in their records were listed as crates of coffee, the buyer a person by the name of Kristoff Fontaine. There were also several entries for Alex Christian on other dates, all of which, unsurprisingly, were mining tools. They were disappointed but didn’t expect immediate success.

As Starsky browsed over the shipping receivers, the man in charge nervously looked on. “Kristoff Fontaine, huh?” Starsky asked. “Catchy name. Ever seen this guy?”

“No,” the man answered quickly. “He had somebody else pick up the merchandise.”

“Have you ever verified the contents of Mr. Fontaine’s shipments?” Hutch inquired.

Growing more fidgety at the continued questioning, the man answered angrily, “No, I haven’t! Look, I just work here, okay? If you have a problem, see Jim Donovan, my supervisor. He’ll be back in the morning at nine.” He slammed the receiving book shut, barely giving Starsky time to move his hand out of the way, and stormed out of the room.

“Christian must be paying these people well to keep their mouths shut,” Hutch commented, as he followed his partner back to the Torino. “I have a feeling Fontaine and Christian might just be one and the same.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling, too,” Starsky agreed, as he unlocked the car door. “Now we just gotta find the proof that links them together.”

“We’ll come back in the morning and question that Jim Donovan, see what he has to say.” Hutch slid in the passenger’s seat, as Starsky started the engine. “Christian can’t afford to pay off everybody in Bay City. We’ve just got to find the few that he hasn’t.”

~*~*~*~

Alex Christian was enjoying a relaxing swim in his pool, when Eric Talbert approached him once again.

Annoyed by his employee’s intrusion into his leisure time, Christian swam to the pool’s edge and looked up at the fidgety man. “Yes, what is it now, Eric? I hope you’re here to tell me you’ve found my ledger.”

“Uh, no sir, but I think I do know where it is,” Eric answered hesitantly.

“Well, why are you standing here annoying me?” Christian snapped. “Go get it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

“And why the hell not?” Christian shouted. “Go on. Spill it.”

“I’m afraid the cops have it, sir.” Eric flinched as if Christian was going to pull a gun and shoot him right there.

“WHAT?” Christian emerged from the pool and slipped into a plush terry robe. “How do you know they have it?”

“I just got a call from Stephens down at the docks. Those two detectives that were here earlier were down there snoopin’ around, askin’ a lot of questions, and checkin’ dates in the receiving books. With Carnahan out of the way, there’s only one way they would know to look there. They wanted to speak with Donovan, but he’s tracking that lost shipment for you. He’s due back tomorrow. They’re supposed to come back in the morning and question him. I don’t think anyone told them anything.”

“You don’t think?” Christian started back toward the house. “No, they’re getting too close. If they have that ledger, they have the potential to disrupt my entire operation. It’s time I take a little action.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky and Hutch finished the day tying up loose ends on a few other cases. The next morning started with their usual routine, including dealing with Hutch’s ever-temperamental LTD. Hutch had intended to drive, but as his car sputtered up to Starsky’s apartment, he decided to leave it there and opted to ride in the striped tomato again.

Arriving at Metro, they found their captain in a somewhat better mood. He was sporting a new white dress shirt, unable to salvage the load of clothes he had ruined.

“‘Mornin’, Cap’n.” Starsky smiled at his boss as he walked into the squad room. “You look dashing today. Is that a new shirt?”

Dobey knew what he was getting at. “Can it, Starsky.” Addressing his blond detective, he continued, “You find out anything on that Carnahan murder, yet?”

“We have a few leads, but nothing concrete,” Hutch replied. Dobey had been in meetings most of the previous day and was unaware of the ledger he had received in the mail. Hutch filled him in on the details. “We’re going to go back down to the docks today and speak with the supervisor who wasn’t there yesterday. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.”

“Keep me posted,” Dobey said before disappearing into his office.

Starsky downed the last bit of coffee he was drinking. “Well, what d’ya say we go on down to the docks and have that chat with Mr. Donovan?”

“Ready when you are,” Hutch replied.

The docks were bustling with early morning shipments that were arriving. As Starsky and Hutch approached the receiving warehouse, the first thing they noticed was a white limousine with tinted windows parked next to the docks near the water’s edge. The extravagant car was definitely out of place on the rickety waterfront.

“Get a load of that.” Starsky motioned toward the long white car.

“Wonder what they’re here to pick up?” Hutch asked nonchalantly.

The driver of the limo stood near the rear door, awaiting a man who was exiting the warehouse.

Hutch’s eyes grew wide in astonishment as he recognized the tall, distinguished-looking man carrying a briefcase. “Christian,” he uttered aloud.

“Could we be that lucky to catch him with his hand in the cookie jar?” Starsky asked with guarded hope.

“We’ll see,” Hutch replied as he watched Christian intently.

The man stopped when he spotted the bright red car. He was smiling smugly as the Torino pulled into a nearby parking spot. Starsky and Hutch sauntered up to the patiently waiting man. He was dressed more casually this time in a Japanese print silk shirt and linen slacks. A heavy gold herringbone chain hung from his neck.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Christian greeted them cheerfully. His blue eyes twinkled in the bright sunshine as he gazed at Hutch.

“Well, it was,” Starsky retorted. “Expecting somethin’?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Christian’s eyes darted briefly back to the brunet. “I had a shipment of drill bits that I was expecting for a company that mines diamonds in Brazil. It has been delayed for several days now, and I was checking to see if I could find out where it was held up.”

“Don’t you have people who take care of that sort of thing?” Hutch asked accusingly.

“Yes, I do, but a man has to put in an honest day’s work every now and then,” Christian replied with a complacent air of superiority. He lifted his knee up, propping his briefcase on it, and opened the latches. Turning it around for the detectives to inspect, he taunted, “Paperwork’s all here. Feel free to look through it.”

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other in dismay, knowing the clever businessman was one step ahead of them again.

“Some other time, Christian.” Starsky turned his back to the man and walked away. “C’mon, Hutch, let’s get outta here. Somethin’ smells.”

Hutch turned to follow his partner. Feeling Christian’s gaze still upon him, the blond glanced back over his shoulder. Christian made a kissing motion with his lips toward the detective, then smiled menacingly as he got into the limo. Hutch just shook his head in disbelief and caught up with Starsky, not daring to mention the incident.

“Can you believe the ego of that guy?” Starsky was furious.

Before Hutch could reply, a massive explosion behind them sent them both reeling forward, slamming them into a pile of crates. Several toppled down on Hutch, effectively burying him. The limousine was a raging inferno with bits and pieces of twisted metal raining down everywhere.

Dazed but otherwise uninjured, Starsky got to his feet, his first concern finding his friend. He wildly started throwing wooden crates off to the side. “Hutch! Hutch! Where are you?” He caught sight of one of Hutch’s legs protruding from under a large crate, motionless. “Oh, my God! Hutch, are you okay?” Rushing to try and remove the cumbersome object, he heard the strained voice of his partner coming from behind it.

“Well, I will be when you get this damn box off my leg.” Hutch attempted to wriggle free.

“Don’t move!” Starsky warned, breathing a sigh of relief after hearing the familiar voice. “Just hang on.”

By this time, the workers of nearby warehouses had spilled out onto the docks. Several men had rushed over to aid the frantic cops. The large crate was lifted from Hutch’s leg and he cautiously sat up, rubbing his hand across his shoulder.

Raising his hand to Hutch’s cheek, Starsky trailed his eyes up and down his body, looking for any signs of injury. “You okay? Huh? Can you see me? You hurt anywhere? Can you move your leg? Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“Starsky, I’m fine, really.” Hutch briefly leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder and then looked back up into the caring blue eyes. “How ’bout you? You okay?”

Satisfied that his friend was not seriously injured, Starsky exhaled sharply. “I am now, buddy.” He looked back over his shoulder at the remains of Christian’s limousine. “I can’t say the same for Christian, though.”

Hutch peered around Starsky at the still blazing car. “He either had a serious engine malfunction, or he finally crossed the wrong person.”

Emergency personnel began arriving on the scene within minutes, extinguishing the fire and looking for remains in the debris. Both Starsky and Hutch were treated at the scene for lacerations and contusions. The paramedics recommended that they be checked more thoroughly at the hospital, but the detectives, having spent more than their fair share of time at Memorial for various injuries, promptly but politely refused.

The crime team and coroner went over the scene, examining every fragment. Dale Meyer, the lead investigator, approached Starsky and Hutch with his immediate findings. “Hey, Starsky, Hutch, glad you two are okay.” He skimmed over his notebook.

“Find anything out, Dale?” Starsky asked, anxious for the details.

“Well, there’s little doubt it was a bomb, a very volatile one at that,” he stated.

“What about Christian?” Hutch asked.

“You mean what’s left of him. There’s not much to identify him or his driver by-a few bone fragments. The bodies practically disintegrated.” He held up a plastic bag containing a gold herringbone necklace. “This was found a few feet from the car. Must’ve been blown clear off one of the two men.”

Hutch immediately recognized the gold chain. “Christian was wearing that. I saw it when we spoke with him a few minutes ago.”

Meyer noted that in his book. “It looks like both Christian and his driver perished in the blast. I’ll run some tests on what we collected at the scene and see if I can come up with anything concrete and get back to you. You two, take it easy.”

“Okay, thanks.” Hutch watched as Meyer returned to go over the crime scene one more time. The initial shock of the blast was now wearing off, and he was beginning to feel its effects. He rotated his shoulder and stretched his neck to the side, trying to alleviate the pain that was starting to set in.

Starsky noticed his friend’s discomfort. “Hey, you’re not okay. I’m gonna take you to the hospital and have you checked out.”

“No!” Hutch refused adamantly. “I’d be in there the rest of the evening, only to have them tell me to take a couple of aspirin and take it easy for a while. I’ll be fine, Starsk. I’m just a little sore, that’s all.”

Starsky eyed his partner suspiciously, suspecting he was hurting more than he let on. “Well, just the same, I’m gonna get hold of Dobey and ask him to let you have the rest of the day off.” Hutch didn’t argue, which gave Starsky even more reason to believe his partner was in pain.

As Starsky put the call in to his captain, Hutch sat quietly on a crate, watching the continued clean-up of the debris from the explosion. Two small black bags, neither of which held more than a few pieces of human remains, were removed from the scene. He reflected on the last moments of Christian’s life-a man who carried an air of invincibility about him, so sure of himself, and felt he was above all others. There was one less drug supplier on the streets, and now the focus would have to turn to who was responsible for that feat.

Starsky returned, all smiles. “Dobey said for both of us to take the rest of the day off.” He reached toward his friend and gently took him by the arm. “C’mon, Blondie, I’m takin’ you to my place.”

“You don’t have to baby-sit me, Starsk.”

“Who says I’m babysitting you?” Starsky asked innocently, as he attempted to cover up his motive. “We’ve got the whole evening off, and I seem to recall plans for pizza and a football game.”

Hutch resigned to the fact that he was going to be treated to an evening of the infamous Starsky TLC and got in the Torino.

~*~*~*~

“Shit!” Starsky stood up and pointed angrily at the TV. “I can’t believe he fumbled the ball on the three yard line with twenty seconds to go.”

Hutch was just as enthralled in the game. He threw a hand up in disgust, as he bit into a slice of pepperoni pizza that he held in the other. “Did the guy have Vaseline on his fingers or what? Tarkenton put it right in his hands.”

Starsky slapped at the power button on the TV, promptly sticking his tongue out at it, before he flopped down on the couch beside his partner. Pulling the tab off a can of Coors beer, he smiled over at his friend. “Can I get ya another root beer, Blondie?”

Hutch sneered at the slightly tipsy man. “No, I don’t want another root beer, but I wouldn’t mind one of those.” He motioned at the can Starsky was sipping from.

“Now, I told ya, Hutch, you might have a head injury or somethin’,” he reiterated for the fourth time that evening. “Ya can’t go drinkin’ alcohol with a head injury.”

“Starsky, the only head that’s gonna be injured around here is yours if you don’t quit fussin’ over me. I don’t have a head injury. I don’t have a broken leg. I’m fine.” The blond abruptly rose from the couch only to sit back down just as quickly, as a sharp pain traveled through his back and shoulder.

“Uh-huh,” Starsky replied, sure of himself. “You’re just fine.”

“My back’s just a little stiff, that’s all,” Hutch admitted as he winced in pain.

Starsky held both hands in front of Hutch’s face and wiggled his fingers. “Looks like it’s time for another one of my back rubs.” He got up and swaggered toward his bedroom, beer in hand, as he beckoned his friend. “C’mon, Hutch, you know it did wonders for you the other night.”

Hutch pondered the thought of being treated to what he had to admit was a relaxing and soothing massage at the gifted hands of his partner, and eagerly retreated with him into the bedroom.

“Take off your shirt and stretch out across the bed right here.” Starsky fluffed a pillow and tapped his hand lightly on it. “I’ll do the rest.”

“You know you’re spoiling me, don’t you?” Moving with obvious stiffness, Hutch unbuttoned the hunter green and white plaid flannel shirt he was wearing and slipped it off his shoulders. He stretched diagonally across the bed on his stomach, propping his chin on the soft pillow with his arms folded underneath.

“Well, I seem to recall when I was sick in bed with the flu last month, a certain blond blintz never leaving my side.” Starsky beamed gratefully at his friend. “I remember the bowls of chicken noodle soup to help ease my chills, ice cream sundaes to sooth my sore throat, and the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut into four triangles just like I like them. What kind of pal would I be if I didn’t help you out when you’re hurtin’?” Taking another gulp of beer, he positioned himself on his knees at his partner’s side, rubbing his hands briskly together to generate a little warmth. Then he began kneading and pushing on Hutch’s lower back.

“Mmmmm…” Hutch moaned as he closed his eyes. “Damn, Starsk, you don’t know how good that feels.”

Starsky worked his way up Hutch’s back, reaching his shoulders and neck. Hutch flinched a little, as he massaged the shoulder that took the brunt of the impact. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt ya,” he uttered apologetically.

“‘S okay,” Hutch mumbled.

As he continued to knead his partner’s sore muscles, Starsky reflected back on the last few days’ events-Christian, the Carnahan murder, the explosion-all had taken their toll on his emotions. “Hey, Hutch,” he said quietly.

“Hmmmm?” Hutch replied drowsily, on the verge of drifting off into a relaxing slumber.

“I was really scared there for a minute today,” Starsky confessed with sincerity. “When I saw your leg stickin’ out from under that crate, not movin’, well, I just expected the worst.” He lightly rubbed his hand across Hutch’s back. “I…I just don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

Peeking out from one partially opened eye, Hutch sensed the distress in his partner’s voice. He rolled over to his back, laying one arm across his bare chest and tucking the other behind his head. “Hey, what’s wrong with you lately?” he asked softly with genuine concern. “We’ve been in worse scrapes than that. And then the way you flipped out over Christian touching me, it’s not like you, Starsk. What’s up?”

Starsky looked down, suddenly embarrassed at wearing his emotions on his sleeve. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain what I’m feeling. Every day I live with the fear of losing you, and that fear has become so overwhelming these last few days.”

“I’m not going anywhere, partner,” Hutch whispered reassuringly. “Promise.” He tried to lighten the situation. “Besides, who else but you would put up with me?” He gave Starsky a pat on his thigh and closed his eyes again. “Mind if I crash here tonight? Your back rub really did the trick.”

“Yeah, sure.” Starsky sat quietly and watched as his partner drifted off into a light slumber. Feeling overcome with emotion, he pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts. He had always had a close relationship with Hutch-closer than most marriages-but what they shared between them was friendship, nothing ever beyond that. In the past few months, however, his feelings had begun to change, feelings he couldn’t define. He had pondered over it for nights on end, but never came up with a reasonable explanation. Then, when he saw Christian stroke his hand across Hutch’s check, ever so lightly but deliberately, it awakened an inner rage in him like he had never felt before.

As his friend lay there before him, so peaceful, so…beautiful, he tried to put things in perspective. Hutch was his best friend, there was no doubt in that, someone he trusted with his life and who he would lay his life down for. Even though they spent most of their time together, there were still days and nights when one of them would have errands to run or a date, and they wouldn’t see each other. He found himself dreading those times more and more. The thought of Hutch spending time with a woman-touching her, kissing her, making love to her-caused an unsettling reaction in him that was further entrenched when he saw Christian touch him.

As he watched Hutch shift his position, rubbing his hand lightly across his bare chest as he dozed, he came to the realization that he didn’t want Hutch touching anybody or anybody touching Hutch…anybody except him. As if a damn had broken, he suddenly understood the emotions he had been battling for so long. Without hesitation, he leaned over and kissed Hutch on the mouth, savoring the sweetness of his breath and the taste of his soft lips.

Hutch’s nose wrinkled as he felt the unexpected touch. As his eyes fluttered open, he focused on Starsky, who was still leaning over him, inches from his face. “Uh, Starsk?” he whispered.

Starsky froze, unsure of what his friend was going to say or do. “Yeah?”

“Did you just kiss me?” Hutch was unsure if it had happened or if he was, perhaps, dreaming.

“Yeah,” was all Starsky could say in reply. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, sensing he had just made a terrible mistake.

Hutch abruptly sat up, moving away from his partner. “That’s what I thought.” He grabbed his shirt and stood up, his eyes darting nervously back and forth across the room, at a loss for words.

“Hutch, I’m sorry,” Starsky opened his eyes and reached his hand out toward his friend, desperate to take back what had just happened. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“No, it’s okay, Starsk.” Hutch held his hand up in a stopping motion as he continued to back away. “You’ve been upset these last few days and then you drank those beers tonight and…” He started toward the door as he stammered, “I-I gotta go.” Too distraught to think clearly, his gun and holster remained behind.

Starsky’s hand dropped to his lap, as he heard the door to his apartment close. “What’ve I done?” he said aloud. He dropped to the bed, pulling his knees up tightly to his chest, trying to ease the knots that were tying up his insides. “I’m sorry, Hutch.”

Hutch got in his battered LTD and pulled away from Starsky’s apartment, his car still sputtering and chugging. A wave of differing emotions washed over him. Gripping his steering wheel tightly, he made his way down the deserted streets toward his apartment. Lost in thought, the distracted blond never saw the traffic light change to red or the one lone car that was traveling through the intersection. The sound of screeching tires and a blaring horn brought Hutch back to reality, as he swerved to miss the oncoming car. Narrowly averting a collision, the shaken detective pulled to the side of the road to gather his senses. He leaned his head on the steering wheel, sweat beading on his forehead, his heart racing.

What had just happened back at Starsky’s apartment? Was Starsky drunk? Was it one of his practical jokes that went awry? Could it really be possible that Starsky felt that way about him? Hutch rubbed his hands up and down his face, trying to clear his mind. Could it be that Starsky felt the same way about him as he had about Starsky for so long? He had dismissed the thought long ago, never believing it could become reality. A brief smile formed on his face, as he relished the thought of their feelings possibly being mutual. But the smile quickly faded, as he remembered the numerous beers Starsky had consumed throughout the evening and his recent emotional state. No, he just had too much to drink. He’s been upset. Then Hutch recalled the devastated look on Starsky’s face as he had dashed from the apartment. Whether Starsky had meant anything by the kiss or not didn’t matter at the moment. He knew he had left his friend pleading for forgiveness, and he had walked out on him.

“I’ve got to talk to him,” Hutch muttered to himself. Being only a few blocks from his own apartment and with his car acting up, he opted to call Starsky instead of wasting time driving back across the city. He put the LTD in gear and raced toward Venice Place.

Pulling in behind a white utility van, Hutch gave a quick wave to Mrs. Ellenstein, a recently widowed elderly lady who took her equally elderly poodle for a late night walk at precisely eleven thirty-five every night. She had just entered the apartment building as Hutch got out of his car. As he crossed in front of his LTD, he noticed the rear door of the utility van was slightly ajar. His cop instinct warned him of danger, but before he had time to react, the door swung open and three figures grabbed him-one bracing a strong forearm against his neck, the other two quickly twisting both arms behind his back. Pulling him into the van, Hutch was thrown facedown on the floor, the door abruptly slamming behind him. A knee pressed down on the back of his neck, choking off his air supply. Gasping for air, Hutch struggled against the rope being wound tightly around his wrists. His legs were still free and he kicked blindly trying to ward off his attackers. A cry of pain assured him he had made contact with at least one of the three men.

“Damn it, get his legs!” one of the men shouted.

Hutch kicked wildly again, refusing to give up his freedom. He struck another one of the men, as a blindfold was placed over his eyes.

The man holding Hutch down with his knee spouted, “You wanna do this the hard way, Hutchinson?” He slammed his fist hard into the side of Hutch’s face.

As one last image of Starsky passed through his mind, Hutch whispered, “No…” and his world went black.

~*~*~*~

Starsky was coiled in a ball on his bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he willed the nightmare that he was responsible for to go away. The beer and pizza he had consumed earlier churned mercilessly in his stomach. As the look on Hutch’s face after he had kissed him passed through his mind once more, he felt the sickness rise in the back of his throat. He stumbled toward the bathroom where he emptied the contents of his stomach in just a matter of seconds. Breathing hard from the exertion, Starsky leaned his head against the wall and stared at the florescent bulb that illuminated the mirror above the sink. Everything that he and Hutch had shared through the years-the closeness, the loyalty, the special bond-he had single-handedly managed to destroy in a span of a few seconds. Things would never be the same between them again, he was certain of it. How could he have betrayed their friendship that way? How could he have thought that Hutch would reciprocate feelings that went beyond the boundaries of their friendship? He had kissed him-kissed Hutch, his partner, his friend.

“Oh, God, Hutch, I’m sorry,” he whispered. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Starsky got to his feet with renewed determination. No, I won’t just sit back and watch everything go down the drain. I have to at least try and talk to him, explain it to him. He knows I haven’t been myself lately.

Starsky headed for the phone in the kitchen and dialed the number he had called so many times before. One ring, two rings, three rings, four rings-no answer. Hanging up the phone in dismay, he sat down at the table, holding his head in his hands. Oh, God, he won’t even speak to me. Distraught, he continued calling, hoping that Hutch would give in and answer, but he didn’t. Slamming the receiver down, he turned and grabbed his keys off the counter. You’ll have to talk to me if we’re face-to-face. He got as far as the door when he stopped and turned around. No, he doesn’t want to talk to me. He’s made that perfectly clear. If I give him some time to sort things out, he’ll see that it was just a misunderstanding, one of my stupid stunts that he never lets me live down. Maybe by tomorrow, we’ll be laughing about this and he’ll be telling me what a dirtball I am and that I should lay off the beers for a while. Starsky tossed his keys on the counter and flopped down on the couch, pulling the afghan from the back across his trembling body. He couldn’t face going back in the bedroom where the incident had taken place. His moment of optimism was short-lived, and he retreated farther under the cover. Oh, who are you kiddin’? He’s never going to forgive you. Mentally and physically exhausted, Starsky slipped into a restless slumber.

~*~*~*~

The white van had been traveling for over two hours. The driver, a short but stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair, concentrated on the direction he was going, an area unfamiliar to him. The man in the passenger’s seat was much taller but leaner than his two accomplices. His wavy black hair was short and combed neatly away from his face. The third man, seated on the floor of the van near Hutch, was the more physically fit of the three. His sandy blond hair offset his dark brown eyes. Well-groomed with smooth tanned skin, the man smiled as he watched the detective stir.

“Looks like our friend is coming to,” he announced to the driver and passenger.

Bound hand and foot and blindfolded, Hutch gradually returned to consciousness. A bruise, dark and swollen, had already begun to form on his cheekbone where he was struck. He moaned, his face wincing in pain, as he attempted to move. Still dazed, he didn’t immediately remember what had happened. “Starsk?” he called out. A sharp stab of pain running through his head quickly refreshed his memory, and he slowly sat up.

“He can’t help you now,” a voice taunted from a few feet away.

A tug at the ropes around his numb hands made Hutch realize there was little chance of loosening his bindings; still, he discreetly twisted his wrists, hoping for the knot to slip. “Who are you and what the hell do you want?” His voice was raspy and tinged with pain.

“All in due time,” was the only answer he was given.

“It’s about time you woke up, Blondie. We’re almost there.” Another voice sounded, this one closer to him.

“Where are you taking me?” Hutch asked with a sense of foreboding. He could tell he was in motion and assumed he was still in the van.

“You’re going on a little vacation,” the same voice answered.

Puzzled by the answer, Hutch tried to reason with his captors. “Look, if you’re holding me as a hostage, you’re wasting your time.”

“Hostage?” the voice snickered. “You’re no hostage. I can assure you of that.”

“Damn it! What do you want from me?” His head pounding, Hutch was losing his patience.

The first man answered the question for his cohort. “We want nothing.”

Hutch could see he was getting nowhere. He leaned his head back against the side of the van, sighing in despair. He had no idea why he’d been kidnapped, what his captors’ plans were, or if they planned to let him go alive. His main concern was that he might never have the chance to talk to Starsky again, to find out what his true feelings were. Oh, God, Starsky. He’s probably thinking I hate him now, when all I really want to do is hold him and tell him it’s gonna be okay. As the van continued in motion, the thought of perhaps never knowing what Starsky meant by that kiss, gave him the strength and incentive to escape.

Twenty minutes later, the van came to a stop. Hutch turned his head slowly side-to-side, listening for any indication that might divulge where they were. He heard the driver’s side door open, then the passenger’s, and finally the door through which he had been dragged.

“Let’s go, Hutchinson,” a voice beckoned, as the rope around his legs was cut.

Hutch stumbled as he was pulled from the back of the vehicle, falling to his knees, his legs heavy and numb.

“C’mon, get up,” the voice commanded.

Hutch was jerked roughly to his feet and pulled forward. Two sets of hands had his arms in a viselike grip, guiding him to an unknown destination. He focused on two familiar sounds-the sound of a distant foghorn and water lapping against a shoreline. Realizing he was obviously near the ocean or a large body of water, his first thought was that they were going to drown him. Fearing he had nothing to lose, he shoved his shoulder into the man on his right, breaking the hold on him. He whirled toward the man on his left and kicked in the direction he hoped would be a very vulnerable spot. By the sound of the scream that pierced the night air, he had connected with his target. Unable to see, his only choice was to blindly run, hoping to get far enough to possibly attract the attention of a bystander, someone who would help him. He darted forward, unsure where each step would land.

“Damn it, get him!” a voice wailed, wracked with pain. “Don’t let him get near those other boats!”

If there were boats, Hutch knew he must be in a marina. “Somebody, please help me!” he shouted, hoping for someone to hear him, but his pleas went unanswered. His footsteps made a hollow sound as he ran, leading him to believe he was on a dock above water, but his freedom was short-lived as he tripped over something solid, sending him falling face forward onto the ground. His captors were upon him almost immediately. Refusing to give up, Hutch rolled to his back and kicked repeatedly, hoping to inflict more pain upon his aggressors. Unfortunately, this time he only kicked at open air. Having wised up to the blond’s defense tactics, the three men had approached Hutch near his shoulders.

“You son of a bitch!” the pained voice shouted. He grabbed Hutch by the hair and slammed his fist into his face, once then twice. Blood immediately streamed from Hutch’s mouth and nose. The man drew his fist back, preparing to strike Hutch again when he was stopped.

“Hey, cut it out! You remember what we were told.”

“He deserves it! He kicked me right in the balls,” the man bellowed, his voice still strained. Reluctantly and with a grunt of disgust, he released his grip on the blond hair, letting Hutch’s head fall to the ground with a sickening thud.

“C’mon, let’s get him onboard.”

Barely conscious and bleeding, Hutch no longer resisted as he was dragged by his arms across the pier to a waiting boat.

“Where are we supposed to take him?”

“Down below to the guest quarters.”

Hutch feebly attempted to get to his feet to take the strain off his arms, but he was too weak. Moaning in anguish, he was pulled down a flight of stairs and tossed onto a bed. As he began to drift off into unconsciousness once again, he was patted roughly on his bruised face. He felt the warm breath of one of his captors close to his ear.

“Nighty-night, Blondie,” the voice cackled. “When you wake up, there will be someone here who’s very anxious to see you.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky woke abruptly to the sound of banging trashcans outside his apartment. Sliding his feet off the couch, he slowly sat up, hoping the nightmare that was so prevalent in his mind was just that-a nightmare. But the sight of Hutch’s Magnum and holster on the seat of the wicker chair brought the previous night’s events rushing back through his pounding head. The clock on the wall read 5:00. Knowing his friend was an early riser with a predictable morning routine, he donned a quick change of clothes, hoping to arrive at Venice Place before Hutch’s morning jog at 6:00. Once their shift started, Starsky knew there would be little time for serious talk, if Hutch would even talk to him at all.

Within minutes, Starsky was on his way. He rubbed his fingers lightly over the leather of Hutch’s holster, as he contemplated how he was going to justify his actions. When he pulled in behind the LTD, he was no closer to having an explanation than the night before.

Taking a deep breath, Starsky knocked on the apartment door, waiting, hoping that Hutch would greet him with a smile and act like nothing had happened, but he was prepared for the worst. His heart raced as he waited in anticipation for the door to open. With each second that passed, his hopes for forgiveness began to dim.

“C’mon, Hutch, open up.” Starsky rapped again on the door. “We need to talk.” Still, there was no answer. He pressed his ear up against the door, listening for sounds coming from inside, but there was only silence. “Hutch, c’mon.” Seeing he was not going to get a response, he resorted to using the key above the door. He didn’t want to barge in, but there were things that needed to be said.

“Hutch, I’m coming in,” Starsky warned as he turned the key in the lock. As the door opened, he spouted, “Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me, but-” He stopped in mid-sentence, as he looked around the empty apartment. “Hutch?” He quickly checked all of the rooms, but there were no signs that Hutch had even been there overnight. The bed had not been slept in, there were no dirty dishes in the sink, the towel was dry in the bathroom, and the clothes Hutch had been wearing yesterday were not tossed in their usual places across the back of the couch or foot of the bed. A feeling of panic surged through him. The LTD was outside, so Hutch had to have driven it home, but why were there no indications of him being in his apartment? Starsky’s first concern was that Hutch had suffered a worse head injury in the explosion than he had feared and blacked out in his car, or had become disoriented and wandered off. He rushed outside, looking all around and in the LTD, but Hutch was nowhere to be found. Nothing in his car looked suspicious, though it was somewhat hard to tell if anything was out of place amongst the trash and debris strewn throughout the vehicle.

Starsky ran his fingers through his hair, trying to concentrate on where Hutch may have gone and how he would have gotten there. He knew Hutch relieved stress by jogging, but he wouldn’t have stayed out all night. Horrific thoughts clouded his mind as he pictured Hutch being mugged, robbed, beaten, and lying helpless somewhere because of him.

“Hello, David,” an elderly sounding voice called out.

Engrossed in thought, Starsky barely glanced up. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Ellenstein,” he mumbled.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” She tried to make idle conversation as her poodle eyed a nearby fire hydrant.

Not in the mood for small talk, Starsky glanced up and down the street as he abruptly replied, “I’ve had better.”

Mrs. Ellenstein looked closely at the detective. Seeing his disheveled appearance and the dark circles under his eyes, her motherly instinct told her something was wrong. “Are you not feeling well, David?”

Starsky was trying not to lose his patience with her, after all, she had lived across the hall from Hutch for some time now, and always greeted him with a warm smile. “I’m sorry Mrs. Ellenstein, I really don’t have time to chat.” He started toward the car, then paused and looked back at the elderly woman. “Hey, you haven’t by chance seen Hutch this morning, have you?”

“No, no I haven’t.” She couldn’t help but notice the distraught look on his face. “I did see him last night, though.”

Starsky bounded toward her and took her gently by the arms, his voice trembling. “You saw Hutch? Where? When?”

Startled by his emotional reaction, Mrs. Ellenstein backed away before answering. “Last night. I was walking Puddles.” She motioned at the cream-colored poodle.

“What time was that?” Starsky asked with desperation in his voice.

“Eleven thirty-five. The same time I always walk him. You know if I don’t walk him at the same-”

“Mrs. Ellenstein, please,” Starsky interrupted. “It’s very important that you remember. Where was he? Was he upset?”

She pressed a finger to her chin as she reflected in thought. “He had just pulled up in his car. I was going in the apartment building. I waved. He waved back, and then I closed the door. I didn’t talk to him, so I don’t know if he was upset or not.”

“Did you see or hear him go into his apartment?” he asked anxiously.

“No, that’s the funny thing.” Her brow furrowed. “I usually hear him unlock his door.” She leaned forward and whispered. “He keeps the key above the doorframe, you know. You should really talk to him about that.”

“I will, I will, Mrs. Ellenstein.” Starsky tried to remain calm. “Did you see anybody hanging around outside, anybody suspicious looking?”

“No, I didn’t see anybody.” She sensed his anxiousness. “Is something wrong with Ken?”

Not wanting to cause any undue alarm, Starsky’s voice softened. “No, I just think he needed some time to himself, maybe went for a walk.” Knowing he’d been a little too aggressive toward the frail woman, he gently patted her on the arm. “If you see or hear from him, would you call me at Metro?”

“Yes, David, I will.” She turned toward the apartment with her poodle.

Dejected, Starsky glanced up and down the street one more time, hoping for a glimpse of blond hair bouncing in the morning sun.

Mrs. Ellenstein opened the door to the apartment building when she paused and looked back. “David?”

“What is it Mrs. Ellenstein?” he called back, hoping she wasn’t wanting to chit-chat again.

“I don’t know if this is important, but I do recall a white van parked in front of Ken’s car that I haven’t seen in this neighborhood before.”

Starsky felt a glimmer of hope and dread at the same time. He approached her again to question her further. “A white van? Did you see anybody in it?”

“No, there was no one around it that I saw. What made me notice it was because the rear door was ajar. I thought to myself that I hope someone doesn’t take advantage of the person who owns it and steals something out of the back.”

“What exactly did it look like?” Starsky looked at her, his eyes pleading for every detail she could remember.

“It was one of those newer ones, you know, nice and shiny, white in color. There was some writing on the side and a small picture. I couldn’t tell what the picture was, though.” She snapped her fingers. “I know. It was a service van for an air-conditioning business, because it said AC on the side.”

Starsky hopes diminished. With the warm weather recently, it was not unusual for after hours service calls. “You’ve been very helpful, Mrs. Ellenstein.” He was grateful for any information at this point. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She watched as the Starsky drove away.

With nothing else to go on, Starsky scoured the neighborhood hoping that maybe Hutch had left early for his morning jog, trying to avoid him. He could respect that decision after what he had done, but he had to know that Hutch was all right first. He checked all of his favorite “thinking” spots-the park, the beach, the places he would go to escape the pressures of his job and real life-but there was still no sign of his friend. As he left the beach, Starsky zipped up his leather jacket farther, trying to ward off the unsettling chill that crept through him, even as the sun brimmed with warmth. He only hoped that Hutch’s disappearance was his stubborn friend’s own choice and not someone else’s.

Starsky checked the neighborhood and Hutch’s apartment one last time before deciding to head to Metro. If Hutch was avoiding him, Starsky could accept that, but if he didn’t show up for work, he would have Dobey to answer to, a wrath they both made an effort to evade.

Trying to stay focused on his paperwork, Starsky continually glanced at the clock. It was approaching 8:00, the beginning of their shift, and Hutch had still not called or shown up. He nervously chewed on a pencil, twirling it between his teeth, as he listened to the steady ticking of the timepiece.

Dobey entered the squad room and glanced over at him. “‘Morning, Starsky.” Immediately noticing Starsky’s unkempt appearance, he commented brusquely, “You look like hell.”

“Thanks, Cap’n,” Starsky retorted, almost welcoming the insult if only to get his mind off the empty chair across from him.

Dobey also took notice of the empty chair and the time-8:05. “And where’s Hutchinson? He’s late!”

“He’ll be here,” Starsky replied, trying to convince himself as much as he was Dobey. “He’s probably just running a little late.”

“Is he feeling okay?” Dobey asked with concern. “From what you said, he took quite a hit in that explosion.”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Starsky looked away as he answered, afraid his captain would see the anguish in his eyes.

Dobey eyed his detective suspiciously, sensing something was amiss, but brushed it off as possible fatigue from their caseload. He started toward his office, waving a file in the air. “Let me know when he gets here. I want to go over the Christian case with you.”

Starsky rubbed his hands across his tired eyes and glared at the clock again. As each minute passed, he became increasingly worried. They had had arguments before, but the punctual blond had always shown up for his scheduled shift, even if it meant them riding in silence together, something that never lasted for more than a few hours before they were apologizing to one another and laughing again.

After another half-hour passed, Starsky could no longer sit still. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and started toward the squad room door, intending to search every street and alley until he found his partner.

“Starsky,” Dobey called from his office, interrupting his departure. “I want to see you a moment.”

Starsky stopped and slowly turned around, unprepared to explain his partner’s continued absence, which Dobey was surely going to inquire about. He entered the office and took his place in his usual seat, the one next to him ominously empty.

“Okay, spill it,” Dobey stated bluntly from behind his desk.

“Spill what?” Starsky asked innocently.

“Don’t bullshit me, Starsky.” Dobey knew his detective well. “Hutchinson’s still not here and you look like a little boy who just lost his puppy. You two into it?”

Starsky’s blue eyes darted nervously back and forth, as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yeah, you could say that.” Never considering revealing what happened the previous night, he struggled to come up with a reasonable explanation. “We just had a disagreement, that’s all,” was all he could muster.

“Disagreement, huh? Bad enough for Hutchinson to not show up or call in?” Dobey wasn’t buying it. “C’mon, Starsky. I’ve seen you two at each other’s throats before, and it never lasted more than an hour or two. This isn’t like him. Now you’d better start telling me what’s going on.”

Starsky couldn’t contain his emotions any longer. Standing up, he began to pace around the room as he confessed. “Look, Cap’n. Hutch and I did have a disagreement last night. When he left my place, he was upset. I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer. I figured he didn’t want to talk to me, so I didn’t call anymore to give him some time to, you know, work things out. I went by his apartment this morning to pick him up. His car was there, but he wasn’t. There were no signs he had been in his apartment at all-nothing. I don’t know if something’s happened or if he just wants to be by himself. A neighbor saw him last night about eleven-thirty in his car, but she never heard him go into his apartment.” He was becoming more unsettled as he continued. “If something’s happened to him…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Dobey knew Starsky was extremely upset, as he always was when the well being of his partner was at stake. He tried to calm his fears. “You know how Hutchinson is. He’s probably off cooling his heels somewhere, or maybe he had a date and they took her car.”

Starsky shook his head. “I don’t think so, Cap’n. I got a gut feeling there’s more to it than that. Something’s not right. I can feel it.”

Even when separated, the partners had an uncanny ability of knowing when the other one was hurting, mentally or physically, something the captain couldn’t explain but respected. Still, he tried to remain optimistic. “We’ll give him until noon. If he doesn’t show or call, I’ll put out a missing persons on him.”

“All right,” Starsky agreed, knowing there was little more that could be done at this point. He turned to leave. “I’m gonna drive back by Hutch’s place. I just can’t sit here and do nothin’. You call me if you here from him, okay?”

Dobey followed his distraught detective to the door and gave him a gentle pat on the back. “Sure thing.” Trying to lighten the situation, he added, “But if you find him brooding on a park bench somewhere, you tell him to get his ass in here. You got it?”

Starsky uttered, “Yeah.” He only wished that would be the case.

~*~*~*~

Hutch awoke to the feeling of being in motion again. This time, though, it was a smoother almost gliding feeling. He was still blindfolded and his legs had been bound once again. Assuming he was on a bed, he pushed his feet against what felt like a thick blanket, trying to sit up. Finally, he had maneuvered into an upright position with his back against some sort of railing. His head pounded as if a freight train had barreled through it, and the tight, sticky sensation of dried blood surrounded his mouth and nose.

“‘Morning, Hutchinson. Sleep well?” a voice queried.

Hutch listened intently, recognizing the voice as one of his abductors. “What do you want from me?” he asked once again, his voice pained and weak. “Where am I?”

“You’re about to find out,” the voice sneered.

Hutch heard a door open and the sound of movement around him. He could sense someone standing close to him.

“What the hell happened to him?” a new voice shouted. “I told you I didn’t want him injured!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but he tried to escape. It was the only way to control him.” The voice that was so smug just minutes before, now quivered with fear.

The distinct sound of flesh striking flesh reverberated throughout the room. Hutch pushed himself farther up on the bed, unsure what was happening.

The man moaned in pain.

“You incompetent idiot!” The voice was further enraged. “The three of you together couldn’t handle him without beating him into unconsciousness?”

Something about that voice sent chills through Hutch’s spine. The voice was familiar to him, but his concentration was lacking due to his pounding head, and he couldn’t zero in on the man’s identity.

“I’m really sorry, sir. He put up a good fight. It was the only way.” The voice was pained and apologetic.

“I should have done it myself!” the voice scolded. “Bring me a vodka sunrise and then get out of my sight!”

“Yes, sir,” the voice replied as it moved farther away. “I’ll be right back with it, sir.” A door opened and closed.

Hutch turned his head in thought as he recalled a past conversation. Bloody Mary? Vodka sunrise? Good way to start the morning, gentleman. An overwhelming fear consumed him as he realized who this man was. “Oh, God,” Hutch muttered.

“God? Hardly. Though some might think of me that way.” The voice was now calm and conceited.

“Christian,” Hutch stated bluntly.

“I’m flattered, Detective Hutchinson. You recognize me.” Alex Christian reached over and removed the blindfold from Hutch’s eyes. He was dressed casually in a light blue cable-knit sweater that complimented his eyes and tanned skin. The white jogging pants that fit snuggly against his narrow waist and muscular thighs also did nothing to hide the fact that the man was very well endowed. He sat down on the bed next to his captive, stretching his long legs out next to him.

Hutch grimaced in pain, the bright lamplight that filled the room too much for his unadjusted eyes. “I thought you were-” He was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

The man had promptly returned with Christian’s drink. Hutch stared intently at the man sporting a swollen nose, his first glimpse at one of his abductors, but he didn’t recognize him.

“Thank you, Eric.” Christian took the drink, sipped from it, and placed it on the bedside table. “Make sure no one disturbs us.”

“Yes, sir,” Eric replied obediently and left.

“Now, where were we?” Christian asked calmly. “Oh, yes. Dead?” He moved up on the bed closer to Hutch, propping his elbow on the brass headboard. “Only to those whom I wish to believe that.”

“Why would you want people to think you’re dead?” Hutch asked, trying to understand the man’s motives.

“You of all people should know that.” There was a tinge of anger in Christian’s voice. “I believe you and your partner had obtained a book with certain crucial information about my business transactions in it. I knew it was only a short time before you acquired what you needed to detain me. So, if I were to die, there would be no one to arrest and no reason to continue to look into my operations. I have another identity-”

“Kristoff Fontaine,” Hutch interrupted.

Christian’s lips curled with pleasure. “You’re very perceptive, Detective. As I started to say, I have another identity as well as money in accounts all over the world. I can continue my dealings essentially uninterrupted. The house and cars I left behind do not matter. I only took with me what was important.” He stared possessively at Hutch.

Undeterred, Hutch glared at him through squinted eyes, still trying to focus. “But how? I saw you get in that car.”

“It was quite simple, really,” Christian explained. “The car was parked on the dock parallel to the water. I got in one door and, a moment later, went out the other side by the water. A brief swim to a waiting boat and I was home free. The bomb was wired to the door and set to go off fifteen seconds after I opened it.”

“They found fragments of two bodies,” Hutch recalled.

“Yes, that was the unfortunate part for both my driver and a young gentleman friend I had entertained the previous evening.” Christian frowned in mock sympathy. “He was quite perplexed at my sudden urge to take a swim.” He sighed heavily and smiled in retrospect. “Poor lad. So young and soooo much to give.”

His eyes now adjusted, Hutch glanced around at his surroundings. “Where am I?” he asked, as a gentle rocking motion toyed with his queasy stomach. The room he was in was lavish and elegantly decorated in hues of burgundy and gold. Pictures of ships adorned the oak-paneled walls. A large model of a clipper, intricate in detail, sat on a table in the far corner of the spacious room.

“On my boat, the Tina Marie,” Christian answered proudly. “I’ll give you a tour. She’s quite a beauty.”

Ignoring Christian’s opportunity to brag, Hutch snapped, “What do you want from me?”

Not answering immediately, Christian got up from the bed and retreated to the bathroom. Returning holding a wet washcloth, he sat back down next to Hutch, reaching to wipe the blood from the pale face.

Hutch flinched, moving his head out of the way of Christian’s touch, but the determined man only moved closer. He gently wiped the dried blood from around Hutch’s nose and mouth as he answered his question. “I want what I’ve wanted ever since I first laid eyes on you.” His face moved within inches of Hutch’s.

Hutch abruptly jerked away out of Christian’s reach and kicked with his bound legs, attempting to put distance between him and his captor.

Chuckling with amusement, Christian effortlessly caught Hutch’s legs in his hands and pulled him down on the mattress onto his back. He draped the left side of his body over the struggling blond, holding him down.

“You son of a bitch!” Hutch screamed, as he desperately struggled to free himself from the man who now practically lay atop him. “Get off of me!” He fought with every ounce of strength he had, but to no avail.

Christian pushed a lock of hair from Hutch’s face, as he gazed into the enraged blue eyes. “It’s no secret that I’ve wanted to get you in my bed ever since the first time I saw you, that blond hair glistening like sunshine, eyes as blue as the sky, lips just begging to be kissed.” He leaned closer to Hutch’s mouth.

Hutch writhed under his tormentor, desperate to avoid what he feared was inevitable. As Christian relinquished his hold on him long enough to roll him to his stomach, Hutch clenched his eyes tightly shut, hoping it would all be over quickly. He continued to twist his wrists, bloodied and numb, against the ropes binding them, still hoping to free himself.

Christian straddled the struggling hips and leaned forward until his lips brushed Hutch’s ear. His partially erect cock pressed against Hutch’s buttocks as he whispered. “Relax, beautiful. I’m not an animal. I’m not going to rape you. No…you’re much too special for that. You’re like a fine wine-something that should be savored.” A devious smile spread across his face. “Though, with you trussed up like this, it is rather tempting.” He brushed his lips gently across Hutch’s cheek, as he thrust sharply one time against him.

Gasping for breath as the weight of Christian’s body pressed down on him, Hutch quit struggling, trying to save his strength for when it would work to his advantage. He turned his head away from the touch of Christian’s lips and uttered, “Please, don’t.”

Christian lifted his weight from him and leaned back, rubbing his hands down the length of Hutch’s spine. “Much better,” he commented, as he felt Hutch’s body relax. “I told you I have no intention of forcing myself upon you.” He reached down and untied the ropes around Hutch’s wrists letting them fall limply to his sides. He then removed the rope from his legs, stood up, and walked toward the other side of the room.

Hutch immediately stumbled away from the bed, fearful of staying in such a vulnerable position a second longer. His legs were numb and weak, forcing him to lean against the wall for support. Rubbing his raw and bloodied wrists, he warned, “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll kill you.”

Amused at Hutch’s threats even as he fought to remain standing, Christian retorted, “Really? I hardly think you’re in the condition to barely swat a fly.”

“Try me,” Hutch threatened.

Seemingly bored with the confrontation, Christian ignored the comment. “There is a clean change of clothes for you in the armoire.” He motioned at the large piece of furniture in the corner. “I hope you’ll find them to your liking. You may shower and shave. Everything you need is in the bathroom. If I have neglected to provide something, Damian is right outside the door. He will have Andrew get it for you.” Christian approached the door, knocking lightly. The door was promptly unlocked by Damian who peered in at Hutch, smiling. “I expect you to join me for brunch on the sundeck in one hour. Just knock on the door when you’re ready. Damian will take you there.”

“Like hell I will,” Hutch stated with defiance.

Christian turned back toward Hutch, his expression now stern and unyielding. “You will or I shall come down here and shower and dress you myself.” He then beamed cheerfully. “See you in an hour.” As the door closed behind him, the distinct sound of a key being turned in the lock could be heard.

Exhausted physically and mentally, Hutch slid down the wall into a sitting position, resting his head on his knees, thankful to finally be left alone to gather his thoughts and devise a plan to escape from the clutches of Alex Christian.

~*~*~*~

Starsky returned to Hutch’s apartment, hoping to find his partner home, but it remained untouched. A heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach as he sat down on the couch, an eerie silence filling the room. Leaning his head back, he sighed in anguish, not knowing where to look next. Running out of options, he decided to pay a visit to The Pits, hoping Huggy might have heard something.

Huggy was preparing for his early lunch crowd, polishing the bar and stocking his liquors, anticipating a busy day.

Starsky entered The Pits and made a quick scan of the bar, hoping a familiar mop of blond hair would catch his eye. Groaning in despair, he approached Huggy. “Hey, Hug.”

Glancing up, Huggy immediately took notice of his friend’s unkempt appearance. He propped one hand on the bar and the other on his hip, while looking Starsky over. “Well, look what the cat done drug in.”

Ignoring what usually presented him with an opportunity to return the wisecrack to his friend, Starsky asked hopefully, “You haven’t seen or heard from Hutch, have you?”

Huggy took a deep breath, knowing that look and tone of voice all too well. It was the same look and voice he’d heard and seen when Forest had kidnapped Hutch, and it was enough to send chills up his spine.

“No, haven’t heard a peep.” Huggy grabbed a pot of coffee and two mugs and motioned his friend over to a nearby booth, sensing the need for the talk to be private.

The two men slid into the booth across from one another. Starsky was restless, continually looking around the bar while tapping his fingers on the table. He was eager to fill Huggy in on the details, hoping the tall man could find out where Hutch might be.

“Hutch is missing, Hug.” Starsky winced and took a deep breath as if the words themselves caused him pain. “No one’s seen him since last night. I…” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I…I did somethin’ I shouldn’t have. He was upset when he left my apartment and drove back to his place. His car is there, but there’re no signs he ever made it inside. A neighbor saw him in his car, but she never heard him go into his apartment.”

“Look, Starsky, you know Hutch. ‘Bout as stubborn as a mule.” Huggy poured them both a cup of coffee. “If he’s mad at you, he’s probably hangin’ out somewhere, blowin’ off some steam waitin’ ’til he thinks you’re ready to say you’re sorry.”

“But I am sorry, Hug. I wanna tell him that,” Starsky readily admitted.

Huggy raised his eyebrows, curious to know what Starsky had done that he was so eager to apologize for. “Well, just how mad was he?” he asked, hinting to find out what their disagreement was about.

Starsky wouldn’t divulge many details. “I don’t know. He just left. I tried to call him, but he wouldn’t answer his phone. He didn’t show up for work, or even bother to call in. That’s not like him. Somethin’s happened to him, Hug. I just know it.” He nervously turned the cup of coffee in a circle. “You think you could find out if someone was lookin’ to hurt him?” He couldn’t bear to think of anything worse.

Huggy gazed sympathetically at his friend, seeing that pained expression one too many times. “Sure thing, Starsky. I’ll put the word out.”

“Thanks,” Starsky replied softly. He looked down at the table, unsure what to say or do next.

Trying to get Starsky’s mind off Hutch, if only for a moment, Huggy commented, “Hey, I heard about that dude, Christian, being blown to bits over on the docks yesterday. Man, he must’ve really ticked some guy off.”

“Yeah, wasn’t much left of him.” Starsky reflected back on the feeling he had the previous day when he thought Hutch had been killed in the explosion. It was the same feeling of uncertainty and desperation he was feeling now, but he tried to focus on the conversation with Huggy. “His death should really put a dent in the cocaine trade. We think he was one of the major suppliers to the local dealers. Me and Hutch were real close to tying him to the shipments coming up the coast under the name of Kristoff Fontaine.” He sighed heavily, the thought of Christian’s demise of little importance to him now. Downing the last swallow in his mug, he slid out of the booth. “Hey, I gotta go. I’m gonna drive back by Hutch’s and see if maybe he’s showed up, yet. See what you can find out, huh, and give me a call.”

“Will do, my man,” Huggy replied as he followed Starsky to the door. He watched through the window as his friend got into the Torino. Throwing a dishtowel over his shoulder, he shook his head in dismay and strolled to the phone at the bar to place a few phone calls. The possibility that something may have happened to Hutch, leaving Starsky alone, was not something he even dared think about.

~*~*~*~

Hutch raised his head from his knees and took several deep breaths, trying to grasp what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Even in his present situation, his thoughts turned to Starsky. He knew that Starsky had to be aware of his disappearance by now, but also realized it was very possible that his partner would think he was just avoiding him after last night, not that he had been kidnapped. Anger surged through him, the thought of being taken from Starsky at such a crucial time almost more than he could bear. He had left Starsky asking for forgiveness for kissing him, a kiss he never dreamed possible, but had desired for so long. He wanted so much to believe that Starsky felt that way toward him, but he knew it was something he may never learn the truth about, and he owed it all to Alex Christian. Gritting his teeth in ire, Hutch stood up and paced around the room, trying to regain the strength and feeling in his legs. The possibility of escape was slim if he stayed in this room, so he knew he was going to have to accept Christian’s brunch invitation if only to gain access to the rest of the boat. He had no idea how far they were from shore, but he was determined he would swim it if land was in sight.

Opening the doors of the large armoire in the corner of the room, Hutch examined the neatly pressed shirt and pants hanging there, the only contents besides a pair of leather shoes. The light blue shirt was a smock style with a deep v-neck in the front. The matching pants were a thin cotton material with a drawstring waist. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he mumbled in disgust as he looked at the ensemble. He sternly decided that, although he may agree to join Christian for brunch, he had no intention of accepting anything else from this man. He closed the doors of the armoire, leaving the clothes hanging, and went into the bathroom.

Leaning on the pedestal sink, Hutch gazed into the mirror at his battered face. “Hutchinson, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he muttered, wincing as he touched the bruised and swollen area on his cheekbone. Dried blood was still evident around his mouth and nose and covered the front of his shirt. Running his fingers through his disheveled hair, he tried to smooth the blond tufts of hair that stood on end while taking notice of the rope burns on his wrists, deep and tinged with blood.

He turned around and stared at the shower. The thought of soaking under the hot water was inviting, but he was not enthused with the idea of taking his clothes off knowing who was close by. However, the threat of Christian forcing him to take a shower appealed to him even less. He checked the bathroom door and found that there was a lock, which provided him with some sense of security. He toyed with the idea for a moment more, then opted for a quick shower, hoping to relieve some of his aches and pains. Locking the door, he checked to make sure it was secure and quickly disrobed, leaving his clothes hanging on a hook on the wall. He soon found himself absorbed in the hot water pulsing down on his bruised and tired muscles. Holding his wrists up to the steaming hot spray, Hutch flinched as the heat stung the lacerations. He then closed his eyes, letting the water cascade down his back and buttocks for several minutes more before reaching to turn off the water.

As Hutch pulled back the shower curtain, the first thing he noticed was his clothes were gone.

“Shit!” he exclaimed aloud as he quickly reached for a towel, wrapping it around his waist. He checked the door and found it to now be unlocked. Leaning his full weight against it, he hoped to bar anyone from entering while looking for something he might use as a weapon. The silk floral arrangement and plush towels that adorned the small room offered little hope for use as a defense against Christian. Dripping wet and heart pounding, he cursed himself for allowing to be put in such a vulnerable position. He continued to lean against the door, expecting Christian to push his way in any moment, but his fears were never realized. Knowing he couldn’t stay in there forever, Hutch apprehensively moved away from the door, turning the doorknob with utmost caution. He opened it a mere crack and peered into the next room, but saw no one. He opened it farther, his guard heightened as he looked from corner to corner. To his relief he found the room empty. Upon the bed were the shirt, pants and shoes that had been in the armoire, along with a pair of light blue silk boxers arranged neatly alongside. Anxious to be clothed, even if it was in Christian’s choice of clothing, he hurried to the bed and dropped the towel, quickly slipping on the boxer shorts. As he picked up the pants, he heard a key turn in the lock. He fumbled with the drawstring in exasperation, trying to get them on before the door opened.

Expecting to see Alex Christian, Hutch was instead greeted by a young man of no more than eighteen years of age. He was slim in build with strawberry blond hair and light brown eyes. In his arms he was carrying a blanket and a set of sheets. He gasped sharply as his gaze met Hutch’s, his eyes trailing from the bruised face to the rope burns on his wrists. He abruptly looked away.

Hutch was equally startled but sensed the youth was no real threat. He awkwardly pulled his pants the rest of the way on, tying the drawstring waist.

The boy hurried by him, his attention now focused on the bed. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Hutchinson. I’m just going to change the sheets and blanket on your bed.”

“Who are you?” Hutch slipped the shirt on over his head, watching the boy closely.

“My name is Andrew,” the boy replied in a sheepish voice, as he removed the sheets and blanket.

“Did you take my clothes?” he asked with irritation in his voice.

“Yes, sir.” Andrew didn’t look up as he busied himself with his work.

“Why?” Hutch leaned toward the youth, trying to make eye contact with him, but Andrew continued his work, refusing to look up. He knew the answer even before the boy spoke.

“Mr. Christian asked me to dispose of them.” He was obviously rushing to finish changing the bed, eager to leave the room.

“I figured as much,” Hutch spouted with disgust. “You work for him?”

“Yes, yes I do,” Andrew replied nervously, as he spread the blanket atop the clean sheets.

Hutch noted the boy’s timid reactions to his questions and hoped there might be a possibility of gaining his trust. “You don’t seem like the type to be working for a man like Christian.”

“I owe a lot to Mr. Christian,” Andrew countered defensively.

“Are you aware that I am a police officer who he had kidnapped?” Hutch thought the boy might be willing to help him if he knew that he was not there by choice.

Andrew again glanced up at Hutch’s battered face and quickly looked back down. “What Mr. Christian does is his business and is of no concern of mine,” he stated without hesitation, though his voice had a tinge of sympathy in it. He tucked the corners of the blanket under the mattress and replaced the pillows on the bed. Gathering up the soiled bedding, he turned to leave the room.

Desperate to find someone willing to help him escape, Hutch called out, “Please help me.”

Andrew stopped and turned around, his face full of guilt and shame. “Look, I can’t help you. I can’t. I just do what Mr. Christian tells me to do.” He looked at Hutch as if he were a dying man. “Mr. Christian always gets what he wants…always. You’d be better off if you just learned to accept that.”

“Well, not this time,” Hutch stated adamantly.

Andrew sighed in dismay, as if he’d heard that statement before and knocked lightly on the door that was promptly opened by Damian, allowing the boy to leave.

Damian looked in at Hutch and tapped his finger on the face of his watch. “Fifteen minutes, Sunshine. Don’t wanna be late,” he said with a smirk before closing the door and re-locking it.

Returning to the bathroom, Hutch stood before the mirror once more. He stared at the shirt he was wearing, the neckline gaping open to the middle of his chest. The pants were thin and tight fitting, something he felt was not chosen for him by accident. He ran a comb haphazardly through his hair and brushed his teeth, making no effort to look particularly well groomed. Taking a deep breath, he walked to the bed and sat down, slipping on the leather shoes that were left for him. He knew the hour was up, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock on the door. His stomach churned relentlessly as he thought of being in the presence of Alex Christian again. Only the need to explore his avenues of escape aboard the boat, finally gave him the incentive to leave the room. He knocked lightly on the door and waited for Damian. Hearing the key turn in the lock, he stepped back, uncertain of what to expect.

Damian opened the door and greeted him with a sneer and a 9mm automatic. “Ready to go, Sunshine? Mr. Christian is waiting topside.”

“The name is Hutchinson,” Hutch corrected coldly, as he walked ahead of Damian.

“Whatever you say, Sunshine,” Damian taunted. “Just go straight up those stairs ahead of me, nice and easy. You try anything and you’ll be shark bait.”

Hutch slowly walked ahead, trying to survey his surroundings, looking for anything that might aid his escape. As he came up on deck, he was stunned by the enormous size of the boat. This isn’t a boat. It’s a freakin’ ocean liner. He looked from one end to the other of the nearly two-hundred-foot yacht. Only in pictures, had he seen a boat of such extravagance and luxury. His first instinct was to run to the railing and jump, but such an impulsive action could prove fatal without at least knowing where he was in conjunction to land. Walking up to the railing, he wrapped his hands tightly around the warm steel and looked out upon the endless blue ocean. There was no land in sight.

“Go ahead,” a voice sounded from behind Hutch.

Startled by the familiar voice, Hutch whirled around and found himself staring into the blue eyes of Alex Christian. “What?” he asked, unsure what Christian meant.

“Jump,” he stated bluntly. “That is what you were thinking, isn’t it? Jumping? Swimming for shore?” He smiled contentedly. “The water is a balmy 57.8 degrees. The nearest land is 183.2 miles away. If hypothermia didn’t kill you, the great whites would surely devour such a delicacy.” Christian’s eyes trailed the length of the Hutch’s body.

Hutch gritted his teeth in anger. “Where are we?”

“As I just said, 183.2 miles away from the nearest land, which would be the coast of Mexico.” Christian looked out over the water and took a deep cleansing breath. “Ah, life at sea. Nothing quite compares to the clear, blue water and light ocean breezes.”

Hutch gripped the railing tighter, feeling like a rat trapped in a cage with a python.

Christian motioned him ahead with a wave of his hand. “Come, we’ll talk more over brunch.”

With hesitation, Hutch walked forward. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Damian following closely behind Christian, still brandishing his weapon. At the end of the railing before him stood Eric, watching his every move. He, too, had a weapon drawn, aimed directly at the detective.

They approached an open area of the deck where a small table sat, covered with a floral print tablecloth. Bone china, crystal and silverware were properly placed for a service for two, along with cleverly folded linen napkins arranged neatly in the center of the plates. Christian stepped in front of Hutch and pulled out one of the chairs before being seated at the one across from it.

“Please, have a seat.” Christian nodded at the empty chair while unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap.

Still standing, Hutch stared in disbelief at this man who acted as if he were entertaining a close friend.

Damian jabbed Hutch sharply in the back with the barrel of his gun. “Mr. Christian said to have a seat.”

Hutch darted a warning glare at Damian and reluctantly sat down. The two bodyguards then stepped away, allowing some privacy, but remained close enough to provide Christian immediate protection, if needed.

A short man of Asian descent, dressed in a white chef’s uniform and hat, wheeled a small cart up to the table. Upon the cart was an array of items-fresh fruit compote, croissants, bacon, honey-cured ham, and scrambled eggs seasoned with green peppers and mushrooms. The man gave a quick bow to Christian and held up a sterling silver coffee pot. “Coffee, Mr. Christian?”

“Yes, Chang,” Christian replied.

Chang carefully poured the steaming hot beverage into Christian’s cup and then turned toward Hutch with no change in expression. “Mr. Hutchinson?”

“No,” Hutch said in an even tone of voice. He took note that everyone seemed aware of who he was, but gave no thought to the fact he was not there by choice.

Setting the pot back down, Chang showed little emotion to Hutch’s refusal of coffee and busied himself with serving food onto the plates.

Christian smiled at the stubborn blond. “You really should have some. The coffee beans were freshly ground this morning. Nothing like a good cup of java.” He watched as the small man finished serving the food and wheeled the cart away. Picking up his cup, he carefully took a sip as his eyes dropped to gaze admiringly at Hutch’s open neckline. “Those clothes are very becoming on you.”

Hutch leaned back in his chair away from Christian, self-consciously crossing his arms across his midsection, attempting to ignore the eyes that bore down on him. “Why did you bring me here, Christian?” he asked, hoping there was an underlying reason.

Christian cut into a croissant and began spreading it with butter as he calmly responded, “Please, Ken, call me Alex.” He laid the knife down and continued. “I thought I already told you my reason for bringing you here. There’s only one.” He lightly licked his lips as his eyes again trailed over Hutch’s body.

Hutch tensed, hoping what Christian meant was to use him as a hostage or bargaining tool, not what he was implying by his body language. “And what reason is that?”

Christian took another drink of coffee, then leaned forward across the table, staring intently at Hutch as he uttered under his breath, “I want the pleasure of fucking you.”

Hutch felt the color drain from his face as he heard the bluntness of Christian’s words. Still, he tried to remain calm as he shook his head in disbelief. “This is ludicrous. You honestly don’t think I’m going to sleep with you, do you?”

“In time,” Christian replied confidently as he leaned back in his chair, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.

“You’re crazy. It’s never going to happen,” Hutch sternly replied, his jaw clenching in anger. “You can’t keep me prisoner here forever.”

“Prisoner?” Christian asked with surprise. “You are not my prisoner. With a few exceptions, you’re free to go anywhere you like on this boat.”

“But I can’t leave,” Hutch stated.

Christian’s lips pursed in thought. “No, you cannot leave, but you have no reason to. I will give you anything you want, no expense spared.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Hutch’s voice trembled with rage, his expression livid. “I want you to let me go.”

“I’m afraid that is out of the question.” Christian took another sip of coffee as he reiterated, “You may go anywhere you like on this boat. I will show you all the amenities she has to offer. You are not to go in the engine room or the wheelhouse. If you do, you will not like the repercussions. Of course, you are welcome in my cabin any time.”

Hutch looked away in disgust, the temptation to slam his fist into Christian’s face almost too much to resist. However, he knew that move would only cause more harm to him with Christian’s bodyguards nearby.

Christian’s gaze softened as he looked at the lacerations on Hutch’s wrists and his bruised face. “I am sorry for the brutal treatment that you suffered at the hands of my men last night. As long as you abide by my rules, no other harm will come to you.”

“Fuck your rules.” Hutch grabbed the table and flung it on its side, sending food and dishes crashing down onto the deck and into Christian’s lap. Without giving thought to where he was going, he stormed away toward the other end of the boat.

Damian and Eric immediately drew their weapons and started after him.

Amused by the blond’s spunk, Christian chuckled as he took his napkin from his lap and began brushing the food from his pants. He called after the two men, “No, Damian, Eric. Keep a close eye on him, but leave him be. He just needs a little time to adjust to his new life, that’s all.”

~*~*~*~

As the noon hour approached with still no leads on Hutch’s whereabouts, Starsky anxiously headed back to Metro to file a missing persons report on his partner.

Captain Dobey was in the squad room when he entered.

Looking up with hope, Dobey asked, “Anything?” But the distressed look on Starsky’s face quickly gave him the answer without a word being spoken.

“No, nothing,” Starsky answered dejectedly, while running his hand down the length of his face. “It’s as if he just disappeared without a trace. No one’s seen him or heard from him. I even tried Huggy.” He picked up the telephone receiver and handed it to his captain, his expression grim and somber. “I want to get that report filed now.”

“I guess that’s all we can do at this point.” Sighing in resignation, Dobey took the receiver and called in the report.

Starsky listened as Dobey gave the description of his friend to the officer on the phone.

“I want a missing persons report filed on Officer Ken Hutchinson.”

Kenneth Richard Hutchinson, my partner, my friend, my life.

“About six feet tall.”

Six foot one-tall, strong, and protective.

“One hundred and seventy pounds.”

A hundred and seventy-three-he’s been worried about those extra pounds.

“Blond hair.”

Golden blond hair, soft and flowing, the color of sunshine.

“Blue eyes.”

As blue as the purest of tropical waters, sincere, caring.

“Last seen last night about eleven-thirty PM outside his residence.”

Venice Place, where we’ve shared so many good times, my second home.

“I want this broadcast immediately.”

Don’t waste another minute.

“Any leads-notify either myself or Detective Starsky, right away.”

Please, somebody, find him. Please, find him.

“Thank you.” Dobey hung up the phone and gave Starsky a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Every available man is going to be looking for him, Dave. We’ll find him. Just hang in there.”

“Thanks, Cap’n.” Starsky tried to muster a smile. With hesitation in his voice and his gaze drifting downward, he stammered, “Look, uh, do you think…?”

Dobey knew what he was going to ask. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll put Danks and Matthews on the Christian homicide.”

Grateful for his captain’s understanding, Starsky rushed toward the door, eager to continue looking for his friend. “Look, Cap’n, if you hear anything, I don’t care how unimportant it may seem, find me, ‘kay?”

“You got it.” Dobey watched as Starsky disappeared down the hallway among the other officers. Briefly closing his eyes, he said a silent prayer for him. They had been through this before, more times than he cared to remember, and it never got any easier.

Starsky found himself drawn back to Venice Place once again, knowing this was the last place Hutch had been seen. As he neared the top of the stairs, he heard the sound of music coming from inside the apartment. A sense of joy and relief rushed through him as he hurried to the door.

“Hutch!” Starsky called as he bolted through the doorway. “Oh, thank God. I thought something had¾”

The shrill cry of a woman, followed by the sound of breaking glass interrupted his sentence. Starsky was looking into the terrified eyes of a woman, clad in an apron, washing dishes at the sink. A plate lay shattered on the floor at her feet.

Devastated with disappointment, Starsky leaned against the doorway, bracing himself as his knees threatened to buckle under him.

Recognizing the detective, the slightly overweight woman now smiled, “Oh, hi, Dave. Sorry about the plate. You just barged in here so quickly, I thought you might be a burglar or something. I’ll clean it up.” She opened the cabinet under the sink and removed a small broom and dustpan.

“Fifi, what are you doing here?” Starsky asked with obvious irritation, as he tried to regain his composure.

Noticing the edge in Starsky’s voice, Fifi stopped what she was doing and looked closer at the detective. “It’s Wednesday. I always clean Ken’s apartment on Wednesday.” She noticed Starsky’s pale complexion and the beads of sweat on his forehead. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied unconvincingly. “You haven’t seen or heard from Hutch today, have you?”

“No, I drove by here Saturday night to see if his car was here.” Fifi blushed as if she had divulged something she hadn’t intended to. “I was, uh, just in the neighborhood-you know?”

“Yeah.” Starsky wasn’t focused on what she was saying. Instead, his gaze shifted around the room, still looking for any clues to his partner’s disappearance. “Look, I’ll clean that up. Could you just come back next week?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Fifi was hesitant to leave. “I haven’t done Ken’s laundry yet, and the plants need to be watered. I wouldn’t want to upset him for anything.”

Starsky’s patience was wearing thin, dirty laundry and dry plants the last things on his mind. “Look, Fifi, I’ll take care of it, okay? Just, please, go.”

With a hurtful expression on her face, Fifi gathered her jacket and purse and started toward the door. “Make sure you tell him that it was you who asked me to leave. I don’t want him thinking I wasn’t doing my job or goofing off or¾”

“Okay, okay,” Starsky snapped as he nudged her toward the door. “I’ll tell him as soon as I see him.” He closed the door abruptly behind her and leaned his head against the doorframe as he whispered, “As soon as I find him.”

~*~*~*~

Clad in a new change of clothes, Christian found Hutch leaning against the railing at the far end of the boat, staring at the gentle ripples that drifted across the surface of the ocean. Eric and Damian both stood close by, watching their quarry.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Christian asked as he stepped beside the blond, looking out over the water.

Hutch continued to look straight ahead, never acknowledging the man’s presence.

Christian slipped his hands into his pockets, admiring the view before him. “So tranquil and serene. It can give you so much joy and satisfaction, all you could possibly ask for, but it’s something you must respect, for it can grow angry in the blink of an eye and take everything from you, leaving you no choice but to succumb to its wrath.”

Hutch knew what the play on words was referring to but refused to be intimidated. Turning his head to leer at the man beside him, he spoke in an even tone. “Christian, you can keep me here forever, but I will never give you what you want. You’re wasting your time.” He waited for a reply, but only got the same smug grin. Sighing in exasperation, Hutch tried to use his reasoning tactics. “Why? Why me? You have men vying for your attention constantly. You could have any of them, anytime.” He motioned with his head toward Damian. “What about Mr. Playgirl Magazine reject over there? He worships the ground you walk on.”

Overhearing the slanderous remark, Damian angrily started toward Hutch, but stopped abruptly when Christian put his hand up, retreating back to where he was.

“I’ll tell you why,” Christian replied calmly. “Besides the fact that I find you utterly breathtaking, it’s because you don’t want me. You present a challenge to me. It’s not often that my advances are turned down with such fierce resistance. One always wants what one can’t have.” He reached toward Hutch with the back of his hand.

Hutch grabbed Christian’s wrist firmly, holding it at bay as he stared coldly into his eyes.

“Mmmmm…” Christian uttered in delight, as he felt the strength in Hutch’s grip. “So strong, so determined.”

Not eliciting the response he had hoped for, Hutch abruptly released Christian’s wrist and turned his back to him. “Look,” he said quietly, the anger diminishing in his voice. “Can I at least get word to my partner that I’m okay?”

“It’s out of the question,” Christian replied firmly. “Besides, it would be in his best interest to think you are dead and get on with his life.”

The reality that Christian planned to keep him there an indefinite period of time hit Hutch hard. His head briefly nodded forward in resignation and then, rubbing his hand lightly across his bruised face, he turned back toward his captor, his face ashen and expressionless.

“Don’t look so devastated.” Christian seemed surprised at Hutch’s now somber attitude. “You will be given the finest of everything-clothes, food, drink, me-anything you desire. You’ll learn to love it here.” He walked past Hutch, heading toward the other end of the yacht. “Come along. I’ll give you the grand tour.” Glancing over his shoulder at the blond, he made a point to correct Hutch’s earlier statement. “Oh, and you will call me Alex. Understood?”

“Whatever,” Hutch mumbled quietly. Having no other choice, he decided it was best to humor Christian until he found a way to escape, and reluctantly followed in his footsteps with Eric and Damian close behind.

The Tina Marie was the epitome of luxury. Christian proudly boasted of her amenities as he showed Hutch the living room, dining area, weight room, the modest but well-stocked library and numerous guest quarters. As they walked along the deck, Hutch took particular notice of a small motorboat moored to the side of the large vessel, no doubt used for traveling to and from shore when it wasn’t possible to dock. However, two large padlocks that secured the pulleys used to raise and lower the boat dimmed Hutch’s hope of using it as a means of escape. It seemed that Christian had left nothing unchecked, or unguarded for that matter, as the two bodyguards still looming behind him proved.

“I have one more room to show you,” Christian boasted.

Hutch showed little interest as he was led below deck to a room at the far end of the long corridor, not far from where he had been kept overnight.

Christian opened the door to reveal a large master suite, complete with wet bar, office area, and entertainment center. A king-size four-poster bed stood in the corner of the room, covered with a thick down comforter, baby blue in color, with matching toss pillows.

Christian proceeded to the bar and poured himself a glass of brandy, while Hutch remained steadfast in the doorway.

“Well, come in,” Christian commanded with a tinge of irritation in his voice.

With Damian and Eric right behind him, Hutch had little choice. Stepping just inside the doorway, he felt a sense of dread as the door closed behind him.

“Brandy?” Christian offered.

“No,” Hutch snapped.

“Then have a seat.” Christian motioned toward the leather couch against the wall.

“I’m fine where I am,” Hutch replied with defiance.

Christian shrugged and seated himself on the couch, as he smiled admirably at his captive. “I don’t bite, you know. Well, maybe in the throes of passion, but in general, I’m a gentle man…unless you cross me.”

Anger surged once again in Hutch’s eyes, “Look, Chris-”

“Alex,” Christian corrected.

Hutch’s jaw tightened. “Look, Alex, I want no part of your hospitality or anything else for that matter. You have me kidnapped, put on this godforsaken boat in the middle of nowhere, and just expect me to accept it.”

Christian listened calmly, sipping occasionally from his drink.

Hutch’s anger was mounting as he continued his rant. “I won’t accept it. Not now, not ever. Why can’t you understand that?”

Christian stood from the couch and walked toward Hutch. “What you don’t understand, Ken, is that you have no choice but to accept it.” He moved within inches of Hutch’s face. “Sooner or later, you’ll realize that and give me what I want,” he whispered seductively.

Without warning, Hutch delivered a swift uppercut to Christian’s jaw, sending the tall man reeling backwards against an oak table. The lamp it held was hurled to the floor with a thunderous crash, sending glass shards everywhere. Christian lay amidst the debris, stunned but conscious. Damian and Eric immediately burst through the door. Hutch turned and caught Damian in the face with a blow to his jaw, before Eric struck him on the shoulder with the butt of his gun, sending him to his knees.

Hutch continued to struggle as the two men twisted his arms high into the middle of his back, causing him to shriek in pain.

Recovering from the blow to his jaw, Christian staggered to his feet and approached Hutch. He grabbed a handful of blond hair, jerking Hutch’s head upright until their eyes met. “You have two choices,” he announced in a pained voice as he shifted his sore jaw. “You can accept the fact that you’re going to stay here and you will live in the lap of luxury, or you can continue to defy me and I will make your life a living hell. But one thing is certain-if you ever strike me again, I will kill you, but not before I take what I desire.” With Hutch held firmly in place by the grip on his hair and arms, Christian leaned down and forcibly kissed him on the mouth. Hutch struggled to no avail, only causing more pain to his already strained muscles.

Christian finally released Hutch and stood back, savoring the stolen kiss. Speaking calmly, he stated, “We will be going in to shore in a few hours. I have some business I must attend to and will be gone several hours, so you are to remain in your cabin the rest of the evening. I can’t afford to risk you being seen on deck. I’ll have Andrew bring you your dinner and some books to read. I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.”

With a nod of Christian’s head, Eric and Damian jerked Hutch roughly to his feet and dragged him out of the room toward his cabin a few doors away. His muscles and shoulder throbbing, Hutch welcomed the return to his room, grateful to hear the key locking him in. At least he was by himself with what little privacy he was afforded and hopefully would be until morning.

~*~*~*~

Starsky spent a tireless evening searching for any sign of Hutch’s whereabouts. With every hour that passed, the fear that Hutch had not left on his own accord grew. He decided to stop back by The Pits, hoping that Huggy had heard something.

The evening dinner crowd was in full swing, as Starsky made his way through the maze of tables and hurried waitresses to an empty corner booth. It wasn’t long before a waitress approached, notepad in hand and pencil tucked behind her ear. Obviously new on the job, she attempted to strike up a conversation with the weary-looking detective.

“Hey, sugar.” She pulled the pencil from behind her ear, while loudly chewing on a piece of gum. Noticing the somber expression, she made an attempt to bring a smile to the brunet’s face. “You look like you just lost your best friend. Why don’t you let me fix you up with a nice cold beer and a cheeseburger?”

Starsky’s eyes immediately darted toward the waitress. “What did you say?” His voice was trembling with emotion and anger.

Startled by his reaction, the bubbly attitude of the waitress quickly disappeared. “Uh, I was just trying to take your order, that’s all.”

Starsky knew the young girl didn’t mean anything by the statement, but the day’s events were taking their toll on his emotions. He couldn’t muster the words to apologize. “Just get Huggy,” he uttered.

The girl left in tears, sending Huggy in her place a moment later.

As Huggy slid into the booth across from his friend, he glanced back over at the bar at the sobbing waitress, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Starsky regretted how he had treated the young girl. “I’m sorry, Hug. Tell her I’m sorry. It’s just that with Hutch still missing…”

Huggy understood his friend’s emotional state. “Hey, no sweat, man” he interjected sympathetically. “I’ll take care of it.” He looked down at the table with regret. “I, uh, don’t have any news, yet. I’m sorry, Starsky. I put a few calls in to some of the snitches. Told them there was something in it for them if they could find out what happened to Hutch. Ain’t heard nothin’ back, but he’s only been gone since this morning. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get a call.”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Starsky repeated despondently as if it were years away. “Somebody’s got to know somethin’, Hug. He can’t just disappear without a trace.”

“You don’t think he’s still sore at ya?” Huggy asked optimistically. “He might come home tonight with a hangover the size of Texas, wishin’ he’d just stayed home.”

“No, I don’t think so. He wouldn’t risk his job over just bein’ mad at me. It’s too important to him.” Starsky shook his head. “No, Hug, it’s something else. I just know it. Look, I’m gonna spend the night at Hutch’s in case he comes back there during the night. You call me if you hear anything. I don’t care what time it is. Okay?”

“Sure, Starsky, you know I will.” Huggy looked at the exhausted face of his friend, knowing how hard this was on him. “Hey, you better get some rest. Catch some shut-eye and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna feel better until I get Hutch back.” Starsky slid from the booth and gave Huggy a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for helpin’, Hug.”

“Anytime, my man.”

Starsky was hesitant to stay at Venice Place in case Hutch tried to reach him at his own apartment, but he knew Hutch would know to try both places if he needed help. Grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator, he twisted the top off and downed half of the bottle in one drink, hoping to drown his pain in the alcohol. He looked around at all the things that meant so much to Hutch-his guitar, his plants, his sketches-all the things he couldn’t imagine him leaving behind unless he was given no choice. He was drawn to a picture of the two of them on a small bookshelf near the doorway to the greenhouse. Taking another drink, he clutched the picture tightly and sat down in a chair amidst all of Hutch’s favorite plants, next to where they had played a game of chess just a few nights before. The chess pieces were still neatly arranged on the board where their game had left off, just one move short of Hutch winning. Starsky fondly recalled making up a fictitious excuse that he had to leave, just to keep Hutch from calling checkmate once again. He took a deep breath as he pictured the two of them wrangling over the interruption of the game, giving anything to have that moment back. The guilt he was feeling over the previous night’s incident was unbearable. It was his fault that Hutch had left his apartment, somewhere he would have been safe and protected by him at all costs. Now Hutch was missing, and he had no one to blame but himself. Starsky reached over to Hutch’s side of the chessboard and moved the piece to his side, effectively winning the game for his partner. “You lose, Starsky,” he quietly said to himself.

Leaving the greenhouse, Starsky turned off all of the lights except the one nearest the door, in case Hutch needed a little light to see by when he got home. He stripped to his briefs and crawled into Hutch’s bed, fluffing the pillow next to him. The familiar scent of his friend was all around him in the coolness of the cotton sheets, providing the only sense of comfort that allowed him to close his eyes and drift off into a restless sleep.

~*~*~*~

The sound of the door unlocking was unnerving to Hutch, but he was relieved to see it was only Andrew carrying a silver tray with a domed cover. He had two books tucked under one arm and what looked like folded articles of clothing under the other. Setting the tray on a small desk, he looked nervously at Hutch, only allowing eye contact for a moment.

“Here is your dinner, Mr. Hutchinson. I hope it is prepared to your satisfaction.” He laid the books and clothing next to the tray and removed the dome. “You’re having chicken cordon bleu with glazed carrots and sugar snap peas. There’s also a tossed salad with Italian dressing. Dessert is crème brulee with raspberry sauce. Iced tea to drink.”

Not blaming the boy for his predicament, Hutch answered softly, “Thank you, Andrew.”

He seemed relieved that Hutch was not angry with him and held out the clothing he had retrieved from the desk. “Mr. Christian asked me to give you these to sleep in, sir.”

Hutch took what appeared to be a pair of silk pajamas from the boy’s outstretched hand and tossed them on the bed. “I’ll put them on later.”

Andrew proceeded over to the bed and began pulling back the covers.

“What’re you doing?” Hutch asked with apprehension in his voice.

“I’m turning your bed down, sir.” Andrew hurried to finish the task, sensing his displeasure.

“I can do it myself.” He felt sorry for the boy who was obviously uncomfortable with the situation, only doing what he was told to do. “And quit calling me sir.”

“Yes, Mr. Hutchinson, sir.” The boy was getting flustered, his face turning a bright red.

“Look, just call me Hutch, okay?” Hutch smiled sympathetically at Andrew, trying to calm his nerves.

“I’m afraid Mr. Christian wouldn’t allow that, sir…I mean, Mr. Hutchinson, sir,” Andrew stammered.

Hutch was astonished at the hold Christian appeared to have over so many people, including this young boy. “Do you always do what he says?”

“Oh, I would never go against Mr. Christian’s wishes.” The fear in his eyes spoke louder than his words.

“Why? What would he do?” Hutch was trying to find out what Andrew was so afraid of.

Andrew looked into Hutch’s eyes, obviously wanting to say more than he dared.

“He…he…” He nervously glanced over at the tray of food attempting to avoid saying anything further. “Your food is getting cold.” He darted toward the door, knocking lightly.

Damian immediately opened it, allowing Andrew to leave. He glanced in at Hutch, waving his fingers in a mocking greeting. “Hi there. Hope you enjoy your dinner, Sunshine.”

Hutch rolled his eyes at the sneering tone of Damian’s voice, unaffected by the man’s mocking comments. As the door closed again, he approached the tray of food, looking over its contents carefully. He had to admit the food looked inviting, its presentation rivaling something that Julia Child would prepare. Having not eaten for over twenty-four hours, the low rumbling in his empty stomach proved too much to ignore, and he seated himself at the desk to begin eating.

Not realizing he was that famished, Hutch devoured the food in a matter of minutes. He felt somewhat stronger as the food settled and was glad he had not declined it, as he was first tempted to do.

The clock on the wall read 11:20, almost twenty-four hours since he had been kidnapped. Emotionally drained and exhausted, Hutch changed into the pajamas and crawled into bed. Staring at the wooden beamed ceiling, his thoughts drifted back to Starsky, knowing he was probably out of his mind with worry and grief over his disappearance. Having their last minutes together be that of remorse and pleas for forgiveness only compounded the pain of their separation. The devastated look on Starsky’s face when Hutch had left his apartment flashed through his mind repeatedly. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the image, replacing the bad with the good. He pictured himself back on Starsky’s bed, drifting off into a light sleep, nudged back into consciousness as his lips were lightly touched by those of his partner’s, his azure blue eyes delving deep into his as he hovered above him. He tried to recapture that feeling in his mind, desperately wanting to believe Starsky felt that way toward him, something he only dared to dream about. When Starsky kissed him, he had run from the apartment like a scared child, afraid to believe what he had wanted for so long had happened. The guilt he felt over leaving his friend-hand outstretched, saying he was sorry-was unbearable. It wasn’t an apology he had wanted, but another kiss, passionate and full of desire.

A sudden pitch in the boat brought Hutch back to the room he was in, alone and overcome with uncertainty. He sighed in despair and turned on his side, pulling the covers up over his shoulder. As his eyes slowly closed in sleep, he whispered to himself, “‘Nite, Starsk.”

~*~*~*~

“Hutch?” Starsky called out as the first hint of daylight crept into the room. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hoping to find the lanky outline of Hutch’s body snuggled under the covers next to him. It wasn’t unusual for them to sleep in the same bed together, especially when one of them was sick or hurting. That long arm draped lazily across his chest always gave him a sense of security and contentment, something he needed in his life that only Hutch seemed to provide. As he rubbed his hand across the pillow next to him, he took a deep breath, terrified to think that he might never have that same feeling again. He’ll never get back in the same bed with me-probably think I’m gonna make a pass at him.

As the memories of two nights ago crept back into his mind, Starsky shook his head and started toward the bathroom, refusing to dwell on what he had no ability to change. He first had to focus on finding Hutch, then he could try to repair the damage he had done to their relationship. He didn’t know where he was going to look first, only that he was going to shake down every snitch, search every alley, and hassle every low-life until somebody told him where his partner was.

~*~*~*~

“‘Morning, Sunshine,” Damian called through the doorway as he let Andrew in. “Alex is expecting you for breakfast in the dining room in an hour. Better get a move on.”

Hutch had been up for over an hour, enjoying the peace and quiet of being left alone. He ignored Damian’s announcement as he heard the door close, instead his attention was focused on Andrew. The boy looked shaken and withdrawn, his eyes boasting dark circles under them. He carried a neatly folded stack of clothes and two towels.

“Here are your clothes for today, Mr. Hutchinson,” Andrew said quietly. “It will be rather warm, so I brought you shorts and a cotton shirt.” He laid the clothes and towels on the small desk and retrieved the dinner tray from the previous night, turning quickly to leave the room.

Sensing the boy’s obvious despair, Hutch approached him, taking him gently by the arm, and turned him around. “Andrew, what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

“Don’t touch me!” Andrew shouted, tears welling in his eyes. He pulled his arm free from Hutch’s grasp, dropping the tray to the floor. He knelt down to begin cleaning up the mess, trying to hide his emotions.

Damian abruptly opened the door to see what the noise was. “What the hell did you do, Andrew?”

“I’m sorry. I accidentally dropped the tray. I’ll clean it up.” Andrew busied himself with picking up the broken china.

“Well, make it snappy,” he bellowed as the door slammed shut.

Hutch knelt down to face the boy again. “I want to know what happened. Did somebody hurt you?”

“I can’t talk about it.” Andrew looked down in shame as he continued to clean up the mess.

“Why? Why can’t you talk about it?” Hutch pressed for an answer. “What are you so afraid of?”

“Nothing.” Andrew was beginning to calm down. He took a deep breath trying to appear strong. Standing up, he replaced the tray on the desk. “I’m sorry to get so upset. It’s nothing, really. I have to go.” He started toward the door, but Hutch blocked his path.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Andrew’s expression grew somber again. He looked at Hutch, trying to say with his eyes what his voice wouldn’t.

“What?” Hutch asked again. “You can tell me Andrew. I won’t tell anybody.”

No longer able to keep it inside, Andrew finally spoke, his voice full of fear. “It’s Mr. Christian. Last night, after he got back from shore, he…he…came to my room, and he…he…”

“He what?” Hutch asked with dread, knowing what must have happened. Seeing the boy couldn’t continue, he led him to the bed and sat down next to him. “Did he rape you?”

Andrew burst out in tears. “No, he didn’t rape me. He just makes me do certain…things…that I don’t want to do.”

“Andrew, if you didn’t want to do it, then that’s rape,” Hutch explained compassionately.

Andrew jumped up from the bed, reaching for the tray, terrified that he had divulged his secret. “I gotta go.”

Hutch stopped him again. “No, wait. Please talk to me.”

Andrew grew angry, his eyes reflecting the hatred he was feeling. “Don’t you see? It’s not the first time he’s done it, and it won’t be the last. I usually just block it out, but last night he was really rough with me.” He rubbed his hand over his arm. “He said he’d kill me if I told anybody. My dad got me a job working for Mr. Christian thinking it would provide a good future for me. I was only seventeen at the time. My family is very poor, and I thought it was the opportunity of a lifetime. The first time it happened, it was at his house. He drugged me and took pictures, making it look like I enjoyed it. He said he’d send those to my parents if I told anybody. My mom, she’s not well. Do you know what those would do to her? Since then, he only bothers me when he’s been drinking, like last night.” Immediately regretting he had said so much, he tried to convince Hutch it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. “But it’s not that often, and he does pay me well. I’m able to send money back home to help out.”

“Andrew, he has no right to do that to you.” Hutch was furious at the thought of Christian taking advantage of the boy. “You have to get away from him.”

“He’d kill me,” he said with despair.

“No.” Hutch was hoping to gain the boy’s trust. “I’m a police officer. I can help you.”

“No, you can’t,” Andrew replied adamantly. “He has no intention of letting you go. I overheard him talking. After this next big deal goes down, we’ll be going to South America, and we won’t be coming back. I’ve never seen him so obsessed with someone before. He’s been infatuated with other men, but nothing like I’ve seen with you.” There was a lull in their conversation before he asked, “Mr. Hutchinson, is your first name Ken?”

“Yes, why?”

Andrew was reluctant to answer. “Because last night, when Mr. Christian, you know…”

Hutch didn’t want him to have to say it. “Yes, I know. What about it?”

“He just kept shouting that name¾Ken.”

Hutch felt his stomach knot up. “My God. I am so sorry.” Knowing he didn’t have much more time to convince the boy to help him, he pleaded. “If you help me escape, I’ll get us both out of here. I promise you’ll never have to go through that again.”

“There’s nothing I can do. I’m not allowed in the wheelhouse where the radio is. I rarely go into shore when we’re on trips. Mr. Christian might grow suspicious if I did now.”

“Then help me escape. I have a partner, Dave Starsky. He’d have the authorities here within minutes.” He was growing nervous at the boy’s reluctance to help him.

“I don’t know how to help you escape. We’ll be at sea all day and night.”

“What about that small boat moored on the side?” Hutch knew that would be the quickest way to escape.

“I don’t know where the keys are to the locks. Mr. Christian takes care of all of that.”

“When will we be docked again?” Hutch asked, trying to explore every avenue of escape.

“Tomorrow night. He’s collecting the money for the deal, then.”

“Can you unlock my door during the night?”

Andrew appeared more hopeful, as he realized there might be a way for Hutch to escape and help them both. “Well, it depends on who’s watching you. It’ll probably be either Eric or Damian. If it’s Eric, he’s always hungry, and he’ll probably head to the kitchen at some point. Since I’m in charge of cleaning, I have an extra set of keys to all the guest quarters, all except Mr. Christian’s. He’d never notice if I unlocked your door then. But if it’s Damian, I don’t know when I’d have the chance. Sometimes, he spends time with Mr. Christian, but Mr. Christian hasn’t seemed too interested in him since you’ve been around. You could just keep trying the door and see if it’s unlocked. My room is just down the hall, so I can keep peeking out to see if I have the chance to unlock it.”

“Well, it’s all we’ve got. If you can just get my door unlocked, I’ll take it from there. But I don’t want to risk any harm to you over this. If you think there’s even a chance of getting caught, don’t do it. I’ll figure out another way to get us out of this mess.” Not wanting to raise Damian’s suspicions, Hutch took the tray and handed it to Andrew. “You better go. You’ve been in here a long time.”

“Yeah, okay.” Andrew smiled hopefully at his new friend as he started toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. Hutchinson,” he uttered in a low voice. “I’ll do my best.” He rapped on the door, which Damian quickly opened.

“It’s about time, Andrew,” Damian scolded. “Don’t be so clumsy next time.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied obediently.

Hutch watched as the door closed once again. With renewed hope, he smiled briefly while nervously biting at his lip. He knew it was not only his life at stake now, but that of Andrew’s, too, and he was going to have to play it cool with Christian, not risking anything that might ruin his chances for escape.

He picked up the clothes from the desk and headed for the shower, eager to get through the day.

~*~*~*~

Starsky spent the morning questioning several people on the streets, none of them very sympathetic about the disappearance of a cop.

Finding himself in the neighborhood of The Pits, he decided to see if Huggy had heard anything yet, though he knew if he had, he would have been the first to know.

“Hey, Hug,” Starsky said as he approached his friend at the bar.

“You look a little better today,” Huggy observed. “Got some rest, huh?”

“Yeah, a little,” Starsky replied. “I don’t guess you’ve heard anything, yet?”

“Naw, not about Hutch.” He wiped at a dirty spot on the bar. “But I did get a tip on somethin’ else. I know you aren’t workin’ on any cases right now, but I got word of a big cocaine deal that just went down last night. Thought someone oughtta know. Some dude in Tijuana, Mexico just sold over a hundred pounds of cocaine to a guy who lives here in Bay City.”

Starsky showed little interest, his mind on Hutch not on a cocaine bust.

“Now this is the clincher,” Huggy continued. “He sold it to a guy by the name of Kristoff Fontaine. I thought you said that he was the same dude as Alex Christian, the guy who was torched on the docks two days ago. This guy said he saw the buy go down with Fontaine and he was alive and kickin’.”

“What?” Starsky was now engrossed in what Huggy was saying. “Alex Christian is alive?”

“Yeah, if he and Kristoff Fontaine are one and the same, he is,” he replied. “Seems the guy who told me is lookin’ to get Fontaine, uh Christian, busted. Says he done him dirty on a drug deal. Christian is supposed to be in town again to sell off the stuff. Don’t know when, though. Thought you’d wanna let Dobey know, since you’ve got more important things on your mind.” Huggy watched as Starsky’s face grew deathly pale. “Hey, Starsky, you okay? You aren’t lookin’ so good.”

“Huggy, I need your phone,” Starsky said abruptly.

“Sure.” He sat the phone on the bar.

Starsky quickly dialed the number. “Yeah, Cap’n. It’s me. No, I haven’t found Hutch. Look, have any of those tests come back on Alex Christian’s remains? Anything that would positively identify him? They proved inconclusive? So that means he could still be alive? Okay. Listen I’ll get back to you. I need to check out a few things. Thanks.” He slowly hung up the phone. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, his eyes wide with fear. He recalled the conversation with Mrs. Ellenstein about the van outside Hutch’s apartment that said AC on the side. It didn’t stand for air-conditioning. It stood for Alex Christian. “Oh, no. God, no.”

“What is it?” Huggy asked with alarm. “Man, you’re scarin’ me.”

“Christian…he has Hutch.” Starsky could barely utter the words.

“What?” Huggy thought he hadn’t heard right. “Did you say Christian has Hutch?”

“Yeah.”

“Now what would he want with Hutch and all the way in Mexico?” Huggy was leery. “He gonna use him as a hostage?”

“No, that’s not why he wants him.” He reflected back on the way Christian stared at Hutch, the way he ran his hand across his neck and cheek. And when I fall, will it be you that catches me? The words echoed through his mind with a thunderous roar.

“What is it then?”

“Huggy, you don’t understand.”

“Well, I’m a tryin’, if you’ll just tell me,” he replied impatiently.

Starsky looked at his friend, trying to find a way to explain. “Christian…he…every time me and Hutch questioned him, it was like no one in the room existed except Hutch. He just stared at him, never wanted to take his eyes off him. And then the last time we were at his house, he ran his hand across his neck and cheek in a way that sent chills up my spine. It was like he was obsessed with him or somethin’.”

“Aw, c’mon, Starsky, you don’t think he kidnapped him for that reason do you?”

“You didn’t see the way he looked at him. I tried to tell Hutch that it wasn’t right. He just laughed it off.”

“So how do you know it was Christian who took him? Could just be a coincidence.” Huggy was trying to remain optimistic.

“One of Hutch’s neighbors saw a white van outside his apartment the night he disappeared. It had the letters AC on the side.” Starsky shook his head in frustration, angry that he hadn’t realized the significance of the letters sooner.

“Alex Christian.” Huggy was beginning to have the same fears and nodded in agreement. “I dig what you’re sayin’.”

Grateful for something to go on, Starsky spouted anxiously, “See if you can find out how Christian got into Mexico-car, boat, plane. And see if he had anybody that looked like Hutch with him, and find out when that shipment is coming in. Christian is supposed to be dead, so he won’t think we’ll be looking for any other shipments for him. He probably thinks he’ll just breeze in and out of here with no trouble at all. I’m gonna start at the Christian estate. If you find out anything, call Metro and have them patch you through to me.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get right on it.”

“Thanks, Hug. I owe ya one.” He patted Huggy gently on the side of the face and hurried from the bar.

Starsky got into his car and rested his head on the steering wheel, trying to ease the shaking enveloping his body before he attempted to drive. Knowing he had sent Hutch running from his apartment into the grips of this madman was almost more than he could bear. He was terrified to think about what Christian may have done to him, but what was even more disturbing was whether he had been allowed to live afterwards.

~*~*~*~

“Good morning, Ken. So glad you decided to join me.” Alex smiled up at Hutch from the dining room table, pleased to see him.

Damian stood close by, snickering at the notion that Hutch had been given little choice in the matter.

“Alex.” Hutch returned the greeting with a nod. His jaw tightened as he stared at Christian, smiling so smugly, knowing what he had done to Andrew the previous night. He knew he had to contain his emotions for both his and the boy’s sake, though, and seated himself in the chair across from the man.

“I trust you slept well?” Christian asked as he motioned to Chang to begin serving the food.

“As well as could be expected under the circumstances,” Hutch replied coldly.

Ignoring his sarcasm, Christian attempted to make conversation. “Andrew said you ate your dinner last night. I hope you found it suited to your taste. I planned the menu myself and had Chang prepare it especially for you.”

Hutch looked up at the timid-looking man, careful to give praise only where it was due. “It was very good, Chang. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Hutchinson,” Chang replied modestly. He finished serving the food and retreated to the kitchen.

Christian eyed Hutch suspiciously, surprised by his change in demeanor. “You seem…more at ease today.”

“Well, I guess if I have no choice in the matter of being here, I might as well make the best of it,” he stated contentedly.

Christian was obviously pleased. “You’re a fast learner.”

Placing the napkin in his lap, Hutch looked over his food. “Steak for breakfast?”

“The finest cut of beef,” he boasted.

Hutch continued the conversation as he cut into the tender meat. “Did your business meeting go well last night?”

“Ah, yes, yes it did.” Christian was obviously delighted at Hutch’s willingness to talk to him. “Very successful.” His expression grew serious. “I know you are aware of my other business ventures, so I feel it is no longer necessary to keep up a charade with you. I made a very profitable buy last night, a little over one hundred pounds of pure cocaine. I already have a buyer waiting in Bay City.”

“We’re going back to Bay City?” Hutch couldn’t help but show interest.

“Yes, tomorrow evening.” He smiled as he saw the glimmer of hope in the blue eyes across from him. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking, but don’t get your hopes up. I will be docking a few miles down the coastline near a secluded area and will once again ask that you remain in your quarters while I tend to business. After I complete the transaction, we’ll be off to South America, visiting beautiful ports of call all over the world.” He took a sip from his coffee and beamed. “Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Almost like a honeymoon.”

The possibility of escaping the next evening was the only thing keeping him calm. “Yeah, fun,” he replied with indifference.

They finished their breakfast with casual conversation, Hutch doing his best to remain civil toward his captor.

Christian stood from the table, tossing the linen napkin onto his plate. “I have some paperwork to finish in my room. Feel free to use the weight room or the library, if you like. Or you may enjoy the sun and the view from the lounge chairs on the sundeck. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Hutch looked over his shoulder at Damian. “What about lover boy over there? Does he have to follow me everywhere?”

“I’m afraid so. I can’t quite trust you to have free reign over my boat just yet. Maybe in time.” He left, leaving Hutch alone in the room with Damian.

“Well, what do you want to do now, Sunshine?” Damian asked snidely. “Read a book? Work out? Fuck?”

“Just stay your distance from me, asshole,” Hutch warned as he strolled from the room.

~*~*~*~

Starsky’s first stop was the Christian estate. He didn’t expect to find Hutch there, but he was hoping to get a clue to his whereabouts. The same two guards were manning the gate, which he found interesting, considering Alex Christian was supposed to be dead.

“You’re not allowed in there,” the taller of the two guards stated. “In case you haven’t heard, Mr. Christian was killed in an explosion the day before yesterday.”

“So, why are you two still here?” Starsky asked accusingly as he peered up at the man. “Or are you just fond of playing guard dog for a dead man?”

“We have been asked to stay on by the executor of Mr. Christian’s estate until everything is settled.”

“Well, I wanna have a look around.” Starsky revved his engine, inching his car forward.

“You got a search warrant?” the man insisted.

Starsky observed the second guard on the phone in the guardhouse. Not wanting to allow them the chance to hide anything that might divulge where Hutch was, he replied, “Yeah, here’s my search warrant.” He floored the accelerator and smashed through the gate, sending pieces of wrought iron flying in all directions.

As Starsky mounted the hill, he saw a white panel van pulling around to the back of the house. On the side, a drawing of several mining tools with the letters AC, beginning the words Alex Christian Mining Tools, was visible. The Torino roared up to the side of the van, tearing down several hedges before blocking the vehicle’s path. Leaping from his car, Starsky pulled out the driver, throwing him against the side of the van.

“Alex Christian, where is he?” Starsky screamed, twisting the man’s arm behind him.

The short man with salt-and-pepper hair cried out in pain, certain that his arm was going to snap. “He’s dead, man! It’s been all over the news.”

“Yeah? Well, I know differently.” Starsky twisted the man’s arm higher. “Let’s try this. Kristoff Fontaine, where is he?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” the man shrieked. “C’mon, lemme go!”

“Open up the back of this van,” Starsky ordered, as he roughly pushed the man toward the rear of the vehicle.

“All right. All right,” he agreed reluctantly, rubbing his sore arm. Opening the van, the man’s eyes grew wide with panic, as he saw the rope that had been used to tie Hutch’s legs still lying in the back. Trying to shrug it off, he said, “See? Nothin’ there.”

Starsky picked up the rope and examined it. He saw where the rope had been used to tie something, obvious by the knot in it, and then cut to free whatever it held. He immediately knew what it was. “You son of a bitch! Where’s my partner?” He pulled his gun and pointed it at the man’s temple. “You tell me where he is or they’re going to be using your brains as lawn fertilizer around here!”

The man was visibly shaking, perspiration beading on his forehead. “I don’t know where he is. I swear! Mr. Christian had us snatch him outside his apartment. We put him on a boat a few hours from here. I don’t know where he took him after that.”

“What boat? Where?” Starsky pressed the gun farther into his temple.

“The Tina Marie, Mr. Christian’s yacht! At a port about a hundred and eighty miles south of Bay City. You won’t find him there, though. He left right after we took Hutchinson on board.”

Starsky whirled the man around and snapped the handcuffs on. “Was Hutch okay?”

The man was silent.

“Tell me!” he shouted.

“Yeah, yeah, he was okay,” the man finally answered. “Eric roughed him up a bit when he tried to escape, but he didn’t hurt him bad.”

Starsky felt his knees grow weak at the thought of Hutch trying to escape, hurt and alone, and him nowhere around to help. “Where’s Christian now?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t.” The man was being truthful. “All I know is he had a big deal to make in Mexico and then he was gonna sell the stuff off in Bay City. I don’t know when, though. After that, he was going to South America.”

“And take Hutch with him?” Starsky’s face paled at the thought, as his gun dropped to his side.

“Yeah, he’s really crazy over that guy.” The man watched the effect his words were having on the distraught detective and took pleasure in taunting him. “I’ve never seen Mr. Christian so infatuated with a man before. I hate to think what he did to him once he got him alone.”

His anger rebounding, Starsky struck the man hard across the face.

“Hey, you can’t do that,” the man cried. “That’s police brutality!”

Shoving the man into the backseat of the Torino, he snapped, “Yeah? Tell it to someone who cares.” He radioed Metro, requesting a search warrant for the Christian estate and several additional units to look for other leads on Hutch’s whereabouts.

Starsky transported his prisoner to the station to question him further. Now in the safety of more rational police officers, the man refused to cooperate further, insisting on legal counsel. Seeing he was getting nowhere with the man, Starsky returned to the squad room, anxious to update Dobey on the latest details surrounding Hutch’s disappearance. He was surprised to find his captain waiting for him.

“Starsky, I want to see you in my office!” Dobey howled, motioning for him to follow as he entered his office.

Starsky swaggered in behind him, eager to see him as well.

“What’s this I hear about you busting down the gate at the Christian estate?” Dobey was furious. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I know where Hutch is. Christian has him.”

“What do you mean Christian has him? Alex Christian is dead.” He was obviously concerned about Starsky’s emotional state. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, really.” Starsky explained at length the information he was given by Huggy and the driver of the van. “Christian has Hutch on his boat, the Tina Marie. I know he’s coming in to Bay City to sell off the cocaine shipment. I just don’t know when. If he slips in and out of here without us catching him, we may never get Hutch back. He’s heading to South America.”

Dobey listened patiently, as Starsky explained what he had found out. “You haven’t answered one question, yet. What does he want with Hutch?”

Starsky’s gaze shifted downward, the words difficult for him to repeat again. “Cap’n,” he began slowly. “Christian has this thing for Hutch. He’s like obsessed with him or somethin’. Every time we questioned him, he just stared at him, like he was this Greek god. I tried to tell Hutch that Christian was givin’ me the creeps, but he just shrugged it off. The last time we were at his house, he ran his hand across his neck and face in a real suggestive way.”

“Why was I never told of this?” Dobey asked angrily, knowing his two detectives had kept things from him in the past.

“Hutch didn’t want me to say anything to you. He didn’t think nothin’ of it.” His voice grew soft, full of desperation. “I saw the way Christian looked at him, and I don’t even wanna think about what he’s done to him, but I gotta get him back. He’s all I’ve got.”

“My God,” Dobey muttered as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands across his eyes. He had dealt with too many sex offense cases in his career to not be disturbed by what he feared Hutch was going through. “Okay, see if Huggy can get a date and time on that cocaine shipment from his snitch. I’ll have Matthews lean on the driver of the van that you brought in, see if we can get more information from him. I’ll also call the coast guard and have them search for a yacht by the name of Tina Marie. There’s a lot of ocean between here and Tijuana, but we might get lucky.”

“Thanks.” Starsky started toward the door. “I’m going to rattle a few of the drug pushers out on the streets and see if they know when a big shipment is due in.”

~*~*~*~

Hutch spent most of the afternoon on the sundeck trying to concentrate on reading a book, the sun and warm ocean breeze helping to settle his nerves somewhat. He would repeatedly find himself staring out over the water, thinking of Starsky, wondering what he was going through, wishing he were there with him. He also had the opportunity to see several of the other crewmembers, most showing indifference or surprise at him being there and none of whom looked like promising accomplices to help him escape. As the day drew to a close, he had an uneventful dinner with Christian, mainly spent talking about his illegal business ventures, but also interspersed with the occasional crude comment about his desire to entice Hutch into his bed.

Damian led Hutch back to his room, locking him in for the night. Knowing that he may only be here for another day gave Hutch a sense of hope. Andrew had already changed his bed, carefully turning down the covers at a neat angle. There were clean pajamas left for him, black silk ones. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t see his young friend that evening, but thought it was probably best in the long run in order to avoid raising suspicions.

He slid between the soft satin sheets, thankful for the day to be over, hoping by this time tomorrow he would be very close to going home to Starsky.

~*~*~*~

Ending his day with no additional leads, Starsky decided to spend the night at Hutch’s apartment again. Even though his friend wasn’t there, his presence was, providing him with some comfort. He tried not to dwell on what Hutch might be going through, but the thought was never far from his mind. Knowing that Christian was also responsible for the murder of Matt Carnahan only added to his grief, his fear being that Christian would possibly kill Hutch once he tired of him. A body would be easy to dispose of in the ocean with little chance of it ever being found. He fought to keep those images from his mind, as he moved his hand across the empty space next to him on the bed. The fear that encompassed him was equaled only by the guilt he felt, knowing if he hadn’t kissed Hutch, he never would have left his apartment that evening, giving Christian’s men the opportunity to kidnap him.

As images of Hutch suffering at the hands of Christian followed him into his nightmares, he whispered, “Please forgive me, babe.”

~*~*~*~

The door quietly opened, allowing the figure to enter in silence. It closed just as quietly, leaving Hutch’s sleep undisturbed. The light of the moon filtering through the small window illuminated the confines of the cabin enough to allow him to move toward the sleeping figure with little difficulty. He stood over the blond, who was sleeping soundly on his stomach, arms stretched out at his sides. Perfect.

Moving with the swiftness of a panther stalking its prey, Damian grabbed Hutch by the hair, jerking his head up from the pillow and pressing a razor sharp knife to his throat as he hissed, “You so much as flinch, and I’ll cut you from ear to ear. Got that, Sunshine?”

Hutch’s eyes immediately flew open. His first instinct was to struggle, but the blade pressed precariously against his throat kept him from moving. He recognized the voice and knew Damian wouldn’t hesitate to carry through on his threat.

“Okay, Sunshine, now that we have that part taken care of.” Damian climbed onto the bed, straddling Hutch while still keeping a tight grip on his hair and the knife. “Put your hands behind you,” he ordered.

Hutch did so reluctantly. Only then did Damian release his grip, allowing his head to fall back to the pillow. He still kept the knife at his throat, never easing up on the pressure. With one hand, he snapped a pair of handcuffs on Hutch’s wrists, squeezing them tight against his skin. “Handcuffs always make things more interesting. Don’t you think?”

Hutch was breathing hard, his heart racing as he was left defenseless once again. Damian pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket and, using his teeth, tore a length off, placing it firmly across Hutch’s mouth. Leaning over, he whispered, “As much as I’d love to hear you scream when I shove my cock up that tight little ass of yours, I think it’s best to keep things quiet. I don’t think Alex would approve.”

Hutch closed his eyes as he heard Damian’s words, trying not to panic with the knife still at his throat. Still, a muffled moan sounded from him, as he realized what was going to happen.

“What? What’s that, Sunshine?” Damian taunted. “You say you’re not happy about this? Well, I haven’t been happy ever since Alex brought you here. I used to enjoy the pleasure of his company sometimes three times a day, but since you came along, he hasn’t touched me. What is it about you that’s so special? Huh? Just thought I’d find out. And if you breathe a word of this to Alex, you’re going to have a little accident, a fatal one at that. Understand?”

Hutch didn’t respond, ignoring the threats.

Damian pressed the knife farther into his throat, drawing blood as the blade cut the surface of his skin. “I said…do you understand?”

Hutch jerked as he felt the blade cut him, barely nodding his head in agreement as the warm blood trickled down his neck.

“Good.”

Hutch watched out of the corner of his eye as Damian pulled the belt loose from his own pants. He removed the knife long enough to turn around and bind Hutch’s legs, leaving him completely incapacitated.

Moving back away from his hips, Damian pulled Hutch upright on his knees. He positioned himself behind his defenseless captive and, once again, pressed the knife to his neck, forcing Hutch to lean his head back against his shoulder.

“Okay, Sunshine, let’s see what you’ve got.” His free hand slid down the front of Hutch’s pajamas, groping him, stroking him.

Hutch attempted to jerk away, but was kept in place by the knife at his throat.

“Easy now,” Damian warned. “Stay nice and still. Don’t wanna cut you any more.” He continued to stroke Hutch’s cock, trying to initiate a response. “Mmmmm,” he moaned in delight. “No wonder Alex is so enamored with you. You are magnificent.”

Hutch groaned in anguish as the assault continued.

“Shhhh,” Damian whispered as he kissed the side of Hutch’s neck. “Not a sound. Gonna fuck you long and hard, Sunshine.”

Hutch could feel the growing erection pressing into the back of him, near the palms of his cuffed hands. With no other way to defend himself, he reached out and grabbed at the bulge in Damian’s pants, twisting and pulling with all the strength he had in him.

Damian jerked away, shrieking in pain as he grabbed his aching crotch. Hutch rolled to his back and kicked with his bound legs, sending the man off the side of the bed and crashing into a small table, turning it over with a loud noise.

“You son of a bitch!” Damian screamed. He lunged back toward Hutch, slamming his fist into his face.

Hutch knew he was in serious trouble as blood began to fill his nose. Unable to breathe through his mouth, he began to choke and gasp for air.

Damian drew back his fist to strike him again, but was interrupted by the sound of the door flying open, banging loudly against the wall. His expression was that of sheer terror, as he stared into the enraged eyes of Alex Christian. In his hand, Christian held a pistol aimed directly at him. The sound of gunshot erupted and the bullet hit its target, sending Damian staggering back against the wall. Several more shots followed until he lay crumpled in a heap in the corner of the room, his lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

Huddled on the bed, Hutch was nearing unconsciousness, no longer able to take in air as blood spewed from his nose. Christian rushed to him, pulling him to his chest, and ripped the tape from his mouth.

Hutch gasped for air, his lungs starved for oxygen. Still coughing, he tried to clear his throat, spitting blood onto the bed.

“Ken, it’s okay,” Christian said calmly, as he embraced Hutch tightly. “He’s dead.” He slowly rocked him with a steady motion, caressing his cheek, his eyes watching him possessively. “No one’s ever going to take you from me. I’ll always keep you safe.”

Hutch felt no gratitude toward this man. As he began to catch his breath, he struggled against his bindings and the man holding him. “Get these off of me!” he demanded.

Christian kissed him lightly on the forehead and laid him down gently on the bed, pausing to trail his finger down the open neck of his pajamas. He retrieved the set of keys from Damian’s body and removed the handcuffs, allowing Hutch the chance to free his legs.

Hutch stormed from the room and up to the deck into the cool night air. Leaning against the railing, he tried to clear his lungs, as he continued to cough and breathe heavily.

By this time, Eric had appeared in Hutch’s room, obviously shocked to see Damian’s body in the corner.

“Get rid of the body, Eric,” Christian ordered with no show of emotion.

“Yes, sir,” he replied nervously, grimacing at the puddle of blood spilling from Damian’s body.

Christian followed after Hutch, passing Andrew in the hallway. “Andrew, prepare Mr. Hutchinson a new room.”

“Yes, Mr. Christian.” Andrew glanced up the stairs, scared to think of what may have happened to his friend.

Christian approached Hutch, standing next to him by the railing. “I’m sorry that happened, Ken.”

Hutch was livid as he turned to face him. “Sorry? That’s all you can say is that you’re sorry? You have no right to keep me here!” he shouted. “I am not yours, not a possession to be had!”

“It won’t happen again. I assure you,” Christian responded with confidence.

“No, not until you want a shot at me!” Hutch screamed.

“I told you I would not force myself upon you.”

“Well, if you’re waiting until I come to you, you’re going to die a very lonely man!”

“You’ll come to my bed sooner or later,” he replied calmly, that same smug grin spreading across his face.

Hutch tapped his finger against Christian’s chest, his teeth clenched in anger. “I’ll see you in Hell first!”

Christian ignored the comment, instead staring at the blood on Hutch’s face, neck, and pajamas. “You’re bleeding. Let me help you get cleaned up, then I’ll show you to your room. Andrew is preparing you a new one.”

“I can do it myself.” Hutch stormed away wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve. “Just stay away from me.”

Left at the railing, Christian stared out over the moonlit water. The challenge of getting this man into his bed was proving more difficult than he had planned. His thin lips curved in a wry smile as he devised a way to change that. “Soon, very soon, you’ll be mine, body and soul,” he whispered to himself.

~*~*~*~

Hutch sauntered back downstairs toward the guest quarters. Noticing a door open, he peered into the room to see Andrew placing clean sheets on the bed. Assuming this was the room intended for him, he knocked lightly, not wanting to startle the boy, and entered.

Alarmed at the amount of blood on Hutch, Andrew rushed toward him. “Mr. Hutchinson! Are you okay?”

Hutch closed the door, wanting to talk in private. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“What happened?” he asked in alarm. “I saw Eric dump Damian’s body over the side.”

Hesitant to answer, Hutch sat down on the bed, still visibly shaken from the incident. “Damian came to my room while I was asleep and attacked me.” He didn’t feel the need to go into detail, but he sensed the boy knew what Damian’s intentions had been.

“Oh,” Andrew replied quietly as his gaze shifted to the floor. “Are you okay?”

Hutch realized he probably thought Damian had succeeded in his attack. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. Alex stopped him before it got too far.”

“Thank goodness.” Andrew let out a sigh of relief. He stared at the blood on Hutch’s face and clothes. “You’re hurt, though. Let me help you.”

Appreciating the boy’s concern, Hutch tried to force a smile. “I’m fine, really. I’m just going to take a shower and go to bed.” Now determined more than ever to escape, he asked hopefully, “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

“Sure. Though with Damian gone, I don’t know if Eric or somebody else will be outside your door.” Not wanting to let Hutch down, the boy said with confidence, “But I’ll get it unlocked one way or the other.”

“Thank you,” Hutch said gratefully.

After putting the finishing touches on the bed, Andrew held up a change of clothes. “Here are your clean pajamas, Mr. Hutchinson.”

“You can call me, Hutch. It’s okay.”

Andrew smiled confidently and started toward the door. Looking over his shoulder, he whispered, “Goodnight, Hutch.”

Eric was already posted outside and quickly locked the door after Andrew left.

Finally alone, Hutch took a quick shower, washing away the blood from his face and neck. The wound on his neck was a superficial one and had stopped bleeding within minutes, requiring nothing more than a small bandage. His face and head were throbbing, the blow to his nose aggravated further by the previous hits to his face. Hurting and emotionally exhausted, he lay down on the bed, holding his arms across his churning stomach. As the realization of how close he had come to being raped sank in, he started to shake uncontrollably. Pulling his knees up closer to his body, he stayed in that position for several minutes, trying to calm his nerves. He had to believe that he would get away from this nightmare and back to Starsky. It was the only thing that would get him through this. If Christian were to succeed in keeping him there, away from the person he loved most, it would take away his only reason for living, something he hoped he wouldn’t have to face.

~*~*~*~

Hutch awoke, sore and stiff, a grim reminder of the events of the night before. Shuffling to the bathroom, he stared at his refection in the mirror. The skin around his eyes had begun to blacken from the blow to his nose. He tried not to relive the attack in his mind, but the feel of Damian’s hands on his body was still all too real.

“Hutch?” a voice called from the other room, followed by a light knock on the door. “Are you okay?”

Recognizing the voice, Hutch replied, “Yeah, Andrew. Be right out.” He opened the door to the boy’s cheerful smile, which quickly dissipated as he gaped at the blackened eyes.

Andrew stared in stunned silence as Hutch walked past him.

“Pretty, huh?” Hutch said quickly.

“Does it hurt much?” he asked with concern.

“Only when I smile, and that hasn’t been too often lately.”

“I brought you some clean clothes.” Andrew laid the khaki pants and matching dress shirt on the bed. “Mr. Christian wants to have breakfast with you in an hour.”

“Yeah, well, you tell him that I don’t want¾” Hutch stopped, not wanting to ruin his chances for escape now by angering Christian. “I’ll go,” he said with resignation.

“Okay, but be careful.” Andrew turned to leave. “If I don’t see you any more today, don’t worry. I won’t let you down tonight. Just keep trying the door.”

“Okay,” he held his finger up in gentle warning. “But you don’t try it if you think you’re gonna get caught. Got it?”

“I won’t.” The boy smiled with confidence. “See you tonight, Hutch,” he whispered as he left the room.

Hutch showered and changed, eager to get breakfast over with. Eric led him to the sundeck where Christian was waiting patiently for him to arrive. He seemed surprised that Hutch had agreed to dine with him, and smiled his approval. “Good morning, Ken,” he greeted cheerfully.

“Alex.” Hutch sat down across from him.

He immediately took notice of Hutch’s black eyes and commented with sympathy, “I’m sorry about your injuries.”

“They’ll heal,” Hutch answered with callousness.

Trying to change the somber mood, Christian commented, “I’ll have a surprise for you tonight.” His eyes twinkled with excitement. “I think you’ll like it.”

“You’re gonna let me go when we get to Bay City?” Hutch’s voice carried more sarcasm than hope.

“Nothing like that. We’ll only be in Bay City for a short time, long enough for me to collect my money and pick up a little something for you.”

“I can hardly wait,” Hutch muttered with disinterest, as he reached for his glass of orange juice.

Christian chuckled with amusement and began eating his breakfast. Hutch poked at his food, taking a few small bites, then quickly left the table, no longer able to stand the company of the man in front of him. He retreated to the solitude of the small library and engrossed himself in a book, keeping a watchful eye on the clock as the hours crawled by.

~*~*~*~

Starsky checked with Huggy throughout the day, hoping he would be able to obtain the exact date and time the cocaine deal would go down, his best chance of catching up with Christian and getting Hutch back. The police department neither had the manpower or the time to stake out the entire coastline of Bay City for several days without some indication of when the sale would take place. Huggy had yet to get any further details, but assured his friend he wouldn’t give up. Questioning other employees of Christian’s also proved fruitless for the detective, as their fears over the consequences of betraying Christian far outweighed the mundane threats of the BCPD. With each hour that passed, Starsky knew the trail was growing colder. Christian could make the sale at any time, slipping in and out of Bay City’s numerous ports virtually unnoticed, disappearing again and taking Hutch with him.

~*~*~*~

“Time to go,” Christian announced, coming up behind Hutch. He was dressed in a hand tailored three-piece suit and Italian leather shoes.

Startled, Hutch snapped the book closed he was reading and peered over his shoulder. “Time to go where?” he asked curiously.

“I want you down below. We’re almost to Bay City.” He glanced at his watch. “I have an important appointment to keep.”

The thought of being so close to Bay City¾and to Starsky¾made Hutch tense with anticipation. He couldn’t afford to risk anything now, though, and calmly followed Christian below to the guest quarters, Eric close behind.

Hutch stopped at his room, reaching for the doorknob, confident he would later find it unlocked, providing him with his opportunity for escape.

“No, not there, not tonight,” Christian said in a stern voice.

The words hit Hutch hard. He whirled around to face him. “What do you mean? You said you wanted me down below.”

“I want you to stay in my room tonight, just as an extra precaution.” He seemed to take pleasure in seeing Hutch’s startled expression.

Hutch was beginning to panic, knowing Andrew didn’t have a key to Christian’s room, only the guest quarters. “I’m not staying in your room, Alex,” he warned, trying not to appear alarmed.

“Don’t worry. My intentions are merely to keep you in a more secure location, that’s all.”

Hutch stood his ground, but didn’t want to raise any suspicions. He started into his room, showing little indifference. “I’m staying in here. I’m sure Eric will see that I don’t go anywhere.”

“Eric.” Christian gave a quick nod to his bodyguard who immediately grabbed Hutch around the neck, pulling him back out into the hallway, while holding a gun to his head.

“Mr. Christian said you’re to stay in his room tonight. There’s no room for negotiation.” Eric led Hutch down the hallway, shoving him into Christian’s room and locking the door behind him.

Hutch ran his hands through his hair in exasperation as he turned, surveying his surroundings. There was only one small window, not big enough for him to fit through, no other way out except the door, which now was locked. All hopes of escaping had just vanished. Andrew wouldn’t even know where he was and, even if he did, wouldn’t be able to free him. He collapsed into a chair, pressing his face into his palms, fearing his fate had just been sealed.

~*~*~*~

Several hours later, Hutch sensed the boat was slowing and knew they must have reached Bay City. Walking over to the window, he strained to see if he could recognize anything, but it too was dark. The only things visible were faint city lights, nothing he could discern clearly. To know that he was so close to home, yet unable to escape, was heart wrenching to him. He began to search the room, looking for anything he might use as a weapon, but Christian had obviously taken all the proper precautions. He was trapped with no way out, knowing that, in a matter of hours, he would be on his way to South America.

~*~*~*~

Tired and discouraged, Starsky returned to his apartment for a change of clothes, intent on staying at Hutch’s again. He strolled back out to his car, tossing the clothes through the open window, and reached for the door handle, unaware of the dark sedan approaching him from behind. Preoccupied with thoughts of his partner, he briefly looked up as the car pulled beside him, only getting a glimpse of the man leaping from the backseat before he was struck on the head and pulled inside the vehicle. Blood trickled from the temple of the unconscious detective as the car disappeared into the darkness.

~*~*~*~

As another hour passed, Hutch was growing increasingly impatient at still being locked in the room. He pounded on the door. “Hey, Eric!”

“What is it, Hutchinson?” the man replied from the other side of the door, not bothering to open it.

“I’m a little hungry. How about getting me something to eat?” He was hoping to see Andrew and let him know where he was and that he was all right.

“Forget it,” Eric retorted.

Hutch was persistent. “Oh, c’mon, just have Andrew bring me a sandwich or something.”

“Mr. Christian will be back any time. You’ll survive. As a matter of fact, here he comes now.”

Hutch stepped away from the door as he heard the key turn in the lock, apprehensive of what would happen with Christian’s return.

Christian entered, the door closing behind him, beaming with enthusiasm. “A rich man just got richer,” he boasted proudly as he approached the bar, pouring himself a drink.

“I take it your deal went well.” Hutch’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“Suffice it to say, I turned quite a profit on this little venture.” He took a drink from his glass, then held it up. “Would you like to join me in a toast to celebrate?”

“I have nothing to celebrate with you, Alex.”

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot. I promised you a surprise, didn’t I?” He sat his drink down and clasped his hands together anxiously, eager to reveal his secret. “Since we will be leaving Bay City soon, bound for South America, I thought it was only fitting that you tell your partner goodbye.”

“What did you say?” Hutch glared at the man before him, perplexed and unsettled by his statement.

“Detective Starsky, your partner, I brought him here so you could tell him goodbye.”

“You’re lying,” Hutch spouted as he watched Christian closely, expecting the man to laugh as he divulged his sick joke, but his expression remained stern.

“Really?” He strolled past Hutch and knocked lightly on the door. Eric immediately opened it and handed him Starsky’s brown leather jacket. Holding it up for Hutch to see, he exclaimed, “Does this look like anybody’s you know?”

Hutch’s face grew pale as he recognized the familiar jacket, worn and faded. “You bastard! Where is he? What have you done with him?” He stormed toward Christian, snatching the jacket from his hand, holding it close to his chest. “If you’ve hurt him¾”

“He’s fine. I assure you.” Avoiding Hutch’s aggressive stance, he returned to his drink at the bar. “He’s in one of the other guest rooms.”

“Why did you bring him here?” A sense of foreboding encompassed Hutch.

“I told you, so you could tell him goodbye,” he replied innocently.

“You didn’t bring him here so we could have a farewell party, Alex.” Hutch was growing increasingly alarmed. “You tell me what you want with him.” He slammed his fist on the bar in anger, as Christian remained silent. “Tell me!”

“I told you, so you could tell him goodbye. I gave most of my crew some time on shore, since we’ll be at sea for an extended period of time. As soon as they return, we’ll be leaving.”

Hutch looked at Christian, puzzled. “But you said Starsky was onboard.”

“He is.”

Hutch was becoming more confused. “But you wanted me to tell him goodbye.”

“I do.”

“Then why are we taking him with us?”

“We’re not.” Christian sipped from his drink, a menacing grin spreading across his face.

“So, you’re going to let him go.”

Christian slowly shook his head no.

Hutch suddenly realized what Christian’s intentions were. “You’re gonna kill him, aren’t you?”

“Not if I can be persuaded otherwise.” His voice was cold and calculating.

Hutch turned away, leaning against the bar for support as his knees weakened. He knew what Christian was implying. His head dipping in resignation, Hutch turned back to face him, looking him squarely in the eye. “I’ll do anything you want, just please don’t kill him.”

Christian feigned ignorance, taunting Hutch. “Oh, come now, Ken, I hardly think joining me for a few dinners and strolls on the deck would justify me sparing the life of a man who was so hell bent on destroying me.”

“You know what I mean, Alex,” Hutch said quietly.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Christian smiled as he emerged from behind the bar. “Please enlighten me.”

“I said I’d do anything, damn it! Isn’t that good enough?” He gritted his teeth, barely able to control his anger.

“Anything?” Christian whispered as he moved closer, his lips within inches of Hutch’s.

Hutch quickly turned his head away, avoiding the kiss. “Not until I see Starsky and know he’s okay.”

Christian was not surprised by the demand. “All right,” he agreed, stepping closer. “But I want a little something to tide me over, just so I know you’re planning to keep up your end of the deal.” Without waiting for a reply, he took Hutch’s face between his large palms, kissing him passionately on the lips.

Hutch’s first reaction was to pull away, but knowing what was at stake, he remained still, even as Christian’s tongue probed his mouth. Christian was immediately drawn into the rapture of the kiss and pulled Hutch close to him, running his hands down the small of his back, gripping his buttocks. He pushed Hutch against the bar, rubbing his growing erection against him.

Hutch shoved his hands against Christian’s shoulders, breaking the grip he had on him. “No!” he said adamantly. “I want to see Starsky first.”

Christian sighed with annoyance as he adjusted his pants. “Very well. You may see him.”

Desperate for reassurance, Hutch pleaded, “Alex, you can’t kill him, please.”

He brushed his hand gently across the bruised face of his captive. “No, I won’t kill him,” he whispered. “It seems it will definitely work to my advantage to keep him alive.”

“Promise me you’ll let him go.” Hutch cringed as he felt the touch upon his face, caressing his cheek.

“I will…eventually…after he’s…served his purpose…” Christian wasn’t focused on what he was saying, seemingly entranced, as he moved his hand down the strong jaw line and across the smooth skin. He trailed his thumb over the fullness of Hutch’s lips, before his hand was abruptly batted away.

“You will let him go!” Hutch repeated in a more demanding tone.

“Yes, yes, I’ll let him go,” Christian answered with irritation, dropping his hand to his side. “Once we get out of the country, I’ll make sure he is left, unharmed, at one of the ports, but I want your word that you’ll stay with me. If he attempts to follow us or tries to take you from me, I will kill him.”

“I’ll stay.” Taking a deep breath, Hutch realized what he was agreeing to, but if it saved Starsky’s life, it was a small price to pay. “I want to see him, now.”

“Yes, I suppose you do.” He knocked on the door, which Eric promptly opened. “Ken would like to see Detective Starsky. Take him to his room. I’ll be along in a minute.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Christian.” Eric stepped aside, allowing Hutch to move in front of him. “First door at the end of the hallway.”

Hutch moved quickly, anxious to see Starsky and make sure he was okay. As they passed Andrew’s room, he cautiously looked over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young boy. Andrew was peeking from a small crack in the doorway, confused by what was going on. Unable to communicate anything to his friend, Hutch continued down the hall. “Here?” he asked, pausing before a doorway.

“Yeah, he’s in there.”

Hutch turned the doorknob and entered the room. Starsky was there, bound hand and foot to a chair, his head slumped forward, guarded by two men whom he recognized as the guards from the gate at the Christian estate. Rushing toward him, he placed the palm of his hand under Starsky’s chin and gently raised up his head. A trickle of blood streamed down the side of his face and his eyes remained closed.

“Starsk? Starsk? Can you hear me?” Starsky emitted a low moan, but didn’t respond. Hutch looked to the two men standing on either side of his partner. “Alex said he wasn’t hurt! What did you do to him?”

“He’s fine,” the taller guard smirked. “Nothin’ that a couple of aspirin won’t take care of.”

“Untie him!” Hutch demanded. “He needs to be lying down.” He started to loosen the ropes, only to have Eric pull him back.

“No you don’t!” Eric snapped. “You can talk to him, but he stays bound-Mr. Christian’s orders.”

Not wanting to waste time arguing, Hutch jerked his arm free from Eric’s grasp. “All right! All right!” He knelt down next to Starsky and lifted his head once more. “Starsk? C’mon, buddy. It’s me, Hutch.”

Hutch? Hutch? Did I hear your voice? Starsky’s eyes fluttered open, as the soothing words penetrated the haze he was lost in. “Hutch?” He tried to focus on the face close to his.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Hutch smiled as his friend seemed to recognize him. “You okay?”

As if staring at an apparition, Starsky’s expression abruptly turned from pained to that of disbelief. “It is you.” He glanced briefly around the room at his surroundings and turned back to Hutch, observing his battered face and black eyes. “My God, what has he done to you?”

“Hey, I’m okay,” Hutch said reassuringly, as he touched the raised knot on the side of Starsky’s head, causing him to flinch. “Looks like you’re the one who’s hurting.” He glanced back toward Eric. “Could you get me some ice for his head?”

Eric’s only response was a grunt under his breath.

“Please?” Hutch asked with sincerity. “Just enough to take the swelling down?”

Sighing with disgust, he agreed. “Oh, all right.” His attention turned to the other two men. “Keep a close eye on these two, got it?” Given a brief nod from them, he left the room.

As Starsky became more coherent, the initial shock of seeing his friend again was overshadowed by a flurry of emotions. “I’m sorry, Hutch, so, so sorry for everything. I tried to find you. I did.”

“I know, buddy. I know.”

“I’m sorry I got you into this.”

Still kneeling next to him, Hutch placed his hands on Starsky’s thighs, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “None of this is your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” he insisted. There was so much he wanted to say, so much that needed to be said. With little regard for the other two men in the room, he exclaimed, “If I hadn’t caused you to leave my apartment that night; if I hadn’t ki¾”

“Starsky, no!” Hutch interjected. “That had nothing to do with it.”

Starsky was determined to finish. “I should’ve never done that, and I’m sorry. I want you to know that.”

Hutch realized the torment Starsky must have put himself through over that night. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He raised his hand to Starsky’s cheek, inadvertently giving him a closer view of the rope burns on his wrists.

“I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch for what he’s done to you,” Starsky vowed.

“I’m fine, really,” Hutch said unconvincingly. “He’s gonna let you go. I promise. Just hang in there for a little while.”

“What about you?” His eyes tried to follow Hutch’s as his gaze shifted downward. “Hutch? What about you?”

“I’ll…I’ll be okay.” Hutch placed his hands on Starsky’s shoulders, and took a deep breath, knowing his next words were not going to be taken lightly “When Alex lets you go, I want you to promise me you won’t try to follow us.”

“No! I’m not leavin’ here without you!” Starsky said with determination, as he struggled against his ropes.

“Starsky, you have to. It’s the only way for right now.”

“I won’t leave you here with him,” Starsky replied sternly. “I won’t.”

Hutch knew what would happen if Starsky attempted to rescue him. The desperation in his voice was evident. “STARSKY, PLEASE!” He hadn’t intended to shout and instantly regretted it. “Just…just do this for me…please,” he whispered.

Starsky stared intently into the tired blue eyes of his friend, trying to discern what he wasn’t telling him. As he watched Hutch visibly shake, it became clear to him what he was so afraid of. “Why did he bring me here?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Before Hutch had a chance to respond, the door opened. He turned, expecting to see Eric, but instead it was Christian carrying an ice pack. Hutch stood up, watching him cautiously as he moved toward him.

“I believe you were wanting ice?” Christian stated simply as he handed it to Hutch.

Without answering, Hutch reluctantly took the ice pack and gently placed it on the ominously looking knot on Starsky’s head.

“I’m gonna kill you, Christian! I swear I’ll kill you, for what you’ve done to him!” Starsky bellowed, his face glowing with anger.

Showing little concern, Christian strolled confidently up behind Hutch and pulled him back from Starsky, causing him to drop the ice pack to the floor. “I have not raised my hand to him one time,” he stated. “Unfortunately my men have not been so gentle with him, but I dealt with that matter swiftly. I’ve given Ken my word that it will not happen again. No, I would never hurt what is most precious to me. I will give him the best of everything, including me.” He moved closer behind Hutch and nuzzled the nape of his neck.

Knowing the consequences if he resisted Christian’s affection, Hutch just looked away in shame and disgust, avoiding eye contact with Starsky.

“Get away from him!” Starsky screamed. “You’re using me to get to him, aren’t you?”

Christian responded with a simple smile, letting the situation speak for itself as Hutch allowed him to run his fingers through his hair.

“Hutch! You can’t let him do that to you!” Starsky implored, as he twisted his wrists against the ropes holding him. “Please!”

“Oh, I don’t think he minds. Do you, beautiful?” Christian trailed a succession of light kisses down the side of Hutch’s neck.

Closing his eyes, Hutch remained still, clenched fists his only show of resistance.

“We have a wonderful evening planned. Something I have waited for for so long,” Christian bragged. He nudged Hutch toward the door. “I think it’s time we should go, Ken. After all, I don’t want to waste a minute of this evening.”

“Hutch, please don’t,” Starsky pleaded in desperation.

Hutch finally turned to Starsky, knowing it may be the last time he saw him. His face was sallow, his expression grim. Still, he tried to muster a halfhearted smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. He promised me he’d let you go. Take care of yourself.”

“Hutch, no! Please don’t go!” Starsky watched helplessly, as Christian placed his arm possessively around his friend’s shoulder and lead him from the room.

As the door closed behind him, Hutch could still hear his partner’s pleas calling his name. He hurried away from the doorway, frantic to get out of earshot of Starsky’s voice. It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

Eric was waiting at the end of the hallway by Christian’s door. He opened it, allowing Hutch inside.

Christian stopped before entering the room and spoke to his bodyguard. “Eric, I do not want to be disturbed tonight. Unless it is an emergency of utmost importance, you are not to bother me for any reason. As a matter of fact, why don’t you go on in to shore, have a little fun? You might not have the chance again for a while.”

Pleased with the prospect of having time away, Eric eagerly agreed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Christian.”

Christian entered the room and closed the door behind him, delighted to finally be left alone with his prized possession.

Hutch was pacing the floor, obviously extremely upset. With hands on his hips, he stopped to face Christian. “Why did you have to do that?”

“Do what?” Christian asked innocently.

“C’mon, Alex, don’t play games with me!” Hutch spouted. “You know what I mean. You didn’t have to touch me like that in front of him.”

Christian remained calm, walking slowly toward Hutch. “I just can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” he said softly, as he loosened his tie and tossed it on the bar. He reached to brush a blond lock of hair away from Hutch’s eyes, his finger trailing along the outline of his face. “He loves you, you know,” he said unexpectedly.

“What?” Hutch was caught off-guard by the comment.

“He loves you. I see it in his eyes.”

“He’s my best friend, my partner. Of course, he loves me.”

“No, not that kind of love. This goes much deeper. I see it in the way he looks at you, the way he speaks to you, in the desire he has to protect you and save you…from me.” Christian stared at Hutch with envy. “And you love him, too, don’t you? Such self-sacrifice. Agreeing to sleep with someone you despise as much as me, to save his life.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Hutch walked away, waving his hands in front of him. “I don’t owe you any explanations.” He poured himself a full glass of brandy at the bar and downed the entire amount. “Let’s get this over with.”

Christian chuckled and proceeded to the couch, taking a seat and motioning for Hutch to sit next to him. “I hardly see the need to get drunk. It won’t be as bad as you think. I know quite a few men who could attest to that fact.” He waited patiently for Hutch to sit down. “Well, have a seat.”

Hutch took a deep breath, pulling his shoulders back, and sat down next to Christian.

“Much better,” Christian commented. Reaching over, he took Hutch’s hand in his and turned it palm side up, running his fingers over the lightly calloused surface. “You’re a hard worker.”

“You read fortunes, too?” Hutch quipped sarcastically, pulling his hand away. “I’m impressed.”

Undaunted by the snide comment, Christian smiled. “I’m a man of many talents. Several of which I will show you tonight.”

The comment was unnerving to Hutch, and he turned his head away in disgust.

Christian stood from the couch and walked to the entertainment center, where he turned on a soft classical selection. He strolled back to Hutch, took him by the hands, and pulled him to his feet. As if admiring a fine work of art, he moved his eyes over Hutch’s facial features, absorbing every detail. He leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, seeing if he would resist him, pleased he didn’t. This seemed to be the only incentive he needed. Stepping closer, Christian ran his fingers through Hutch’s hair, grasping the strands in the back and pulling his head toward him. He planted small kisses on the brandy-tainted lips, while his hands moved to the buttons on Hutch’s shirt, unbuttoning them one by one. His hands traveled up the smooth chest, pushing the shirt from his shoulders and onto the floor.

Hutch was unresponsive, only giving Christian the satisfaction of touching him and nothing more. As Christian guided him toward the bed, he tried to remain calm, but the fear of the inevitable surpassed his determination to go through with it. “Alex, wait!”

“No, I’ve waited long enough,” Christian mumbled, as he continued his path toward the bed.

Hutch felt his calves touch the bed and glanced briefly over his shoulder as he was toppled onto the mattress. Christian landed squarely on top of him and grabbed his wrists, pulling them over his head and holding them down, while he began to nip and suck at the tender skin on his neck, concentrating on one particular spot near his collarbone.

Hutch struggled as he felt Christian suck harder, branding him. “No, don’t,” he implored.

“It’s okay. Just leaving a little something for you to remember me by,” Christian whispered. He trailed the tip of his tongue back up Hutch’s neck to his lips once again, this time meeting them with a forceful kiss, searing, suffocating.

Hutch struggled harder as he felt himself deprived of air, and finally jerked his head away. “I said no!” he shouted.

Christian rolled off of Hutch onto his back, sighing in disgust as he watched him scamper from the bed. “This is not what you agreed to!” he reminded him angrily.

“I can’t do this! I just can’t!” Hutch shouted back, as he grabbed his shirt from the floor.

Folding an arm behind his head, Christian declared coldly, “Fine. Starsky dies then.”

The pain of those words dropped Hutch to his knees. His head lolled forward in defeat and slowly raised back up. “Alex…”

“Yes?” Christian answered smugly.

“Please…” He was not beyond begging at this point. “You can’t kill him.”

“The choice is yours.” Christian sighed contentedly, while examining his neatly manicured fingernails. “Well? Which is it?”

“I won’t let you kill him.” Hutch made his decision without hesitation.

“Okay, I won’t.” Christian turned on his side, propping his head up on his hand, as he patted at the spot next to him. “Come back to bed, then.”

Hutch tossed his shirt to the side in anger and got to his feet, moving slowly toward the bed. He paused at the side, staring down at this man he despised.

“Take your pants off,” Christian ordered.

Hutch did so reluctantly, stepping out of them as they fell around his ankles.

“And the rest.” Christian licked his lips, anxiously waiting.

As Hutch slipped the boxers over his narrow hips, he heard Christian moan his approval. Hutch lay down on the bed next to him, keeping his arms folded nervously across his chest and his eyes focused on the wooden beamed ceiling.

“My God, you are beautiful,” Christian observed with delight. He quickly got up from the bed and removed his own clothes, his excitement obvious by the impressive erection that sprang from his pants.

Hutch continued to stare upwards, never glancing Christian’s way. As he felt the mattress dip beside him, he closed his eyes, knowing there was no turning back now. He flinched as Christian moved his arms away from his chest and leaned against him, his lips brushing over the smooth skin, trailing lightly toward his nipple. Christian circled the tiny bud with his tongue, bringing it to a taught peak, biting and pulling it between his teeth. Hutch grabbed the sheet in his tightly clenched fists, trying to remain still, as Christian ventured to the other one, biting it even harder. He breathed a sigh of relief as Christian moved away from the sore nipple and toward his neck, sucking gently at the skin covering his collarbone. As he trailed toward Hutch’s shoulder and upper arm, Christian noticed the white-knuckled grip Hutch had on the sheets and snickered.

He looked down at Hutch, his eyes still tightly closed. “Relax, lover,” he coaxed. “I’ll make this as good for you as it is for me.”

“J-just hurry up,” Hutch stammered, trying to keep his composure.

“Oh, no, there won’t be any rushing this,” Christian affirmed. “I’ve waited too long for tonight.” He leaned down to Hutch’s ear and whispered, “Gonna fuck you all night.”

Hutch’s jaw tightened in anger as Christian lingered at his ear, tracing his tongue through the narrow grooves and around the outside, his breath warm and heavy against the side of his neck. As a hand traveled up his thigh, he tensed, knowing where it was leading. He gasped as Christian took hold of his flaccid penis, stroking it, attempting to initiate a response.

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Christian said with mild disappointment, his own rock-hard erection brushing against Hutch’s thigh. His thin lips spread in a smile. “I know what you need. You need to be kissed.” He kissed the tip of Hutch’s nose. “Not here.” He kissed Hutch’s lips. “Not here.” He kissed each of Hutch’s nipples. “Not here or here.” He touched his lips to the tip of Hutch’s cock. “Maybe here?” He took the head into his mouth and sucked gently, tasting the saltiness of Hutch’s skin¾the flesh he craved¾then leaned up. “Definitely here.” He engulfed more of the long shaft into his mouth, moaning with pleasure.

The sensation left Hutch helpless. He threw his head back against the pillow as he felt his body betray him. Oh, God, no. Please, no. He was disgusted by the way Christian was making him feel, making him respond to something he didn’t want, not from him, but he couldn’t move.

“Mmmmm…” Christian muttered as the thick cock filled his mouth. He looked up long enough to smile at the man who was now at his mercy. “You like that, huh?”

Hutch tried to ignore what he was feeling, but only responded further as Christian continued to tease his swollen cock with his mouth, trailing his tongue down the side, teasing his balls, and back up across the tip. Taking the length into his mouth again, Christian began sucking harder, moving faster. It was what Hutch had dreamed of Starsky doing to him. He concentrated on that face in his mind, the dark curls dampened with sweat from loving him, satisfying his every need. Christian adeptly massaged his balls, sensing he was ready to explode. Taking the entire length into his mouth one last time, Christian sent him over the edge, his release shooting into the back of Christian’s throat.

“Starsky…” Hutch uttered under his breath, his hips bucking upwards as he climaxed.

Christian rose up, glaring at him. “Starsky?” he asked with disbelief. “Did you say Starsky?”

Refusing to confirm or deny what he had said, Hutch remained willfully silent.

“I think you need to be reminded of exactly whose bed you’re in.” Christian smiled menacingly as he loomed over Hutch, his long shaft still firmly erect. “Turn over.”

Hutch didn’t move, disturbed by the look in Christian’s blue eyes, their color appearing deeper, almost sinister.

“You don’t want your beloved to die knowing his name was on your lips as I pleasured you, do you?” Christian made a circling motion with his finger. “I said turn over.”

Hutch had no choice but to comply, reluctantly rolling to his stomach as his heart pounded in his throat. He saw Christian reach over and pull a tube of lubricant from the drawer of the nightstand.

“Pull your knees up under you,” Christian directed. “And spread your legs.”

Hutch did as he was told, cringing as he felt Christian’s lubricated finger touch his puckered opening, and then push inside. He lurched forward as another finger entered, probing him, working him.

“Relax,” Christian soothed. “Just getting you ready for me.” He hastily coated his straining cock and pushed it into the crevice of Hutch’s buttocks, nudging against the opening. “Damn, you’re so tight,” he whispered in delight. With little regard for Hutch’s discomfort, he gripped his hips firmly and pushed forward, moving in short, deliberate movements until his entire length was deep within his reluctant lover. “Yes…” he moaned.

Hutch gasped as he felt Christian enter him, the pain and pressure unlike anything he had felt before. He tried to pull away, but Christian held his hips in a vise-like grip, digging his nails into the thin skin, as he jerked him back to meet his thrust.

Christian moved in practiced rhythm, his head tilted back in concentration, eyes tightly closed. His body glistened with sweat as his pace quickened, delving deeper into this man he desired.

Hutch bit into his lip until the taste of blood filled his mouth, refusing to utter a sound as the torment continued for what felt like an eternity. As Christian neared completion, his movement suddenly stopped and he pulled back slightly, giving Hutch a brief reprieve before he thrust forward with such fierce intensity that Hutch couldn’t help but react.

“Alex!” Hutch called out through gritted teeth.

Lost in ecstasy, Christian collapsed onto Hutch’s back, pushing him onto his stomach. He placed his hands over Hutch’s, engulfing them within his palms, as he pulled him into an embrace. “That’s the name I like to hear,” he whispered with satisfaction.

Hutch lay gasping for air under Christian’s weight, sickened by the appalling ordeal. As he felt Christian slide from him, he was left showing little emotion, his mind refusing to deal with what had just happened. His only comfort was the fact that Starsky would stay alive.

~*~*~*~

“Hey, I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.” The man sitting closest to Starsky got up and patted him roughly on the face. “He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“No way.” The second man shook his head defiantly. “We’re supposed to watch this cop like a hawk. If Christian catches us out of this room, we’re as good as dead.”

“Are you kiddin’? He’ll be fuckin’ that blond all night. Ain’t nothin’ gonna get him out of that room, short of the world coming to an end.”

The sting of those words pierced Starsky’s heart like a knife. “You bastards!” he screamed. “Both of you are goin’ down with Christian, I can promise you that!”

The first man grabbed a handful of Starsky’s hair and jerked his head up to meet his gaze. “I hardly think you’re in the position to make such threats, pig. The only reason you’re being kept alive now is because that partner of yours agreed to let Christian fuck him.” He leaned closer as he taunted, “You know, I hear Christian has the endurance of an Olympic gold medalist. Hutchinson’s gonna be in for the ride of his life.”

Starsky spit into the man’s face, his only way of lashing out.

The man just laughed as he wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. Motioning to his cohort, he said, “C’mon, John, let’s go. ”

The second man followed reluctantly, turning briefly to look at Starsky as they left the room.

Starsky began to work the ropes around his bound wrists. After managing to only tighten his bindings further, he heaved a sigh of exasperation, realizing his efforts were futile. A clicking sound from the door caught his attention. As he watched the doorknob slowly turn, he assumed that the two men were already returning, fearful of Christian’s wrath if he were discovered to be unguarded. Instead a young boy entered, looking nervously around the room.

“You alone?” he whispered.

“For right now,” Starsky answered suspiciously. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Andrew.” He moved behind Starsky and began to loosen his ropes. “I’m here to help you and Hutch. You’re Detective Starsky, right?”

“Yeah.” Starsky breathed a sigh of relief as his numb hands fell to his sides. He rubbed his raw wrists, attempting to restore the circulation. “Thanks. You know where Hutch is?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s in Mr. Christian’s room. I was supposed to help him escape tonight by unlocking the room he’d been staying in, but I think Mr. Christian knew something was up and kept him in his room.” Andrew moved back around to face Starsky.

Starsky quickly untied his legs and stood up. “Where’s Christian’s room?”

“Down at the end, on the left.”

“Can you get to the radio?”

“No, the wheelhouse is locked up tight. Already tried that.”

“How many men are on this boat?” Starsky watched the door closely, leery of the two guards returning.

“Not many, right now. They all went ashore for a little going away party. There’re only the two men watching you, Mr. Christian, and me that I know of, but the others are due back soon. We don’t have much time.”

“Okay.” Starsky was planning his strategy carefully. “I’m gonna see what I can do about those two goons who were watching me. Where’s the kitchen?”

“Down the hall, the other way, you’ll see a short corridor. It’s right there.”

Starsky didn’t want to risk any harm to the boy. “You go back to your room. Lock your door and stay there. Got it?” He started for the door.

“Detective Starsky?” Andrew asked quietly.

“Yeah, kid, what is it?”

“You might need this.” From under his coat, he pulled a 9mm automatic. “Got it from Damian’s room. It’s fully loaded.” He retrieved another item from his pocket. “Extra clip.”

Starsky took the weapon gratefully and touched his hand to Andrew’s face. “Thank you.” He opened the door slightly and glanced down the hall both ways, thankful to find it empty. As he headed toward the kitchen, Starsky looked in the other direction and saw the room Andrew had described as Christian’s. He wanted nothing more than to rush in and save Hutch then, but he knew he had to take care of the other two men first. “Just hang in there, babe, I’m coming,” he whispered.

The sound of laughter coming from a well-lit room signified Starsky had found his targets. He edged closer to the doorway, weapon ready. A quick glance inside gave him the exact location and the advantage he needed. He barreled into the room with lightning fast speed. “Freeze!” he shouted.

Caught off-guard, both men instinctively reached for their weapons and fired. Starsky rolled to the floor on his shoulder avoiding a bullet that whirled dangerously close to his head. He came back up to his feet and, with deadly accuracy, took both men down in a quick succession of shots. Certain Christian had heard the gunfire, he knew he had to move quickly. He retrieved the weapons from the men, checking to make sure they were dead, and moved back toward the hallway.

~*~*~*~

Hutch lay quietly on his side, his gazed fixed straight ahead, staring at nothing. He reached behind him and pulled the wrinkled sheet up over his aching body, wishing he could hide the shame and disgust he was feeling as well.

Christian strolled arrogantly across the room, doing nothing to hide his nakedness, and poured himself a drink. As he swallowed the warm liquor, he looked back at Hutch, tilting the glass toward him. “Would you like a drink?”

Hutch remained quiet, still looking straight ahead. As Christian spoke to him again, the words didn’t register, his mind shutting out everything in the room. He didn’t flinch as Christian crawled back into bed and moved up behind his back, leaning over his shoulder.

“Did you hear what I said?” Christian pulled Hutch’s shoulder toward him, attempting to make eye contact. “I said, I’ll let Detective Starsky go tomorrow once we are safely out of the country.”

The sound of his partner’s name brought him to attention, and he turned his head toward Christian. “Wh-What did you say?”

Christian rolled his eyes as he repeated himself for the third time. “I said, I’ll let Detective Starsky go tomorrow. I assure you, he will leave unharmed.” He traced the tip of his finger along Hutch’s shoulder. “You kept your end of the deal, quite impressively I may add, and now it’s time for me to do the same.”

“You’re really going to let him go?” Hutch had been reluctant to believe Christian would let Starsky go alive.

“I am a man of my word.” Christian kissed Hutch’s shoulder lightly. “Of course, you are to remain with me.”

Hutch turned away, resigned to his fate. “Yes, I know.”

Christian nibbled at Hutch’s ear, continuing the nips down the side of his neck, awakening with arousal again.

Hutch felt Christian pushing against him through the thin sheet and cringed in anger. “You got what you want,” he said bitterly. “Now leave me alone.”

“You’d better get use to it, lover,” Christian purred. “I am insatiable.” Pulling Hutch onto his back, he laid his weight across him, pressing his lips down on Hutch’s, sucking gently until their rosy hue deepened.

Hutch turned his head away. “Alex, please, I can’t do this again.”

“Must I remind you that your partner is not free, yet?” Christian taunted menacingly, as he turned Hutch’s face back toward his, resuming the kiss.

Too exhausted to struggle and still fearful of the consequences if he refused, Hutch let Christian take control of his body once again.

Suddenly, the distinct sound of gunfire could be heard in the distance. Christian’s head jolted upright. “What the hell?”

Fearing for Starsky, Hutch writhed under Christian’s weight, fighting to get away.

Christian glanced quickly at the struggling blond and kissed him one last time before releasing him. “I’m not through with you yet, remember that.” He grabbed his pants off the floor and slipped them on, not bothering to buckle his belt. Pushing on an inconspicuous panel in the wall, he removed a well-hidden pistol and checked to make sure it was fully loaded.

Hutch took the opportunity to retrieve his clothes from the floor, managing to get his pants zipped and his shirt partially buttoned before Christian put the gun to his head and pushed him toward the bar, quickly binding his hands with the tie he had discarded earlier.

“Let’s see what all the shooting’s about, shall we?” Christian hissed into Hutch’s ear, as he gripped him tightly about the throat with his forearm, the gun pressed to his temple.

Hutch’s heart was pounding, terrified that Starsky might have been the target of one of the bullets, but the two men guarding his partner had yet to report to Christian, giving him guarded optimism that they were not the victors.

Starsky crept stealthily down the hallway toward Christian’s room, listening for any sounds of movement inside. As he approached the door he paused, taking a deep breath, hoping, but doubting the element of surprise would be on his side. He stepped in front of the door and, without hesitation, kicked it in, ready to fire. The first thing he saw was Hutch and the gun planted firmly at his temple.

“Hold it right there, Christian!” Starsky warned. “Drop your weapon!”

“I believe I have the upper hand here, Detective Starsky,” Christian taunted, his finger weighing heavily on the trigger of his gun. “Unless you want to see your precious partner die right before your eyes, I suggest you drop your weapon.”

“Don’t do it, Starsk,” Hutch pleaded, his voice strained against the pressure on his throat.

Christian jerked Hutch roughly, pulling him tighter to his bare chest. “You keep your mouth shut, lover.” He stared directly at Starsky as he emphasized the epithet. “You don’t think I’m going to give him up that easily, do you?” He paused to brush his lips against the side of Hutch’s neck as he boasted, “He’s everything I expected and more.”

Hutch struggled to pull away but was no match for Christian’s strength given his disadvantage. “Bastard!” he uttered through gritted teeth.

Starsky’s eyes darted toward Hutch-barefoot, shirt untucked and half-buttoned, hair disheveled, hands bound. As an unparalleled rage surged within him, he had to will his finger off the trigger, knowing if he fired, Christian could very well bestow the same fate on Hutch.

With only one chance at gaining the advantage, blue eyes locked with blue eyes, their plan communicated in painstaking detail without a word being spoken. Hutch slammed his head backward into Christian’s face, the forceful blow shattering several teeth. Christian immediately wrenched backwards in pain, bringing the gun down as he did so. Hutch twisted from his grasp, giving Starsky a clear shot as Christian recovered enough to aim his weapon. Each gun fired, only one man fell. A steady stream of blood poured from the wound in Christian’s chest as he lay gasping on the floor. Starsky quickly moved to him, kicking his gun away. Christian lifted his head up, searching the room for Hutch. Briefly touching his hand to his chest, the dying man looked at the blood now covering his palm and held it out toward the blurry outline of the blond leaning against the wall.

“You…you’ll always be m-mine,” Christian whispered through his disfigured mouth. His eyes fluttered as he expelled his final breath, his head slowly lowering to the ground.

Hutch collapsed to the floor as he watched his tormentor die. Starsky rushed to his side, cradling his friend within protective arms, assuring him it was over.

“Hutch, it’s okay now,” Starsky whispered soothingly as he untied his hands. “He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Hutch turned his face into Starsky’s chest, nestling in the exposed skin of his open neckline. Even the familiar scent of his partner’s skin against his wasn’t enough to convince him it was Starsky who now held him. He grabbed Starsky’s shirt tightly in his hands and pulled his head up to look into those concerned blue eyes, asking for that reassurance. “Starsk?” he whispered.

“Yeah, babe, it’s me.” Starsky pulled him tighter, resting his chin on the tousled blond locks. “I’m right here.”

Hutch reveled in that feeling of security, drawing his knees up so Starsky could embrace all of him, his fingers still clenching the fabric within his hands.

Andrew appeared in the doorway, his gaze immediately transfixed on the body of Christian sprawled on the floor. He continued staring at the dead man, as if he expected him to move at any moment.

“Andrew,” Starsky called out while rubbing Hutch’s back in small circular motions. “Andrew! You were supposed to stay in your room.”

Andrew shook his head as he forced his gaze toward Starsky, trying to remember why he had come there. “I, uh, broke the lock on the door of the wheelhouse. The police and coast guard will be here any minute.”

“Thank God,” Starsky uttered, knowing there was still a chance for the rest of the crew to return.

Seeing Hutch huddled against his friend, Andrew started toward him. “Are you okay, Hutch?” he asked with concern.

Starsky held up his hand, stopping him from coming any closer, knowing Hutch was in no condition to talk. “He’s fine. I’ll take care of him. Look, I want you to go back to your room until the police arrive. Those other men could still come back at any time. I don’t want to chance anything happening to you. Okay?”

Andrew reluctantly agreed. “All right, but you’re sure he’s okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Starsky replied, the worry evident in his voice.

Andrew left, leaving the two men alone again. Hutch had loosened his grip on Starsky somewhat and peered cautiously over his shoulder at Christian’s body.

“He’s really dead,” Starsky soothed. “Just relax. Gonna get you out of here.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hutch uttered, as he turned his head back to the safety of his partner.

The faint sound of a distant siren was a welcome noise to both men.

“Ya hear that? They’re almost here,” Starsky announced with relief. He helped Hutch to his feet, keeping a firm hold around his waist as he led him to the door.

“Wait.” Hutch stopped and moved away from Starsky.

Starsky looked at him with deep concern, uncertain what he was doing. “What’s wrong?”

Hutch’s gaze shifted toward the floor in shame, as he attempted to button his shirt the rest of the way, trembling hands making the task nearly impossible.

Fighting back tears, Starsky watched as his friend struggled in frustration with the small buttons. “Here, Hutch, let me help you.” He finished buttoning Hutch’s shirt and neatly tucked it in for him. “Is that okay like that?” he asked gently.

Hutch nodded as he ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to smooth the tangled strands. “My shoes,” he stated quietly, as he glanced over to the bed.

“I’ll get them.” Starsky hurried to the bed and retrieved the shoes from the floor. As he rose up, his eyes focused on the bedding in disarray. He took a deep breath, pushing horrible images from his mind as he turned back to Hutch. Spotting his leather jacket draped across the back of a chair, he grabbed it, too, and held it out to his friend. “Here, put this on. It’ll keep you warm.”

Hutch slipped into the jacket, grateful to be wrapped in the familiar worn leather, and stepped into the shoes just as the echo of a bullhorn sounded from outside.

“That’s them. You ready?” Starsky didn’t want to rush Hutch, but was eager to get him onto the safety of the police boat.

“Yeah, get me outta here…please.”

“You got it, partner.” Starsky forced a smile and took Hutch to the upper deck. There was a small fleet of boats surrounding the yacht, manned by several uniformed officers with weapons drawn. After proving who they were to the officers boarding the yacht, the two detectives were given permission to transfer to one of the police boats.

Just as they started toward the ladder, Hutch spotted Andrew holding up his hands in surrender toward the policemen, a look of sheer terror on his face.

“No!” Hutch called out to the officers descending upon the frightened boy. He assured them that Andrew was another victim of Alex Christian’s and should be transported to safety as well. He turned back to Starsky. “I have to talk to him.”

Starsky gave a quick nod, reluctant to let Hutch leave his side, but grateful he seemed more responsive. He took the opportunity to brief several officers on the circumstances of the case, careful not to divulge every detail.

Smiling meekly, Andrew approached Hutch. “Thank you,” he said with sincerity.

“I think I should be the one thanking you.” Hutch tried to appear calm, his shaking hands tucked discreetly in the pockets of Starsky’s leather coat. “You know he can’t hurt you anymore.” He took comfort in those words as much as he hoped Andrew would.

“I know.” Andrew sighed in relief, knowing his nightmare was finally over. “I can go home now and not worry about what Mr. Christian might do. I can’t thank you enough for helping me.” His faced blushed as he remembered he wasn’t the only victim. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Hutch answered, his voice barely audible. “Look, I better go. Take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Andrew walked toward an officer waiting to escort him from the boat and gave a quick wave toward his friend. “See ya, Hutch.”

“See ya, Andrew,” Hutch replied.

The police boat took the two detectives back to shore, where an influx of police, coroner’s wagons, and ambulances was waiting. Starsky helped Hutch from the boat and moved toward one of the waiting ambulances.

Hutch became alarmed and pulled free of Starsky’s hold. “I’m…I’m not going to the hospital, Starsk.” The thought of doctors poking and prodding him was unnerving.

Starsky was insistent. “Hutch, you have to. You don’t know what injuries you could’ve sustained while you were on that boat.” He carefully avoided focusing on what Christian may have done to him.

Hutch shook his head defiantly. “No, I’m not going.”

“Hutch be reasonable,” Starsky implored. “I just want to make sure¾”

“I’M NOT GOING!” Hutch was beginning to panic and walked briskly away from his partner. He was garnering the attention of several policemen standing nearby, which only added to his anxiety.

Starsky raced to his side. Not wanting to upset him any further, he relented. “Okay, okay, we won’t go tonight. Maybe tomorrow, ‘kay?”

Regretting his abusive tone, Hutch nodded his head apologetically, his weary eyes trying to communicate his feelings. “I just wanna go home.”

“I know you do, babe,” Starsky replied compassionately. “I’ll have Castillo give us a ride to your apartment.”

Hutch eagerly agreed, relieved Starsky wasn’t pursuing the trip to the hospital any further.

~*~*~*~

Hutch paused before the door to his apartment. It seemed like years since he had been there, another lifetime. Noticing his hesitation, Starsky retrieved the key above the doorframe and unlocked the door, taking him inside.

“I took care of everything for you,” Starsky announced modestly. “Got your mail and paper, watered your plants-I gave Doris a spritz on her leaves from that bottle by her pot, just like you do.”

“Thanks,” Hutch replied quietly, as he looked around the tidy apartment. “Everything looks great.”

“How about a hot shower? I know the sun’s almost up, but I thought it might help you relax.” Starsky motioned toward the bathroom, waiting for Hutch’s reply.

“That sounds good.” Hutch wanted nothing more than to wash the feel of Christian’s touch from his body.

“Great. You just sit here on the bed, and I’ll get it going.” Starsky guided him to the side of the bed and hurried to start the shower. As the steam rolled from the bathroom, Starsky called out, “Okay, Hutch, it’s ready.” He came around the corner to find his friend sound asleep in bed, still fully clothed. Hutch seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so not wanting to chance disturbing him, Starsky carefully removed only his shoes and draped a spare blanket over him.

With Hutch safely home, Starsky took the opportunity to place phone calls to Captain Dobey and Huggy, letting them know he had found Hutch. Huggy was relieved to hear the good news and offered his assistance in any way should it be needed. Dobey was already aware of the situation and had been waiting to hear further details. Starsky assured his captain that he would update him later on Hutch’s condition, once he was able to talk to him at length. He was relieved to learn that the rest of Christian’s men had been found at a local waterfront bar. Dobey gave him the names of those arrested at both the estate and bar and now in police custody, confident that no one had escaped. Unsure of what would be involved with Hutch’s recuperation, Captain Dobey took both men off the roster for an indefinite period of time, knowing Starsky would be a major part of Hutch’s recovery from his ordeal.

The sun was beginning to rise when Starsky returned to the bedroom. He pulled a chair next to the bed and stared at his partner intently, taking comfort in watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, knowing he was safe. Until now, he hadn’t been able to look at his friend closely, his attention being focused on saving him. Now, as Hutch lay there quietly sleeping, he began to get a glimpse of what his friend had been through. The bruising around his eyes and cheek, the rope burns on his wrists, a small cut on his neck-all gave insight into the physical trauma he had suffered at the hands of Christian, but Starsky’s fears went far beyond that. He didn’t know what had happened in Christian’s room¾he wasn’t sure he wanted to know¾but he knew Hutch had done it for him, and the guilt he felt was overwhelming. He held himself responsible for Hutch being kidnapped that night, causing him to run from his apartment and straight into Christian’s clutches, and still, Hutch was there to save him, no matter the cost. What was the cost? Starsky asked himself as he looked at his battered partner, recalling the way he was trembling in his arms on that yacht. My God, babe, what did he do to you?

Starsky stayed vigilantly at Hutch’s bedside, struggling to stay awake, finally losing the battle. When he awoke several hours later, the clock read 2:00 PM. He jolted upright, his first concern Hutch’s whereabouts, but was relieved to find him still asleep, though his once peaceful slumber was now replaced by sudden jerks and contorted facial expressions.

“No! Please, don’t,” Hutch called out in distress, his head shaking back and forth as he clutched the blanket tightly to his chest. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his breathing becoming faster. “No!” he screamed.

Starsky rushed to him, gently shaking his arms. “Hutch, wake up, buddy. You’re dreaming.”

Hutch’s eyes flew open, full of rage and desperation as he fought against his attacker. “NO!” He lashed out with his fist, striking Starsky in the face, and scrambled from the bed in the other direction. His legs became entangled in the blanket as he attempted to run, and he landed in a heap on the floor while still continuing to fight.

Starsky stumbled backwards and fell on a potted plant in the corner of the room. Dazed by the blow, he crawled through the dirt and broken plant stems to reach his flailing partner. “Hutch!” He took Hutch’s face into his hands, forcing him to look into his eyes. “Hutch…” he repeated, this time in a softer voice. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”

Hutch quit struggling. He squeezed his eyes closed and opened them, assuring himself that his nightmare wasn’t the reality and Starsky was. “Starsk?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You were just having a bad dream.” Starsky pulled away the blanket wrapped around the long legs and put Hutch’s arm around his shoulder, helping him to his feet and back to the edge of the bed.

Hutch sat down, his face resting in the palms of his hands as he tried to regain his composure.

“You okay, now?” Starsky asked compassionately. Using his shirtsleeve, he dabbed at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Hutch nodded and glanced up at his friend, immediately noticing the blood coming from his partner’s mouth. “Starsk, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I just thought you were Al¾” He stopped in mid-sentence, afraid he would divulge something he hadn’t intended to.

“Hey, I’m fine,” Starsky reassured him. Trying to lighten the mood, he motioned toward the crumpled plant. “I don’t think-is it Nadine? I don’t think Nadine was quite as lucky.”

A small smile escaped from Hutch’s lips as he stared at the remains. “She’d been a little droopy lately anyway.”

Starsky patted his friend on the back, delighted to see a glimmer of the old Hutch shining through. “How about that shower now?”

“Yeah, I think that would do me some good.” Hutch nervously rubbed his hands on his legs as he glanced at the clock on the wall. “Is it after two already?”

“Sure is,” Starsky answered from the bathroom as he started the water. “I think we both needed that.”

Hutch met him in the doorway. “Hey, how’s your head?” he asked, reaching toward the knot that was still protruding.

“Oh, that little bump? It’s nothin’.”

“Well, it was somethin’ last night.” He leaned in for a closer inspection. “Maybe you should have that looked at.”

“Okay, I will,” Starsky agreed readily. “I’ll have the doc take a look at it when you get checked over at the hospital today.”

Hutch shook his finger in Starsky’s face. “That’s tricky, pal, but I’m not going.”

Before Starsky could answer, Hutch entered the bathroom and closed the door.

“We’re not through discussing this,” Starsky called from outside.

“Yes, we are,” he replied abruptly. The sound of the pulsating water was inviting to Hutch, and he began to undress. He hung Starsky’s leather jacket carefully on the hook of the door. Unbuttoning his shirt, he slipped it off his shoulders as a sharp pain radiated from just above his waistline. Several deep scratches and bruises were evident in the tender skin above his hips. “Oh, no,” he observed in horror, wincing as he touched the affected area. He stared into the mirror at the marks, also noticing the purplish mark on his neck that, up until now, was hidden underneath his collar. He grabbed the sink for support, sickened by the sight, vowing Starsky would never see what Christian had done to him. As he stared at his reflection, he saw a different man than the one who had stood there four days ago.

Four days ago-it may as well have been four years since Starsky had kissed him. During the days following his kidnapping, he had hoped there was the possibility that their feelings were mutual, but Starsky had already answered that question for him aboard Christian’s yacht. I should‘ve never done that, and I’m sorry. I want you to know that. As he gaped at the appalling marks on his neck and body, Hutch knew it was for the best. Even though what he had done had been for Starsky, he was ashamed and disgusted by the fact that he had responded to Christian’s touch. He was glad Starsky regretted the kiss, because he could never let him touch him now; Starsky wouldn’t even want to. His friend deserved better. Stepping into the shower, Hutch closed his eyes, letting the water flow across his sore muscles as he remembered that one kiss. It was all he would ever have from the man he loved.

~*~*~*~

“Hey, Hutch, you okay?” Starsky rapped lightly on the door.

“Yeah, be right out.” Hutch finished brushing his teeth and hair. Wrapping himself in his robe, he was careful to pull the collar close to his neck. He gathered the clothes off the floor and, as he stepped from the bathroom in front of Starsky, handed them to him. “Get rid of these for me, will ya?” he asked with little emotion as he walked by.

“Sure.” Starsky took the clothes, wadding them in a tight ball. He couldn’t help notice the expensive texture of the fabric as he stuffed them into a trash bag, tying it shut. “I’m gonna take this on out. Be right back.”

“Here, take these, too.” Hutch handed him the shoes from beside the bed, anxious to be rid of the things Christian had provided for him.

Starsky took the shoes and headed outside. When he returned, he was surprised to see that Hutch was already dressed, wearing a black turtleneck and jeans.

“Bit warm for a sweater, don’t ya think?” Starsky asked curiously.

“I’m a little chilly,” Hutch replied, avoiding Starsky’s questioning gaze. “Must be my nerves.” He poured himself a glass of orange juice and strolled over to the couch.

Attempting to make conversation, Starsky sat down next to him and announced, “Dobey said they caught the rest of Christian’s men.”

“Good,” Hutch replied with indifference as he sipped from the glass.

There was a span of awkward silence between them.

“Wanna talk?” Starsky asked with hesitation.

“Nope,” Hutch replied sharply, trying to avoid the inevitable questions.

“Hutch, I think we need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s over. I just want to forget it. Okay?” Hutch studied the pulp clinging to the sides of his juice glass.

“I wanna know what happened.” Starsky inched closer to his friend, hoping he would confide in him. “I’m worried about you.”

Hutch sighed in resignation, knowing he was going to have to reveal some of what had occurred. “When I got back to my apartment that night, there was a white van parked in front of my car. Three men grabbed me. I was bound and blindfolded. The next thing I knew, I was on a yacht in the middle of nowhere.” He slapped his hands on his legs and stood up, attempting to end the conversation. “That’s where I was until you rescued me.”

Starsky was stunned by Hutch’s simplified assessment of his ordeal and followed him into the kitchen. “You’re not telling me everything.”

“There’s nothing more to tell.”

Starsky understood Hutch’s reluctance to talk, but his concern for his friend caused him to press the issue. He tried to approach the subject in a subtle way. “Hutch, I…I just have to know you’re okay…if Christian hurt you in any way….”

Hutch knew what he was implying and dashed from the kitchen without answering. Starsky followed on his heels, grabbing him gently by the arms and turning him around. “C’mon, it’s me you’re talking to. You can tell me.”

Jerking his arms free from Starsky’s hold, Hutch stated firmly, “I’m fine,” his expression revealing nothing.

“Hutch, I don’t know what happened on that boat, but I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”

Hutch stared straight ahead, saying nothing.

“Hutch, you need to be checked out. You may think you’re okay, but there might be something wrong that you’re not aware of,” Starsky reasoned. “Look at your eyes. You could have a concussion.” He was reluctant to delve deeper into what happened, but he had to have some answers. “Did Christian hit you?”

Hutch sighed and looked down, resigned to the fact that he would have to answer some of Starsky’s questions. “No, he didn’t hit me.”

“Then who did?” Starsky asked, his concern growing.

“Damian.”

“Damian?” Starsky recalled the conversation he had previously had with Dobey, about the arrest of Christian’s men both aboard the yacht and at the estate. Damian was not one of the men he named. “Wait a minute…Damian wasn’t one of the men arrested,” he said with alarm. “That means he’s still out there.”

“No, he’s not.” Hutch leaned his head back, clenching his eyes tightly closed, trying to block out the images of Damian attacking him. “He’s dead.”

“Dead? But how?”

Hutch exhaled sharply as he recalled Damian’s bullet-riddled body slumped against the wall. “Alex killed him.”

“For hitting you.” Starsky words were not a question, but a hopeful statement that maybe Christian had protected him from harm.

“Yes, I mean no, I mean…” Hutch turned his back to Starsky, rubbing his hand across his brow in anguish. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Starsky conceded, his mind cluttered with horrific thoughts of what might have caused Christian to kill his top man. “I understand if you don’t want to talk. I know it’s too soon and I’m sorry if I upset you.” He walked around Hutch to face him again. “But Hutch, you have to go to the hospital and let them check you out. Please, do this for me. I know you think you’re okay, but I just want to make sure. Please.”

With a reluctant nod, Hutch conceded to his partner’s pleas. “Okay, okay. I’ll go.” He glanced at the menacing bump still protruding from Starsky’s head, as he brushed passed him. “But I want you to get checked out, too.”

“Deal,” Starsky agreed victoriously, while breathing a sigh of relief. He pulled his keys from his pocket and followed Hutch toward the door.

The ride to the hospital was made in awkward silence, Hutch’s uneasiness evident by his continued shifting in the seat. Starsky continually glanced over at him, knowing from past experience with cases of this nature, what Hutch would be subjected to. There was nothing he could say that would ease the mounting tension as they neared Memorial Hospital.

After wading through a mound of paperwork in the waiting room, a burly nurse in a crisply pressed uniform stepped from behind a set of swinging doors and called Hutch into the examining room. Starsky automatically got to his feet to follow, their past visits to the hospital always finding the two inseparable.

Hutch turned to Starsky and held his hand up in a stopping motion. His expression was unyielding as he sternly spoke. “No, Starsk. I’ll be fine.”

The hurt was obvious in Starsky’s expression. “But, Hutch, I just wanna be there for you.”

“David Starsky,” a nurse called from behind the two men, interrupting the conversation.

Hutch was relieved to hear Starsky’s name called, providing him with an easy way out of the difficult situation. “Look, they’re calling you in, too.” He motioned at the bump on Starsky’s head. “You need that looked at. I’ll meet you back out here, okay?”

“Yeah,” Starsky replied dejectedly. “But if you need me, you have them come and get me.”

With a curt nod, Hutch disappeared behind the doors. As Starsky reluctantly moved toward the nurse awaiting him, he glanced over his shoulder one more time, struggling to resist the urge to go after his friend.

~*~*~*~

An agitated elderly man peeked from behind his newspaper at the Adidas sneaker tapping incessantly on the tiled floor. Preoccupied in thought, Starsky was unaware of the man’s irritation until he abruptly cleared his throat. Starsky uttered a barely audible apology and glanced at his watch once again. It had been nearly an hour since he’d been checked over by the doctor and released. After precautionary x-rays and a thorough examination, he was told he had suffered a mild concussion but nothing that required further treatment. As the time continued to pass, he was becoming increasingly worried that Hutch had not been so lucky.

The doors through which Hutch had disappeared some two hours earlier finally swung open. Without even glancing at Starsky, Hutch darted passed him. “Let’s get out of here,” he snapped in a disgruntled voice.

“Hutch, wait!” Starsky called after him, as he hurried to catch up. He grabbed Hutch’s arm, stopping him. “Tell me what the doctor said,” he said anxiously. “Are you okay?”

Seeing the worry in his partner’s eyes, Hutch sighed in exasperation. “Starsk, I’m okay. I’ve just gotta get out of here, that’s all.” He darted a look around the waiting room as if he expected everyone to be staring at him, aware of what he had just been put through. “We can talk at my place.”

“All right, let’s go,” Starsky compassionately agreed, as he put a gentle hand around Hutch’s shoulder and guided him toward the exit.

During the ride home, Hutch asked for a detailed assessment of Starsky’s head injury, relieved to hear the diagnosis, but he carefully avoided the subject of his own examination. Starsky didn’t press the issue, hoping that Hutch would divulge more once they were home where they could have a more in-depth talk.

Starsky tossed his car keys on the counter and turned to Hutch. “Okay, we’re home, now. I wanna know what the doctor said.”

Hutch drew his hand down the length of his face. “He said I’m okay.”

“You already told me that, ” Starsky reminded him impatiently.

“Well, what more do you want me to say?” Hutch growled, as he perched his hands on his hips and walked away.

“Hutch, please,” Starsky implored. “I’m worried about you.”

Regretting his tone of voice, Hutch’s head dipped forward and he turned back to Starsky, his gaze transfixed downward in shame. “I know you are, but I’m fine. Alex…he…he didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking,” he whispered. “The doctor said there was no injury to me.”

Starsky swallowed hard, the thought of what Hutch had been through because of him almost more than he could bear. “Thank, God,” he uttered in reply. He took a step toward his friend in an attempt to comfort him, but Hutch backed away. Starsky remained determined to get the rest of his questions answered. “What about the bruising around your eyes and on your cheek?”

“Nothing time won’t heal,” Hutch answered abruptly.

“What about…” Starsky began.

“Starsky, I’M FINE!” Hutch reiterated, as he stomped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

Starsky sighed in resignation. He waited a few minutes, hopefully giving Hutch a chance to calm his nerves, then warily approached him. “Look, I know it’s hard for you to talk about it and I understand that, but I just had to know that you’re okay. If you don’t want to talk right now, that’s fine, but there are some things I need to tell you. Will you just listen then?”

Hutch took a deep breath and slowly nodded; he owed Starsky that much. He followed his lead back to the couch.

Rubbing his hands nervously across his knees, Starsky stammered, “That night you were kidnapped, I know none of this would have happened if I hadn’t, y-you know…”

“Kissed me?” Hutch darted a glance at his friend, watching for his reaction.

“Yeah.” Starsky visibly winced as he reflected on that night. “I’m gonna live with that the rest of my life, and I don’t know how I’m gonna make it up to you.”

Hearing the anguish in his voice, Hutch’s demeanor softened, and he reached over to rest his hand on Starsky’s leg. “Starsky, no, this wasn’t your fault. I already told you that. Alex would’ve kidnapped me, if not that night, then another. He had it all planned.”

Starsky shook his head in disagreement. “I may have been able to stop it another night, another time…if I just hadn’t kissed you.”

“Why did you kiss me?” Hutch cringed, as the question inadvertently slipped from his lips, his subconscious need for the answer prevailing.

Starsky hadn’t expected Hutch to ask why, believing he chose instead to pretend it had never happened. Caught off-guard, his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to explain. “I don’t know,” he answered quickly, then just as quickly recanted. “Yes, I do know,” he spouted, firm in his decision to explain. “You may not understand what I’m going to tell you, but I have to get it off of my chest before I go crazy.”

Hutch slowly took his hand from Starsky’s leg, his eyes darting nervously back and forth as he anxiously waited for him to continue.

“It’s too late to change what happened that night. I can never take it back, but I think you deserve an explanation.” Starsky drew his hands across his face and took a deep breath. “You’re my best friend. You know that.”

“I know,” Hutch replied quietly.

“And you know I’ve been a bit edgy lately. I couldn’t explain it, even to myself.”

“Starsk, we all have mood swings.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” he replied, struggling to find the right words. “We’re almost always together, even on our days off, but lately, when we weren’t with each other, I just had this real empty feeling. I thought about you so much-what you were doing, who you were with, if you were okay, worrying constantly that something might happen to you.”

“I worry about you, too.” Hutch cleared his throat nervously, as he tried not to appear alarmed by the direction the conversation was going. “That’s what best friends do.”

Starsky shook his head in frustration. “I know that, Hutch, but what I’m trying to say is…I’m like this big jigsaw puzzle on the inside, almost complete but with one piece that’s been missing for as long as I can remember. I never could figure out what went there, but when I kissed you, I realized that was the piece that was missing. It fit perfectly.”

He stood up and walked briskly away. “There, I said it,” Starsky stated definitively, his back to Hutch. “But I know you don’t feel that way about me, and I hope I haven’t ruined our friendship. The entire time you were gone, I was so scared I would never have the chance to tell you I’m sorry.” His voice was pleading. “I just want things to be like they were. Now, that I have you back, I can’t imagine losing you for a second time. It will never happen again. I promise.”

Sitting in stunned silence, his mouth gaping open, Hutch tried to comprehend what Starsky had just told him. It was what he had wanted to hear for so long. Blinded by happiness, he leapt from the couch, intent on pulling Starsky into a hug, while shouting he did want it to happen again…and again. But the nagging ache in his muscles quickly reminded him of Christian assaulting his body, and he stopped, his hands dropping to his sides in dejection. He sauntered up to him, reaching a hand out to lightly touch his elbow. “I…I don’t know what to say, Starsk.” I feel the same way. “We’ve always been so close. I can see where you might have misconstrued things. I understand.” You don’t know how much I understand. “I’m glad you told me.” I wish I could tell you. “We’ll just act as if it never happened. Okay?” What am I saying? I wanted it to happen. How can I force it from my mind? Starsky, I want you so much it hurts.

Starsky turned around, noticing a slight tremble in Hutch’s voice as he spoke, and regretted putting such an emotional burden on him so soon after his ordeal. He was somewhat surprised at Hutch’s dispassionate attitude, but attempted a halfhearted smile and reluctantly replied, “Okay.” But I won’t forget it, babe-ever. I love you.

On the verge of losing control of his emotions, Hutch felt the desperate need to be alone. “Hey, I’m kinda hungry,” he plotted, hoping to get Starsky to leave.

While still leery of the ready acceptance of his confession, Starsky was glad to see that Hutch had an appetite. “Me, too,” he agreed. “I’ll fix us some eggs or somethin’.” He swaggered toward the refrigerator. “I’ll see what else you have in here to go with it.”

“No, I really don’t want eggs. I was kinda hopin’ for some of that cashew chicken from that little Chinese take-out restaurant over on Devonshire. You know the one with the little fortune cookies you like so well.”

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Starsky agreed with a smile, pleased that he had chosen a place they both favored, though unbeknownst to Hutch, he would have eaten tofu stir-fry with a chaser of goat’s milk at that point if he had suggested it. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’m fine.” Hutch watched him leave, glancing out the window to make sure he had driven away. He slumped down on the couch, leaning his head back as his emotions took over. Oh, my God, he feels the same way. He feels the same way. He crossed his arms over his churning stomach, flinching as he brushed against the bruises above his hips, a grim reminder of the night before. He reflected on Christian’s last words to him-you’ll always be mine-and, in a sense, those words were true. He could never be with Starsky now. There had been no need to tell him what had gone on in that room. Starsky knew the sordid truth; he had seen it in his eyes. He knew he could never reveal his true feelings to him now. Starsky would never want to kiss him where Christian had, touch him where Christian had. Christian had managed to take everything from him in life and death. He picked up the juice glass from the coffee table and hurled it toward the wall. “Damn you, Alex Christian! Damn you to Hell!”

~*~*~*~

Starsky returned with two large sacks of food, fortune cookies heaped in mounds on the top. “Hey, Hutch,” he announced as he entered the apartment, not immediately seeing his partner. “I got extra cashews, just like you like.” As he laid the sacks down, he saw Hutch kneeling on the floor, picking up shards of glass. “What happened?” he asked with alarm as he rushed to help him.

“I, uh, dropped my glass, that’s all.” Hutch tried to brush it off. “Some mess, huh?”

Glancing at the wall, Starsky noticed the remnants of pulp sticking to the surface. Still, he didn’t question Hutch’s explanation. “Here, let me do it. You go sit down.” He placed his hands on Hutch’s waist, intending to help him to his feet.

Wincing in pain, Hutch inadvertently batted Starsky’s hand away.

“Hutch? What’s wrong?” Starsky asked with grave concern, as he moved toward his retreating partner.

“Nothing, Starsk,” Hutch lied as he backed away. “You…you just startled me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Starsky countered, eyeing his friend suspiciously. “You’re hurting, aren’t you? Damn it! I thought you said you were okay.”

“I am. I’m just a little sore from when they pulled me in the van. That’s all it is.”

“Let me see.” Starsky moved toward him, reaching for his sweater.

“No!” Hutch replied adamantly, holding his sweater taught at the bottom.

“I wanna see how bad it is. The doctor may have missed somethin’.” Starsky backed him up against the wall.

“Starsky, I said I’m fine.” Hutch started to move to the side. As he did, Starsky grabbed his forearm, bringing his hand up along with the tightly clenched sweater. The bruising and abrasions on his right side were in plain view.

“Oh, my God,” Starsky uttered in shock.

Hutch released his grip on the sweater, knowing it was useless to hide the rest. He stared at the ground in disgrace.

Starsky gently lifted Hutch’s sweater away from his waistline, examining the rest of his abdomen. From the angle and shape of the marks, it didn’t take long for him to discern what they were or how they got there. He looked into the shamed eyes of his friend, their blue tint muted behind a wall of tears. “Christian did this to you, didn’t he?”

Hutch felt the world closing in on him as Starsky stared at him in disbelief. “Get out,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.

“What?” Starsky asked, uncertain whether he had heard right.

“I said get out,” Hutch repeated, his face stern even as a tear streamed across his bruised cheekbone.

“I’m not leaving you here by¾”

“I SAID GET OUT!” Hutch screamed as he pointed toward the door.

Starsky held his hand out toward Hutch in an attempt to calm him, but the raging blue eyes were unforgiving. His outstretched hand curled into a lax fist as if attempting to grasp what Hutch was feeling, then dropped to his side helplessly as he left the apartment. Standing in the hallway, he leaned against the closed door, hearing the muffled sobs of his friend on the other side. He turned to reach for the doorknob, then stopped, realizing Hutch must blame him for what he had endured, and had every right to.

Hutch started for the door, hating himself for hurting Starsky because of his own torment. As his hand touched the doorknob, he stopped, realizing Starsky must be appalled by what he had seen. Maybe it was better this way. How could Starsky desire him after what he had seen? Now, it would be easy for his friend to rid himself of the feelings he had for him and be free to love someone else, someone more deserving than him. Starsky could forget him. If only I could forget you.

~*~*~*~

Sitting alone in his apartment, Hutch crumpled another empty beer can in his hands and tossed it with careless aim at a nearby trashcan. The phone continued to ring intermittently. He knew who it was, but couldn’t bring himself to answer it. As the clock approached midnight, he nodded off into a drunken slumber, finding little peace in the deluge of nightmares that followed.

Starsky lay stretched across his bed, the phone propped on his chest. As his call went unanswered again, he hung up the receiver in exasperation. Hutch had never shut him out like this before, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. They had always been able to work through things-Gillian, his heroin addiction-he’d even discussed the kiss, but this was different. What Hutch had sacrificed for him went beyond the duties of friendship, and it was because of him that he had been put in that position. He decided it would be best to give Hutch a little space and hope that the damage to their friendship was not irreparable. Maybe with time, Hutch would get over the resentment he surely felt toward him. Setting the phone aside, he huddled down under the covers, watching the clock, waiting for morning.

~*~*~*~

Hutch reached toward his temples as a relentless pounding surged through his head. He winced as he took notice of the numerous beer cans scattered aimlessly near the trashcan, his futile attempt to forget the night before. His apartment reeked of the lingering smell of Chinese food, the sack Starsky had placed in the chair still remaining where he had laid it, the outside now covered in a greasy stain. Moving with obvious stiffness, he shuffled to the bathroom, his body aching more today than the previous. He debated a morning jog, attempting to get back to his normal routine, but the pained effort to even get the sweater over his head quickly changed his mind. Opting for a brisk walk instead, he showered and, donning sunglasses, jeans, and another turtleneck, headed out the door.

The sky threatened rain, its dark overcast boasting an unusually chilly breeze. Hutch sauntered down the sidewalk, hoping the cool air would help ease his head and clear his mind. Everything seemed different to him, the melancholy expressions on the people he passed a mere perception of his own outlook on things now. He strolled down by the beach, listening to the waves pounding the shore as the cries of seagulls loomed overhead. Pausing for a moment, he looked out over the water, his eyes straining to see where the ocean met the sky through the mist of the rushing water. His thoughts turned to Starsky, never far from his mind, wondering what he thought of him now, knowing what he had done with Christian. How could Starsky ever touch him again, no matter how briefly, without pausing to think of Christian’s hands upon his body, sickened by the mere thought of it. He kicked at the grains of sand at his feet, as he asked himself how he could so gallantly defend his actions. The answer pervaded his very soul-by succumbing to the seduction of a man who had threatened to murder the most important person in his life. He had no right to say that he loved Starsky, that he desired him, no matter how boundless his feelings were.

~*~*~*~

Starsky had been awake for hours, pacing his apartment, his conscience eating away at him with every passing minute. Grabbing the phone, he dialed all but the last digit of Hutch’s phone number, only to lay the receiver back down in despair, desperately trying to give Hutch the time he needed. Hutch was angry with him, and he had every right to be. What he had suffered at the hands of Christian was because of him. Hutch had scurried from his apartment in disbelief, his best friend pawing him like a schoolboy with a crush. He had taken advantage of the unique closeness they had shared over the years, sending Hutch into the grips of a madman. The thought of Christian’s hands upon Hutch, his Hutch, knowing he hurt him-it was driving him insane with regret and guilt. He couldn’t sit back and let everything they had shared between them crumble. If he had to crawl upon his knees, begging for forgiveness he would. He wouldn’t let Hutch go through this alone. Grabbing his keys, he headed out the door.

Arriving at Hutch’s apartment, Starsky rapped lightly on the door, nervously waiting for him to answer. A sense of déjà vu encompassed him, as he recalled standing there a few days ago waiting for that door to open, only to find his friend missing, the beginning of a nightmare.

“Hutch?” Starsky called out. Without waiting for a reply, he retrieved the key from above the doorframe and let himself in. Panic surged through him as he glanced around the empty apartment. “I should’ve never left him,” he muttered with regret.

“What’re you doing here?” Hutch asked in disgruntled surprise from the doorway.

Starsky turned around to the welcome sound of that familiar voice. “Hutch, thank God. Where were you? I thought something had happened to you.”

Hutch walked past him toward the kitchen, showing little emotion. “I just went for a walk.” He began to gather a conglomeration of ingredients and set them next to the blender.

“Oh,” Starsky replied, somewhat relieved as he followed behind him. “I tried to call you last night,” he added.

“I know.” Hutch carefully measured a powdery substance and dumped it into the blender, along with the other items.

“I was worried about you.” Starsky leaned against the counter, staring intently at Hutch, attempting to get him to look up from his task. “Still am.”

Hutch turned on the appliance; its loud whirling sound drowning out his reply.

“What?” Starsky asked, his voice rose over the racket.

Hutch stopped the blender long enough to add more milk. “I said you shouldn’t be,” he repeated before switching the blender back on high.

Irritated by the noisy intrusion into their conversation, Starsky reached over and turned it off again. “I think we need to talk. There’s something you’re not telling me. You can’t just keep everything bottled up inside like that. Tell me what happened.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Hutch turned the blender back on.

Starsky reached over and switched it off once more. “Yes, it does matter! Damn it, Hutch, talk to me.”

Hutch jerked the glass pitcher from its stand in frustration and poured the half-blended drink into a glass. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?” he snapped. “It’s over. I told you I just want to forget about it. Okay?”

Starsky’s jaw tightened with defiance. “No, it’s not okay. Don’t shut me out…please.” He reached his hand toward Hutch’s shoulder only to have him move away.

“I just want to be by myself right now.” Hutch stared blankly passed Starsky.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Fine.” Hutch set the glass down on the counter. “If you won’t leave, then I will,” he said with determination, as he trudged from the kitchen.

“Hutch, wait!” Starsky followed him toward the door only to have it slammed abruptly in his face as Hutch left. He didn’t go after him, fearful of only making things worse.

Hutch slid behind the wheel of his car, then realized he didn’t have his car keys or even his wallet anymore; they had been taken during his abduction. Sighing in hopeless exasperation, he slammed the car door and marched off on foot, as a cold drizzle began to fall.

Tucking his hands in his jean pockets for warmth, Hutch found himself wandering in no general direction, just wherever the next street corner led him. He walked for what seemed like hours until, tired and cold, he settled on a park bench along the oceanfront. The drizzle had turned to a steady rain, saturating his hair and clothes. His body shivered from lack of warmth, but he didn’t care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Propping his elbows on his knees, he held his head in his hands, gripping his hair within long, slender fingers as the water dripped from his rain-soaked skin.

Starsky peered out the fog-shrouded window and wiped the glass with his shirtsleeve once again, watching in despair for Hutch to return. The rain pummeled the sidewalk relentlessly, the dark gray sky showing no signs of the downpour letting up. He couldn’t leave Hutch out there. With a determined hit of his fist on the side of the window, Starsky headed for the door, his mind made up. He would bring Hutch home if he had to drag him back.

It didn’t take long to locate him, a lone figure sitting on a bench in the cold rain, staring out over the water. Starsky strolled silently up to him and sat down, looking in the same direction, ignoring the water dripping from the dark curls onto his face.

“What happened to all that sunshine the weatherman promised?” Starsky asked gently for lack of anything better to say.

Hutch remained still, his only response a shiver that seemed to shake his entire body.

Starsky reached to put his hand around Hutch’s shoulder.

Hutch leaned away from his touch.

“C’mon, Hutch, you can’t sit out here in the rain forever. You’ll catch pneumonia or somethin’. Let me take you home. You can crawl into bed where it’s warm, and I’ll fix you a nice hot bowl of soup.”

Hutch’s teeth chattered as he spoke. “I’m…I’m f-fine.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t sound fine to me. You’re freezin’.” Starsky stood and looked down at him. “I’m not takin’ no for an answer this time. You’re goin’ home with me or else were both going to be sittin’ out here when the beachcombers come out tomorrow mornin’. Besides, this park bench isn’t big enough for the two of us to sleep on, and I’m not too crazy about layin’ on that wet sand with those little crabs with the big bug eyes and huge pinchers runnin’ around all over the place. You remember what happened the last time one of those little monsters got a hold of me.”

The corner of Hutch’s mouth lifted in a meek smile, as he recalled his partner hopping on one foot, screaming for him to remove the crab with the death grip on his big toe.

Seeing Hutch’s tough exterior soften a bit, Starsky angled his body toward the car, hoping he would follow. “C’mon, Blondie, let’s go home.”

Another shiver wracked Hutch’s body. With little strength left to argue, he reluctantly followed. By the time he was inside the car, he was shivering uncontrollably. Starsky retrieved a blanket from the trunk and wrapped it carefully around his partner’s shoulders, giving careful attention to tucking it snugly behind him. Hutch was too cold and exhausted to refuse and gratefully huddled within the warm refuge of the cover.

No words were exchanged on the way back to Hutch’s apartment, Starsky deciding that could wait until later. He glanced over at Hutch, his head propped against the window with eyes closed, dripping blond hair appearing three shades darker, framing the outline of his battered face. His body was still shivering under the blanket, his lips boasting a purplish hue that matched the bruise on his cheekbone. Starsky reached over and pulled the blanket closer under Hutch’s chin and gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. Almost home, babe.

Nudging him awake, Starsky helped Hutch up the stairs and into the apartment.

“Here, sit down on the bed,” Starsky motioned. “I’ll get a hot shower started.”

“No, too tired,” Hutch mumbled, his strength waning. “I just wanna go to bed.”

“Okay, we have to get you into some dry clothes, though.” Starsky reached for Hutch’s sweater.

Hutch grabbed Starsky’s wrist, stopping him. His tired eyes pleaded with him, hoping he would respect his wishes.

Starsky moved away, his expression conveying he understood. “Hey, while you get changed I’ll go put some soup on, okay?”

Hutch nodded in agreement. He had no desire to eat, but was grateful to be left alone.

When Starsky returned a few minutes later, he found Hutch in bed, dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas his aunt had given him several years ago for Christmas-the same ones he claimed he would never be caught dead in but never had the heart to throw out. He had the collar pulled close to his neck, along with a sheet and two blankets.

“Chicken noodle soup ala Starsky is served,” Starsky announced in an upbeat voice, as he approached with a tray.

“I can’t eat anything,” Hutch replied wearily. “I just wanna go to sleep. Go on home.”

“I’m not leavin’ again and neither are you,” Starsky stated firmly. “You’re stuck with me, pal.”

“Why can’t you understand I don’t want you here?” Hutch asked, his voice weak with fatigue.

“I’m not leavin’.” Starsky crossed his hands behind him, his stance unwavering.

Hutch rolled over on his side in frustration. He was too tired to argue and his wise friend knew that. “Suit yourself,” he mumbled.

Starsky smiled briefly. He had won that battle, but it would surely be a short-lived victory. Tomorrow would bring a new challenge, getting Hutch to open up to him. He leaned over and smelled the aroma of the soup he carried and wrinkled his nose, the canned variety never being able to match that of his Aunt Rosie’s. Hutch’s breathing had already settled into an even rhythm, giving him peace of mind. He disposed of the soup and took a quick shower before situating himself on the couch, his head propped so he would have a clear view of Hutch’s bedroom. Reluctant to sleep, he shut his eyes intermittently, long enough to ease the burning sensation, each time leaving them closed a little longer until he gave in to his exhaustion and drifted off into a deep slumber.

Several hours later, a blood-curdling cry reverberated throughout the apartment. “No! Please, no!” Hutch screamed from the bedroom. “I’ll do anything, just please don’t kill him!”

Starsky awoke abruptly to the sound of his partner’s pleas. He leapt over the back of the couch, bounding toward the bedroom to see Hutch struggling once again with the visions in his mind.

“No!” he shouted again, clutching the blanket as if he held his tormentor’s clothes within his grasp. “I said I’ll do anything!”

“Hutch!” Starsky knelt on the bed, pulling Hutch into his arms. “Wake up! C’mon, buddy, it’s me!”

“No! Don’t kill him!” Hutch began to struggle, attempting to get away.

“Hutch!” Starsky held him in an unyielding embrace, refusing to let go. “C’mon, babe. It’s okay.”

Hutch finally opened his eyes, responding to the comforting voice of his partner. Grasping Starsky’s upper arm, he held on tightly as his eyes darted wildly around the room trying to focus on where he was. “Oh, God! Oh, God!” he repeated through short gasps of air.

“I’m right here,” Starsky soothed as he rubbed his back.

Hutch slowly reached his hand up, brushing the surface of Starsky’s face with his fingertips as if it were a mirage. “You’re okay?” he asked with uncertainty.

“Yes, I’m okay.” Starsky felt a tug at his heartstrings as he held his trembling partner.

Even as Hutch’s nightmares taunted him, forcing him to relive his ordeal, his concern had still been for Starsky.

Hutch hunkered down within the security of his partner’s arms, rubbing his cheek against the warmth of his chest. The brick wall he had attempted to hide behind came crumbling down. “Don’t go. Please, don’t go,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Not goin’ anywhere.” Starsky breathed a sigh of relief, as he felt Hutch relax in his arms, accepting his presence. He held him like that for several minutes, reassuring him with gentle strokes upon his back and arms. The tingling in his legs still folded underneath him was a quick reminder of his uncomfortable position, and he relinquished his hold on Hutch long enough to shuffle toward the headboard where he could stretch out.

“Don’t go,” Hutch implored, as he reached for Starsky’s shirt, immediately aware of him moving away.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” Starsky reassured. “Just gettin’ a little more comfortable, that’s all. Go on to sleep.” He slowly made his way toward the head of the bed, careful to keep Hutch cupped in one arm. Finally able to relax in comfort, he leaned against a pillow, pulling his partner to his chest.

Hutch settled in the crook of Starsky’s arm with a natural complacency, as if that space existed just for him. The nightmares seemed unable to penetrate the protective shield of his partner’s embrace, and he slept peacefully the rest of the night, Starsky’s even breathing matched with his own.

~*~*~*~

“Hey, how long you been awake?” Starsky asked, as he rubbed his hand across Hutch’s shoulder, still nestled in the bend of his arm. He looked down to notice the vacant blue eyes staring straight ahead, seemingly focused on nothing.

“Not long,” he replied. His hand was cupped across Starsky’s stomach, his thumb moving lightly across the surface.

Starsky turned his head to get a better view of his friend, nudging him lightly on the arm to break his transfixed gaze. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Hutch sat up looking at Starsky in an unsettling fashion. He drew his hand down the side of Starsky’s face, pausing with his fingertip lightly touching the end of his chin before letting it drop. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Starsky asked, his head tilting curiously as he saw an unfamiliar look on Hutch’s face. “For letting you use me as a pillow?” He patted his stomach. “It took a lot of donuts and tacos to get my belly cushy like that. Might as well put it to good use.”

Hutch appreciated Starsky’s attempt to humor him and smiled briefly, but his expression quickly turned serious as his gaze lingered on the man beside him-thick dark locks laying in misshapen curls against the pillow, azure blue eyes moist with the emotion of the moment, arms draped lazily across his chest, strong and capable of protecting, of holding…of loving.

An eerie silence fell over the room as blue delved into blue, each reaching the other’s soul. For a brief moment, they made a connection between them, something they both desired but had denied. Neither one moved, held in place by a yearning for more.

Starsky blinked in disbelief, uncertain whether he had misunderstood what he saw reflected in his partner’s eyes, but he didn’t dare question it. He was a prisoner to his own emotions, vowing he would never let his feelings surface again, acutely aware of what that had cost him in the past.

Hutch almost surrendered to the lure of those lips, slightly parted, flushed with color. He leaned forward ever so slightly, then quickly turned his head, shifting his body so his back was toward Starsky. He was terrified to see how easy it had been to be drawn into that allure, with nothing more than an exchange of looks between them. The temptation would always be there, something he had to change. “Look, I appreciate you staying last night,” he uttered, as he restlessly ran his hand through his hair. “But I want you to leave now.” There was a tone of finality in his words.

“Leave?” Starsky asked in astonishment. “I’m not leavin’.”

Hutch sighed in frustration and walked away from the bed, “Why won’t you listen to me?”

“I am listening, Hutch,” Starsky replied as he sat up. “I hear what you’re tellin’ me, even if you don’t say the words. That’s why I’m staying. I know you don’t really want me to leave, so why are you trying so hard to shut me out? One minute you’re begging me to stay, the next you’re telling me to leave. I don’t get it. I thought you needed me.”

“Well, you thought wrong!” Hutch whirled to face Starsky, his fists clenched in anger. “I don’t need you!”

Starsky’s head dropped, the sting of Hutch’s words tearing into his heart. He slowly looked back up as he whispered, “Why didn’t you let Christian kill me?”

“What?” Hutch asked in disbelief.

“Why didn’t you just let him kill me?” Starsky repeated as he walked toward Hutch, his voice quivering with emotion. “It’s obvious you resent me for being forced to make the decision you made. No matter how many times I tell you I’m sorry, it’ll never change what you had to do to keep me alive. But you shutting me out of your life is worse than any death I could have suffered at the hands of Christian. You should’ve just let him kill me.”

The harshness of those words made Hutch realize how insensitive he had been to Starsky’s feelings. He’d been so selfishly wrapped up in his own pain, trying to do what he thought was best for Starsky, that he never offered any explanations, instead leaving his friend to believe that he had regretted and resented what he had done to save him. Hutch took Starsky firmly by the arms. “Is that what you think? That I resent you? That I regret the choice I made? Starsky, I would die for you. Don’t you know that? There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing.”

Starsky stared at Hutch in confusion. “Then why are you so angry with me?”

Hutch began pacing the floor, trying to find a way to explain. “It’s not you that I’m angry with. It’s me. That night with Alex…” He took a deep breath, drawing his hand across his face. “When he…when I let him…”

Starsky stepped in front of Hutch, taking the distraught face between his palms. “Hutch, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay!” Hutch yelled as he pulled away. “Don’t you see? He was going to kill you and still I…I…enjoyed it. No, I didn’t enjoy it, I hated every second of it, but still I…”

Starsky understood what he was attempting to say. “You’re only human.”

“That’s no excuse!” Hutch shook his head defiantly, while beginning to pace again. “Starsk, he could have taken you away from me forever, and still I got off on what he did to me. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“It was out of your control,” Starsky reassured, following Hutch’s gait. “It’s not your fault.” He grabbed Hutch’s arm, stopping his movement. “I’m sorry you had to go through that for me.”

Hutch threw his hands up in frustration. “No! I don’t want you to tell me you’re sorry. I told you I would do anything for you. It’s just, now, everything is different.”

“Why?” Starsky asked in bewilderment. “You’re still my best friend, my partner.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Hutch was growing increasingly uptight, as he struggled to explain himself. “That night you kissed me…”

“Oh…that…” Starsky uttered with regret. “Hutch, I told you nothing like that will ever happen again. If you think you have to worry about me makin’ a pass at you or somethin’-you don’t. I can understand how you might think that’s changed things between us. I wish I could take it back.”

Hutch’s expression grew stern. “Don’t say that.” He took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes, before bringing his hand up to gently cup Starsky’s jaw. “Starsk, the only thing that got me through that night with Alex, was…was picturing in my mind that I was with you.”

Starsky’s face turned ashen, his mouth gaping open in astonishment. For a moment he couldn’t say anything, too stunned to react, until he finally managed to utter, “Wait a minute. You mean you feel…I mean, you want…?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Hutch replied softly.

“But, Hutch,” Starsky countered. “When I kissed you, you practically ran from my apartment.”

Hutch turned away, crossing his arms across his stomach, shaking his head with remorse. “Oh, Starsk, I left because I didn’t dare believe that something I had wanted for so long had just happened. I didn’t know if you had drunk too much or what. You hadn’t been acting like yourself lately. I was overwhelmed and just had to get out of there to sort through things, but then I felt terrible for leaving you. I wanted to go back and talk to you, to find out what you were really feeling, but my car was acting up, so I was going to call you when I got home. That’s when they took me. The entire time I was on that boat, I replayed that kiss a million times in my head, wondering if you could possibly feel the same way about me as I do you. It was all I had. Alex dictated what I did every waking minute-when I ate, what I ate, what I wore, when I slept, taking away every part of who I was, but he couldn’t take that from me.”

Starsky turned Hutch around to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

“It didn’t matter before now,” he replied. “I didn’t want you around anymore because I thought it was best for you after what had happened with Alex. Then, when I saw what you were putting yourself through, taking the blame for everything, I knew I had to tell you.”

“Don’t you think I should be the one to decide what’s best for me?” Starsky asked incredulously.

“Starsk, I never intended to hurt you. Believe me, I didn’t. It’s just that I realized I could never be with you now, not like that.”

“Why, if it’s what we both want?”

Hutch slipped his pajama top over his head. “Look at me!”

Starsky didn’t flinch as he saw the purplish mark on Hutch’s neck or the now more prominent bruising and scratches on his sides.

Hutch’s voice was strained with emotion. “I saw the look on your face when you saw these marks the first time. You were appalled. Now you know I even got off on it. How can you ever want to touch me again? Do you think I don’t know what’s going through your mind when you look at me now?”

Starsky walked slowly toward Hutch. “You want to know what I’m thinking when I look at you now? I’m thinking that I see the man I love standing before me, a man who made the ultimate sacrifice to save my life, for which I love him even more, if that’s possible.”

Hutch took a step backward, apprehensive about the narrowing space between them.

“I see the most beautiful person,” Starsky continued, “inside and out, that I have the privilege of calling my friend, that I want to call my lover.” He was now within inches of Hutch’s face, his lips moist with desire.

“Starsk, don’t, please.” Hutch slowly shook his head in denial, while his lips parted with anticipation.

“But I won’t make the same mistake again. Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you,” Starsky whispered. “Tell me, and I’ll stop right now.”

Hutch couldn’t deny his blatant desire to have those lips touch his once again. “I do want you to kiss me, but…”

It was all Starsky needed to hear. Without waiting for him to finish, he gently took Hutch’s face in his hands, his fingers interlaced in the soft blond locks as he pulled him to his lips, stopping him in mid-sentence. The kiss was feather light, lasting only a moment, but held an intensity that neither had felt before. Starsky moved his head back just enough to peer into the depths of the blue eyes before him, reluctant to give up that closeness. His thumb moved across Hutch’s bruised cheekbone, stroking the surface as if he were a fine China doll. “But what?” he asked with a simple smile.

Hutch was engulfed in rapture, forgetting what he had intended to say, only able to utter a mere, “Huh?” as he leaned into Starsky for another kiss.

Starsky eagerly offered his mouth again, capturing Hutch’s lips with an increasing pressure. The kiss was searing, passionate, all encompassing. He stepped closer to Hutch, pulling him tightly against his body as their tongues intertwined, exploring each other’s taste. He emitted a deep throaty moan, full of need and desire, as he traced the inner recesses of Hutch’s mouth, then pulled back slightly to nip and suck at the fullness of his lips.

The kiss sent ripples of pleasure throughout Hutch’s body, allowing the feelings he had kept suppressed for so long to surface through every nerve ending under his skin. He felt the cool air brush his lips as Starsky abandoned them, traveling across his jawbone and down the side of his neck. Panic began to surge through him, as Starsky neared the mark Christian had left above his collarbone. He stepped backwards, only to find himself flush with the wall, unable to retreat any farther.

Starsky suckled at the tender skin, reveling in its smooth texture, unaware of Hutch’s growing apprehension.

“Starsk,” Hutch uttered in alarm, his body tensing.

“Yeah, babe?” Starsky replied through panted breath, as he continued to kiss and lick at the fair skin.

“Starsk, don’t, please!” Hutch pushed Starsky back away from him. “I said don’t!” He hurried away, slipping his pajama top back on.

“What’s wrong?” Starsky asked in bewilderment. “I thought you wanted this.”

Hutch clenched his hands over his face in confusion, then let them drop to his sides. “I do. It’s just…”

Starsky approached him, his expression full of regret as he came to a stark realization. “Oh, God, I’m sorry for being so insensitive. I just got a little carried away. After what you went through, I should’ve known you weren’t ready for this.”

Hutch shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I just don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret, or be turned off by what you see. I mean…after what he did.”

Starsky smiled sympathetically as he rested his hands on Hutch’s shoulders. “Hey, did I act like I was turned off?” He raised a hand to Hutch’s face. “You’re still the same Hutch I’ve known for years, from head to toe, the Hutch I love. ‘Kay?”

Hutch let out a brief sigh of relief, not totally convinced by his partner’s words, and nodded.

“Look, there’s no reason to rush this,” Starsky assured. “We have all the time in the world. You have to be ready for it to happen. Don’t do it just for me. It has to be right for you, too.”

Hutch nodded again, rubbing his hands nervously across his arms.

Trying to make him more at ease, Starsky gave Hutch a quick pat on the shoulder. “How about we grab a quick shower and then I take you out for breakfast at that little café you like. That, uh…Nature’s Table?”

Hutch cracked a smile. “Starsk, you hate that place.”

“Well, maybe if I sweet talk the waitress, she’ll scrounge me up a pancake or somethin’.” Starsky raised and lowered his eyebrows in rapid succession.

Hutch paused as he deliberated the offer.

“C’mon,” Starsky persuaded. “My treat.”

Wanting to restore some sort of normalcy in his life, Hutch reluctantly agreed. “All right, but dinner is gonna be your choice.”

“Breakfast was my choice, too,” Starsky offered unselfishly.

Hutch smiled gratefully at his partner’s generosity before trudging off to the shower.

~*~*~*~

The quaint café was bustling with the late morning breakfast crowd when Starsky and Hutch arrived. Starsky was able to secure a blueberry muffin and a glass of milk, while Hutch opted for a plain bagel with fresh fruit. The outing seemed to do both of them good, their conversation light and tinged with humor.

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” Starsky commented after a brief fit of laughter.

A slow smile spread across Hutch’s lips. He was somewhat surprised himself at his more relaxed attitude, but had the man sitting in front of him to thank for that. “I want you to know I appreciate you standing by me through all of this,” he said with sincerity. “I know I haven’t been the most pleasant person to be around these last few days, and I just want to say thank you.” He reached over and covered Starsky’s hand with his palm, giving it a gentle squeeze, keeping it there with little regard for his show of affection in public. “Thank you for being there for me,” he reiterated.

Deeply moved by Hutch’s words, Starsky’s Adam’s apple quivered with emotion. “Hey, ‘s okay. I’ll always be there for you, no matter what.” Trying to avoid the feared soapy scene, he motioned toward the sun beaming brightly through the plate glass window. “Let’s take a walk. After the lousy weather we had yesterday, I think we’d both enjoy it.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Hutch replied in an upbeat tone.

They strolled from the restaurant onto the sidewalk, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, continuing the casual banter between them. The pleasant weather had enticed many people outdoors, the streets scattered with walkers, joggers, and bicyclists.

As they sauntered along, a taller man walking toward them caught Hutch’s attention. Dressed in a tailored suit and tie, the man had light brown hair, streaked with highlights of gold. His haunting blue eyes seemed ominously familiar. The man gave a quick nod and smiled broadly at Hutch as he approached.

What was just a fleeting glance from this passerby, Hutch deemed as a lingering stare that sent chills up his spine. The threat was all too real to him, and he grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacket and pushed him up against a nearby brick wall, determined nobody would ever leer at him like that again.

“What the hell you lookin’ at?” Hutch growled as he jerked the man back and forth. “Huh?”

“Hey, take it easy,” the man pleaded. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

Starsky lunged toward Hutch, trying to pull him from the defenseless man. “Hutch! C’mon, let him go.”

Hutch retained his death grip on the man’s coat. “Why were you smilin’ at me like that?” he screamed.

“It’s a beautiful day. I -I just found out my wife is going to have a baby. I was just happy, that’s all. I-I’m sorry,” the frightened man stammered.

“Hutch! Let him go!” Starsky demanded again.

Hutch held onto the coat for a moment more, before he saw the sheer terror reflected in the man’s eyes. He abruptly released him and turned away, shocked and dismayed at his actions. “I’m sorry,” he uttered as he walked off, rubbing his hands across his face in disbelief.

Starsky apologized to the shaken man. “Look, I’m sorry. He’s been through a lot lately. He didn’t mean anything by it.” He pulled one of his cards from his wallet. “Here’s my card. If there are any damages, give me a call. I’ll take care of it.”

The man reluctantly nodded and straightened his tie, before dashing away to the safety of a nearby convenience store.

Starsky found Hutch in a narrow alleyway, his head propped against his arms on the wall of a building. Laying a comforting hand upon his shoulder, he asked, “You okay?”

Hutch whirled to face him. “Hell, no, I’m not okay! Did you see what I just did?”

“Hutch, that man looked a lot like Christian,” Starsky explained. “I can see why that upset you.”

“Don’t patronize me!” Hutch spouted. “I had no right to do that.”

“It’s gonna take time before¾”

“Before what?” Hutch interjected. “Before I don’t physically attack every man that reminds me of him?” He hurried away before Starsky had time to answer. “Just take me home,” he called over his shoulder.

With a sigh of despair, Starsky followed Hutch back to the Torino.

~*~*~*~

Hutch sat down on the couch, restlessly running his hands across his thighs. Starsky walked up from behind, placing his hands upon Hutch’s shoulders, and began massaging them.

Hutch immediately leaned forward out of his reach. “Don’t,” he said firmly.

“Hey, I thought you liked my back rubs,” Starsky scoffed. “I’ve been brushin’ up on a few chapters in my book.”

Ignoring the attempt to humor him, Hutch stood and walked toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna lay down. I’m tired.”

Disheartened by the return of his reticent attitude, Starsky followed, refusing to let Hutch shut him out once again.

Hutch lay down on the bed on his side, facing the wall. Starsky stretched out next to him, his head propped on the pillows.

Sighing with annoyance as he felt the weight of his partner next to him, Hutch grumbled, “I said I’m tired, Starsk. I just wanna go to sleep.”

“C’mon, Hutch, don’t let this get you down.” Starsky rolled to his side, propping his head on his hand. “I thought after this morning, we were on the right track to getting you over this. And knowing how we feel about each other…we can get through this together.”

Hutch rolled to his back to face Starsky. “It’s not gonna work between us…ever. I tried. I really did, but it’s just not going to work.”

“Why?” Starsky asked with mild irritation. “Because of that one incident on the sidewalk, you’re going to throw everything away?”

“No, not just that.” Hutch’s gaze shifted to the ceiling. “How long will it be until I don’t see his face in my dreams, until I don’t see him passing me on the street, until I don’t feel his hands on my body, until I don’t remember responding to his touch even as he threatened to kill you. How long will it be? I can answer that…forever. You deserve better than that, Starsk.”

Starsky moved closer to Hutch, leaning over his face. “Hutch, he took you away from me once. I’m not going to let him do it again. I love you. Nothing is going to change that, nothing. If you let him do this to us, then he’s won. He got what he wanted, you. If you let me, I can help you get through this. I’m never gonna give up on you¾on us¾and I hope you don’t either.” He raised his hand to Hutch’s face, lightly trailing a finger down his bruised cheekbone until he reached the tip of his chin, turning his face to meet his gaze. “Let me take the pain away,” he whispered, his eyes glistening with emotion. “Let me love you.” He inched his face closer with a degree of hesitation, until he felt Hutch’s warm breath teasing his lips. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to touch Hutch’s in a soft kiss, brushing over it lightly.

As Starsky hovered over him, Hutch realized he was right. He couldn’t let Christian win. Powerless to resist the temptation any longer, he reached up and ran his hand through the thick dark curls of his partner’s hair, admiring the way it felt between his fingers. Lifting his head from the pillow, Hutch attempted to return the kiss, desperate to feel those lips covering his again, but Starsky pulled back.

“You sure you want this?” Starsky asked skeptically.

“Yeah, I want this. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Hutch replied with conviction. “Make love to me.”

In his wildest dreams, Starsky never thought he would hear those words come from his partner’s mouth. He took Hutch’s head between his hands, pressing repeated kisses across his face and back to his lips.

Hutch draped his arms around Starsky and pulled him closer as the kiss deepened, their tongues dueling for control. They lingered in the rapture of their joined lips until Hutch gasped as he felt his partner’s erection pressing against his thigh, his own arousal beginning to strain against the confines of his jeans. His hands moved down the small of Starsky’s back to his buttocks, giving them a gentle squeeze that initiated a low moan from his lover.

Starsky melted against him, his hands ruffling blond locks as his mouth moved to Hutch’s ear, nipping and biting the tender lobe. “We gotta do somethin’ about all these clothes,” he uttered softly into Hutch’s ear. He retreated long enough to sit up on his knees and slip the shirt over his head. Pausing for a moment, he looked at the sight before him-cornflower blue eyes surrounded by a cascade of golden sunshine, lips the color of a rose and as soft as its petals-almost to surreal to touch…almost. He leaned over and began to unbutton Hutch’s shirt one button at a time, trailing a succession of light kisses where the skin was now exposed. Feeling Hutch tense under him, he looked up to see that apprehensive look once again.

Hutch started to speak, but Starsky lightly placed his finger across Hutch’s lips and whispered, “Shhhhhhh. It’s okay. I promise.” He unbuttoned the last button and pulled the shirt wide open, exposing the smooth chest and abdomen.

“Starsk, I…” Hutch began nervously.

Starsky captured Hutch’s mouth in a dizzying kiss, stifling his words, then trailed his lips down the side of his neck once more.

“Starsk…” Hutch whispered again. “I…” His words were met with another kiss, this one more forceful, more demanding, silencing his protest.

“Is that the only way I’m gonna keep you quiet?” Starsky asked as he hovered over him, his lips stinging from the intensity of the kiss. “You’re beautiful from head to toe, and I’ll tell you that a thousand times if that’s what it takes, and kiss you a thousand more.” He ran his fingertip down the profile of Hutch’s face to the tip of his nose. “Now, what d’ya say we get out of these clothes, huh? I wanna love every square inch of you.”

The assuredness with which Starsky spoke to him, not only allayed Hutch’s fears, but also tantalized him with the thought of Starsky actually carrying through on his proposal. He nodded in eager agreement, sitting up to slide the shirt from his shoulders.

Starsky stood next to the bed and unzipped his jeans, their tight fit enhanced by the imposing bulge in front. As he slipped both jeans and briefs over his hips, his impressive erection sprang forth from a tangle of course dark hair.

Hutch anxiously bit the corner of his lip, as he saw his partner in a way he had never seen him before-his thick shaft heavy with arousal, unexplored territory mapping a course to ecstasy. He reached to unbutton his own pants, only to be stopped.

“No, let me,” Starsky directed. He climbed back on the bed, straddling Hutch’s legs at the knees. “Lay back.”

Hutch did as he asked, unable to have denied him anything at that point. He watched as Starsky unbuttoned his pants, then slowly slid the zipper down, almost taunting the straining cock that was confined behind it.

Inching backwards, Starsky worked Hutch’s boxers and jeans over his hips and long legs, finally freeing the pulsing cock from its prison. Now standing at the foot of the bed, he sighed deeply at his golden fortune waiting to be claimed. He crawled over the endless legs, pausing at the impressive erection that protruded from a mound of spun gold. Brushing his tongue across the tip, he savored the salty taste of his partner, his musky scent attracting him like a magnet.

Hutch waited with eager anticipation, as he watched Starsky approach him. His hips bucked upward at the teasing lick, wanting more, but then he felt the touch leave as swiftly as it came, his mild disappointment quickly replaced by ripples of pleasure as the touch reappeared, dipping in and out of his navel, tracing a path up his stomach, carefully avoiding his abrasions, until it reached a nipple. The gifted mouth of his partner alternated between gentle nips and licks, tweaking the tiny nub into a taut peak until Hutch thought he would scream.

“Oh, God, Starsk,” he cried out. “You’re drivin’ me crazy.” His back arched in helpless delight as the blissful torment continued. “You read a book on this, too?” he uttered in a heavy breath.

Starsky looked up long enough to smile at his precious partner. “Don’t need any book to tell me how to love you, babe.” He trailed his tongue to the other nipple, bestowing the same fate on it before abandoning it in favor of the rock-hard erection that beckoned its need.

Hutch drew in a sharp intake of air as he watched Starsky near his throbbing cock, his body tensing as he felt his lover’s warm breath brush the tip, the riveting sensation of cool air against his heated skin sending him spiraling out of control. He raised his hips from the bed in a silent plea for more.

In eager compliance, Starsky trailed his tongue across the tip and down the length of Hutch’s cock, tasting every impressive inch. He heard Hutch moan softly in response to the touch, followed by a stifled cry as he engulfed the pulsing organ into his mouth, sucking it with reckless abandon.

Hutch felt himself rocketed to the sky, certain he had reached the stars as a white-hot heat coiled through him. He firmly grasped the thick dark curls, damp with sweat, afraid the moment would end, but the pleasure continued. The vision of Starsky loving him he had pictured in his mind when he was with Christian, had become reality. It was then he realized it had never been Christian’s touch he had responded to, but Starsky’s¾the very thought of this man loving him enough to send him over the edge. “Oh, God, yes,” he mumbled, as the nightmare was obliterated from his mind, his body and soul so consumed by love, by passion for this man, there was room for nothing else, nobody else.

Starsky gradually took more of Hutch’s length into his mouth, then pulled back to the tip, only to take him again, sucking harder while gently fondling Hutch’s balls in his hand, making his lover writhe with pleasure underneath him.

“Starsk, I want to feel you in me,” Hutch confided, his voice strained with passion. “I need you now… please.”

Adrift in a sea of ecstasy, the words came to Starsky as if in a dream. He paused his attentions to Hutch, his voice trembling at the thought of pleasuring him this way. “Oh, babe, as much as I want to, I don’t think we should…I mean…so soon after Christian…you know-”

“Starsk, I told you I’m fine,” Hutch interjected reassuringly, as he raised his hand to Starsky’s face. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He paused for a moment before asking hopefully, “Do you want this?”

“You don’t know how bad,” Starsky replied, as his eyes scanned Hutch’s body.

Hutch firmly grabbed a handful of Starsky’s hair and pulled him down to meet his lips in a searing kiss, as his other hand wrapped around Starsky’s erection, gently stroking it. “Then please don’t deny me this,” he whispered seductively. “Please.”

Starsky nervously bit the corner of his lip, as Hutch’s ardent power of persuasion lured him in. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his voice quivering from the continued stimulation. “I still don’t think…” His voice trailed off as Hutch began to massage his balls.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” Hutch stated compellingly, a wry smile spreading across his face, as he saw Starsky’s hesitation falter.

“How can I say no with you doin’ that to me? Huh?” Starsky wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead. “Hold on a second.” He scurried to the bathroom and returned with a jar of Vaseline. Crawling back on the bed, he knelt over Hutch, giving him a tender kiss on the forehead. “You’re sure?” he asked again, staring into the blue depths ablaze with passion.

Hutch rolled to his stomach in reply, pulling his knees up under him to relieve the pressure on his still straining erection. “I want you…all of you,” he uttered, his voice husky with need.

Starsky moved behind him, his own rigid cock aching with desire as it brushed against the buttocks of his lover. His eyes briefly trailed to the marks on Hutch’s sides. It was the first he’d seen of the bruising on the back of his hips, dark and violent, reaffirming the sacrifice that had been made for him. Leaning across Hutch’s back, next to his ear, he whispered, “Love you so much, Hutch. Don’t wanna hurt you. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again. You tell me to stop at any time, okay?”

Hutch turned his face to rub his cheek against Starsky’s lips. “Don’t want you to stop. Want us to soar together.”

Starsky’s entire body tingled with anticipation, as he tossed the lid of the Vaseline jar aimlessly to the side. Scooping out a small amount with his index finger, he slipped it into the tight opening.

Hutch bucked at the cool sensation, his back arching slightly as Starsky worked to coat him.

“Okay?” Starsky asked with concern.

Hutch nodded. “Oh, yeah.” Another finger entered him, probing deeper until it touched him in a way that sent his senses reeling, a sensation he couldn’t describe, but reacted to by pushing backward against the fingers delving into him, seeking further stimulation.

As Starsky’s own arousal begged for attention, he removed his fingers to quickly coat his cock, as it grazed the crevice between the perfectly rounded buttocks. He gave Hutch a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder before spreading the pale cheeks and pushing against the puckered opening. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he reiterated.

“Don’t stop,” Hutch pleaded. “Do it now, please.”

Nudging forward with slight hesitation, Starsky eased inside, closely watching Hutch’s reaction for any signs of distress, but there were none. He moved in short, gentle thrusts working his way deeper, Hutch tight against him.

Hutch groaned his approval, shifting his hips to accommodate more of the thick shaft filling him until he felt Starsky’s balls touch his buttocks.

“God, you feel so good, babe.” Starsky paused a moment, just to bask in the reality of possessing this man, joined together as one. He leaned over and kissed Hutch on the shoulder, nipping at the fair skin. “Still okay?”

“Starsk, if you don’t do something soon, I’m going to lose my mind,” Hutch warned, as he wriggled his hips and tightened around Starsky, sending a shockwave of pleasure through his lover.

Starsky emitted a low moan, as he was called to attention by the tantalizing squeeze. “Mmmmm…you little devil.” Grasping Hutch at the shoulders, he pulled back and thrust forward again, slowly at first, moving steadily faster, until he was gliding in and out in a soothing rhythm.

The sensation of Starsky moving inside him, gentle yet commanding, ignited a fire within Hutch that raged like an inferno through every nerve ending under his skin. He emitted a sharp cry as Starsky unexpectedly reached under him and grabbed his straining cock, pumping it in unison with his thrusts.

Starsky stroked the leaking cock faster as he neared his peak, initiating a throaty moan from his lover. He thrust harder, droplets of sweat glistening on his body like tiny diamonds as he floated toward euphoria on an ivory sea, guided by unbridled passion and boundless love, until he reached his destination. With one last thrust, he plummeted over the edge, taking Hutch with him into a cascade of oblivion.

Hutch cried out as he exploded, relinquishing his hold on reality, spiraling through euphoria with such intensity that he grasped Starsky’s hand on his shoulder to keep from losing him in the freefall.

Their bodies quivered as the spasms rippled through them again and again, until they were both gasping for air.

Starsky collapsed onto Hutch’s back, pushing him to his stomach while kissing the tender skin at the nape of his neck. Hutch was breathing hard underneath him, not moving, eyes clenched tightly shut. Still lost in the throes of passion, it was only when Starsky leaned to kiss the fair skinned cheek that he noticed the strained expression on his lover’s face. Immediately alarmed, he gently slid from Hutch, and lay down beside him, running his hand through the disheveled blond locks.

“Hutch? You okay? Oh, God, did I hurt you?” Starsky asked in distress, his face draining of color.

Still fighting to catch his breath, Hutch didn’t immediately answer, adding to Starsky’s anguish, until finally he managed a simple shake of his head. A smile formed at the corner of his mouth as he uttered contentedly, “No…no…you didn’t hurt me. Starsk, that was incredible.”

His heart pounding in his throat at this point, Starsky sat up and grabbed a pillow, slinging it at Hutch’s head. “You scared me to death!” he scolded.

Hutch turned to his side and held a protective arm up, blocking the possible onslaught of another pillow attack, as he emitted a weary chuckle.

Starsky beamed in return, bowled over with love for this man. “C’mere, you.” He pulled Hutch into his lap, cradling his head against his bare chest. “I love you,” he asserted as he brushed a strand of hair from Hutch’s forehead.

“Love you, too,” Hutch responded with tired eyes and a sleepy smile.

Reaching behind him, Starsky retrieved his t-shirt from the floor. “Here, babe, let’s get you cleaned up a bit.” He carefully wiped Hutch’s belly then tossed the shirt aside, as he hunkered down next to his lover, pulling Hutch close to him. “Better now?” he inquired softly as he draped a blanket over them.

“Mmmmm…” Hutch replied, his eyelids growing heavy, exhausted but content in his shelter of love.

Starsky leaned over and planted three light kisses across Hutch’s brow before rubbing a hand across his own tired eyes. Within minutes, they drifted off into a peaceful slumber, nestled in each other’s arms.

~*~*~*~

A lazy yawn escaped from Starsky’s mouth as he awoke. The room was darker with the approaching evening, and he squinted to read the hands of the clock on the nightstand before blindly reaching for Hutch in the spot next to him. He quickly jerked his head sideways as his hand touched only empty space, not the smooth chest he had expected to feel. Immediately alarmed, he sat up, scanning the room.

“Hutch?” he called out as he unwrapped himself from the blankets and stepped into his jeans. “HUTCH?” he repeated louder, panic enveloping him.

“In here,” came a soft reply.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Starsky padded into the kitchen to find Hutch wrapped in his bathrobe, nursing a mug of steaming hot tea.

“Hey, anything wrong?” Starsky asked with concern. “You scared me there for a minute when I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“I’m fine,” Hutch replied with an air of confidence about him. Setting his mug on the counter, he strolled toward Starsky, greeting him with a lingering kiss on the lips as he reached his hand to tousle the dark curls at the back of his neck. “In fact, I’m more than fine.”

“Mmmmm…so you are,” Starsky purred in reply.

Hutch’s blue eyes smiled even before he did, his happiness genuine and unabashed.

“God, it’s great to see you smile again,” Starsky commented, his eyes moist with emotion.

Hutch wrapped his long arms around Starsky’s waist, pulling him into a gentle embrace. “I have good reason to, and it’s right here in my arms.”

Sighing with contentment, Starsky returned the gesture, nuzzling against the silky blond hair. “Feels so good right here,” he whispered under his breath. He traced his fingers down the length of Hutch’s spine, applying intermittent points of light pressure. As he reached the small of Hutch’s back, he pressed harder, bringing their hips together, sparking a fire as they brushed against one another. “How ’bout a massage?” he offered, as he leaned back to see Hutch’s reaction.

Hutch’s voice quivered, as he felt Starsky rub against him, “Well, that…uh…all depends on where those hands of yours plan on working their magic.”

Starsky reached a hand between the opening of Hutch’s robe, delighted to find his partner wearing nothing underneath. His eyes didn’t move from Hutch’s, as he stroked the growing erection. “Let’s just say it’s not your back muscles that feel a little rigid right now.” With a nod of his head, he motioned toward the bedroom. “C’mon my beautiful, blond lover, let’s see what we can do about this.”

The last rays of sunshine cast long shadows of the two lovers intertwined, capturing one last kiss before, hand and hand, they hurried to the bedroom, eager to explore every facet of their newfound love, a love they would never deny one another again.

Starsky & Hutch: Newfound Love by Julie Henderson