Ruby Slippers

Detective Mark Benemonti had just finished a late night at the station and was taking the scenic route home through Mitford’s little town park. It wasn’t quite seven yet, so it wasn’t crowded, and Mark was enjoying the quiet, the sight of green things just starting to sprout, and the brilliance of the rising sun -- along with a large travel-mug of strong coffee.

Then he crested the park’s small hill and saw a Greek god in sweatpants.

The guy was running a little distance away, on a path perpendicular to Mark’s own. In a moment, though, if the jogger stayed his course, he would turn and pass right by Mark.

He wasn’t tall, but his soft, ratty sweat-suit clung in all the right places to showcase broad shoulders, a washboard stomach, bulging thighs and -- oh, mama! -- an ass Mark could bounce quarters off. The guy might be running this morning but he looked like his normal workout included some serious weights.

The sun lit up the honey-colored stubble of the runner’s buzz cut and made his face glow golden, and then he was turning toward Mark and a pair of chocolate brown eyes with thick blond lashes eyes caught Mark’s attention. The detective, a blue-eyed anomaly in his Italian family, was a sucker for brown eyes.

The runner passed him, and those eyes cast Mark a sidelong look -- a mixture of curiosity and appreciation, Mark thought -- and Mark’s blood heated with excitement, hoping that the runner might stop, do a stretch, say good morning.

But he didn’t. He didn’t even slow. He just kept running, those eyes flicking away as the generous lips quirked into what might have been a tiny smile. Mark sighed, swigged the last of his coffee and resisted the urge to turn and watch. He couldn’t risk making the first move. He was out at work, but a gay police officer who hit on strangers in the park was just asking for trouble. And the guy was a complete stranger. Mark had a cop’s eye for faces, and this one was totally unfamiliar.

It was a small community, and Mark knew just about everyone who was gay and out, at least by sight. Well, apart from the downtown drag queen community, but since the guy had been pumping out enough testosterone to make Mark’s balls swell, Mark was pretty sure he wasn’t a tranny.

So, either he was new in town and Mark would -- pray to God -- run across him again or he was in the closet and…well, Mark had been there and had the scars to show for it. He was never dating a man who kept his real self a secret again. That was a surefire way to get your heart ripped out.

With such unhappy thoughts haunting him, suddenly a glance back at that killer ass felt like a good idea after all. Mark peeked over his shoulder -- just as a kid on a bicycle, his face hidden in a hoodie jacket, zipped past him and made a grab at the jogger.

The kid on the bike caught hold of the white ear-bud cord around the jogger’s neck and kept going, wrenching the jogger off his feet as the cord ripped away.

“Hey!” Mark shouted.

The kid put on a burst of speed, disappearing over the hill that Mark had just walked across. The runner went down hard on one knee, hands clutching at his throat. He made a harsh coughing noise and Mark, who had already broken into a run, immediately revised his plan to go after the mugger, and instead dropped into a crouch beside the injured man, tossing his coffee cup aside.

“Look at me,” he said, a note of authority automatically infusing his voice. He caught the jogger’s jaw between his hands, tilting his head to examine the rapidly reddening mark left by the ear-bud cord. “Lift your head. Are you okay? You can breathe?”

“Yeah,” the jogger said, coughing again. “Just bruised. Caught me off guard. Least the little bastard didn’t get my iPod. I always fasten it in my pocket.”

He pulled a tiny, hot pink iPod out of his pants pocket and displayed it proudly, a small, crooked smile on his face. Despite the situation, that sly smile and the man’s deep, rumbling voice -- which had a hint of a Southern accent -- instantly made Mark start to harden. Fuck.

“Yeah, but if you hadn’t fastened it so securely it wouldn’t have almost taken your head off when he pulled it,” Mark pointed out, letting go of the jogger’s face and trying to get control of his unruly libido as he picked up his now empty coffee cup. He didn’t normally have this problem around crime victims; either the guy really was a Greek god or it was way too long since Mark’d had sex. Or maybe both.