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Back From the Dead Part Two
by Lianne Burwell
September 2000
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Carl cat-napped for a half-hour before taking a quick 
shower to wash away the last of the stale evidence of his 
romp with Mack, then headed off to see a little more of the 
facility than just the one bedroom. As he headed for the 
stairs, he heard voices from one of the rooms he passed. He 
paused for a moment and listened to the indistinct, but 
definitely angry voices. After a moment, he heard the 
unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed by a 
body hitting the wall next to the door.

Carl grinned, then kept going. It sounded like Mack was 
definitely going to have a few more bruises to go with the 
one he'd delivered himself. Mack was probably going to have 
to drink his dinner, whenever that was. Maybe he should go 
looking for the kitchen himself, he thought as he descended 
the stairs. Sex always made him hungry.

On the other hand, he didn't know where the kitchen was, 
and he didn't want to wander into the wrong room until he 
knew what was were. That wouldn't be a smart move around 
here, he thought. Instead, he decided to head out to the 
porch, remembering several chairs being set up at one end 
of it.

The front door clicked shut loudly behind him and he 
belatedly realized that there was a keypad instead of a 
lock. Earlier, he'd been so focused on the unexpected 
resurrection of Mack Bolan that he hadn't noticed the man 
punching in a code to unlock the door.

He thought of knocking, then shrugged mentally. Sooner or 
later, someone would come looking for him. In the meantime, 
he would enjoy the beautiful afternoon and scenery. He 
settled into one of the adirondack chairs at one end of the 
porch and propped his feet up on the railing. He took a 
deep breath of the crisp mountain air and sighed in 
appreciation. The air of Los Angeles, his home town, was 
thick with smog this time of year, but in the Blue 
Mountains, it was as clean as you could find south of 
Alaska.

Not that he wanted to move here permanently, of course. He 
was a city boy at heart, and had no intention of giving up 
his apartment in LA. He'd been assured that there would be 
no problem with him commuting, living in LA between 
assignments and training. Still, this would be a great 
place to vacation.

A tractor rolled by, driven by a man who looked like a 
typical farmer; sunburned, dressed in faded blue jeans and 
a light shirt, with a battered wide-brimmed hat on his 
head. However, his eyes were cold when they came to rest on 
Carl, who, guided by instincts and long experience, 
deliberately made no moves that might be considered 
hostile. From the way the man's shoulder was shifting, he 
probably had a gun holster mounted next to him in the 
vehicle.

After a seeming eternity, the man relaxed, and his right 
hand came out of hiding to rest on the steering wheel. 
"Afternoon, Mr. Lyons," he said, nodded to Carl, then 
continued on his way.

Carl breathed a sigh of relief: He should have realized 
that his picture would have been shown to the 'locals' to 
make sure that someone didn't accidentally shoot him or 
something. Still, wandering around blindly would definitely 
be pushing his luck.

So, he stayed were he was and enjoyed the late afternoon 
sun. Every so often, he was subjected to the same intense 
scrutiny from every person who passed by, which was 
reassuring in its own way. It said that this outfit took 
security seriously.

An hour or so later, he was dozing lightly when a jeep 
pulled up in front of the building and April Rose, the 
statuesque lady who was head of this outfit and Mack's new 
lady, climbed down. Carl watched appreciatively as she came 
up the steps to the porch. Her movements were at the same 
time no-nonsense and sexy as hell. He could easily see how 
she had attracted Mack, and considering the man, she had to 
be both competent and one hell of a person to get his 
devotion.

For a moment, Carl felt a flash of jealousy, but he quickly 
suppressed it. While Mack Bolan might be a powerful, 
charismatic man and far too easy to fall for, he also 
seemed to have a death wish. Carl knew better than to fall 
in love someone like that, but still...

He forced those thoughts away as she walked over and 
dropped gracefully into the chair next to his. They sat in 
silence, staring out at the mountains, for a while. Carl 
thought about speaking, but decided against it. After all, 
what could he say to the woman whose man had just fucked 
his brains out? No, any conversation would have to be 
initiated by her.

"Mack still inside?" The question came out of the blue.

"Yep. With Pol and Gadgets."

"Enjoy your reunion?"

There was a wealth of meaning in her tone, but Carl wasn't 
going there yet. "Well, you might want to warn the cook 
Mack's going to want soft food tonight thanks to me and the 
others." He grinned and held up his right hand to show his 
slightly bruised knuckles.

April chuckled, the sobered again. "Mack told me about 
you."

"Since I'm here, I would expect so. Wouldn't have tapped me 
for this project otherwise."

She glared at him, and he knew that they wouldn't be able 
to dance around the subject much longer. "I'm talking about 
your sexual relationship." Bingo. There wasn't much he 
could say in response, so he stayed silent. "He told me 
what he was going to do when you got here. I said all 
right."

Carl frowned. "How... big of you," he said stiffly. He felt 
the slow burn of anger start, but shoved it back where it 
came from. She had every right to be upset.

"This once."

Carl sighed and shut his eyes, wondering if he should quit 
right now. He did *not* want to be at odds with the 
outfit's mission controller: it could lead to bad things in 
the field. "Let's be blunt, Miss Rose. Mack told me it was 
a last time fuck, and I have no problem with that." Liar. 
"Mack is great in bed, but I am not in love with him. He is 
not in love with me." A small pang of regret. "And besides, 
I am not a one-lover kind of guy. But then, you probably 
already know that." One of the many reasons his wife had 
divorced him, even though he'd tried for her. Oh, he'd 
tried. "So trust me, I am *not* a danger to your 
relationship with him."

He opened his eyes and looked over at her. She was 
blushing. "Sorry," she said. "That was uncalled for, I 
know. Just..."

"You're in love and think I could be a threat to that."

"Something like that," she said, shaking her head ruefully. 
"I told myself that I wasn't going to do this."

"Well, like I said, you needn't worry: I'm not going to try 
to take him away from you. But the question is, can you 
live with having me here? Can you work with your lover's 
ex... well, not exactly lover. Because if you can't, I 
should leave now before it gets someone killed."

She eyed him long and hard. "I can," she finally said. "The 
question is, can you?"

Carl sat back with a small grunt. That *was* the sixty-four 
thousand dollar question, and he gave it the consideration 
it was due. Realistically speaking, he could count on one 
hand the number of times he and Mack had come together for 
sex: hardly enough to have a claim on the man. His 
encounters with others during that time were a hell of a 
lot more numerous, and he would bet that Mack had been just 
as active. But sex with Mack was incredibly satisfying, and 
he'd always looked forward to the next time they'd run into 
each other. Could he be around Mack knowing that wasn't 
ever going to happen again? And could he take orders from 
the woman who was the lucky recipient of those favors?

"Yes," he said confidently. He didn't deny that it was 
going to be hard, but he believed that it would be worth 
it. Based on what he knew so far about this new 
organization, this was where he wanted to be and he was 
ready to put up with any amount of pain to be part of it.

Carl had gone straight from high school to the police 
academy, driven by a burning desire to fight crime and 
protect the weak, despite being ridiculed for his idealism. 
He'd ignored the teasing and taunts, concentrating on 
bringing down the bad guys. There'd been a couple of times 
where he'd had to butt heads with other cops, but his size, 
combined with his high marks on the shooting range, had 
kept that to a minimum.

Over the next few years, he rose quickly through the ranks 
based on his abilities and unwavering devotion to justice, 
although the second had sometimes created difficulties with 
those who were a little less than squeaky clean. By the 
time he'd reached the rank of detective sergeant at an 
unusually young age, he'd had a reputation for no-nonsense 
competence and a high solve rate.

And that was when Mack Bolan had entered his life.

Carl had first heard about Mack Bolan and his crusade 
against the Mafia the same way that everyone else had: from 
the evening news. Like a lot of people, he'd cheered the 
man and his goals, even if he was breaking the law to do 
it.

But then Mack had brought his war to LA and Carl had found 
himself assigned to Project Hardcase, the task force formed 
to bring him down. Even though Mack was doing what many 
others wished the police *would* do, the force seemed more 
interested in catching him, assigning more bodies to 
Hardcase than to stopping the criminals that had created 
him. For the first time, Carl had grown disillusioned with 
the job he'd loved.

That was why when Bolan had contacted him, he'd worked 
*with* the man, exposing a crooked cop inside the Hardcase 
task force. That was why when he'd had a chance to bring 
Bolan in, he'd not only let the man go, he'd allowed him to 
'steal' his car to do so.

After that, he'd kept working with Hardcase and later the 
SOG, hunting for Bolan while never bothering to hide the 
fact that he sympathized with the man and didn't really 
want to see him caught. It had led to stress on a career 
that had been considered perfect up until then and on a 
marriage that had been not quite so perfect. Finding out 
that 'that cold-blooded killer, Bolan' had sat in her 
living room, chatting with their son, had been the last 
straw for Janie. She'd left, taking Tommy with her. Carl 
hadn't fought her on the divorce or the custody. She'd been 
miserable as a police wife, even though she'd known what he 
was when she'd married him, and a man who risked his life 
on a regular basis wasn't exactly the sort of person who 
should be raising a child on his own.

So he'd thrown himself into his work until the pressure -- 
the *need* -- had grown too strong. Then he'd gone looking 
for the sort of satisfaction that Janie had never been able 
to give him. The sort of satisfaction that came from 
handing over control to someone else. His search had lead 
him to a gay bar he hadn't been to since before his 
marriage where he'd run into Mack. And his life had changed 
all over again.

And now... now he was in a place where he could finally 
work *with* Mack officially, but the price of that was the 
loss of the physical relationship they had shared. But, he 
told himself again, it would be worth it. Finally, he would 
get the chance to fight the forces of evil at the other 
man's side.

He snorted suddenly as images of him in spandex shorts and 
pixie boots, playing Robin to Mack's Batman, ran through 
his mind. April looked at him curiously, but he didn't 
explain why he was laughing. Instead, he grinned. "Mack is 
ticklish."

"Really? I tried, but it didn't do much." She perked up, 
looking very interested. Carl started to relax again.

Mack was going to kill him, but... "That's because he's not 
ticklish in the usual spots. Go for right below his right 
ear and his collarbone. Oh yeah, and he's *really* 
sensitive right below the curve of his ass. A very *fine* 
ass, I'm sure you'll agree."

April grinned at him. "That it is. You know, Mr. Lyons, I 
think we're going to get along just fine."

"Carl," he corrected her.

"And April," she agreed.

They settled back down into a silence that grew more 
comfortable by the moment and watched as the sun started to 
dip down behind the mountains until a throat clearing 
brought them out of their contemplative haze. Mack was 
standing at the house's doorway, watching them with a 
bemused expression. Carl could see the bruise he'd given 
the man darkening his jaw, along with several additions no 
doubt courtesy of his future partners. He'd met the two men 
briefly, more in passing, a few times in the past and he 
was definitely looking forward to getting to know them 
better. They seemed like his kind of guys.

"Dinner's ready," Mack said, looking like he wanted to ask 
a question but didn't dare.

April stood up and headed past Mack, pausing only long 
enough to brush gentle fingers over one of the bruises. 
Mack watched as she disappeared inside, then turned back to 
Carl.

"One hell of a lady," Carl said conversationally as he 
pushed to his feet, a little less gracefully than April 
had.

"One of the best," Mack agreed. "You two okay with this?"

Carl stared at Mack and briefly -- *very* briefly -- 
allowed himself to feel regret that things couldn't be 
different, that they couldn't have met under better 
circumstances without Mack's past and, to a certain extent, 
his own to keep them apart. Of course, without those pasts, 
they never would have met in the first place. Pain and 
pleasure, sorrow and joy. They always balanced each other 
out.

Then, having indulged himself, he locked those thoughts and 
feelings away, never to be acknowledged again.

"Yeah, we're okay. Now, you said something about dinner? 
I'm starved."

Mack laughed. "You always are, Carl. You always are."

THE END