plik

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Dedication

To Eddie,

for patiently enduring the endless conversations

and brain-picking about this book,

and generally putting up with the insanity that comes

with being married to a writer.

I love you.

Lori

One

“This is James, sorry I’m away from my phone, but leave a message

and I’ll call you back.” Beep.

I cursed under my breath and snapped my phone shut before

dropping  it  unceremoniously  into  the  cup  holder.  He’d  left  a  voicemail  this
morning  about  going  out  tonight,  asked  me  to  call  him  back,  and  hadn’t
answered his phone all damned day.

Letting my head fall back against the headrest, I sighed. I wanted to

say  this  wasn’t  like  him,  but  lately,  it  was.  For  the  first  few  months  we’d
been dating, everything was fine, but over the last three, things had changed.
Long periods with his phone shut off at odd times of the day or night. Calls
and texts returned hours after the fact when he used to call back right away.
A  suggestion  of  plans,  only  to  invariably  have  something  come  up.
Voicemails  he  conveniently  didn’t  have  a  chance to  return  until  I  called,  at
which point he was just about to call me.

I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t like I was

a  high  maintenance  man  or  anything.  I  didn’t  expect  him  to  be  at  my  beck
and  call.  There  was  something  about  his  silences  and  cryptic  explanations
that didn’t sit well, though. The question was, did my suspicions come from
being a once-bitten boyfriend, or was it just the habit of a homicide detective
whose entire job revolved around picking apart little tells and details to see if
someone was lying?

Whatever the case, sitting out here in the diner’s parking lot with an

empty stomach wasn’t going to get me any closer to figuring out my other
half’s transgressions. Muttering a string of profanity, I got out of the car and
went inside.

My partner, Max Kessler, had already commandeered a booth and

ordered coffee.

“Problems with the boyfriend again?” he asked as I took a seat. He

slid one of the three cups toward me.

“Yep.” I pulled a couple of sugar packets out of the ceramic holder

beside the napkin dispenser. “How’d you guess?”

He laughed. “What else pisses you off and has you ready to throw

your phone through a window when we’re supposed to be enjoying a relaxed
dinner?”

“Good point.” I tightened my jaw. “Yeah, still having problems with

him.” Max was one of the few guys on the force who knew I was gay, and it
didn’t bother him in the slightest. He’d invited me to countless barbecues
with his family, and whoever I was dating at the time was always welcome.
Yet another reason we’d worked so well together for so long.

“When are you going to just dump his ass?” Max eyed me over the

rim of his cup. “If he’s making you this miserable…”

“Unless he comes up with a damned good excuse,” I said as I stirred

cream into my coffee, “he’s gone tonight. I’m over it.”

Max raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. I didn’t blame him for his

skepticism. How many times had I said that in recent weeks? Even I didn’t
believe me anymore.

Behind me, the diner door opened, and Max glanced up.
“Ah, there he is.” He waved, and I didn’t have to look to know

who’d joined us.

A second later, Andrew Carmichael slid into the booth next to me.

“Sorry I’m late. Physical therapy ran over. Again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’re just getting here ourselves.

How’s the arm?”

He scowled at his right arm, which was in a sling. “Improving

slowly. Emphasis on the ‘slowly’, not the ‘improving.’”

“Could be worse.” Max slid the third cup of coffee across the table to

Andrew.

“That it could,” Andrew said.
“I can’t believe they still have you in a sling after all this time,

though,” Max said.

“Oh, that’s just because of the surgery last week. They had to go in

and get all—”

“Don’t want to know right before I eat,” Max said, putting up a hand.
Andrew laughed. “Don’t want the gory details?”
“No, thank you.”
“Bit of a weak stomach for your line of work, don’t you think?”
“I can handle it, it’s just not appetizing pre-meal conversation, thank

you very much.” Max gestured at Andrew’s injured arm. “Any idea when
you’ll have full use again?”

Andrew shrugged with the other shoulder. “Another six months? A

year? Who knows? It’s better after they took out some of the scar tissue,
but…”

Max shuddered. “Ugh, man, I do not envy you.”
“You don’t?” Andrew grinned. “Come on, everyone wants a badass

battle scar.”

“Battle scars are fine and good,” Max said. “Losing the use of my

arm? No thanks.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Andrew muttered, and focused on

stirring sugar into his coffee. He was getting more and more adept at using
his left hand for tasks like that, but it wasn’t quite second nature yet. Laying
the spoon beside the cup, he said, “So, what’s new on the streets these days?”

“Same shit, different day,” I said.
“He asked about the streets, not your love life,” Max said.
Andrew cocked his head. “Christ, Brian, don’t tell me you’re still

having problems with James.”

“I’m still having problems with James.”
Andrew’s eyebrows pulled together in a sympathetic expression.

“You know, I think you’re onto something with him. I mean, everything
you’ve told me, I’d be surprised as fuck if he didn’t have someone on the
side.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said quietly.
“You really think he’s got another man?” Max asked.
I winced. “Maybe. That, or a woman.”
“I didn’t know he swung both ways,” Max said.
“I’m  pretty  sure  he  doesn’t,  but  quite  honestly,  I  don’t  know

anymore.” I sighed. “So help me, though, if he is, and uses that as an excuse
to cheat…”

Andrew sniffed. “He plays that card, I’ll turn Nick loose on him.

Nothing pisses him off more than cheaters using the bisexual excuse.”

“No kidding.”
Andrew’s boyfriend was as bi as the day was long, but there wasn’t a

man or woman alive who could turn Nick’s attention away from Andrew. In
spite of the tension between them since their respective injuries, I envied the
two of them. I couldn’t say if they were simply that in love, or if they just
refused to take each other for granted after nearly losing each other, but even
when they were sniping constantly, their relationship was what I ached for,
whether with James or anyone else. They’d put their lives on the line for each
other before and would do it again in a heartbeat.

“Well,” I said. “I don’t even know if he’s cheating or not. Maybe he

isn’t. Fuck knows what he is doing, though.”

Andrew shook his head. “I’m not kidding, man, if he’s that much of

a headache, just cut him loose.”

“He’s right, Brian,” Max said. “You have enough stress in your life.

You of all people do not need this shit, especially these days.”

I absently stirred my coffee, but didn’t say anything. They were

right. I knew they were right. God knew I’d discussed this with both of them
a dozen times in the last month or so, and I was running out of justification
for keeping James around. The fact that he hadn’t even met my two closest
friends after all this time was one of the many chinks in the armor of our
relationship. Neither of us had met each other’s friends or family. I’d

suggested it, he’d balked, and whenever he’d relented enough to make plans
with someone, he found a reason to bail at the last minute.

Oh, no, I wasn’t being jerked around.
About the only reason I stuck around lately was the mind-blowing

sex, and even that was happening less and less. For me, anyway. He probably
had plenty these days.

“Well, it would help if I could reach him.” I set the spoon beside my

coffee cup. “Kind of hard to dump a guy’s ass when I can’t even talk to
him.”

Andrew shrugged. “Just stop calling him, then. Quit returning his

calls, block his number, whatever you have to do.”

“Exactly.” Max inclined his head. “Okay, I’m not exactly Dr. Phil

here, and you know I wouldn’t normally pry into your personal life, but this
guy’s games are taking their toll on your ability to do your job. He’s gotta
go.”

Pursing my lips, I rubbed my forehead. “God, I don’t need this shit.”
“No, you don’t,” Andrew said.
That was an understatement. The city was a few months into a grisly,

escalating crime wave, and the last thing a homicide detective needed was to
be distracted by a philandering boyfriend while trying to solve these damned
cases.

I exhaled and shook my head. “Well, I’ll deal with him after work.

For now, I need some food before I put my fist through something.” It was
damn near six in the evening, and we had just now found a few minutes to
stop for a bite to eat.

Max laughed. “Skipped breakfast again, did we?”
“I was in a hurry.”
“Uh-huh.” He eyed me, then laughed. “Do I need to have Anna keep

after you like she keeps after me?”

“Oh, no, you signed up for that, not me.” I chuckled. “You’re the one

who married a woman with an iron fist.”

“Come on, now, she’s not that bad.”
“Sure she isn’t.” I looked at Andrew. “By the way, how are things

going with your better half?”

He laughed half-heartedly. “Same shit, different day.”
I furrowed my brow. “Everything okay?”
With a dismissive gesture, he said, “Just ironing things out. Same as

it’s been for a while.”

“Good God,” Max said with a wry grin. “Every time I tell myself gay

guys have it easy not having to deal with women, I just have to listen to the
two of you.”

Andrew laughed. “Says the man married to the pit bull.”
“The toy pit bull,” I said.
Max chuckled. He started to say something further, but his ringing

cell phone stopped him. He pulled it out and flipped it open. “Kessler.”
Pause. He stiffened, and I knew that change in posture well. He looked at me
and gave a slight nod.

I groaned. I was never going to get to eat today, damn it. To Andrew,

I said, “Looks like we have to bail.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the coffee.”
“Great. I’ll pay you back next time I see you.”
“Don’t sweat it. See you guys back at the precinct.”
On the way to my car, my heart pounded. Preemptive adrenaline

flooded my veins like it always did before we got to a crime scene. I’d been
to countless murders in my career, but I never knew what to expect. It could
be anything from a house with a stabbed body to a meat locker filled with
mutilated corpses. I couldn’t say there was never a dull moment in this job—
the infinite amounts of paperwork ensured there were plenty—but there was
no shortage of chaos, either.

“We’re about ten minutes from the scene,” Max said to the voice on

the other end. “On our way now.” He hung up and shoved his phone into his
pocket. “Multiple homicide in Masontown. Club on Jackson and Sixth.”

“Of course it’s Masontown,” I muttered as I pulled out of the parking

lot.  That  area,  the  “bad”  part  of  town  by  a  mile,  was  the  hub  of  the  city’s
massive  drug  problem.  In  the  last  three  months,  there’d  been  more  blood
shed there than in the entire city last year. A major drug ring had gone down
about  a  year  ago,  and  now  there  was  a  turf  war  going  between  the  three
remaining rings. While I wasn’t involved with narcotics, homicide had been
spending more and more time in the neighborhood recently.

If I had to rank every crime scene I’d set foot in during my career,

most  of  the  top  ten  grisliest  had  been  in  this  very  neighborhood.  Three  of
those had been in the last few months, and hazmat and crime scene cleanup
were  still  scrubbing  the  walls  and  floors  of  one  of  them.  Two  homicide
detectives  and  three  patrol  officers  had  resigned  or  transferred  out.  One
undercover  had  been  murdered.  Another  was still  on disability  after  a  near-
fatal wound. The chief had almost pulled the plug on all undercover ops for
officer safety, but those still working under cover had insisted on staying. In
spite of the risk, they were close to taking out the neighborhood’s entire drug
economy from the top all the way down.

For their sake, I hoped they were right.
A few blocks from the scene, an ambulance went screaming past us

in the opposite direction. A block away, another went by, its flashing lights
reflecting off the countless “for sale” and “for lease” signs in the windows of
businesses and apartments. I couldn’t say I blamed all the residents and
business owners for wanting to get the hell out of here by way of a moving
van as opposed to an ambulance like the one disappearing in the rearview.

“I get the feeling this one’s going to be messy,” Max said.
“It’s a multiple in Masontown and they’re calling us in.” I glanced in

the rearview again. “I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

Up ahead, it didn’t take much to figure out we’d found the right club.

Had  it  been  after  dark,  this  would  have  been  a  hell  of  a  light  show.  There
must  have  been  a  dozen  sets  of  light  bars  in  front  of  the  club,  some  blue,
mostly red.

What little of the street wasn’t occupied by emergency vehicles was

crammed full of news vans. Fucking vultures. I’d never been fond of them,
but I’d developed an allergy to the media ever since their insatiable need for
sensational headlines had kept Andrew’s boyfriend in the spotlight long
enough for a stalker to find and nearly kill both of them.

I pulled up beside one of the news vans and parked the car. We got

out  and  shouldered  our  way  through  the  gathered  crowd.  We  were
plainclothes  detectives,  so  some  bystanders  tried  to  keep  us  from  pushing
through  and  blocking  their  prime  view  of  the  carnage,  but  a  flash  of  the
badge was enough to get them out of the way.

A perimeter of barricades and yellow police tape divided the eerily

normal-looking sidewalk from the crowd of onlookers. Several patrol
officers loitered outside to keep people back and make sure no one made it
past the line who didn’t have a reason to be in that club.

Upon seeing our badges, a uniformed officer held up the yellow tape

to let us duck under it. When we were on the other side of the line and safely
away from the prying ears of bystanders, he extended a hand. “Officer
Rowland.”

“Detectives Kessler and Clifton,” Max said. “What do we know so

far?”

“Looks like a sting gone bad,” Rowland said. “Dealers and

undercovers. Wasn’t pretty.”

Max and I exchanged glances.
“Casualties?” I asked.
The officer exhaled. “Two wounded cops, one dead. Four dead

civilians and a few with varying injuries.”

My stomach flipped. “Jesus,” I breathed. We’d been to some bloody

crime scenes recently, but this was unreal.

Lowering his voice, Max asked, “The cops, you got names?”
The officer pursed his lips and released a long breath through his

nose. “All undercover detectives.” He flipped through the pages of a notepad
in his hand. “Rick Paulson had some minor injuries, and John Kelly is in
serious condition. Vince Gray was DOA.”

Max winced. I squeezed his shoulder gently, offering a sympathetic

grimace. He and Gray had been friends longer than Max and I had.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and we made eye contact. He

gave a slight nod, the classic Max Kessler I’m okay gesture, and I released
his shoulder.

“What about witnesses?” he asked Rowland.

Two

The club was swankier than most places in this area, and was a

known  hangout  for  dealers,  pimps,  and  anyone  else  who  could  afford  a
velvet-rope night in this chain link and razor wire neighborhood. Above the
tables,  top  shelf  liquor  flowed.  Below  it,  stacks  of  bills  and  bags  of  white
powder  changed  hands.  With  the  right  combination  of  cash  and  a  wink,  a
waitress could be compelled to meet a customer in the restroom or the alley
behind the club. The place was all dressed up and pretty, but that illusion was
only skin deep.

The VIP lounge was a completely separate room, divided from the

rest  of  the  club  by  a  narrow  hallway,  and  the  wall  perpendicular  to  that
hallway  was  backed  up  against  another  hall  dividing  the  lounge  from  the
kitchen.  The  room  was  dimly  lit  to  give  it  an  intimate  atmosphere,  and  the
handful of chairs and booths were appointed with deep red leather. I’d heard
from the undercovers that all kinds of things went on in here. Over beers one
night, a former undercover told me that in the course of an hour in this room,
he’d witnessed a marriage proposal and a negotiation for a hit.

Now? The place looked like a fucking warzone. Either this had been

a  gunfight  or  a  damned  massacre.  Since  there  were  bullet  holes  and
bloodstains  on  every  wall  and  broken  glass  all  over  the  room,  it  was  likely
the former.

The air was pungent with the brassy, all-too-familiar smell of blood.

A hell of a lot of blood. The odor overpowered the fading scents of grease,
bread, and spices coming in through the open door between the lounge and
the kitchen, as well as lingering traces of gunpowder and hot metal.

Three forensic photographers inched their way around the room,

documenting every last detail that could prove significant. Numbered plastic
placards  had  been  placed  beside  shell  casings,  blood  spatter,  broken  glass,
and  toppled  furniture.  The  dead  remained  wherever  they’d  fallen,  creating
macabre  shapes  beneath  bloodstained  sheets  while  they  waited  for  the
coroner.  A  pistol lay  beside  an  unmoving  hand  sticking  out  from  beneath  a
sheet.  Next  to  one  booth,  inches  from  a  corpse’s  leg,  a  dropped  magazine
raised  the  hairs  on  the  back  of  my  neck.  Whatever  had  happened  here,

someone had run out of ammunition and had taken the time—had the time—
to reload.

Blood covered a half-eaten sandwich and an abandoned beer beside a

slumped, sheet-draped body. That was something that never failed to creep
me out: food at crime scenes. It was one of those eerie reminders that life had
been something close to normal before all hell broke loose. To the person
hunched over beneath the blood-stained sheet, this day had probably started
out like any other. Most people didn’t order a sandwich when they knew they
were about to be murdered.

Max knelt beside one of the bodies to have a closer look. I followed

the sound of voices out of the room, hoping for a witness who could run me
through the events that had turned the lounge into a bloodbath.

My partner and I often split up at murder scenes. One of us inspected

the immediate crime scene while the other checked the less obvious places
for signs of what may have happened before and after. Discarded weapons,
bloody clothes stuffed in closets, smudges of blood in bathtub and sink
drains.

In the kitchen area, I ran into Andrew’s boyfriend, Nick Swain. He

worked as a paramedic, and the firehouse he reported to was woefully
understaffed, so it was never a surprise to run into him if there were survivors
at a crime scene. He leaned against the doorway with a clipboard in his hand.
Furrowing his brow, he alternately wrote on the clipboard and kept an eye on
his partner, who attended someone with minor wounds.

“Hey,” I said.
He looked up. “Oh, hey, Brian.”
“I might need to borrow him when you’re done.” I nodded at the

patient. “Doesn’t sound like we got a lot of witnesses.”

“He won’t be much use,” Nick said. “He was a bystander. Tangled

with some broken glass taking cover when a cop pursued the shooter through
the kitchen. He didn’t see or hear much.”

“Still, I need everything I can get,” I said. “Even if it’s just the

number of shots he heard fired.”

Nick nodded. “Leon’s almost done with him. The wounds are minor,

so we’re not taking him in.”

“How serious were the other injuries?” I asked. “Did you get a look

at any of them?”

“Paulson was conscious and coherent. The bleeding was mild and

under control, but he was showing a few early signs of shock, so I had him
taken in just as a precaution. He’ll be fine.”

“So I’ve potentially got at least one reliable witness who’s still

alive.”

“Two, if Kelly pulls through,” Nick said quietly. “And I do mean if.”

He grimaced. “He’s in bad shape. Real bad shape.

I gestured for him to step away from Leon and his patient so we were

out of earshot. Lowering my voice, I said, “How bad is he?”

“Massive thoracic trauma,” he whispered. “I only got a look at him

while I triaged the scene, so I don’t know the actual extent, but…” He shook
his head again. “Judging by his vitals and the blood loss, it’s not good.”

“Christ. He wasn’t wearing a vest?”
“Didn’t do him any good.”
“Armor-piercing?”
Nick nodded. “He was still alive when they left, though. Anything’s

possible.”

“Good to know.” My own vest made my skin crawl. Sometimes

these things were unnervingly useless. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Yeah, ditto.”
I clapped him on the shoulder, then continued through the club. As I

made the rounds, I found Detective Kent Avery leaning against the deserted
bar. He’d been working undercover for the last several months, but I’d seen
him around the precinct before. He looked a hell of a lot different now,
though, with smears of blood on his shirt.

As he thumbed the keys on his cell phone, his hands were

remarkably steady, and he breathed slowly, evenly. On the outside, he
appeared completely calm, but I had no doubt he was rattled, just not
showing it. I was surprised no one was with him, either to ask him questions
or to make sure he was all right.

“Avery?” I said, approaching cautiously.
He looked at me, and a hint of recognition manifested itself in a

vague nod. “Clifton. Long time no see.”

“Would have preferred it under better circumstances.” I extended my

hand. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ve had better days.” Ignoring my offer of a handshake, he pushed

himself away from the bar. “If you’ve got questions about it, I’ve already
answered all of them.”

I withdrew my hand. “Hey, I was just seeing how you were doing.”
“My partner’s on his way to the hospital with three bullets in him,”

he growled. “How do you think I’m doing?” With that, he turned and stalked
off.  As  I  watched  him  go  down  the  hall  and  disappear  out  into  the  alley
behind  the  club,  I  was  simultaneously  taken  aback  by  his  hostility  and
sympathetic to his mood. He and his partner were as close as Max and me.
Being  on  the  verge  of  losing  someone  who’s  covered  your  back  that  many
times was bound to fuck with someone’s head.

Which made me wonder why he was even still here, but there was

nothing he could do for John anyway. Maybe he needed to fall back on his
work. We’d all been known to throw ourselves into our investigations to
escape stress and trauma, though I wasn’t so sure about the idea of sticking
around a building that was still stained with my partner’s blood. Whatever
got him through, I supposed.

I shuddered and went back into the lounge. For a moment, I just took

in the scene, trying to picture what had gone down.

A bullet hole, splattered blood, and a long smear down one wall led

my eyes to one of the bodies. Another body was sprawled across a bench in
one  booth.  A  few  feet  away  was  yet  another,  this  one  crumpled  between  a
booth and  a  side  door,  below  a Johnnie  Walker  mirror  that had two  bloody
spiderweb cracks around bullet holes spaced about twelve inches apart.

Bullets had obviously flown in several different directions, so I’d

have  to  wait  for  ballistics  to  plot  a  diagram  of  trajectories  and  bullet  holes
before  I  could  piece  together  exactly  what  happened.  Witness  statements
would  help.  So  far  we  only  had  one  potentially  reliable  witness.  If  Avery’s
partner  had  been  shot,  odds  were  that  Avery  had  been  nearby,  if  not  in  the
room.  How  he  managed  to  avoid  taking  a  bullet,  I  didn’t  know,  but  thank
God at least someone had escaped injury.

That may have explained his hostility, too. Survivor’s guilt was a

strange thing, and he probably didn’t want someone else to ask him to rehash
the  moments  in  which  his partner  had  taken  three  bullets  while  he’d  gotten
away  unscathed.  I  still  needed  to  ask  him  some  questions,  and  he  probably
knew  it,  but  there  was  no  reason  I  couldn’t  give  him  some  time  to  breathe
first.  After  he’d  had  a  few  cigarettes,  and  maybe  Max  and  I  had  taken  him
someplace that didn’t have Detective Kelly’s blood all over the floor, I could
try again.

For now, time to check out the scene itself.
“Find anything?” Max asked, glancing up from one of the two bodies

beside a booth as I walked into the lounge.

“Not so far.” I pulled on a pair of gloves. “Avery’s pretty shaken up.

He went out the back, so I figure I’ll try talking to him again in a little
while.”

“Good call,” he said.
“What about you? Anything interesting?”
He shook his head. “Counting weapons and bodies, seems like

almost everyone who was here is either in an ambulance or…” He paused,
eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Still here.”

I gave a grunt of agreement, but didn’t say anything else.
I squatted beside one of the bodies. There was a long smear of blood

beside him, like he’d tried to drag himself to cover after he was wounded,
only to die here anyway. I shuddered and lifted the sheet.

My heart stopped.
“Holy—” I stared at the body, eyes wide and lungs paralyzed.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
I lowered the sheet, but the face was still there in my mind’s eye.

The world spun around me, turning gray and black and white, and I grabbed
a table for stability.

A hand rested on my shoulder. “Easy, man.” Max kept his voice low

and even. “Breathe.”

With considerable effort, I took and released a breath. Gradually, my

vision cleared, but my heart still forced ice cold blood through my veins.

“Brian? What’s wrong?” He glanced at the body. “You recognize

him or something?”

“I…” I swallowed hard. With the sheet back over the body’s face, I

questioned if I’d read all the features right. Was it him? Did I recognize him?

Was that really my boyfriend lying in a pool of blood?
I gulped and pulled the sheet back once more. I held my breath to

keep the nausea at bay. Dead bodies were part of the job, but this hit just a
little close to home.

Focusing on his face instead of his blood-saturated shirt and

mutilated throat—that must have been the wound that had halted his attempt
to  get  to  safety—I  took  in  his  all  too  familiar  features.  Dark,  wavy  hair.
Sharp  jaw.  Smooth  but  pronounced  cheekbones.  His  eyes  were  closed,
thankfully. I  wasn’t so sure I could look at them when they were devoid of
the spark of life.

One by one, the subtle differences slowly made themselves known.

A faint scar above his eyebrow. A piercing in his left ear, though there was
no earring in it now. A watch on his right wrist instead of his left.

The resemblance was uncanny, but it wasn’t him. Thank God, it

wasn’t him.

Unable to pull my gaze from James’s doppelganger, I said, “It’s not

him.”

“Not who?”
I looked at him. “James.”
Max’s lips parted. “He… seriously? He looks like him?”
I nodded.
“We have any ID on this guy?” Max called to a patrol officer.
The officer crossed the room and flipped through some notes.

“Driver’s license says Stephen Merrill. One of the Merrill brothers that ran
the crack and heroin ring, I believe.”

“Was the other brother here?” Max asked.
“One of them.” The officer nodded toward the kitchen. “From what

we’ve gathered, James escaped out the back.”

My heart stopped again. “James?”
“Yeah. James Merrill.”
I swallowed.
Max looked at me. “What’s James’s last name?”
“Lawson,” I said. The last names were different but the similarities

were undeniable.

“Think they’re related?”
I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled to a photo. I handed the

phone to Max. “What do you think?”

Max’s jaw dropped. His eyes flicked back and forth between the

body and the photo. Then he closed my phone and handed it back. Keeping
his voice low and discreet, he said, “Go call him again. See if you can reach
him.”

I nodded. “You have everything under control in here?”
“I don’t think anyone’s going anywhere who hasn’t already.” He

stood. “In fact, I think I’m going to go see what I can get out of Avery. You
said he’s out back, right?”

“Yeah, I think he went out to the alley.” I stood. “Probably having a

smoke.”

“Don’t blame him.”
“No kidding. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” Guilt gnawed at me

about putting personal ahead of professional, but in the back of my mind, I
rationalized that this was necessary for the investigation. James was a
potential witness. Or someone who could ID the body.

I was only kidding myself, though. At the moment, I was less

concerned  with  him  being  a  potential  witness  than  I  was  worried  he  was  a
potential  victim.  Or,  I  thought  with  a  sinking  heart,  a  suspect.  Involved  in
some  way  that  could  put  him  in  danger  or  prison.  The  resemblance  and
names  were  too  close  to  be  a  coincidence,  though.  Our  relationship  drama
could  be  dealt  with  later.  In  theory,  James  could  wait  too,  but  I  needed  to
know he was all right at the very least.

Standing by the bar, not far from some uniformed officers who were

comparing notes about something, I speed-dialed James’s number.

As they had all day long, the call immediately went to voicemail.
“This is James, sorry I’m away from my phone, but leave a message

and I’ll call you back.” Beep.

“Hey, it’s Brian,” I said, almost whispering. “I need you to call me

right away. It’s really important.” I shut my phone and slid it into my pocket,
but kept a hand on it, ready to pull it back out the instant it rang. My stomach
twisted and turned. I didn’t care if he’d been cheating, blowing me off,
playing me for an idiot. Even involved in something illegal. I just needed to
know he was okay.

God, please, James. Call me.
Missing boyfriend or not, possible witness or victim or not, I still had

a job to do here, so—

Bang! Bang!
Two gunshots came from the back, and the whole place erupted into

chaos. People screamed outside, and those inside ran for cover. I drew my
own weapon, and with the other two officers flanking me, I kept my head
down and hurried down the hall toward the alley. From the alley came more
voices:

“Need a paramedic out here! Now!”
“Shooter’s on the run!”

“Which way’s the shooter?” I called out.
“Down the alley!” someone yelled.
The officers and I bolted out the back. Rickety chain link fences and

brick walls blurred past me on both sides. Up ahead, Avery skidded to a halt
and disappeared around a corner. I made it around the same corner in time to
see  him  scale  a  fence  into  another  alley.  Avery  was  well  ahead  of  us,  and
Max  must  have  been  even  further  ahead,  so  I  directed  the  officers  with  me
down a shortcut so we could head off the shooter on the street.

We clambered up onto a dumpster and vaulted over a chain link

fence. I landed hard on the pavement, stumbling briefly. My ankles smarted
from  the  impact,  but  I  kept  running,  both  officers  close  on  my  heels.  The
alley led us back to the road where the media and onlookers were gathered.
People  gasped  and  the  crowd  rippled  like  a  disturbed  flock  of  pigeons,
everyone  falling  all  over  each  other  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  three  cops
running with guns drawn.

When we made it out of the crowd, panic rushed through me, certain

we’d missed Max, Avery, and the shooter, but movement caught my eye just
as Avery disappeared down yet another alley.

“This way!” I gestured for the officers to follow me, and we took off

after them.

At the end of that alley, Avery stopped. Panting hard, gun still in his

hands, he looked around, head snapping to the left, to the right, to the left
again.

“Fuck.” His shoulders dropped. “I lost him.” He shoved his weapon

back into its holster and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his
hand. “Fucker’s gone.”

“Damn it.” I holstered my own weapon. Then I looked around.

“Wait, where’s Max? Wasn’t he with you?”

Avery winced.
For the second time today, my blood turned cold. “Kent…”
He chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together

and his eyes avoiding mine.

“Need a paramedic out here! Now!”
“Oh, no…” On burning legs, with my lungs screaming for air, I tore

through the alley and back down the street. In front of the club, I shoved my
way through the crowd until I got to the door.

“Max!” I called down the hall. “Max, you all right?”
Nick stepped inside from the alley, and I knew.
There was more blood on his uniform than there had been earlier.

His expression was taut, eyebrows pulled together and lips thin. As he came
toward me, he put his hands up in a stay there gesture.

Oh, God.
“Nick, where is he?”
He touched my arm. “You don’t want to go out there.” He tried to

steer me away from the scene, but I planted my feet.

“How is he?” My heart pounded, and it had nothing to do with the

exertion of my run. I tried to push back against him, but he held his ground.

“Come on, let’s—”
“Nick, please…”
He took a breath. “I’m sorry, Brian, I—”
“No, please, tell me he’s…” I ran out of air and couldn’t find any

more.

His eyes offered nothing but sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The world fell out from under me. Nick steadied me as I sank to my

knees.

Over the years, I’d seen countless people in the moment they

discovered  a  loved  one  was  dead,  and  the  reactions  ranged  from
uncontrollable  rage  to  sobbing  to  catatonia.  Kneeling  beside  Nick  on  the
floor  beside  one  of  the  bloodiest  crime  scenes  I’d  seen  in  ages,  with  my
partner’s body cooling a few feet away and someone dangerously similar to
my  boyfriend  under  another  sheet,  I  was  simply  numb.  I  couldn’t  move.  I
couldn’t breathe. I knew Nick’s arm was around my shoulders, but I couldn’t
feel it.

I couldn’t feel anything.

Three

After some time had passed—a few minutes, I guessed—Nick

helped  me  to  my  feet  and  led  me  to  the  other  side  of  the  club.  I  was
lightheaded, so I dropped onto a barstool. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn’t
had  a  chance  to  eat  earlier.  Though  I  couldn’t  feel  my  stomach  enough  to
know if I was queasy, it was a safe bet I’d have gotten sick by now.

Maybe. I’d forgotten how to feel anything, so my body had probably

forgotten how to puke, too.

Nick put his arm around my shoulders. “You okay?”
I didn’t speak. There were no words. There were simply no fucking

words.

“I am so, so sorry, Brian,” he whispered. “I know it’s not much

consolation right now, but it was quick. He didn’t suffer. Probably never
even knew what hit him.”

I gave enough of a nod to let him know I’d heard him. I wasn’t even

sure if I comprehended the meaning of the words right then. My mind tucked
them away somewhere, and the only thing I could think was Max is dead.
Max is dead. My partner’s dead. And my God, I wished the bartender was
there, because I needed a drink. Badly.

Nick stayed with me while the forensic photographers documented

the fresh crime scene. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. I might have
even forgotten to breathe a few times.

I hadn’t heard Avery return, but when I looked up after a while, he

leaned against the doorframe, staring blankly down the hall toward the alley
where Max had been killed.

“What happened?” I asked, gritting my teeth just in case I suddenly

remembered how to get sick.

“Don’t know.” Avery rubbed his eyes. “I don’t fucking know, man.”

He blew out a sharp breath. “One minute, we were talking, the next, someone
came out the back and shot at us. Kessler went down, and the guy took off.”

“Did you get a look at him?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“How the hell did he get in here?” I ran a shaking hand through my

hair. “Was he just waiting around ’til he had a clear shot? Hiding in the club
somewhere?”

“I don’t know.” Avery shifted his weight. “We swept the place

twice.”

“How thoroughly?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you questioning my ability to do my

job?”

“I’m asking how the fuck anyone misses an armed gunman at a

murder scene.” I balled a fist, not sure if I wanted to put it through a wall or a
skull. “Every fucking shell casing is accounted for, and someone misses an
armed goddamned suspect?”

“Hey, calm the fuck down,” Avery snapped. “I told you, we swept

the place. How the fuck this guy got past us, I have no idea.”

“So, what?” I growled. “He just came wandering back to kill a cop?

Out of the blue?”

“How the hell should I know?” Avery snarled.
“You were there, Kent, not me.”
“Well maybe if you’d been there, you might’ve seen something.”
I flew to my feet and lunged at him, fist raised, but Nick caught my

arm and shoved me back against the bar.

“Easy, Brian. Take it easy.” He looked over his shoulder at Avery,

who was poised to come after me the second Nick got out of the way.
Something in Nick’s expression must have made him think twice, though,
because Avery’s posture relaxed slightly.

“There was no one milling around outside and no one left in the

building,”  Avery  said.  “Anyone  who  could  still  walk  was  long  gone  except
for me. If they hadn’t been, they’d have been in a body bag well before they
could  have  drawn  on  Max.”  Judging  by  the  frenzied  look  in  his  eyes,  that
might not have been an exaggeration.

I jerked my arm away from Nick and fixed my glare on Avery.

“Well, either you missed—”

I stopped when Chief Warner appeared in the doorway.
“That’s enough,” the chief said. “I think the two of you need to take

the rest of the night off.”

“Chief, I’m not walking away when the guy who killed my partner is

out there,” I said.

“For tonight, you are,” he said. “That’s an order, and it’s not up for

discussion.”

“You’re not pulling me off the case, are you?”
He shook his head. “No. I fully intend to have both of you on this

case. But not tonight. We’ll have guys working round the clock to sort
through the evidence and track down witnesses. You’re both useless to this
investigation right now until you get some rest and clear your heads. You’ve
got a lot to deal with.”

“Yes, Chief,” Avery and I said quietly.
“Good. I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” He paused. “If either of you

need more time, though, you let me know.”

We both nodded and murmured something like “okay.”
“Either of you need a ride home?” he asked.
“I’ll catch a lift with a patrol,” Avery said. “I want to go by the

hospital to see how John’s doing.”

The chief nodded. “Clifton? What about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said.
Nick raised an eyebrow. He probably knew exactly what I’d be

doing as soon as I got close enough to a bottle.

Narrowing my eyes, I said, “I’ll be fine.”
He pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything.
“Now get out of here,” Warner said. “And for the love of God, stay

the fuck away from each other.” He shot Avery and me each a glare, then
stormed out of the room toward the lounge.

Avery started out the other door.
“Hey, Kent,” I said.
He turned around, daggers in his eyes.
“Keep me posted, would you?” I asked quietly. “About John?”
His expression softened. He swallowed, then nodded. “If I hear

anything, I’ll give you a call.”

“Thanks.”
He hovered in the doorway for a moment. “I’m sorry about Max.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Me too.”
We exchanged one last look. Then he left to go see his partner. So

far, there’d been no call about Detective Kelly’s death, so I clung to the hope,
however dim, that he would pull through. Avery and I both needed that. The
whole force needed that.

After Avery had gone, I stayed in the empty bar for a while. God, I

was so desperate for a drink. Preferably in a bar that wasn’t shut down for the
day because of a multiple homicide that had just gotten bloodier. As soon as
the world stopped shifting under me, I could get out of here and go dive into
a bottle.

I rested my elbows on my knees and rubbed my temples. Some part

of me wanted to see Max, to confirm what I couldn’t yet comprehend, but I
couldn’t do it, and I couldn’t make myself leave before they took him away
from here.

I was distantly aware of nearby footsteps, voices, maybe even my

own heartbeat. Nick was still in the room, staying close but not speaking.
Hell, he might have spoken, but I was so damned lost, I couldn’t tell his
voice from the tapping of my own fingers on the bar. Most of my attention,
what little focus I had, zeroed in on the sounds just beyond the reaches of my

sight, at the end of the hall and on the other side of the open door leading out
to the alley.

The zipper. The creak of vinyl and muffled jingle of metal

accommodating weight. Clicking and rattling of the height adjusters on the
stretcher. The whirr-click of straps tightening and buckling securely into
place.

It was the clatter of the wheels that sent a shiver up my otherwise

numb spine. I looked up and wished I hadn’t.

Strapped to a stretcher with wide yellow straps, the black body bag

turned my stomach. Leon and another EMT wheeled the stretcher through
the room. He looked at Nick, and something silent passed between them.

Nick squeezed my arm. “I have to go. Will you be all right?”
I nodded. He probably knew as well as I did that I was lying, but he

didn’t say anything. We all had to deal with shit in this job. I’d deal with this.
Somehow. And however I did or didn’t deal with it, Nick still had his job to
do.

Nick and Leon maneuvered the stretcher out of the club. I looked

away, cringing as the wheels played an impromptu funeral march.

There was something irrationally comforting about knowing Max

was with Nick. Not that I thought the coroner or any other medic would be
disrespectful of his body, or that anything could possibly happen to him to
make him more dead, but grief and rational thinking are complete strangers.
It didn’t have to make sense. At this point, I’d take my comfort wherever I
could get it.

Once the clattering wheels had been silenced and the ambulance’s

diesel  engine  had  disappeared  into  the  night,  I  sat  back  against  the  bar  and
tried to figure out my next move. I desperately wanted to exact some kind of
justice for my fallen partner, but I had my orders. That, and grief and fatigue
both  took  their  toll,  so  I  conceded.  The  chief  had  spoken,  mind  and  body
were  exhausted,  and  there  was  nothing  left  I  could  do  in  this  building  that
now felt like a mausoleum.

After taking a few more minutes to gather my thoughts and regain

some semblance of my equilibrium, I left. I didn’t go straight home, though. I
had a stop to make first.

On my way, I called James again.
“This is James, sorry I’m—”
I shut my phone and dropped it in the cup holder, muttering a string

of curses as the phone clattered into its usual resting place.

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel to relieve some of the

jitteriness that had crawled out from under the thick blanket of numbness and
exhaustion.  Beneath  it  there  still  remained  all  the  emotions  that  were  alive
and  well,  but  somehow  distant.  I  knew  this  hurt.  I  knew  I  was  angry  and
scared. It was all there, I just couldn’t feel any of it.

Nothing I had seen, learned, or experienced in my career had

prepared me for this. For any of it. I doubted there was a way to prepare
anyone for something like this. It simply wasn’t something that could be
contained in a textbook or an anecdote shared over beers after hours. And if
it was hell for me, if it was completely incomprehensible to me…

When I turned down a familiar cul de sac, the chaplain’s car was

parked in front of Max’s house. I’d expected that, and I was relieved. I didn’t
want to be the one to break this news to Anna.

I parked beside the chaplain’s car. Closing my eyes, I took a deep

breath. Then I got out and walked up the stone walkway Max and I had laid
down last summer. I hesitated before stepping onto the front porch,
wondering what the hell I could even say to her. If my presence would make
things worse. If I could handle this. But I finally took those last few steps and
knocked on the front door.

Deputy Chief Ross answered. He was in his dress uniform, so he

must  have  been  the  one  to  accompany  the  chaplain.  The  chief  would  have
done  so,  but  he’d  likely  gone  to  Detective  Gray’s  family.  I  couldn’t
remember  the  last  time  they’d  had  to  split  up  and  go  speak  to  two  new
widows on the same night.

“Detective Clifton,” Ross said, offering a handshake before gesturing

for me to come in. “I’m glad you came. She needs a familiar face.”

“I figured she would.”
Quiet voices from the other room, and not just from Anna or the

chaplain, twisted my gut even more. I couldn’t even imagine how this was
for the kids.

“How’s she doing?” I whispered.
Ross sighed. “As well as can be expected.”
I nodded. I didn’t even know what I intended to say to her, what the

right thing to say was. I couldn’t figure out what I felt, never mind how to
address how she felt.

Soft footsteps turned both our heads.
When Anna stepped into the room and met my eyes, she looked

exactly how I felt: lost.

Her face was pale, her eyes red. She was always so meticulous about

her hair, but it was a mess now. Just like she was. Like we both were.
Disheveled from the inside out.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, and the longer I looked at

the mirror image of my own numb confusion, my own disbelief, the more
reality sank in.

This was real.
Max was dead.
My partner was gone.
Her husband, my best friend, their father.
Gone.
When her hand went to her mouth and fresh tears filled her eyes, I

crossed the room and hugged her. She gripped my jacket and collapsed into
sobs while I held her against my chest and stroked her hair, willing myself to
keep it together.

Max had often teased her that she was as mean as she was tiny.

She’d  always  retorted  that  little  dogs  had  the  nastiest  bite,  and  Max  didn’t
argue  with that.  She  was just the  right amount  of  feisty, just  full  enough  of
piss and vinegar, to keep a man like him in line, and still be strong enough to
be  his  anchor  whenever  the  job  tried  to  do  him  in.  Anna  was  the  kind  of
woman  who  was  bred  to  be  a  cop’s  wife:  stoic,  unflinchingly  supportive.
Always  bending,  never  breaking.  In  all  the  years  she  and  Max  had  been
married, she’d never buckled under the stress. When the job took its toll on
him, she’d been his solid rock, and now that he was gone, she shattered.

In my arms now, gripping my jacket and repeating her husband’s

name between sobs, she was smaller and  more fragile than I’d ever thought
possible. I desperately wanted to be a pillar of strength for her right now, but
what  could  I  do?  She  was  human.  We  both  were.  I  just  held  onto  her  and
blinked back as many tears as I could.

“What happened?” she asked, my chest muffling her voice.
“I’m not sure. I was…” Inwardly, I cringed. Out of the building.

Away from Max. Attending to something personal. But he’d been with
another detective. The club had been clear. The perimeter was supposed to be
secure. How could I have known there was still a gunman nearby?

She looked up at me, handfuls of my jacket bunching in her white-

knuckled fingers. “Brian, just tell me what you know. Please.”

“I was outside when it happened,” I said softly. “I understand he

went into an alley with another detective, and a gunman ambushed him.”

“Was the other detective… did he…” Her eyes flicked toward

Deputy Chief Ross, then back to me. There was only one reason the chief
himself wouldn’t accompany the chaplain to inform a widow of her
husband’s death, and she knew that reason as well as I did.

“He’s all right,” I said.
Another glance toward the deputy chief. “Then…”
I swallowed hard. “Detective Gray was killed in the first shooting.”
She covered her mouth as a choked sound escaped her throat. “Oh,

no. God, Jeanine must be… oh, no…”

“The chief’s with her now,” I said softly.
She nodded. For a moment, her eyes lost focus. Then she looked up

at me. “Did Max… did he…” She put her hands in front of her lips in a
prayer position, and more tears glittered in her eyes. I knew the question
before she whispered, “Did he suffer?”

“No.” Finally, a definitive answer I could give her. Thank you, Nick.

“He didn’t suffer, Anna. It was fast.” I swallowed the lump rising in my
throat. “The medic said he probably never even knew what hit him.”

She exhaled, closing her eyes. I pulled her close to me again and

struggled to maintain what was left of my own composure. She held on tight.
So did I.

“How are the kids doing?” I asked.
She pulled back a little and ran a shaking hand through her hair. “As

well as they can, I guess.” She gestured toward the living room. “Do you,
if…” She paused. “Could you come in and visit with them for a few minutes?
They’d probably like to see you.”

I didn’t mind, but I didn’t know for sure if I could handle it. Still, I

said, “Of course I will.”

The scene in the living room was nothing short of heartbreaking.

Two year-old Ricky sat beside the chaplain, clinging to a teddy bear, wide,
confused eyes moving from face to tear-stained face. I doubted he
understood what was going on, but there was enough grief all around to upset
his world.

Jason, Max’s ten year-old stepson, sat in the leather recliner. His

eyes were red, but mostly dry, and when he saw me, he set his jaw and
focused hard on watching his fingers pick lint from an old quilt. His stoicism
hung by a thread, and that thread frayed when I knelt in front of him.

“Hey, kiddo,” I said.
He looked at me, then quickly shifted his gaze back to his fingers.
“You  doing  all  right?”  I  asked.  God,  what  a  stupid  question.  The

poor kid had just lost the only father he’d ever known, but I didn’t know
what else to say.

He responded with a shrug. His chin quivered, and he pressed his

lips even tighter together.

“Hey.” I put a hand on his shoulder. When, with a hell of a lot of

effort, he looked at me, I said, “It’s okay to cry, you know.”

In a heartbeat, he crumbled. He threw his arms around me, nearly

knocking me back into the coffee table, and I closed my eyes and held onto
him while he cried.

“Why would someone do that?” he said in between sobs. “Why

would they do that to my dad?”

“I don’t know, Jason,” I whispered, gritting my teeth and trying my

level best not to break down with him. “But I’m going to do all I can to find
whoever did it.”

He sat back and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “You promise?”
“Absolutely,” I said, nodding. “I promise.” I hugged him again. Then

I went to stand, but someone tugged at my arm.

I turned to see Ricky looking back at me with wide eyes, and he

shoved his teddy bear into my hands. Forcing as much of a smile as I could, I
took it from him. He didn’t understand what was going on. He’d understand
it even less if I’d rejected what he’d offered.

“Thanks, buddy,” I whispered, my voice shaking so damned bad as I

hugged him gently.

When I let him go, he smiled. A genuine, innocent smile. Jesus. This

poor kid was too young to have to face a world where there were problems a
tear-soaked teddy bear couldn’t solve.

Eventually, I said my goodbyes to the kids, the chaplain, and the

deputy chief, and with Ricky’s stuffed animal under my arm, I walked back
to the foyer with Anna.

She put her hand on the doorknob and stopped. “Brian, promise me

you’ll find whoever did this.”

I swallowed. She’d been married to a homicide detective long

enough to know there were limitations on that promise. I’d go to the ends of
the earth to find Max’s killer, but the reality was we had precious little to go
on yet.

I took a breath. “I’ll do everything I can.”
Anna gave as much of a smile as a woman in her position could be

expected to. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” I gestured toward the living

room. “I mean, with the kids, and everything…”

“They’ll keep me busy,” she said with a quiet laugh. “And my mom

and sister will be here soon.” She tucked a strand of unruly hair behind her
ear and hugged herself. “I’ll be okay. Will you keep me updated on
everything?”

I nodded. “As much as I can.”
She hugged herself a little tighter and forced another smile. “That’s

all I can ask.”

I put my arms around her again. “Call me any time if you need

anything, Anna. Even if it’s just to talk.”

Without lifting her head off my chest, she nodded. “I will.”
“You have my cell number, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” This time she raised her head. “Will you be okay

driving home?”

“I’ll be all right.”
“Are you sure?” She gestured up the stairs. “You’re welcome to stay

in the guest room if you need to.”

I considered it, if only for her sake, not my own. But her mother and

sister would be here soon. She wouldn’t be alone. That, and neither she nor
her children needed to see me self-destruct as badly as I needed to self-
destruct tonight.

“I’ll be okay,” I said softly.
“Will you at least call me when you get home?” She shifted her

weight and swallowed hard. “So I know you made it?”

“Yeah. I can do that.”
A weak smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you.”
On the way down the walk, the numbness set back in again. It had

lifted enough to hurt like hell while I watched Max’s family reel from the

news, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t felt the worst of it yet. For now, I once
again felt absolutely nothing.

I pulled out of the driveway and started down the dark street. A few

times, I wondered if I should have taken her up on the offer to stay. I was
exhausted. My head throbbed. I still hadn’t eaten today. I couldn’t see eating
anything any time soon, though.

Drinking, though. There would be drinking. A lot of drinking. I

didn’t care if it made me sick—and on an empty stomach, it would—because
I’d be too drunk to care, and I needed to get that drunk. Fast.

The booze was all at home, but on my way, I drove by James’s

apartment.  His  parking  space  was  empty  and  every  window  was  dark,  so  I
didn’t  bother  stopping.  Twice  I  tried  calling  again.  Twice  the  calls  went
straight  to  voicemail.  Each  time,  the  fear  and  panic  in  my  chest  burned
hotter.  I  tried  to  tell  myself  he  wasn’t  involved,  but  Stephen  Merrill’s  face
was seared into my consciousness. The resemblance combined with James’s
absence  and  the  other  Merrill  brother’s  name  wouldn’t  let  me  relax.
Coincidences like that just didn’t happen.

Playing through James’s behavior over the last few months—the

evasiveness,  the  unpredictable  schedule,  the  convenient  alibis  for  every
disappearance—I  wondered  if  I’d  been  wrong  this  whole  time.  Maybe  he
hadn’t been cheating after all.

Driving down the interstate toward my own house, I hoped to God

my original fears were right, that James had been cheating all this time. I
prayed he was, as I drove, with whatever other man had been dividing his
affections. Safe in another man’s bed was better than dead in a gutter.

My cell rang. I almost ran off the road grabbing the phone out of the

holder, but my heart sank when Andrew’s name showed up on the caller ID
instead. If he was calling this late, Nick must have told him what had
happened.

I dropped my cell back into the cup holder and let the call kick over

to voicemail. Blowing Andrew off didn’t do much for my conscience, but I
just couldn’t talk to anyone else tonight unless it was Jim Beam or Johnnie
Walker. I hoped he’d understand.

At quarter past twelve, I pulled into my driveway and killed the

engine. For a long moment, I just sat in the car, my head against the headrest
and my eyes closed.

“Get some sleep,” the chief had said. “Clear your head.”
“I’ll get right on that, Chief,” I muttered into the stillness.
My best friend and partner was dead.
Someone eerily resembling my boyfriend was dead.
And I still couldn’t reach or find my boyfriend.
Sleep? Not in this lifetime.
I ran a hand through my hair and swore into the silence. It wouldn’t

be long between turning the key in the door and twisting the cap on the

vodka, so before I even got out of the car, I called Anna like I’d promised.

“Hey, Brian.”
I winced at the pain in her voice.
“Hey,” I said. “I just wanted to let you know I made it home.”
She released a breath. “Okay. Thanks for calling. Take care of

yourself tonight, okay?”

“I will,” I lied.
She didn’t speak for a moment, then whispered, “Okay. And by the

way, that offer to call if I needed anything? It goes both ways.”

“Thanks, Anna.”
We hung up, and I sat in the driver’s seat for another long moment,

just trying to work up the energy to breathe, never mind get from my car to
the  house.  I  debated  just  passing  out  here,  but  I  wasn’t  escaping
consciousness  without  the  booze,  and  that  was  all  in  the  damned  house.
Eventually,  I  got  out  of  car,  kicked  the  door  shut,  and  trudged  up  the  front
walk to the porch.

“We ever going to tear out that walk at your place?” Max had asked

over a beer a few months ago.

“After seeing how much of a pain in the ass yours was?” I’d shaken

my head. “Fuck that.”

“Oh, come on. Yours looks like hell, and it’s not like you have a wife

to stand on the porch pointing out everything we do wrong.”

“Good point. Okay, fine, we’ll do it this summer.”
It took a minute for my numb fingers and fogged brain to find the

right key, but eventually I found it. I reached for the deadbolt.

Just before the key touched the lock, the knob turned and the door

opened.

I flew back, instinctively going for my weapon, but froze when I

recognized the face across the threshold.

“James,” I breathed. “What… what the fuck are you doing here?”

Four

Relief, fury, disbelief, and confusion all vied for dominance.
Without a word, James stepped aside, gesturing for me to come in.

Like I needed an invitation into my own home. I took the odd invitation,
though, and walked past him.

He closed the door and leaned against it. For a long moment, we

stared at each other in the foyer. Relief finally won me over, and I took a step
toward him, reaching for his face.

“God, I’m glad to see you,” I whispered. We sank into each other’s

arms, and his trembling fingers were in my hair before our lips had even
touched. In spite of all the questions and the anger and the grief, I needed a
moment just to hold him. Just to be sure he was alive. That this was real.

He’d been smoking, that much I could tell immediately. I usually

hated the taste and wouldn’t let him kiss me after he’d had a cigarette, but
tonight, it only served to remind me this was James. He was here. He was
alive. Grasping the sides of his neck in unsteady hands, I let myself get lost
in him, because he was alive.

As reality set in and I got past the shock of the situation, the

questions came. There was no way in hell it was a coincidence that he’d been
unreachable all day. Not when his doppelganger was lying on a cold slab
somewhere, and James had materialized in my house.

I broke the kiss. Then the embrace. Keeping eye contact in the low

light, I stepped back.

“You haven’t answered my question,” I said. “What are you doing

here?”

“It’s…” He gulped. “A long story.” His brow furrowed slightly.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been—”

“Long story.” I turned and started down the hall, and over my

shoulder I threw a terse, “I need a drink.” James didn’t say a word. He
followed me into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while I found a
glass, ice, booze, and orange juice.

I poured a hell of a lot of vodka into not a lot of orange juice. The

first half of the drink was gone in one swallow. The second half wasn’t far

behind. I reached for the bottle again, but paused. I’d had every intention of
getting  royally  fucked  up  tonight.  With  any  luck,  I’d  still have  that  chance.
For  now,  I  had  an  unexpected  guest  who  damn  well  better  have  had  some
answers, and I needed to be coherent enough to get those answers.

After pouring a more reasonable ratio of juice and liquor, I faced

him, resting my hip against the counter. I sipped my drink and watched him
over the rim of the glass.

Under the cool fluorescent light in my kitchen, I took him in.
His normally fair skin was pale, which made the redness of his eyes

that much more apparent. He kept his right arm across his stomach, and his
shoulder was elevated enough to imply tension, though I couldn’t decide if
he was being protective of his arm or his abdomen. His other hand alternated
between tapping rapidly on the counter, resting in his pocket, and rubbing the
back of his neck or running through his hair. It was a safe bet the only reason
he wasn’t smoking right now was the fact that we were in my house.

“You look like you could use a cigarette,” I said.
“I’ve probably already had too many today.” But he still reached into

his pocket for the pack and lighter.

I finished my drink in one swallow, my eyes watering as the vodka

burned its way down my throat. I contemplated a refill, but my stomach was
already remembering how to be queasy, so I decided against it. I set the glass
on the counter and, without speaking, we went out onto the back patio.

Neither of us sat. He was probably too restless. I was in that

limboland between restless and exhausted, that precarious state where sitting
would either mean fidgeting too much or suddenly nodding off.

James pulled a cigarette out and set the mostly empty pack on the

railing. He winced as he raised the hand he’d held protectively at his side,
and holding the cigarette between his lips, he cupped one shaking hand
around the other and flicked the lighter.

He took a long drag, then let it out slowly.
So many questions. So fucking many questions.
“You still haven’t answered me,” I said.
“I’m here because I didn’t know where else to go.”
Every question that came to my mind sounded like an accusation.

Why couldn’t you have gone back to your own apartment? Why haven’t you
been answering your phone? Where is your car? What the fuck is going on,
James? Who are you?

I didn’t know how volatile he was right now, though. I didn’t know

how volatile I was at this point. Information before confrontation, I reasoned.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“A few hours.” He tapped the cigarette, focusing on that instead of

looking at me, and he didn’t volunteer any more information.

Keeping my voice gentle, trying not to sound accusatory or angry, I

said, “Do you know Stephen Merrill?”

James flinched, closing his eyes and releasing a long breath. Then he

sniffed sharply and wiped his eyes. “He’s…” He cleared his throat. “He was
my brother.”

“Explains the resemblance.”
He looked at me. “You saw him?”
I nodded.
James  dropped  his  gaze.  “Guess  you’re  used  to  seeing  stuff  like

that.”

“To a degree, maybe,” I said. “But not when the body in question is

the spitting image of someone I haven’t been able to reach all day.”

He didn’t look at me, but the bob of his Adam’s apple didn’t escape

my notice. Nor did the shudder he tried to mask when he shifted his weight
and raised the cigarette for another long, deep drag.

“Is there a reason why everyone’s referring to you as James

Merrill?” I narrowed my eyes. “Or maybe I should ask, is there a reason I’ve
been calling you James Lawson all this time? What is your real name?”

Without speaking, James held the cigarette between his lips and

reached into his back pocket. He pulled out his wallet, flipped it open to his
driver’s license, and held it out where I could see it.

James Robert Merrill.
“You lied to me about your name?” I growled.
He didn’t look at me as he put his wallet back in his pocket. “Look,

this is complicated, it—”

“Complicated? You fucking lied to me. About your name.” I

clenched my fists at my sides, but as he gingerly reached out to tap his
cigarette over the railing, I forced myself to stay calm until I had the whole
story. I moistened my lips. “You were there today, weren’t you?”

James closed his eyes and exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the

darkness. “Yeah. I was there.”

“What was your involvement?” I struggled to keep my voice even.

“With what Stephen was doing?”

He pulled in another breath of smoke, the end of the cigarette

glowing orange for several seconds. “We were business partners.”

My heart dropped into my gut. “You mean… you were…”
“Yes.” He swallowed. “We ran the operation together.”
“You’re…” I shook my head. “You’re a drug dealer.”
He nodded slowly.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a long, deep breath. Today

I’d learned entirely too much about someone I thought I knew. Next he was
going to tell me he was long lost royalty with a timeshare in Area 51. Finally,
I said, “Tell me what happened.”

“I think you know what happened.”
“Don’t play games with me,” I snapped, my voice cracking. He

looked at me then, eyebrows raised, and I added through clenched teeth,

“Don’t fuck with me on this, James. I just lost my partner, and—”

“Wait, what?” His eyes widened, and I thought he paled a little more.

“What are you talking about?”

I forced back a flood of… something. Anger? Grief? I didn’t even

know. Then I whispered, “Max is dead.”

James’s lips parted. Whatever he wasn’t telling me, the surprise in

his expression appeared genuine. “He was… there?”

“We responded to the call,” I said. “After everything had already

gone down.”

“But…” He furrowed his brow. “What happened?”
“I’m not, I don’t even…” I shook my head, swallowing hard. “I’m

not exactly sure. He and Avery were out in the back alley and…” I made a
sharp gesture and bit back the part where if I hadn’t been out calling him, it
could have been me.

James leaned against the railing, staring at the deck with unfocused

eyes. His cigarette smoldered forgotten between his fingers, a thin wisp of
smoke rising into the night. His heel marked a rapid, nervous rhythm on the
deck, and I swore I could hear his heart pounding.

Then he pushed himself away from the railing and started pacing. He

raised the no longer forgotten cigarette to his lips, and his hand shook as he
took a drag. The usually calming hit of nicotine didn’t appear to do a bit of
good. He still kept his other arm close to his side, but his fingers curled into a
fist, uncurled, curled again.

“James, please,” I said. “Tell me what happened in that club.”
He grabbed the pack of smokes off the railing and sank onto one of

the patio chairs. He’d barely snuffed out the first before he pulled out another
cigarette and lit it. He dropped the pack and lighter on the table and
concentrated on taking a couple of deep drags before he spoke.

“I didn’t see much. My brother was…” He paused, gesturing with his

cigarette. “He was running this meeting. Trying to negotiate kind of a
ceasefire with some competitors.” He took a long drag, blew out the smoke,
and took another.

I chewed my lip. I’d seen him nervous to the point of chain-smoking

before, but never like this. I sat on the other patio chair and put my hand on
his knee.

“Go slow,” I said in that smooth, gentle voice reserved for the

distraught, traumatized witnesses these crimes nearly always had. “Just tell
me everything you can remember.”

He rested his forehead in his hand, the cigarette still burning between

his fingers and his other arm still tucked protectively against his side.

“I don’t know exactly what happened. I… like I said, I didn’t see

much.” His shoulders trembled, as did his knee beneath my hand.
“Stephen… I… he managed to get Heidi out of the room, into the hall where
I was, and then told us to run.”

“Heidi?”
He raised his head. “Heidi Gill. His girlfriend.” He took a long,

shaky  drag.  “I  was  in  the  hallway.  Between  the  lounge  and  the  kitchen.
Listening  in,  but  staying  out  of  sight.  That’s  usually  how  we  did  meetings.
One  of  us  in  the  room,  one  out.  That  way  if  something…”  He  swallowed,
then released a ragged breath. “If something happened, only one of us would
get arrested. Or…” He trailed off.

I shivered. “So, what happened? You were out of the room…”
“I heard the shots fired, and my brother sent Heidi out to where I was

and yelled for us to get out.” With a shaking hand, he brought the cigarette to
his lips again. “Then he started to say something else, another shot went off,
and…” He exhaled hard. “I knew he’d gone down. I heard him call out again.
Another shot. And…” His shoulders slumped and he let his forehead fall into
his hand again, keeping his middle and forefingers extended so the cigarette
didn’t touch him. In a hoarse, hollow whisper, he said, “Fuck, I can’t believe
he’s dead.”

I gently took the cigarette from his hand and set it in the ashtray.

Then  I  moved  to  the  edge  of  my  chair  and  put  my  arms  around  him.  He
didn’t make a sound, but the trembling said it all. That violent trembling that
came from deep within, the physical manifestation of a powerful, foundation-
rattling  grief  that  couldn’t  be  manufactured.  Hollywood  had  its  dramatic
imitations of what grief looked and sounded like, but this couldn’t be faked.
James had always been so reserved where his emotions were concerned, the
type who wouldn’t even raise his voice in a heated argument, and to feel him
quietly fall apart in my arms was gut-wrenching.

Closing my eyes, I just held him and stroked his hair. Never before

had  one  crime  hit  so  close  to  home  on  so  many  levels.  My  partner.  My
boyfriend’s  brother.  It  had  been  a  well-aimed  and  well-timed  bullet  away
from claiming my boyfriend too. Max’s killer could have taken out Nick. Or
Detective  Avery.  Or  any  of  the  officers  or  photographers  or  medics  on  the
scene.  Perhaps  myself,  if  I’d  been  the  one  in  the  wrong  place  at  the  wrong
time.  If  I hadn’t stepped away to try one more time to reach James. Whose
last name was Merrill. Who was a fucking drug dealer.

There was no way I’d ever fit this all into my head.
After a while, James sat back, wiping his eyes and clearing his

throat. “I’m sorry. This is all..I’m…”

“Don’t apologize. You’ve been through hell today.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” He reached for yet another cigarette. His

hands  shook  while  he  lit  it,  more  when  he  took  a  drag.  He  let  a  long,  thin
stream  of  smoke  out  through  his  lips,  then  closed  his  eyes  and  whispered,
“This is…this…fuck…”

I ran my fingers through his hair, then rested my hand on the back of

his neck, drawing gentle arcs with my thumb. “What else happened in
there?”

He took a deep breath. “We heard the shots. Stephen yelled. We ran.

Through the kitchen, out the back. After that, it’s all kind of a blur.” He
exhaled. “We got the hell out of there. A few rounds came our way, but I
don’t think she was hit.”

I shifted my eyes toward the arm he held against his side. “What

about you?”

Tighter still, he pulled his arm in. “I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
James gingerly pushed up his sleeve. He’d taped a few pieces of

gauze over his arm, but they were already saturated with blood.

“Jesus.” I grimaced. “We need to get you to an emergency room.”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just grazed

me.”

The wound still unnerved me. I knew what a difference an inch to

one side could have made. Andrew was lucky to be living proof of that.

I moistened my lips. “Where’s Heidi now?”
James shook his head. “I don’t know. I hung back a little to let her

get ahead in case anyone came after us, and we got separated. I looked.
Couldn’t find her.”

“And you don’t think she was wounded?”
“Not that I know of.” He rubbed his forehead. “I just hope no one

else caught up with her.”

“Do you think she’s in danger?”
He looked at me as he took in another lungful of smoke. When he

blew it out, he put a hand over his mouth to deflect the smoke and keep it out
of my face. “I think we both are. I’m pretty sure she got a look at the shooter,
and anyone who thinks I did will probably want to keep me quiet. They’ll
probably be after me and David anyway now that Stephen’s out of the
picture.”

I was quiet for a long moment, just watching him smoke while I tried

to figure out what to ask next. In spite of his penchant for being cryptic and
my suspicions that he was cheating on me, my gut told me he wasn’t lying
now. Or if he was, there was at least some truth. He’d admitted to being a
dealer, to being involved. And there was the shaking. The way he’d broken
down on my shoulder like Anna and Jason had. The way he’d blanched when
I told him Max was dead.

He may not have been telling the whole truth, but I could believe he

was both devastated and scared.

I took a breath. “You mentioned someone named David. Who is

that?”

James blew out some smoke and ran his fingers through his hair.

“My other brother.”

“What? How many of you are there?”
He laughed dryly. “Just three.” What little humor he’d mustered

faded quickly, and he tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. “Two now, I
guess.”

“Where’s David now?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know.”
“Was he there today?”
“No.” James brought his cigarette to his lips. “Just Stephen and me.”
“Is David part of the family business?”
James nodded. “We’re equal partners,” he said quietly. “All three of

us.”

“But he wasn’t at this ‘meeting’ today?”
“No. The three of us never went to meetings together. Usually just

one, sometimes two, never all three.”

I chewed my lip. “What was the meeting about?”
“Like I said, they were competitors. We were discussing a ceasefire

of sorts.” He looked at me through his lashes. “You cops aren’t the only ones
trying to settle this whole turf war.”

“Different motivations, I’m guessing.”
“End justifies the means.” He took a drag. “Stephen was determined

to come to some sort of agreement. All the bodies piling up is bad for
business.”

My eyebrows jumped. “Was that his philosophy or yours?”
He looked at the deck between us. “No one ever said this was a kind,

gentle business, Brian.” After a moment, his eyes met mine, and his voice
softened. “But yes, that was Stephen’s philosophy, not mine. I wasn’t that
wrapped up in the money.”

The money. The drug money. Jesus.
I pushed myself up and started pacing. “Fuck. This is…”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I—”
“You’re sorry?” I glared at him. “Do you have any idea how much is

on the line if anyone figures out we’ve been seeing each other? That you’re
here?”

“Yes, I do. I didn’t expect this to happen, though.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“That I’m a dealer?”
“Yes.”
“What was I supposed to do?” he snapped. “Rat myself out to my

cop boyfriend?”

“Considering I could lose my damned badge, yeah, it would have

been nice to have a heads up.”

“Fuck your badge, Brian,” James threw back with more fury than I’d

ever  heard  from  him.  “My  brother’s  fucking  dead.  You  don’t  think  I’m
already  kicking  myself  about  a  few  dozen  things  I  could  have  done
differently?”

I took a deep breath. “Look, I need you to be on the up and up with

me now, even if you didn’t bother before. If you’re a witness, I’ll protect
you. But I’m not going to lose my badge for hiding a murder suspect. Got
it?”

“A murder suspect?” He stared at me. “You think… you think I did

it?”

“I don’t know who did it.” I threw up my hands. “That’s the

problem. I don’t know. If someone decides to point the finger at you, I’m
kind of between a rock and a hard place here. Anyone finds out we’re dating,
I’ll be off the case. If you’re named as a suspect, and anyone finds out I’m
harboring you, I will lose my job.”

James rose. “I know. I’m putting you in a really bad spot here, but I

wouldn’t  ask  if  I  could  think  of  any  other  place  to  go  that  was  safe.”  He
rested  a  hand  on  my  arm.  “I  need  your  help,  Brian.  I’m  just  trying  to  stay
alive. I don’t know what the fuck happened today, or what’s going to come
down the pipeline. All I know is someone killed your partner and my brother,
tried to kill Heidi, tried to kill  me—” He gestured at his bandaged arm. “—
and for all I know, they’re going to try again.”

I nodded. “I understand. The thing is, those people your brother was

meeting with when everything went down?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“They were undercover cops.”
James’s eyes widened. “What?”
I nodded. “And right now, one’s dead and one’s in the ICU. Your

brother had a weapon on him with several rounds discharged. It’s—”

“My brother is not a cop killer,” James snarled.
I put my hands up again. “I’m not making any accusations. Those are

the  facts.  He  fired  at  least a  few  shots.  At  whom?  I  don’t  know.  We  won’t
know  until  ballistics  comes  back  with  which  round  came  from  which  gun.
All  I  know  is,  we’ve  got  two  dead  cops  and  a  few  other  bodies  including
your brother.”

“And a suspect who’s still out there.”
I nodded.
“Shit.” He let his head fall forward and rubbed the back of his neck

with both hands. “Whoever it is, he’s going to come after me. He’ll want to
keep me quiet. And Heidi. Fuck, they’re going to kill her.”

“I’ll do what I can for her, but for now, I can put you in protective

cust—”

“No.” His head snapped up. “Not protective custody.”
“Why not?”
The deck squeaked quietly beneath his feet as he shifted his weight.

“There’s dead cops involved.”

“And at the moment, you’re a witness, not a suspect.”
“Then keep me here,” he pleaded. “No one knows I’m here, and

whoever killed Stephen is going to be after me, David, and Heidi. Our

competitors have connections on the inside, and there are…” He hesitated.

“What?”
“There’s cops on the take. I don’t know to what extent, or who

they’re  involved  with,  but  there  are  dirty  cops  involved  in  this.”  He
swallowed.  “Between  the  dirty  cops  and  the  dead  ones,  I  don’t  think
protective custody is the safe way to go.”

I rubbed my forehead with two fingers. I was too damned exhausted

to come up with any better options. To even process the information he’d
given me or the things I’d witnessed or, well, anything.

I sighed. “We’ll figure something out. But you can stay here tonight

at least.”

He exhaled hard. “Thank you.” He paused. “Another thing. There’s a

safe in my brother’s house. It’s in the dining room. Behind the wet bar. Get
me everything that’s in there, and I can help with your investigation.”

“What’s in it?”
“Records. Contacts.” He made a sharp gesture with one hand. “All

kinds of shit. Stephen was meticulous about that stuff. I’ll give you the
combination. You might be able to use what’s in there to pin down whoever
wanted us dead.”

“I can stop in there tomorrow.” I nodded toward the arm he still held

against his side. “For now, why don’t we go clean that up a bit more.”

Five

“This is going to sting.”
James scowled. “It already—fuck.”
“Told you.” I took the peroxide-saturated cotton ball away from the

wound and dropped it in the trash beside the bathroom counter. “I’m still iffy
about you not getting this looked at.”

“I’ll be fine.”
I was tempted to drive him down to the firehouse where Nick was on

duty, just to be sure. The wound wasn’t that severe, though. It wouldn’t kill
him, but it’d probably leave a hell of a scar. Not much Nick or anyone else
could do about that. Besides, I’d been drinking, it was damn near two in the
morning, and I wasn’t driving anyone anywhere for less than a severed
artery.

When I dabbed a gauze pad to clean up the blood, James sucked in a

hiss of breath.

“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay. Just burns.” He rolled his shoulder and gingerly bent and

straightened his arm. “Guess I won’t be doing any bench-pressing any time
soon.”

“No, probably not.” I inspected the wound, which barely bled now.

“I suppose it should be okay without a medical professional looking at it. Just
keep it clean and covered, all of that crap.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he said with a mock salute.
“Watch it, or I’ll show you how badly this could hurt.”
Our eyes met in the mirror, and we both managed tired laughs.
I picked up the tape and gauze. “Let me get it covered again.”
“Actually, I could really use a shower first. I can tape it when I get

out.”

“You sure? It’ll sting like hell in the water.”
“I’ll be fine.” With a faint smile, he added, “Thanks. For all of this.”
“Even causing you pain?”
He laughed. “I’ll forgive you, just this once.”
I left James to his shower and made my usual evening rounds to

make sure all the doors were locked. For good measure, I went through the
house twice. On the first trip through the kitchen, I only looked at the freezer
and the glass I’d left on the counter. On the second, I took the vodka from the
freezer, poured a shot, and threw it back. It wouldn’t help anything, but…
fuck it.

With the house locked and booze back on ice, I returned to the

bedroom. Fatigue set in, and I sank onto the edge of the bed, resting my
elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

For a long time, I listened to the shower’s muffled white noise,

letting the changes in its sound tell my mind’s eye when James was under the
water, then out from under it, then under it again. He didn’t move much,
judging by the sound. Probably standing under the water, eyes closed and
head bowed, just letting the world drown for a little while.

Any other night, I’d have been in there with him, and right then, I

ached to be. Not because I wanted the feverish foreplay that was inevitable
when James and I showered together. I was too exhausted, too drained for the
kissing, touching, stroking that would last until the water turned cold or we
both came. I really didn’t even want to be in there with him.

My skin itched for the touch of blistering hot water. There wasn’t

soap strong enough or water hot enough, but it would be better than this.
Better than sitting here, waiting for alcohol and exhaustion to team up and
knock me out.

The hiss of the falling water stopped abruptly. The shower door

rattled open. A few minutes later, paper crinkled and tape ripped, so he must
have been bandaging his arm.

I stood. Now that he was finishing up, I could get in and take a

shower myself. Assuming I stayed awake that long, anyway. Just unfastening
my shoulder holster took energy I didn’t have.

I shrugged off the holster and put it on my dresser. Then I put my

foot  on  the  footboard  of  the  bed  and  rolled  up  my  pant  leg  to  take  off  my
ankle  holster.  As  I  set  that  weapon  on  the  dresser  beside  the  other,  the
bathroom door opened.

James stepped into the room, a towel around his waist and his hair

wet and disheveled. Any other night, seeing him like that would have had me
catching my breath and scrambling to get out of my clothes. Tonight, the tape
and gauze on his arm served as a bright white reminder of all the reasons I
could barely move.

Without speaking I turned away and started the herculean task of

unbuttoning my shirt.

Footsteps behind me made me pull in a breath. My fingers were all

but useless, and I’d only managed to get the first button undone when James
put his hands on my waist. I closed my eyes, not sure if I wanted to step out
of his grasp or fall back against him.

He gently kissed the side of my neck. “You holding up?”

“Ask me again in the morning.”
A soft laugh warmed my skin. “Same here.”
He didn’t let me go. I didn’t pull away.
Against my will and maybe my better judgment, I reached back and

stroked his cool, damp hair. When he kissed my neck again, letting his lips
linger a few seconds beyond a tender display of affection, I released a long
breath.  In  spite  of,  or  maybe  because  of,  all  the  knots  and  tension  and
exhaustion, I took his hands and drew his arms around me. I couldn’t tell if
we  were  leaning  on  each  other  or  melting  into  each  other,  but  whatever  it
was, I didn’t try to stop it.

Maybe he was cheating, maybe he was involved in all manner of

criminal activity, maybe my partner was still dead, but I needed this tonight.
I needed this now.

Judging by the way he held on and kissed his way up to my ear, so

did he.

In his arms, I turned around. We stared at each other. These weren’t

the narrow-eyed, lip-biting, lust-filled looks we often exchanged here. The
hunger was palpable, but… different.

I drew him closer, the heat of his skin beneath my palms sending a

shiver right through me. He touched his forehead to mine, and we breathed
against each other’s lips. I moved in, then pulled back. He moved in. Pulled
back. His lip brushed mine. More distance. Less. More.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Holding his neck in both hands, I hauled

him to me and kissed him. Deep, full-on, breathless, grasping his neck and
forcing his lips apart with my tongue. James moaned, sinking against me and
alternately stroking-gripping-stroking my hair.

Then he let go of my hair and put his hands on my waist again. My

shirt bunched in his fingers, and he pulled my hips to his. When his erection
brushed mine, that light, fabric-filtered contact sent an intense ripple of
electricity up my spine. It was the first thing I’d really, truly felt in hours that
wasn’t fear, numbness, or pain, and I wanted more. I needed him more than I
needed sleep now, and, tapping into some previously undiscovered reserve of
energy, I’d have him.

Everything else in the world could wait until we’d had some sleep.

Tonight? I needed to make sure we were both still alive.

Cradling the back of his neck in one hand—don’t you dare pull away

from me, James—I reached down with the other and tugged the towel free. It
pooled at our feet with a heavy thud, and James whimpered into my kiss as
his cock pressed against mine through my clothes.

He broke the kiss with a gasp. “Fuck me,” he whispered. “God,

please, Brian…”

Forget foreplay. Where this energy—this second or third or fourth

wind—came from, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. If I wasn’t inside him in
the next thirty seconds, I’d…I didn’t know. Didn’t even want to think about

that. I needed to fuck him and I couldn’t wait.

I released him, and as I scrambled out of my clothes—stupid fucking

buttons—James went for the nightstand drawer. I kicked the last of my
clothes aside, and he handed me the unwrapped condom.

“Up against the bed,” I growled as I rolled on the condom.
James turned and leaned over the bed, but grunted in pain and jerked

upright.

“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He sounded like he spoke through gritted teeth. “Just put

more weight on my arm than I should have.”

I ran my fingertips up and down the center of his spine. “Would you

be more comfortable on your back?”

“Probably.”
“Stay on the edge of the bed.” I poured lube in my hand. “So I can

stand.”

James licked his lips. Our eyes met, and oh, hell, the hunger in his

damn near made me come right then and there. Standing beside the bed
meant deep, hard, fast, and painful. Just the way we both loved it. There was
no other way, as far as I was concerned, we could do this tonight.

I capped the lube and set it back on the nightstand, and in a

heartbeat,  we  were  in  each  other’s  arms.  Up  against  the  bed,  kissing
frantically, furiously. Clawing at each other. Pulling in sharp hisses of breath.
My  hands  shook.  My  heart  pounded.  I  was  painfully  hard,  out  of  breath,
falling apart, fuck, I needed him.

I broke the kiss and shoved him down onto the bed. His spine barely

hit the mattress before it arched right back off, and he moaned as he spread
his legs for me.

“God, hurry up,” he whispered. “Please, I can’t…I don’t want to

wait…I’m—”

A gasp cut him off when I pressed against him. He closed his eyes,

and as I pressed harder, he pushed back, and we both released quiet groans
when  the  head  of  my  cock  slid  into  him.  Sliding  in,  pulling  back,  sliding  a
little  deeper,  pulling  back,  until  he  relaxed  enough  to  offer  next  to  no
resistance,  and  more  white  sparks  crackled  in  the  darkness  behind  my
eyelids.

Faster. Faster. Harder. The bed creaked beneath us, but didn’t drown

out James’s voice when he cried out. I knew that cry well. Pain, yes, but also
pleasure. Delirious, dizzying pleasure, just like the ecstasy that drove a low,
throaty groan from my lips. I’d always loved sex with James, but tonight, it
was water on the tongue after months in the desert.

My legs shook and my arms quivered beneath me. I slowed down,

gritting my teeth and struggling to keep going. I was so tired, so fucking
exhausted, but I couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until we’d both found that much-
needed release.

James reached up with his uninjured arm and slid his hand around

the  back  of  my  neck.  All  it  took  was  a  hint  of  pressure  from  his fingertips,
and  I  came  down  to  him,  surrendering  to  gravity  and  the  need  to  taste  his
kiss.

I held him to me, the first time today that I’d held someone out of

passion  instead  of  mutual  grief,  and  like  never  before,  it  was  ecstasy.  Our
hips  moved  together.  Our  mouths  moved  together.  Even  the  air  moving  in
and out of our lungs fell into some kind of synchronized rhythm.

Every place we touched was more intense than usual, like my nerve

endings amplified every minute sensation just to make sure he was really
here. Somewhere in the back of my mind, some quiet voice repeated over
and over: “You’re here, you’re here, you’re alive.” I held him tighter, kissed
him more passionately, inhaling his musky scent and wanting—needing—to
be deeper inside him.

James’s back arched and he broke the kiss. “Oh, God,” he moaned.

“Don’t stop… fuck…”

I dug my teeth into my lower lip and thrust a little harder, as hard as I

could in this position with my legs aching and trembling the way they did.
The ache of my own impending orgasm intensified with every stroke, and I
held my breath, screwing my eyes shut and trying not to lose it before he did.

A shudder ran through him. He gripped my arm so hard it was

painful,  and  rocked  his  hips  back  just  a  little,  just  enough,  and  with  a
helpless,  breathless  whimper,  he  came.  I  managed  a  few  more  deep,
desperate  thrusts  before  the  ache  became  too  much,  my  vision  went  white,
and  I  surrendered.  For  a  few  blinding,  blissful  seconds,  I  was  aware  of
nothing but broken tension and the relief of release.

Then I exhaled and collapsed over him. We held onto each other,

both shaking, both panting. Eventually, his lips found mine and he kissed me
gently.

“I think I needed that,” he slurred.
“So did I.” I tilted my head to one side, then the other, to ease some

lingering stiffness that was probably a result of the day from hell. “I
definitely needed it.”

James ran his fingers through my hair. “Thanks for doing this,” he

murmured. “Putting me up, I mean. Everything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I whispered. “Honestly, right now, I’m just

glad you’re okay. I’ve been worried sick ever since we found Stephen.”

James flinched. “I’m sorry, Brian, about the calls and—”
I silenced him with a gentle kiss. “We’ll sort out who’s sorry for

what later. You’re okay and you’re safe here, that’s all I care about.” It was
all I had the energy to care about now.

We cleaned up and fell into bed together. My mind had a million

reasons to keep me awake until the sun rose, not the least of which was the
man lying beside me, but my body was simply done. Within minutes, I

Six

The next morning, I felt like shit. My head pounded. My stomach

turned. I was sure I’d slept, but my body ached with relentless exhaustion
like I’d been awake for days. Last night’s booze combined with the fact that I
hadn’t eaten in well over twenty-four hours didn’t help at all.

Careful not to wake James, I dragged myself out of bed and went

into the kitchen to try to find something to appease my stomach. Naturally,
nothing sounded good. It was a lot like being too tired to sleep; I was so
fucking hungry, I couldn’t eat. Even the thought of coffee made me gag.

I finally persuaded myself to eat some toast. I’d let that settle my

stomach, then I could work on choking down something more substantial.

About the time I’d worked up to a cup of coffee and a second piece

of toast, James shuffled into the kitchen. He was still almost  as pale as he’d
been  last  night,  with  darker  lines  beneath  his  eyes  to emphasize  his  lack  of
color.  Out  of  habit,  I  poured  him  a  cup  and  slid  it  across  the  counter,  but
didn’t  bother  with  cream  or  sugar.  There  were  a  million  things  I’d  just
discovered  I  didn’t  know  about  the  man,  but  I  did  know  he  took  his  coffee
black. Because that was so fucking important in the grand scheme of things.

“Thanks,” he said, picking up the cup. “Get any sleep?”
“Not enough. You?”
“Same.” He sipped his coffee.
We drank in silence for a long moment. My not-quite-settled

stomach  wound  itself  back  into  knots  as  last  night  replayed  in  my  mind.
Much as I tried to tell myself I’d slept with my boyfriend, found comfort in
someone familiar and equally in need of that same comfort, I couldn’t shake
the nauseating feeling I’d fucked a total stranger. It wouldn’t have been the
first time by any means—I’d had my share of one night stands—but he was a
stranger  who  wasn’t  supposed  to  be.  One  whose  involvement  in  the  drug
trade  had,  directly  or not, cost  my  partner  his  life.  I  wanted  to  tell  myself  I
either loved James or hated him, maybe a little of both, but all I could think
was I didn’t even know him.

I finished my coffee and turned to rinse the cup in the sink. Over my

shoulder, I said, “I need to get down to the station. Before I go, though, I
need some answers.”

His cup clicked on the counter. “Go ahead.”
I faced him and leaned against the sink, resting my hands on the

counter’s edge in an effort to not look confrontational or defensive. “Start by
telling me the truth.”

“I have told you the truth.”
“No. Not about the murders.” I hesitated. “Tell me where you’ve

been. When you’ve told me to call, but your phone’s been off.”

James avoided my eyes. “I told you. I’m a dealer. With my

brothers.”

“Is that all?”
No answer. No eye contact.
Through my teeth, I asked, “Is there someone else?”
His head snapped up and his lips parted. “What? You…” He

swallowed. “You think I’ve been cheating on you?”

Folding my arms across my chest, I cocked my head. “If not that,

then what?”

His shoulders sank at the same speed he released a long breath, the

kind of gesture that usually preceded some kind of confession. I hoped he
couldn’t see me bracing myself, pulling in a breath and holding it, wondering
if it would be a confession directed at the cop or the lover.

Closing his eyes, he released some of that breath. “Okay, no, it’s not

all because of our operation. I have a bit of an…” He rubbed the back of his
neck and sighed. “An addiction.”

I raised an eyebrow. “To?”
His cheeks darkened and he looked at me through his lashes.

“Gambling.”

“Gambling?” I blinked. “Are you serious?”
Avoiding my eyes again, he nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, you’re a…” I paused, shaking my head. “You’re a fucking

gambling addict, now?”

“Don’t get all high and mighty about it,” he growled. “I’ve seen the

way you drink.”

Our eyes met, and he silently challenged me to push back.
I ground my teeth. “Somehow I don’t think my drinking has ever

interfered with our relationship.”

James narrowed his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I swallowed hard and shifted my weight. “So, all those nights when

you bailed on me, or didn’t return my calls, or you were an hour late.” I
inclined my head. “When you weren’t dealing, you were gambling?”

“Yes. Phone doesn’t work in the casinos, and half the time I can’t

hear it at the track, which is why you couldn’t reach me.” He paused. “That,
or I was with a… I was working.”

A bitter laugh almost made it past my lips, but I didn’t have the

energy to bring it to life. I couldn’t decide if I was relieved to know he
wasn’t cheating, or just wanted to throw my hands up because there was yet
another thing I didn’t know about him.

“Have you gotten any help for this?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Stephen was after me about it for a while,

but…” He fidgeted. “Look it’s neither here nor there. Not like I can make
any bets from here, you know?”

I scowled. “Okay, so you have a gambling problem. That’s it?”
“It’s the reason I was always hard to reach and kept being evasive.”

He took a breath. “And, also because of it, I owe a lot of money to a lot of
people. So, I…”

“You, what?”
“That’s why I got involved with what my brothers were doing. The

drug ring.”

I fought to keep from losing my patience. “It never occurred to you

to make money another way?”

“I was desperate,” he said with a shrug that looked more exhausted

than dismissive. “Stephen and David were getting in to try to make a quick
buck, and when they asked me to, I…” He shook his head. “Look, I knew
going into it that it wasn’t good. I was desperate for money and so were they.
We just figured we could get in, make enough to get ourselves out of the red,
and get out.” He chewed his lip. “We weren’t in it for… this.”

“James, you were distributing crack and heroin in a crime-infested,

poverty-stricken area,” I growled, forcing my temper back. “What did you
think would happen? Christ, you weren’t exactly hawking Mary Kay.”

“Look, we knew it was a risk. We just thought if we played our cards

right—”

“Playing cards sounds like the last thing you needed to be doing.”
He winced. “Brian…”
I put up my hands. “Sorry, that was low.”
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.
I shifted my weight. “Listen, we can discuss this more later. I should

get down to the station and figure out where the investigation’s headed.
Before I go, I need a few more details from you.”

“Such as?”
I picked up my jacket off the back of a chair and pulled out the

notepad I always carried. “Tell me more about Heidi Gill. Of course she’s a
witness, but do you think she’d know anything about what your brother was
involved in?”

“It’s possible,” he said. “She was with Stephen all the time.

Practically lived with him.”

“How do I find her?”
He took a breath, but didn’t speak for a moment. Then, meeting my

eyes, he said, “She works in Masontown. At one of the clubs.” He leaned
back, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers.
“Allyson’s. That club on Jackson and Twentieth.”

“Allyson’s?” I raised an eyebrow. “She’s a stripper?”
He nodded. “Don’t know if she’ll be there any time soon after

everything that happened, but someone there might know where she lives.
Maybe. Finding her probably won’t be easy.” He paused. “There’s another
girl, a Shana Murray. She may know a thing or two herself, besides how to
find Heidi.”

I tapped my pen against my chin. “What kind of involvement would

Shana have?”

“Let’s just say my brother wasn’t known for his fidelity,” James said

dryly. “God knows what he might have told her in bed, or what Heidi might
have told her. Either way, Shana will know how to find Heidi if anyone
does.”

“Okay, so how do I find Shana?”
“Same club,” he said. “Her stage name is Wildcat, but most everyone

knows her by her real name. And Heidi went by China Doll onstage.”

I made a note of the nicknames. “I’ll ask around. What does Shana

look like?”

“She was bleach blonde with pink streaks last I saw her, but that

doesn’t mean much,” he said. “She changes every week or so. She’s got a
tattoo of a tiger on her left arm, a tramp stamp of two black panthers, and
some cat or another on one side of her stomach.

I eyed him. “How much of this girl have you seen?”
He rolled his eyes. “She’s a stripper, Brian. Half the time she was

with my brothers or any of the other guys, she barely had any clothes on.”

“Fair enough.” I wrote down the descriptions of her tattoos.

“Height?”

“Maybe five ten?”
I nodded and noted her height. “And Heidi?”
“She’s not as tall,” he said. “Shana’s got a few inches on her. Heidi’s

a brunette, has a few tattoos. A rose and barbed wire tramp stamp, bracelets
around each ankle.”

I made a couple of notes about Heidi’s appearance. Then I set my

pen down and looked at him. “Out of curiosity, how  is it that I didn’t even
know  you  had  a  brother  until  now?”  I  swallowed.  “What  else  haven’t  you
told me?”

James flinched and dropped his gaze.
I exhaled and shoved the notepad back in my jacket pocket. “Never

mind. We can discuss it more tonight. I need to go get dressed and get out of
here.”

He didn’t respond, but as I started out of the kitchen, he said, “Wait.”
I turned, eyebrows up.

James swallowed hard. “Am I too overdrawn on favors to ask one

more?”

Oh, you have no idea. “Depends on what it is.”
He shifted a little. “Listen, whether or not Heidi knows anything, she

was a witness, and it wouldn’t surprise me if some of these guys, whoever
they are, want to keep her quiet by any means necessary.”

“I know. That’s why I want to find her as soon as possible.”
“When you do, promise me something, Brian.”
I inclined my head.
When he spoke again, he was almost pleading. “Don’t let her out of

your sight. Bring her here, get her out of town, something. But keep her
safe.”

I watched him silently for a moment. “This girl means something to

you, doesn’t she?”

“Not like that,” he said. “But she was my brother’s girlfriend. He

may not have been faithful, but he worshipped the ground she walked on. If
anything, I owe it to him to keep her safe.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” I whispered.

Seven

Whenever a major case fell in our laps, the precinct came alive with

the  kind  of  activity  that  made  me  think  of  a  beehive.  The  constant  buzz  of
voices.  People  swarming  around  desks,  screens,  phones,  fax  machines,
anything  that  produced  an  answer,  a  lead,  anything.  It  looked  like
disorganized chaos, but everyone was working toward the same goal: solving
the case.

Today, it was less a beehive and more a wasp’s nest. The air crackled

with an undercurrent of rage, with every effort focused on finding the fucker
who’d taken out two—possibly three—of our own.

Avery was already here, leaning against his desk and sucking down a

Red Bull as he looked over some papers in a file folder. He was as pale as
James and probably myself, but when he glanced up at me, the only sign of
fatigue in his eyes was a hint of redness. Otherwise, he was wide awake, and
I doubted it had anything to do with the Red Bull in his hand. The grief and
fury in his expression could have powered the city’s grid.

“Morning,” he said flatly.
“Morning. Any word on John?”
His lips tightened. “He made it through the night, but he’s still in

pretty bad shape. Nowhere near out of the woods yet.”

“Glad he’s hanging in there, though,” I said.
Avery nodded. “I’ll take whatever good news I can get right now.”

He started to speak again, but then his eyes darted past me, and I looked over
my shoulder to see the chief approaching.

“You two sure you want to work this case?” Warner asked.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“I need to be doing something,” Avery said. “I’ll go crazy sitting at

the hospital.”

The chief looked at us for a moment. “All right, but the minute you

think what happened is clouding your judgment or affecting your ability to
work, you’d damn well better let me know about it. Understood?”

“Yes, Chief,” we both said.

My judgment on this case? Clouded? Oh, no, definitely not.
“Anything come up last night?” I asked. “Between the evidence and

witnesses?”

The chief nodded. “A few interesting things, actually. Ballistics

matched the rounds found at the scene and in the bodies. The same weapon
was used on Kelly, Kessler, and Stephen Merrill, along with two others. Find
that gun, we find our killer.”

Avery and I looked at each other, then back at the chief.
“One guy took out almost everyone?” I said.
“So it would appear.” The chief flipped through some pages in a file

folder. “From the looks of it, we’ve got trajectories going every which
direction. The lab’s still trying to piece together who was standing where and
when, but what we do know is our shooter hit five people, one of whom was
a cop. Then came back to pick off one more, apparently.” He closed the file
folder and looked at us as he went on. “For that matter, the rounds also
matched a few other open murder cases in the database.”

“Oh, really?” I said.
Avery shifted his weight, furrowing his brow. “Which murders?”
“Three dealers and a hooker over the last year,” the chief said. “And,

most notably, the Chelmsford murder.”

My stomach flipped. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m most definitely not.”
This was an unexpected bit of information. The Chelmsford murder

had happened several months ago, and the case had been as open-and-shut as
they  come.  Jay  Chelmsford  was  a  high-profile  kingpin  of  one  of  the  big
rings. Had a few dozen warrants. Plenty of enemies. Three eyewitnesses, two
of  whom  were  decorated  detectives  working  undercover,  had  seen  a  rival
dealer  named  Tim  West  unload  three  rounds  into  Chelmsford’s  skull.  West
had  gotten  away,  but  it  hadn’t  taken  long  to  track  him  down.  The  only
problem  was,  by  the  time  we  moved  in  to  arrest  him,  one  of  the  girls  on
Chelmsford’s payroll had gone Basic Instinct on him. It was hard to believe a
girl that small could do that much damage to a man his size with a knife, but
having him tied to the bed had probably helped.

The girl, a stripper named Candy, insisted she was innocent, that

she’d been passed out drunk when it happened. Fingerprints, DNA evidence,
blood on her skin and lingerie, and the testimony of a panicked hooker who’d
overheard the situation and called 911, however, begged to differ.

And though all three rounds had been recovered in and around

Chelmsford’s body, the murder weapon had never been found.

“That case was solved, though,” Avery said.
“Only because the alleged killer was taken out before he could be

interrogated, let alone tried,” the chief said. “So either this gun has changed
hands, or Tim West didn’t kill Jay Chelmsford. Whatever the case, we need
to find that gun, and we need to find our missing shooter. The DA’s working

on getting a search warrant for James Merrill’s place. We don’t need one for
Stephen’s, so I’d suggest you start there.”

“Any leads on the shooter?” Avery asked.
“Possibly.” The chief glanced at the file in his hand. “There’s a

missing undercover. Detective Dirk Whaley.”

“Whaley?” Avery’s eyebrows jumped. “He’s a suspect?”
“Witnesses placed him at the scene.” The chief eyed Avery. “You

said yourself he was present.”

“Yeah, but…” Avery paused, then shook his head. “I didn’t see what

went down in the room, but I can’t imagine Dirk firing on other cops.”

“It makes sense, though,” I said. “Whoever killed Max was able to

return to the scene. If he had a badge, no one would have kept him out.”

Avery set his jaw. “Whaley is not a killer.”
“Got any better ideas?” I said through my teeth.
“One of the Merrill brothers,” he said. “James was there and got

out.”

“But how the hell would he have gotten back in without detection?” I

asked. “Whaley had a badge. James didn’t.”

“That’s what you two are off to find out,” the chief broke in. “And

you’re not going to figure it out just standing here, so get out of here, both of
you. You’re together on this case.”

“Can’t fucking wait,” Avery growled.
The chief glared at him, but didn’t say anything. He pulled two

photos  out  of  the  file  folder.  They  were  duplicates  of  a  Caucasian  male  in
plainclothes.  “This  is  Detective  Whaley.  While  you’re  canvassing,  ask
around and see if anyone’s seen him, but do not blow his cover. He may be
laying  low  for  his  own  safety,  and  like  any  suspect,  he’s  innocent  until
proven guilty. Understood?”

“Yes, Chief,” we said in unison.
He went back into his office, and Avery and I headed out. On the

way to the elevator to the parking garage, I said, “So, looks like we’re
partners now.”

“Great,” he muttered.
I stopped him with a hand on his arm, and we faced each other.
“Look,” I said. “I’m not too happy about this either, but we’re stuck

working together. Would it be too much to ask to work together?”

He set his jaw. “I’m not interested in working with anyone. My

partner’s on fucking life support—”

“And mine’s on a goddamned slab in the morgue,” I snarled. “Which

means we both have a vested interest in figuring this case out, so we might as
well not—” The words “kill each other” stopped on the tip of my tongue. I
swallowed. “We might as well work together.”

“Fine, we’ll work together.” He stabbed the elevator button with his

finger. “But don’t think for a second that you’re calling the shots on this

one.”

“Funny, I figured if we were partners on this, we’d—”
“You know what I mean,” he snapped.
I rolled my eyes. This was going to be the investigation from hell.
While we waited for the judge to sign off on the search warrant for

James’s apartment, Avery and I drove across town to Stephen’s house.

Stephen lived on the other side of the river and the tracks from

Masontown,  divided  by  a  mile  or  so  from  the  chaos  and  poverty  of  that
neighborhood.  His  street  was  part  of  a  sprawling  development  of  cookie
cutter  homes,  the  kind  that  were  lined  up  in  rows  with  uniform  white
exteriors and  manicured  lawns.  SUVs  and  family  cars  sat in  driveways  and
along  the  curb,  and  kids  rode  their  bikes  and  scooters  on  the  sidewalk,
probably oblivious to the drug dealer who’d lived a block or so away.

“This is the place.” Avery pointed at a house as I turned down a cul

de sac.

I parked on the curb. A few patrol cars were in the driveway, and

some part of me expected to see James’s car beside them. For that matter, I
hadn’t thought to ask him where he had left his car. It wasn’t at his apartment
when I drove by last night, and wasn’t in my driveway. To my knowledge, it
hadn’t been found near the crime scene. One more thing to ask him about
tonight.

Uniformed officers had already arrived and swept the house, making

sure there was no one home who might add to the casualty list of this case.
Avery and I went in through the open front door.

Stephen had certainly had extravagant taste. The opulent interior

more  than  made  up  for  the  plain,  unassuming  exterior.  Every  piece  of
furniture  was  either  exquisite  leather  or  polished  mahogany,  and  I  didn’t
even  think  they  made  flatscreen  TVs  that  big.  This  was  a  place  for
entertaining  and  being  entertained,  and  for  impressing  anyone  who  walked
through the door.

“Avery, I didn’t expect to see you here.” A voice turned us around,

and Detective Paulson came down the stairs, hand extended.

As they shook hands, Avery said, “Good to see you up and about.”
Paulson held up his other hand, which was wrapped in white tape

and gauze. “Just a scratch. I’ll be all right.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Find anything interesting here?”
“Still combing the place,” Paulson said. “Only been here for ten or

fifteen minutes.”

“I’m going to take a look around,” I said, pulling on a pair of rubber

gloves.

Avery nodded. “I’ll catch up with you.”
While Avery and Paulson talked, I angled toward the dining room.

This house looked so normal, from its unassuming exterior to the pictures of
the brothers on the wall. Hard to believe it was built on a foundation of crack

and heroin.

As I walked down the hallway, two officers looked at some pictures

on the wall.

“Well, I can’t tell which is which,” the first said. “How the hell do

we pick one?”

“Does it matter?” The second shrugged. “They’re identical. We just

need one that’s an accurate physical representation.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Paulson said to grab a photo for the media so folks can keep an eye

out for James Merrill.” The first officer gestured at the photos. “Problem is,
they look alike.”

I looked at the pictures, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood

on end. Seeing the two brothers side by side, both alive and smiling, was
eerie. For that matter, even I couldn’t tell them apart. Only one photo was
definitely James, and that was only because his brother had an earring in the
same picture. Assuming the one I thought was James wasn’t actually David.

I masked a shiver with a flippant shrug. “Just pick one,” I said as I

started walking. “It just needs to be enough to give people an idea what to
look for.”

On my way into the dining room, I looked over my shoulder. Certain

no one else was in the room, I went straight to the wet bar where James said
the safe was located. I hadn’t yet decided what I’d do with the contents once
I got it open. Bag them as evidence? Violate a few million protocols and take
them to James to see what he could make of them? I didn’t know. Nor was I
sure how I’d explain the opened safe. If nothing else, depending on what I
found, I’d take the contents of the safe, close it again, and lock it as if it had
never been disturbed.

No, my judgment definitely wasn’t clouded.
When I found the safe beside one of the high-backed barstools, all

my hemming and hawing abruptly became moot.

The safe was open.
And empty.
Carefully, touching only the corner of the safe door so I wouldn’t

smudge any fingerprints, I closed it enough to see the dial on the lock. There
was no sign of force, and the dial had stopped on twelve. The last digit of the
combination James had given me.

Fuck.
“Find anything?” Avery said.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Just an open, empty safe.”
Quiet footsteps signaled his approach, and he knelt beside me,

eyeing the safe. “Forced entry?”

“No. Everything looks intact, so whoever got in must have known

the combo.”

“Probably one of the brothers, then.” He stood. “Presumably Stephen

didn’t take the time to clean it out before he left for his hot lead injection.”

I rolled my eyes. That man’s compassion could make angels fucking

weep. I instructed an officer to dust the safe and surrounding areas for prints,
and while he got started, I went back out into the living room with Avery.

“Anyway, reason I came in there,” Avery said, gesturing at the

dining room. “I just got an interesting phone call from one of the former
undercovers from the area.”

“Oh yeah?”
“Detective Linda Harrigan,” he said. “She pulled out after a serious

injury a while back, but she was in pretty tight with one of the rings
competing with the Merrills. She gave me the names of a couple of strippers.
Said they might know where to find James.”

My mouth went dry. “Is that right?”
He nodded. “Guess one of them was stuck to Stephen like a case of

herpes, and with as much time as they spent together? She’s gotta know
something.”

“Names?”
He looked at his notepad. “Heidi Gill and Shana Murray. Both work

down  at  Allyson’s,  one  of the  clubs in  Masontown.” He  tucked  his  notepad
into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  jacket.  “That,  and  she  said  if  we  want  to  find
James, we need to find his boyfriend.”

My throat constricted. “His… boyfriend?” Fuck. Fuck. Oh, fuck.

Fortunately, he probably chalked up my shock to being stunned that someone
in the universe was actually gay. I hoped he didn’t see right through me to
that intimate, carnal knowledge of just how gay James was.

“Yeah,” Avery said. “That’s one thing no one could never track.

He’d go to see his man and disappear off everyone’s radar. Like he didn’t
want anyone figuring out who he was seeing.”

I muffled a cough. “Why would he want to keep something like that

quiet?” Besides, I don’t know, the fact that he was fucking a cop. God, my
career is toast.

Avery shrugged. “Well, apparently he had more than one.”
A chill worked its way into my gut. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, so whenever he was off to…” He shuddered. “Do whatever it

is they do, he kept it quiet. But we’ve got a name of at least one of his regular
playthings. Some kid at the Twenty-Fifth Street Diner. A dishwasher named
Ronnie.”

My hackles rose. I barely kept my tone neutral as I said, “Maybe we

should go pay this Ronnie a visit, then.”

“I think I’d rather go to Allyson’s,” Avery muttered.
“We should probably start there anyway.” At least then I might not

strangle Ronnie the dishwasher.

We left Stephen’s, and while I drove, Avery tried to reach the owner

of Allyson’s. The strip club was closed, and by the time we got to the

precinct,  he’d  had  no  luck  reaching  its  owner.  With  an  officer  assigned  to
hunt  the  owner  down,  Avery  and  I  continued  through  a  list  of  contacts  and
potential  witnesses.  Many  of  them  had  already  been  interviewed  by  other
officers and detectives, fortunately, which saved us time.

I thought it would, anyway. The more I sorted through statements,

the more confusing the whole case became.

One undercover cop from Masontown said Stephen and James had it

out for each other. A stripper who knew both of them, plus Stephen’s small
harem of women, said the two of them loved each other. As far as she was
concerned, any one of the brothers would have turned a weapon on himself
before he aimed it at another.

The gun was in and out of James’s hands throughout the interviews

and interrogations. He loved and hated his brother. He’d have died for
Stephen, he’d have killed him in cold blood at the first available opportunity.
Cop killer, informant. Drug dealer, double agent.

Statements about Detective Whaley were equally mixed. Some were

certain he’d been out to take down the Merrills by whatever means
necessary, legal or otherwise, even if it meant killing them. Others insisted he
was just a pawn like everyone else. No fewer than half dozen people swore
Whaley was a fed.

It was one thing when a witness or contact lied, or when they simply

had  bad information.  It  was  another  when the stories coming  from  multiple
people  lined  up,  and  stories  from  another  group  of  people  lined  up  while
completely  contradicting  the  others.  It  was  like  with  every  interview,  we
knew  less  about  Whaley  and  the  Merrills.  Someone  was  lying.  Lying,  or
deceived, but I couldn’t tell the smoke from the mirrors.

One thing was clear, and that was that James was as well-known

around here as his late brother. He had a reputation for being laidback and
friendly while Stephen was usually wound pretty tight. The girls loved both
of them, and more than a few lamented the fact that James wasn’t into them.
Every description of his personality that struck home made me wince. Made
his involvement real.

David Merrill was an enigma. No personality, no social interaction,

just  an  icy  presence.  He  never  cracked  a  smile  or  spoke  in  anything  but  a
terse  monotone.  No  one  had  ever figured  out  where  he  lived,  anything,  and
no one had seen or heard from him for days prior to the shooting.

While I went through statements, Avery interviewed a guy named

Fletcher Jackson, and the man nearly drove Avery to violence. Fletcher was
supposedly connected to James, Heidi, and pretty much any key player in
any drug ring in Masontown. Cops, dealers, he knew them all, and he dealt
information like the rest of the neighborhood dealt sex and drugs.

When he was hauled into the station, though, he was high as a

goddamned kite.

“Fucker couldn’t even remember his own name.” Avery crushed an

empty Red Bull can in his hand, watching an officer lead Fletcher out of the
precinct afterward. “He asked me my name about seventeen times.” Rolling
his eyes, he picked up his phone and a couple of reports. “Fuck him. Let’s go
talk to that queer James was screwing.”

I ground my teeth and followed him. “Think we can get more out of

this Fletcher guy when he’s more coherent?”

“Maybe,” Avery muttered. “I wouldn’t bank on it. Messed up as he

is, the minute he’s home, he’ll probably go off and OD anyway.” Under his
breath, he added, “And what a tragedy that would be.”

“He’d be useless to us if he was dead.”
“But he’d be dead and off the streets, so I can’t say I’d complain. I

think this douche would do the world a favor by being on a slab.”

“What a lovely sentiment.”
He smirked. “I didn’t think you homicide detectives were soft. What

gives?”

“There’s a difference between being soft and not wishing death on

other human beings.”

The elevator door dinged, and Avery shrugged, glancing at me while

he waited for the door to open. “This guy’s nothing but a junkie. What’s one
less in that neighborhood?”

This was my partner for the foreseeable future? Fuck.
I changed the subject as we stepped out of the elevator.
“Okay, you’re more familiar with everything relating to the

Merrills,” I said. “Fill me in.”

“Oh, man, we’ve been trying to bring those three in for months,” he

said.  “Don’t  know  where  they  came  from.  We  can’t  find  shit  on  any  of
them.”  He  paused  when  the  elevator  stopped.  As  we  stepped  out  into  the
garage, he continued. “No arrest records, not even a damned speeding ticket.
They came out of nowhere and the next thing we know, Chelmsford’s dead
and they’ve got all of his old dealers working for them.”

“So, all three brothers were running the show?”
“David more than any of them,” Avery said. “We’re not a hundred

percent sure what each brother’s involvement was. If anything, Stephen and
James were behind the scenes. David was definitely the man in charge.” He
exhaled. “We haven’t been able to get a charge to stick to any of them,
though. All three of these fuckers are slick as hell. They know how to keep
their hands off of things.”

I unlocked the car and we both got in.
As I backed out of the parking space, Avery said, “We’ve been

watching them like hawks for months, but they haven’t given us enough for
an arrest warrant.”

“Running a drug ring like that, and you can’t get an arrest warrant?”
He shot me a glare. “Things aren’t quite as cut and dry in narcotics

as they are in homicide, Detective.” The hint of venom injected into the last

word made my teeth grind. He went on. “We don’t have a smoking gun, or
bloody fingerprints, or any of that shit. We’ve got people who know how to
play this game and pull all the strings without ever getting their hands dirty.
Especially the Merrill brothers. Finding cold hard evidence to link them isn’t
as easy as you might think.”

“I never said it was easy,” I said. “But if you guys are that sure the

brothers were heavily involved…”

“Oh, we’re sure they are,” he said. “The problem is proving it

enough to get a warrant, never mind a conviction. These guys could give the
Teflon Don a run for his money when it comes to keeping charges from
sticking.”

“How so?”
He blew out a breath. “Here’s the thing. The undercovers interacted

with  Stephen  and  James  all  the  time.  Built  a  rapport,  earned  their  trust.
They’d  both  be  around,  both  seemed  to  have  just  as  much  involvement  in
their  operation.  We  knew  they  were  up  to  something,  but  didn’t  see  them
touch a thing, and they picked and chose every word they said to keep from
incriminating  themselves.”  He  muttered  a  string  of  profanity  under  his
breath.  “But  then  when  the  undercovers  went  to  meet  them  and  actually
conduct  business,  you  know,  swapping  money  and  dope,  it  was  always
David.”

I said nothing, just glanced at him before I turned down the road that

would take us into Masontown.

“Any time there was an actual exchange,” Avery said, “any

interaction  we  could  use  to  definitively  charge  one  of  them,  David  showed
up, not the other two. He always wore leather gloves and sunglasses, night or
day.  Never  smoked,  never  drank,  never  even  showed  a  hint  of  personality.
Undercovers thought it was James for a good long time because Stephen was
left-handed.  Whenever  David  made  any  gestures,  anything,  it  was  always
with his right hand. But then the fucker started using his left hand part of the
time and his right hand the other. Someone slipped one night and called him
by his first name, so that’s how we figured out there’s a third.”

“No one’s ever busted him? When he was running a transaction, I

mean?”

Avery shook his head. “He never actually touched anything, just

communicated  with  his  cronies  in  gestures  and  code.  Probably  fucking
telepathy  or  something.  We  could  charge  anyone  else  involved  in  the
transactions, but not him, and nobody wanted the cronies. We wanted the big
players,  and  we  couldn’t  get  enough  charges  to  stick  to  any  one  brother.
That, and if we busted one, there was a chance we’d lose the other two. So
we were biding our time until we could take down all three brothers in one
fell swoop.” He exhaled. “After Chelmsford went down, we suspected one of
the three had either killed him or paid to have him  killed. So we wanted to
nail them for capital murder charges, which meant laying low until we could

figure out who was behind it. Everything we could charge them with relating
to the drug ring would put them in prison, but murder? That’s a needle in the
arm.”

“So you wanted the big payoff?” I muttered.
“Call it what you want,” he said with a uncaring shrug. “We wanted

all three brothers taken down for everything, especially if they killed anyone.
One down, two to go, and I’m going to make sure we bust the last two for
what happened yesterday.”

The rest of the drive was silent, and for that I was thankful. I

empathized with Avery and his desire to make someone pay for shooting his
partner, but that didn’t make him any less crass.

Finally, I parked in front of the restaurant.
Avery scowled at the building, as if it was tainted by its disgustingly

gay dishwasher. His lips contorted and he looked at me. “Why don’t you take
this one? I’m going to call and check up on our search warrant.”

“What’s wrong?” I shot him a smirk. “Afraid the gay will rub off on

you?”

He glared at me. “Just take care of it.”
“All right, I’ll meet you back out here.” At least it got me away from

him for a few minutes, even if I was less than thrilled about meeting the guy
with whom James may very well have been cheating on me.

I went into the restaurant and showed my badge to the hostess. “Is

there a Ronnie Taylor here?”

Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “Um, yes. Yeah, he’s here. I’ll…

go get him.”

“Thank you.”
Moments later, she returned with a blond kid in a stained apron. He

was young, maybe in his early twenties. Possibly even eighteen or nineteen,
definitely no older than twenty-one or so. Cute, too, and my stomach knotted
with jealousy and suspicion.

He stared at me like a child who thought he was about to be punished

for something.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” I said. “Is there somewhere we

can talk alone?”

He gulped at the sight of my badge. Without a word, he led me into

the back of the restaurant to a small break room. He sank into a chair at the
table, and I sat across from him.

“What’s this about?” he asked, his voice so soft and timid I barely

heard him at all.

I put my notepad on the table and folded my hands on top of it. “Tell

me what you know about James Merrill.”

In an instant, the timidity evaporated, and his eyes lit up. With a

devilish grin, he set his shoulders back and said, “That depends, Detective.
What do you want to know?”

“I think I was pretty clear.” I narrowed my eyes. “What do you know

about James Merrill?”

The grin broadened. He leaned back in his chair, reaching up to lace

his fingers behind his head. “Well, I know a lot about him. I mean, I could
spend all day telling you what he can do with his mouth.” He closed his eyes
and shivered, grinning as he pulled in a sharp breath. “Not sure how that
would help with whatever you’re doing, but I can sure tell you.”

I unfolded my hands and tapped my fingers on the table. “What’s

your relationship with James, Ronnie?”

“I pick up his dry cleaning.” He snorted. “What do you think my

relationship is with James?”

You’re on such thin ice right now, kid, you don’t even know.
Grinding my teeth, I took a deep breath. “So you have a sexual

relationship with him?”

“Ooh, yeah.” He grinned again, looking pretty fucking pleased with

himself.

Another deep breath. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last night.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I growled.
He put up his hands and shook his head. “I’m not lying. Unless you

have a camera in my bedroom and can prove James wasn’t fucking the hell
out of me last night.” He grinned. “You know, some people give me crap
about doing an older guy, but…” He whistled. “Find me a twenty-one year-
old who can do it like that.”

I clenched my jaw. “What time did he leave last night?”
He shrugged. “One, two, somewhere around then. I was too busy

sleeping it off to check the time.”

His lie infuriated me, but there was a hint of relief in there too. After

all, at one or two o’clock this morning, I was the one fucking James.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Ronnie,” I said, resisting the urge to clench

my fists and let one of them fly right into his smug little face.

“Not lying.” He shot me a cocky grin. “You want the whole play-by-

play? Because I—”

“You’ve got about thirty seconds to tell me the truth. No bullshit, no

games.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you the truth.”
I lunged across the table and grabbed the front of his shirt, dragging

him up out of his chair. Our faces were nearly touching when I snarled,
“Don’t play games with me, Ronnie. If James is really your lover—” I could
snap your fucking neck, you little shit “—I assume you want to protect him,
don’t you?”

He blanched.
“And if he was potentially in trouble,” I went on, “you wouldn’t

want to make it worse for him, would you?” I gripped his shirt tighter and

dropped my voice to a growl. “Or involve yourself.”

Ronnie gulped, shrinking back as much as my grip would allow.

“He’s… we’re not.” Another gulp. “We’re not… anymore.”

“What do you mean?”
“We split up.” His voice shook like he was almost in tears now.

“A… a while ago.”

I let go of his shirt and shoved him back into his chair. “How long

has it been?”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he straightened his shirt. “What does

my love life have to do with this?”

“Answer the fucking question,” I snapped, leaning over my hands on

the table so I loomed above him. “I’m not in the mood to play games.”

Ronnie dropped his gaze and fidgeted. “We had a thing a few months

ago.”

“How many months?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Seven? Eight?”
I relaxed a little. “What’s the nature of your relationship now?”
“I work for him.” He wrung his hands in his lap. “Him and his

brothers.”

“What do you do for them?”
He chewed his lip.
“I’m not investigating you,” I said, calmer now. “I’m not here to

arrest you. Just tell me what you’re doing so I can figure out who killed
Stephen.”

Ronnie squirmed in his chair. “James comes by my apartment.

Everyone thinks…” He paused, his cheeks coloring. “Everyone thinks we’re
still together, and so I, that’s why I tell people we were. Are. So they think
he’s just coming over to get laid.”

“And why was he coming over?”
Chewing his thumbnail, Ronnie leaned on one of the armrests. “To

get…information.”

“Such as?”
“I partied with a lot of these guys,” he said. “The dealers, people like

that, and I’d see deals. Overhear stuff. That kind of thing. James had me keep
my eyes and ears open, and I’d pass on whatever I could.”

“Did you ever deal with the other brothers?”
He shook his head. “Only met Stephen a few times, and whenever

David came in here, it was to talk to people, not swap merchandise.”

“Is that all you did for James? Eavesdropping?”
He nodded.
“What kinds of things did you overhear?”
“Well, like, yesterday,” he said quietly. “James came by my place in

the morning. I told him I’d heard some noise about someone wanting to take
him and his brothers down.”

I jumped. “Who wanted to take them down?”
Ronnie shook his head. “Don’t know. Word around town was that

everyone was getting paranoid. Said cops were turning on cops, dealers were
turning on dealers. I’ve even heard rumors about the feds being involved.”

“The feds? Involved in what way?”
He shrugged. “Trying to break up the drug rings like everyone else, I

guess.”

Curiouser and curiouser. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the

photo of Whaley. “You ever seen this guy around?”

Ronnie took the picture and gave it a long look. “Yeah, I’ve seen him

around.” He handed the picture back. “Don’t know who he is, but I’ve seen
his face.”

I started to speak, but my phone vibrated and caught my attention. I

took a quick look, and Avery had sent me a text that read: Search warrant
approved.

Heart pounding, I shut my phone and looked at Ronnie. “Is there

anything else you can tell me? Anything at all?”

“No, that’s all I know.”
“All right. Well, thank you for your time.” I handed him one of my

cards. “If you hear anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

He nodded. Then he looked at me. “Detective…”
I raised my eyebrows.
He swallowed. “Is James okay?”
I hesitated. His concern seemed genuine, and just because they

weren’t lovers anymore didn’t mean they didn’t still care about each other. In
his shoes, I’d want to know too. Hopefully he’d have understood if he knew
that, for James’s safety, I couldn’t show my cards.

“I don’t know,” I said. “With any luck, I’ll know something soon.”

Eight

I met Avery outside. Before going to James’s place, we swung by the

precinct  to  meet  the  DA,  who  gave  us  the  signed  warrant.  While  we  were
there,  Chief  Warner  gave  us  some  files  and  data  that  had  been  collected
while Avery and I were out.

On the way to the apartment, Avery rode in the passenger seat and

flipped through the reports.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “This guy has to have another cell phone.

There’s no way this is everything.”

“What do you mean?”
“They dumped Stephen’s call records and checked all the numbers.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “And?”
“Nothing but legitimate calls, and not a single number that leads to

James.” He frowned at the report. “The two of them didn’t live together, so
they had to communicate somehow.”

Well, that was a relief. If they hadn’t yet traced Stephen’s phone to

James’s, then they couldn’t trace James’s to mine. I cleared my throat.
“Maybe they communicated through David.”

“Maybe.” Avery released a sharp huff of breath. “Not like we have a

number for that motherfucker.”

“Any idea where we can find him?”
“Find him?” He laughed. “Oh, no, Clifton. There’s no ‘finding’

David Merrill.”

“Why’s that?”
“We have nothing on him. Not a goddamned thing. No phone

number, no residence, no records.” He gestured at a cross street up ahead.
“Turn left here.”

“Here?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I moved into the turn lane, pretending I hadn’t made this turn dozens

of times. “So, David. We can’t find him, you say?”

“Can’t keep track of him,” Avery said. “He’s never left a fingerprint.

We’ve got him on surveillance here and there, but there’s no way to prove
it’s him and not one of the other two.”

“What is this guy? Keyser fucking Söze?”
“Something like that.” Avery closed the file folder in his lap. “All I

know is, the only way we’re interviewing David Merrill is if he wants to be
interviewed. What we need to do is to find James’s second cell phone. That
might lead us to David, but I’m not holding my breath. James was the one
who was there yesterday, so he’s the one I want.”

I shivered.
“I suppose they could have communicated via e-mail,” he said. “Will

be interesting to see what we find on his computer.”

I gulped, wondering just how many of my e-mails were on that

computer. If there were any, there would be no denying we knew each other.
Or just how well we knew each other, I thought, recalling some of the racy e-
mails we’d sent back and forth. James didn’t hold anything back.

“If he’s got another phone,” Avery said. “It’s under a different name.

There’s a landline connected to his apartment, but no cell phone anywhere
that bills to that address.”

I chewed my lip. It was only a matter of time before they found that

cell, and my number would be on it. I knew he’d called me from a cell
dozens of times. From the freeway to tell me he was running late again, from
a block away from a restaurant to let me know he’d just parked and was on
his way in, from the airport terminal when I’d picked him up after a short trip
a few weeks ago. I’d seen the damned thing in his hands before.

But Avery had the records, and my number wasn’t on them.

Something twisted in the pit of my stomach. It was no great secret that drug
dealers often carried two phones, which explained why I had a different
number for James than the one on the report. If someone found that phone,
James and I were both fucked.

At the familiar apartment building, I parked in a guest spot and we

walked up to the rental office.

The landlord looked up from his newspaper. “Can I help you?”
We both showed our badges.
“Detectives Clifton and Avery,” I said. “We have a warrant to search

apartment Nine-D.”

Avery handed over the warrant.
Warrant in hand, the landlord looked at me. “Haven’t I seen you

before?”

“Not that I’m aware of, sir,” I said, ignoring the spike in my blood

pressure.

“I could swear I’ve seen you around here.”
I shook my head and shrugged as casually as I could. “Not me, sir.”
“Huh.” The landlord adjusted his glasses and skimmed over the

paperwork. “Looks like everything’s in order here. Let me get a key.”

I thumbed my keys in my pocket, using my nail to absently trace the

edge of my own key to James’s apartment.

The landlord led us up the hallway I knew all too well to the door I’d

been through countless times. He turned the key in the deadbolt and pushed
the door open, the hinges giving their trademark three-quarters-open squeal.

My stomach made queasy, tingling somersaults as I walked into

James’s apartment. This place simultaneously had the warmth of familiarity
and chill of a crime scene. Everything was still and unassuming. His wallet
and  keys  weren’t  on  the  entertainment  center,  and  his  jacket  wasn’t  draped
over the back of whichever chair had been close by when he’d taken it off.
There  was  a  conspicuous  bare spot  on the  coffee  table  that  his  ever-present
laptop always occupied, and its absence sent a rush of cool relief through me.

Otherwise, everything was as it always was.
Avery and I both pulled on rubber gloves to keep from

contaminating evidence.

“Let’s do this,” he said.
Walking from room to room, sifting through drawers, picking apart

neat stacks of folded clothing, I’d never felt so intrusive. This wasn’t just a
routine search of a place I’d never been, not when I knew this apartment as
well as I knew my own house. There wasn’t a room within these walls where
I hadn’t had at least one orgasm.

The shelves were sparse. Few knickknacks, only the barest essential

electronics, a handful of framed photos. I’d always thought he just didn’t like
having a lot of clutter, but knowing what I did now, I wondered how many
possessions were in pawn shops all over town.

Twenty-four hours ago, he was a philandering boyfriend about to

find himself single.

Now he was the drug-dealing, gambling-addicted brother of a dead

murder victim.

Curiouser and curiouser, indeed.
Avery absently picked up a black sweatshirt that had been draped

over the armrest of a chair. I realized with a chill that the shirt was mine, and
some irrational part of my mind was sure he’d figure it out.

Of course he didn’t. He dropped it back over the chair and started

rifling through some papers instead.

Half of my mind was on the lookout for something related to the

case.  A  weapon.  A  piece  of  paper  containing  contact  information.
Bloodstained anything. Part of me, though, sought another kind of evidence.
An unfamiliar piece of clothing. A phone number. Even a hair of the wrong
color  or  length  to  be  his  or  mine.  Maybe  a  sign  of  Ronnie  the  cute  blond
dishwasher, I thought, grinding my teeth. I reminded myself Ronnie had said
they’d  split  up,  but  I  wasn’t  terribly  inclined  to  believe  anyone  about
anything at the moment.

Avery went into the bedroom. I didn’t. Instead, I went into the spare

room that James used as an office. Not that I knew that already.

In amongst the bills and credit card receipts on his desk, there were

flyers, comps, and coupons from a few of the casinos outside of town. ATM
receipts bearing the logos of those casinos showed withdrawals of one, two,
and three hundred dollars. Sometimes multiple withdrawals on the same date.
Within  minutes  of  each  other.  From  different  accounts.  Some  of  the  more
recent  receipts  showed  failed  attempts  at  withdrawals:  NSF.  Denied—
insufficient funds. Balance not available to cover requested amount.

A thick stack of collection notices had been shoved into a file folder.

Credit card statements displayed significant debts. Four figures on most, five
on several. Payments were small, sporadic, and not enough to make much of
a  dent,  especially  with  the  late  fees  and  finance  charges.  Bank  statements
barely  reached  four-figure  balances.  Overdraft  fee.  Overdraft  fee.  Overdraft
fee.

I winced with every piece of evidence that backed up his story of

being a gambling addict. Jesus, James, how did I miss this?

“Hey, Clifton,” Avery called from another room. “You’re going to

want to see this.”

Gut in knots, I left the office and followed his voice into the

bedroom. I tried to push all my memories of this room to the back of my
mind, as if all those thoughts would be projected onto the bedroom wall for
my partner to see.

When I saw Avery, my heart stopped and the pleasant, incriminating

memories scattered.

Standing on the other side of the bed James and I had shared, Avery

held up, with a pen in the trigger guard, a pistol.

“I think we have ourselves a murder weapon,” he said. “Forty-five

cal, same as what was used at the club.”

“Bag it,” I said, forcing my voice through my tightening throat.

“Could be the murder weapon, could be a firearm for home protection.” But I
knew, deep down, it wasn’t for home protection. To my knowledge, James
didn’t even own a gun. Then again, to my knowledge, he’d never gambled
before. Or run a damned drug ring. Shows what I know.

God, please, let that be a home defense weapon.
“Were any handguns registered in his name?” I asked.
Avery shook his head. “None. Doubt a drug dealer would have legal

weapons, though, you know?” Handling it carefully to keep from
contaminating it with fingerprints, Avery dropped the magazine. His brow
furrowed. Then he laughed dryly as he put both the weapon and mag into a
plastic bag. “Only two rounds left. Someone was busy.”

Icicles formed along the length of my spine.
“Assuming it’s a match, and I’d be willing to bet money it is,” he

said, holding up the bagged gun like a goddamned trophy, “I’d say we have
enough for that arrest warrant.”

So we did.
We dropped the weapon at the station to be logged into evidence. It

was sent down to ballistics as a high priority case, and we were to be notified
the second the results came in.

In the meantime, we still had one more lead. Gene Randall, a

bartender down in Masontown, supposedly had connections with the Merrill
brothers. Randall’s name had come up several times in statements. Some said
the brothers frequented his establishment, the Dockside Tavern, and more
than a few suspected he was on their payroll, either as a dealer or another set
of ears. Time to drop in and see what he had to say.

Pulling up in front of the Dockside Tavern, I reminded myself I was

here for professional reasons, not because I really, really, really needed a
double of the cheapest, strongest thing the bartender had.

Avery and I made sure there was nothing visible in the car that

would attract thieves in this shady part of town, then went inside.

The massive bar was horseshoe-shaped, jutting out from the back

and  occupying  most  of  the  middle  of  the  room.  A  similar  configuration  of
dimly lit booths lined the walls, and though it was still early in the evening,
the  place  was  crowded.  Plenty  of  patrons  hunched  over  glasses  and  bottles
that were in various states of not quite full, and cigarettes smoldered between
fingers and in ashtrays.

The brightest light in the room was the colorful backlit display of top

shelf liquors along the far wall. Tempting. So very, very tempting.

Ignoring the way my mouth watered with every thunk of a glass on a

table  or clink  of ice inside  a  drink,  I  approached  the bar  with  Avery.  There
were three men behind the bar. One carried on a conversation with a bleach-
blonde  woman.  The  other  alternately  counted  bottles  and  made  notes  on  a
clipboard.

The third was bald, probably in his fifties or so, and peered at us as

he wiped a pint glass with a towel. My gut told me he was Gene Randall, and
the red plastic nametag on his crisp white shirt confirmed it.

“Gene Randall?” Avery said.
“Who’s asking?” came the terse reply.
“Detective Kent Avery.” He held up his badge. “And this is

Detective Brian Clifton.”

Neither the titles nor the badges warranted even a flicker of curiosity.
“Can I get either of you a drink?” he asked.
God, yes. Please. I cleared my throat. “No, thank you, we’re both on

the clock.”

“Well, then.” Randall put the glass and towel aside. “What can I do

for you, detectives?”

Avery pocketed his badge. “Mr. Randall, we just need to ask—”
“You Italian?” Randall broke in.
Avery cocked his head. “On my mother’s side, yes. Why?”

The bartender stiffened, folding his arms across his chest. “I thought

you looked like a wop.”

Oh, Jesus.
“Is that a problem?” Avery growled.
“I don’t trust fucking wops,” Randall threw back. “I ain’t talking to

you. I’ll talk to him.” He pointed at me. “But you can get your ass out of my
bar.”

Avery stiffened beside me, but I put a hand on his arm. With my

other, I gestured for him to step away from the bar with me. He followed,
muttering a string of curses under his breath.

“Look, let’s just play his game,” I said. “So he’s a racist asshole? He

might have some information we need.”

“Then we’ll get it out of him,” he said.
“I’ll get it out of him.” I inclined my head and lowered my voice.

“Piss him off, and he won’t get us anywhere. Play his game, we might get
something from him.”

Avery shot the bartender one last glare, then stormed out. Once he

was gone, I returned to the bar to speak to Randall.

“Sorry about him,” I said. “What can you tell me about James

Merrill?”

“What do you want to know?”
“You ever see him talking to anyone around here?” I asked.

“Anyone? Even chatting up a barmaid?”

Randall chuckled. “That I definitely haven’t seen.”
“Meaning?”
He leaned across the bar and lowered his voice. “Meaning I ain’t

never seen the man chat up a barmaid. Or any woman for that matter.”

“So, what? The Merrill boys only came down here on business?” I

folded my arms on the back of a barstool. “Not interested in the ladies?”

“Didn’t say that.” He leaned on his hands on the bar. “Said I ain’t

never seen James chat up a girl. Stephen didn’t have that problem.”

“What did you see them do, then?”
“Stephen always had a hand under someone’s skirt and James always

had a cigarette in his mouth.”

“So, they’d just come down here and smoke or cop a feel?”
Another shrug. “Oh, they’d talk to people.”
I glanced around the room, taking in the shifty-eyed clientele

hunched over glasses and ashtrays. “What people, specifically?”

“Anyone, really,” he said. “Social types, both of ‘em.”
“And what about the third brother? David?”
“He was an asshole,” Randall said. “Never said two words to no one.

Didn’t tip for shit.” Shaking his head, he picked up a glass and towel. “Mama
drank mean juice before that one came out, I’ll bet.”

“Any idea where I can find him?”

Wiping the glass down, he looked right at me. “Wherever he wants

to be found.”

Well, at least David was consistent. “And James?”
“If you haven’t found him yet, you ain’t going to.”
“Any idea who’d want any of them dead?”
Randall laughed loud enough to draw the attention of several

patrons. “In their line of work? Everyone wanted them dead.”

“Yes, thank you,” I growled. “Maybe I should ask who wanted them

dead bad enough to ambush a room full of armed men in a public place
during the day.”

He shrugged and set the glass down. “Could be a little sibling rivalry

gone sour.”

I swallowed. “You think one of his brothers killed Stephen? Why?”
“Someone not getting the cut he wants.” Randall picked up another

pristine glass and focused on wiping it down. “Money split three ways isn’t
nearly as good as two ways.”

“And that’s enough for David or James to shoot Stephen?” I shifted

my weight. “And kill a few cops in the process?”

He looked at me. “Guess you’ll have to ask them.”
“Guess I will.” I pursed my lips. “What do you know about Heidi

Gill?”

He stiffened slightly. “What do you want to know?”
“Is she safe?”
He regarded me silently for a moment, then nodded slowly. “For the

time being, yes.”

I tried not to let my relief show. “Any idea how I can find her?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know she’s safe?”
“I have my ways,” he said coolly.
“Don’t play games with me,” I said. “Tell me how you know she’s

safe.”

“The walls have ears,” Randall said. “And people talk when they

come in here. Booze does that to people.”

I fought to rein in my impatience. “So you can’t get me in contact

with her, but you know she’s safe because drunk people talk about her?”

He didn’t bat an eye. “Would seem that way, wouldn’t it?”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Not gonna happen, son,” he said. “That little girl is afraid of badges,

and you’ve got one.”

“Why is she afraid of badges?”
“Doesn’t trust your kind.”
Rolling my eyes, I laughed. “So you don’t trust Italians, and she

doesn’t trust cops?”

“Something like that.”

I sent another sweeping glance around the room. This time I realized

at  least  half  a  dozen  patrons  could  have  passed  for  Italian,  yet  they  hadn’t
been  thrown  out.  Then  again,  they  were  quietly  spending  money  instead  of
abrasively  demanding  answers.  Maybe  Randall  just  didn’t  like  Avery.  I
couldn’t  really  blame  him,  even  if  my  new  partner  had  barely  opened  his
mouth. He pretty much radiated “asshole.”

Turning to Randall again, I said, “What about James Merrill or his

whereabouts?”

The bartender eyed me. “What about him?”
“What do you know about him?”
“I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, I have no idea where he is.” He inclined his head. “Why?

Did you think I suspected you knew more than that?”

“I’m asking the questions, Mr. Randall.” I ignored the way my heart

raced. “Do you have any idea how to find David?”

“No one does.” He gave a sniff of laughter. “With any luck, the

fucker’s diced up in a dumpster somewhere.”

I blinked.
“Look, there ain’t much more I can tell you.” Randall rested his

forearms on the bar and leaned toward me, dropping his voice to a
conspiratorial whisper. “Son, there’s only three people left alive who can
give you the answers you’re looking for, and those people are Heidi, James,
and David.”

I shifted my weight just to get rid of some of the nervous energy that

had me ready to deck him and everyone else in the world who had given me
cryptic answers today. “Then help me find Heidi so I can talk to her.”

“You leave me your card. If I can get in touch with her, I’ll have her

contact you.”

I nodded. “Thank you.” I pulled one of my cards out of my pocket

and handed it to him, then got the hell out of the bar before the temptation for
a drink got the best of me. On my way out, though, Randall stopped me.

“Detective Clifton.”
I turned around.
He tucked my card in his shirt pocket. “Watch who you talk to in this

neighborhood.”

“And why’s that?”
“I told you, the walls have ears.” He carefully rubbed the glass with

his towel. “And if they don’t like what they hear, bad things happen.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the cryptic, ominous comment.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When I stepped outside, I expected a snide comment or a glare from

Avery. Instead, I found him on a bench beside the door, elbows on his knees
and hands folded around his cell phone. He rested his forehead against his

Nine

When I came through the front door, James looked up from where he

sat on the couch. He closed his laptop and started to speak, but I beat him to
it.

“We need to talk. Now.”
He swallowed. “About?”
“The weather,” I growled, and stormed past him into the kitchen. He

followed me and leaned on the doorframe while I poured myself a drink.

Focusing on the rising vodka line, I said, “I’ve got another dead cop

on my hands, James, and I’ve got people and evidence pointing at you.”

“What?”
Armed with booze, I faced him. “What the fuck is going on?”
“What do—”
“Don’t even play games with me,” I said through gritted teeth. “Tell

me what the fuck happened yesterday.”

He showed his palms. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Have you, now?” I glared at him. “How did you get your laptop?

I’m assuming you didn’t have it tucked under your arm when you left the
club in such a hurry.”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the living room, then dropped

his gaze. “I went by my place before I came here.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Drop anything off while you were there?”
“Such as?”
Lifting my glass to my lips, I said, “You tell me.”
James folded his arms across his chest. “If you want answers, then

don’t ask cryptic questions, Brian. What do—”

“We found a weapon in your apartment.” I took a deep swallow of

vodka, grimacing as it burned its way down. “Same caliber as the one used to
kill your brother and my partner. With a mostly empty magazine. And, as a
bonus, ballistics matched it to the rounds that killed Stephen and Max.”

The color slipped out of his face. With a shaking hand, he reached

for one of the chairs at the kitchen table and pulled it out. Sinking into the
chair, he released a breath.

“Tell me the truth, James,” I whispered. “Please.”
“The gun isn’t mine. I swear to God, it’s not.” His Adam’s apple

bobbed once. “I went back to my place yesterday before I decided to come
here. I picked up my laptop in case anyone broke in.” He looked at me. “So
no one could use it to link you to me.”

I gulped. “Did you go to your brother’s place?”
Leaning back in the chair, he shook his head. “No. Most of guys we

were meeting with at the club have been to Stephen’s place. I was afraid…”
He paused, shuddering. “I was afraid the shooter would catch up with me
there.”

“Any possibility your other brother went by the house?”
James chewed his lip and avoided my eyes. “Possibly.”
“Would he have access to the safe?”
His eyes darted up to meet mine. “Why?” Then he let his face fall

into his hand and exhaled. “It was empty, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”
“Fuck.”
“Talk to me, James.” I took a drink because, damn it, I was too

fucking sober to deal with this. “What’s the deal? Who would have gotten
into it?”

“The only ones who had access were my brothers and me.” He

steepled his fingers in front of his lips and met my eyes again. “And Heidi.”

“So it was either David or Heidi, then.”
Closing his eyes, he nodded. “Yeah.”
I finished my drink and poured another, but didn’t dive in quite as

quickly. I wanted to get drunk, not sick. “Where’s your car?”

James stared at the table with unfocused eyes for a moment. “I…”

He furrowed his brow, then rubbed his temples. “I left it a few blocks from
the club. I was afraid of being followed. Or tracked.”

“Tracked?”
He nodded. “Stephen found a GPS tracker in his car a few months

ago. Under the seat.”

“Any idea how it got there?” I traced my finger around the rim of my

glass. “Who planted it, I mean?”

“Hard to say.” He ran a hand through his hair. “There were so many

undercovers, informants, turncoats, you name it, it was impossible to keep
track of who was working for who. Could’ve been anyone.”

“Was there any chance one of your brothers was working—”
“Stephen wouldn’t have lied to me,” he snapped.
“What about David?”
James said nothing.
I  reached  into  my  pocket  and  pulled  out  the  photo  of  Detective

Whaley. Sliding it across the table toward him, I said, “You recognize him?”

He picked up the picture. “Yeah, he was there yesterday. Around the

club, anyway.”

“What do you know about him?”
“He was one of Chelmsford’s guys. Haven’t seen or heard from him

since Chelmsford went down, except, like I said, around the club yesterday.”
James pushed the picture back to me. “Why?”

“He hasn’t been seen since the shooting.” I leaned against the

counter, resisting the urge to fidget, tap, shift. “He’s a possible suspect, but
some other detectives searched his place today and didn’t find anything.” I
inclined my head. “Specifically, no murder weapon.”

James swallowed. “The gun isn’t mine, Brian. I swear it.”
“Then how did it get into your apartment?” I asked as I raised my

glass to my lips.

He shook his head. “Someone planted it? I don’t know.”
I set the glass down, but didn’t let go of it. “Of the guys you met

with yesterday, had any of them been to your place?”

“Only Stephen. The business was conducted at his house. Only ones

who ever came to my place were him and—” He winced.

“Who?”
Lowering his voice, he said, “Stephen and Heidi.” He paused, but

quickly added, “She didn’t do it. She ran out with me while there were still
bullets flying, and she’s just… she’s not a killer.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” I muttered.
James glared at me. “She’s just a kid, Brian. If you want to harp on

me for lying to you, fine. But Heidi didn’t do this.”

“Then who did?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” I threw back my drink and slammed the glass down.

“I’m sure you’d tell me everything you know.”

James sighed. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to give me some reason to believe you. About anything.”
He dropped his gaze.
“Who the fuck is Ronnie?” I asked.
James’s head snapped up. “Wait, he’s involved in this? Is he—”
“He’s fine,” I spat. “I questioned him earlier because he was linked

to you. Seems the whole neighborhood knows you were fucking him, but you
did a pretty damned good job of keeping me a secret.”

“You’re a cop, Brian,” he said. “What was I supposed to do?”
“In this case,” I said. “I’m not really concerned about what you were

doing so much as who you were doing.”

He rubbed his forehead with two fingers and exhaled. “Look, Ronnie

and I had a thing a while ago. Before I met you. I haven’t touched him since
then.”

“Then what’s your relationship with him now?”
“He’s my eyes and ears in that restaurant. We’ve been using a sexual

relationship  as  a  cover  story.”  James  looked  at  me,  and  both  his  voice  and
expression softened. “It’s for his safety. People think I just go over there to
fuck  him.  They  all  assume  he’s  just  some  stupid,  slutty  kid,  I’m  just  using
him for sex, and no one suspects a thing.”

I relaxed a little. His story lined up well enough with Ronnie’s, so I

could accept it as the truth.

James’s chair squeaked on the floor as he pushed it back and stood.

He took a step toward me, and I eyed his hand as he reached for my waist.

“Look,” he said softly, “I’m not God’s gift to men. I’ve never

claimed to be, and I told you from the beginning I sucked at relationships.”
His hand came to rest on my hip, and his other gently lifted my chin. “I’m
not good at this. I never have been. I have my vices, I have my personal
problems, but I have never cheated on you, and I am no murderer.”

God damn it, I wanted to believe him. Especially when he could look

me in the eye and say it all without flinching. Was I being played?
Manipulated? Was he telling the truth, or was he just that good at lying? The
fact that he was an addict of any kind—assuming that story was true—meant
he was a skilled liar. Most addicts I’d dealt with were, yet he’d confessed to
the addiction. He’d admitted to being involved with Ronnie, and their stories
lined up.

Neither the detective in me nor the suspicious boyfriend could decide

if I should believe him about the shooting, though. I wanted him to be telling
the truth. I couldn’t be objective if I tried.

I exhaled. “I need more than this, James. Give me something,” I

pleaded. “Give me a concrete reason to believe you, because I want to.”

“What can I say?” he asked. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“The thing is, you haven’t given me a lot of reason to trust you

lately.” I set my jaw. “Well before any of this happened.”

His lips parted, but he said nothing.
Shifting my weight, I said, “Come on, James. Your phone is off

when you tell me to call you. You don’t return my calls. You give cryptic
reasons every time you change plans.”

He laughed bitterly. “So am I on trial as a boyfriend, too? Is this

about whether I killed my own fucking brother or whether I suck at
relationships?”

“It’s about whether or not I can take you at your word,” I snapped. “I

want  to  trust  you.  I  don’t  want  to  believe  you’d  kill  your  brother  or  my
goddamned  partner  or  anyone  else,  but  I’ve  got  cops  telling  me  one  thing,
thugs  telling  me  another,  and  you  telling  me  something  different.  I  need  to
know if I can trust you.”

He squared his shoulders. “What can I do, then? How can I convince

you to trust me? Because right now, you’re all I have.”

Chewing my lip, I said nothing. What could I say?
“You mind if we discuss this outside?” he asked. “I really need a

cigarette.”

“Why not?” I muttered, and followed him out onto my back deck.

While he lit the cigarette, I said, “I need to know one more thing.”

James took a drag and looked at me. “What’s that?”
“How do people know about me?”
He blanched and almost dropped his cigarette. “What are you talking

about?”

“An undercover told Avery and me if we find your boyfriend, we’ll

find you.” I folded my arms across my chest. “They also said whenever you
went to see me, you slipped off their radar. So they obviously knew you were
going to see someone, and now everyone and their mother is looking for me
to get to you.”

James released a breath of smoke, deflecting it with his hand so it

wouldn’t blow at me. “I told you, I didn’t want anyone finding out I was
seeing a cop, so I did everything I could to cover my tracks.”

“And your brothers didn’t catch on?”
“They’d have strangled me if they knew.”
“Well, everyone investigating this case will hem us the fuck up if

they find out,” I said. “If they dump your phone, and they will, they’ll
connect us.”

James dropped his gaze. “They’ll have to find my phone first.”
“Won’t be that hard to find.”
“Oh, yes it will.” He gave a quiet sniff of laughter. “One advantage

of being a gambling addict, I guess.”

“You have a separate phone for your gambling?”
“No, but that little problem hasn’t done much for my credit rating,”

he said. “Why do you think I live in that shithole apartment?” He pursed his
lips. “I had a friend sign up for the cell plan. I give her the money every
month, she pays the bill, and no one ever knows the difference.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“No. If you want to call her, she’ll vouch for me.”
I pulled out my cell phone. “What’s her number?”
Holding his cigarette between his lips, he held his other hand out to

me. Eyes never leaving his, I handed him the phone. He thumbed the number
into the keypad and held it to his ear.

“Gloria? Hey, it’s James.” Pause. “Yeah, I know, I’ve been out of

town.  Listen,  I  need  you  to  do  me  a  favor.”  Pause.  “I’m  going  to  hand  the
phone  over to a  friend.  Could  you  explain  to  him  the  arrangement  we  have
with my phone being in your name?” His brow furrowed, then  he chuckled
and his cheeks colored. “No, he’s not another bookie.”

He handed me the phone.
Eyeing him warily, I put it to my ear. “Hello?”
On the other end of the line, a woman’s smoky voice said, “If that

boy’s trying to get money from you, don’t give it to him, I’m telling you.”

In spite of myself, I laughed. “I wasn’t planning to loan him any

money. Now, how does this work with the phones?”

She released a frustrated sound, and I imagined her rolling her eyes.

“Jesus, he’ll have to fill you in on the whys and hows, but with all the black
marks on this idiot’s credit report, there ain’t a phone company in the state
who’ll give him the time of day.”

“So, you put it in your name?”
“And he pays me every month.”
“And if he doesn’t pay you, since apparently that’s not one of his

strong points?”

James glared at me as he snuffed out his cigarette, but then laughed

and dropped his gaze.

“If he don’t pay me,” Gloria said, “I break his fucking kneecaps.”
“I assume he’s been paying you, then?”
“He’s been late a few times, but yeah, he’s good for it.”
“Thank you, Gloria, I appreciate your time.” After we’d hung up, I

slid my phone into my pocket. Part of me wanted to ask why he’d never said
anything about this before. If he’d needed help, needed money, needed
anything. But I knew why he didn’t. It was the same reason I never breathed
a word about the fact that half a dozen bartenders and the clerks at three
separate liquor stores knew me by name. If an addiction isn’t acknowledged,
it doesn’t exist.

And whether our respective addictions existed or not, the fact was,

this case existed, and I needed information from him.

James lit another cigarette. “Now do you believe me?”
“About the phone, yes.”
He took a drag, then put his hand over his mouth and let out the

smoke. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

“In light of the circumstances and how things have gone between us

for a while, I won’t apologize for that.”

James nodded slowly. “I’m not asking you to.”
“But you want me to forget it and trust you?”
“Look, I can’t change the past. I can’t change the fact that I’ve lied

to you. But…” He put up his hands. “I need your help on this, Brian. I don’t
know who else to go to. Any other cop is going to see that I’m a drug dealer
and the weapon was in my apartment, and I’ll be guilty. End of story.” His
brow knitted together. “Please, whatever I have to do, I will, but I need you
on my side for this.”

I dropped my gaze. I wanted to believe he was innocent until proven

guilty. I really did. But the evidence and his lack of credibility weren’t
helping with the “proven guilty” half of the equation.

James pulled in a long drag, then covered his mouth while he

released the smoke. After a moment, he looked at me. “I can give you some
information you won’t get anywhere else.” The cigarette shook between his

fingers. “But I would suggest you keep it to yourself.”

“Why?”
“Because it’s the kind of inside information that might tip people off

that you’ve got someone on the inside. Which you do.”

My pulse sped up. “I’m listening.”
“My brother, David.” He took another drag, held it, and let it out,

shielding his mouth with one hand again. Then he tapped the cigarette in the
ashtray. “You won’t get anywhere trying to find him. You’ll just be wasting
your time.”

I eyed him. “My new partner and a handful of witnesses told me that

very same thing today. There’s next to nothing on record about the man, no
one can nail him down, the works. Tell me something I don’t know.”

James looked me in the eye. “The part you don’t know is that David

doesn’t exist.”

My spine straightened. “I beg your pardon?”
“He’s a phantom.”
“I… don’t understand.”
James took another drag and leaned against the deck railing.

“Stephen and I conjured him. Out of nothing.”

“But, Avery said there’s surveillance footage of him,” I said. “People

have seen him, they just can’t track him.”

“Oh, they’ve seen someone, but it isn’t David.” He watched the

cigarette smolder between his fingers, then looked me in the eye. “Stephen
and I perfected David’s persona. Certain mannerisms, way of speaking,
things like that.”

“So… you and Stephen…” I shook my head. “You two were

David?”

“Yes. We knew there were undercovers on our tail, and the third

persona  threw  them  off.  David  handled  the  transactions  and  dealings  that
would have resulted in the most serious charges. Investigators wanted to nail
all  three  of  us,  but  they  couldn’t  tie  anything  to  us,  and  ‘David’  very
carefully  kept  from  incriminating  himself  during  dealings.”  He  tapped  his
cigarette on the ashtray. “Let the other detectives hunt for David, but they’ll
never find him.”

I laughed dryly and shook my head.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I chuckled. “Avery was telling me about him this

morning, and I asked if David was Keyser Söze. Might’ve been closer to the
truth than I thought.”

James laughed. “Well, David only aspired to be as successful as

Keyser Söze, but…” He shrugged. Then his humor faded. “Like I said, let
them look for David and for me. Heidi’s the one you need to find. Well, and
the shooter.”

“Good to know,” I said quietly.

James was quiet for a long moment. He finished his cigarette and

smothered it in the ashtray. Then he pulled another out of the pack, put it
between his lips, but didn’t light it right away. Absently flipping his lighter
between his fingers and staring at the deck, he said, “I know I’ve already
asked way too much, but I need your help, Brian.”

I swallowed. “What do you need?”
“I can’t stay here.” He met my eyes. “I need you to help me get out

of town.”

“I could arrange for protective cust—”
“No. No. I told you, absolutely not.”
“That’s the safest thing I can offer you.” I gave an apologetic shrug.

“And like it or not, you’re a potential suspect. Harboring you is going to get
me in enough hot water without also smuggling you out of town.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. He lit the cigarette and took a drag. “I don’t

think it’s safe being this close to Masontown. Not if whoever killed Stephen
wants me dead too.”

“You think anyone’s going to find you here?”
James sighed. “At this point, I’m not willing to take any chances.”

He shivered.

I chewed the inside of my cheek. He would probably be safe here

with me, but if he was this scared, getting him out of town was the safer bet.
Maybe not to another city, but at least outside the city limits. Somewhere no
one would think to look for him.

Finally, I said, “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Then let me make a phone call. I think I know someone who can

help.”

His eyes widened. “Brian, we can’t get anyone else involved.”
“Listen, if I can’t trust this guy, we’re both fucked. Just, trust me on

this one.”

He gnawed his lip for a moment, searching my eyes the way I’d

searched his. Finally, he let out a breath and nodded.

After James finished his cigarette, we went back in the house. I

pulled out my cell phone, and after a moment of wondering if this was a
really bad idea, I dialed.

Andrew answered on the second ring. “Brian, hey, how’s it going?”
“It’s going.” I hesitated. “Listen, I need to ask a favor.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“I need your word that this stays between us, though.”
He didn’t respond right away. “That depends on what it is.”
I swallowed. “I’ve got a witness in my custody. Well, not custody,

but… anyway, I have a witness to Kessler and Kelly’s murder that I need to
keep safe and secluded.”

“Holy shit, you’ve got a witness to that case?” he said. “Why not put

him into protective custody?”

“Long story,” I said. “But it’s not an option here.”
Andrew hesitated. “What’s going on?”
I took a deep breath. “How well do you trust me, Andrew? As a cop

and a friend?”

“I trust you with my life. You know that.”
I gulped. Andrew wasn’t one to use that phrase lightly. Not anymore,

anyway. Heart pounding, I said, “For his safety, I need your help keeping
James Merrill out of town.”

“James Merrill?” Andrew sputtered. “Holy shit, Brian.”
“Yes,” I said. “Look, he’s being cooperative with the investigation,

but we both have reason to believe his life is in danger.” I put my hand over
James’s knee. “Until we figure out who the shooter was, he needs to lay low.
Is there any way I can put him up at your place temporarily?”

Andrew exhaled. “Why here? Is he at your place now?”
“Yeah, he is.” I looked at James. “That’s the problem. There’s a

chance he’ll be traced to me.”

“How so?”
I swallowed hard. “Because James is my boyfriend.”
“He… what?”
James put his hand over mine, eyebrows knitting together and lips

pulled tight, his expression reflecting the nerves I felt.

“Brian.” Andrew’s voice was hollow. “You aren’t serious.”
“I am.” I closed my eyes and blew out a breath. “It’s a long, crazy

story, but yes, James my boyfriend is James Merrill.”

“Holy. Fuck.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You do know something like this could kill your career, right?”
“Oh, believe me, I’m well aware of it. And if you don’t want any

part of it, I’ll understand, but please, please, keep this under your hat.”

“Jesus Christ,” he said, almost whispering. “Isn’t he a suspect?”
I winced. “Yes, he is.”
“And you want me to harbor him. During a murder investigation.”
“Andrew, if you won’t do it, just say no.”
He sighed. “I’m not saying no. I trust your judgment. But… my God,

are you really willing to risk your badge for this guy? With as much as he’s
been jerking you around?”

I absently squeezed James’s leg. “If it means keeping him from

getting killed, yes.”

Andrew said nothing for a long moment. Then he blew out a breath.

“Nick’s not going to be happy about this.”

My heart started beating again and I exhaled. “I’ll talk to him if you

need me to.”

“No, no, I’ll talk to him. He’ll just have an opinion about it.” He

Ten

Andrew lived outside the city limits. Far enough out that he always

joked no one should come visit him without at least a quarter tank of gas.
The house was remote enough and its owner trustworthy enough that I could
think of no place safer for James to lay low.

On the way out, we stopped at a fast food restaurant to get something

to eat. I wasn’t sure I was in any condition, physical or otherwise, to hold
food down, but I was on the verge of passing out, so hunger trumped nausea.

And of course, since I’d already thrown back more alcohol than was

prudent on an empty stomach, James drove.

After picking up our food—if one could call it that—at the drive-

through, he pulled out onto the highway.

While we ate and he drove, James glanced at me. “Are you sure

about this? Your friend, I mean?”

“Absolutely.”
James didn’t say anything.
I put my hand on his knee and squeezed gently. “I’m serious, James.

He’s a good cop, and he’s a good friend.”

“Doesn’t have a problem putting up your boyfriend for a while?”
“If you’re worried he’ll take exception to a gay guy in his house,

don’t be,” I said. “It just might get a little crowded when his boyfriend is
home.”

He grinned. “Either of them cute?”
I laughed. “They’re both smoking hot. And no, you can’t touch.”
“Damn it.” He chuckled. “Can I at least look?”
“Hell, why not? I do.” I glanced at him, and in the cool glow of the

dashboard lights, we exchanged tired smiles.

After a moment, he said, “So this guy’s a cop, too?”
I nodded. “Was undercover narcotics for a while, but he’s been on a

desk the last six months or so.”

“What’d he do? Piss off a higher-up or something?”
“Took a bullet in the arm,” I said.

“No kidding?”
“Yeah. Through-and-through. Ruptured an artery. His boyfriend’s a

paramedic and was there when it happened. Said they almost lost him.”

“Jesus.”
“Obviously he pulled through,” I said. “But he’s had to have a few

surgeries on his arm, things like that. So he’s on a desk until he’s completely
recovered. Actually, he’s been out the last week or so because of another
surgery.”

James fidgeted a little, pulling his arm into his side again and holding

the wheel with his free hand. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I
was.  A  bullet  to  the  arm  didn’t  sound  like  a  big  deal,  especially  when
Hollywood  insisted  on  portraying  such  wounds  as  about  as  serious  as  a
hangnail,  but  a  well-placed  bullet  to  the  arm  could  be  just  as  lethal  as  any
other. Andrew had lost enough blood to warrant a transfusion, and it would
be months before he regained full use of his arm. The difference between his
wound and James’s was a matter of centimeters. I shuddered.

“Can’t believe you never told me about this guy,” he said.
“You never told me about your brother.”
“Point taken.” James sighed. “Okay, so maybe we haven’t been great

at this talking thing.”

“To be fair,” I said with a cautious grin, “we’ve usually been too

busy to talk.”

Our eyes met in the low light again, and we both laughed softly.
We drove on in silence for a while. We were both exhausted, and

both had plenty of thoughts to get lost in. Conversation would have helped to
keep him awake enough to drive, but there was apparently enough caffeine in
the plastic cup in the cup holder to keep him from nodding off.

Long after we’d left the city’s lights behind us, the blacktop ended

and  the  tires  crunched  across  gravel.  The  headlights  cut  through  the  thick
darkness, illuminating the dusty road and a wall of trees on either side. The
odd mailbox or driveway emerged from the night, breaking up the monotony
of  the  scenery  before  disappearing  into  the  half-hearted  red  glow  of  the
taillights.

“Well, this is certainly off the beaten path,” James said.
“Yeah, I don’t imagine anyone will find you out here.”
“That’s… comforting.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. Places like this always make me think of horror movies,

though.” He put his hand on top of the wheel as he reached for his drink in
the cup holder. “You know, the ones where somebody makes a wrong turn
and ends up in something like Deliverance?”

“Well, I could always call Andrew and—”
“Ha. Ha.” He took a drink and set in the holder again. “Very funny.”
“What? It could be fun.”

He laughed. “You have a sick sense of humor, you know that?”
“Birds of a feather.” I gestured up ahead. “This is the place.”
He slowed down and, at my direction, turned onto a narrow

driveway. At the end of the driveway, he parked in front of the garage. In
silence, we walked out of the darkness into the glow of the porch light.

“You’re sure about this?” James whispered.
I slipped my hand into his and reached up to knock with the other.

“Yes, I am.”

Andrew opened the door. “Brian, hey, good to see you.” His right

arm was in a sling, so he extended his left. “I am so sorry about Max.”

I winced. “Thanks.” We exchanged a careful, one-armed embrace.

Then I gestured at James. “Andrew, James. James, Detective Andrew
Carmichael.”

They carefully shook hands, then Andrew invited us in and shut the

door.

“Sorry to be crashing your place so late,” I said.
Andrew gestured dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Can I get

either of you coffee? Beer? Anything.”

“No, thanks,” James said. “I’m wired enough without any more

caffeine.”

“I’ll pass too, but thanks,” I said.
“No problem.” Andrew adjusted the strap on the sling. He looked at

James. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother, by the way.”

“Thanks,” James said quietly. “Guess it was a hell of a day for

everyone.”

“Yeah it was,” Andrew said. “Nick called last night and told me

what happened.”

“Well, thank God he’s all right,” I said.
“No kidding.” Andrew shivered.
I looked at James. “Nick was one of the medics on-scene. He was in

the club when my partner was shot.”

James’s eyebrows jumped. “But, he is okay, right?”
“He was pretty rattled, but he’s all right.” Andrew scowled. “He’s

getting pretty good at dealing with this kind of thing, I just wish he didn’t
have quite so much practice.”

“Guess it’s part of working in that area,” I said.
“I know, which is why I wish he’d transfer to another house,”

Andrew said. “I spent a bit too much time there myself when I was working
undercover.” He looked at James. “I almost lost my partner there too.”

“That’s where you met Nick, though.” I managed a half-hearted

smile. “So it’s not all bad.”

Andrew laughed softly. “There is that. Though I can think of better

ways to meet guys than at a crime scene.”

“Wait,” James said. “You met Nick at a crime scene?”

I clapped his shoulder. “It’s a long story. Maybe we should get some

sleep, and you can drag it out of him in the daylight?”

James chuckled. “I’m looking forward to hearing this.”
“Nick will be here in the morning,” Andrew said with a grin. “I’ll let

him tell you.” Then he gestured down the hall. “Anyway, the guest bedroom
is all yours. I didn’t have time to get everything dusted and cleaned up, but
the bed has clean sheets and everything on it.”

“A little dust is fine,” James said. “At least I might stand some

chance of sleeping out here.”

“You don’t mind if I stay, do you?” I asked Andrew.
He laughed. “Well, I certainly don’t condone same-sex relations in

my house.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, shut up, Carmichael.”
“Yeah, of course, it’s fine if you stay. I wouldn’t kick you out at this

hour, especially when you have that far to drive.” He paused, shooting me a
look that hinted he was well aware that my blood alcohol content played a
part in my request to stay, but he didn’t comment on that. “Whoever gets up
first makes the coffee, though.”

“That, I can do,” I said.
Andrew showed us to the guest room. While James went in to get a

shower, Andrew and I went back into the kitchen.

He poured us a couple of drinks, and after I’d taken a much-needed

sip, I said, “So, you and Nick. Doing any better?”

He shrugged with his uninjured shoulder. “Getting there.”
I pursed my lips. “You know, if you’d both stop blaming yourselves

for the other getting hurt, you might get somewhere.”

Andrew nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s easier said than done, though.

Nick gets a headache, my conscience goes haywire. My arm keeps me awake
at night, he’s a wreck.” He shrugged again. “It’s actually been better since he
moved in.”

“Really?”
“Yeah. I was worried it would get worse, which is why we put it off

for a few months, but, I don’t know. Maybe because we can kind of take care
of each other this way, it helps.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said. “How’s his recovery been?” The

concussion had left Nick with headaches and almost constant vertigo for the
first month or two, but from what I’d heard, he’d been steadily getting better.

“Faster than mine,” he said. “Occasional headache, and even though

he tries not to show it, his balance gets fucked up once in a while, but he’s
almost completely recovered.”

“Man, you wouldn’t think something like that would cause problems

for this long. Even minor ones.”

“You’d be surprised.”
“Glad he’s getting better, though.”

“Me too.” He looked into his drink. “And since we talked last night,

we’re getting along better. It’s just, you know, up and down.” He laughed
quietly as he brought his glass up to his lips. “Nothing like having bullets
flying past him—again—to get us to stop sniping at each other.”

“Well, I guess that’s something,” I said. “Thank God he’s okay,

though.”

“Amen.” He paused. “Glad you’re okay, too.”
“If you call it that,” I muttered into my glass before taking a long

swallow.

Andrew pursed his lips. “Are you okay?”
“I’m still alive. After yesterday, that’s all I can ask for.” I glanced

down the hall in James’s general direction. “And he’s all right, so…” I let out
a breath.

Andrew’s eyes darted down the hall. Then he looked at me. “I’m still

not sure about this whole thing, by the way.”

“I understand. If you want me to find another place, just say so.”
“It’s not that,” he said. “I’m just… you’ve said yourself he’s a

suspect. Which means it’s possible…” He let the raised eyebrow finish the
thought.

“Innocent until proven,” I said. “I don’t think he did it.”
“Is that the boyfriend talking?” Andrew asked. “Or the detective?”
“I’m not even sure anymore.” I laughed humorlessly. “To be honest,

I think the boyfriend would rather just boot him out and call it a day. The
detective…”

“What makes you think he’s innocent, then?”
“Gut feeling.”
“I’ve been known to listen to those.” Andrew gestured with his drink

at his wounded arm. “Be careful.”

“Believe me, I know.” I drained my glass and set it on the counter,

resisting the almost overpowering urge to refill it. “The thing is, I don’t think
he’d come to a cop if he was guilty. Boyfriend or not. He’s not stupid.”

“No, but you’ve said yourself he’s damned good at convincing you

he’s not cheating, not jerking you around, and generally not being the ass that
he’s obviously been.” Andrew shifted his weight. “He’s manipulative and
knows you can be manipulated.”

“I know. The thing is…” I chewed my lip. “Look, I’ve interrogated

plenty of suspects and interviewed plenty of witnesses. When I told him
yesterday that Max was dead? I swear to God he paled. And, Jesus, the way
he broke down just talking about his brother…” I shook my head. “There
was nothing fake about that.”

“You sure you’re looking at him objectively?”
“No. I’m not. I know I’m not. But…” I swallowed. “Okay, I know

exactly what kind of biased idiot I sound like. I can’t explain why I’m
thinking this way, but I am. If you don’t want any part of this, just say so.”

Andrew put up a hand and shook his head. “No, I’d rather err on the

side of keeping someone safe.”

“Thank you,” I said softly. “If anything goes down with this, I’ll take

the heat. I won’t throw you or Nick under the bus.”

“God, that’s just what I need,” he said with a grin. “Arm’s finally

getting better after six months, and my so-called friend tosses my ass under a
bus.”

We both laughed.
“Well,” he said. “I’d better call it a night. Remember what I said

about the coffee.”

I touched my fingers to my forehead in a mock salute. “Will do.” I

started to walk out of the kitchen, but paused. “By the way, if you do decide
you want him gone, just say so. I don’t want to risk your career.”

Andrew finished his drink and set the glass on the counter. “I’ll keep

that in mind, but I trust your judgment. As long as you think he’s just a
witness and won’t do something to fuck us over…” He shrugged.

“Thanks, man.” I wished I had as much faith in my judgment as he

did.

I went down the hall to the guest bedroom. James and I didn’t speak

as we got ready for bed. Getting undressed took enough concentration
without trying to manage a conversation on top of it. Just being this close to a
bed made the fatigue set in with a vengeance. My limbs were heavy, as were
my eyelids. All I could think was less talking, more sleeping.

I figured James would step out for one last cigarette, but even though

it had been an hour or two since his last one, he didn’t. Maybe he was just
too damned tired to even bother with the nicotine craving. I could relate; part
of me itched for more bottled oblivion, but the need for sleep was stronger.

We climbed into the guest bed and cut the light. James found me in

the darkness, resting a hand on my arm and kissing me gently. A faint tingle
of arousal tried to come to life, but I was just too damned tired to fan that
weak flame. With James’s arms around me and my entire world on its ass, I
succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.

Eleven

I was the first one up, so I played by the house rules and made the

coffee. After I’d poured myself a cup of coffee, I wondered if Andrew would
mind  if  I  added  a  shot  of  the  Bailey’s  he  had  in the  refrigerator.  About  the
time I’d almost talked myself out of it—it was a little early for booze, even
by  my  standards,  and  I  did  have  to  drive  shortly—Andrew  came  into  the
kitchen.

He no longer had the sling on, but wore a brace on his wrist and

another around his elbow. Above the brace, bandages and tape peeked out
from beneath his T-shirt sleeve.

“You know,” he said, pulling a coffee cup out of the cabinet, “I think

you’re the first houseguest I’ve had in ages who actually got up first and
made the coffee.”

I laughed. “I’d like to pretend my motives were altruistic, but I just

really, really needed some caffeine.”

“I don’t care why, I’m just happy there’s coffee ready.” He poured

himself a cup and took a sip.

“How’s your arm?” I asked.
“Not too bad today. Doc wants me to move it a bit more, so I have to

leave the sling off for a few hours. But…” He gingerly extended his arm,
then bent it, before tucking it against his side again.

I grimaced. “Man, that has to suck.”
“It does. It’s better than it was, though, believe me.” He set his

coffee cup down and glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Damn, it’s
almost eight. That means Nick should be home soon.”

“How long was his rotation this time?”
“Seventy-two hours.”
“I don’t know how you two handle that,” I said. “Having him gone

half the time.”

Andrew shrugged. “It’s really not that bad. For every stretch he

spends at the station, he gets the same amount of time at home. And I usually
stop into the station once or twice a week to have dinner with him, so it’s not

like we don’t see each other.” He paused. “And it gives us some space when
we’re arguing.”

“Well, that’s good.” I sipped my coffee. “And I suppose his

commute’s not as brutal if he only has to make the drive a couple times a
week.” I chuckled. “You’re insane, though, commuting into town every
fucking day like that.”

He laughed. “Gives me some time to wind down in the evening. I

can’t complain. Nick usually has a few words about it when he comes in after
a rotation, though.”

“Can’t blame him, driving that far after he’s been at work for three

solid days.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Unless it’s a busy night, he

usually sleeps more than I do.”

“Well, true, especially since you had unexpected visitors in the

middle of the night.”

His humor faded a little. “Under the circumstances, I’m not going to

bitch.” He gestured down the hall with his coffee cup. “He needed a place to
go.”

I blew out a breath. “Yeah. Thanks, man. Seriously.”
“Don’t mention it.” He set the cup down. “How are you holding up,

anyway? After, you know, Max.”

Running a hand through my hair, I sighed. “I don’t know, honestly. I

don’t think it’s quite hit me yet.”

“I can imagine,” he said quietly.
With anyone else, I might have silently retorted that no, he couldn’t

imagine it, but Andrew likely could. Earlier this year, an undercover drug op
gone  bad  had  nearly  claimed  his  own  partner.  Had  it  not  been  for  Nick’s
quick action—with a gun to his head, no less—Macy most likely would have
died right there on the pavement. Just weeks after that, a cracked out stalker
had  assaulted  Nick,  leaving  him  half-strangled  and  with  a  concussion  that,
six months later, still gave him headaches and the occasional bout of vertigo.

If anyone could imagine what it was like to lose a partner and nearly

lose a boyfriend, it was Andrew.

He poured himself a second cup of coffee. “So how goes the

investigation?”

“In circles.” The coffee pot was empty, so I busied myself putting

more in and getting it started. “I could think of a few better partners, too.”

“Who’d they stick you with?”
“Avery.”
Andrew gave a sharp laugh. “Oh, God. Warner put you two

together?”

I scowled. “Unfortunately. I take it you’ve had the pleasure?”
Rolling his eyes, Andrew nodded. “Dealt with him after Macy got

hurt. We had to shift some things around with that undercover op, so I got to

deal with His Highness.” He set his coffee cup down. “I can imagine he’s
even less pleasant now that Kelly’s dead.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well, Kent’s an abrasive son of a bitch, but he’s a good cop. I could

think of worse people to work with.”

“As far as cops go, yeah,” I said. “But I could do without the

personality clash. This case is difficult enough without his delightful
demeanor.”

“I don’t doubt that at all.”
A car pulled up outside, and we both glanced toward the front of the

house.

“That would be Nick,” Andrew said, his mood brightening. A

moment later, the front door opened, then closed. Something rustled and
dropped with a heavy thud—his duffel bag, I guessed—before footsteps
came across the hard floor.

Nick appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Oh, hey, Brian. I thought

that was your car out front.” He looked at Andrew and grinned. “This part of
that birthday threesome you keep promising me?”

Andrew snorted. “Give me a break. I’d find you a hot guy for

something like that.”

“Hey!” I threatened to elbow his injured arm, and the three of us

managed some tired laughter.

Nick’s expression turned more serious. He extended his hand, and

we shared a quick half-handshake, half-embrace as he said, “How are you
doing? After the other night, I mean?”

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good to hear.”
“Don’t I get a hello?” Andrew asked.
“No, you get a ‘why the hell did I let you talk me into moving all the

way the fuck out here?’”

“Okay, fine,” Andrew said, chuckling. “A kiss then?”
Nick clicked his tongue. “If I must.”
“You must if you think I’m going to let you stay here.”
Nick threw me a semi-apologetic grin. “Excuse us for a second. We

haven’t seen each other in a few days.”

I laughed. “Be my guest.”
“Avert your eyes,” Andrew said just before Nick wrapped his arms

around him. They both carefully avoided Andrew’s injured arm, and leaned
in for a long kiss. Andrew broke away to murmur something I couldn’t hear.
Nick laughed and kissed him again.

“Jesus, you two.” I snickered as I brought my coffee cup back up to

my lips. “You make it look like that’s socially acceptable or something.”

Nick held up one hand, middle finger extended, and I almost choked

on my coffee.

A moment later, they separated, and Nick said, “Okay, with that out

of the way, I—”

“Hey!” Andrew shot him a playful glare.
Nick laughed. “Okay, okay, seriously. I need coffee. Now.”
“Busy night?” I asked.
Groaning, he nodded. “Very. And I didn’t sleep for shit the night

before, so…” He trailed off, shrugging enough to almost mask a shudder.

“You sure you’re doing all right after the other night?” I asked. Nick

still had a mild form of PTSD after getting too close to the wrong end of a
gun a couple of times. I’d been too numb and in shock to think of it at the
time, but being in the club with bullets flying probably hadn’t done him any
good.

He turned around, coffee cup in hand. “I’m doing okay, but I will say

that was one of the scarier calls I’ve been on.”

Andrew put his arm around Nick’s waist, dropping a light kiss on his

shoulder. Their eyes met briefly, and Nick absently ran his fingers through
Andrew’s hair as he looked at me again.

“You sure you’re doing okay?” he asked. “I mean, with Max, and…”
I sipped my coffee, but didn’t taste it. “Hasn’t quite sunk in yet.”
“I can imagine,” he said quietly. “So, Andrew said your boyfriend is

staying here for a bit?”

I nodded.
A cautious grin tugged at his lips. “That means we finally get to meet

him, then?”

I forced a laugh, my cheeks burning a little. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
“So what’s the deal with him, anyway?” Nick asked. “Witness

protection or something?”

“Um, well…” I hesitated.
Nick looked at Andrew, then me, his smile fading. “Somebody want

to tell me what’s going on?”

“He needs to stay out of town and under the radar for a while,”

Andrew said. “Until the investigation’s over.”

“Protective custody isn’t an option?” Nick raised an eyebrow. “Is

this guy a witness or a suspect?”

Andrew and I exchanged glances. I fidgeted. Nick’s posture

stiffened.

“Tell me he’s not a damned suspect,” he said through his teeth.

When neither of us answered, he rolled his eyes. “Jesus, are you two insane?
You could lose your badges for this.”

“I know.” Andrew put his hand on Nick’s arm. “But if this guy’s

innocent, then—”

“Then he has no reason to run,” Nick said.
“He’s not running,” I said. “He’s staying with a cop. Two, really,

since I’ll be spending time here, assuming you’re both okay with that.”

“Yeah, of course,” Andrew said.
“It’s not you I’m concerned about,” Nick said. “How is he even

involved in this?”

“You saw Stephen Merrill at the scene, didn’t you?” I asked. “One of

the dealers who was killed?”

Nodding slowly, Nick said, “Yes…”
“James is his brother.” I swallowed. “James Merrill.”
Nick’s eyes widened. “You’re fucking joking.”
I shook my head.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose,

“but aren’t they running one of those drug rings?”

“Yes,” I said. “But there could very well be some cops involved in

this, and I’m concerned they’ll try to keep him quiet by any means necessary.
I’d rather err on the side of getting in trouble for keeping him alive than have
him wind up dead.”

“Great.” Nick set his jaw and let out a long breath through his nose. I

thought he might press the issue, but he shot Andrew a we’ll discuss this
later look.

Right about then, a door opened at the other end of the hall. Our

heads turned as one. When James stepped into the kitchen, Nick jumped,
nearly dropping his coffee. I should have warned him how much Stephen and
James resembled each other, but I hadn’t even thought of it until now.

I put a hand on the small of James’s back. “Nick, this is James.”
Enlightenment shook the surprise out of Nick’s shoulders, and he

relaxed, though a dozen fresh questions undoubtedly hid in the furrow of his
brow. “Oh. Right.” He extended a hand. “Nick Swain.” As they shook hands,
he added, “And I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Thanks,” James said quietly.
We fell into that awkward silence of four very tired men who’d

exchanged proper condolences and now had no idea if it was appropriate to
move on to other more mundane topics.

I cleared my throat and, gesturing at Andrew, said to James, “You

know, as long as you’re here, you should see what this son of a bitch is
hiding in his garage.”

“Hiding?” Andrew scoffed. “I’m keeping my baby safe from the

elements.”

“Whatever, Carmichael.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a crime to keep that

thing out of sight.”

“What thing?” James asked.
“Mind if I show him?” I asked Andrew.
Andrew gestured toward the garage. “No taking her out, though.”
I laughed. “Right. Like you’d ever let me drive her.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t,” he said. “No one gets behind the wheel

except me or Nick.”

“Bastard.” I led James into the garage and flicked on the light.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” James took a slow, reverent step into the garage

like he’d just found himself in the presence of royalty. “Holy…”

From the doorway, I watched him take in the car. Even after seeing

her as many times as I had, after sitting in her passenger seat plenty of times,
the sleek black Corvette Stingray still made my mouth water. I wasn’t into
cars like Nick and Andrew were, but that thing was an orgasm on wheels.

“God damn, this thing is beautiful,” James said. “What year?”
“Eighty-one,” Andrew said, appearing behind me with Nick.
“When was the last time you had her out, anyway?” I asked.
“Oh, I take her out every now and then,” he said. “When the

weather’s nice. Arm hurts too damned much to shift right now, though, so
Nick gets to drive her when she needs a workout.” He grinned. “I will soon.”

“Soon?” Nick gave Andrew a playful glare as the four of us walked

back into the kitchen. “How about when the doctor gives you the all-clear?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
Nick put his arm around Andrew’s waist and kissed his cheek. “You

know I’m just looking out for you.”

“You’re just trying to keep me from driving her so you can.”
I looked at Nick. “I think he’s got you there, kid.”
Nick slugged my shoulder, and Andrew and I laughed. Nick was

only a year or so younger than us, and he hated being called “kid.” Which, of
course, was exactly why I did it.

“Fuckers,” he muttered.
I rubbed my arm. “That’s assault on a police officer, you know.”
He held up his fist. “I can do it again if you’d like.”
“You all just leave me out of that, if you don’t mind,” James said,

keeping his injured arm out of the way.

“Actually, that reminds me,” I said. “I know you’re off duty, Nick,

but would you mind taking a look at his arm?”

Nick furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong with it?”
James put up a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. What’s wrong?” Nick asked.
“It’s nothing, I—”
“Just let him see it,” I said. “It’s probably nothing serious, but it

wouldn’t hurt to have a medical professional at least take a look.”

James scowled, but rolled up his sleeve. He’d changed the bandages

a few times, but some blood had still seeped through.

“So, what happened?” Nick asked, carefully peeling the bandages

away.

“Bullet grazed me,” James said.
Nick glanced at him, then at me. He didn’t say anything as he

continued removing the bandages. Once the wound was exposed, the furrows

in  his  brow  deepened  and  he  tilted  his  head  to  one  side,  then  the  other.
Probably more to himself than any of us, he said, “It doesn’t… look too bad.”
After  a  moment,  he  looked  at  James.  “With  something  that  deep,  I’d
normally want you to get it sutured, but the bleeding is under control now, so
you’re probably all right. Just keep an eye on it for signs of infection. Keep it
cleaned, covered, all of that.”

“Thanks.” James carefully put the bandages back over the wound.

“Guess it could have been a lot worse.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Andrew said with a dry laugh. “Consider yourself

very, very lucky, my friend.”

“Believe me, I do,” James murmured.
I looked at my watch. “Shit, I should get out of here. Avery’s going

to be waiting for me.”

Nick wrinkled his nose. “They stuck you with that fucker?”
“Unfortunately.” I rolled my eyes. “We’re both without partners, and

we both requested to work on this case. So, we’re stuck together.”

“Enjoy,” he said with a grimace. “That guy is a dick.”
“You’ve had the pleasure, I take it?”
“Yep. Met him when Andrew still had to work with him off and on.”
“God, that was hell,” Andrew said. “That was right after Macy was

stabbed, and by the time Avery and I were done, Jesus Christ, I was ready to
stab him.”

I chuckled. “I don’t blame you. But, what the chief says goes, so I’m

working with him.” I looked at James. “I’ll be back this evening. Can you
stay out of trouble while I’m gone?”

He offered a sheepish look. “I can try.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Nick said, though there wasn’t much

humor in his tone.

“Oh, that’s encouraging,” I said.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Nick asked.
I just laughed, exchanged a brief kiss with James, then grabbed my

jacket and keys and headed in to work.

Twelve

After spending half the day on dead-end leads and repeat interviews

that got us nowhere, Avery and I finally got hold of the owner of Allyson’s.
Since the strip club was open, we drove down to talk to Shana Murray and,
with any luck, Heidi Gill.

A block or so off Jackson, the main drag through Masontown, I put

on my blinker and pulled into a parking space.

“God, this place is a dump,” Avery muttered, looking at the

surrounding businesses.

Attitude or not, I had to agree with him. Store owners in this part of

town kept baseball bats, shotguns, and mace under their counters. Most had
given up replacing windows, instead covering bullet holes with duct tape and
plywood.  It  wasn’t  unusual  to  see  an  addict  getting  high  right  out  in  broad
daylight on the stairs in front of an apartment building or beside a dumpster
in  an  alley.  Hookers  didn’t  bother  with  discretion  either,  even  if  uniformed
patrols went through in marked cars. The prostitutes knew as well as we did
that  we  usually  had  bigger  fish  to  fry  and  wouldn’t  bother  them.  The  drug
addicts were just too fucked up to care.

I couldn’t say I blamed the addicts. The only things keeping me out

of a bottle at the moment were my job, my need to find out who killed my
partner,  and  the  drive  to  keep  James  safe.  If  the  chief  hadn’t  let  me  keep
working  the  case  in  spite of  Max’s  death,  I’d  have  been  three  sheets  to  the
wind by now.

Avery and I hid anything potentially valuable, locked the car, and

walked the half block to Allyson’s. At the door, I showed my badge to the
bouncer. He nodded and gestured for us to go in.

Avery shook his head as we stepped inside. “Man, these girls are

hot.”

I chuckled. “We’re supposed to be looking for one in particular, not

checking all of them out.”

“Well, how am I going to know she’s the right girl if I don’t give her

a good look?”

I rolled my eyes.

Avery elbowed me. “What’s wrong? You play for the other team or

something?” A jolt of panic shot through me. I was certain he saw right
through me, right to the gay man who’d slept beside James Merrill last night.

“What? No.” I laughed and gestured at the stages. “The girls just

aren’t my type.”

“Not your type?” He looked at me like I’d just grown a second head.

“Hot and mostly naked, and they’re not your type?”

“Okay, they’re hot, I’ll give you that, but I’m just not one for ogling

women, all right?”

“Suit yourself.”
“What can I say? I just prefer women I’ve actually spoken to over

those I’ve only looked at.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’m a closet romantic.”

Avery snorted. “A closet something, anyway.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“You wish, Clifton.”
“No, you’re definitely not my type,” I said. “Seeing as you are—

sorry, you have—a dick.” We exchanged glares that were only half-joking.
Then I said, “Why don’t you go talk to the club owner, see if he can tell us
where she is and maybe pull her aside for a few minutes? I’ll go see if I can
match her description to any of the girls.”

He nodded and we split up. Avery went to the bar. I looked around

the club. A couple of people we’d interviewed had given vague descriptions
of both Heidi and Shana, so Avery didn’t need to know I’d gotten a more
detailed description from James.

At the back of the club, there were three more stages, each with a

pole and a dancer at the center. The first girl was African American. The
second was blonde, but lacked ink.

My eyes shifted to the third.
Bleach blonde. Deep blue streaks. Wildcat tattoos all over her five-

foot-ten frame.

Bingo.
I caught Avery’s eye and with a nod, indicated the stripper in

question.  In  the  same  instant  he  looked  her  direction,  she  looked  his  and
probably caught the flash of light off his badge. Her eyes widened, and for a
split  second,  she  froze.  Then  she  darted  backstage.  We  sprinted  across  the
club after her, elbowing our way past patrons. Avery and I vaulted onto the
stage and ran into the back.

The backstage area was in chaos, and the other dancers screamed and

jumped out of the way.

“Shana, stop!” I shouted.
She glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t stop. She made it to the

emergency exit, and Avery caught up with her. He snatched her arm and
hauled her backwards. Between struggling to get away from him and stay
standing on her insanely high heels, she stumbled and started to go down. He

shoved her back up against the wall, pinning her with his body, and she
screamed and fought.

“Hold still, goddammit,” he snarled.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed.
“Stop fighting or I’ll fucking tase you,” he said.
She only fought harder. He got one of her hands under control, but

she tried to claw his face, so I grabbed her wrist.

“We just want to ask you some questions,” I said. “You’re not in

trouble, Shana.”

She stopped struggling between Avery and the wall. She closed her

eyes, exhaled, and relaxed. I gestured for Avery to let her go. He glared at
me, then stepped back and shoved her toward me. I caught her arm and held
it until I was sure she wouldn’t topple off balance in those shoes.

Keeping my voice calm to counter any lingering panic, I reiterated

my earlier assurance that we were only here to talk to her.

She glared at Avery. “I’d hate to see how you’d be if you wanted to

arrest me.”

Avery shrugged. “You ran, we chased.”
Shana wrenched her arm out of my grasp. “Whatever.”
“Listen, is there some place we can talk in private?” I asked. “We

just need to ask you a few questions.”

“I’m not talking to him,” she spat, narrowing her eyes at Avery.
“You’ll fucking talk, or—”
I cut Avery off with a look. To her, I said, “Come on. Let’s find

some place private instead of having it out in here in front of your
coworkers.”

She glanced around, as if suddenly remembering where we were.

She muttered for us to follow her. It was early enough in the day that the
private dance lounge was empty, so the owner let us take Shana in there to
talk.

She flopped down onto the bench of a booth, and I slid into the one

across from her. Avery stayed standing, arms folded across his chest as he
eyed her from above.

“Tell me about Heidi Gill,” I said.
She batted her eyes in a sarcastic display of innocence and boredom.

“Who?”

Avery reached into his pocket, pulled out a taser, and slammed it

onto the table between us. She eyed it warily and fidgeted.

Normally, I wasn’t one to question another detective in front of a

suspect or witness, but he was pushing me way too hard. I looked at him. “Is
that really necessary?”

“That’s up to her,” he said.
“Let me guess,” she said to me with a smirk. “You’re the good cop,

and he’s the bad cop?”

“And you’re going to be in jail if you keep it up,” Avery snarled.
I exhaled, got up, and grabbed Avery’s arm. “Can I have a word with

you?”

We stepped away. “Let me do this,” I said in a low growl. “Why

don’t you go get us some coffee, go walk around the block, get a fucking lap
dance, do something, but give me fifteen minutes to see if I can get some
answers out of her without you making her shut down every five seconds.”

He glared at me. I expected him to argue, but instead, he went back,

snatched the taser off the table, and shoved it into his pocket. “You have
fifteen minutes.” Without another word, he stomped out of the lounge.

I sat across from her at the booth. “Sorry about him.”
“He always that much of an ass?”
I leaned forward and folded my hands on the table. “Actually, he just

lost his partner in the other night’s shooting, and so did I. You’ll have to
forgive us both if we’re a little less than patient right now.”

She swallowed. “You’re not an asshole like him, though.”
“I can be,” I said. “If I don’t start getting some answers, anyway.

Now, tell me about Heidi.”

“How do you know I know her?” Her eyes silently challenged me.
“Are you saying you don’t?” I paused. “By the way, lying to a cop is

considered obstruction of justice, which is a serious charge, so keep that in
mind before you answer.”

She wrung her hands and avoided my eyes.
“This isn’t a game, Shana,” I said, gentler now. “I need some

answers.”

She looked at her nails and did her damndest to appear as bored as

possible, but fidgeted enough to negate the act. “I’ll bet you do.”

I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Heidi’s your friend, isn’t

she?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”
“And if I said I was someone who wanted to keep her from getting

hurt?”

She laughed. “Please. You’re a cop. She ain’t gonna buy that shit

from you and neither do I.”

“Here’s the deal, hon,” I said. “Sooner or later, someone is going to

catch up with her. I think it’s in her best interest, as well as yours and mine,
for that someone to be me. And I need your help to make that happen.”

Shana squirmed in her seat. “I don’t know where she is. Ain’t seen

her in a few days.”

“Any idea where she might have gone?”
“I know a few people who might know.”
“How can I reach them?”
She fidgeted again. “I can have them call you. Some of them come

into the club once in a while.”

I dug my card out of my wallet and slid it across the table. “Have her

call me. Or have them call me. Whatever. But tell her I’ll do whatever she
needs me to do to let her know she can trust me. She’s my only eyewitness,
and I need her testimony. You have my word, I want to keep her safe.”

She laughed. “A cop’s word. That’s comforting.”
“It’s all I have.”
“It’s not enough.”
I hesitated. “I want to keep her safe.”
“What do you care if she’s safe?” She scowled at me. “All you want

is her testimony. You don’t give a shit about her.”

“Think what you want, Shana.” Resting my elbows on the table, I

clasped my hands together. “Look, whoever killed all these people killed my
partner  too.  Gunned  him  down  in cold  blood. We’re not  dealing  with  some
nice  guy  here.  This  is  a  killer,  and  there’s  a  possibility  they’ll  come  after
Heidi to keep her quiet. Whether I want her alive because of her testimony or
any  other  reason,  the  fact  is,  I  do  want  her  alive.  Other  people  very  likely
don’t. Like it or not, she’s safer with me.”

She swallowed hard. Then, her eyes narrowed. “She’ll want to talk to

James.”

I blinked. “James Merrill?”
“Who else?”
“How the hell am I supposed to arrange that? I need to talk to him

myself.”

She shrugged. “No deal, then. James, or she doesn’t talk.”
“Which puts us at a bit of a stalemate, doesn’t it?”
Biting her lip, she looked away
“Shana, please,” I said. “If you know how to reach her, I need to talk

to her. Wherever she feels safe, with someone else there if she’s more
comfortable. But I need to talk to her.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I’ll try to reach her and tell her to call

you, but I can’t promise she will.”

“Thank you.” It was a start, anyway. I pulled the photo of Whaley

out of my pocket and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize him?”

She picked it up and looked at it, twin creases forming between her

razor-thin eyebrows. Then she shrugged and handed it back. “I’ve seen him
around. He comes in here all the time, but don’t know who he is.”

“Ever interact with him?” I asked. “At all?”
“He likes lap dances,” she said. “But he never says much. Real quiet

type. Kinda gave me the creeps, actually.”

“In what way?”
“Just…quiet. Reminded me a lot of David Merrill. Like, the kind of

guy you can’t figure out at all.” She glanced at the picture again. “Guys like
that are dangerous for girls in this job, so…” She shuddered. “He made me
nervous.”

100

I noted her comments and tucked the picture in my pocket again.
Shana’s posture suddenly straightened, and if looks could kill,

someone on the other side of the room would’ve dropped dead. I followed
the trajectory of her glare. Surprise, surprise, Avery had returned.

“Are we feeling a bit chattier now?” he said with a sneer.
“Not now, no.” She turned her attention back to me. “Can I go?”
I gestured at the door. “You’re not under arrest.”
She got up and shot Avery a dirty look before storming out of the

room.

Avery scowled in her direction. To me, he said, “Get anything out of

her?”

I glared at him. “She might’ve been more willing to talk to you if

you hadn’t threatened to tase her.”

He shrugged. “Any other idiot would have settled down at that

point.”

“Jesus, Kent,” I said. “You scared the poor girl.”
“The poor girl?” He snorted. “Come on, man. Get real. These people

need to know we mean business, not that we’re going to pussyfoot around
and coddle their asses.”

“I just prefer to keep the excessive force to a minimum unless I need

it,” I said. “You’re twice her size and had her pinned up against a wall. She
wasn’t being belligerent, it was survival instinct.”

He laughed. “In her line of work, you’d think she’d be used to being

pinned against a flat surface.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do all narcotics officers lack basic human

compassion, or were you just not hugged enough as a child?”

Avery glared at me. “You know what? Fuck you, Clifton. You spend

some time dealing with the human debris in this part of town, and you won’t
exactly be feeling like Mother Teresa either.”

“Human debris?” I raised an eyebrow. “Jesus, Kent.”
He shrugged. “I call it like I see it. This place is a shithole, and

there’s only one thing that comes out of a shithole: shit.”

I slid out of the booth, and as I stood, I said, “You know, ninety

percent of the people in this area are either drug-addicted and out on their
asses after the methadone clinics closed, or they’re just poor as hell.”

“Or,” he said. “They’re drug dealers and whores preying on those

poor, pitiful junkies and lazy fucks who won’t make a decent living for
themselves.”

“So, do you have sympathy or even a little empathy for anyone in the

world?”

“Sure.” He shrugged as we started toward out of the lounge.

“Anyone who makes something of himself without hiding behind a bullshit
addiction, or by feeding someone else’s bullshit addiction.”

“Define a bullshit addiction.”

102

Thirteen

At some point, while we were up to our asses in reports, leads, and

dead-ends, Avery’s desk phone rang.

“Avery,” he said with next to no enthusiasm. Then he sat up.

“Where?”  He  grabbed  a  notepad  and  frantically  scribbled  something  down.
“By  the  warehouses?  Or  the  docks?  Okay.  Okay.  Right.  How  the  hell  did
they  get  it  down  there?”  Pause.  A  quiet  laugh.  “Excellent.  We’ll  be  there
shortly.”  He  hung  up  and  tore  the  sheet  off  his  notepad.  “They  just  found
James Merrill’s car.”

My heart pounded. “Where?”
“In the river. Let’s go.”
I drove, and Avery directed me down to the docks along the

riverbanks  in  the  industrial  part  of  town.  God  knew  how  many  bodies,
vehicles,  weapons,  and  all  kinds  of  other  shit  we’d  recovered  from  the
muddy water down here.

I followed a narrow road between towering stacks of shipping

containers, and when I turned left at the end, I didn’t have to ask if we’d
come to the right place. Dangling from a cable, with mud and water pouring
off it, was James’s car. The same car we’d made out in for the better part of
an hour the night we met. I shuddered.

After I’d parked, Avery and I caught up with one of the officers

who’d responded to the initial call.

“Whoever dumped it must have been in a hurry.” The officer

gestured at the vehicle. “It was only half-submerged, so it must’ve gotten
stuck in the mud and they didn’t bother trying to get it in the rest of the way.”

“Well, maybe we got lucky, then,” Avery said. “If there’s any

evidence in the car, the water might not have fucked it all up.”

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. James said he’d abandoned

the car, but not like this. If he’d lied to me about that, what else was he
hiding in the car he’d tried—and failed—to hide in the river?

The tow truck driver carefully and slowly moved the car from the

water to dry land, and set it down. While he unhooked the cable, he wrinkled
his nose, fanning the air in front of his face like he’d smelled something

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unpleasant.

A second later, a faint, noxious odor caught my attention. I sniffed

the air, wondering if I was imagining it, but the second whiff was definitely
stronger.

“What’s wrong?” Avery asked.
“You smell that?”
He took a deep breath through his nose, then made a face. “Oh, God.

Yeah.”

We both looked at the car, then at each other. This was one of those

smells no one ever forgets: that putrid stench of rotting flesh. Years on this
job, and that rancid odor still made my eyes water.

We approached the car warily, each keeping a hand over our mouths

and noses. With his free hand, Avery tried the release on the trunk, but it
didn’t budge. I tried to pop the lid with the lever beside the driver’s seat, but
again, no luck.

“The latch is jammed.” Avery looked at the tow truck operator. “Any

chance you can open this thing?”

“Might have to tear it up,” came the reply.
Avery gestured dismissively. “Fine, just get it open.”
Grimacing, the operator grabbed a pry bar and went to work on the

car. My stomach turned and my heart pounded. It wasn’t just the smell that
made me queasy. I knew exactly what we’d find beneath that jammed lid.

The only question was who we’d find. Something deep in my

churning gut told me it was Heidi. No one would definitively say they’d seen
heads or tails of her since the day of the shooting, but everyone was looking
for her. Everyone and their mother wanted to talk to her. People in that kind
of limelight were the ones who usually wound up in car trunks.

A loud crack announced that the trunk had finally relented. Then,

metal groaned. Something snapped. A second later, the tow truck driver
pulled the pry bar free, and water-logged hinges shrieked as the freed lid flew
up. In an instant, everyone within a ten-foot radius, myself included, turned
away, coughing and gagging as the smell reached intolerable proportions.

Hand over my nose and mouth, I approached the car, blinking my

watering eyes until I could focus.

The corpse was male. A vague sense of relief washed over me when

I realized it wasn’t Heidi, but who the hell was it?

He was bound at the ankles and wrists with a piece of tape over his

mouth.  A  single  entry  wound  in  his  temple  answered  any  questions  about
cause of death, as did the dark stain that  had radiated from beneath his head
into a huge, almost-black stain on the upholstery.

After marinating in river water in a trunk beneath the sun for the last

few days, the body had decomposed significantly. His features were still
somewhat recognizable, but I didn’t envy the family member who’d have to
identify him in the morgue later.

104

Footsteps beside me turned my head.
“Oh, Jesus.” Avery spun on his heel and made a choked sound.
“Recognize him?” I asked.
He nodded, but held up a finger in a “just a second” gesture. Resting

his hands on his knees, he leaned forward, wavering slightly. The color
drained from his cheeks and he swallowed hard a few times, eyes closed and
lips pressed together in a thin, bleached line.

I put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “You all right?”
Another nod. Another gulp. I couldn’t tell if it was the body itself or

the identity. The guys over in narcotics weren’t usually quite as accustomed
to bodies in various states of decomposition as those of us in homicide.

He cleared his throat and stood. “Sorry. Smell got to me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I gestured at the body. “You know him?”
“Yeah.” He looked away again, closing his eyes and holding his

breath. Finally, he exhaled slowly, looked at me, and managed to croak, “It’s
Whaley.”

My heart stopped. I stared at Avery. “Are you serious?”
He nodded, eyes focused on the body. “It’s definitely him.”
“Fuck,” I whispered.
“Yeah.” He shook his head and turned away, clearing his throat. To

one of the officers he said, “Get a call in to the coroner. Let’s get him out of
here.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.
We stepped away from the car for some more palatable air.
“Guess that narrows our suspects down.” Avery pulled a pack of

cigarettes out of his pocket. “Unless David’s been borrowing his brother’s
car, I’d say James is our man.”

I shuddered. And I envied Avery for his cigarettes. I could have gone

for several drinks right about then. It was even tempting to ask him for a
smoke and see if a hit of nicotine helped.

“Question is,” he said, pausing to take a drag, “where the fuck is

James?”

I shook my head. “No idea. No one’s seen any sign of him.” Liar,

liar…

“Fucker’s probably left town,” he said. “What we need to do is track

down that stripper. She has to know something.”

I nodded.
“Detectives.” An officer approached from where the car was parked.

“We found these under the passenger seat.” He held up a clear plastic bag
containing two black devices, each around the size of a credit card. I looked
closer.

“What’s that?” Avery asked.
“Looks like a GPS tracker.” I handed him the bag. “Two of them,

actually.”

105

He pursed his lips, eyeing the tracker. “Not from one of our guys,

though. I’ve never seen this model before.”

Stephen found a GPS tracker in his car a few months ago, James’s

voice echoed in my head. Under the seat.

“Dealers going high tech?” I asked. “Chasing after competitors,

maybe?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t seen any trackers coming from them, but

who knows.”

“Is this the type the feds use?” the officer asked, looking at the

evidence bag.

Avery shrugged. “Might be. Why the hell would the feds bother

tracking James Merrill, though? We’ve got undercovers working all over
Masontown. The feds would just be overkill.”

I nodded. “That, and you’d think with dead cops, any agents would

have gotten in touch with us by now.”

“Great,” he muttered, handing the bag back to me. “If the dealers are

throwing around tracking shit, this could spell trouble for the undercovers.”

“Might be smart for the chief to pull undercover ops for a while.” I

held up the trackers and nodded toward Whaley’s body. “Getting too damned
dangerous.”

“And if we pull them out now, we’ll be back to square one for

busting these sons of bitches,” Avery said. “We’ve put too much work into
this, we can’t pull our guys out now.”

“If they’re in danger—”
“They knew the danger when they signed up,” he snapped. “Now

let’s bag this shit and go see if any dock employees saw anyone ditch the
car.”

~ * ~

I paced in Andrew’s kitchen. I couldn’t even drink. Not tonight. As

much as I needed the escape, the buzz, the blissful numbness, I had to keep a
clear head.

James watched me from across the room, arms folded across his

chest and hip resting against the counter. “What’s going on?”

I ran a hand through my hair and stopped pacing. Then started again.

“Tell me again where you left your car.”

He tensed. “A few blocks from the club. Why?”
“Anyone else have keys?”
“Stephen had a set.”
I stopped and rubbed my forehead with the heels of my hands. “Are

you sure he’s the only one?”

James shifted his weight. “What’s going on?”
“We found the car.” I looked at him. “In the river.”
His eyes widened. “In the…” Shaking his head, he gave a cough of

sarcastic laughter. “You don’t think I ditched my car in the river, did you?”

106

“I don’t know what to think right now,” I said. “But if you know

anything about why the car or its contents were in the river, I need to know.
Now.”

One eyebrow arched upward. “What do you mean, its contents?”
“You don’t know?” I set my jaw. “Don’t fuck with me, James.

There’s an arrest warrant out there with your name on it, and this
conversation will decide if I read you your rights right here, right now.”

James shook his head and showed his palms. “I don’t know what

you’re talking about. The contents? In the river? No idea.”

I rubbed the back of my neck with both hands. “There was a body in

the trunk.”

His knees buckled and his lips parted. “What?”
I swallowed. “A body. Specifically, a dead cop.”
He went white. “You don’t… you don’t think I… killed him, do

you?”

“I told you, I don’t know what to think, James.” I looked him in the

eye. “I’ve got witnesses and your own admission placing you at the scene, a
murder weapon in your apartment, a dead cop in your car, it’s…” I spread
my hands, palms-up. “Give me something, here.”

He swallowed hard. “Someone’s setting me up, Brian,” he said, the

words tumbling out of him. “I didn’t kill anyone. I swear, I—” He paused,
closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I need to get in touch with Heidi.”

“What?”
“If someone’s going to these lengths to set me up, they’re definitely

going to go after her to keep her quiet,” he said. “We need to get her
someplace safe. And she can corroborate my story, too.”

I moistened my lips. “How do I find her, then? Level with me, here.

If you know anything, now’s the time to give me every bit of information
you have.”

He chewed his lip and avoided my eyes. After a moment, he shook

his head. “I don’t know where she’d be hiding. As far as I know, she’d still
be in contact with Shana, but where she is? No idea.”

“If Shana heard from you directly, would she cooperate?”
“Probably, yes,” he said. “But we can’t tell her you’re protecting me.

She and Heidi are good at keeping their mouths shut, but under duress,
anyone will say anything.”

“We might have to take some chances,” I said. “Because there’s only

so much longer we can keep this up before someone connects you to me.”

“But if I tell her there’s a connection between us…”
“Just tell her I check out,” I said. “You don’t have to tell her I’m

standing right there or that we know each other.” I paused. “I can take you to
a payphone. It’s dark, we’d be in the middle of nowhere, and if you use cash,
no one will trace you.”

“Good idea,” he said. “Let’s go, then.”

107

We locked eyes for a few long seconds, staring at each other like we

each thought the other might break down and produce answers we’d been
holding back. When neither of us pulled any cards out of our sleeves, I took
my keys out of my pocket and we left.

The highway wound through the night, lit only by my headlights.

The occasional stoplight marked a two-lane road cutting across the highway
and bisecting the sleeping cornfields and forests, and once in a while the
glow of a house appeared in the distance. Otherwise, there was no one and
nothing out here but us.

Up ahead, streetlights bathed a small lot in white light, a glow

peppered by neon signs in the windows of the old-school general store. It
was a tiny place with two gas pumps out front and a greasy spoon diner on
one side, and the half-paved, half-gravel parking lot was mostly deserted. On
the far end of the building, between the ice bin and the propane tanks, was a
payphone.

I pulled in and killed the engine. “This is about as far away from the

middle of nowhere as we can get and still find a phone.”

“Good enough.” He got out of the car.
At the phone booth, I leaned on the door while James fished some

change out of his pocket. The quarters fell into the antiquated coin slot with a
series  of  eerie,  echoing  clunks.  He  glanced  around.  Then  he  dialed  the
number,  the  rhythmic  click  of  his  fingers  on  the  aged  keys  reverberating
through the booth.

As the call presumably rang on the other end, he tapped his fingers

rapidly beside the coin slot and stared at the ground. His lips tightened. I
thought he muttered, “Come on, pick up” under his breath, but couldn’t be
sure.

Then he jumped.
“Shana? It’s James.” Pause. “Yes, it’s me. I’m okay, sweetheart, I

promise.  I—yes,  I’m  safe,  don’t  worry  about  me.”  He  went  silent  for  a
moment,  his  brow  furrowing  above  unfocused  eyes. The  voice  on  the  other
end  was  barely  audible,  enough  to  let  me  know  someone  was  speaking—
quickly, almost hysterically—but not enough for me to make out the words.

“Shana, hon, calm down,” James said softly. He smoothed the air

with  one  hand  even  though  she  couldn’t  see  him.  He  spoke  gently,  like  a
parent  calming  a  terrified  child,  but  without  sounding  condescending.
“Listen,  I  need  you  to  help  me  out  here.  Have  you  spoken  to  the  police  at
all?” Pause. “No, no, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just need to know if
you’ve  spoken  to  anyone.”  Another  pause.  “Did  he  give  you  a  card?
Anything with a name on it?” James drummed his fingers on the weathered,
graffiti-covered phone book. “Can you find it for me? Tell me the name on
it?” A longer pause. “Okay, I need you to do something for me. Get in touch
with  Heidi  and  have  her  contact  Detective  Clifton.  Yes.  Trust  me.”  James
glanced at me. “He checks out. No, he’s not one of those guys. You can trust

108

him, sweetheart.”

I shifted my weight, chewing my lip and praying she gave him the

information we needed.

“Can you tell me if she’s all right?” James asked. “Heidi, yes. Is she

okay?” The creases between his eyebrows deepened. Then he closed his eyes
and released a breath. “Thank God. What about you?” Pause. “I know you’re
scared. Just hang in there for me, okay?” He went quiet again. “Soon, I hope.
It’d be too dangerous for both of you if I went anywhere near you right now,
but hopefully soon. Once all of this is straightened out.” Silence. “Okay,
hopefully we’ll talk soon. Hang tight, hon.”

After he hung up the phone, he exhaled. “Heidi’s alive. She’s just in

hiding, but it sounds like she’s safe.”

“Good,” I said. “Think she’ll call me?”
“Don’t know. She’s scared shitless right now.”
“Has anyone threatened her?”
“Not that I know of.” James rubbed his eyes. “Shana’s had a hard

time tracking her down. Girl’s laying pretty low.”

“Can’t say I blame her.”
“Neither can I.”
“So, what now?”
James chewed his lip. Then he whispered, “Now, we wait and see if

Heidi gets in touch with you.”

We started toward the car, but James put a hand on my arm and

stopped me.

“Thank you, Brian,” he said. “I know you’re risking a lot. And I’m

asking a lot, especially after I’ve been jerking you around the last couple of
months.”

“I’m not going to throw you to the wolves,” I said. “You deserve a

fair investigation.”

“I know.” He put his arm around my waist. “I’m just letting you

know I appreciate it.” I let him draw me into a long, gentle kiss, and after a
moment of hesitation, wrapped my arms around him and surrendered
completely.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe everything he said. I was

a cop, though. Maybe not a very good one lately, maybe not a very objective
one, but even with my biased outlook on things, there was only so long I
could ignore the growing pile of evidence against James.

Hopefully Heidi and Shana contacted me.
Hopefully they had information that could shed light on what really

happened at that night club.

Hopefully they talked before I came to my senses and did my job.

109

Fourteen

I avoided my own eyes in the bathroom mirror. Instead, I focused on

watching my fingers button the jacket of my dress uniform.

My house was completely silent except for the soft sounds of buttons

being pushed into place and fabric accommodating movement when I rolled
my shoulders and adjusted my belt. When everything was in place, I stared at
myself across the bathroom counter.

I’d worn this uniform dozens of times. Today, it was uncomfortable

as hell. Suffocating. I had a hard enough time breathing without the starched
collar grabbing my throat or the stiff jacket constricting my chest.

I couldn’t decide what it felt like. Prison blues, maybe. A straitjacket.

At that point, I’d have probably been happier if I really had been an inmate
or a mental patient. Beat the hell out of being my best friend’s pallbearer.

I scowled at my reflection. I usually loved the way this uniform

looked, and I’d admittedly spent a few formal events checking out my
colleagues in decidedly unprofessional ways. Not at a funeral, though.

This was the second funeral for a cop this week, and there was still

Detective  Kelly’s  next  week.  His  had  been  postponed  to  give  family  an
opportunity  to  fly  in  from  out  of  state  and,  in  the  case  of  his  eldest  son,
overseas. Detective Gray’s was yesterday, but per his will had been a small
family  affair  rather  than  a  burial  with  full  honors.  Whaley  had  requested  a
similar  private  service.  For  that,  I  was  thankful.  I  wasn’t  sure  how  much
more I could take in such a short period of time.

There wasn’t enough booze in the world to get me through this, and I

suddenly wished I’d taken Nick and Andrew up on their offer to drive. I’d
long ago learned exactly how much I could drink without anyone knowing
about it, but driving was the one line I wouldn’t cross. Oh, sure, I’d go to my
partner’s funeral as close to drunk as I could get, but I wouldn’t drive.

I sighed. At least I still had some standards.
With one last look in the mirror, I straightened my collar and headed

out.

I didn’t shed a tear at Max’s funeral. Not during the eulogies. Not

while I helped his brothers, nephew, and two other officers carry the casket

110

from  the  church  to  hearse.  Not  while  I  watched  his  stepson  try  to  put  on  a
brave  face  as  the  casket  was  carefully  lowered  into  the  ground.  Like  the
moment  I’d  realized  my  partner  and  friend  was  gone,  I  couldn’t  feel
anything.

I’d always been taken with the honors given to a fallen officer or

firefighter, thought it a fitting tribute before they were laid to rest. Today, all
the formality, the pomp and circumstance, felt offensively festive at
something so somber. The music, the uniforms, the processional, everything.
I would have given anything for this to have been the low-key, quiet service
that Gray had requested, if only for my own sanity. Max certainly deserved it
all, every last piece of it, but it tore me up like never before.

Maybe it wasn’t the formality itself. Maybe it bothered me because

its existence meant acknowledging this was a funeral for a fallen officer,
which meant admitting the fallen officer was my partner, which meant that
no matter how much I’d hoped and prayed for it be a dream, Max was really
dead.

Nick kept a comforting arm around Andrew’s shoulders throughout

the  service.  At  the  gravesite,  when  Nick’s  emotions  got  the  best  of  him,
Andrew  put  his  arm  around  his  waist  and  whispered  something  only  they
could  hear.  After  the  service,  I  couldn’t  help  noticing  the  way  Nick  held
Andrew just a little closer than he usually did out in public. The funeral must
have been hell for him. A dress rehearsal of his worst nightmare.

At least they’d been able to set aside their own tension and put on a

united front for this. In spite of all their fighting and distance recently, they
needed each other now, and they had each other.

What I wouldn’t have given to have someone’s shoulder right then,

but I didn’t dare show up with James on my arm. I tried to tell myself I was
here alone because a boyfriend would be a distraction. I wasn’t out except to
a handful of trusted friends.

Nick and Andrew didn’t turn any heads, though. It didn’t matter that

I was gay, and I knew it. I couldn’t bring James here because he was the
prime goddamned suspect in Max’s murder. Anna would have been
horrified. Every cop in the place would have been falling all over each other
to arrest him, if not shoot him where he stood.

Sitting there now, surrounded by Max’s friends and family, along

with our mutual colleagues, while they put the casket into the ground, I
wondered for the millionth time if James had killed Max.

I forced that thought aside. There would be time to deal with that

later. For now…

Avery stepped out of the crowd and caught my arm. “Hey, man.

How you holding up?”

“I’m… .” The words. They…I just didn’t know.
Avery offered a sympathetic grimace. “I’m really sorry about Max.”
“Thanks,” I said.

111

He extended a hand. When I took it, we looked at each other for a

moment,  then  shared  a  quick  half-handshake,  half-embrace.  Whatever  our
differences,  now  wasn’t  the  time.  After  we  separated,  we  briefly  made  eye
contact. He shifted his gaze away, but not before I caught the extra shine and
hint  of red in  his eyes.  Seeing  someone  as rock-solid  as  Avery  crack  under
the  strain  almost  brought  my  composure  crumbling  down.  Probably  would
have if I hadn’t been so fucking numb.

“This is way too many funerals in a row,” he said, the flatness of his

voice almost masking the unsteadiness.

“Yeah, it is,” I said. “And way too close to home.”
“No shit,” he whispered, shaking his head.
“Hi, guys.” Anna’s voice made my heart drop. We both turned to

her, and she gave us a watery smile.

I hugged her. “How are the kids doing with everything?” I asked,

still holding onto her.

“They’re…dealing.” She took a deep breath and pulled back.

“Ricky’s  too  young  to  understand,  and  he  keeps  asking  when  his  daddy’s
coming home.” She put a hand to her mouth and took another breath before
she  went  on.  “Jason’s  having  a  rough  time.  One  minute  he’s  angry  at  the
world,  the  next  he’s  crying.  And  at  night,  he  thinks  whoever  killed  Max  is
going to come after him.”

I put my arm around her. “What about you?”
She shook her head, her shoulders dropping. “I don’t know.”
I hugged her gently again. “I’m so sorry, Anna.”
Avery offered the same condolences, and embraced her. They

exchanged a few whispered words I couldn’t hear. When they separated, they
both had more tears in their eyes, though Avery quickly blinked his away.
Watching them only deepened my awareness of my own lack of emotion. It
would catch up, though. The only thing I could do was drown it before it
reached the surface, and I fully intended to do so as soon as I was alone.

Sniffing sharply, Anna looked at us. “Have you guys gotten

anywhere with finding…” She paused, dropping her gaze. Then she
swallowed hard and met my eyes again. “With finding whoever did this?”

“We’re working on it,” Avery said.
“We’re doing everything we can,” I said. “I promise you.”

Something shifted in my gut. Was I lying to her? I cleared my throat. “When
we know something, we’ll let you know.”

She nodded. “Thank you. That’s all I can ask.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Avery said.
“And the offer still stands,” I said. “If you need anything, give me a

call.”

“Likewise,” she whispered.
I hugged her one more time, shook hands with Avery again, then

casually tried to find the nearest exit to get the hell out of here. Thankfully, I

112

made it to the parking lot without anyone stopping me for condolences. Not
that I held it against anyone, I was just going to lose my ever-loving mind if I
didn’t get far from here and deep into a bottle as soon as possible. Preferably
before the pain set in, and I knew that wasn’t far off.

I put a hand on the wheel, but quickly drew it back. My white gloves

around the wheel looked too much like my hands around the handles on
Max’s casket.

God, I’m losing my mind.
I yanked off my gloves and threw them into my cover on the

passenger seat. On autopilot, without thinking, knowing, or caring where I
went, I drove. My mind was a fog of grief, not to mention the first twinges of
the pain that I desperately needed to drown, which was probably how I ended
up parked in front of a liquor store I knew all too well.

Some kids loitering out front casually moved away from the door,

watching me get out of my car. They were probably waiting for someone to
come along and buy them beer, and expected a cop, particularly one as
conspicuous as myself, to chase them off. I walked right past them into the
store and went straight to the shelf of cheap vodka. I wasn’t after anything
that tasted good, just the quickest, cheapest route from sober to not.

On my way up to the counter, I caught a few puzzled looks from the

cashiers and some customers. There was probably something in the uniform
regs about going into a liquor store in my dress uniform. In fact, I was pretty
sure there was. Today, I didn’t give a fuck. Cops drink too. Anyone who saw
me could get over it. My fucking boss could have walked in right then, and I
just didn’t have it in me to care if he chewed me out or fired me on the spot
or whatever the hell he might have done if he’d caught me buying booze
dressed like this. Can’t make the department look bad. Don’t want to give the
city and its men a bad name. City’s had enough bad publicity in the last few
months.

Whatever.
On the endless drive back to Andrew’s, my mouth watered every

time the bottles clinked together in the bag. Why I bothered going all the way
out to his place, I wasn’t even sure. I wanted to be alone. Alone and drunk
off my ass. But something—habit, some irrational worry about James’s
safety, who knows?—drew me past the city limits and down that long stretch
of unmarked blacktop.

I parked in front of Andrew’s garage, picked up the bag off the seat,

and left my cover and gloves in the car. I trudged up the front walk and into
the house.

James was in the living room, balancing his laptop on one knee, and

looked up as I came in. He closed the computer and set it on the coffee table.

“Hey,” he said, rising. “How was the funeral?”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” I walked past him into the kitchen.
Ignoring his footsteps behind me, I pulled the bottles out of the bag

113

and set them on the counter. I pulled a glass out of the cabinet and dropped a
handful of ice cubes in it. That was just a habit. I didn’t care if my drink was
cold, lukewarm, or hot enough to burn my tongue, I just wanted it now. But I
was on autopilot, and the ice was habit, so there it was.

I unscrewed the cap on the vodka and poured myself a drink. I

supposed it could have been called a screwdriver, but really it was way too
much vodka mixed with just enough orange juice to turn the drink the palest
yellow-orange.

“That’s not going to help,” James said.
“Says the chain smoker?” I snapped.
He pursed his lips and looked away. “Point taken. Hell, pour me one

while you’re at it.”

I sighed and reached up to get a glass for him. “I’m sorry. That was

uncalled for.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly.
I said nothing. After I’d poured his drink, I slid the glass along the

counter, then picked up my own.

“To getting fucked up until nothing else matters,” I said, raising my

glass.

James hesitated. Then, “I’ll drink to that.” He clinked his glass

against mine, and, without breaking eye contact, we both brought our drinks
to our lips. Even while I took a sip, a much smaller one than I’d intended, I
didn’t look away from him. I rolled the vodka around in my mouth, watching
him do the same. I followed the ripple down the front of his throat as I
swallowed my own drink, and as the heat met my throat, my eyes met his
again.

Something in his gaze burned hotter than the vodka. My heart beat

faster, the only sound in the room besides ice tinkling against the insides of
our glasses.

I set my drink down.
He set his down.
For a few long seconds, we stared at each other. I silently weighed

the would we, should we, and just how fucking inappropriate was this in the
wake of a funeral against the want to, want to, need to.

He must have read my mind, my eyes, something, because he

grabbed my jacket and pulled me into a deep, violent kiss. I gripped the front
of his shirt in one hand, the back of his neck in the other, and returned his
kiss. I didn’t taste the alcohol, only him. Only his mouth, his desperation that
matched mine.

He broke the kiss. Panting against my lips, his fingers trembling on

my jacket, he whispered, “How much time do we have?” He moistened his
lips. “Before Nick and Andrew get here?”

“Don’t know.” I kissed him. “Probably not enough. I don’t…” My

lip brushed his, and I shivered. “I don’t fucking care.”

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“Then neither do I.”
James had never kissed me like this. We’d gotten rough plenty of

times, but the desperation in his kiss mirrored my own, and it wouldn’t have
surprised me at all if I came just from the forceful hunger of his kiss.

If I wasn’t already close to losing it, I certainly was when he slid his

hand over the front of my already uncomfortably tight dress pants and
squeezed gently.

“Oh, God,” I groaned, letting my head fall back.
“Like that?” He bent to kiss my neck above my starched collar,

stroking my cock through my clothes.

“Fuck, yes.”
“Good.” He nipped the side of my neck. “Whatever I can do to make

you feel better…”

I grabbed his hair and jerked his head back so I could kiss him again,

and surprise made him squeeze me harder, nearly knocking my knees out
from under me.

“Fuck, James, you’re gonna make…” I paused, drawing in a long

breath when he started drawing my zipper down. “You’re gonna make me
come.”

He laughed softly against my lips. “That’s kind of the idea.” Before I

could speak or blink my blurred vision to clarity, he dropped to his knees and
took my cock in his mouth. I was vaguely aware that Nick and Andrew could
come home at any time and find us, find James kneeling on the kitchen floor
and sucking my cock while the ice melted in the drink I’d thought I needed,
find me still in my dress uniform clinging to the counter and gripping his hair
while the world fell apart around me.

And I just didn’t care.
“Oh, God… please don’t stop…” I knew he wouldn’t stop even if I

begged him to, and my God, he didn’t. His lips and tongue demanded an
orgasm from me, and they wouldn’t be denied. He knew all the places to
flick his tongue, squeeze with his lips, and tease with the pad of his thumb.
He knew exactly how to make sure I was completely at his mercy. The world
spun faster around me. My knees shook harder. I could barely hold onto the
counter or his hair or my sanity or—

“Oh, fuck, James,” I whimpered. “Oh, God…” I gasped, shuddered,

then came with a throaty groan, my legs nearly crumpling beneath me as
James made my orgasm go on and on and on.

When he finally released me, he stood and grabbed my face in both

hands, kissing me passionately once again. I was near tears now, so turned on
I couldn’t see straight, and the taste of myself on his tongue while he kissed
me so fucking desperately drove me out of my mind. I’d already come, but it
wouldn’t be my last orgasm today. That much I knew.

And now I wanted him to fuck me as deep and hard as he could, and

I wanted him to come like he did on those nights when we just couldn’t stop.

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Fuck me, James, I couldn’t have articulated even if his mouth hadn’t

been against mine. Fuck me hard. Please, please, please, James…

Again, he knew before I could move or speak, and he whispered

against my lips, “Let’s take this in the bedroom.” He kissed me once more. “I
want to fuck you.”

Somehow, we made it to the guest room before the clothes started

coming off. Maybe we still had enough rational thought left to decide against
leaving clothes scattered from one end of Andrew’s house to the other in case
he and Nick came home. That, or we were just too damned desperate to get
past all the buttons someone had put on this fucking uniform.

Finally, though, James’s boxers landed on the pile of discarded

clothes, and we just about knocked the nightstand over in our scramble to get
a condom out.

I got it unwrapped. He put it on. We both swore as we searched for

the lube, but quickly found it right on the bedside table where we’d left it
last.

He poured some in his shaking hand and stroked it onto his cock.

“Turn around.”

As soon as I did, he shoved me over the bed. I bit back a half moan,

half sob when he grabbed my hair in one hand, holding it painfully tight.
Then he pressed his cock against me, and as he pushed in and slid deeper, I
closed my eyes.

“Want it good and hard?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Words were impossible, so I simply nodded as much as his grip

would allow.

James didn’t hold back. He slammed into me, driving moans of pain

and  pleasure  from  my  lips  and  knocking  furious  creaks  from  the  bed  frame
and  pulling  my  hair  with  every  thrust.  If  his  injured  arm  hurt,  he  gave  no
outward indication that he cared or that he wanted me to care. He just fucked
me.  Hard,  deep,  fast.  Cursing  and  panting,  he  gave  me  more  than  I  could
take, and I loved it. Tears burned my eyes, my scalp stung from his grip on
my  hair,  but  I  couldn’t  remember  how  to  speak  enough  to  tell  him  never,
ever, ever to stop.

“Jesus, Brian,” he groaned. Both hands went to my hips, and his

fingers dug in painfully. “Oh, fuck, you feel… amazing… I’m…” He thrust
hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs, and there he stopped, both
of us trembling as his cock pulsed inside me.

He collapsed over me, sweaty and breathless. With a quiet groan, he

pulled out, then rested his forehead between my shoulder blades. His sharp
huffs of breath cooled the sweat on my back, and would have given me goose
bumps had I not already had them.

He nipped my shoulder. “Had enough?”
“Absolutely not.”
He kissed the side of my neck. “Good.”

116

~ * ~

When I swam into consciousness, hours must have passed, because

darkness had fallen. James was against me, his arm slung over my side.

I thought he was still asleep until he whispered, “You doing okay?”

His voice sounded strange. Distant.

“Yeah.” I wasn’t sure if I was doing okay or not. It wasn’t the heavy

numbness that had been draped over me at and after the funeral. It was just a
surreal sense of…apathy. Like I didn’t feel anything because there was
nothing to feel.

He kissed my shoulder and ran his hand up and down my side. “I

could rub your back if that’ll help.”

I smiled and looked at him over my shoulder. “You know I’ll never

turn that down.”

“Didn’t think so.”
I rolled onto my stomach and he sat over me. From the first touch, he

almost put me back to sleep, but somehow I stayed awake. There was no
tension to work out of the muscles, no jitteriness to sooth into calm, but the
warmth of his palms on my skin was far from unpleasant.

His hands slid easily over my skin, slipping across the warm lotion

or oil or whatever he’d put on. I didn’t recall hearing him open a drawer or a
bottle. Where the oil came from, I didn’t know, but it felt good.

The air smelled odd. Pungent. Almost… brassy. Familiar, but I

couldn’t put my finger on it. It must have been whatever was on James’s
hands. Some voice in the back of my mind said I know this one, I know I do,
but the answer stayed out of my grasp. Even while his amazing hands lulled
me deeper into that apathetic state of calm, curiosity nagged and nagged
about what I smelled and what was on his hands. I had to know what it was. I
had to. Every breath of it made me tense up in spite of his touch.

“What kind of massage oil is that, anyway?” I asked.
“No oil,” he said. “Just using what I already had on my hands.”
“What you…” I furrowed my brow and craned my neck. “What do

you mean?”

One hand lifted off my back, and he held it where I could see it.
Blood.
Copious, crimson blood sliding off his fingertips and pooling on the

sheet beside me. Everywhere it touched me, everywhere he’d rubbed it onto
my skin, suddenly burned, and when I pushed myself up in a panic, my hands
left red smears on the sheets.

I turned my hands over, and they were as bloody as his.
“What the—”
“Shh.” He pushed my shoulders back down, pinning me to the bed.

“I’m not done yet.”

Panic surged through my veins. I clenched my fists around the

sheets, squeezing more blood from between my fingers, and he wouldn’t let

117

me get up. I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t get away from all the blood—

~ * ~

My eyes flew open and I gasped for air.
James was on his stomach, facing away from me, still sound asleep. I

fought to catch my breath. My heart pounded. Blinking a few times, I took in
my surroundings and tried to orient myself.

Daylight still poured through the windows. We must have dozed off,

but hadn’t been out very long.

James stirred beside me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I ran my hand up and down his back, bile rising in my

throat in anticipation of the streak of blood my fingers were sure to leave
behind. When I lifted my hand away, though, there was no blood on his skin
or mine. Just sweat. Icy cold sweat.

I needed to get that sweat off me, along with the phantom blood that

I swore still burned and chilled my skin.

I sat up, my body aching from the rough, desperate sex we’d had

earlier. “I’m going to grab a shower.”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, and a moment later, his breathing had

fallen into that slow, steady pace of sleep. I envied his clear conscience. Or
maybe it was exhausted detachment. Whatever it was that let him sleep these
days, especially without a little chemical assistance, I envied him for it.

I went into the guest bathroom for that shower.
The hot water running down my skin made me sick to my stomach.

Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined blood rushing over my skin in
sheets before swirling the drain at my feet. I was sure there would be watery
red streaks sliding down the tile from where my hands were braced to keep
my balance.

So much for the shower helping me erase that creeped out feeling. I

turned off the water and dried off, feeling more than a little ridiculous—but
still relieved—every time I checked the towel to make sure it was soaked
with water and not blood.

Leaning on the bathroom counter and staring at my reflection, I was

certain I was losing my mind. And who wouldn’t be after all the shit that had
flown my way lately? My partner’s funeral. My guilty conscience. My
boyfriend who at best had lied to me, at worst had committed murder.

A drink. That was what I needed.
From across the chasm of time my bloody dream had gouged

between everything else that had happened today and now, James’s voice
echoed in my mind: That won’t help.

More guilt. I knew he was right. I knew it, but I’d surrender anyway

and drink. I didn’t need the liquor, it wouldn’t help, but at the moment, I
didn’t know what else to do.

He had his own addiction, so he’d probably understand. Two addicts

staggering through a relationship together. How cute. How fucking poetic.

118

I scowled at my reflection one last time, then slipped back into the

bedroom to put on a pair of jeans I’d left here the other night. Then I went
out to the kitchen.

The house was still and silent. When I glanced out the front window,

the only cars were Andrew’s and mine. He’d ridden to the funeral with Nick,
so they must have still been out and about. It was just as well. The company
of friends might have done me good right then, but I didn’t want them to see
me like this.

In the kitchen, the ice had melted in my drink, but I downed it

anyway. It was watered down and tasted like shit, but I didn’t even bother
convincing myself I’d poured the second one just to drown out the taste of
the first. I took the third a little slower. After one sip, I pressed the cold glass
against my forehead and closed my eyes.

The alcohol hit my system fast. Even with my high tolerance, I

hadn’t eaten much today and was exhausted, plus I’d thrown back two drinks
in rapid succession. In no time flat, my head was light and my stomach
threatened to put a stop to everything if I dared drink this third glass too
quickly.

I wouldn’t drink it too quickly, but I was definitely not done

drinking. Not while my mind still reeled with the melee of guilt and self-
loathing and questions and confusion.

How devoted was I to my career, to upholding the fucking law, if I

could let this relationship hinder one of the biggest investigations of my life?
My friendship with Max made me want blood for his murder. My
relationship with James made me want to exhaust every possible avenue
before I sided with the evidence and statements that pointed at James, James,
James.

Even if James wasn’t a questionable boyfriend, I was losing my

ability to say he wasn’t a damned murderer. My judgment was clouded from
every angle. Our relationship compromised the investigation. The
investigation compromised the relationship.

But what if he was innocent? No one else was willing to give him the

benefit of the doubt. Wisely, since all evidence pointed to him being a cop-
killer. If I left the case, he was fucked. Guilty until proven guilty.

Even if he had blood on his hands—Max’s, his own brother’s,

Kelly’s, Whaley’s—he still had a right to a fair and unbiased investigation.
No one else would give him that. I didn’t know if I could.

Everything flashed through my mind like a morbid documentary of

the  last  few  days.  Max’s  casket  sinking  into  the  ground.  James  at  my  door
after I’d been unable to reach him. Stephen’s body and his eerie resemblance
to James. The  gunshots  that  had  taken  Max’s life.  Interview after interview
giving  us  conflicting  testimonies  that  meant  James  might  have  been  guilty,
might  have  been  innocent,  but  was  definitely  involved.  Anna  grieving  her

119

husband’s death. My promise to find whoever had taken her husband, Ricky
and Jason’s dad, my partner. James’s car with Whaley’s body in the trunk.

How would things have been different if I hadn’t gone outside to call

James? Could I have saved Max? Would I have gone down with him? Or in
his place?

And today, had I really attended my best friend’s funeral, comforted

his grieving widow, then found comfort in the arms of the man who’d killed
Max?

My blood alcohol content wasn’t nearly high enough for me to deal

with this shit.

Daring my stomach to rebel, I threw back half of the third drink. I

blamed the stinging in my eyes on the burning in my throat, and maybe, deep
down, I believed myself.

“You okay?”
At the sound of James’s voice, I turned around. God, if there was

anything else in this world I couldn’t face sober right now, there he was.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his bare chest.

Like me, he’d put on a pair of jeans and nothing else. His hair was still
disheveled, a reminder of everything we’d done earlier and the fitful sleep
that had followed. He looked like living, breathing temptation. And guilt.

Are you a lover or a killer?
God, does that mean I’m the lover of a killer?
Does that mean I really do have blood on my hands too?
I moved my thumb on the side of my glass, and the moisture against

my skin reminded me of my dream. I shuddered.

James took a step toward me. “You okay?”
I looked into my drink, watching the ice cubes swimming through

vodka as I absently swirled the glass. No, I was definitely not okay. But what
was the solution? Could I even articulate to him that I wanted him and hated
him,  needed  him  and  needed  to  push  him  away?  That  I  desperately  wanted
him  to  be  innocent  even  if  I  knew—thought,  believed,  suspected—he  was
guilty?

The numbness lifted like a bandage ripped off a wound, and I

clenched my jaw to keep my emotions in check. Rattling ice gave away my
shaking hand.

“Hey,” he whispered. The warmth of his fingertips against my face

startled me. He ran his thumb across my cheek, brushing away a tear I hadn’t
even known existed. “Talk to me, Brian.”

I set my glass down.
James didn’t say anything else. He put his arms around me. In spite

of myself, I wrapped mine around him.

Eventually, I’d have to decide who and what he was, whether or not

he was a killer, but I didn’t it have it in me now. I had nothing left. I wasn’t
drunk enough to numb or ignore all the things I didn’t want to feel.

121

Fifteen

Sleep eluded me. Every time I managed to drift off, dreams haunted

me until I woke up, my hands damp with what I was sure was blood. Of
course it was just cold sweat, but it freaked me out every fucking time.

Sometimes I dreamed I’d killed Max. Or Whaley. I dreamed of

pulling back the sheet in the club and seeing James. Not Stephen. James.

One dream in particular nearly had me bolting for the bathroom to

throw up. The stench from the trunk of James’s car was as real as it had been
the day we found the car, but when the trunk flew open, it wasn’t Whaley’s
half-decomposed body.

It was Max’s.
And the car was mine.
And the blood. The blood. All over my hands.
After that one, I gave up on sleeping any time soon. I got up and

went into the bathroom, partly to make sure I didn’t actually get sick, and
partly to check my palms for blood. It may have been irrational, it may have
just been a dream, but the prickling beneath my skin wasn’t going anywhere
until I made damn sure it was just sweat on my hands.

With my stomach settled and the sweat confirmed, I didn’t bother

going back to bed.

The house was dark and silent, so I moved as quietly as I could from

the guest bedroom into the kitchen, pulling on a T-shirt as I walked. I
supposed I could have just wandered around in my boxers—we were all
guys, so who gave a fuck?—but the chill just below the surface left me cold
enough to need something over my skin. Not that a T-shirt did much good,
but…to hell with it.

In the kitchen, I flicked on the light above the stove. I took a glass

from the cabinet and one of the bottles of vodka from the freezer. One of the
bottles I’d bought after the funeral, I thought with a shiver that had nothing to
do with the cold in my hand or under my skin.

I unscrewed the cap, poured a half inch or so of vodka, then threw it

back. I almost slammed the glass down on the counter, but even over the eye-

122

watering burn of alcohol in my throat, I remembered three other people were
asleep in the house. Let ‘em sleep. I needed a drink.

Or twelve.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. This

wasn’t going to help. The only thing I wanted more than to be drunk off my
ass was to be able to sleep without being subjected to the collective criticism
of my subconscious and conscience. That, and I had to work in a few hours.

Muttering a string of profanity under my breath, I put the cap back

on the bottle. My head was vaguely light from the first hit of alcohol, but my
heart  raced  at  a  panicked  cadence,  mimicking  to  a  lesser  degree  the  way  it
thundered every time I woke from one of these damned dreams. Calm, deep
breaths  didn’t  do  a  damned  thing  to  slow  it  down.  I  wasn’t  terribly
claustrophobic,  but  the  walls  of  Andrew’s  spacious  kitchen  were  creeping
closer by the second.

Cold or not, I needed some air.
I opened the slider as carefully and quietly as I could, then slipped

outside.

Resting my hip against the railing, I closed my eyes and took a deep

breath. The air was cool, but not unpleasantly so. At least it was fresh air.
Didn’t smell like death or blood or anything else I’d smelled too many times
recently. Out here, a million miles from the city, the thick scent of pine sap
dominated my senses, with a hint of fresh cut grass and some plant I couldn’t
identify.

Thank God Andrew lived far enough from the river that the musty

odor didn’t reach me now. That stench permeated most of the city, hanging
in the air even amidst the car exhaust and garbage. Most people, myself
included, didn’t even notice it after a while. It was kind of like our city’s
version of the Space Needle or Eiffel Tower. It stuck out like a sore thumb to
anyone who was new in town, but the rest of us just wandered right by it—or
in this case, breathed it in—without a second thought. Ever since James’s car
was pulled from the river, I couldn’t ignore that smell, so I was more than a
little thankful it hadn’t followed me out here.

Behind me, the sliding glass door opened. I expected James, but

when I turned, it was Andrew.

“You’re still up?” he asked.
“Couldn’t sleep.” My voice still sounded scratchy. Such was the

result of spending the better part of the day and evening alternating between
drinking, crying, puking, and justifying to my chain-smoking boyfriend that
yes, I did need another drink. God, I need help. I cleared my throat. “What
about you?”

“Same.” He sank into one of the patio chairs. He adjusted the brace

on his arm, then rested his other elbow on the armrest and rubbed his eyes.

“You all right?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. Just… crazy dreams.”

123

“You and me both.”
He looked up at me. “With everything going on lately, I don’t doubt

you’re having fucked up dreams.”

I shuddered and looked out at the dark tree line. “You still have

dreams about what happened? With that crackhead?”

The chair creaked. “All the fucking time.”
“You’d think they’d go away after a while.”
“After a while?” He laughed softly. “It’s only been six months. My

arm will be healed and fully functional before this shit’s out of my head.”

“That’s encouraging,” I muttered.
“Sometimes I wonder which has more setbacks,” he said. “My head

or my arm.”

I turned around. His gaze was fixed on the tree line, but distant.

Unfocused.

“What do you mean?” I asked.
With his good hand, he reached up and absently scratched the back

of his neck. “Well, I mean, things with Nick have been tough. No two ways
about it. He blames himself, I blame myself, and…” He made a sharp,
frustrated gesture. “I don’t know. I guess it kinda takes its toll after a while.”

“I’m sure,” I said quietly.
Andrew swallowed. Then he took a breath, but still didn’t look at

me. “Lately, I keep having this dream. That whole thing with Nick. When the
junkie shot me.” He thumbed his chin and closed his eyes. “I mean, I’ve had
that dream hundreds of times since it happened, but recently, it’s been…
different.”

“How so?”
He swallowed hard. “Everything happens the same, right up to the

point where the kid fires at Nick, and then…” He shuddered, fidgeting in his
chair.  Finally,  his  eyes  met  mine,  and  the  haunted  expression  sent  a  shiver
right through me. “I don’t do anything. I don’t mean I choke, or I just don’t
react fast enough. I mean, I know what’s happening, what’s going to happen,
and  I  let  it.”  Once  again, his  gaze  drifted  out  to the  darkness. “I  let  the  kid
shoot Nick.”

A chill ran through me. “Jesus.”
“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “Of course I know I’d never do it in

real life, but even in a dream, it’s…”

“Unnerving?”
He nodded.
“I can imagine,” I whispered, shivering away the image of Max’s

body in the trunk of my car. If I never dreamed again, about anything, it
would be too soon.

Andrew was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “I guess, you

know, there’s this romantic notion about being willing to take a bullet for
someone, or step in front of a train for them, or whatever.” He sighed. “But a

124

few months down the line, when you’re still waking up in the middle of the
night in excruciating pain, and you can’t do your job, and you can’t even…”
He made a sharp gesture toward the house. “When you know the person you
took the bullet for is frustrated because that fucking bullet is killing your love
life. I don’t know, I guess I just wonder if people who say they’d take one for
their significant other are just saying it, or if they really know what they’re
saying.”

I said nothing, looking out at the darkened woods and letting the

words sink in for a few minutes. Then I turned back to Andrew. “Would you
do it again?”

“Hmm?”
“If you knew what would happen, would you still—”
“In a heartbeat.” He swallowed hard. “It’s taken its toll on both of us,

and I’m not going to pretend this has been easy for Nick or me, but I’d rather
lose the use of my arm than have it working enough for me to be one of his
pallbearers.”

I shuddered at the memory of shouldering the weight of Max’s

casket.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Andrew went on. “I’d do this a hundred

times over if it meant keeping him alive. It’s just… it hasn’t been easy, that’s
all. For either of us. For us.”

“I can only imagine.” I paused. “I thought things were getting better

between you guys, though.”

“Oh, they are. But there’s ups and downs. It’s just a lot like this.” He

gestured at his injured arm. “It’ll take time.” He smiled, and though the
expression was a tired one, it was genuine. “We’ll be okay.”

“Good.” I smiled. “Figured the two of you are too damned stubborn

to let anything come between you anyway.”

Andrew laughed and stood. “You have no idea.”
“I know you, Andrew,” I said, chuckling. “And he’s as bull-headed

as you are, so…”

“Point taken.” Silence fell between us for a moment. “How about

you? You and James doing all right?”

I let out a breath. “I don’t know. Even if I can prove beyond a

shadow of a doubt that he’s not guilty, I’m still not sure if I trust him.”

“I can understand that,” he said softly. “But, maybe when this all

blows over, assuming he is innocent, you guys can figure shit out. It’s easier
when the dust settles.”

I looked at him, eyebrows up. “Is it?”
“I said it was easier. I didn’t say it was easy. You’re not going to

figure it all out tonight.” He put a hand on my arm. “Get some sleep, man.”

“You too.”
“I’ll try.”
We exchanged half-hearted smiles. Then he turned and went back

125

into the house.

Long after he’d gone back to bed, I still stood out there on the deck. I

wondered if he’d easily fallen back to sleep. Maybe dreamed again. Six
months, and that incident still fucked with both of them.

Even in their rockiest, darkest moments, though, when it all took its

toll  on  their  relationship,  Nick  and  Andrew  were  more  in  love  than  most
couples  aspired  to  be.  Whenever  they’d  vented  to  me,  it  was  always  about
momentary  frustrations.  Neither  of  them  had  ever  breathed  a  word  about
walking away. This was an obstacle, not a dead end, and once they were past
it, they’d no doubt be stronger for it.

I wanted to believe there was someone who would take a

hypothetical bullet for me, and I wanted to believe I’d take one for him. Deep
down, I wanted to believe James and I would do it for each other, but…

Exhaling, I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. Wanting

to believe it didn’t make it real, and I was only kidding myself if I thought
James and I were even on the same plane as Nick and Andrew.

Which made me wonder, again and again and again, why I was

risking my career for him.

My faith in what I was doing hung by a thread now. Andrew’s

career—possibly  even  Nick’s—was  on  the  line  as  well  as  my  own.  The
evidence  against  James  was  piling  up.  I  could  only  keep  going  for  so  long
before  I  had  to  either  come  up  with  indisputable  evidence  exonerating  him
from the murders, or read him his rights.

I closed my eyes, cringing at the thought of arresting James. I just

couldn’t  decide  if  it  bothered  me  more  because  he  was  my  boyfriend,  or
because  it  would  mean  admitting  I’d  been  wrong  this  whole  time.  That  I’d
been  harboring  a  murderer  because  I  wasn’t  objective  enough  to  look  the
evidence in the eye and take it at face value.

Whatever happened, it wasn’t going to happen tonight. And dreams

or not, I needed sleep. I’d be even more useless than usual tomorrow if I was
falling asleep on my desk.

I took one more long, deep breath of the fresh, pine-scented air, then

went back in the house.

In the bedroom, I stripped off my T-shirt. As silently as I could, I

slipped into bed beside James.

He stirred, and I thought he was just shifting in his sleep, but then he

rolled toward me. He put his hand on my arm and molded his body against
mine. Part of me wanted to shrug him away, but with his skin against mine, I
found the warmth I’d been craving since I woke up. In spite of myself, I
exhaled and let myself press back against him.

He kissed the side of my neck. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.”
“I know the feeling.”
“You were sound asleep when I got up.”

126

He laughed softly, his warm breath soothing where the alcohol and

evening air had failed to be. “I heard you leave the room. Been awake since
you left.”

“Did I wake you up?”
“No.” James pulled me closer and nuzzled my neck. “Having trouble

sleeping myself.”

I sighed. “Guess that’s par for the course these days.”
I rolled onto my side so I could face him. I kissed him lightly, but

when I went to pull back, he slid his hand around to the back of my neck and
pulled  me  closer.  I’d  only  intended  for  a  light  kiss,  a  flicker  of  affection
before sleep took over, but now he had other plans. When he dipped his head
to kiss my neck, I bit my lip and sucked in a breath. He ran his hand down
my side, stopping when his fingers caught on the waistband of my boxers. I
didn’t want to want this. Not tonight. But my body sided with him, and the
gentle  touch  of  his  fingertips  sent  goose  bumps  up  my  back  and  down  my
arms.

I didn’t have nearly the energy to even think about having sex, but

my body reacted to his touch anyway. My cock hardened. My breathing
deepened.

To hell with it. I needed this.
I grasped his hair and pulled his head back. Our lips met in the

darkness, and he parted his a second before the tip of my tongue would have
asked him to, and we breathed each other into a deeper kiss. I pushed him
onto his back.

He combed his fingers through my hair. Then his hands went down

my sides and under the waistband of my boxers. I groaned into his kiss as he
pushed them over my hips.

The warmth of his hand around my cock was, like never before,

breathtaking. He stroked slowly, and I reached between us to do the same to
him. He whimpered against my lips, losing his breath when I ran the tip of
my thumb along the underside of his cock.

“I want you so bad right now,” he whispered, his hand and voice

trembling.

I kissed his neck. “I want you, too,” I murmured against his skin.

“Jesus, James, let me fuck you.”

He moaned, squirming beneath me and tilting his head to bare more

of his neck. “Please…”

We both kicked our boxers off and out of the way, and as I put on the

condom and lube, he changed position. When he shifted onto his hands and
knees, he paused, sucking in a sharp hiss of breath.

“Your arm okay?” I whispered.
“It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Please, Brian, I’m fine.”

127

I knelt behind him, begging the bed to be silent beneath us as I

pressed against him. The darkness turned white as I slid inside him. After a
few slow, easy strokes, I leaned forward and rested my weight on my hands
beside his, letting my chest brush his back with every motion. Fighting the
urge to fuck him hard and fast and loud, I buried my face against the back of
his neck and stayed just slow enough to keep the bed from giving us away.
With Nick and Andrew across the hall, we had to be quiet. I ached for a hard,
violent fuck, desperately wanted to make him cry out my name until I roared
myself and collapsed over him. This was all I could have now, though, and I
wasn’t about to complain about it.

His head fell forward and a shudder worked its way up his spine. The

darkness around us thrummed with the low groan that left his throat. The bed
issued the faintest creak as he rocked back against me, adding just a touch of
speed and a hell of a lot of intensity to the way I moved inside him.

“Oh, God…” I struggled to keep my voice down. “You feel so

fucking good, James.”

He moaned, pushing back against me in an effort to coax me into

thrusting faster than I dared.

“That’s perfect,” he whispered over his shoulder. “Just like that.”
I kissed the side of his neck. “Like this?”
“Mm-hmm.” He turned his head so he could lower his voice and still

be heard. “And as soon as you come, it’s my turn to fuck you.”

I shivered. “Is it now?”
“Oh, yeah.”
I bit back the moans that wanted to slip past my lips.
He wasn’t done yet. “When I fuck you, I want you on your back,” he

breathed. “You like that, don’t you? When…” He shuddered, his back
arching beneath my chest. “You like it when I fuck you on your back, don’t
you?”

“God, yes.” I screwed my eyes shut, clenching my teeth to keep from

moaning as my orgasm built, and fucked him just a little harder, as hard as I
could without making any noise.

“You like that as much as you like fucking me, don’t you?” he

growled, pushing back against me.

“Fuck…” The word slipped off my tongue as little more than a

ragged  exhalation.  “Fuck,  James…”  I  loved  the  way  he  talked  in  bed.  Like
no  one  else,  he’d  found that sensitive  spot,  that  verbal erogenous  zone,  and
he capitalized on it.

“God damn it,” he whispered. “I cannot fucking wait to be inside

you.”

And I was gone.
The darkness turned white and I almost sank my teeth into his

shoulder to keep from letting Nick and Andrew know just how hard I’d come
inside James.

128

When I could rely on my limbs for movement and support, I

withdrew  and  sat  back  on  my  heels.  I  hadn’t  even  gotten  the  condom  off
when foil rustled and tore. One condom off, one condom on, and somehow
the  lube  bottle  made  it  back  onto  the  nightstand  without  toppling  onto  the
floor. I started to lay back, but he stopped me with a hand on the back of my
neck  and  kissed  me.  We  both  panted,  but  couldn’t  break  away  from  each
other’s lips even for a deep gulp of air.

He guided me onto my back, but broke the kiss with a sharp intake of

breath when he put weight on his injured arm again.

“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He shifted onto the other arm. With his now free hand, he

guided  his  cock  to  me.  Pushing  in  slowly,  he  groaned,  the  sound  so  low  it
was  almost  a  growl,  and  I  rolled  my  hips  back  to  drive  him  deeper.  He
wasted no time picking up speed, thrusting right to the threshold of the bed’s
near-silence.  Any  harder,  and  there’d  be  no  keeping  the  sounds  within  this
room, but James rode that precarious line like he knew just how far he could
push it.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he whispered. His head fell beside mine.

Every breath against my neck was sharper and hotter than the last.

I held his shoulders, struggling just to remember how to breathe as

he moved inside me. Times like this, it wasn’t so hard to see why I kept
going back to him. Whatever problems we had, whatever he might have been
doing when I wasn’t looking, everything was different in bed. He was like a
different person between the sheets. Like this, he was honest and real. In the
daylight, I questioned his every move. Here, I believed him.

Sex wasn’t enough to keep a relationship together, but sex with

James was addictive. With a touch, he reduced me to gasping for breath and
pleading for more. I had the same effect on him. I could never get enough of
the way he drove me wild or the way he melted in my arms every. Single.
Time.

“Jesus, I want to fuck you so goddamned hard right now,” he

whispered. “I can’t even tell you…fuck, Brian…if I…if I could…” He cut
himself off with a deep kiss.

I rolled my hips back again, dug my fingers into his shoulders, God

damn  it  I  wanted  him  so  bad,  needed  him  so  bad.  After  an  orgasm,  this
should have been too intense, and it probably was, but I needed more, more,
more.  I  needed  this  to  not  be  over,  because  when  it  was  over,  the  world
would start turning again, and reality would exist again. Here and now, it was
just us. Nothing else needed to matter.

James groaned and shuddered. He thrust deep inside me, hard

enough to get a panic-worthy creak out of the bed frame, but I barely heard it
over his nearly inaudible whimper. I couldn’t say who held on tighter, whose
fingers dug in harder as his cock twitched inside me and his sharp hisses of

129

breath cooled my skin, but neither of us let go. Not while he came, not after
he shivered and relaxed.

Finally, he kissed me again, then pushed himself up and withdrew.

He started to get up, but then came back down for another kiss. Another kiss
that went on while trembling fingers ran through sweat-cooled hair and hot
skin brushed hot skin. We weren’t getting started again—not with the ache of
exhaustion creeping into my muscles—but I wasn’t ready to let go.
Apparently he wasn’t either.

A deep, unnerving chill settled itself at the base of my spine. Why

was I risking my badge for him? This was why. Nights like this. The way he
was when we were in bed together. He was a stranger by day, but like this, I
knew him.

And though I doubted he reciprocated, didn’t know if I’d believe it if

he said it, I loved him. Like this, honest and raw, I loved him.

Why can’t it be like this all the time, James? I trailed my fingers

down the side of his neck, shivering when he did. How much longer can I
pretend this is enough to keep us together?

The chill deepened.
How much longer can I pretend this trumps the evidence I can’t keep

ignoring?

130

Sixteen

The day after the funeral, I debated calling in sick, hung-over, and

fucked  up  in  the  head.  It  was  tempting,  but  if  I  did,  I’d  have  just  spent  the
day  being  restless  and  feeling  guilty  beside  the  man  I  was  supposed  to  be
investigating  or  proving  innocent  or  whatever  the  hell  it  was  I  did  for  a
living. At least at work, I stood a chance of doing something to appease my
conscience.

So, after a few hits of the blackest coffee I could find, I shuffled into

the precinct and dropped into my chair at my desk. Avery looked up from the
desk that used to be Max’s, watching me over the papers and coffee laid out
in front of him.

“You okay?” he asked.
The coffee in my system was the only thing that censored a

frustrated groan. Now I knew what Nick meant when he said it amazed him
how quickly he got tired of people asking if he was all right. Less than
twenty-four hours since they’d buried Max, and if I never heard that question
again, it would be much too soon.

“I’ll live.”
Avery sat back, cocking his head a little. “If you need to take a

day—”

“I was off yesterday.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think anyone would begrudge you a day to

recover from yesterday.” He paused. “I guarantee you won’t see my face
anywhere near this place the day after John’s funeral.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. Kelly. Another funeral. Fuck.
“I’m serious, Brian,” Avery said with uncharacteristic gentleness. “If

you need some time, take it.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Getting back in the saddle is probably the best

thing for me. It’s how I deal with things.” Well, it’s the other way I deal with
things. Probably the healthier of the two.

“You sure?”
I nodded. “Besides, it’s damn near eleven anyway. I’ve already taken

enough of the day off.”

131

Avery shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just say so if you need a breather.”
“Will do. Thanks.” I cleared my throat and nodded at the papers in

front of him. “Anything interesting?”

He scowled and shook his head. “Not really. Just more phone records

that lead us to absolutely no one and nowhere.” He exhaled and shoved a
report to one side of the desk. “These guys are good at covering their tracks,
I’ll give them that.”

“That they are,” I muttered. My cell phone vibrated on my hip, and

when I pulled it out of my pocket, the caller ID didn’t show a name.
“Detective Clifton.”

“Detective, this is Shana Murray.”
“Shana.” I sat up. “What can I do for you?”
Avery eyed me from across the desks.
“I want to talk,” she said. “In person.”
I swallowed. “When and where?”
“As soon as possible,” she said. “Is there any way you can meet me

here?”

“Where’s here?”
“I’m at the Bailey Hotel on Sixth near Jackson. Do you know where

it is?”

“Yes, of course.”
“Can you meet me here in an hour?”
I tapped my thumb on my desk, avoiding Avery’s inquisitive look.

“Yeah, I can be there.”

“I’m in room three seven eight,” she said. “You won’t need a key.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Come alone,” she said. “Anyone else shows up, I’m not talking.”
“Deal.”
As soon as I hung up, Avery said, “What’s going on?”
“Shana  Murray  wants  to  see  me.”  I  rose,  pulling  my  jacket  off  the

back of my chair. Avery started to get up, but I gestured for him to stay put.
“She asked for me specifically. Alone.”

He set his jaw. “Allyson’s doesn’t open for a few hours yet, does it?”
“I’m meeting her at a hotel in Masontown,” I said. “The Bailey.”
“You’re going into that shithole alone?” He glared at me. “Christ,

you can’t go without backup, Clifton. How do you know she doesn’t have a
couple of thugs ready to jump you?”

“Look, she might have information we could use, and since this

investigation is running into dead ends left and right, it’s worth a try.”

He frowned. “Are we working together on this or not?”
“She wanted to meet one on one.” I pulled on my jacket. “You want

to come along and piss her off so she doesn’t talk at all?”

“This is ridiculous,” he growled. “You’re just asking to get jumped.”
“Got any better ideas?”

132

“Yeah,” he snapped. “This thing called backup.”
I shook my head. “I show up with anyone else, she doesn’t talk. I’ll

take my chances.”

He swore under his breath, but didn’t press the issue. “Good luck,

then,” he muttered, and snatched another report off his desk.

I didn’t say anything, just headed for the elevator. I understood why

Avery  was  frustrated.  Being  kept  out  of  any  part  of  the  investigation  was
bound to set him off. I’d have seen red if he’d gone off to do this on his own,
leaving  me  in  the  dark  while  investigating  my  own  partner’s  death.
Hopefully  he’d  understand.  Whether  he  did  or  not  didn’t  matter.  Avery’s
aggravation was irrelevant. Getting closer to Heidi wasn’t.

The Bailey Hotel was in one of the worst parts of Masontown. That

said a lot, given that Masontown was the worst part of the city. This area was
infested with car prowlers in search of valuables, money, anything they could
flip for cash or narcotics.

I parked on the curb one door down from the hotel and did a quick

check to make sure I didn’t have anything of value in the car. I tucked the
registration and anything with my name and address on it under the driver’s
seat, took the faceplate off my stereo and slid it into my pocket, and cleared
out the change tray. Not that I cared if anyone took my loose change, but just
the sight of a few coins was enough to tempt someone into jimmying the
door or breaking the window. Better to remove the temptation.

Ricky’s teddy bear, the one he’d given me the night his dad died,

was still in the backseat. I doubted anyone would steal it, but I hid it beneath
the seat. Better safe than sorry; I intended to give it back to the kid
eventually.

Once I’d secured anything of potential or sentimental value, I locked

the car and went inside.

The clerk gave me a passing glance from behind the desk, but then

returned his gaze to the newspaper in his hand. I didn’t have to ask. Hotels
like this served one purpose and one purpose only, which meant most men
coming through the front door already knew what room they were going to.

As I climbed the creaking stairs, I wondered if Shana had just rented

a room long enough to talk to me, but I doubted it. She probably moonlighted
at  the  strip  club,  making  most  of  her  money  here,  and  I  felt  for  her.  I  felt
sorry  for  all  the  prostitutes  in  this  area.  The  more  desperate  they  were  for
money—whether  for  food,  drugs,  or  both—the  more  they  made  themselves
vulnerable  in  places  like  this.  Accepting  any  client  who  would  pay,  doing
whatever it took to earn their fee.

For hookers selling their bodies in places like this, a disease was the

least of her worries. What a life, being willing to trade an hour of safety for a
hit of rock. These girls counted their blessings if they made it through a night
without being raped, beaten, or murdered. Well, they would have counted
those blessings if they weren’t so damned high.

133

I found the room Shana had specified and, keeping one hand on my

weapon just in case she wasn’t alone, knocked. She opened the door, looked
at me with sleepy eyes.

“Are you alone?” She craned her head to peer out into the hall.
“Are you?”
She nodded, then took a step back and gestured with her cigarette for

me to come in. When I stepped inside, my first breath was that distinctive
smell of fresh sweat. The smell of recent sex.

The room was tiny, just big enough for a double bed and a piece of

shit dresser. The bathroom door was open, and the bathroom was small
enough to be entirely visible from here. There was no one else in the room,
so I took my hand off my gun.

My God, this place was a shithole. Burn marks, water damage, and

stains  from  God  only  knew  what  else  had  turned  the  carpet  to  a  hideous
mottled brown. The wallpaper probably wasn’t that yellow when it was put
up decades ago, but it was long past its prime, and now curled at the edges
and seams. The crown moulding was badly bowed in places, and I thought I
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  roach  skittering  along  its  edge  before  disappearing
behind it.

Shana dropped onto the rumpled bed, cigarette dangling from her

lips and wet, stringy hair tumbling over her shoulders. She blew out a stream
of smoke and went to tap the cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, but
froze for a split second. Then, casually sliding the ashtray out of sight, she
turned to me.

“Um, thanks for coming, Detective.”
“Not a problem.” I eyed the space the ashtray had occupied, then

looked  at  her.  Judging  by  the  way  she  shrank  back,  she  knew  full  well  I’d
seen  the  blackened  glass  pipe  in  amongst  the  cigarette  ashes.  She  was  way
too  calm  and  coherent  to  have  been  smoking  rock  recently.  I  could  only
assume it belonged to whoever was here before me, and I wasn’t here to bust
her for possession. She had information I needed.

“So, what’s going on?” I asked.
“I… um…” She fidgeted. “I spoke to Heidi.”
“What did she say?”
Shana exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “She’s still scared.”
“So what can I do for her?” I hooked my thumbs in my pockets. “To

help her?”

“She wants to talk to James Merrill.”
I wondered if that was some sort of game to get me to admit I knew

she’d spoken to James the other night. I wasn’t falling for it.

“Half the city wants to talk to him,” I said. “Myself included.”
She moistened her lips. “James is no cop killer. He saved Heidi’s

life, probably because she’s more valuable to you, him, and everyone else
alive than dead. She knows almost as much as he does.”

134

I cocked my head. “About what?’
“About the cops who are taking money and dealing, protecting

dealers, shit like that.”

I blinked. “The what, now?”
Shana shifted a little and lowered her voice, even though we were

completely alone. “She told me Stephen had some kind of evidence that
would royally fuck some undercover cops.”

I thumbed my chin. “Evidence linking them to dealing?”
“Yes.” She wetted her lips. “That, and murder.”
“Murder?” I thumbed my chin. “Tell me more.”
“I don’t know all the details. Heidi said it was some big murder that

went down a few months ago. Said some pimp was going down for it, and
then one of his girls killed him before the cops got to him.”

My spine straightened. “Wait, you mean the Chelmsford murder?”
She shrugged. “I guess so. She said she thinks the cops took out Tim

West. It wasn’t that girl, it was some cop. As a cover for…” She paused,
shaking her head. “Something, I don’t know.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “So did the cops just kill Tim

West? Or did they take out Chelmsford?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But Heidi would. And she says she has

some kind of evidence. Something in hand that she needs to give James.”

The image of the open safe in Stephen Merrill’s house flashed

through my mind. “Has she told you what it is? Or where she got it?”

“No. She just said she needs to get it to James,” she said. “Then she

needs to get the fuck out of town. I told her to go ahead and run, but she
insists this needs to be turned over, and she won’t give it to anyone except
him.”

I exhaled. “I need to talk to her. I can get her someplace safe.”
“She doesn’t want protective custody.”
“Fine,” I said. “I can get US Marshalls involved, witness protection,

whatever. Hell, I can send her to my grandmother’s in Alaska. I just need you
to get me to her.”

“I’ve given her your number,” she said. “But I don’t actually know

where she is right now. She hasn’t stayed in one place very long since the
shooting. I can find her, though.” She paused. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.” I leaned forward. “Listen, do you trust me, Shana?”
She watched me silently for a long moment. Then she whispered,

“James does, so yes, I do.”

“Then I need you to take me at my word,” I said. “Get me in touch

with her, and I will do everything I can to make sure she’s safe.”

“I’ll have her call you,” she said softly.
I nodded. “Thank you. Is there anything else?”
She shook her head. “No, and I have to get to Allyson’s though. Shift

starts soon.” She smothered her cigarette and stood. “Have to start getting

135

ready.”

“Okay, then.” I started for the door. “If you hear anything, you know

how to reach me.”

“Thanks.”
I opened the door and started to leave, but paused in the doorway. I

looked around the decrepit room, taking in the disheveled bed and the space
on the nightstand where the crack pipe had been before she tucked it out of
sight.

“Something wrong?” she asked, her voice bordering between

defensive and embarrassed.

I moistened my lips. “You know, there are other ways to make a

living.”

She laughed bitterly and ran a hand through her wet hair. “Not for

someone with ‘stripper’ on her resume.”

My heart sank. I cast one more glance around the room, then met her

eyes. “When this is all over, and things calm down again, call me. Maybe I
can help you find something better.”

A faint smile pulled at her lips. “Really?”
I nodded. “Can’t promise anything, but… I’ll see what I can do.”
The smile brightened a little more. “Thanks. I might take you up on

that.”

I returned the smile, then left her to get ready for work.
When I returned to my car, all the windows were intact and none of

the locks were punched. Wheels weren’t up on blocks, engine turned on
when I turned the key, and nobody was lying in wait in the backseat to clean
out my wallet. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad day to park in this part of
Masontown.

I tapped my fingers on the gear shifter and thought about my

conversation with Shana. I was desperate to talk to Heidi, and I hoped to God
Shana got me in contact with her. Without Heidi, my investigation was at a
standstill.

While the engine idled, I called Avery.
“Get anything out of Shana?” he asked when he answered.
I chewed the inside of my cheek. Who do I trust?
“Clifton?”
I cleared my throat. “Nothing useful.”
“She  called  you  all  the  way  down  there  and  didn’t  have  any  useful

information?”

“Apparently not.”
“Damn it,” he said. “I hoped she’d get us closer to Heidi.”
I blew out a breath. “I think she knows where Heidi is, but she hasn’t

given her up yet. I’ll keep after her, see what I can get.”

“Good call,” he said. “If Heidi turns up, we need to get her into

protective custody. It’s probably the only way we’ll be able to hang onto her,

136

and if she thinks—”

“No, I doubt she’ll go for that.”
“Really?”
“Dude, she’s afraid of cops. Protective custody isn’t going to appeal

to her.”

“How do you know she’s afraid of cops?”
“Shana.”
“I thought she didn’t give you anything.”
“She didn’t give me anything useful, okay?”
“Big shock,” he grumbled. “Another waste of time interview. What’s

Heidi’s deal with cops, anyway?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. I trusted Avery. He was a good cop

even if he was an abrasive jackass, but keeping my cards close to my chest
seemed like the wiser alternative. “Shana said the girl’s got some warrants
out. Doesn’t want to be arrested.”

Avery laughed. “Oh, that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Well, we can deal with any warrants or whatever when we finally

find her.” I shifted into drive. “I’ll see you back at the station.”

“See you there.”
I was almost back to the precinct when my phone rang again, and the

number was listed as “unknown.” My heart pounded.

I put the phone to my ear. “Detective Clifton.”
“Detective, this is Fletcher Jackson,” said the voice on the other end.

“Shana Murray gave me your number and said I might be of assistance to
you.”

I pursed my lips. “You’re not the one I expected to call me.”
“No, perhaps not,” he said. “But I am the one you want to speak with

if you’d like to get in contact with Heidi Gill.”

137

Seventeen

“What can I do for you, Fletcher?” I asked. This guy sounded a hell

of a lot more coherent than the junkie by the same name that Avery had
spoken with.

“I need to speak to you,” he said. “In person.”
“When and where?”
“Harriet’s General,” he said. “You know where that is?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Meet me there as soon as possible. And here’s the deal,” he said.

“Come alone, or I don’t talk. I see so much as a hint that anyone’s come with
you, our deal is off. Am I clear?”

I hesitated.
“Am I clear, Detective Clifton?”
“Yes. Yes, you’re clear. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
The line went dead.
I was of two minds about going to see Fletcher. He’d been high as a

kite  and  no  help  at  all  when  Avery  interviewed  him  before.  The  man  had
barely  remembered  his  own  name,  let  alone  anything  about  the  Merrill
brothers.

But he’d sounded lucid on the phone, and he knew I was looking for

Heidi. It was worth a try.

After I’d done a U-turn and headed back into Masontown, I called

Avery again.

“Hey, I just got a possible lead. Someone else who wants to see me

alone.”

“Oh, of course,” he grumbled. “What the fuck, Clifton? Are we

partners on this or not?”

“Yes, we are,” I said. “Which means I need you to trust me on this.”
“Yet you don’t trust me enough to—”
“Not me, Kent, the witness. Look, we need the information he has,

so if I have to play his game, then I will.”

138

“You’ve spent more than enough time playing their little games,” he

said. “And has it gotten you anywhere?”

“It might just be getting me closer to Heidi,” I said. “So I’ll take my

chances.”

“You’re wasting time.”
“Got any better ideas?”
He said nothing for a moment. “Fine. I’m on my way down to

Masontown myself to talk to talk to another dealer who knew the Merrills.
Call me when you’re done.”

“Will do.”
After I’d hung up, I continued toward the place Fletcher had

indicated.  I  hesitated  to  go  into  this  alone.  Going  in  without  backup,
especially  in  this  area,  was  never  a  good  idea.  I’d  taken  my  chances  with
Shana, but pressing my luck twice?

“Come alone, or I don’t talk. I see so much as a hint that anyone’s

come with you, our deal is off. Am I clear?”

I thumped the heel of my hand against the wheel. I needed the

information Fletcher had. It wasn’t worth my life or anyone else’s, but I was
getting desperate. With skittish witnesses, risks had to be taken.

Hoping I wasn’t walking into an ambush, I parked and went into

Harriett’s General.

The tiny store had a handful of customers, mostly the kind of shifty-

eyed thugs who could smell a badge from a mile away. They threw wary
glances at me over the shelves of potato chips and porn magazines,
whispering amongst themselves as I walked up to the cash register. A couple
in their thirties lingered beside the coffee pot, casting similar glances at me.

An elderly woman sat behind the register. She looked frail and tired,

but had the kind of piercing eyes and rigidly set jaw that hinted at someone
who  didn’t take  crap from  anyone.  The  thugs  wandering  around  behind  me
probably  knew  better  than  to  shoplift  from  her.  An  arthritic  grandmotherly
type  she  may  have  been,  but  something  told  me  those  deceptively  gnarled
hands  could  wield  a  shotgun  if  necessary.  A  shotgun  that  was  most  likely
loaded and sitting just out of my sight.

“I’m here to see Fletcher Jackson,” I said.
She gave a curt nod toward the back of the store. I immediately

recognized the man as Fletcher, having seen him when he left the station
after driving Avery insane, but he couldn’t have been the source of the
coherent voice I’d spoken to earlier.

He sat back in a folding chair, arms dangling at his sides and his

glassy eyes directed at—but probably not focused on—an ancient television
broadcasting a staticky version of an old sitcom. A trail of saliva glistened on
his skin beside the corner of his mouth.

I looked at the woman. “That’s Fletcher?”
“Uh-huh.”

139

I glanced at him, brow furrowed, then back at her. “I just spoke to

him on the phone about twenty minutes ago and he was completely lucid.”

She shrugged. “Don’t take him long to get high like that.”
I resisted the urge to groan aloud.
“You can still talk to him,” she said. “Can’t promise he’ll say much,

but you can try.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. With a glance at the other patrons in the store,

all of whom kept an eye on me, I went over to where he sat. “Fletcher?”

His head lolled to one side, and he looked up at me with glazed eyes.

“Huh?”

“You wanted to see me?” It was a struggle and then some to keep my

aggravation out of my voice. I had all the empathy in the world for addicts—
God knew my own addiction still had my temples throbbing—but I’d had
enough dead-end leads and pointless bullshit interviews for one
investigation.

“Who’re you?” he slurred.
Keeping my voice down, I said, “Detective Brian Clifton. We just

spoke on the phone.”

He stared at me. After a moment, I realized he was staring through

me.

“Fletcher?”
Nothing.
The old woman broke in. “Fletcher, you answer people when they

talk to you.”

At that, he jumped, and his eyes focused. “What’d you say your

name was again?”

“Fuck. I knew it. Thank you for your time, Fletcher.” I started to

leave.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He made a clumsy attempt to reach for my arm,

nearly toppling out of his chair in the process. “Don’t go yet.”

I glared at him. “Why the fuck not?”
“Need to talk to ya.”
“Call me when you’re fucking sober,” I muttered.
“No.” The word came out sharper than I thought he was capable, and

it gave me pause. He beckoned for me to lean closer. When I did, he said,
clear as day, “Grab my shirt and drag me into the back room. We’ll talk
there.”

“What?” I cocked my head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You want Heidi Gill or not?”
At least it didn’t take much to feign impatience, and I grabbed him

by the shirt and hauled him to his feet.

“Enough games,” I snarled on the way. “You’re gonna talk.”
He was back to being high and out of it. “What’s… no, I’m… who

are you?”

140

“Fucking crazy,” I muttered. This may have been a setup, this may

have been some ridiculous game, but whatever the case, it was pissing me
off. And making me a little nervous about just what I was getting into.

Keeping my other hand surreptitiously on the butt of my weapon, I

shoved him into the back room.

It was a cramped office, occupied by a cluttered desk that was much

too big for such a small space. An antiquated television with lopsided rabbit
ear antennas sat on a shelf beside me amidst stacks of papers and packs of
coffee filters.

“Shut the door behind you.” Fletcher’s voice was clear, sharp, every

syllable enunciated perfectly. He wiped his chin and mouth with the back of
his hand.

I nudged the door shut with my foot. My hand stayed on my gun, and

I watched his hands for any sudden movement.

“Keep your hands where I can see them, Fletcher,” I said.
He put them up, and when he turned to face me, the same clarity I’d

heard in his voice was in his eyes and expression.

“You have about thirty seconds to tell me why I’m here,” I said.
“You wearing a wire?”
“Answer my question.”
“Answer mine, or we don’t do business, Detective.”
I tried not to roll my eyes, keeping my frustration up my sleeve and

maintaining something close to a poker face. “No. I’m not wearing a wire.”

“Prove it.”
“How?”
He nodded toward me. “Take off your shirt.”
I laughed. “This is a joke, right?”
His face remained completely stoic, and he shrugged with one

shoulder. “How bad do you want the information I have?”

“I don’t know, because I haven’t the faintest clue what information

you have,” I said. “All I know is you wasted our time before, and I have a
strong suspicion you’re wasting mine now. I’m tired of cryptic conversations
with people who just want to tell me they can’t tell me anything.”

“I’m not one of those people.” He gestured at the door. “But either

way, you’re welcome to leave.”

“Listen, if you know something, just fucking tell me.”
“I need to know I can trust you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

“I’m a cop, Fletcher. No one in this neighborhood seems to trust any of us, so
what difference does it make if I’m wearing a wire?”

“Because my information is for you and you alone,” he said. “Can’t

take the chance of anyone else hearing it. Especially not other cops.”

My eyebrows jumped. “Why is that?”
“Are we going to play games? Or are you going to show me you

141

aren’t wearing a wire?”

“This isn’t Hollywood, Fletcher,” I said. “Even if I was wearing one,

taking my shirt off wouldn’t do a damned bit of good. I wouldn’t have tape
and wires all over me.”

“Fine. Turn on the TV.”
“What?” My eyes flicked toward the TV, then back to him.
“You want the information I’ve got or not?”
“I want you to talk to me and not play games.”
“Then turn on the TV.”
With  an  impatient  huff,  I  reached  for  the  television  with  my  free

hand. I clicked it on, and the static made my teeth grind.

“Turn it up,” Fletcher said.
“Listen, this—”
“Turn it up, or walk out that door without any more information than

you came in with.”

I blinked.
And turned up the volume.
The static was nails-on-the-chalkboard grating, especially in this tiny

enclosed space. He beckoned for me to come closer. I leaned in to hear him
over the noise.

“I know you’re looking for Heidi Gill,” he said. “And I know where

she is.”

“Then for the love of Christ, tell me.”
“She’s laying low. Girl’s scared, and she’s got a reason to be.” He

lowered his voice even more. “There’s cops involved in this, man. She don’t
know who to trust.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said coolly. “Tell me what I don’t know.”
“The cops took out Stephen Merrill,” he said. “And they’re looking

for her too, because she’s got plenty of shit on them. The Chelmsford
murder, bunch of dirty deals, and the other Merrill boy.”

“You’re saying that cops were responsible for Chelmsford and

everything that went down the other day?”

He nodded.
“Based on what?” I asked. “And why did the cops kill Stephen or

Chelmsford? Let alone any of their own? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Chelmsford was an informant.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose again. “Why the fuck would they

kill an informant?”

“Because he wasn’t snitching to the cops,” he said. “He was

snitching on the cops.”

I looked at him, eyebrows up.
Fletcher went on. “Dirty cops, man. They don’t want no one finding

out what they’re up to, and once they took out Chelmsford, it just went
downhill. Drug-dealing’s one thing. But murder? Don’t nobody want to take

142

the fall for that.” He lowered his voice enough it nearly dipped beneath the
television static. “Thing is, the biggest drug ring in Masontown is run by
cops. Nobody knows which cops is running it, but that’s the biggest show in
town.”

I stared at him.
“Why do you think all them undercovers stayed around?” he asked.

“Even when your chief told them to pull back.”

I blinked. “You…know about that?”
“Course I do.” He laughed quietly, rolling his eyes like my lack of

knowledge of his awareness of things was ridiculous. “Listen, your boys
aren’t staying on the streets to take out the drug trade. They’re in this to bring
down their competition.”

Chewing my lip, I tried to process what he’d told me. “You don’t

know who’s involved, though? Names? Anything?”

“Don’t know. Heidi knows more than I do, but she ain’t talking. Not

even to me.”

“Then why me?”
“Because I don’t think you’re one of them dirty cops,” he said.

“Shana trusts you, she says James Merrill trusts you, so I trust you, but only
you. That’s why I told you to come alone.”

“Then let’s stop playing games, and let me talk to her. Where can I

find her?”

“You can’t. She’ll find you.”
I exhaled sharply. More games. More fucking games. “Fine. How?”
“I will call you at three o’clock sharp this afternoon with an address.

When I do, I will expect you to meet me at a location I will specify over the
phone.”

“Will you bring Heidi?”
Fletcher nodded.
My heart pounded. Finally, I could speak to Heidi. “I’ll be there.”
“And let’s be clear about one thing, Detective,” he said. “Just like

this meeting here, if me or Heidi even think you’ve got other cops in on this,
or anyone knows about it, the deal is off. She’ll be gone when you get there,
and I won’t talk.”

“Fine. I’ll be there alone.”
“Now,” he said, gesturing at the door. “We go back out there, it’s

gonna be just like it was when we came back here. I didn’t tell you nothing.”

“And you’re still high?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“What’s with all this cloak and dagger shit here?”
He nodded toward the door again. “Those two white folks out there?

Cops. Undercover. Don’t know if they’re dirty or not, but they’re cops. And I
don’t want anyone, cops or nobody else, knowing I’m talking to you or about
what. Understood?”

143

“Whatever you say.”
“This afternoon, Detective. Three o’clock sharp.”
I nodded. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”
He clicked off the television, and I released a breath as the teeth-

grinding static abruptly stopped. Then he grinned, chuckling quietly. “It’s
showtime.” As soon as the door was open, he fell into his wasted persona.
Adopting his glassy-eyed stare, he staggered out of the back room.

The couple in their thirties hadn’t yet left, and their gazes shifted

from Fletcher, to me, to each other. Cops, he’d said, and looking at them
now, I believed him. I hadn’t paid them much attention before, but they were
a little too interested in our interactions to be just bystanders.

So I kept up the charade.
“Call me when you actually have some information, you fucking

junkie,” I shoved him back into his chair. He didn’t acknowledge me.

“You get on out of here,” the old lady barked at me. “Don’t need no

people coming in here and roughing up my boy. Go on, shoo.”

As soon as I was out of the tiny grocer, I called Avery again.
“Detective Avery.”
“It’s Clifton,” I said. “Another dead-end.” I expected him to rip into

me and give me hell for following these pointless leads, but he didn’t.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re in Masontown already,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“I need you to meet me at Allyson’s.” He paused. “Shana Murray’s

dead.”

144

Eighteen

Shana Murray was dead all right.
Any one of the dozen or so stab wounds to her chest and abdomen

would have been fatal on its own, and it looked like the gaping slash across
her throat had severed her jugular, carotid, and windpipe. Whoever did this
wanted to make sure she was good and dead.

Shana’s killer wasn’t just looking to silence her. Dead strippers tell

no tales, but dumped haphazardly in the dressing room at Allyson’s like this,
they were pretty damned effective at telling other strippers to keep their
mouths shut.

Avery had arrived before me and gone into one of the other rooms to

talk to a bartender who’d been in the club when the murder happened. He
asked me to talk to the other witness, the one who’d discovered the body.

“She hasn’t said a word to me,” he’d grumbled. “Hopefully she’s

done crying by now.”

“Can’t imagine why she didn’t talk to you,” I’d said to myself on the

way back out into the club to find her.

The girl sat on the edge of one of the stages out in the mostly vacant

club  area.  She  had  a  denim  jacket  wrapped  around  her  shoulders,  covering
most of her skimpy blue costume. Her arms were folded beneath her ample
and  barely  covered  breasts,  and  streaks  of  dark  blue  eye  makeup  lined  her
face.  Another  dancer  kept  a  comforting  arm  around  her.  The  second  girl’s
eyes  were  red  and  puffy,  but  she  kept  a  collected  front,  probably  for  the
benefit of her shaken friend.

“That’s Amanda,” the club owner said as he led me to the stage.

“She found Shana. Lydia came in afterward. She didn’t see nothing.”

I pulled up a chair in front of Amanda and the other girl, who was

apparently named Lydia.

“Amanda,” I said, straddling the back of the chair and resting my

forearms on it. “I’m Detective Clifton. I know this is difficult, but I need to
ask you a few questions. Okay?”

She wiped her eyes, and I cringed, wondering how she could get

those nails that close to her eyes without causing herself injury. Sniffing

145

sharply she nodded.

“I want you to tell me everything you remember,” I said softly.

“Start from the beginning and take your time.”

Amanda took a breath and hugged herself a little tighter. “I came in

early for my shift. The dressing room gets kind of crowded on Friday nights,
so I like to get here early and get changed while it’s still quiet.” She ran a
hand through her disheveled hair. “When I’d gotten dressed, Shana showed
up, and she seemed all freaked out.”

“Freaked out?” I tilted my head. “In what way?”
“Like, she was… nervous.” Amanda uncrossed her legs and

recrossed them  with  her  other leg  on top. Tapping  her  insanely  high-heeled
shoe  against  the  stage,  she  went  on.  “She  was,  like,  hyperventilating.  She
kept making calls on her cell phone, and she was practically crying. When I
asked  what  was up,  she just  said  it  was  something  personal. Then  someone
called  her,  and  she  started  crying,  so  I  came  out  into  the  club  to  give  her
some privacy.” She rested her forehead in her hand and struggled to keep her
lips from quivering.

I folded my arms on the back of the chair. “What happened next,

Amanda?”

Her face darkened and she covered her eyes. “I was in the back.

With…” She looked at me, eyes wide and fresh tears streaming down her
face. “Please don’t tell my boss.”

“Tell him what?”
Amanda bit her lip, glancing in the direction of the club owner.

Then, so softly I barely heard her, she said, “I was in the back with Jobie, one
of the bartenders. We were…” She trailed off, but the color of her cheeks
finished the thought.

“Okay, and after that?”
She swallowed hard. “I went to go finish getting dressed. Clean up a

bit, fix my makeup. And I found her.”

“Did you hear anything? See anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. I just, I came back into the dressing room,

and she was right there.” Her hand went to her mouth. “I’ve never seen that
much blood before, and I just, I freaked. I’m sorry, I couldn’t, there was
nothing, it—”

“It’s okay, Amanda,” I said as gently as I could. “This isn’t your

fault.”

“But if I’d been in there,” she said. “I could have, I don’t know, I—”
“Don’t blame yourself, sweetheart,” I said. “You had no idea what

was going to happen.”

“I know, but I just feel so bad,” she said, whimpering softly. “Like, I

was in the back getting it on with Jobie, and Shana was…” She gestured
toward the dressing room, then covered her face again as sobs took over.

Lydia put a hand on Amanda’s shoulder.

146

“Take it easy, Amanda,” I said. “I know it’s easy to blame yourself

with these things, but it is not your fault.”

“I know, it’s just…” She covered her mouth, and I waited while she

took a few deep breaths and collected her composure.

“You all right?” I asked softly.
She nodded.
“Are you okay continuing this?”
With another sharp sniff, she nodded again.
For the time being, I steered the conversation away from Shana’s

murder. “Do you know Heidi Gill?”

Amanda nodded. “Yeah, but I haven’t seen her in a few days. Not

since her boyfriend’s accident.”

I furrowed my brow. “Accident?”
“Yeah,” Lydia broke in. “Shana told us Heidi’s man was in a bad car

wreck. Heidi hasn’t been back since.”

“Do you know where she might be?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I didn’t really know her except from work. Never

saw her except here.”

“Do any of the other girls talk to her outside of work?” I looked at

each girl in turn. “Anyone she hangs out with?”

“Just Shana, as far as I know,” Lydia said. “Ever since Heidi and

Stephen started dating, even Shana didn’t see much of her.”

“How long has that been?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know, a few months?”
I flipped my notepad closed. “I think that’s everything I need to ask

you. Thank you for your help, Amanda.”

With a weak smile, she said, “Glad to help.”
I pulled a couple of cards out of my wallet. “Listen, here’s a number

for a grief counselor. If you need someone to talk to, give her a call, okay?”

She nodded and at least tried to smile. “Thank you.”
“Do you need help getting home?”
“No, my brother’s on his way.” She sniffed. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good. That other card I gave you has my number on it. If you hear

anything, or if you remember any other details, don’t hesitate to call me.”

She held up the cards. “I won’t.”
As I stood, I realized Avery had been watching from the bar. He

smirked, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Once I’d joined him beside the bar, he said, “Jesus, Clifton, the way

you interview witnesses, we could be here all damned day.”

“What are you talking about?”
“Grief counselors? Making sure she has a ride home?”
I glared at him. “Avery, come on. The kid just walked in and found

her coworker in pieces. Is five minutes’ worth of compassion and making
sure she’s okay really too much to ask?”

147

“When we’ve got someone going around cutting strippers into

pieces, pardon my impatience.”

“And pardon my using a gentler approach that actually gets me

answers.”

“Yeah. Eventually gets you answers.” He gestured sharply at the

dressing room, where Shana was now in the hands of the coroner. “Assuming
your witnesses don’t end up dead before they get around to responding to
your kinder, gentler approach.”

I clenched my jaw. “Are you blaming me for Shana’s murder?”
“No,” he snarled. “I’m suggesting we don’t have time to coddle these

people for answers. Somebody wants them quiet, and we need them talking.
I’d rather beat them to the punch, if you don’t mind.”

I barely kept myself from rolling my eyes again. “Listen, the girl said

Shana was making some calls on her phone. Did you find it?”

Furrowing his brow, Avery shook his head. “No, there was no phone

on her.”

I exhaled. “Great. Did you get anything out of the bartender?”
“Only that he was fucking your new friend when the murder

happened.”

I forced out a breath. I must have been spoiled, being partnered all

these years with a detective who wasn’t a complete and utter dick. “Well,
that means the girl’s story checks out. She said they were fucking in the back
right before she went in and found the body.”

He nodded. “Guess Shana won’t be getting us any closer to Heidi

now.”

At least I still had one connection to her, and I prayed to God

Fletcher and Heidi didn’t dart back into the woodwork now that Shana was
dead. It was tempting to go back to the grocer, but if he was right and those
had been cops wandering the aisles, my presence could flag them that he was
connected to Shana.

I had no number to call him, no way to reach him without showing

my face. All I could do was hope he’d still contact me this afternoon.

“Let’s get out of here,” Avery said. “I think we’ve gotten all there is

to get out of this scene.”

I nodded and followed him outside. We had no reason to suspect the

stripper or the bartender were involved. Both were shaken, and their stories
lined up without the excessive congruity of two people trying too hard to
make their stories line up. That, and the motive belonged to whoever needed
to keep people quiet.

We both stopped on the sidewalk, taking in some of the air that

wasn’t tainted with blood.

“I’m starting to think the Merrills have either skipped town or are

dead, to be honest with you,” he said suddenly.

“Really?” I shot him a puzzled look. “How do you figure?”

148

“They’d have shown their faces by now,” he said. “None of the

undercovers in Masontown have seen them or even heard about anyone else
seeing them. They’ve either skipped town, or they’re dead. So, I suggest we
focus all our energy on finding the boyfriend and Heidi. Turn Masontown
upside down if we have to, but we need to find them. He might know where
James is, and she’s the one most likely to have useful information. I’ve heard
enough noise to believe she’s still alive and in the area.”

“And the one person we know who knows her,” I said, gesturing

over my shoulder at the strip club, “is on her way to the morgue.”

Avery pursed his lips. “I know. But if the Merrills are alive, she’s the

one who will take us to them.”

“That or the boyfriend,” I murmured.
“Yes, but most likely Heidi, I think,” he said. “Sounds like she was

right there in the midst of everything at the night club, too. She might
actually know something more than just James’s whereabouts.” He paused.
“And you got absolutely nothing out of that other lead this afternoon?”

“Nothing.”
“Who was it anyway?”
I thumbed my chin. Did I tell him, or did I keep this under my hat? I

had no reason not to trust Avery, but if there were dirty cops involved in this
game, then I had no reason to trust him either.

Finally, I said, “Just some junkie. Claimed he saw the whole thing in

a dream and tried to pin it all on Jay Chelmsford.”

Avery laughed. “Jay Chelmsford? Yeah, sounds like this douche was

a big help.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Big help. What about you? Anything out of that

dealer?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Thought I had a lead on James

Merrill’s whereabouts, but…” He exhaled. “I think we need to start retracing
our steps. Someone won’t give us answers, we get answers out of them.”
Narrowing his eyes at me, he added, “No more being nice cops.”

I swallowed, but didn’t reply.
“Oh,” he said. “And there’s that kid at the restaurant. I suggest we

rattle his cage and find out what he knows.”

My blood turned cold. If someone was willing to murder Shana to

keep her quiet, God knew what they’d do to Ronnie to get answers out of
him. And if they knew Shana had spoken to me…

I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you see what you can find on Heidi

or the boyfriend? I’ll go talk to the kid at the restaurant.”

~ * ~

“Ronnie’s off work today,” the hostess said.
“Do you have his home address?” I asked. “Any way I can contact

him?”

She stiffened. “I… you’d have to talk to the manager.”

149

“Fine, fine.” I gestured dismissively. “Let me talk to him.”
She went into the back, and returned a moment later with the

manager.

“Can I help you?” he asked.
I showed my badge. “I need you to help me find Ronnie. A home

address, anything you can give me.”

He set his jaw. “The boy in some kind of trouble?”
“I just need to talk to him,” I said. “And it’s urgent.”
The manager shifted his weight. “I can’t give out his information

without a warrant.”

Frustration had me grinding my teeth, but I forced myself to appear

patient. “Look, it’s important I talk to him as soon as possible.”

Chewing his lip, he hesitated. Then, “I can give you his phone

number. Without a warrant, I can’t disclose an employee’s address.”

I forced out a breath. “Fine. Give me his number.”
When I had his number and stepped outside to make the call, it

should have come as no surprise that Ronnie didn’t answer. Fuck. I wasn’t
going to spend all day badgering the manager for the kid’s address, but I had
another ace up my sleeve.

On my way back to the car, I called Andrew’s cell.
“Hey, what’s up?” he said.
“Are you back at the house?” I walked quickly across the parking lot,

fishing my keys out of my pocket.

“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I need to talk to James. Could you put him on?”
“Sure. Yeah.” His voice took on a distant, muffled quality. “James,

your man’s on the line.”

A second later, James said, “Hey.”
“I need you to tell me where Ronnie lives.” I threw open my car door

and dropped into the driver’s seat.

“What? Why?”
“Because I need to talk to him, and it can’t wait.” I started the

engine. “He’s not at the restaurant, and without a warrant, they’re not giving
me shit.”

James muttered something under his breath. Then, “His apartment is

off Thirty-eighth. Foxglove Heights.”

I jotted it on my notepad. “Apartment number?”
“It’s…” James paused. “Four-A. Fourth floor, second door on the

left after the stairwell.”

“Noted. Anywhere else he might be if he’s not at work?”
“Jesus, Brian, he could be anywhere. If he’s not there, then I don’t

know.”

“You have a number for him?”
He rattled off a number, and I cursed. It was the same number the

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restaurant manager had given me.

“All right,” I said. “I have to go. I’ll update you on everything when

I get back.”

I followed James’s directions, and ten or fifteen minutes later, pulled

into the parking lot below Foxglove Heights. There was a car in the space
marked “Four-A”, so I took that as a good sign. Someone was home.

I took the stairs two at a time, and when I reached his apartment, I

pounded on the door. “Ronnie, it’s Detective Clifton. Open up.”

There was just enough activity on the other side of the door to tell

me someone was home. With one hand on my weapon, I knocked again with
the other.

“You can either let me in now, or I’ll call downtown and get a

warrant.” I chewed my lip, hoping he didn’t call my bluff. “Ronnie, don’t
fuck—”

The door flew open. Ronnie glared at me, holding the door in one

hand and zipping his pants with the other.

“What the fuck do you want?” he growled.
I lowered my voice. “I need you to let me in. We need to talk.”
His eyes darted toward something—or someone—behind the door.

Then he looked at me again. “Now’s not a good time.”

“Now’s the only time.” I dropped my voice a little more. “I need to

get you someplace safe.”

His lips parted, and the hostility in his expression evaporated with

the upward flick of his eyebrows. “Why?”

“You know Shana Murray?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “She hung around James and Stephen.”
“Shana’s dead,” I said.
His jaw dropped. “What?”
“I just came from where her body was found,” I said. “Everyone’s

doubling their efforts to find anyone who might have a connection to James,
and if anyone suspects you’re still connected with him, you could be on that
list, which means you could be in danger.”

Ronnie paled. He glanced behind the door again, and gave a subtle

nod to someone.

I tightened my grip on my weapon. “Who’s there with you?”
Ronnie glared at me. “I have company, if that’s all right with you. I

was just suggesting he put some clothes on before I let you in.” He gave
another sideways glance, then stepped back and gestured for me to come in.

Once I saw his companion—a red-faced kid not much older than

Ronnie himself, quickly zipping up his jeans and looking terrified—I took
my hand off my gun.

Ronnie gestured at him, his own cheeks coloring. “This is Sean.

Sean, Detective Clifton. He’s looking into that shooting I told you about.”

“Oh.” Sean extended his hand. “Uh, hi.”

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“Hi.”
Sean and I shook hands.
Then I turned to Ronnie. “Cutting to the chase here, I need you to get

out of here. Out of town if you can, stay with family, something.”

He bit his lip. “For how long?”
I shook my head. “Don’t know. Until the investigation’s over, at

least. I can contact you when it’s all-clear, but I think it’s best for you to lay
low.”

He gulped.
“Is there anywhere you can go?” I asked. “Family members out of

town? Anything?”

Ronnie fidgeted. “Most of my family is right here in town.”
“My sister’s a couple of hours from here,” Sean said. “You could

probably crash with her.”

“You think she’ll put me up?” Ronnie asked.
“Worth a try.”
“Can you call her?” I asked. “Now?”
“Yeah.  Yeah,  sure.”  Sean  found  his  jacket  on  the  floor  and  dug

around in the pockets for his cell phone. He stepped into the kitchen area of
Ronnie’s studio apartment to make the call.

“Sorry for busting in on you,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it.” Ronnie folded his arms across his bare chest

and shivered. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

I nodded.
He shifted his weight, hugging himself. “Have you heard anything

from James?”

“No.”
“Do you think he’s…” Ronnie’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’s

alive?”

“I don’t know,” I said, almost whispering.
Ronnie dropped his gaze. My chest ached with guilt. He obviously

cared for James, and I knew all too well that feeling of not knowing.

“He may have left town,” I said. “No one’s seen or heard from him,

so, it’s possible.”

At that, Ronnie let out a breath. “I hope so. I mean, we’re not

together anymore but…”

“Doesn’t mean you want anything to happen to him,” I said.
“Right.” He swallowed. “I hope he’s okay.”
“I know the feeling,” I said.
“Janet can put you up,” Sean said, joining us again. “She said to

come on out and she’ll have you crash on her couch.”

“Good, thanks,” Ronnie said, relief easing the tension in his

shoulders.

“You should go as soon as possible,” I said. “Take his car, not your

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own.” I pulled another card out of my wallet. “Anything happens, you even
think anyone’s following you or looking at you strangely, call me. Got it?”

He took the card and nodded.
I left the two of them to get dressed and leave. Downstairs, I waited

in my car, watching for anyone else to pull in or out, or anyone who might be
waiting for them too.

When they left in Sean’s car, I followed them for a few blocks, but

once I was satisfied no one else had followed us, turned off and headed back
toward the precinct.

Ronnie was safe for the time being. I exhaled and looked at the clock

on the dash. It was almost two, which meant I had an hour until Fletcher was
due to call.

With Shana under the coroner’s care, I hoped that call still came in.

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Nineteen

It was no surprise when my phone didn’t ring at three o’clock. Four

o’clock came and went. Five o’clock, for good measure. Still no word from
Fletcher.

The case was at a standstill. Our chance at a break rested in the hands

of a woman who was, probably more than ever, too scared to talk to any of
us. We were running out of witnesses and allies.

On the bright side, it gave me a little more faith that James was

telling the truth. People were running scared from the cops, not him. But I
had a pile of evidence against him and still didn’t have a credible eyewitness
for the actual shooting. I couldn’t cross him off the list. Not yet.

By six, I still hadn’t heard from Fletcher. With my investigation

stalled, I put in a call to forensics to comb through the physical evidence one
last time. Autopsy reports, ballistics, carpet fibers, anything. If they found
anything that hadn’t shown up in the original reports, they were to call me.

For the time being, there was nothing I could do except get out of

here and try to get some rest.

After a quick—and probably irrationally paranoid—check to make

sure no one had left any kind of transmitter in my car, and circling the block
a few times to make sure I wasn’t being followed, I drove out to Andrew’s.

His garage door was open when I pulled in the driveway. As I got

out of the car, James stepped outside.

I forced a smile and gestured at the Vette. “Beautiful car, isn’t she?”
“God, yes.” James pulled a cigarette out of a pack and glanced back

at Andrew, who was reaching for the garage door opener. “I’m going to take
you up on the offer of a ride.”

“As soon as I can drive a manual transmission again,” Andrew said,

gingerly adjusting his sling, “I’ll definitely take you for a spin.”

I shrugged. “Well, I could take him for—”
“Not a chance, Clifton.” The garage door roared to life and closed,

leaving James and me alone in the driveway.

James looked at me and swallowed. “Did you find Ronnie?”
I nodded. “He’s someplace safe.”

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He exhaled, then lifted his cigarette to his lips. “So, what happened

today?” He blew out a stream of smoke, deflecting it with his hand. “Any
new leads?”

“I got a little closer to Heidi,” I said. “I was supposed to meet her

today, but…” I dropped my gaze.

“Brian, what happened?” A note of panic underscored James’s voice.
I swallowed hard. Meeting his eyes, I whispered, “Shana’s dead.”
James’s eyes widened. “What… who…”
“I don’t know who,” I said. “Someone who wants to keep her quiet. I

was afraid whoever it was might go after Ronnie, which is why I took him
somewhere else.”

In a hollow whisper, James said, “Good idea.” He was quiet for a

moment,  just  smoking  and  staring  into  the  distance,  the  grief  in  his  eyes
palpable.  Then,  his  expression  still  pained,  he  said,  “How  were  you  able  to
get in contact with Heidi?”

“Some guy named Fletcher Jackson. You know him?”
He nodded. “Yeah, he’s got connections all over Masontown. On all

sides.”

“He was supposed to call me this afternoon with an address. But then

I got a call that Shana was dead, and…” I made a sharp gesture.

James leaned against my car. “Christ. Heidi’s going to be scared

shitless now. We’ll be lucky if she surfaces again at all.”

“I know.” I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled. “I’m sorry,

James. I tried to—”

“You didn’t do this,” he said.
“No, but I was talking to Shana before she was murdered. I just can’t

help thinking I led the killer to her.”

James shook his head. He dropped his cigarette and crushed it with

the toe of his shoe. “They would have found her one way or another.”

“And everyone in the investigation is going to be looking extra hard

for Heidi now,” I said. “And me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are they?”
“Avery’s steering the investigation towards finding me, finding

Ronnie, and finding Heidi,” I said. “Because he suspects that either you’re
dead or gone, or one of us knows the way to you. I’ve got Ronnie out from
under the radar. Hopefully I can find Heidi before he finds her. Or before he
finds me, I guess.”

James chewed his lip.
I put an arm around his waist. “I’m doing everything I can to find her

first. I promise.”

He nodded. “I know you are,” he whispered. Meeting my eyes, he

said, “You’re probably the only one who’s really doing everything you can to
crack this case.”

“And I am,” I said softly, dropping my gaze. “But I’m starting to

155

wonder if that’s anywhere near enough.”

He touched my face, lifting my chin so I looked him in the eye again.

“It’s all we have. I can’t ask for anything more than what you’re doing.”
Before I could reply, he kissed me gently.

I wrapped my arms around him, and when he broke the kiss, we just

held onto each other for a long moment. He ran his fingers through my hair,
and like the night this all went down, I let the scent of smoke remind me that
at least James was still alive.

These days, I couldn’t ask for much more than that.

~ * ~

Later that night, James and I went out onto Andrew’s back deck. He

didn’t comment on the drink in my hand. I didn’t comment on the cigarette in
his. Instead, we quietly indulged in our respective vices in the stillness that
could only be found this far from the city.

I was lost in thought for a while. The investigation was at a standstill.

Every  lead  had  been  a  dead-end.  Every  witness  was  dead,  useless,  or
missing.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  time  before  those  looking  for  James’s
boyfriend or his elusive cell phone made the connection to me.

James’s chair creaked, drawing me out of my thoughts. Then he

shifted again. After fidgeting a few times, he got up and strolled toward the
railing.

His last cigarette still smoldered in the ashtray as he pulled another

out and lit it. I bit my tongue. I supposed I could have gotten on him about
chain-smoking again, but this was my second drink since dinner.

He moved to the other side of the railing. His heel tapped on the

wood, and the hand holding his cigarette was unsteady. I hadn’t seen him this
wound up since the night his brother died.

“You okay?” I asked over the rim of my glass. “You’re really jittery

tonight.”

He nodded. “I think it’s just some cabin fever. Only time I’ve left

this place all week is to go to that payphone.”

“Hmm. Maybe we need to do something about that, then.”
“What did you have in mind?”
I tossed him my keys. “Come on, let’s go for a drive.”
He looked at the keys in his hand, then at me. Finally he shrugged

and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “Hell, why not?”

We grabbed our jackets, told Nick and Andrew we’d be back at some

point, and went out to my car.

“So,” James said as he turned the key in the ignition. “Where are we

going?”

“Somewhere other than here,” I said.
“That narrows it down.”
I laughed and rested my hand on his leg. “Don’t worry, we’re not

going far. And no, no one will find us.”

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“Going where no one can hear us scream?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
I directed him further into the middle of nowhere, something even I

hadn’t thought possible until the day Andrew took me fishing at this secluded
lake at the end of a one-lane dirt road. James parked where the gravel met the
grass in a pothole-infested area that passed for a parking lot, and we got out
of the car. In silence, we walked down to the lake’s edge.

There were no artificial lights out here, but the moon was just bright

enough, especially reflecting off the water, for me to make out some of
James’s features whenever I glanced his way.

He stopped and knelt to pick up a rock. He flicked his wrist, but

instead of skipping, the rock disappeared beneath the water with a plunk, and
he laughed. “Never did get the hang of skipping rocks.”

“Me neither. I did it once, years ago, and I think it was just dumb

luck.”

“You’re one ahead of me, then.” He picked up another rock and tried

it again with the same result. “One of these days I’ll just give up trying,
but…” He trailed off, and we kept walking.

There was a long dock by the boat launch. In daylight, the odd

fisherman or two would be there, casting their lines and hoping for a decent
trout or bass. At night? No one. The aging planks creaked beneath our feet,
and water lapped gently at the pilings as we walked out to the end of the
dock. There, we sat with our legs hanging over the edge. The darkness gave
us shelter where daylight would have exposed us to anyone who happened
by. Not that anyone would. We were as far out in the middle of nowhere as
we could get on a moment’s notice without getting the car stuck.

He lit a cigarette and took a drag. Then he set the pack and lighter

beside him and rested his free hand on my leg.

“I should have brought something to drink,” I said, chuckling.
He laughed. “Not my fault you didn’t plan ahead.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Well, I’d offer you a smoke, but I don’t think they’re your thing.”
“I’ll pass,” I said. “I have enough bad habits, thank you.”
“Don’t we all?” he said quietly.
Neither of us spoke for a while. When he’d finished his cigarette, he

flicked it, and it spun through the air before landing in the lake with an
almost inaudible hiss.

“You know, I could technically get you for littering,” I said.
He snorted and held out his hands, wrists together. “Please have

mercy, officer.”

“That’s detective, asshole.”
“Please have mercy, Detective Asshole.”
I elbowed him playfully and we both laughed. Silence fell again. I

thought he’d pull out another cigarette, but the pack beside him stayed put.

157

I finally broke the silence. “Mind if I ask about something that might

be kind of, I don’t know, a raw nerve?”

He shrugged. “Sure, go ahead.”
I moistened my lips and took a breath. “Tell me about your brother.”
In the darkness, I couldn’t see his reaction, but I didn’t miss the catch

of his breath. He cleared his throat. “What about him?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Anything. I didn’t even know you had a

brother until recently. I’m just… curious.”

James drew in a breath and slowly let it out through his nose. Then

he pulled out the pack of cigarettes and slid one free. The lighter clicked.
Taking a drag, he put the lighter and pack on the dock again.

It was only after he’d finished and discarded his smoke that he spoke

again. “You two would have gotten along great. He was the social one.
Flirted with any female that moved, and could chat up any guy.”

“Born salesman?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Was he older or younger than you?”
I’d thought that was a benign question, a gentle nudge to keep the

conversation going without stepping on any more nerves than I already had,
but his breath caught again. The crinkle of paper told me he’d gone for a
third cigarette, but he didn’t go any further than holding the pack in his lap
and tapping it with his fingers. He stared at it in the moonlight, his brow
furrowed with some thought I couldn’t begin to read.

I touched his arm. “Something wrong?”
“Stephen was older,” he whispered. “By about eight minutes.”
“Twins,” I breathed.
He nodded. “Identical twins.”
Explains the resemblance. I didn’t say it. No need to remind him of

the one and only time I’d ever laid eyes on Stephen.

“Anyway.” James coughed into his fist. “He was the one who was

good with money. Ambitious as all hell, even if he wasn’t patient enough to
go  through  all  that  higher education  nonsense,  as  he called  it.  He  hated  the
fact that I gamble, but he kept getting into these startup business ventures, get
rich quick schemes, crap like that.  That’s how we got involved in… all this
shit. I needed money, he thought we could score big and get out.” James let
out  a  long  breath.  “No  wonder  it  came  back  to  bite  him  in  the  ass.  I  never
thought one of his business things would turn out like this, though.”

“I don’t imagine so,” I said.
“So, he was good with money, an idiot with business, and a total

ladies’ man.” He paused. “He wasn’t the most faithful in the world, but he
loved Heidi like you wouldn’t believe. Didn’t matter that she was a stripper
and he was doing what he was. He had all kinds of plans. Getting out of this
city, having the white picket fence, all of that.” He gave a quiet laugh. “I
swear, those two had their first three kids named.”

158

“Their first three? How many were they planning on?”
“He teased her about ten, but I think they wanted four. She always

joked it was great that twins ran in the family because maybe she could get
away with only being pregnant twice.” He laughed softly, but his humor
quickly faded and he looked out at the water for a long moment. “I wish you
could have met him. I’m still not sure how—” He cut himself off.

I squeezed his hand. “How, what?”
He released a ragged breath. “Lame as it sounds, I’m not sure what

I’ll do without him. We were always so damned close and now…” He
cleared his throat. “God, it’s so weird to think he’s gone.” He sniffed and
wiped his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

I ran my thumb back and forth across his hand. “You don’t have to

apologize.”

He didn’t say anything. We both looked out at the water, lost in our

own thoughts. His probably involved Stephen. In my own mind, I wondered
how I was supposed to believe James had murdered his own brother. There
were a great many emotions that liars, addicts, and criminals could fake. I’d
seen my fair share of crocodile tears, widows who bawled at the mention of
their deceased husband’s name until the day they were sentenced for his
murder. I’d seen guilty consciences hide behind a mask of grief.

From the beginning, though, James’s grief for his brother had struck

me as genuine. I’d taken everything he’d said and done for some time with a
grain  of  salt,  analyzing  his  every  move  in  search  of  the  one  little  tell  that
would  reveal  his  cheating  or  lying.  But  when  he’d  buckled  beneath  the
weight  of  Stephen’s  death  that  first  night,  and  when  he  alternated  between
nostalgic and choked up tonight, I’d believed him. His grief was no less real,
no less raw, than Anna’s or my own.

I didn’t realize how long we’d gone without speaking until James

broke the silence, his voice startling me.

“I’m curious about something,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“The night we met,” he said softly, staring out at the dark water.

“What did you think?”

“About?”
He shrugged. “Me. Us. What might happen between us.”
I didn’t answer right away. Though my eyes were fixed on the lake,

my  mind’s  eye  went  back  to  that  bar  downtown.  The  place  was  dim  and
crowded,  the  music  blasting  and  the  bass  pulsing.  I  was  sober  that  night.  I
never drank when I worked, when I drove, or when I was looking to get laid,
and that night, I was definitely looking to get laid.

At some point, I’d sensed someone looking at me, and curiosity had

turned my head. The attraction was as strong as it was immediate; I knew the
second I laid eyes on him that I wanted him. The way he narrowed his eyes
and let the corner of his mouth lift just enough to imply a grin told me that

159

sentiment was very, very mutual.

We didn’t bother with a drink or a dance. We exchanged

introductions, a little bit of small talk, and in a moment of uncharacteristic
boldness, I’d suggested we go someplace else. From there, it was into his car
and to my place for a much-needed trip down One Night Stand Lane.

By the time we made it to my house, we were too wound up to wait

much longer, and ended up making out in my driveway for the better part of
an hour. It was only the lack of condoms and lube that kept us from fucking
right then and there like a couple of desperate, horny teenagers. Discretion
didn’t even figure into the equation, because I wanted him too damned bad.

In the bar, through the eyes of a seriously horny man, James had

been  nothing  short  of  mouthwatering.  In  the  light  of  day,  disheveled  and
unshaven as we lazily fucked just one last time before he had to go, he didn’t
look  anything  like  a  one  night  stand.  He  was  more  or  less  a  stranger,
someone  whose  last  name  I  didn’t  even  know  and  apartment  I’d  never
visited, but I’d known deep down it wouldn’t be that way for long.

Now, months later, sitting on this dock in the darkness, I’d been

right. He hadn’t been a one night stand. We knew each other’s last names.
We’d been in each other’s bedrooms. We’d had more sex in six months than
I’d had in the previous couple of years.

But we were still strangers.
James put his hand over mine and squeezed gently. “You went

quiet.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I was just thinking. About that night.” I

swallowed hard. “I don’t know, to be honest. I wasn’t thinking much further
ahead than a one nighter at that point.”

“Did you think we’d ever get to this point?”
“That raises another question.” I turned to him. “What point is this?”
James shook his head and looked down. “I don’t know. Honestly.”
I released a breath. “To tell you the truth, I was ready to call it quits

the night this all went down. And now…” I sighed, running a hand through
my hair. “Now I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t know if I’m holding
on because I want to, or if I feel guilty for how I felt that day.”

“You didn’t know what was really happening that day,” he said.

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

“For that matter,” I whispered. “I don’t know what was really

happening all those other days, either. When you didn’t answer my calls,
disappeared for hours on end.” Any other night, I’d have been grinding my
teeth with fury and frustration, but tonight, it just hurt.

“I told you why I did that,” he said.
“I know. You told me after the fact. So, I can’t help wondering how

many other things there are that you haven’t told me.” I paused. “I won’t
leave you high and dry during all of this, but I…” Damn it, it shouldn’t have
hurt this much to get the words out. Drawing a deep breath, I looked him in

160

the eye. “I’ll keep you safe, and I’ll keep pursuing the case, but I don’t know
if I can keep doing this.”

“Brian, please, don’t.”
“Give me a reason not to.” It wasn’t an ultimatum tonight like it

would have been any other time. It was a plea. “After all the times you jerked
me around—gambling addiction or not—it’s taken having your life in
danger, when you needed something from me, for you to drop the games.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that.” He chewed his lip. “I don’t deny for

a second that I jerked you around. Maybe it did take this for me to realize
that, and it shouldn’t have.”

I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to inject

some sarcasm into my voice as I said, “Easy to say in hindsight.”

“Isn’t like I can go back and change it.” He put his hand over mine.

“I’m here now, though.”

“And if you could walk away without this threat hanging over your

head, would you?’

“A few months ago, I might have. But not now.” He put his hand

over  mine  and  squeezed  gently.  “I’m  far  from  perfect,  and  I  suck  at
relationships,  but…”  He  looked  at  me  and  sighed.  “Listen,  I’m  that  guy
everybody  bitches  about  who’s  afraid  of  commitment,  won’t  get  involved
emotionally, whatever. Always have been. But with you, I haven’t been that
way. And I guess that kind of scared me. So, maybe I’ve kept you at arm’s
length more than I should have. That and there are… other things in my life.
Things I’m not ready to explain to you yet. I want to, but I can’t. Not yet.”

“That’s not something you want to tell me when I’m investigating

you for a—”

“I didn’t kill my brother,” he snapped with more vehemence than I

expected. “And I didn’t kill your partner.” He exhaled, and when he spoke
again, his voice was gentler. “Look, I know with everything that’s happened
recently, and everything before the murder, you probably don’t trust me.”

“I want to,” I said. “I really do. But you’ve got to give me

something.”

“I know. And… there are a lot of things I want to tell you.” He

slipped his hand into mine, but didn’t look at me. “It’s not that I’m keeping
things from you, or that I want to hide anything, it’s just…” He paused for a
long moment. Finally, he met my eyes. “Will you give me time? To be able
to say everything I want to?”

I swallowed hard, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. If you need time,

then…” I shrugged with one shoulder. What else could I do?

He squeezed my hand. “And I promise you, for all the things I

haven’t been able to come out and say, or all the times I’ve fucked up, there
has  never  been  anyone  else.”  With  his  other  hand,  he  reached  for  my  face
and  trailed  his  fingertips  along  my  jaw.  “I  haven’t  so  much  as  looked  at
another guy since I met you.”

161

It was my turn to look away, letting the moonlit ripples on the lake

hold my attention.

“I can’t give you all I am right now,” he said softly. “If what I can

give you now isn’t enough, I’ll understand. If you have to walk away, I won’t
hold it against you. But this is all I can give you right now.”

I exhaled. “I don’t even know what that means, James.”
“It means I need some time to sort some things out,” he whispered,

his voice shaking, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love with you.”

I stared at him, struggling to make out his features. “You… what?”
He dropped his gaze. “I love you. I’ve… I have for a long time, just

didn’t know how to say it. And I understand if it’s not mutual, I—”

“I love you, James.”
Our eyes met in the darkness. I reached for his face. My fingertips

brushed his jaw, and he shivered. Then he leaned in, hesitated, and kissed
me.

My heart pounded, marking the long seconds that passed as only our

lips touched. After a while, the tip of his tongue gently teased my lips apart.
As we pulled each other closer, my heart sped up, and time sped up, and my
breathing sped up as I tried to keep enough air flowing so I wouldn’t pass out
and miss a second of this. I ran my fingers through his hair and explored his
mouth like I’d never kissed him before. Moments like this, just like when we
were in bed, it was like he was a different person entirely. No lies, no
excuses, no secrets. Nothing but a raw, sensual, unapologetic kiss that existed
because there was no reason in the world it shouldn’t exist.

Some undefined stretch of time went by, and we pulled back enough

to look at each other in the moonlight. It was only then that reality sank in,
tugging at my gut and reminding me that there were reasons this shouldn’t
exist.

James touched my face. “What’s wrong?”
I dropped my gaze and drew back a little. I did love him. There was

no doubt in my mind. But there were other things. Other reasons. Other
doubts.

“Brian?” He ran his fingertips along my jaw. “Is this about the

case?”

Sighing, I nodded. “I want to believe everything you’ve told me.

And I do love you, James. I really do. But I’ve got evidence piling up, bodies
piling up, stories adding up in ways I can’t ignore.” I put my hand over his
on his knee. “I…” My voice tried to crack. I cleared my throat. “There’s
something I need you to do for me.”

He squeezed my hand. “Tell me.”
Forcing back the ache rising in my throat, I whispered, “I need you

to look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t kill Max.”

He jumped. “What?”
“Just tell me. Please.”

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James moistened his lips and looked at me. There was next to no

light, but there was enough so I could see his eyes.

He clasped my hand in both of his. “Brian, I did not kill Max.

Whoever did also killed Stephen, and I want just as badly as you do to put a
bullet in that fucker. I swear to you, I didn’t kill my brother, and I didn’t kill
your partner.”

I said nothing for a moment, just searched his eyes for a reason to

think he was lying.

James touched my face. “Do you believe me?”
Nodding, I reached up to comb my fingers through his hair. I didn’t

answer. Didn’t know how.

He cupped the sides of my neck in his hands and kissed me gently.
I touched my forehead to his. “I want to believe you, James,” I

whispered. “God, you don’t even know. I do love you. I just…” I pulled back
enough to look him in the eye. “Sometimes I think I don’t even know who
you are.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You know all those nights when we’d

lay awake and just talk?” he said. “And I could see it in your eyes, you’d
even forgotten about all the other bullshit, and it was just us?”

I closed my eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“That is who I am, Brian.” He stroked my hair. Drawing me in for

another kiss, he whispered, “This is who I am.”

His long, gentle kiss tasted like smoke and him and all those nights

when at least something had made sense. When this had made sense. Even
when I’d suspected him of every sin under the sun, something about us had
been real.

“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too.”
And he kissed me again.

~ * ~

The house was dark and silent when we returned, though one of the

guys had left a single light on in the living room. We slipped through the
front door and down the hall with as little noise as we could so we wouldn’t
wake Nick or Andrew.

Without a sound, James closed the guest room door behind him and

as soon as we were enclosed in this dark, quiet space, I put my arms around
him and he kissed me again.

Fully dressed, we sank into bed together, the frame giving a near-

silent  creak  of  protest  as  James  pulled  me  down  with  him.  We  kissed  and
touched  like  we  were  exploring  each  other  for  the  first  time  all  over  again.
Like  we  intended  to  spend  all  night  long  memorizing  each  other.  We  were
both aroused, his hard cock brushing against mine every time we moved and
sending shivers up my spine, but I couldn’t bring myself to rush this.

His fingers combed through my hair. I couldn’t remember him ever

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being so gentle, so tender. We’d had sex countless times, starting the night
we’d met, but tonight was different. He kissed me now as tenderly as he had
down by the river, our mouths moving slowly together while hands drew
gentle, lazy paths over skin and clothes.

It was like seeing and feeling a new, but still familiar, side of the

man I didn’t think I knew. Like this was the side of him I had known all
along and had never doubted, yet it was the first time I’d ever seen it.

Clothes fell away. Fingers ran through hair. Hot breath rushed past

my neck. Warm skin touched warm skin, and there was nothing left between
us. I kissed his neck and inched down to his chest, savoring the soft warmth
of  his  skin  against  my  lips.  As  I  kissed  my  way  down  his  chest,  he  ran  his
fingertips up the back of my neck and into my hair. I shivered. So did he. He
teased  goose  bumps  to  life  on  my  neck  and  shoulders,  and  I  blew  a  cool
breath across his skin until the fine hairs stood on end.

I trailed more light kisses down his abs, continuing right alongside

his cock without touching it. When I pressed my lips to the base of his cock,
he  gasped.  One  kiss  at  a  time,  just  as  I’d  done  from  his  neck  to  here,  I
worked  my  way  to  the  head  of  his  cock,  until  he  trembled  beneath  me  and
whimpered  each  time  my  lips  touched  him.  A  flick  of  my  tongue  sent  a
shudder  through  him,  and  before  he  could  catch  his  breath,  I  swirled  my
tongue around once before taking his cock into my mouth.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, alternately grasping and stroking my

hair as I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock. His skin was hot and
vaguely salty, and the more I tasted it, the more my own cock ached with the
need to be as deep inside him as possible. The more my body wanted to fuck
him, the more I savored his cock in my mouth, my hand, against my tongue.
No rush. Absolutely no rush. No matter how much my body protested, I
couldn’t rush this. We’d never been intimate like this before, and I wanted to
enjoy every last minute.

I glanced up and met his eyes. His lips were apart, his eyebrows

raised, and when he licked his lips, I pushed myself up on my arms and came
back up to him. As soon as I was in reach, he pulled me down and kissed me,
and for the longest time, neither of us let go or came up for air.

Like his deep, bone-rattling grief, there were things that couldn’t be

faked, and the feverish need in his kiss and touch couldn’t have been
anything but real. And mine was sure as hell real.

When our eyes met again, words weren’t necessary.
For the first time tonight, I moved quickly, scrambling to get a

condom and lube out and on. I was in a hurry because every second of that
process was a second of not being against him, not being inside him. Once I
was over him again, though, we both slowed down once more.

James lifted his head off the pillow to kiss me, groaning against my

lips as I slowly pushed into him. Goose bumps prickled down my back as my
cock slid deeper. I moved slowly inside him, savoring every stroke just as I

164

had when I’d gone down on him. The more I held him and moved inside him,
the  less  I  could  even  imagine  not  being  in  love  with  him.  How  could  I  not
be?  Here,  naked  and  together,  with  the  case  and  the  addictions  and  the  lies
and  the  suspicions  shed  like  the  clothes  scattered  on  the  floor,  this  was  too
real and raw to deny.

We held each other’s gazes, and even if there was or had ever been

someone else, right here and now there was no one but us. We kept looking
right at each other except when his eyes rolled back and mine tried to close,
when he screwed his shut or when mine blurred with tears.

I gave and took every inch as slowly as I could, making sure I felt

him, making sure he felt me. How long we moved like that, I couldn’t say.
My shoulders and back ached, more so when I picked up speed, but I didn’t
want to stop, or change position, or be any way that wasn’t exactly like this.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes. His back arched beneath us, and

the shuddering breath he released almost drove me out of my mind.

“Come for me,” I whispered, thrusting just a little harder and

struggling to keep my own orgasm at bay.

“Oh, God, just… fuck…” James moaned, and a tremor rippled up his

spine as electricity shot up mine.

I groaned, burying my face against his neck to keep quiet. His breath

caught. His whole body tensed and his fingers dug into my shoulders. A soft
whimper escaped his lips, and the instant his hot semen hit my abs, I couldn’t
hold back. With one last deep, hard thrust, I shuddered and came.

James ran his fingers through my hair. I pulled out, but didn’t move

yet. We weren’t sweaty or out of breath like we usually were. Just quiet,
overwhelmed, as close to still as this trembling would allow. Our foreheads
touched. Our lips occasionally brushed. The only consistent movements were
the heart in my chest and the fingers running up and down the back of my
neck.

Eventually, I pushed myself up so I could see him.
“I love you, James,” I whispered.
Something flickered across his expression, but as soon as it was

gone, he smiled and ran his fingers through my hair. “I love you, too.”

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Twenty

My head was still light the next morning. Sitting at my desk, the

buzz of business as usual hummed around the precinct, but all I could hear
was James’s breath on my neck when he’d come the second time before we
finally gave in and went to sleep.

Focusing wasn’t a problem, though. In spite of my fatigue and how

much  I  really  wanted  to  just  lean  back  and  mentally  relive  last  night  a  few
times, my caffeine-sharpened concentration was on the reports in front of me
like  a  bloodhound  on  a  scent.  Ballistics  evidence.  Autopsies.  Witness
testimonies and statements from friends, family members, acquaintances, and
neighbors. Whether I was objective about it or not, my gut was more certain
than ever that James was innocent.

Maybe I was fooling myself. Though last night had been more real

and honest than any other we’d shared, it still didn’t mean he hadn’t killed
Max, John, Dirk, and Stephen. Either way, whether it was the cop or the
boyfriend in me, I was more determined than ever to find out with absolute
certainty if James had been the gunman.

Across from me, Avery was also lost in documentation and

statements  in  between  taking  the  occasional  call  that  resulted  in  nothing
useful.  I  fielded  my  share  of  calls  as  well,  every  one  of  them  leading
nowhere.  Between  us,  though,  we’d  figure  this  out.  The  missing  piece  was
out  there.  Or  maybe  in  here,  amongst  these  numbers  and  diagrams  and
testimonies.

Around one in the afternoon, his phone rang again.
“Detective Avery.” After a moment’s pause, he startled. “I’m sorry,

run that by me again?”

I looked up, eyebrows raised. His brow was furrowed, eyes

unfocused.

Then he laughed. “Are you kidding me?” Pause. “We’re on our way.

I want all surveillance scoured. Get every second of footage. I’m going to
want to see it as soon as we get there.” A longer pause. “That idiot. Thanks
for the tip. We’re on our way. I want someone to track down the cab driver

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too.” He hung up the phone. “Grab your coat. James Merrill showed his face
at a casino this morning.”

I masked my startled jump by getting up and reaching for my jacket

and keys. I cleared my throat and tried not to choke on my own breath. “Are
you serious?”

He nodded. “Fucker used an ATM and showed a photo ID to a dealer

and a cocktail waitress.”

The hairs on the back of my next stood on end. James must have

been right. Someone was setting him up. But why randomly show up at a
casino? Why now?

Detective Paulson beat us to the casino and met us at the door.
“How long ago was he here?” Avery asked as the three of us strode

through the gaming area toward security.

“Left about an hour ago,” Paulson said. “He was here for about thirty

minutes. A dealer and a security guard recognized him from the news, but by
the time they’d verified who he was, he got out. Grabbed a taxi and left.”

“Any word on the cab driver?” I asked.
“Patrol said they’ve caught up with him and are bringing him back

here to talk to the two of you,” he said. “Guy’s been completely cooperative.
Said Merrill used a credit card to pay him, too.” He handed me a plastic bag
containing a small slip of paper. “If his receipt matches this one from when
he paid for his drinks here, then we’ve got a hell of an idiot on our hands.”

I looked at the credit card receipt in the bag. The signature was eerily

familiar. Sharp, angular, just as I’d seen him sign such receipts whenever it
was his turn to foot the bill for dinner. His last name was never legible, so I’d
never  given  much  thought  to  whether  it  said  Merrill  or  Lawson,  but  it  sure
looked  a  hell  of  a  lot  more  like  Merrill  than  Lawson  now.  Whoever  was
behind this was good. Really good.

Just before we got to the security office, my phone rang. So much for

phones not working in the casinos, as James had told me when he’d revealed
his gambling addiction. I pushed that thought aside and looked at my phone.
The caller was unknown.

“Avery, go on ahead,” I said. “Let me take this and I’ll catch up with

you.” He and Paulson disappeared into the security office. I flipped open my
cell. “Detective Clifton.”

“Detective Clifton, this is Fletcher Jackson.”
“Fletcher,” I said. “This is unexpected.”
“Yes, well, I have someone here who wishes to speak to you.”
My heart fluttered. “Heidi?”
“Yes. She wants to speak to you in person. Tomorrow morning. Ten

o’clock sharp.”

“Why not now?”
“Tomorrow at ten o’clock, or not at all. And as usual, alone.”
“Put her on the phone.”

167

“She isn’t—”
“No games, Fletcher,” I said. “I just want to talk to her.”
The line was silent for a few seconds. Then, a female voice said,

“Hello?”

“Heidi,” I whispered. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear from

you.”

“Is James all right?” I couldn’t decide if she sounded terse or

nervous. Maybe both.

“I don’t know.” I moistened my lips. “But I want to make sure you

are.” She didn’t respond. I took a breath. “Listen, I need you—”

“Detective.” Fletcher was back on the line. “There will be plenty of

time to talk to her tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Alone.”

I exhaled. “All right. I’ll be there. Where will I meet you?”
“The Court Avenue Hotel,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”
I couldn’t even count how many bodies I’d seen outlined in chalk in

that Masontown hellhole. “Yes, I know where it is.”

“Good. We’ll see you then.”
“Give me a phone number where I can reach you,” I said.
He hesitated, but then rattled off a number. After we’d hung up, I

gave my phone another glance, then went into the security office to see what
Avery and Paulson had learned.

The room was dimly lit except for the numerous screens on the wall

broadcasting images of people playing slots, cards, and roulette. Every inch
of the casino was monitored by at least one camera. In some cases, two,
three, or more. It was impossible to set foot in the place without being picked
up. Even someone who came in just to take a piss would be filmed by no
fewer than a dozen cameras on their way to the restroom, the stalls in which
were the only unmonitored places in the building.

This was the last place in the universe, short of the front gates at Fort

Knox, where anyone trying to maintain a low profile had any business
showing himself.

On the other side of the room, the other detectives and some security

guards gathered around a computer monitor.

“Check this shit out.” Avery gestured for me to have a seat at the

desk and turned the monitor so I could see the view of a blackjack table from
one of the eye-in-the-sky cameras.

My blood turned cold. Colder. Colder still.
Whoever it was not only looked exactly like James, he knew his

mannerisms inside and out.

He rested his elbow on the table, keeping his cigarette close to his

lips so he could pause to take a long drag every now and then. When he blew
out a stream of smoke, he used his hand to deflect it so it wouldn’t blow in
someone else’s face. During a losing streak, he tapped his fingers rapidly on
the table, and judging by the subtle movement of his body, his foot probably

168

fell into a similar rhythm against his chair. When a waitress brought him his
drink and the credit card receipt that was now in my hand, he flashed her a
polite smile that made my pulse jump.

Either this was someone who had studied James’s every move, or it

was him. Even if Stephen was still alive, an identical twin wouldn’t have all
the same mannerisms. Not like that.

The man on the camera glanced over his shoulder, and though it was

subtle,  his  posture  straightened  as  Avery’s  had  when  the  call  had  come
through  at  the  precinct.  He  quickly  snuffed  out  his  half-smoked  cigarette,
threw back most of his drink, and bowed out of the next hand even though he
was in the middle of a winning streak. He tipped the dealer, gave a friendly
parting  gesture  to  the  other  players,  and  disappeared  from  that  camera’s
view.

There was a cashier’s cage less than a hundred feet from the table,

but surveillance found him at the cage on the opposite side of the gaming
area. He cashed out his chips, pocketed the money, gave a quick look around,
and made a fast exit to the south parking lot.

Outside cameras caught him there. He got into the taxi whose plates

were in plain view of at least two cameras, more visible than any of the
others on the curb, and took off.

I sat back, blowing out a breath.
Avery clapped my shoulder. “And here I thought this stupid fucker

had skipped town.”

“Looks like he didn’t,” I said quietly. James, I will kill you myself, I

swear it…

He leaned against the desk beside me. “What’s wrong?”
Thinking quickly, I gestured at the screen. “Something just isn’t

adding up. Why would he suddenly come out of the woodwork and show his
face like that?”

“Don’t know,” Avery said. “But he did. That’s enough for me.”
I shook my head. “The timing just seems weird.”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Clifton,” he said. “And it

sounds like the cabbie is here. Let’s go see what he has to say.”

We went downstairs and back outside to the parking lot. Security and

a pair of uniformed officers stood beside a scruffy guy in a red parka.

“Joseph, this is Detective Avery and Detective Clifton,” one of the

officers said, gesturing at us.

We shook hands with the cabbie.
The other officer said, “Go ahead and tell them what you told us.”
The cabbie looked at us. “Picked him up here. He had me take him

clear out to that development they’re putting in on the east side of town.
Gave me a specific address for a house that ain’t even there yet. Was just a
vacant lot.”

“When you dropped him off,” Avery said, “was there anyone there

169

waiting for him?”

“Didn’t see no one around,” Joseph said. “No cars, no people. Was

kind of weird, but he was a paying customer, so…” He shrugged.

“And what did he do when you let him out?” Avery asked. “Did he

leave the lot? Call anyone? Do anything?”

“Nope. Just stood there and lit up a smoke.”
I shivered.
“And how did he pay you?” Avery asked.
One of the officers produced a credit card receipt. The signature was

nearly identical to the one from earlier. The one I’d seen too many times.

“He also tipped me,” the cabbie said. “In cash. Fifty bucks.”
Avery raised an eyebrow. “Did he ask you to keep quiet or anything

like that?”

Pursing his lips, Joseph shook his head. “Nope, just said thanks, gave

me a fifty, and left.”

Avery looked at me. I didn’t have any additional questions, so he

said to the cabbie, “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.”

I held up the receipt. “You mind if I hang onto this?”
“Sure, go ahead,” Joseph said. “But can I have a copy?”
“Of course.” To Avery, I said, “I’m going to go make a copy of

this.”

He nodded. Before I walked away, Avery turned to Paulson. “I want

you to put word out to every officer, uniformed or otherwise. Everyone is on
the lookout for James Merrill. David if you can find him, but I have no doubt
James  is  our  man,  and  now  that  he’s  confirmed  at  large,  I  want  him  found
yesterday.  Dump  every  phone  in  every  hand  in  Masontown  if  you  have  to,
but  someone  knows  where  this  guy  is.  Any  witness  who’s  already  been
interviewed,  bring  them  back  in.  Any  dealer,  undercover,  fucking  dry
cleaning cashier, get them in.”

Paulson nodded. “On it.”
“What about Heidi?” I asked.
“We’ll keep looking,” Avery said with a dismissive gesture. “But

I’m less interested in her than I am in James. He’s in the area, and I’m not
letting him slip through my fingers again.”

The rest of the day was utter chaos. Everyone and their mother was

turning the city upside down in search of James. Andrew was back at work
now, and must have caught wind of it, because he called while I was on my
way back to the station. With all the re-interviewed witnesses, reviewed
evidence, and reinvestigated territory from Masontown to James’s apartment,
we spent the better part of the day playing phone tag.

It wasn’t until I was on my way back to his place at nearly half past

eight that Andrew finally caught up with me.

“Brian, tell me this is a joke,” he said. “You told me he’s—”
“I know. I’m going to talk to him right now. I don’t know what the

170

fuck is going on.”

He exhaled. “Listen, I’ll help you out, and if someone needs to be

kept safe, you know I won’t throw them out. But there are badges on the line
here too. Yours and mine.”

“Yeah, believe me, I know.” I pulled down Andrew’s driveway. “I

just got to the house. I’m going to have a talk with him and see what I can get
out of him. If he can’t give me a satisfactory answer, I’m either hauling his
ass in or I’m going to find other arrangements to keep him safe without
putting you and Nick on the line.”

“I appreciate it,” he said quietly. “Do what you can. Don’t throw him

to the wolves if you think he’ll be in danger, but…” He took a breath. “I
can’t risk this much longer.”

“I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you.” He paused. “I’ll be at the station with Nick for another

half hour or so. I’ll probably be home around ten thirty.”

“Should give me enough time to hash it out with James and figure

out what’s going on.”

“Good luck.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
After I hung up, I parked the car and went into the house. James was

in the living room on his laptop, as he often was, and I didn’t even give him a
chance to say hello.

“We need to talk.”
His eyebrows jumped. “I… okay.”
“Kitchen.”
“This the kind of conversation that requires alcohol?” he growled.
I glared at him. “Well, if one of us gets to indulge in an addiction,

why shouldn’t the other?” Without waiting for a response, I went into the
kitchen, knowing he’d follow, and yes, this conversation did require alcohol.
No ice, no juice, just a half inch of vodka in the bottom of a glass. I threw it
back, grimaced as it burned its way down, then poured a second and faced
him.

He scowled at the glass in my hand, and when our eyes met, his

narrowed. “Is it possible for us to discuss anything without you drinking?”

“You smoke, I drink.” I downed the second shot, then glared at him,

silently daring him to give me crap about it. “Or, in some cases, gamble.”

He shifted his weight, obviously struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Why don’t you just get to the point and tell me what this is about? Maybe
now, before you’re so drunk neither one of us knows what you’re saying?”

That hit me in the gut. I couldn’t argue with him on that point, and

judging by our past history, I couldn’t argue with him without a drink in my
hand.

Dropping my gaze, I set the glass aside and capped the bottle.
“Where were you today?” I asked quietly.

171

“Here.”
“Where else?” I looked at him, and he looked away. I flattened my

palms on the kitchen island between us. “James, please. Please tell me that
wasn’t you on the surveillance cameras. Tell me someone was that good, and
had a fake ATM card, and knew exactly how to sign your name, and how
you smoke.”

His lips pulled into a tight grimace, and he dropped his gaze.
I smacked the counter with one hand, making both of us jump. “Why

didn’t you just fucking turn yourself in while you were at it?”

He rubbed the back of his neck with a shaking hand and avoided my

eyes. “Look, I needed it, okay. You know what it’s like.”

“I know what it’s like?” I gave a sharp cough of sarcastic laughter. “I

know what it’s like to be so overcome by an addiction that I—”

“You know what it’s like to be that fucking addicted,” he snarled.
“You honestly mean to tell me that knowing people are looking to

arrest or possibly kill you wasn’t enough to keep you from giving in?
Seriously?”

“I haven’t noticed any kinds of consequences keeping you out of a

goddamned bottle,” he threw back.

I eyed him. “Then I guess we’d just have to see what would happen

if I was a wanted. Fucking. Murder suspect.”

He looked away, pulling in a long breath through gritted teeth. Then

he brushed past me. “I need a smoke.”

“There’s a shock,” I muttered.
He stopped, shooting me a look and opening his mouth to argue, but

then he just shook his head and went outside. “I give up,” he said under his
breath.

I leaned against the railing and tried not to notice the habitual way he

deflected the smoke with his hand. Tried not to connect it to the images I’d
seen  on  the  surveillance  cameras.  Neither  of  us  spoke  again  until  he’d
smoked  almost  half  his  cigarette.  I’d  gotten  a  couple  of  shots  in  me,  I
supposed it was only fair he got a hit of nicotine. Christ, we were messed up.

Once he’d had a few drags, I said, as calmly as I could, “This doesn’t

look good, James. You’ve got way too many fingers pointed at you, and
there’s way too much evidence stacked against you, for you to fuck with
me.”

“I’m not fucking with you.”
“Then give me one good reason not to read you your rights here and

now.” I steeled myself against the answer, fully expecting something about
having faith in him, or the fact that he loved me, or some reason why our
relationship should keep him out of handcuffs.

He moistened his lips. “Am I more valuable to your case alive or

dead?”

“What?”

172

“As long as I’m here, I’m alive.” He looked me right in the eye.

“Dead men don’t talk, do they?”

Shana’s mutilated body flickered through my mind, and I shuddered.

“I’m not threatening to shoot you, James. But a lot of people think you’re—”

“I think you know I didn’t do this.”
“I don’t know what I know.” I exhaled hard. “The only thing I know

is that until this investigation is over, I would suggest you do what I tell you.
Specifically, don’t make a goddamned move, especially out where someone
will see you, without my say-so.”

James put his hands up and nodded. “I’m sorry, you’re—”
“You’re sorry? Jesus fucking Christ, James.” I shook my head and

released a sharp breath. “What if someone had followed you back here?
What if you’d led someone to me? To Andrew and Nick? Did you think of
any of that?”

“I made sure no one followed me,” he said.
“Really?” I snapped. “Could you have put some of that effort into

keeping  yourself  off  a  few  dozen  cameras.  Jesus,  what  you  did  today  gave
your  scent  to  every  bloodhound  that’s  on  your  trail.  I’ve  got  the  murder
weapon in your hands, witnesses dropping dead left and right, and now every
cop  in  the  city  looking  for  you  after  they’d  given  up  on  finding  you.  You
could  have  easily  gotten  caught  right  there  at  the  casino,  or  led  someone
dangerous  right  back  to  everyone  who’s  been  bending  over  backwards  and
risking his own neck to keep your ass safe and out of jail.” I gestured sharply
toward the rest of the house.

James exhaled. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry.”
I gritted my teeth against another tirade about how sorry didn’t even

begin to cut it. Instead, I said, “One other question.”

He lifted his eyebrows.
Forcing my voice to stay calm, trying not to sound as accusatory as I

was, I said, “Who were you with?”

The dropped gaze sent my heart plummeting into my feet once again.
“Answer me, James.” My voice shook badly. “Someone drove you

from that construction site to the house. The cab driver said he left you there,
and it’s a long ass walk, so someone drove you.” I narrowed my eyes. “Who
was it?”

He stepped toward me. My heart thundered in my chest as he put a

hand on my waist and reached for my face.

“I know this looks bad,” he said softly. “I’m not cheating on you,

though. I swear.”

I closed my eyes when his fingertips brushed my face. When his

thumb ran over my cheekbone, I wanted to turn my head away from his
touch. God, I wanted him to touch me, but I needed to pull away. I couldn’t
think when his hands were on me. I couldn’t be objective.

Could I be objective anyway? Of course I couldn’t. I didn’t know

173

what to think. What to believe. I wanted to believe James was who he said he
was, but deep down, I wondered. There were too many questions, not enough
answers.  And  today  he’d  handed  me  a  reason  to  distrust  him,  to  believe  he
was  holding  even  more  cards  to  his  chest  than  I’d  thought.  That,  or  his
addiction  really  did  control  him  so  much  he’d  put  his  neck  out  there,  risk
everything,  just  for  a  taste  of  his  drug  of  choice.  I  thought  my  addiction
controlled me.

At that thought, my heart sank a little deeper.
I took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m not going to arrest you. And I’ll

keep pursuing this investigation until I know the truth, whatever that truth
turns out to be. But…” With an unsteady hand, I pushed his away from my
face. With the other, I lifted the one off my waist. Taking that backward step
hurt like hell, but I did it anyway. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His lips parted. “What are you saying?”
I forced myself to look him in the eye. “There’s always something

you either aren’t telling me, or can’t tell me, or you’ve lied to me about.” I
paused, taking a deep breath to keep my composure. “I get blindsided by
information about you and now, today…” I shook my head. “Look, I’ll keep
investigating this as long as I can and with every resource I have available. I
love you, James, but I…” I paused again, gritting my teeth against the lump
that rose in my throat. “I believe you. That you didn’t kill Max or your
brother. Maybe I’m biased, but my gut tells me you didn’t do it.”

He released part of a breath, but the creases between his eyebrows

told me he knew I wasn’t finished yet.

“I believe you,” I whispered. “But I don’t trust you.”
He flinched.
“I don’t think I even know you,” I said. “I think you’re innocent, and

that’s enough for me to keep you here and safe. But it’s not enough…” I bit
my lip.

“Not enough for what?”
I forced back the emotions that threatened to crack my voice. “It’s

not enough for me to stay here with you.”

“Brian…”
“If I can’t trust you,” I said, barely whispering, “then I can’t do this.”
“Brian, please. I love you, don’t—”
“I wish I could believe that too.”
He winced and dropped his gaze.
“And  even  if  I  did  trust  you,  and  even  if  this  investigation  wasn’t

happening…” I cleared my throat. Then again. “Let’s face it. I’m an
alcoholic. You’re a gambling addict. Neither of us has any business trying to
do this—” I gestured at him, then myself “—when this shit has so much
control over one of us, let alone both.”

“Brian, don’t do this.” He reached for me, but I stayed out of his

grasp.

175

Twenty One

I slept—sort of—on the couch that night. I needed some distance

between James and me, but I didn’t feel right dumping him off on Nick and
Andrew while I retreated to my own place, so I stayed. They had their own
issues to deal with. That, and I couldn’t drive because I’d been drinking. Of
course I’d been drinking. When was I not drinking?

After a restless night, I gave up on sleep around the time Andrew

came out to the kitchen to get coffee.

“Sorry I didn’t get the coffee on,” I said.
He laughed. “Yeah, I was starting to get spoiled with an early riser in

the house.” He cocked his head. “You all right, man?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” I exhaled and nodded down the hall. “James and I

called it quits.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”
“Well, I called it quits with him.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
I shrugged. “Such is life.”
He chewed his lip. “Get anything out of him about the casino?”
Sighing, I nodded. “Well, it was him.”
Andrew rolled his eyes and groaned. “Is he fucking stupid?”
“Maybe. Addicted, if nothing else.” I shook my head and released a

breath. “It was a stupid move on his part. He’ll be the first to admit it. I just
don’t know what to do now that everyone in the city is looking to sink their
teeth into him.”

“My concern is if anyone had followed him back here.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I understand that.”
“And how the hell did he get there? It’s a hell of a walk from here to

the city, least of all the east side.”

I thought for a moment. During our heated discussion last night, that

was one detail I hadn’t finished getting out of him. Shaking my head again, I
said, “I don’t know. We didn’t get that far.” I rubbed some stiffness out of
my neck. “Don’t know if I want to know, but I’ll try to pry it out of him
tonight. I guess I should get out of here for now.”

176

Andrew nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
“Physical therapy?”
He scowled. “Shit never ends, let me tell you. So I have to run into

the precinct, take care of some crap, then get to the PT office.” He glanced at
the clock, then gestured at the coffee pot, which was finally starting to
produce some much-needed coffee. “After I’ve had a cup or two, anyway.”

“Amen to that.” Watching the hot liquid drip painfully slowly into

the pot, I said, “When’s Nick off his rotation?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Andrew pulled some cups down and glanced

at me. “Tell me honestly, man. You okay leaving James here? Without
someone sticking around? After yesterday…”

I shrugged and sighed. “We don’t have much choice. At this point, I

think he knows I’ll shoot him myself if he sets foot outside this house,
though.”

“Good point.”
“And I’ll work on finding another place for him today,” I said. “I

can’t ask you to keep putting him up.”

“Much appreciated,” he said quietly. We exchanged glances. Then

he turned his attention to pouring coffee, and we let the subject drop.

It turned out I didn’t need much in the way of coffee. Everything

with James had kept me up most of the night, but knowing I’d be meeting
Heidi very soon had my pulse racing. So close. Finally. God, please, don’t let
anything happen this time. Please let me get to her before anyone gets to her.
Or James. Or me.

Adrenaline and coffee kept me awake long enough to get to work,

walk into the building, and drape my jacket over the back of my chair, but
their combined effect was rendered moot when the chief’s voice growled two
words:

“Detective Clifton.”
I followed the sound, turning around to see him leaning out of his

office door, his face red and his brow furrowed with you are in such deep
shit, you don’t even know fury.

“Yes, sir?” I said.
“I need to see you in here. Now.”
I was certainly awake now. As ordered, I went into his office.
“Close the door.”
I nudged it shut with my foot. With a curt nod, he indicated a chair in

front of his desk. The proverbial hot seat. Crap.

As I sat, I threw a surreptitious glance at the clock on the wall. I

didn’t have much time between now and when I needed to meet Fletcher and
Heidi. My heart pounded, as much from this meeting as the one I still needed
to get to.

The chief leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his belt

buckle. “This is about the shooting involving Kessler and Kelly.”

177

I swallowed. “Okay…”
“After Merrill’s little cameo yesterday, Avery and the boys doubled

their efforts to find him,” he said. “It took some work, but our guys got hold
of James’s cell number. Seems he had it listed under someone else’s name.”

My blood turned cold, but I forced my expression to remain neutral

and hoped to God my skin color did the same.

He raised an eyebrow. “Something tells me I don’t need to spell out

the rest.”

I cleared my throat. “Humor me.”
“We dumped his phone, and after seeing your number appear several

times up to and including the day of the murder, we dumped yours.” He
leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk. “What is your relationship
with James Merrill, Detective?”

I leaned one elbow on the armrest of my chair and traced my lower

lip with my thumb. Just how honest should I be here?

I took a breath. “We’re friends.”
“Friends?” An upward flick of his eyebrow screamed skepticism.

“Define ‘friends’ in this context, son.”

Sighing, I sat back. If this came out later, and I’d lied to Warner, I

was fucked. Better to just be honest about it. “He is, well, was my…
boyfriend.” I almost choked on the last word.

The chief gaped at me. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” I avoided his eyes.
“You’re gay?”
I nodded.
“And you’ve been… dating… James fucking Merrill?”
I shifted in my chair. “We dated for a while, yes.” I swallowed. “For

a few months. I didn’t know he was involved in the drug ring, though”

He eyed me. “And in light of this case, and his status as the prime

goddamned suspect, you never thought to tell anyone?”

I gulped. “If I did, I’d have been removed from the case.”
He gave a cough of sarcastic laughter. “Oh, you’re right about that.”

The humor dried up and his lips thinned into a don’t fuck with me line. “And
just where is he now?”

“I don’t know.”
“You do know, and I suggest you tell me.”
I could almost feel the thin ice cracking beneath my feet as I said,

“And if I don’t?”

He released a sharp breath. “Don’t screw around, Brian. This is

serious. Don’t put your career on the line for this any more than it already
is.”

I swallowed. “Chief, I have reason to believe James is being set up.”
He laughed. “Judgment getting a bit clouded there, son?”
“I’ve got at least one witness claiming there are dirty cops trying to

178

cover their own tracks.” I shifted in my chair. “Possibly by way of murder.”

His laughter turned to fury. “Brian, I hope I know you better than

that, and you’re not really trying to accuse some of my men of murder just
because you want to cover your boyfriend’s tracks.”

“No, sir,” I said. “This is a witness who spoke to me independent of

James.”

“And where is this witness now?”
“Dead, just like every witness who’s pointed the finger at a badge.”
He pursed his lips. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this?”
I exhaled, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Because I didn’t know

who to trust with the information. I don’t have proof yet, but I’m working on
it.” I glanced at the clock again. Time was running out. Come on, come on,
let’s get this over with.

He folded his hands on his desk. “I’m going to ask you again,

Detective,” he said quietly. “Where is James Merrill now?”

“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me, Clifton.”
I showed my palms. “You’ve seen my phone records. I called him

the day of the murder, but I haven’t heard from him since.”

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “I also know you’re not stupid enough

to  continue  using  a  traceable  phone  to  contact  a  murder  suspect  if  you’re
hiding  him.”  He  glared  at  me.  “Then  again,  I  didn’t  think  you  were  stupid
enough  to  protect  and  possibly  harbor  a  murder  suspect,  either,  whether  he
was  your  significant  other  or  not.”  He  paused.  “Nor  did  I  expect  you  to  be
stupid  enough  to  think  we  wouldn’t  trace  your  phone  back  to  the  woman
who’d signed for James’s phone.”

I didn’t think my blood could possibly get any colder.
Warner’s voice was low to the point of menacing as he said, “Now,

unless you have some concrete evidence that he’s being set up, I would
suggest you give me a reason not to hem up your ass for keeping this
particular piece of information to yourself.”

I gritted my teeth. My only evidence was James’s testimony, and

admitting I even know James’s point of view on this whole thing would
incriminate me.

“If I get a warrant and have my detectives search your house,” the

chief said in a low growl, “any idea what they’ll find?”

“They won’t find James Merrill.” At least that much was true.
“What will they find?”
“Search it and find out.” I held his challenging gaze.
“You know where James is, don’t you?”
I said nothing.
The  chief  sat  back.  “That’s  what  I  thought.  You’re  off  the  case,

Clifton.”

“Chief, please, don’t do this now, it’s—”

179

“You should have been off the case from day one,” he said,

slamming his palm onto the desk. “Your judgment was clouded enough with
your  partner’s  death,  and  now  this?  No.  Absolutely  not.  You  are  in  no
position  to  be  objective.  It’s  bad  enough  I  have  to  be  careful  who  gets  this
information.”  He  gestured  with  the  report  in  his  hand.  My  phone  record,  I
assumed. “The last thing I need is IA coming down on me for outing a gay
cop.  Your  personal  business  is  your  personal  business,  but  this  is  a  murder
case. You know better. My hands are tied, and you are off the fucking case.”

“Chief—”
“Don’t argue with me.” He stabbed a finger in my direction. “As it

is,  you  are  asking  for  an  IA  investigation  for  misconduct.  This  entire  case
could  be  tainted  from  your  involvement,  and  that  doesn’t  even  take  into
consideration  all  the  shit  that  will  come  down  on  you  if  I  find  out  you’ve
been harboring a murder suspect.”

I exhaled.
“As of right now, I want you out of my office and out of my

precinct,” he growled. “Take the rest of the day off, and I’ll decide tomorrow
if I’m suspending you pending disciplinary action, or if I’m going to reassign
you to something you can handle without letting your personal shit
interfere.”

“Please, Chief, I’m close to—”
“You’re close to turning in your badge and gun,” he said. “Get out

before I change my mind and take them now. Be back in that chair at nine
o’clock tomorrow, and I’ll let you know if you still work here. Dismissed.”

I swallowed hard and stood. “Yes, sir.”
When I came out of the chief’s office, Avery and Paulson milled

around near our desks.

As I approached, Avery looked up. “Hey, man, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Chief wants me off the case. Says I’m not

objective because of everything with Kessler.”

They exchanged glances. I wondered how much they knew.

Particularly how much Avery knew. He hadn’t shown any disgust or
revulsion toward me, so it was either a damned good bluff or he really didn’t
know I was a killer-fucking gay man.

“Well, um, I should get out of here,” I said. “Chief wants me gone

for the rest of the day.”

“That blows, man,” Avery said. “Listen, we’ll do everything we can.

We’re closing in on this asshole, and we wouldn’t be this far into the case
without your help. At least let me buy you lunch before you go.”

“No, I’m just going to get out of here, I think.” Company was the last

thing I wanted right now unless it was Jim Beam or Jose Cuervo. That, and
though I wouldn’t breath a word about it to the chief, I still had a witness to
meet with in about twenty-five minutes.

“You sure?” Avery asked.

180

I nodded. “I really need to get out of here.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Somewhere else you need to be?”
“Just  need to  get  home.”  I  forced  a  smile.  “There’s  a  drink  waiting

there for me.”

He pursed his lips, and I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed I’d declined

his invitation, or if there was something else beneath the surface. Then he
shook the tension out of his shoulders and picked up my jacket off my desk
chair. “Well, I’ll let you know if we find anything of interest.” He held out
my jacket.

I took it from him. “Thanks.”
Then I left them to their conversation, resisting the urge to glance

over  my  shoulder  at  them  on  my  way  out.  Pulling  my  jacket  on,  I  tried  to
ignore  the  knot  in  the  pit  of  my  stomach.  How  much  did  they  know?  How
much did anyone know?

As the elevator carried me down to the parking garage, another

thought turned my blood to ice all over again. If my phone records had been
dumped, they’d connect me to Fletcher. Though they hadn’t tapped any of
my calls that I was aware of, I was taking no chances.

Before I backed out of my parking space, I called the number

Fletcher had given me.

“Yes, Detective?”
“Change of plans,” I said.
“No, there—”
“I’m not playing games, Fletcher.” I cradled the phone on my

shoulder while I steered out of the parking lot. “This is for Heidi’s safety.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. Then, “All right, I’m listening.”
“Meet me at the place where we spoke the first time.”
“You mean—”
“Where we met the first time,” I said sharply.
He said nothing for a moment. “Understood.”
“Tell her to be someplace else. Wherever she’ll be safe for a short

time. You’ll take me to her when I pick you up.”

“Yes, Detective.”
I hung up. As soon as I was on the freeway, I got in the left lane and

accelerated as much as the moderate morning traffic would allow. This was a
risky move, getting anywhere near Heidi and Fletcher after being thrown off
the case. They had evidence, though. Eyewitness testimony if nothing else.
They were the last shot James had at a fair trial, whether what Heidi gave me
incriminated or exonerated him, and if Heidi was in any danger, this was my
chance to get her someplace safe.

Flashing blue lights appeared in the rearview, so I changed lanes to

let them pass.

When I glanced in the rearview again, I did a double take. The

cruiser was right on my ass, lights still flashing.

181

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I muttered. I held up my badge,

making sure it was visible.

They didn’t back down.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I didn’t have time for this.
On the off chance they couldn’t see my badge and had no idea I was

a cop, I couldn’t run the risk of taking off and having them pursue me. They
wouldn’t  engage  in  a  high  speed  chase  over  a  speeder,  which  was
presumably why they were after me, but if there were other cruisers ahead, I
could be in for more of a headache. That, and I’d lead them right to Fletcher
and  Heidi,  which  would  kill  my  chances  of  getting  any  information  out  of
them. One flash of a blue light and Heidi would be gone like a roach into the
woodwork.

Grinding my teeth, I put on my turn signal, slowed down, and pulled

onto the shoulder.

An officer sauntered up to my door. I practically shoved my badge in

his face.

He chuckled. “Oh, sorry about that, Detective Clifton,” he said

without an ounce of sincerity. “Didn’t realize who you were.”

“Honest mistake, I’m sure,” I said. “And I need to go, if you don’t

mind.”

“Sure, sure, of course,” he said. “Let me just run your license and—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snapped. “I don’t have time for

this.”

“Sorry, Detective. You know how it is.” He smiled. “Company

policy.”

“What exactly is the problem?”
He took a breath. “Well, it seems you were exceeding the posted

speed limit by about—”

“Just write the fucking ticket.” I pulled out my license and

registration and handed them over.

“Proof of insurance?” he asked.
I glared at him. “You think the chief would let me drive without it?”
With a shrug and a smirk, he said, “Like I said, company policy.”
I handed him my insurance card. “Anything else?”
“That’ll be it.” He tapped the roof of my car and gestured toward the

police cruiser. “Now, if you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

“Great,” I growled.
He strolled back to the cruiser. I tapped my thumbs on the bottom of

the steering wheel, doing everything I could to keep any signs of agitation
out of the sight of the officers. In theory, I could have demanded their badge
numbers and given them hell, but that would only give them an opportunity
to fuck with me longer. Memorizing the plate was out of the question; they’d
parked close enough to me to obscure their front plate. When I pulled
forward a few feet, so did they.

182

What the fuck? Something twisted in my gut. This wasn’t a routine

traffic stop. This was anything but. What the hell were they doing, though?

No, definitely not any dirty cops involved in this investigation.
After almost ten minutes, the officer wandered back to my car and

rested a hand on the open window, but didn’t offer my license or registration.

“Where you headed in such a hurry, Detective?”
“Dunkin Donuts,” I muttered. “They’re having a special down at the

Rosegrove store.”

He laughed. “Well, I guess I can’t blame you for that.” He held out

my paperwork. “Just, slow down, will you?”

I didn’t even bother with a snide comment. I snatched my license and

registration from him, threw them on the passenger seat, and pulled away. As
soon as I was clear enough to avoid running over his foot—though the
temptation was almost irresistible—and there was a gap in traffic, I spun my
tires and took off.

I may or may not have been speeding before, but I certainly was

now. Cars blurred past me like they were going backwards. With one hand
on the wheel, I pulled out my phone and dialed Fletcher’s number.

“Yes, Detective?”
“Listen, I got hung up. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I don’t have much time, Mr. Clifton.”
“This was out of my control. I’m on my way.”
I dropped my phone in my cup holder and accelerated. I threw glance

after  glance  at  my  rearview,  inspecting  the  cars  behind  me  for  any  signs  I
was  being  followed.  There  were  no  marked  vehicles,  no  unmarked  ones
behaving suspiciously.

After ten long, long minutes, I pulled up in front of the grocer, but

before I could even put the car in park, Fletcher came out and started toward
the passenger side.

He got in and slammed the door.
“Where’s Heidi?” I asked.
“Two blocks down, make a right,” he said. “Then left. I’ll tell you

when to stop.”

I took both turns on two wheels, occasionally glancing back in

search of anyone who might be pursuing me.

Fletcher took out his own cell phone. As he dialed, he said, “Stop at

that light, whether it’s red or green.” He held the phone to his ear, and when
a muffled voice picked up on the other end, he said, “Ten seconds.”

The instant I stopped, a slim brunette in dark sunglasses and a

baseball cap appeared on the stoop of one of the brownstones. She trotted
down the stairs, keeping her face huddled inside her jacket.

“Soon as she’s in the car,” Fletcher said. “Drive.”
The door opened behind me. She slid onto the seat, slammed the

door, and I accelerated.

183

“Heidi,” Fletcher said. “This is Detective Clifton.”
“I know,” she said, her tone flat.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” I said.
“You and half the city,” she said.
“Why is everyone looking for you?”
“You tell me.”
Before  she  could  reply,  my  phone  rang.  The  caller  ID  showed  the

number  of  Gene  Randall,  the  cryptic  bartender  down  at  the  Dockside.
Whatever  he  needed  could  wait,  so  I  kicked  the  call  over  to  voicemail  and
dropped the phone back in the cup holder.

I glanced at Heidi in the rearview. “Listen, you know something

about this situation.”

“Do I?’
“If you don’t, I’d be happy to pull over and let you get back to your

day.”

She sucked in a breath, and her jacket rustled as she shifted in her

seat. “I want to know where James is.”

My voicemail chimed, but I ignored it. I glanced at Heidi in the

rearview again. “Let’s not play games. Why are they looking for you,
Heidi?”

“Why were you?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Enough with the games. I need

whatever you have, whether it’s information or evidence.”

“And I want to know where James is,” she said coolly.
“You and half the city.”
Our eyes met in the rearview. Hers narrowed. “Don’t fuck with me,

Detective. I know you know where he is.”

I swallowed. “He’s… safe.”
She let out a breath. At first I thought it was one of frustration at my

cryptic answer, but replaying the sound in my head, it was distinctly one of
relief.

“Now, with that out of—” I groaned when my phone rang again. It

was Randall again. I glanced at Fletcher. “Would you mind switching that to
vibrate for me?”

“I’d be delighted.” He sent the call to voicemail and silenced my

phone.

“I want to talk to James,” Heidi said. “So I know he’s okay.”
I hesitated. “I’ll do what I can. For now, I need to know what you

know.”

My phone buzzed in the cup holder. Whatever Randall wanted, he

didn’t want to wait, but this was my one chance to talk to Heidi. I’d call him
back as soon as I had her somewhere safe.

“Maybe you should answer that,” she said.
“I’ll talk to him when we stop.” I let it go to voicemail again.

184

Whatever he needed, it could wait. To Heidi, I said, “I need you to tell me
everything you know about James and Stephen Merrill. Business, personal,
anything.”

“Hope you have all day,” she said.
“I have all the time in the world. So why don’t we start—”
Sunlight flashed across metal and glass, and another vehicle flew out

of an alley from my right. I didn’t even have time to swerve before it collided
with  the  front  end  of  my  car,  sending  us  spinning  across  the  road  and  into
another  vehicle.  Heidi  screamed.  Fletcher  swore.  The  sound  of  gunfire
erupted  in  the  air.  We  skidded  to  a  stop  with  the  passenger  side  facing  the
onslaught of flying bullets.

“Out of the car!” I kept my head down and drew my gun as I jumped

out of the car. Heidi tumbled out of the backseat, trying to keep her head and
neck covered and stay on her feet.

More shots. Liquid hit something solid. Blood on glass, I guessed.

No time to look back and check on Fletcher.

“Come on, run!” I tried to shield Heidi with my body and return fire

as we ran for cover.

More shots rang out. One hit a nearby car. One ricocheted off a

parking meter. Then Heidi grunted and stumbled. Another shot, and she
crumpled beside me.

I tried to hold her up long enough to get her behind some sort of

cover while I returned fire again.

Car doors slammed. Tires squealed. And for a few seconds between

the gunmen leaving and the bystanders falling into panic, everything was
quiet except for the soft, sickly whimpering beside me. I eased her down to
the pavement as chaos erupted all around us. People screamed. Several
people shouted at others to call the cops and medics.

A glance toward my car found Fletcher still in the passenger seat,

slumped over with most of his skull on the inside of the window.

Heidi, however, was still alive and semi-conscious, but I didn’t know

how  long  she’d  stay  that  way.  Not  with  the  two  wounds  in  her  abdomen
spilling blood on the pavement beside her. Both were through-and-throughs,
and  they  bled  just  as  profusely  from  the  back  as  the  front.  God  knew  how
much damage there was inside.

“Come on, Heidi,” I said, fumbling for my cell phone. “Stay with

me. Stay with me, honey.”

She moaned, staring up at the sky. I cursed when I remembered my

phone still sitting in the undoubtedly blood-soaked cup holder.

“Is she all right?” a bystander asked.
“Call the paramedics,” I said as Heidi tugged feebly at my sleeve.

“She needs an ambulance fast.” To Heidi, I said, “Hang in there, baby.”

Another bystander knelt beside us and took off his jacket while I

tried to hold Heidi’s worst wound together with my hands. Blood, far too

185

much  blood,  seeped  between  my  fingers.  More  spread  onto  the  concrete
beside  her.  The  guy  handed  me  his  jacket,  and  we  pressed  it  against  her
wound.  She  whimpered,  trying  to  push  us  away  with  trembling,  bloody
hands.

“Hang in there.” I coughed just to get the air moving again. “Help is

on its way, Heidi, just hang on.”

She tried to speak, but winced, screwing her eyes shut. Clutching my

arm with one bloody hand, she groped around for her own pocket with the
other.

“Don’t move around, Heidi, don’t—” I tried to stop her hand, but she

shoved mine away with more force than I thought she’d be capable of in her
condition. I gently grasped her wrist and touched the pocket she was reaching
for. “May I?”

She managed a weak nod. Gently, I slipped my hand into the pocket

of her jeans. I withdrew a key attached to a blood-smeared flash drive.

“What is this?” I asked.
“James.” She swallowed hard, whimpering softly and writhing on the

pavement. “James knows.”

“I need to know what you know, Heidi,” I pleaded, grabbing her

hand and squeezing it. “Just hang in there a little longer.”

But before the words were off my lips, her hand went slack in mine.

Her chest settled slowly into stillness, and her eyes glazed over.

In the distance, sirens approached from all directions. Much too

little, far too late. I held Heidi’s limp hand for a long moment, simply trying
to get my head around what had happened. The bystander who’d offered his
jacket and the one who’d called the paramedics spoke, but I didn’t hear them.
I didn’t know if they spoke to each other, to me, anyone.

God, Heidi, no.
I laid her hand across her chest and sat back on my heels, taking a

few deep breaths and just trying to make sense of it all. The temptation was
strong to rub my forehead or the bridge of my nose, but my crawling skin
kept me keenly aware of the blood on my fingers, so I resisted.

A hand rested on my shoulder, and I looked up to see Avery.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He nodded down the street. “Paulson and I came down to interview a

few witnesses again, and we heard the call over the radio.” He cocked his
head. “Question is, what are you doing here?”

I blew out a breath and stood. “Losing my job, probably.”
“Let’s hope not.” He flagged down an officer, who brought over a

rag for me to wipe off my hands. As I did, Avery gestured at Heidi. “Did you
get anything from her?”

The key and flash drive may as well have been burning in my

pocket. Did I trust him? Who the fuck could I trust with this or anything
else?

186

James knows.
I exhaled. “No. She’d only been in the car for a few minutes, and

hadn’t said a word.”

Avery scowled. “Nothing at all?”
“Nothing.”
He glanced past me. “Somehow I don’t think saying nothing will be

on your agenda any time soon.”

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see the chief stomping

across the intersection.

“Did I not make it perfectly clear you were off this case, Clifton?”

Chief Warner bellowed in my face. “I could have your fucking badge and
gun right now for this. What the fuck were you thinking? What has gotten
into you, Detective?”

“Chief, she was a witness,” I said. “I’ve been trying to track her

down since the murder, and it took her this long to trust me enough to talk to
her. She contacted me this morning, and said she wouldn’t talk to anyone but
me.”

He gestured sharply at her body. “Well, I do hope you had a nice

conversation with her.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. The bloody key and flash drive in

my pocket could save my career, but now I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t
even know if I could trust the chief.

“I’m sorry, Chief, she said she’d only talk to me, and she was a

material witness,” I said. “The only one besides James Merrill who knows
what happened and what Stephen Merrill was involved in.”

“Who knew.” Warner gestured at her body. “And you are the closest

to James Merrill, which makes me wonder just how involved you are with
this.”

I lowered my voice. “Look, there’s something going on here.

Something with a lot of badges involved.”

He put his hands up and shook his head. “Your badge, from the

sound of it. As of right now, you’re suspended.” He held out his hand. “Give
me your badge and gun.”

“Chief, this—”
“I could have any one of the officers on this scene read you your

rights if you’d prefer,” he growled.

“For what?”
“Don’t test me, Clifton,” he said. “Now I want you to go see one of

the medics and have them take you to the ER.”

Avery cleared his throat. “Chief, I can drive him. Paulson and I are

parked right over there.”

“Fine,” Warner muttered. “Get him to the ER and then back to the

station. I’ll decide when I get back if it’s protective custody or something a
bit more permanent.” He looked at me and held out his hand. “Badge and

187

gun. Now.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Avery touched my arm. In the

gentlest voice I’d ever heard from the man, he said, “Come on, Brian, just
give him your gun. We’ll get this whole thing sorted out.”

I sighed, then reached into my pocket for my badge. I laid it in the

chief’s  hand,  pretending  this  wasn’t  the  most  humiliating  and  demoralizing
moment  of  my  life.  Then  I  took  my  gun  out  of  its  holster,  dropped  the
magazine, cleared the chamber, and held it out to him, butt end first.

“Thank you,” Warner said. “Now go get yourself checked out. Make

sure you didn’t jack up your neck or something. Or hit your damned head.”

“Thanks, Chief,” I whispered.
“Come on, Clifton,” Avery said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Call me when he’s released,” the chief said. “And Clifton, I’ll be in

touch. As will Internal Affairs.”

Great. Just what I needed. Without a word, I followed Avery to the

car.  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  pavement  at  my  feet.  Not  the  bodies
sprawled  beneath  white  sheets.  Not  my  smashed,  bullet-riddled  car  or  the
other  vehicle  I’d  hit.  Not  the  cops  and  bystanders  who’d  watched  the
exchange with the chief.

This was the lowest I’d been since the day Max died. Fletcher and

Heidi were dead on my watch. I was running out of ways to protect or defend
James. I’d lost my badge and gun, and there was a good chance I wouldn’t
see them again.

Avery got Paulson’s attention and we walked away from the crowd

to the car. Paulson slid into the driver’s seat and I got in on the passenger
side while Avery sat in the back. I rested my elbow against the door, rubbing
my forehead with two fingers.

I am so, so sorry, Fletcher.
Heidi, my God, I was trying to get you someplace safe.
I tried, James. I swear, I tried.
Paulson started to pull away, but stopped abruptly. I looked up to see

Randall in front of the car with a cup of coffee in one hand and the other
raised in a “stop” gesture.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what does he want?” Avery muttered.
“Only one way to find out,” I said, rolling down my window.
Randall  came  around  to  my  side  and  rested  his  hands  on  the  door.

“Hey, hey, I tried to call you, man, what the hell happened?” He’d been calm
to the point of apathetic the day I’d met him, but now he was agitated and
animated, which only served to remind me how fucking drained I was now.
“I tried to call you. Why didn’t you answer?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Had my phone turned off.”
His fingers drummed so rapidly on the window, they appeared only

as a blur to my tired eyes. “Fuck, man, you didn’t, damn it, she’s really dead?
Christ, what did...”

188

“Look, Randall, I need to get out of here,” I said. “If you need to talk

to one of us, Avery can call you later today.”

Randall glared at Avery. “Fine, but—” He went to make a sharp

gesture with the hand holding his coffee, and the cup tumbled out of his hand
and onto the floor of the car, narrowly missing my leg.

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Damn it, I’m sorry.” He opened the door and

bent to frantically try to get the spill under control.

“Don’t worry about it,” Avery snapped. “We can get it cleaned up.

We need to get him to the ER.”

“It’s all right, Randall.” I touched his shoulder. “We’ll take care of it.

Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, okay.” He stood and threw me an apologetic look. “Sorry

about your car and everything, man.”

I forced a thin smile. My car was the least of my problems today. At

least that had insurance.

Randall stepped back, and I rolled up the window as Paulson pulled

out into the crowded intersection. A couple of uniformed patrols directed
traffic, and stopped everyone long enough to let us get out and on the road.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead again.
When I looked up after a minute or two, I realized Paulson was

heading south on Borden Drive, not north. Though there was a hospital in
this direction, the one to the north was much, much closer.

“Hey, man, St. Mary’s is fine,” I said. “No sense driving all the way

across town.”

Paulson didn’t say anything.
“Actually,” Avery said. “We’re not going to the ER.” Something

solid pressed against my ribcage behind my arm, and ice prickled down my
spine. I knew without looking that it was a pistol. I had on a vest, of course,
but Avery knew exactly where the edges were, and no Kevlar stood between
the barrel of his gun and me.

“Put this around your right wrist.” He threw a pair of handcuffs in

my lap.

“Are you kid—” The gun dug into my side. Gulping, I slapped the

cuff onto my own wrist.

“Now put the other side through the handle on the door.” He

chuckled. “Don’t want to risk you jumping out or something.”

My mouth went dry. Cuffs had never sounded more menacing than

when I closed it around the door handle.

“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Tell us where James Merrill is,” Avery said.
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Bullshit.” The gun pressed harder into my side. “This is your one

chance. Tell us now, or we go someplace where we’ll get the answer out of
you.”

190

Twenty Two

Aside from Avery’s occasional terse directions, no one spoke.
Turn by turn, he directed Paulson away from the downtown area.

Then onto the freeway. Milepost after milepost, Paulson kept driving while
Avery kept the gun trained on me.

We passed a couple of patrol cars. One was a speed trap. Another

was just cruising along the freeway. When they saw us, Paulson and Avery
waved, and the officers smiled and waved back. There was nothing I could
do to flag them down, signal them, let them know I was being held hostage at
gunpoint. And even if I could get their attention, could I trust them?

With every turn, my heart sank deeper in my chest, and the

temptation  to  do  something—even  if  it  was  reckless,  stupid,  and  quite
possibly  suicidal—grew.  Jumping  out  of  a  moving  vehicle  was  even
tempting  a  few  times,  regardless  of  the  damage  it  would  do  to  my  cuffed
arm, assuming I survived at all.

I still had my personal weapon on me, but there was no chance of

getting it out of my ankle holster. My forehead or ribcage would be all over
the dash and windshield before I’d gotten my pant leg up. There was nothing
I could do. Nowhere to go and no way to get there. Barring divine
intervention, I was fucked.

City became suburbia. Suburbia became farmland. Farmland became

the middle of nowhere. The four-lane highway became a barely-maintained
slab of cracked asphalt between a couple of cornfields.

“Turn here.” Avery said.
Paulson turned left, and the car bumped off the asphalt and onto the

gravel. My heart pounded even harder. That strip of pavement was my
lifeline to the rest of the world, my fraying thread of hope that someone stood
a chance of finding me.

Paulson kept driving.
The gravel road ended, and he slowed to a stop in the grass about

fifty feet from the river’s edge. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and
tried not to think of all the decomposing bodies I’d seen in places like this.
Executed, dumped out here for the buzzards to pick at until some fisherman

191

or  a couple  of  randy  teenagers  stumbled across  what  was  left  of  them.  Past
the  point  of  visual  recognition,  identifiable  only  through  DNA  and  dental
records.  In  some  cases,  the  latter  was  moot  because  the  teeth  had  been
knocked  out,  forcibly  extracted,  shattered,  or  otherwise  destroyed.
Sometimes pre-mortem.

I shuddered.
Paulson killed the engine and got out. He came around to my side

and  opened  the  door  enough  to  take  the  cuff  off  the  handle,  leaving  it
dangling  from  my  wrist.  Then  he  opened  the  door  all  the  way,  and  Avery
pressed the gun harder into my side.

“Out of the car.”
I glanced up at Paulson. He avoided my eyes. With no other choice, I

got out. The other door slammed, and a moment later, Avery joined us on
this side of the car.

“Hands behind your head,” Avery said.
The gun in his hand compelled obedience, and I laced my fingers

behind my head. The loose cuff dangled, chilling my neck and raising goose
bumps all the way down my spine.

Avery looked at Paulson. “Pat him down.”
Paulson frisked me. He removed my weapon from my ankle holster.

He took one hand from the back of my head and brought it down to the small
of my back. Then the other. The cuffs creaked, and I didn’t bother tugging
against them. I wasn’t getting out of this easily.

Avery gestured at the ground with his gun. “Get on your knees.” He

smirked. “Bet you’ve spent plenty of time down there, haven’t you?”

“Fuck you, Avery,” I growled.
“I’ll pass, thanks.” He shifted his weight, but kept the gun trained on

my face. “Now, there’s a few ways we can do this. One’s the easy way. The
rest could all be categorized as the hard way. Your call.”

“You’re a dirty cop?” I spat. “Fucking Christ, Avery, after what

happened to your own partner?”

“Did I say you could ask questions?” He gestured at the ground with

the gun again. “And I seem to recall telling you to get on your knees.”

“Fuck off,” I snapped.
He looked past me and nodded. A second later, Paulson kicked the

back of my knees, and I dropped. Somehow I managed to keep from falling
all the way forward, but I was, as Avery had demanded, on my knees.

Avery stood in front of me and used the barrel of his gun to lift my

chin so I looked him in the eye.

“Where is James Merrill?” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.” His eyes narrowed. “One last chance. Where is

he?”

“I don’t know.”

192

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.” He switched

the gun to his other hand. As soon as he closed his fingers around the barrel,
I knew what was coming, and preemptively flinched. A heartbeat later,
something solid struck my temple, turning my vision white, then red, then
white again. I wavered, fists clenched and eyes closed as I tried to catch my
breath from the sudden, intense pain.

I blinked my vision back into focus. Avery squatted in front of me

and used the butt of the gun to force me to look at him again. “The easy way
is just to answer the question.”

“I don’t know where he is,” I said.
“That’s a load of horseshit, and we both know it,” he said in a low

growl. “You should know I’m a very patient man, Detective. I will get the
right answer out of you yet.”

“The only answer you’re going to get out of me is the truth,” I said.

“I don’t. Know where. He is.”

His lips thinned. Then he drew back and pistol-whipped me again.

This time he hit me in the mouth, and excruciating pain shot up the side of
my face and blurred my vision. One tooth throbbed relentlessly, and when I
gingerly touched it with my tongue, it was, as I expected, cracked.

“You’re lying, Clifton,” Avery growled. “You know where he is.

The sooner you just tell us, the less painful this will be.”

“I’m not lying about a fucking thing,” I said. “And even if I was, I

wouldn’t tell you shit.”

Avery stood. He looked at Paulson and nodded sharply. Paulson

went  to  the  back  of  the  car  and  popped  the  trunk.  My  stomach  turned.  I
wondered  what  the  fuck  they  had  planned,  and  the  sight  of  two  empty
buckets in Paulson’s hands didn’t let me draw an easy breath. He walked past
me,  a  bucket  in  each  hand,  and  disappeared  through  the  tall  grass.  Toward
the river.

That’s not a good sign.
“I was going to save those for James,” Avery said. “But I suppose

you two have shared everything else, so what’s a couple of buckets too?”

I gulped.
Avery walked around me. Then his foot hit between my shoulder

blades and shoved me face first into the grass. He put his knee on my back
and leaned into me, compressing my chest. “You might want to talk now,
fucker, or I’m going to make your life hell.”

“You’re going to kill me when this is over anyway,” I croaked,

struggling to breathe, let alone speak. “Even if I could tell you what you
wanted to know, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference.”

“Oh, you’re right about that.” He dragged the muzzle of his gun

down the side of my face. The caress of cold metal made me shudder, and I
tried to swallow, but my throat wouldn’t cooperate. He shoved the gun
against the underside of my jaw. “We can make this quick, easy, and

193

relatively painless, or we can make it last.”

“Fuck you, Avery.”
“Watch yourself,” he said. “We’ve got nothing but time, and that

river won’t run out of water any time soon.”

As if on cue, Paulson dropped two full buckets of water beside the

car, spilling a few drops onto the ground near my face.

“One more chance, Clifton,” Avery said. “Easy way? Or hard way?”
“I don’t. Know where. He is.”
Avery gave a melodramatic sigh. “Hard way, then.”
The gun left my jaw. The weight on my ribs lifted off.
“Put him over the car.”
Paulson hauled me to my feet. Then he slammed me onto the hood of

the car. The impact stunned me just long enough for him to shove me across
the  hood.  When  my  senses  cleared,  my  head  and  shoulders  hung  over  the
side  of  the  car,  and  Paulson  sat  over  me,  his  hands  around  my  neck.  He
didn’t squeeze,  but  kept  his  thumb  over  my  carotid. He  sat just right to  pin
my  legs.  The  handcuffs  dug  into  my  back  and  my  wrists.  Like  I’d  never
before been in my entire life, I was completely powerless.

“Now,” Avery said. “Like I said, I have a great deal of patience, and

the river isn’t going to run out of water any time soon. So just keep in mind,
you can stop this any time you want.”

With that, he tipped the bucket, and I had a split second to close my

mouth before water hit my face and invaded my nose. White-hot panic seared
my veins, my lungs screaming for air as I choked and gagged. I clenched my
teeth,  igniting  fresh,  throbbing  pain  from  my  cracked  tooth.  Even  though  I
knew  it  was  futile,  instinct  took  over  and  I  struggled  against the  handcuffs,
against the much stronger man holding me down.

The water stopped. The choking and panic didn’t. I spat water out,

but plenty of it had gotten into my sinuses and down my throat.

“Where is James Merrill?” Avery asked with eerie calm.
“I. Don’t. Know.”
“Yes, you do.” He set the bucket on the car beside me. “I’ll give you

sixty seconds to think of a better answer. Then we’ll do this again.”

No one moved. No one spoke.
One thing was abundantly clear: he had the upper hand. He knew as

well as I did that water-boarding would break most people in very short
order. The odds of his patience or water running out before my resolve gave
way were unnervingly slim.

“Thirty seconds, Clifton.”
Who was I protecting now? An innocent man, the man I loved, or

both? Or a guilty man who’d also played me for an idiot? Andrew would
have taken a bullet again for Nick in a heartbeat. How much was I willing to
take for James? And would I be a fool to take it for him?

“Time’s up.” Cold water hit my face and crashed into my already

194

flooded sinuses. I instinctively coughed, and water rushed into my open
mouth.

When the torrent stopped, I kept coughing, turning my head to the

side  to  half-spit,  half-heave  out  a  lungful  of  water.  The  choking,  drowning
sensation  refused  to  subside.  Every  time  I  drew  a  breath,  I  coughed  before
enough air made it to my lungs.

Just when I’d come close to catching my breath, Avery started again,

and he continued until the bucket was empty.

“Go get more water,” Avery ordered Paulson.
Paulson hesitated. “What about him?”
“He’s not going anywhere.”
Nodding, Paulson moved off me and off the car. He picked up the

empty buckets and started toward the river.

Avery grabbed my shirt and jacket and dragged me off the side of the

car. I landed hard on my shoulder, snapping my teeth together, which blurred
my vision. I was still trying to clear my water-logged lungs when he shoved
me onto my back and planted his knee on my chest, and I grunted, struggling
to breathe.

“I’m not in the mood to play games, Clifton.” Cold metal dug into

my forehead. “You know where James Merrill is. If you want to get out of
here alive, I would suggest you tell me.”

I forced the words out: “You’re not going to let me walk out of here

anyway.”

“Not if you keep testing my patience, I won’t.”
“You’ll kill me whether I tell you or not.”
“So  you  do  know  where  he  is?”  The  gun  pressed  harder  into  my

skull.

“What makes you think I know where he is?” I said through my

teeth. “So we were dating before the murder? How do you know I’ve seen
him since then?”

Avery laughed. “You expect me to buy that?”
“He’s a fucking criminal,” I said. “Hasn’t been the greatest boyfriend

in the world, either.”

His humor faded. “So you’re telling me he skipped out on you after

the murder?”

I nodded as much as I could with a gun under my chin. “I haven’t

seen him. Look at the phone records.”

The gun moved away from my chin, and he eased some of the

weight off my chest. “You don’t know where he is, then. You haven’t seen or
heard from him.”

I released my breath. “No. I haven’t seen heads or tails of him.”
Avery looked at me for a moment. Without warning, he pistol-

whipped me again, striking my cheekbone this time with blinding force. “Do
I look like a fucking moron to you, Clifton? I know you were in contact with

195

the woman who signed for his phone, and there’s no way in hell you’ll
convince me you haven’t been in contact with him.”

“If you were so smart, you’d have found him by now,” I said. “And

you’d get a clue that I don’t know where he is.”

“I went by your place last night,” he said. “Had a hunch, and what do

you know? Your car wasn’t there. So your place was empty. James Merrill’s
place has also been vacant. So tell me, Brian, where were you last night?
Because my spidey senses tell me you two have a cozy little fugitive faggot
love nest somewhere.”

“Fuck you.”
He pressed his knee harder into my ribs. “Where were you, Brian?”
“Fucking your dad,” I snarled.
Then  he  drew  back  and  hit  me  with  the  gun  again,  striking  my

temple with the barrel. Before I’d recovered from that blow, his knee pressed
even harder, and I groaned, certain my ribs were about to break. He let up,
but still maintained enough pressure to hurt like hell.

“Look,” he said. “You’ve already helped us crack most of this case.”
“I haven’t helped you with shit.”
“Well, you did lead us to Heidi and Fletcher,” he said. “Much

obliged, by the way.”

“What are you talking about?” I growled.
He reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and pulled out a black

piece of plastic about the size of a credit card. Grinning, he held it up
between two fingers. “Good thing you brought your jacket with you, isn’t
it?” He laughed and tossed it aside.

Guilt churned in my gut. Oh, Jesus. Heidi and Fletcher were dead

because of me. I’d tried to keep them safe, to get them out of harm’s way,
and I’d led harm right to them.

Paulson dropped the two buckets beside the car again. The water

sloshed in the bucket. My heart rate quickened and fresh panic ripped
through me.

“Tell us where he is,” Avery said.
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “Who are you protecting, Brian? This guy

killed your fucking partner.”

I flinched, gritting my teeth and pretending it didn’t hurt like hell.

“He didn’t kill Max.”

Avery laughed. “Oh, so you are protecting him now? That’s what I

thought.” He looked at Paulson. “Get him back on the car.”

Knowing what waited for me once I was over the hood, I put up a

fight this time, but there wasn’t much I could do with my hands bound. They
quickly overpowered me, and in moments, I was on my back and choking on
water again.

Pain. Burning. Drowning. My resolve crumbled a little more, and

196

every time the water stopped, I considered just giving them the information
they wanted. Every time I cleared my throat and sinuses, though, when I
drew that first breath that was air instead of musty river water, I kept James’s
whereabouts to myself.

I couldn’t turn him over to them. If they’d do this to me, God knew

what they’d do to him. They’d kill him, that much was certain. And I
couldn’t lead them to him. I’d already led them to Heidi and Fletcher.
Shana’s death was undoubtedly on my shoulders. I could not and would not
give him up because I couldn’t take any more blood on my hands.

And I fucking loved him too much.
Guilty or not, faithful or not, I loved him, and if I had to, I’d die for

him. Like this, at their hands, here and now on the hood of a car in the
middle of nowhere, I’d die for him.

Through the panic and the sound of rushing water, a gunshot made it

to my awareness. Paulson jumped. The water stopped.

Over my own coughing and choking, a voice boomed from beyond

the edges of my peripheral vision:

“Federal agent, put your hands where I can see them, right fucking

now!”

Avery and Paulson froze. Time slowed down enough for the shout to

echo through my mind. Once, twice, again.

No way. No fucking way.
“Get off him and put your hands behind your head. Both of you.”

James’s voice was low and even. “Step away from the car.”

No one moved.
“Do you want me to get you off him with a couple rounds to your

fucking forehead?” The icy, murderous calm in James’s tone gave me chills.

Wisely, Paulson got up off me.
Footsteps crushed grass as people moved around, and I closed my

eyes, unable to keep track of who was where. A hand touched my arm, and I
knew before I opened my eyes it was James.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.
“I think so, yeah.”
Eyes and weapon still trained on the two of them, James helped me

sit up, then to my feet. My legs shook, so I rested my hip against the car for
balance.

James gestured at Paulson, then nodded toward me. “Uncuff him.”
Without a word or a glance at Avery, Paulson nodded. “The key’s in

my left pocket.”

James aimed his weapon at Paulson. “Reach for it. Slowly.”
Keeping one hand behind his head, Paulson slowly reached for his

left pocket. Just as slowly, he withdrew his hand, holding his keys between
his thumb and forefinger. James shifted his aim back to Avery and kept his
other hand on me for support as I stepped forward to let Paulson uncuff me.

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My elbows and shoulders ached as I brought my arms around in

front of me and rubbed my wrists gingerly.

“Can you move around okay?” James asked.
I flexed my wrists and fingers. My hands would be bruised as hell

tomorrow, but everything moved, so presumably nothing was broken. I
coughed and turned my head to spit out some blood and river water. “Yeah,
I’m okay.”

He handed me the cuffs he’d just taken off my wrists. “Pat them

down and cuff them.”

I couldn’t have cared less that he’d taken charge and was giving me

orders. This was no time for a power trip. I was just glad to be off the hood
of that car and breathing something besides water, and he had a previously
hopeless situation under control, so I gladly did as he said.

I cuffed Paulson and patted him down. I removed his weapons and

took back my own, tucking it into my waistband. Then I put him on his knees
and ordered him to lie on his stomach.

With Paulson subdued, I started for Avery, but he took a step back.

He looked at me, silently daring me to try again. Slowly, carefully, I drew
my weapon.

“Don’t move, Avery,” I said, forcing the tremor out of my voice.

“Keep your hands behind your head.”

“Fuck you, Clifton.”
“Don’t fight him,” James growled. “Or I’ll add ‘resisting arrest’ to

your very long list of charges.”

“What charges?” Avery’s eyes gleamed with something I’d never

seen in him before. Even when he was a complete asshole, he was always
controlled. Collected. Now the look in his eyes reminded me of the frenzied
fury of a cornered animal. “I’m not the one who killed all those cops.”

“We’ll see about that. Kidnapping and torturing a cop?” James gave

a cough of humorless laughter. “Oh, that’s more than enough to haul your ass
in.”

The panic in Avery’s eyes glowed hotter.
“You’re done, Avery,” James said. “You’ve got enough blood on

your hands to put you down for life and then some, especially with two cops
and a federal agent.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You murdered your own damned partner,” James growled. “Not to

mention my brother.”

“You killed them?” I narrowed my eyes at Avery. “You killed your

own partner? And mine?”

“Collateral damage,” Avery said with icy flippancy. He looked at

James. “And there’d have been a hell of a lot less blood spilled if you hadn’t
run off with your tail between your legs to hide.”

“Run off with my tail between my legs?” James laughed. “Please. I

198

was just biding my time until my investigation had enough evidence to nail
your ass to the wall.”

Avery looked like he was seconds away from frothing at the mouth.

He narrowed his eyes at James. “I should’ve taken you down right along with
your brother.”

James eyed him. “Did you just confess to murdering a federal agent,

Avery? Not to mention Max Kessler and John Kelly?”

Avery shrugged. “Confession was under duress. Not admissible in

court.”

“Oh, I’m sure the jury will be most concerned about that,” James

said. “Especially after they try to get their heads around why you were trying
to torture information out of another cop.”

“You son of a—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” James rolled his eyes. “You’d have gotten away

with it if it weren’t for us meddling kids, right? You’re fucked, Avery. Give
it up.”

Avery’s lips curled into a snarl. His eyes darted back and forth

between us and the guns in our hands. He was up against a wall, backed into
a corner. There was no turning back from something like this. No getting out
of it without spending the rest of his life in prison.

People in this position, particularly on the wrong end of a cocked and

loaded weapon, usually only took one route.

“Kent, I know what you’re thinking,” I said, keeping my tone as

calm and even as I could. “Don’t.”

“You don’t know shit,” he snarled.
“I’m serious, Kent.”
“So am I.” With a lightning fast movement, he reached into his

jacket, but before he’d withdrawn his hand, James and I each squeezed off
two shots. Two hit Avery’s vest, but a third shot struck above his left eye.
The fourth went through his throat.

He dropped to his knees, then fell back to the ground with a heavy

thud.

James and I both kept our weapons on Avery’s body for a moment,

making sure he was really down for the count.

With each passing second, it became clear he was very, very dead. I

stared at his body. With a shaking hand, I set my gun on the hood of the car
behind me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I’d killed a cop. Dirty cop or
not, I’d put a bullet through him. It was impossible to say which round was
the lethal one, but that didn’t matter.

A single drop of blood slid down Avery’s face and into his sightless

eye. He didn’t blink, and the truth set in. He was dead.

A cop. A killer. The man who’d killed Max and tried to torture

James’s whereabouts out of me. Gunned down by the man I’d been ready to
die for and hadn’t thought capable of homicide. The federal agent who’d

199

found me, against all odds, all the way out here.

I had just enough time to turn around and grab the car before I got

sick. I held on for balance, and heaved. Bile, water, blood. Anything that
could come up did.

A gentle hand rubbed the back of my neck and another held my

shoulder, steadying me. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to wrench away from
his touch or surrender to it, but my balance was all kinds of fucked up, so I
didn’t have much choice except to just let him touch me.

When nothing else would come up, I spat a few times. I leaned

against the car, but when the shocks creaked like they had when  I’d fought
earlier,  my  stomach  lurched  again.  My  knees  shook  beneath  me.  My  head
spun.  Still  using  the  car for  support,  I  slid  down  to  the  ground.  I  rested  my
elbows on my knees and my forehead in my hands.

James kept rubbing the back of my neck. “You all right?”
I swallowed, my throat and sinuses still burning. Finally, I managed

to look up, and after a moment, said the only words I could get past my
bleeding lips:

“Who are you?”

200

Twenty Two

James dropped his gaze as he tucked his gun into his waistband. “It’s

a long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.” I didn’t know whether to be relieved,

angry, or… hell, I didn’t know. At this point, it was nothing but confusion.
“Where the hell did you get a gun?”

“I’ve had it the whole time,” he said softly. “It was in my laptop

case.”

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back against the side of the car.

Great police work, Brian. Housing a witness slash suspect, didn’t even bother
to search him. Good one.

“Brian?”
I opened my eyes, but before I spoke, I glanced past James at

Paulson, who stared at Avery from his prone position on the ground. “What
are we going to do with him?”

James threw a look at the cuffed detective. “Backup’s on its way.

He’ll be fine for now.” He turned back to me. “My concern right now is that
you’re all right.”

“I’ve had better days.” I absently pressed the tip of my tongue

against my cracked tooth, and immediately regretted it when an icy twinge
knifed up the side of my face. “Definitely had better days.” I looked at him
with narrowed eyes. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Pursing his lips, he avoided my eyes and reached into his back

pocket. He pulled out a badge and held it up.

Drug Enforcement Administration.
Special Agent Eric M. Davis.
“You were with the DEA. All this time…”
“I was part of a deep cover op,” he said softly. “I wanted to tell you,

but…”

Rubbing my forehead, I sighed. “That’s what you were talking about

down by the lake. What you couldn’t tell me.”

“Yes.” He touched my shoulder, and I fought the urge to recoil. The

man had just saved my life. I could forgive him for lying, couldn’t I? “I’m

201

sorry, Brian. I had every intention of telling you once the investigation was
over.”

“So you knew.” I opened my eyes, but stared up at the sky instead of

looking at him. “About Avery, everyone else.”

“We didn’t know it was Avery. That was the missing piece. We

knew we were after someone, but he was damned good at covering his tracks
and staying off the radar. Until we could nail him down, I couldn’t risk
blowing my cover. Not even to you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” I looked at him. “Who else was involved in this?”
“My brother. We were partners. Specially picked for this assignment

because  we  were  identical.”  He  looked  away,  but  not  before  a  wince
flickered across his face. Then he cleared his throat and went on. “The DEA
sent  several of us in because there  was  suspicion  of cops  being involved  in
the  drug  trade.  We  were  just  supposed  to  bust  them  for  being  on  the  take.
Once  we  were  here  and  had  gotten  in  deep,  we  realized  there  were  cops
involved in a series of murders.”

“The Chelmsford case.”
“Among others, yes.” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at

Avery  and  Paulson.  Looking  back  at  me,  he  continued.  “Normally  they’d
have  sent  the  FBI  in  at  that  point,  but  we  couldn’t  risk  bringing  in  more
agents. Not without arousing suspicion and putting agents in more danger.”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples.
He squeezed my arm. “Today wasn’t supposed to happen. I did what

I could to steer attention from Heidi to me, but—”

“Wait, what?” My head snapped up. Then enlightenment hit my

pain-addled brain. “The casino. You did that one purpose.”

He nodded. “The whole point was to be seen. To give Heidi a chance

to  come  to  you  while  their  backs  were  turned.  I  knew  they’d  double  their
efforts coming after me, but…” He exhaled. “I underestimated their ability to
find  my  phone,  and  once  they  did,  they  tracked  me  to  you.  God,  I  am  so
sorry,  Brian.  The  way  things  happened  today,  this  was  absolutely  not  what
we’d set out to do.”

“Not much that can be done,” I murmured.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.” He touched my shoulder.

“I had no idea exactly what he was doing to you.”

I shuddered.
“I’m amazed you held up,” he said. “Most people break after a few

minutes of that.”

I shuddered and ran a shaking hand through my hair. Oh, God, my

hair was still wet. I could still taste and smell the river.

James—Eric—put a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, Brian. I

just…God, I can’t say that enough. I am so, so sorry.”

“But, how did you find me?” I gestured at our surroundings. “Out

here?”

202

“Randall put a GPS tracker under the seat of Paulson’s car,” he said.

“He didn’t tell me how, just said he’d gotten it into the car.”

An image of Randall dumping his coffee in the car and scrambling to

clean it up flashed through my mind.

“Randall,” I said. “He was…”
“Another agent,” Eric said with a nod.
“So he knew about Avery?” I asked. “From the get-go? That’s why

he wouldn’t talk to him when we went to interview him?”

“No, he didn’t know for sure,” Eric said. “I’d been in contact with

Randall and told him he could trust you. Only you. We had no idea Avery
was the one until it was too late.”

“That doesn’t explain how you found me,” I said. “And for that

matter, how did you get here?”

Eric’s cheeks colored a little and a sheepish grin tugged at his lips.

“Well, I hope Andrew will understand…” His eyes flicked toward the road.

“You drove the Vette?”
He nodded. “It was the only vehicle I could get to. Under the

circumstances, I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“Okay, so how did you find me, though?”
“Randall had the receiver,” he said. “He guided me here via cell

phone.”

I started to speak, but approaching sirens turned both of our heads.
“About fucking time.” He touched my shoulder. “You okay here for

a minute? I might need to flag them down.”

”I’m good, yeah.”
He squeezed my arm, then got up and headed back toward the road,

grass hissing past his shoes as he walked.

I stared at Avery. This whole situation was going to take months to

fit into my head. I could barely believe he was dead, and lying there in the
grass a few feet away from me, he was definitely dead. The more I played all
this out in my mind, the more questions arose. The more I wanted to ask
James. Eric. Whoever the fuck he was.

Movement caught my eye and I glanced at Paulson. He was still on

his  stomach,  and  had  shifted,  probably  to  get  comfortable.  Normally  we
wouldn’t  leave  a  suspect  bound  like  that  for  long  because  of  the  risk  of
respiratory  distress,  but  he  could  deal  with  it  for  a  few  more  minutes.  The
sirens were closing in, so there would be other officers to take care of him.

Using the car for balance, I pushed myself to my feet. The shocks

creaked, sending shivers down my spine and drawing fresh nausea up my
throat, but after a few deep breaths, it passed.

About the time I’d regained some semblance of balance, a pair of

police  cruisers  appeared.  They  pulled  up  and  parked.  Behind  them,  an
ambulance  and  a  couple  of  unmarked  cars.  The  burgundy  unmarked  made
my heart quicken. The chief.

203

All the vehicles stopped, and as brakes were set and doors opened,

Eric walked between them and came back up to me.

“Still doing all right?” he asked.
I nodded. “I think so. Looks like the cavalry finally got here.”
He laughed quietly. “Took ‘em long enough.”
“Detective Clifton.” Chief Warner’s voice made me cringe. He

approached, but for the first time today, didn’t look ready to kill me. “Jesus
Christ, son, are you all right?”

“Think I’ll make it, Chief.”
“Good, good.” He clapped my shoulder, but carefully, probably

unsure if, how, or where I was injured. “Listen, I’m gonna have a whole
world of questions for you, but I think we need to get you to a hospital to
make sure you’re all right.” He gestured toward the ambulance. “Why don’t
you have one of the boys have a look at you?”

I nodded.
“I can drive him to the hospital,” Eric said.
“Maybe it would be best if he rode in the ambulance,” the chief said.
“Actually,” I said, gesturing at Eric, “I’d rather ride with him.” Part

of me didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Part of me wanted to use the car
ride to get some answers. All of me just wanted to get the fuck out of here
now.

“Let’s have the EMTs look you over first,” the chief said. “And if

they think you’re all right for the moment, he can take you to the ER to be
double sure.”

“Will do.”
“We’ll be in touch,” he said. “Now go take care of yourself.”
The medics determined I wasn’t in any immediate danger, but they

echoed Warner’s recommendation to go to the ER and make sure.

Eric and I walked in silence back to the gravel that would lead us

back to the asphalt and, ultimately, civilization. I shuddered at the memory of
coming down this road the first time. Never in my life had I been so certain I
was going to die, and I still couldn’t quite believe I’d been wrong.

Andrew’s Vette was parked about fifty yards from where Avery and

Paulson  had  water-boarded  me.  A  short  distance,  but more  than  enough  for
me  to  figure  out  all  the  places  that  were  sore  as  hell  and  would  likely  hurt
tomorrow.  The  car  accident  was  probably  responsible  for  the  ache  in  my
neck and the uncomfortable tightness in my back and shoulders. My captors
had done their fair share too. Yeah, tomorrow was going to suck.

My clothes were muddy, but the medics gave us a blanket to throw

over the seats. Andrew would be horrified enough to learn his car had been
out of the garage without the interior getting fucked up.

I eased myself into the passenger side of the car and closed my eyes.

If there was one perk to James’s—Eric’s—decision to pull off some grand
theft auto, it was the comfortable seats. Nothing in the world could cradle an

204

aching back like a plush bucket seat. If my mind hadn’t been going a million
miles an hour, the seat and the smooth ride might have had a chance of
putting me to sleep.

Eric got in on the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and as we

left the riverside behind, I caught myself chuckling at the thought of Andrew
cringing once he found out his baby had been out.

My humor didn’t last long. Opening my eyes and staring out at the

passing scenery, I was still acutely aware of the stranger in the driver’s seat.

About the time the middle of nowhere started to become fences and

farmland, Eric broke the silence.

“I really am sorry about all of this,” he said quietly. “If I’d known

things would turn out this way…”

“You still couldn’t have told me,” I said. “I understand that part. You

were undercover, you did what you had to do.”

“But I didn’t think this would happen. Or I’d have…” He paused,

then shook his head. “I don’t know, I’d have done something different. It was
never my intention to put you on the line like this.”

“I know.” Deep down, I wanted to be angry with him for letting me

walk into this, but I couldn’t. I knew how undercover operations worked. The
secrecy of the investigation was top priority. Even if he trusted me, he
couldn’t have risked blowing his cover.

Not until today, at least. He’d unmasked himself and blown a major

deep cover operation. God only knew how many months of work was in
jeopardy because of that move.

That move he made to save me.
Any agent would have done it. The only thing that trumped

operational security was officer safety. No sense flattering myself and
turning it into something it wasn’t. Cops, feds or otherwise, watched out for
each other. Assuming they weren’t trying to kill each other, anyway.

At least one of us had been able to make a move in time to save

someone. I shuddered as my mind replayed Heidi’s death a few times.

Then I remembered the flash drive and key she’d pressed into my

hand just before she’d slipped away. I reached into my pocket.

“Heidi gave this to me.” I pulled the key and flash drive out and held

them out for him.

Eric closed his fingers around them, releasing a long breath. “Thank

God.”

“What is it?”
Running his thumb back and forth across the flash drive, stealing a

couple of glances at it in between watching the road, he said, “The key to a
safe deposit containing the evidence we’ve obtained during our investigation.
Enough surveillance, witness testimonies, you name it, to put every cop
involved in prison right alongside the dealers. And a good cache of evidence
that cops were involved in several murders. All we had to do was tie a name

205

to the top player, and that name was Avery.”

“Glad to be of help,” I muttered.
“You helped more than you can imagine,” he said.
We were both quiet for a while.
Finally, I took a breath. “So, the last few months, how much of what

you’ve told me was true?”

He exhaled. “Most of it was a cover story.”
“What about the gambling addiction?”
“I’d never set foot in a casino or on a racetrack in my life prior to

this investigation.” He paused. “To tell you the truth, the only bet I’ve ever
made was when I came to you after the shooting.”

“What bet was that?”
“You’d either believe me and help me,” he whispered. “Or you’d

think I was lying and turn me in. Only time I’ve ever gambled, and I’m just
glad I won this one.”

“Why a gambling addiction?”
He absently trailed his fingertips along his jaw. “It was all part of my

cover to explain why I spent time in some of the seedier parts of town.” He
sighed.  “Some  of  the  deals  we  made,  people  we  met  with,  they  were  in
casinos,  at  the  tracks,  in  illicit  card  houses.  So,  if  someone  questioned  me
about why I was there, I just played the gambling addiction card.” He rested
his  hand  on  top  of the  wheel  and  shifted  with  his  other.  “That,  and casinos
have wall-to-wall security cameras. There’s surveillance everywhere, twenty-
four hours a day.”

“So?”
“So, it gave me a bulletproof alibi. If shit went down, a deal was

made, something, they couldn’t place me at the scene because there was
video footage of me elsewhere.”

“And what about your brother? David, I mean. Why pose as a third?”
“Here’s the thing. Will and I—” He bit his lip. “Stephen’s real name

was Will, by the way. Anyhow, we made a point of keeping our appearances
different. He wore an earring, I didn’t. We both smoked, but we had different
habits. He was mostly left-handed, I’m mostly right-handed. Things like that.
But whenever we made deals, we capitalized on being identical twins. We’re
both ambidextrous, so we’d make a point of switching hands, never using
one dominant hand for anything. No smoking, no earrings, hair styled a
certain way. They could never say definitively which of us it was, even when
they caught one of us on camera.”

“They could have brought both of you in for questioning. Any one of

you, I should say.”

Eric shook his head. “That would have meant blowing their cover.

None of them were willing to do that until they had a rock-solid case against
all three of us. Once cover was blown, the investigation would be fucked, so
they had to be absolutely sure they had all three of us. Since David was a

206

phantom, he just kept slipping through their fingers, and so did we.”

“You could’ve been caught in the casino, though,” I said. “Then

where would your investigation be?”

“It was worth the risk. I knew going in that there was a chance I’d

get caught. What I didn’t count on was Avery finding my other phone so
soon and dumping that record.” He released a heavy sigh. “Then everything
just went to shit. Randall tried to stop you with Heidi and Fletcher, but it was
already too late.”

I cringed, remembering the missed calls while I’d driven Heidi and

Fletcher to their deaths.

“Anyway,” he said. “By the time he got to you, you were being taken

from the scene, and he couldn’t be sure you were in good hands. So he threw
the GPS tracker in the car, contacted me, and I came after you. By the time I
got there, there was no time to wait for backup, so I…” He paused.

I cocked my head.
“I went in. I wasn’t going to let them keep torturing you like that.”
“Thanks,” I whispered, staring out the window again. “So, what

about the last few months? Was I just part of your cover?”

“No, not even close.” He reached across the console and squeezed

my hand. “My entire life has been a charade for the last several months
except for us.”

I clenched my teeth, wincing when my cracked tooth sent another icy

twinge up the side of my face.

I’d been in love with James, but Eric? I didn’t know who the hell he

was. I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t know what to think.

Eric moved his hand to my knee. “I meant everything I said. I never

set out to hurt you, and I never expected you to be in the kind of danger you
were in. I don’t blame you for being angry and feeling deceived. God, I
wanted to tell you everything, Brian. I did. That night by the lake, I damn
near did.”

“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid of compromising the investigation.” With a

sharp sniff of laughter, he added, “We needed to find out who we were after,
and I couldn’t risk the investigation. You were probably the only one I could
trust, but I had to keep it to myself. I had to. Tipping my hand would have
tipped yours. Forced you to lie more than I’d already asked you to, which
would put your job at even greater risk than it already was. You understand,
don’t you?”

I did. The boyfriend side of me wanted to be pissed, but the cop side

knew he hadn’t had a choice. The question was, where did that leave me? I
still didn’t know who the hell he was.

“Brian?”
“This is,” I paused. “This is a lot to take in.”
“I know it is.”

207

We both fell quiet and stayed that way until Eric pulled up in front of

the emergency room. While the engine idled, I unbuckled my seatbelt and
reached for the door handle.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asked.
I hesitated, then shook my head. “I need some…time.”
Dropping his gaze, he nodded. “Well, you know where to find me.”
That gave me pause. “Actually, no, I don’t.”
“Good point,” he said quietly. “I’ll send you a text later with a

number.

“Thanks.”
Silence hung between us for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.

“I, um, I’d better get the car back to Andrew’s.”

“Right. Sure.” I swallowed. “Thanks, by the way.”
“Don’t mention it.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Whenever you’re ready,

call me.”

“I will,” I whispered.
We locked eyes, and I wondered if he had as hard a time believing

those two words as I did.

208

Twenty Four

None of my injuries were severe, so the ER didn’t keep me. Andrew

met  me there and drove me back to the precinct so I  could retrieve my cell
phone and answer about seventy million questions about things I didn’t want
to  think  about  any  time  soon.  Once  everyone  there  had  finished  with  me,
Andrew  drove  me  home.  He  stayed  with  me  for  a  while,  which  may  have
been an effort to keep me from diving headlong into the nearest bottle.

He had to leave eventually, though.
This was precisely the kind of day alcohol had been invented to cure,

and  the  idea  of  being  completely  shitfaced  had  never  been  more  appealing.
Alone  in  my  house,  with  more  traumatic  memories  than  I’d  ever  imagined
possible  from  a  single  day,  I  didn’t  sink  into  vodka-fueled  oblivion.  I
careened into it with no brakes and no regard for how I’d feel in the morning.
My throat was raw, I was still sick to my stomach, and my tooth hurt so bad
it  blurred  my  vision,  but  somewhere  in  that  bottle  was  the  numbness  that
would soothe all of those things and shut off the film reel flickering through
my aching head.

It was no surprise I felt like shit in the morning. At some point, I was

close enough to human to drag myself into the kitchen and drink some
coffee.

When I went to take a much-needed hot shower, I got my first taste

of how deeply yesterday had affected me. Without thinking about it, I let the
water rush over my face, and in an instant, I was back on the hood of the car.
Choking and coughing, I stepped back out of the path of the water and leaned
against the cool tile. My skin crawled. I couldn’t get enough air.

Finally, I calmed down. Remembered where I was. Remembered

where I wasn’t. I turned off the water, and for a long moment, just stood
there, trying to stop shaking enough to go into the kitchen for another drink.

Over the next couple of weeks, the water-boarding permeated my

life, sending me into near panic attacks over the most mundane stimuli. I
couldn’t lie flat on my back in bed. Even when I was completely fucked up—
which is how I spent a significant part of my time for a while—finding
myself flat and horizontal could sober me up and freak me out in a heartbeat.

209

I spent two solid weeks sleeping on the couch with my pillow on the armrest.
It left me with a crick in my neck every time, but between the modified
position and the booze, at least I could sort of sleep.

The dentist’s chair was, for the first time in my life, terrifying. Not

because  of  the  work  that  needed  to  be  done  to  fix  the  tooth  Avery  had  so
kindly  cracked,  but  because  the  chair  reclined just  enough  to  remind  me  of
the way they’d held me over the side of the car. Couple that with putting a
nitrous mask over my face, and I very nearly had a full-blown panic attack.
Thankfully,  my  dentist  was  willing  to  reschedule  and  try  it  again,  this  time
with a hefty dose of Valium in my system.

With my head being messed up, and my penchant for messing it up

even further with alcohol, it was just as well the department therapist
strongly recommended I take some time off to deal with everything. I’d tried
to play the “I’m fine” card and insist I’d rather work, but the chief ordered
me to obey the therapist’s recommendation.

So, I stopped at the liquor store again and went home.
That wasn’t to say I didn’t go back to the precinct over the course of

the  month  following  the  incident.  Several  times,  I  was  asked  to  come  in  to
talk  to  Internal  Affairs,  DEA  agents  who’d  been  involved  in  the
investigation, and the district attorney. IA tried to hem me up, but they had so
much  on  their  plate  with  the  dirty  cops  on  the  force,  they  didn’t  pursue  it.
That,  and  a  detailed  report  from  a  certain  DEA  agent  indicated  that  both
Andrew  and  I  had  been  aware  of  the  deep  cover  investigation,  and  were
acting with Eric’s safety and the investigation in mind when we kept both his
identity and whereabouts quiet. A little white lie, perhaps, but it kept Andrew
and me from losing our badges.

And through it all, as I dealt with the official shit at work and tried to

numb everything else at home, there was one unanswered text message on
my phone that kept nagging at me.

Finally, almost two months after everything had gone down, I

opened the text message and, with my heart in my throat, called the number.

Maybe it was curiosity, the need to know something more about him.

Maybe it was because in spite of it all, I really did miss him. Or maybe, just
maybe, it was because I finally didn’t feel like he was jerking me around and
lying to me, and I wanted to know what it was like to have a conversation
without all the lies and smokescreens.

Whatever the case, I waited until I was reasonably sober and made

the call.

“Hi, this is Eric, sorry I’m away from my phone, but leave a message

and I’ll call you back.” Beep.

“Hey, Ja—Eric, it’s Brian. Um, give me a call back. You know the

number.”

An hour or so later, my phone rang.
“Hello?”

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“Hey,” he said. “It’s Eric.”
Pause.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, sorry it took so long. To call you, I mean.”
“It’s okay. I figured you had a lot going on.” He paused. “How are

you doing, anyway? Dealing with everything?”

I glanced at the row of empty Smirnoff bottles waiting to go out to

the recycling. My cheeks burned, and I was thankful he couldn’t see me.
“Oh, I’m managing.”

“Good,” he said quietly. “Listen, um, I’d like to talk in person. If

you’re okay with that.”

I wasn’t sure if I could face him or not. Only one way to find out, I

supposed. “Sure, we can talk. When?”

“Whenever’s good for you. Maybe the better question is, where?”
“Do you want to come over to my place?” I’d have preferred to meet

somewhere public, somewhere less intimate and inviting, less like our
previous life, but some of the questions I wanted to ask were better answered
in private.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he said. “When?”
“Whenever. I’ll be here all evening.”
“Give me thirty or so. I’ll be there.”
Almost exactly thirty minutes later, a knock at my door sent my

pulse into the stratosphere. When I opened the door to let him in, I had to just
stop and look at him for a moment. He was every bit the man I’d been dating
and ready to dump the night Max and Stephen died, and yet he was somehow
different. He was the stranger he’d been all along, and I couldn’t decide if he
invited a passionate kiss or an emotionally distant handshake.

Finally, I just stood aside and gestured for him to come in.
For a long moment, we stood in the hallway, as if neither could

decide what to say.

I cleared my throat. “Do you, um, want a drink? Coffee?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
After another moment of awkward, uncertain silence, we moved into

the living room. He sat on the couch. I took one of the recliners. For as much
as  I’d  been  irritated  that  he’d  kept  me  at  arm’s  length  throughout  our
relationship,  I  needed  that  distance  from  him  now.  Just  sharing  the  same
piece of furniture would have been unnervingly intimate.

Muffling a cough, I shifted a little and looked at him. “So, what’s

going on with the investigation?”

“It’s over,” he said. “We got the guys we came for.”
“Get more info out of the cops you brought in?”
He nodded. “Paulson, especially. He knew he was fucked, and

cooperating with us meant he might have a chance at seeing some leniency.
Minute he was read his rights, he started dropping dimes on everyone from
Avery all the way down to any cop who’d ever taken a five-dollar bribe.”

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“And the whole shooting?” I whispered. “Why? What… what really

happened?”

“My brother and I set up the meeting,” he said. “Wasn’t an unusual

thing, meeting them like that. Gray and Kelly both knew we knew they were
cops, and we’d been cooperating with them. They didn’t know about our
investigation, but we’d gained their trust, and they were aware of the dirty
cops. I suspect, from Paulson’s statement, that Kelly told Avery more than he
should have.”

I sat back, releasing a breath. Even the undercovers couldn’t trust

each other. Jesus.

“So,” Eric went on, “Avery and Paulson knew when and where we

were meeting, and they ambushed us. The purpose was to essentially put the
murder weapon from the Chelmsford case in one of our hands. Mine, as luck
would  have  it.  Kelly  and  Gray  would  be  out  of  the  picture.  One  Merrill
brother  would  be  dead,  the  second  would  have  a  mountain  of  evidence
painting  him  as  a  cop-killer,  and  the  third  would  either  skip  town  or  be
caught.”

“And Whaley?”
“He was in with Avery,” Eric said. “We’re a little unclear about

when and where exactly he was killed, but Avery took him down and planted
him in my car before they dumped it in the river.”

“So, he just killed his own guy?” I blinked. “In cold blood? To set

you up?”

Eric nodded.
“Fuck, man.” I exhaled and rubbed my forehead. “One thing I still

don’t understand.”

Eric raised his eyebrows.
“Why did Avery kill Max?”
Chewing his lip, Eric avoided my eyes.
I cocked my head. “What is it?”
For  a  long  moment,  he  didn’t  speak.  Finally,  he  sat  back  and  drew

another breath. “He wanted to make sure his story was bulletproof. No one
would suspect a detective of randomly shooting another cop and then taking
off after a phantom shooter. So Avery…” He trailed off, making a you do the
math gesture.

“What?” The word came out as little more than a cough. “He killed

Max as… a cover story?”

Eric nodded slowly. “Yes. He killed Max and ran after an alleged

shooter to fool everyone into thinking there was another shooter. He must
have known no one would think to check the weapon in his hand for missing
rounds. Or a ballistics match to the gun that killed Will and Detective Kelly.”

I put a hand over my mouth, certain I was about to puke.
Eric went on. “Then he ditched the weapon at my apartment and

conveniently found it when you guys searched the place.” He paused. “Now

212

you see why I was afraid of protective custody?”

Nodding, I pressed my fingers into the bridge of my nose. “You

know, I doubt this will come as a shock, but I need a drink.” I didn’t wait to
see his expression before I started toward the kitchen. “You sure you don’t
want anything? Coffee? A beer?”

“Actually, coffee would be fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll get it. I know

where everything is.”

I paused with my hand on the refrigerator door. “Yeah, I guess you

do, don’t you?”

While we each got our respective drinks, every glance I threw his

way made this surreal. Weird. I wondered if this was what it was like for an
amnesiac when they tried to return to their semi-forgotten life. Eric was
familiar, but not, going through motions I’d seen him go through a million
times before, and it was simultaneously an alien sight and déjà vu.

Yeah, I needed a drink.
After I’d poured my drink, I faced him again. He looked at the glass

in my hand with a taut expression. As I raised it to my lips, I silently dared
him to comment on it, but he didn’t. The longer I looked at him as I took a
long swallow of vodka, the more I realized he wasn’t irritated. He looked…
hurt.

He didn’t give voice to that hurt, though, and I didn’t ask him to.
We both sat at my kitchen table, putting some comfortable distance

and laminate between us.

“You’ll be leaving soon, then?” I swallowed. “For your next

assignment?”

Eric thumbed the handle on his coffee cup. Then he shook his head

slowly. “I resigned.”

“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” He sat back, finally looking at me. “I lost my brother in this

investigation. I almost got killed. I lost you. I can’t…” He dropped his gaze
and shook his head again. “I can’t do this anymore.” He took a deep breath.
“Will would’ve wanted me to keep at it, but I can’t. Hell, even before he
died, I was thinking of giving it up. You know how I told you I’ve been
smoking since I was thirteen, so I don’t see myself quitting any time soon?”

I nodded.
He laughed dryly. “I started smoking a week after we started this

investigation. The stress was getting to me, and the nicotine always helped
Will relax, so I gave in.” He sighed. “Still trying to quit. I’m almost there,
though.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes.” Not that I’d tried to quit drinking in

recent memory, but I’d made an effort a few times before. I set my glass
aside. “I’m still confused about how you found me that day.”

“The friend you called to verify my story about my cell phone,” he

said. “That was Randall’s partner. That whole thing was set up so if the cops

213

tracked down that number, they’d come looking for her, which would tip us
off that they knew. What we didn’t expect was Avery being one step ahead
of  us.  When  Randall  contacted  me,  and  I  told  him  you  were  going  to  meet
Heidi,  we  knew  Avery—though  we  didn’t  realize  it  was  him  specifically
yet—would be tracking you because of me. Your phone records would have
linked you to Fletcher as well, so he put the GPS tracker on you. The cops
who pulled you over were to stall you until he could get his guys in place.”

“And the shooters?”
“Members of Avery’s payroll,” he said. “Dealers, that sort of thing.”
“Caught?”
He nodded. “Paulson ratted every last one of them out by name.” He

chewed his thumbnail for a moment. “When Randall got to the scene after
Heidi was killed, he had to do something quickly, but he still didn’t know
who we were looking for, and he couldn’t risk getting you killed, so he did
the next best thing and dropped a tracker on you.”

“Good thing he had one on him, isn’t it?” I said.
“He always had those things with him,” Eric said. “He dealt with so

many dealers and shit, he kept them handy in case he wanted to follow one
who didn’t want to be followed.”

“You carried them too, I take it?”
He furrowed his brow.
“Your car,” I said. “We found a couple of them.”
Eric swallowed. “Those…weren’t mine. Might’ve been Avery,

might’ve been Randall for all I know. Probably never know.”

I rubbed my temples, trying to manually fit all this into my head.

“So, if you’ve resigned from the DEA, what are you going to do now?”

“Just take some time off for right now,” he said. “Money’s not an

issue. I was my brother’s sole beneficiary for his life insurance, and even
without that, I have enough to live off for a while.”

“Where will you go?”
“Don’t know yet.” Our eyes met. “Some of that will depend on how

the rest of this conversation goes.”

I swallowed. “That’s why you’re here.”
He chewed his lip and nodded. “Of course I wanted to make sure you

were all right, and let you know how things went with the investigation,
but…” He trailed off and dropped his gaze. Then he took a breath. “I don’t
want to lose you, Brian.”

I exhaled. “So what am I supposed to say?” I asked. “It’s okay, we

can start over, pretend you never lied to me? Or that I even know you?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t.” He reached across the table and laid

his hand across the back of my arm. “But I meant it when I said I’m in love
with you.”

A lump rose in my throat. I didn’t want to still love him. I couldn’t

be angry with him now that I knew what I knew, but some stubborn part of

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me, some part that still felt like an idiot who’d been played, didn’t want to let
my guard down. That, and what if he was always a reminder of what had
happened?

Eric broke the silence. “Let me ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
Before he spoke, he rose and moved to the chair kitty-corner to mine.

“Why didn’t you break?”

I shivered. Not an hour had gone by in the last few weeks that I

hadn’t thought about what Avery and Paulson had done to me down by the
river. I cleared my throat.

Eric put his hand on my knee. “You don’t have to answer, I’m just

curious.”

I dropped my gaze. “I almost did. A few times. But I…”
“What?”
I shook my head. “Fuck, I don’t know.”
“Brian, what kind of man endures something like that for just

anyone?” He touched my face and sent a shiver down my spine. “After
everything I did and said, and didn’t do and didn’t say, and all the reasons I
gave you to believe I wasn’t as innocent as I said I was…”

“I’d say that kind of man is a slow learner,” I said with more venom

than I intended. He flinched and I exhaled. “Eric, I’m sorry—”

“It means you’re the kind of man I’d be stupid to walk away from,”

he whispered. “I wouldn’t have walked away from you anyway, but my God,
knowing what they put you through, fuck, it killed me.”

“Almost had the same effect on me,” I muttered.
“I know.” He ran his fingertips down the side of my face. “I meant it

when I said I loved you, and you can convince me of a lot of things, but not
that you went through all of that shit, or risked your job like you did, for
some guy you kinda liked having sex with.”

“Except it turned out that guy wasn’t someone I knew.”
“And all the things you thought you knew, all the reasons you called

it quits with me, weren’t real.”

“Which leaves me wondering what was real.” Moistening my lips, I

met his eyes. “I  mean, okay,  you’re right. I didn’t break because, God only
knows  why  after  everything  we  went through,  I  still loved  you.  Or…  I  still
loved  James.  Or…”  Who  the  fuck  was  I  kidding?  I  knew  exactly  why  I
hadn’t broken. Eric was absolutely right. But I still didn’t know him.

“Listen,” he said. “All the cryptic shit, all the bullshit cover stories,

everything like that, it was all James.” He clasped my hand between both of
his. “That night by the lake? The way we were in bed that night? That was
Eric. That was the real me, and I can’t tell you how much I loved being able
to drop everything for a while and at least pretend the rest of this wasn’t
happening.”

I exhaled hard. “That still doesn’t change the fact that we’re

215

strangers now. I don’t know who you are, Eric.”

He touched my face, then slid his hand around the back of my neck. I

stiffened at first when he started to draw me to him, but in spite of myself,
relaxed and allowed myself to be drawn in.

“You don’t think you know who I am,” he whispered. “But maybe

this will clear things up.”

His lips met mine, and the entire world shifted. As the kiss deepened,

so too did the embrace, and I didn’t care if he was James or Eric or anyone
else, I put my arms around him. Like the night he showed up at my door after
his brother and my partner died, I surrendered. Sank into him. Lost myself in
him. The faint taste of cigarette smoke, the coolness of his hair between my
fingers, the way he dragged his lower lip across mine, God damn it, I wanted
this to be real.

When he broke the kiss, he still cradled my head in both hands, and

his breath warmed my lips as he spoke.

“Do you know who I am now?”
I touched my forehead to his. “I want to say I do, but you and I both

know there’s more to a relationship than this.”

“There is, of course,” he said. “But this is where we started before.

We can start here again.” He paused. “Will you give me a chance? Let me be
the real me and show you what I wanted to be all along?”

“That means starting from scratch,” I said. “All the way back at the

beginning.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He ran his fingers through my hair.

“I’m willing if you are.”

“We can give it a try.”
He pulled back enough to look me in the eye. “Well, if we’re going

to start at the beginning…” He grinned.

So did I. “I guess we should start all the way back at the beginning.”

216

Twenty Five

We barely made it into the bedroom. In a flurry of half-removed

clothes and deep, breathless kisses, we tripped and stumbled and finally fell
into bed together.

This was the man I knew. We were as passionate and violent as we’d

been  all  those  desperate,  sweaty  nights,  and  yet  as  intimate  as  that  quiet,
tender  night  at  Andrew’s.  It  wasn’t  that  he’d  reverted  back  to  James.  I
realized now that all those nights in bed had been glimpses of Eric. The veil
had lifted, the persona had slipped, and the man in my arms had been the real
thing.

Now the veil was gone.
So were the doubts, the hesitation, and the clothes.
Nothing else existed or mattered except getting as close to each other

as possible with nothing between us that didn’t need to be there.

At one point, I rolled onto my back, and a chill of panic prickled

down my spine, bringing back to life all the things I didn’t want to think
about right now.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I nudged him onto his back and, just before our lips met again,

whispered, “Nothing now.”

In the space of a kiss, we were back in the front seat of his car,

parked in my driveway, the night we met. Making out like desperate
teenagers, dragging fingers through hair and grabbing handfuls of clothing to
keep the other from even thinking of pulling away.

God knew how much time passed before I came up for air, and the

instant my lips left his, Eric whispered, “Fuck me. Please, I want you so
damned bad.”

The hunger in his voice was unbearably arousing, and I didn’t

hesitate to push myself up and reach for a condom.

I’d barely gotten the condom and lube in place before James dragged

me back down into a kiss. He was on his back, fingers trembling in my hair,
and we both fumbled and struggled with trying to get into the right position
without breaking this desperate, breathless kiss.

217

Finally, I couldn’t wait anymore. I lifted myself up, and when he

tried to come up with me, I forced him back down.

“I can’t…” I said, panting. “I can’t wait.”
He didn’t fight me, instead biting his lip and closing his eyes as I

guided my cock to him.

I pressed into him, and he offered no resistance, letting me slide

easily inside him, and that first slow, deep stroke had me ready to come
apart. As soon as I was all the way in, before I could even start to withdraw,
James put his arms around me and claimed the kiss I’d denied him a moment
before.

I slid my arms beneath him, hooking my hands over his shoulders for

leverage, and he rolled his hips in time with mine, and we were back to that
unrelenting kiss. Just like the first time, just like every time. I couldn’t have
said which turned me on more: being inside him or making out with him. All
I knew was, the longer this went on, the more I unraveled from the inside
out.

I thrust harder, and with a gasp, Eric broke the kiss.
“Fuck, Brian, you feel amazing,” he moaned. His fingers dug into

my shoulders, and he lifted his head off the pillow as he shuddered beneath
me. Then he sank back down with a low, mouthwatering groan. “God, I
missed this.”

I let my head fall beside his, closing my eyes as his voice sent

shivers through me. I’d missed this too. I couldn’t convince myself he was a
stranger here, like this, in my arms and in my bed. Maybe we’d have to start
over everywhere else, but with nothing between us—no clothes, no lies, no
smokescreens—this was one side of us that hadn’t changed. This had never
been wrong. This had never been fake.

I raised my head to kiss him, but paused when our eyes met, my

rhythm faltering for an instant. Holding my gaze, he reached up to touch my
face, and his warm fingertips sent a cool shiver right through me.

As I came down to kiss him again, I whispered, “I love you, Eric.”
“I love you too.” He wrapped his arms around me, and his kiss, his

kiss, holy fuck, his kiss. I just couldn’t get enough of the taste of his mouth,
the gentle scrape of stubble on stubble, the way we couldn’t even breathe
without falling into the same cadence, drawing and releasing breaths in synch
with each other. And it was his kiss, as much as my desperate, quickening
thrusts, that drove me right out of my damned mind.

I shuddered, forcing myself deeper inside him and moaning against

his mouth. Eric met me thrust for thrust, kiss for kiss, and the bed groaned
beneath us and the world blurred around us as we held each other tighter,
held each other closer, held on…

And let go.
The bed quieted. We both exhaled. My vision cleared. Our lips

moved lazily together, and every stroke of his fingers through my hair made

218

me want to stay like this just a little longer.

We couldn’t stay this way forever, though. When I could finally

move,  I  stepped  away  to  get  rid  of  the  condom,  and  we  cleaned  up  before
dropping back onto the bed together. It was too damned hot for a blanket or
even  a  sheet, so  we just  faced each  other  on  our  sides  and  let  the  air  in the
room cool our sweaty skin.

“Well,” I said after I’d caught my breath, “If we’re going to start out

like this, I can’t complain.”

“No, definitely not.” He touched my face. “So, you’re really okay

with starting over, then? Trying this again?”

I nodded. “We’ll see how things go, but I’m willing to give it a

shot.”

He kissed me lightly. When he pulled back, something faded from

his expression. His eyebrows knitted together, and he avoided my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Meeting my gaze, he stroked my hair. “I know I’m not exactly in a

position to ask for favors…”

“I don’t know.” I touched his face. “I think I owe you one or two.”
He laughed softly. “Maybe.” His expression turned serious. “There is

something I want to ask, though. Especially if we’re going to try starting this
thing over.”

“What’s that?”
He bit his lip, watching his fingertips caress the side of my neck.

“Will you…”

I ran my thumb along his lower lip. “Hmm?”
Eric took a deep breath. “Your… drinking.” He swallowed hard.

“Will you get some help for that?”

My cheeks burned, and I released a breath.
“I’m not trying to judge you, Brian,” he said softly. “I worry about

you. I don’t want to see you—”

“I understand,” I said. “And you’re right. I really should get some

help for it.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, and leaned in to kiss me.
We were both physically exhausted, and neither of us had recovered

nearly long enough to start again, but that didn’t stop us from holding onto
each other and kissing. We could do that all night long as far as I was
concerned, because I didn’t want to be anywhere but here.

There would be plenty of bumps in the road in our future, especially

with our odd history, but we’d do the best we could. We’d probably squabble
and  fight  like  every  couple  sometimes  did,  and  on  occasion,  we’d
undoubtedly  forget  ourselves  in  the  bedroom  and  wake  the  neighbors.
Kicking my drinking wouldn’t be a fast or easy process, and it would likely
play its part in some of that fighting and squabbling.

It wouldn’t be perfect, but what mattered most was that he was here.

220

About L. A.

Lauren Gallagher is an erotica writer who is said to be living in Okinawa,

Japan, with her husband and two incredibly spoiled cats. There is some

speculation she is once again on the run from the Polynesian Mafia in the

mountains of Bhutan, but she’s also been sighted recently in the jungles of

Brazil, on a beach in Spain, and in a back alley in Detroit with some shifty-

eyed toaster salesmen. Though her whereabouts are unknown, it is known

that she also writes gay male erotic romance under the pseudonym L. A.

Witt.

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