by Rhys Ford
“Why should I?” Her breath was volcanic, steeped in alcohol fumes, and Dante had to blink to clear his eyes. “This was supposed to be simple. Harold was supposed to win the damned auction, but no, your boyfriend there just had to have that stupid bird. Like he has to have everything. He could have just let Harold have it. Just have one damned thing.”
“Rook had to get a delivery. The bird was a gamble, remember? If it’s empty, I lose my license for not delivering the damned thing and have nothing to show for it. Did you forget that, you stupid bitch?” Davis barked back. “You and your stupid son weren’t worth me losing everything I built up. Not after the mess my parents left us in. We don’t even know how much the diamonds are worth, if they’re even there.”
There were times when being a homicide cop was hard. He’d gone on one too many death notices, held too many hands shaking from shock, and offered up millions of tissues to dry tears he knew would never stop falling. The grief, horror, and anger in Margaret’s face and stance were as familiar to Dante as Rook’s kiss. Her world began crumbling the moment someone—possibly Davis Natterly—drove something sharp into her son’s body, and it would continue to fall apart every moment she lived, a vast, echoing void she couldn’t ever fill again.
Today was going to be a hard day. Maybe even catastrophic. Hard couldn’t even begin to explain the torture Margaret would be going through for as long as her memory held. For all her faults and the constant sniping digs at Rook, she loved her son, and now all she had left of him were the shadows living in her mind.
Killing Davis wouldn’t stop the ache. Dante knew that, but Margaret wouldn’t have cared, even if she heard anything he had to tell her. So when she raised her gun again, bringing it up and poised to plant a hole in the middle of Davis’s face, he knew he was going to have to shoot her, if only to stop her from ruining what little soul she had left in her.
Or at least he would have if Rook hadn’t tackled Margaret from behind.
His boyfriend hit her hard, around the knees, and they both went flying, the momentum of Rook’s tackle pushing them into a glide across the foyer’s slick floor. The weapon discharged, clipping the chandelier, and a rain of crystals pelted the hall. Dante went in as Davis attacked, rushing Margaret and Rook with the twin to the candlestick lying on the foyer floor held up over his head. Rook continued to skid over the marble, frantically trying to grab at the loose gun, when Margaret punched his side, a weak blow softened by her out-of-control slide. She came to a jerking halt when her foot caught on a table, toppling it down on top of her, and she rolled over, resting at Davis’s feet.
Staggering forward, Davis brought the weighty piece around, smashing Margaret in her temple as she was getting to her knees. She reeled, her eyes rolling, and she fell, landing on her hands. Blood dripped from a cut across her forehead, and she moaned, swaying back and forth.
“Davis! Drop it!” Dante swore when the man ignored him, bringing the blocky silver piece back around again. “Don’t make me shoot.”
He had no choice. Davis was in too close, and he’d chosen his weapon well. The single hit across Margaret’s skull left her senseless, and Rook was on the floor, gasping for breath, his face screwed up in pain. A few feet away, Margaret’s gun was within Davis’s reach, and when the man’s eyes lit up, Dante knew he’d spotted the weapon.
Davis was going to take the gamble. Dante saw it the moment before Davis tightened up his muscles and made a decision Dante knew he was going to regret. Tracking Davis’s leap for the gun, Dante gritted his teeth and shot the man who’d come to take Rook away from him.
Epilogue
IT WAS a party of sorts. A tossed-together potluck, washtubs filled with ice and beer, and too many people in the house and backyard to move around without elbowing someone else kind of party Dante’s house was used to having. Soft music was playing, something mournful and Mexican, but it was hard to hear through the chatter. It was a party mostly to celebrate still being alive, and at some point in the night, someone would break a glass or throw up in the bushes, but Dante expected all of that. In a crowd of drag queens, cops, and sundry other crazy people, including his partner, Hank, and his wife, Dante felt oddly normal.
“Where’s Rook?” Manny shouted at him over the grill on the back courtyard. “I thought he’d be with you.”
His uncle’s stocky chest was covered with a ruffled white apron he’d given Dante a few years back as a joke but had taken to wearing when cooking outside. Bleach hadn’t done the garment any favors, leaving behind sauce and marinade stains until the apron looked like it’d been used to clean up a crime scene. The carne asada Manny was flipping over smelled damned good, but despite the two days of no sleep, paperwork, and sour coffee, Dante wasn’t hungry.
“I don’t know,” he answered loudly. “I was hoping he was out here. I needed to take a call from Book, but when I came back, he was gone.”
He hadn’t seen much of his lover, and there were words between them, emotions and arguments left on the broken floor in Archie’s house Dante still needed to clean up. Tonight was the time to blow off steam and maybe mend a few things he’d shattered. He’d just had enough time to kiss Rook hello when the captain called and he ducked into the downstairs office to take it. When he’d emerged, the living room was full of everyone but the one man he’d wanted to see.
Wandering through the house, Dante shook hands and clapped shoulders, stopping only long enough to say hello. Hank grabbed his arm before he could get past the living room couch and pulled him toward the hall. It was quieter than the living room, but not by much, but he didn’t need to hear clearly to see Hank was concerned.
“Book texted me about your desk duty. Said he’d talked to you.” Hank pushed in close, ducking his head down to keep their conversation between them. “You’re riding with me on Monday, then? ’Cause I love you, man, but tomorrow’s our normal day off, and I’ve got dad things lined up, so as much as I’d like to share a car with you, I’m busy.”
“I think Monday’s fine.” He pushed at Hank’s shoulder. “And yeah, Book said IA cleared me. Went quicker than I thought it would.”
“Dude, it was a righteous shoot,” his partner pressed. “I saw that thing. I’m surprised he didn’t kill her the first time. As it is, she’s rattled in the brain. He broke her skull and was going to round two. She wouldn’t have survived it.”
“Yeah, they called it.” Dante shook his head, Book’s reassuring words leaving him more unsettled than he’d care to admit. “Doesn’t feel like one. I took a man’s life, Camden. I swore to protect and serve—”
“I’d have done the same thing, Montoya. You know it. You know in your gut that you did the right thing. Now Margaret’s getting the help she needs, and Sadonna doesn’t have to worry about Davis slitting her throat. He killed—what?—three people, man, and was aiming to kill a fourth, fifth, and maybe a sixth.” Camden clasped Dante’s shoulder, shaking him lightly. “Sadonna’s alive. Charges… well, we’ll see what the DA says, and Rook’s all stitched up again. Life is good. We just need to get the brother boxed in.”
“DA’s letting Jeremy go. Book just told me,” Dante said, and Hank scoffed loudly. “No evidence against him. He’d come by that night to drop off the plaster statue, because he thought that was the one Harold wanted. Sadonna intercepted the resin bird and put this whole damned thing into motion. She had the falcon with the diamonds in it all along and played Rook so she could screw over Harold and everyone else. If Rook’d taken the fake, the Natterlys would have been clear, but they’d all have been out the diamonds without anyone knowing Sadonna stashed them, but no one would have died.”
“Maybe. I think this all wouldn’t have happened if Archie didn’t play his family against one another. Perhaps not all of it, but you’ve got to admit, as much as I like the old man, he’s rough on that inbred clan of his,” Camden remarked. “When we were up at the house yesterday getting statements, I heard the old man talking to Alex and James. Apparently h
e’s seen the light and is going to loosen up some of the family purse strings. You want to know what I think?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me no matter what,” he teased.
“Well, that too. But maybe they all need to learn to stand on their own two feet. Sure, Rook used to steal for a living, but he got his shit together, and Alex lives pretty well, not above his means except for that rocket he drives around in.” Hank shook his head. “That family’s not fucked-up because they’re rich. They’re screwed-up because they think they deserve to be rich. There’s a difference.”
“Can’t say I disagree with you, but I’ve got the Martin who squirrels stuff away for a rainy day.” Dante shook his head. “It’s like living with those two gophers from the cartoon. There’s shit stashed everywhere. Speaking of Rook, I’ve got to go find him. What with everything going on, we haven’t really seen each other.”
“Ah, saw him go out the front door.” Hank peered over Dante’s shoulder and nodded. “Okay, wife’s calling me. Must be time to eat. I’m going to pile a plate up with food so she can pretend she’s not hungry and pick at my dinner.”
“Why doesn’t she make her own plate?” He frowned at his partner. “Manny bought hundreds of the damned things. Forks too.”
“Because it’s a thing she does, and well, if there’s one thing you should learn about being in love, Montoya—” Hank pulled him in for a fierce hug, squeezing the air out of Dante’s chest, then patting his shoulders when he let go. “—you don’t mind all of the stupid shit they do, because they’re yours. The wife likes to eat her way through my dinner, and well, your boyfriend likes to stumble upon murder investigations and get shot. Between me and you, I’ll take the plate thing any day of the week. Go find your guy. I’m going to go feed myself and the wife.”
Dante found Rook straddling a broad bench on the side of the house, his long legs stretched out with his sneaker heels digging into the gravel. He was on the phone and, from his side of the conversation, talking to Archie. His back was to the front of the house, so Dante made sure he was making enough noise for Rook to hear him coming down the walk. Rook glanced back at the sound, spotting Dante, and the light played over his widened odd eyes, catching the silver and gold flecks in them. From the tumble of ruddy brown and caramel hair swept across his forehead, Dante guessed Rook’d been raking his hand through the strands, probably to ease the frustration of reasoning with Archie.
He came around the bench and swung his leg over it to sit down facing Rook, careful not to hit the other man’s knees. Rook pulled his legs up to give Dante room, listening to the stream of brash noise coming from the phone’s speaker, and smiled when Dante put his hands on Rook’s thighs.
It was that smile—that sweet, secret, only-for-him smile—that brought Dante to his knees.
The first time he’d seen that particular smile was when the lights suddenly came on in the club he’d gone to find someone to hook up with, anything to get his mind off of the lean, sexy thief he’d been chasing for nearly a year. He’d found someone in the shadows, drawn to something about the way he moved, and when the dark peeled back and Dante found himself face-to-face with the man he’d gone there to forget, he’d laughed hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, and Rook simply smiled.
That smile.
He’d fallen halfway in love with the one man he never should have looked at right then and there. It’d taken a couple of murders, a lot of craziness, and some unorthodox seductions for him to tumble the rest of the way, but he’d gotten there.
It would be hours before the sun fully set, but the city was already pulling on its evening colors, coating the buildings with a muted blue wash, and the subdued light softened Rook’s sharp features, blurring the innate wariness in his expression. Someone—probably Manny—turned on the outside lights, firing up the faerie lights they’d spent a long afternoon stringing through the tall hedges lining the side and back of the property. Their glowing sparkle played over Rook, warming his skin to a golden ivory, and Dante chuckled when Rook rolled his eyes at him.
“Archie, I’m fine,” Rook said into the phone. “No, Montoya’s here. Where the hell else would he be? This is his house. I’m going to hang up now. Nope, probably won’t be coming back up there tonight.” A pause and then Rook sighed. “No, I don’t know where I’ll be sleeping. We’ll figure it out. Hey, listen, okay? I love you, old man. Don’t forget that shit. I’ll be up there tomorrow sometime. We can watch a movie and drive Rosa nuts. I’ll bring Alex.” He waited a second, then grinned. “Yeah, see if some of the others want in on that. Give me a time and I’ll be there. With bells on.”
Dante leaned in for a kiss, not surprised to find Rook meeting him halfway. It was gentle, a brush of lips and a slip of Rook’s tongue. Then his lover pulled back, breaking them apart. Rook tasted of something sweet and fruity, probably a piece of sticky candy, since he seemed fueled by sugar, coffee, and popcorn. He smelled like heaven, a hint almost citrus, sundried cotton cologne, and the spicy richness of his own skin.
Inhaling deeply, Dante held his breath, then opened up the can of worms he’d been carrying since the moment he called Rook a few days ago. Clearing his throat, he said softly, “Cuervo, I think it’s time you and I have that talk.”
“OKAY.” ROOK exhaled the breath he’d been holding in since Dante shot Natterly and Margaret fell apart. Its sour stench whispered out from his soul, a smoky dread he’d been carrying in him. Squaring his shoulders, then wincing when his side reminded him it was recently punched through with stitches again, he braced himself for what Dante had to say. “Let’s talk.”
He’d been avoiding Dante. Rook was man enough to admit that, but not quite adult enough to face things head-on. He knew that about himself. There was no denying he’d spent a lifetime hop-skip-and-jumping ahead of the law and relationships. Buckling himself down to one spot meant getting into the ugly of people’s lives, and he’d thought he was ready for it.
Facing Dante across the bench—his heart aching and pounding with a low-grade fear—Rook finally understood he not only wasn’t ready for it, he also had no idea what he was doing falling in love.
Taking a preemptive strike, he murmured, “I told you guys, I really didn’t know about the falcon—”
“I know, cuervo. I believe you.” Dante inched closer, taking Rook’s hands in his. “At the time, I wasn’t sure what to think, but now, after all of this… after I processed what you said to me, what you’d done before, and how hard that was for you, I wanted to tell you….” His lover inhaled sharply. “This is between you and me. No cops. No lawyers. Nothing but us talking, okay? And I want you to be honest with me. I will listen to you and not judge. I promise you that.”
“Yeah, sure,” Rook agreed, scrambling through his memories to see if he was still on the hook for anything he should avoid. He came up with nothing. He’d been so careful, watched his steps so he could one day live a life without looking over his shoulder. The diamonds had been the last of his old life. The one tie he’d been reluctant to break but one he’d severed for the man who now held his hands, called him crow, and kissed him under a bower of sparkling lights. “What are you not judging me on?”
“The diamonds you turned in….” Dante made a small hissing sound when Rook instinctively began to deny his involvement. “Babe, we’re past that. Right?”
“Habit,” he confessed. “Hey, I stopped. Okay. The diamonds. That was it. Those were my… safety net. In case this all fell apart. And by all, I mean the shop, Archie, and everything. I had them stashed before I met you, and then, well, afterwards….” This time the breath he held was sharp, a cold, cutting slice of air he’d regret taking in if he didn’t release it a moment later. “I knew I had to let it go. In order to have you… to love you… I couldn’t… hold on to that part of my life, even if it meant I’d lose what I saved to fall back on. Because if I held on to it, I wouldn’t be able to go forward… with you.”
“There were millio
ns of dollars in gems in that bag.”
“Oh, you don’t need to tell me how much fucking money was in there,” Rook snorted. “I know exactly how much that bag was worth.” Stroking at Dante’s hands, he said in a low voice, “I was taking a gamble that you’d… I was betting that you were worth it. That you’d be the one who was worth all of that and… I didn’t want to fall in love with a cop. Fucking hell, that’s the last thing in the world I’d ever imagined doing, but one morning I woke up next to you, and those diamonds—all of that—they became just rocks. They were an anchor I’d tied around my neck, Montoya, and if I didn’t cut myself loose from them, they’d drag me down and kill me… kill us.”
“Nothing is ever going to kill us, Rook.” Dante’s arms wrapped him up, dragging him into an awkward embrace. “I promise. Nothing.”
Their legs were tangled, and the twist of his side against Dante’s torso flared a warning twinge, but Rook adjusted, working himself free until he was straddling Dante’s lap, facing the back of the house. Settling his hands on Rook’s hips, Dante sought his mouth, drawing him into a long, simmering kiss. It was enough to sit under the fake stars caught in a stand of mock orange bushes and drink from Dante’s mouth. His lips felt bruised, a bit swollen and tender when they finally came up for air, but Rook stole another quick kiss before settling back on Dante’s crossed legs.
“I love you, cuervo,” Dante whispered.
“I know,” he teased, then yelped when Dante slid a hand down the back of his jeans and lightly pinched his ass. “Sheesh. Dude. Watch the meat. I love you too. I just… fuck up, babe. It’s what I do.”
“We’ve got to work some things out. I hate to ask you this, babe, but… I’ve got to know if there’s anything else you’re holding on to. Anything….” Dante stopped himself, and his face shut down, going cop and hard. Rook’s belly twisted, and as much as he hated reacting to the sternness in Dante’s expression, he went a little cold along his spine. The authoritarian mask Dante pulled on lasted only long enough for Rook to gather up his thoughts. Then Dante’s hands roamed up over Rook’s back, soothing away the tenseness in his muscles. “Okay, see, here is where the problem is. It’s not you. It is me—”
