Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3)

by Felice Stevens

  As he spoke, he watched Paul’s face grow tight with anger, then pale. Cliff’s chest hurt with each word, but he’d never been an equal in a relationship before this one, and it was disappointing to discover that yet again, he wasn’t.

  “Reconsider things?” Paul’s gruff, soft voice floated to him. “Like what?”

  “Do you still think what you did is okay?”

  “Will you give me a chance to explain?”

  “Go on.” He gestured. “I’m listening.”

  “The more we look into this case, the more troubling it becomes, and it’s my opinion that everything is tied together. The notes, the window shooting, the robberies, and the fire.”

  “I’m assuming you have reasons, but I won’t ask you since I know you can’t discuss it, and I don’t want to get off-track. So everything’s connected, and that’s why you set up a security camera in my house without telling me.”

  “That’s not the whole issue,” Paul cried out. “Ever since you called and told me the window was shot out, I’ve had a recurring nightmare that the next time we won’t get so lucky. This is who I am, Cliff. I care, and I refuse to let the bastards win. I didn’t stop to think if you’d okay it or not, because I couldn’t imagine you not wanting me to do it. There was nothing nefarious about it, or me thinking you can’t handle yourself. I know you can. But you being here by yourself, a sitting target for a shithead like Travis who, by the way, we arrested tonight for his involvement in the burglaries on Main Street, scared the hell out of me.”

  Cliff hated that he sounded ungrateful. “All well and good, but none of it explains your not consulting me. Even a phone call saying, ‘Hey, Cliff, I think we should set up a security system,’ would’ve sufficed. And I probably would’ve said, ‘Sounds good. Go for it.’ But you went ahead without even thinking of telling me, and it’s my house.”

  “Yeah. Your house. So you keep saying.” Paul sat with his head bowed. “You know, it’s funny. Once things had settled down, I was going to suggest something. I was planning on giving you a lump sum and assuming half the mortgage. Making it our house. But you obviously still think of it as your home where I’m just sharing the space.” He stood. “Maybe you’re right and I was too comfortable here.”

  Stricken, Cliff found it hard to breathe and stared at Paul. He wanted to yell, No, you’re wrong. I want that too, but he sat frozen with shock and pain and fear.

  Paul rubbed his jaw. “I think I’m going to take a ride.”

  Cliff snapped out of his torpor. “Wait, no. Paul.”

  But Paul left the deck and reentered the house. Cliff scrambled up the stairs and found Paul in their bedroom with a duffel bag in hand. He opened the top drawer of the bureau and began to toss things inside the bag. Cliff grabbed Paul’s arm.

  “Please don’t.”

  “You were right about removing yourself from the situation. We both said and are thinking some things that aren’t leaving me with a good feeling, and I’m afraid if I stay, it might escalate, and one or both of us will say something we’ll regret.”

  How stupid was he earlier to wish he was alone? He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted Paul.

  “I was wrong. I think we should talk. Please don’t go.”

  Faltering for a moment, Paul walked to the closet, unlocked his lockbox, and took out his gun and shield. That act, so cold and final, splintered Cliff into tiny pieces.

  “Paul, please. Talk to me.”

  The hard line of his jaw, dark with late-night stubble, coupled with weary eyes, twisted Cliff’s heart in a knot. Knowing how much of himself Paul gave to his job, Cliff softened his tone. “Just because I’m annoyed and angry doesn’t mean I want you to leave. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Then let’s talk.”

  “That’s the problem. We already said everything. You can’t or won’t accept that I’m overprotective. I’ll admit I should’ve talked to you, but you went one step further and said I didn’t belong here.”

  “I never said that,” Cliff whispered.

  “You said I should’ve told you because it was your house. Repeatedly. Not ours. Like I’m some kind of paying tenant or boarder. Not a lover and partner who shares everything.” Head hung low, he walked past Cliff, who, in a desperate attempt to keep this from going further, grabbed his arm.

  “Please, Paul. Stay.”

  “Just give me some time to think.” Paul’s eyes softened, and he bent down and gave Cliff a hard kiss. Cliff clung to him, but Paul stepped away. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Cliff couldn’t follow Paul and see him walk out the door, so he remained in the bedroom. The engine started, and the headlights beamed on and swept across the front of the house before the car drove away.

  Shaking, Cliff sat on the bed and wondered what the hell happened. His phone buzzed, and he scrambled to pull it out of his pocket, hoping Paul had changed his mind, but it was Ryan.

  “What’s up? I’m bored and on break.”

  He hesitated. “I think Paul and I might’ve broken up. He walked out.”

  Ryan’s response was instantaneous. “Come to the station. We’ll talk.”

  Cliff struggled with revealing what happened and keeping his and Paul’s private lives private, but he couldn’t stay in the house all night, running their argument in his head over and over.

  “Be there in fifteen.”

  He grabbed his car keys from the bowl and locked the door behind him.

  * * *

  “Shit.” Ryan sighed. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

  “Do you think I did the right thing? Be honest with me.”

  He’d arrived at the station, and Ryan took him to the break room, where he sat down and watched Ryan make him a cup of coffee.

  “I wouldn’t be anything but. And I don’t like the fact that he did what he did without telling you.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you understand.”

  “Whoa. Don’t thank me just yet. I also see Paul’s point of view. You were a little harsh there. I mean, I know it’s your house, and I don’t know how you guys have split up your stuff, but Paul’s lived with you a while now. You guys love each other, right?”

  “Yeah.” Cliff pressed his fingers to his temples.

  “Then I’d feel as bad as Paul did with you calling it your house, over and over. Technically it is, yeah. But shouldn’t you call it ‘our’ house? And it wasn’t like he did something so horribly wrong. What was wrong was him keeping you in the dark. Definitely. But putting in a home security system is pretty standard practice. You should’ve been glad it wasn’t that jerk from across the street like you first suspected.”

  Cliff watched the coffee in his cup grow cold. “I know. I just have this thing about him saying he wants to protect me. It stems from the time I lived alone after my parents kicked me out and I had to handle everything on my own. It bugs the shit out of me.”

  “Then that’s what you need to talk about and work out together. But you know Paul’s a cop. Protecting what and who he loves is part of his DNA. So you gotta figure it out somehow. What’s more important? Your independence or your relationship?”

  * * *

  Once he left the firehouse, he didn’t start the car but sat for a while, thinking about their relationship from the first meeting to their last kiss. All the long talks, learning about each other, helping Paul work through coming out, his father’s death, and finally Harley’s death. How Paul stood by him so strong and steadfast when he reunited with his parents. The laughter, some tears, but always incredible passion and ultimately, love.

  He took his phone out and called Paul. It went to voice mail, once, twice, three times. He sat for a moment, and then, suspecting where Paul went, but before he went knocking on the door so late in the evening, he checked the app on his phone. When the address came up, he smiled.

  He made a call. “Hi, it’s Cliff. Is it all right if I come by?”

  “We were wondering when you’d
call.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

  “Things will be okay. Come on over. He’ll be glad to see you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there soon.” He put the phone on the passenger seat and drove away.

  It took about twenty minutes to reach Rob and Annabel’s house. Cliff remembered the first time he’d walked inside and met Rob’s family. It was the day Paul came out to Rob, and Cliff would never forget how Rob and his wife greeted him and Paul as just another couple, making them a part of the family.

  He cut the engine, and when he walked up the path, the front door opened, revealing Rob silhouetted in the entrance. Rob waved and met him halfway down the curved stone path.

  “I left him with Annabel, since she’s better at this relationship stuff than I am.”

  Cliff’s smile was wry. “Well, anyone is better at it than Paul or myself, it seems.”

  He followed Rob into the house and waited in the entranceway, not overly anxious to see Paul. Rob locked the door and seemed in no more of a hurry to bring him to wherever Paul and Annabel were than Cliff was to get there. He leaned against the polished-wood newel post of the staircase.

  “Look,” Rob said. “From what I gathered, Paul put in a home security system without telling you, and you freaked, not only because he did it without telling you, but because he did it to protect you. Paul said he knows now that was wrong, but that’s not the problem.”

  “I know. It was me saying it was my house. I made him feel like a stranger in his own home.”

  Rob nodded. “Lemme tell you about Paul. He’s never going to be someone who leaves the job at the office. It’s in him to protect the people he cares about. He’s done it to me as well.”

  “You mean with the Ulrich case?”

  Rob arched a brow. “Yeah, he told you? How he wanted to take the bullet, so to speak, for us going after Ulrich’s son, hoping to flush out the real killer?” His eyes twinkled. “Man, I was spitting-mad at him. And even after I warned him not to, he tried it anyway. But here’s what you need to understand, if you don’t already. Paul can’t help it. He takes on the burden of people’s problems. They call him Bulldog, but he’s more like a guard dog. If he thinks people he cares about are in trouble, he goes into attack mode and doesn’t think about the consequences.”

  Everything Rob said was already well known to Cliff, and as he followed Rob to the back of the house, where the kitchen was located, he knew he had to make a quick decision on how to handle the situation. He heard Annabel’s laugh and Paul’s deep voice rumble and stopped in the archway to the large space. Both looked up, and Cliff saw the quick flash of hope in Paul’s eyes.

  “Hi.” He smiled at Annabel for a brief moment, then focused firmly on Paul. “I figured you’d be here. I hoped.”

  Annabel stood. “I’m going to check on the kids.” Walking by Cliff, she squeezed his arm and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. “It’ll be fine,” she murmured and tugged Rob’s hand. “Come with me.”

  “But…” Rob protested but relented when Annabel yanked him. “Oh, okay.”

  Paul hid a smile, and Cliff bit his lip as she led Rob out, whispering.

  Finally they were alone.

  “Can I sit down?” He took two steps forward.

  “Of course.” Paul tipped his head.

  Sitting across from Paul, all the words Cliff had planned to say dried in his throat because only one thing mattered.

  “I love you.”

  Paul opened his mouth, but Cliff put up a hand.

  “No. Please. Let me say what I have to.”

  “Okay.” Paul’s dark brows drew together as he gave Cliff his full attention. Cliff had forgotten what it meant to be under that intense, inscrutable gaze.

  “I love you, and I want to be with you. I also know that means learning to adjust my expectations. You’ve never hidden who you are, and that’s the man I want. Someone caring and concerned and protective. I do love that about you. I never meant for you to think you had to change.”

  “I don’t want you to feel pressured to say things you might not feel,” Paul broke in.

  “Not feel? All I feel is you. Even when you’re not with me. So if you think you’re not protecting me when you’re not with me, you’re wrong. You’re with me everywhere, all the time.”

  Paul blinked. “I don’t know how to dial it back, but I promise to try harder. And I promise in the future I’ll stop and talk to you first before making decisions, especially ones that affect your house.”

  “It might be my house on paper, but it is our home. I need you to know that I do feel that way. And I’m thrilled you’re thinking of us as something permanent, with a plan for that future.”

  A troubled expression still clouded Paul’s eyes. “It was stupid of me to leave. Stupid and childish. I regretted it the minute I left, but I also knew I needed some space to cool down and figure out how to come home, apologize, and work things out. And who would know better how to grovel than Rob?” At last his eyes warmed with humor, and Cliff knew everything would be all right.

  “Very funny,” Rob called out. “I heard that.”

  “I think we should go.” Paul chuckled, then sobered. “So we’re all good?”

  “Better than.” He rose from the chair. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You can stop saying you’re sorry. I know you’d do the same for me.” Rob kicked his chair.

  Paul finished his second cup of coffee. “Yeah, of course, but it still needs to be said. Cliff and I sent Annabel something for letting us intrude on your evening.”

  “What about me?” Rob snickered.

  “You get the benefit of my stellar company. That’s enough.” Paul waited for Rob’s laughter to subside. “But seriously? Thanks. I didn’t have any idea what to do, and I appreciate that you and Annabel let me crash on your family time.”

  “Every relationship gets cracks once in a while. If you think people’s lives are perfect, you’re wrong. If you can grow stronger from it, you’re the winner.”

  Thinking about the previous night, Paul knew he and Cliff had won.

  “All right. Now to our favorite jailbirds. Did Legal Aid assign an attorney for Travis and Bear?”

  “Lemme see.” Rob checked his email. “Yup. Oh, brother. Sherwood Bratton for Travis. Dude thinks he’s the savior of the downtrodden in his thousand-dollar suits.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “Great. And Bear?”

  Rob winced. “Dylan McCrae.”

  “Damn. I was hoping he’d moved.”

  McCrae had been a thorn in their sides for years, baiting them at every turn, insinuating improper procedures but never making any formal complaints.

  “No such luck. But McCrae can’t say anything to us. We stopped talking to Bear once he said he wanted a lawyer. Bratton, though, is going to have a field day with our home interrogation of Travis.”

  “Well, fuck that.” Knowing Bratton was assigned to the case would make it that much more difficult for them to prove what Paul already knew: Travis and his gang were the ones behind the burglaries, and they were also responsible for the fire at the Wild Orchid. “We need to talk to Wellie, and then to the owner of the club, Mackenzie Cartwright.” Paul pulled up Cartwright’s address and phone number. “Whoa. He lives at the Commodore. Those apartments start at a million.”

  “Guess the nightclub business pays off.”

  Already searching the web, Paul whistled. “Listen to this. He already owns clubs in LA and Miami. Plus, he’s executive VP of the Starrywoods.”

  “So dude is a conglomerate. No wonder he lives in the most expensive place in town.”

  “But why?” Paul stared at Cartwright’s picture on the screen. “Why here when he could live anywhere?”

  “Well, Paulie, that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Guess we’ll have to ask him.”

  Two hours later he and Rob sat in the living room of Cartwright’s luxury condo and waited for
the answer to that question. Cartwright was a tall, lean man, with thick black hair brushed back from a sharp widow’s peak and piercing green eyes. Paul guessed his age to be around fifty, but he could’ve been ten years older with a great skin-care regimen.

  “Why Thornwood Park? Well, Detectives, that’s a good question. Initially I came here five years ago when I became executive vice-president of the Starrywoods. I wanted to check out one of our highest performing hotels and discover what made it stand out.”

  Paul could tell him, but he remained quiet, soaking in the praise for Cliff’s hard work. He’d make sure to tell him everything said. Meanwhile, he listened to more of Cartwright’s spiel as to how he planned to spend his millions.

  “But now I’m looking to enjoy the fruits of my investments, which means collecting the profits, and letting other people do the work. Slow the fuck down.” His white teeth gleamed. “Plus, I can get a direct flight to Vegas.”

  “Ah, you like to gamble.” Paul never could see the attraction of losing money. “How often do you go to Vegas, Mr. Cartwright?”

  “Please, call me Mackenzie. At least once a month. I get a suite and all my meals and drinks comped. Nothing better. I’ve been going for over twenty years. They know me well.” His well-manicured fingers played along the ridges of his heavy, cut-glass tumbler filled with Scotch.

  Drinking Scotch before noon on any random day wasn’t how Paul would “slow the fuck down,” but what did he know about the lifestyles of the rich and richer? Seemed Cartwright was the type of man who liked being made a fuss over and having people lick his boots.

  Well, Paul had never liked the taste of leather. And nothing Cartwright said answered their question.

  “So, again, I guess I still don’t understand why Thornwood Park?” Paul asked, weary of long, drawn-out sessions that led nowhere. “Why a small town when you’re used to so much more?”

  His smile instantly made Paul wary. He didn’t trust people on the whole, and the overly friendly type sent his back up. “I found the town so charming, and slower paced compared to my life in LA, that I immediately knew it was perfect for me to ease into semiretirement.”