by Amy Lane
Jackson frowned in thought and looked at Ellery. “I’ll text you when I’m done,” he said. “Somebody can come pick me up.”
“I can bring you back to the damned office,” Henry growled.
“Or you could choose life, because after two hours in your company, the trip back might be the final trigger,” Jackson snapped. “Now if you could do me a favor and let me and Ellery plan a minute, I’d be forever fucking grateful.”
“I’ll be outside.” Henry slammed the door on his way out, leaving Jade and AJ in the office, giving him the side-eye of death.
“Wow.” Jade gave Jackson a sympathetic glance. “I know I give you an awful lot of grief about being barely housetrained, but that guy is going to need a rolled-up newspaper and a spray bottle before we let him through that door again.”
“He’s a big boy,” Jackson said, winking. “With that one, I could use a baseball bat.”
AJ snickered, and Jackson turned to Galen.
“Mr. Henderson, if you don’t mind, I’m going to talk to my boss for a moment, and then I’m going to abandon him to the refrigerator guy and the furniture people, who will probably take all his time.”
“You bastard,” Ellery said, with no irony whatsoever.
“Jade can defend you from the big assholes with muscles,” Jackson said with a smirk. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe.”
AJ snickered again, and Jackson turned and led the way to Ellery’s office. While Jackson had been painting, Ellery had been setting up his computer and stocking his desk with supplies, as well as arranging his law books up on the shelves that had arrived the week before.
“What?” Ellery asked as soon as the door closed behind him.
Jackson shrugged. “The kid’s hiding something. I don’t think it’s the murder, but he’s got something he doesn’t want to talk about.”
“Yeah, I know. I was trying to pump Galen for information, but….” He shrugged.
“People,” Jackson said succinctly. “I don’t think it’s something related to the case, but damn if we don’t need to figure it out, all the same.”
“Agreed.” They both knew that suspects and persons of interest often hid things that they didn’t see as relevant but that would prejudice a jury—or the police—against them. In order to keep a client out of jail, it was Ellery and Jackson’s job to know the things their clients least liked about themselves. Sometimes it made the job interesting, and sometimes it made the job dangerous, and sometimes it made the job heartbreaking.
But it was always the fucking job.
“I’ll look up Martin Eugene Sampson,” Ellery told him.
“Aka Scott.”
Ellery made a grimace of distaste, and Jackson called him to task.
“Don’t make that face. You need to look up the porn,” Jackson said. He grabbed a pen and a Post-it note from Ellery’s big solid oak desk and jotted something down. “It’s under my home email, and this is the password—”
“BillyBobs2Balls,” Ellery read in stunned disbelief.
Jackson grinned. “Feeling guilty?”
The year before, Ellery had made the call to get Billy Bob neutered while he was under general anesthesia for the wound that took his leg. Jackson had been shot in the same incident, and Ellery refused to feel guilty for an operation that had probably saved the cat’s life twice—once to stop the bleeding of the crushed leg, and once to keep the animal from wandering away from home and into traffic.
“Not even a little,” he said, scowling. “What about you? You said you stopped watching a year ago!”
Jackson chuckled. “But I didn’t let my subscription lapse for reasons!” He sobered. “Look, they run a clean site—don’t laugh, we’re not twelve. There’s porn that’s exploitive and porn that’s functional and porn that shows happy consenting adults having sex so you can get off and pretend you’re one of them. Galen’s boyfriend runs option C. But we need to check out our vic, see some recent photos. Henry called the guy scrawny, which means he’s not living the same life he was a year and a half ago when he stopped showing up on the site. We need to fill in the blanks.”
Ellery nodded. “Copy that,” he said, his lips twisting with recognition of Henry’s military speech. Jackson turned to leave, and Ellery stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
“What? What’d we forget?”
Ellery pulled him closer. “Really? You’re going to ask me that on your first run in five months?”
Jackson’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. Five months ago, Jackson had gone out to investigate a client’s story and had ended up in the hospital because a planter had fallen on his head. And that wasn’t even the worst thing to happen to him and Ellery that week!
Jackson threw his body fearlessly into whatever task he had at hand, and Ellery loved him for it and would probably love him for it until the day he died. But he would also be afraid—terrified—because Jackson didn’t seem to have the Stop button in his head that told him to save at least a part of himself to come back to Ellery.
“I’ll be careful,” he said, smiling a little. “I promise not to let the big scary porn stars jump me.”
Ellery rolled his eyes. “You’re hilarious. We should sell tick—mmmf….”
Jackson pulled him forward abruptly, showing as much roughness as he’d shown before the climax of their last case, when Ellery had been shot and Jackson had been stabbed and they’d both had to move very, very gently indeed.
But for the first time since then, Jackson’s mouth on his was hard, voracious, like Ellery was now strong enough to take what had gone on between them almost since their first case together, the August before. Ellery groaned softly, returning the kiss with interest. Like this morning at the Starbucks, a part of him needed so badly to know that Jackson’s passion hadn’t died just because they’d both been injured and had only now come back.
Jackson thrust his tongue inside Ellery’s mouth, plundering, taking, and Ellery melted against his chest, trusting Jackson to bear Ellery’s full weight for the first time in months. He opened his mouth and let Jackson in, then met him stroke for stroke until they were both panting, grinding against each other, groins swollen, sweat dripping down their backs.
Jackson pulled away, and Ellery actually whimpered with the loss.
“That what you wanted, Counselor?” Jackson asked gruffly.
“Oh my God, yes.” Ellery rested his forehead against Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson brushed his ear with soft lips.
“I love you, Ellery. I’ll be careful for you. Can’t promise it’ll all go according to plan, but I’ll treat your property right.”
Ellery nodded and gave him a brief, hard last kiss to seal the deal. “It’s all I can ask,” he said. “If you really don’t want the ride from Henry, text me when you’re done.”
“Deal.”
Then Jackson let himself out and strode down the hall, yelling, “Jade darlin’, give me your phone charger if you have it. For fuck’s sake, I’m gonna want to send that fucking text!”
Jackson paused to help Galen out of his chair and kept his arm out to escort the man down the stairs. Galen took the help without comment, but Ellery did spot a rather barbed glance in Henry’s direction, and Henry had the good grace to look ashamed.
Oh yeah. Ellery needed to do his own research, quickly, because if Galen Henderson hadn’t come in to vouch for that boy, Ellery might have had him arrested on attitude alone.
The door closed behind them, leaving Jade and AJ looking at Ellery expectantly.
“I need to get my computer set up,” he admitted. “We need the vic’s financials, his address, and we need the subpoena ready for the police report in case they pull Henry in for questioning.” He paused to gather his thoughts, but Jade interrupted with some thoughts of her own.
“I can finish putting the office together and dealing with delivery men,” she offered. “AJ, you up to help?”
AJ nodded enthusiastically. “I only work at the firm three d
ays a week now,” he confessed. “They cut my hours because they hired Harrelson’s useless nephew to do my job.”
Ellery grimaced. “Well, as soon as we get a few more cases, we can pay you,” he said, feeling wrong and exploitive, but AJ shrugged.
“Crystal’s paying the rent and utilities,” he said. His roommate was still working at Jackson and Ellery’s former firm, but she’d told them, under no uncertain terms, that it was only until Ellery drummed up enough business to need his own computer and statistics expert on staff. Crystal was… well, freaky. Ellery wasn’t sure what it was about Jackson that attracted the woo-woo, but Crystal was one of two psychics Ellery knew now. And while he didn’t doubt either one of them possessed an ability of some sort, he was really, really, super not interested in knowing anything else about what that ability was.
But even Ellery couldn’t deny that Crystal was kind to AJ, and given that AJ and Crystal were recovering addicts without the resources of a Galen Henderson, he and Jackson were grateful that the two had found each other.
“Yeah,” Jade said knowingly, “but I know you’re saving for a new car. That old one is parked outside the duplex often enough, I know you’re not getting any use from it.”
AJ bit his lip and looked sideways, and Ellery and Jade traded glances. The other half of the duplex Jade lived in used to be occupied by Jackson, but when Ellery had sort of… drafted Jackson to live together, Jackson had made it a refuge for people getting out of jail who had no way of getting on their feet. He monitored it, and he’d told social services that it was there—and he and Jade vetted all the residents. AJ had lived there for a short time before he and Crystal found each other. There was no reason Ellery could think of that he’d be returning there now, unless—
“Are you seeing that Jail kid?” Jade asked, concerned.
“Ja-el,” AJ corrected her. He shrugged uncomfortably. “We, uh, play video games. He, uh, you know. I moved in with Crystal, and then he texted me and said he missed me. The last couple weeks, we’ve played video games. You know. When we’re not working.”
Jade looked at him.
“And Jackson said it’s okay, so I could keep an eye on everybody. I’ve been doing that. Jael’s mother has a job, and his two friends are staying clean. Not that they talk to me much. Or Jael. But, you know. We play games.”
Jade said, “Hunh,” and she kept looking at him.
AJ smiled greenly. “And sometimes, his mom cooks, which is nice, and Crystal bakes them cookies, which is nice, so they don’t feel so alone. Crystal tells Jael what classes to take because he wants to be a computer tech like she is, and we look at college catalogs and….”
Jade was still looking, her round brown eyes fixed solidly on AJ’s sweating, blushing face.
“And he’s kissed me twice and says he wants to keep doing it.” AJ’s shoulders sagged as he spit out the confession.
Jade met Ellery’s eyes. “Thoughts?”
Ellery’s brain blanked out. “You need to talk to Jackson.” Because Jackson did people, and Ellery did briefs and cases and courtrooms.
“I will. I just wondered if you wanted to weigh in on the care and feeding of our favorite unpaid intern.”
Oh great. This was apparently one of those duties of parenthood—Ellery couldn’t escape this conversation.
“Is Jael in the closet?” he asked, because he knew the boys Jackson had installed in the duplex were not the most educated bunch. This could be a sticking point.
“He told his friends he’s got a crush on me.” AJ grimaced. “I think they’ve been avoiding us both ever since.”
“What about his mother?” The woman who had been arrested for distribution, along with her son and his friends.
“She’s been really nice,” AJ admitted.
“That’s promising,” Ellery said, considering. “And I like that it’s a couple of kisses with the promise of more. That speaks of two young gentlemen and courtship—not just hooking up.” Finally he had something constructive to say. “Just hooking up is hard,” he said, thinking about Jackson’s rootlessness when they’d first met. “You’re doing really well in recovery, AJ. I don’t want you to have to deal with anything hard.” AJ had been on the cusp of dropping out of life permanently when he’d wandered into a house of death having a heroin free-for-all. His dedication to making his job work, to keeping the human connections that Jackson had established had been heartening to watch.
AJ nodded. “Thanks, Mr. Cramer. I appreciate—”
And at that moment, there was a knock on the door and the delivery men were there, and everybody had something to do.
Inside the Chocolate Factory
GALEN VERY gallantly offered to let Jackson sit in the front seat of the Buick LeSabre while Henry drove, and Jackson took him up on it, because as pleasant as Galen Henderson seemed to be, Henry was the one Jackson had to work on.
“So,” Jackson said as they were making their way through traffic to J Street. “You were in the military?”
“Yessir.” The snide little twist on “sir” was not lost on Jackson.
“When did you get out?”
“About two months ago.”
“You came straight to Sacramento to see your brother?”
“No, sir. I went home first.” Henry had donned military sunglasses in the knife-bladed sun, and Jackson had pulled on his own as well. Galen had pulled out a tablet from the satchel on his hip and was working industriously, offering nothing, so Jackson supposed he was on his own.
“And where is home, Henry?” Jackson asked, gritting his teeth.
“Montana,” Henry replied smartly. “Outside of Billings.”
“Wow. What made you decide not to stay there?”
Henry came to an abrupt stop at L, and they waited for the light. “I was not welcome there,” he said, his voice gruff.
Jackson’s eyes went wide. “A clean-cut charmer like you, Henry? What did you do?”
“I would rather not talk about it,” Henry said with dignity.
“That’s great,” Jackson said, trying to keep things pleasant. Sort of. “Let’s talk about how Martin Sampson was killed.”
“I told you—he got his head bashed in.”
“That’s great. Was the weapon in the dumpster?”
Henry thought for a moment as the light turned green and he pulled forward. “No,” he said. “And the dumpsters are fairly clean. There was no blood or hair on the corners either.”
“Head wounds bleed a lot. Was there a lot of blood in the surrounding area?”
Henry bit his lip. “No,” he said, thinking. “No, there wasn’t. That means it’s a secondary crime scene, doesn’t it?”
“Mm-hm. It does indeed. And it means that there’s a murder weapon somewhere and a car or rug or a tarp with lots of trace evidence floating around.”
“The face was bloody,” Henry said, as though this had just occurred to him. “The guy’s face was bloody, but I didn’t see a wound.”
“So probably a tarp, but I wouldn’t rule out a rug,” Jackson murmured. “About the cops who showed up—was there a forensic team there?”
“Yessir,” Henry said. “Isn’t there always?”
“Not always. It depends on the budget and the DA’s office and how thin everything is spread and which district the crime occurred in. Where’s the flophouse?”
“Off of Howe Avenue, on Hurley. It’s in one of those big apartment warrens with more residents than my hometown.”
Jackson felt his mouth quirk, because that was the closest thing to humor Henry Worrall had offered him so far. He’d take it. “Lucky you. I grew up in Sacramento—not big enough to be impressive, not small enough to give a shit. Everybody’s got some childhood damage to repair.”
“I didn’t,” Henry muttered.
“No?” Somehow Jackson doubted that.
“Dad was a hard man, but only when he needed to be.”
“So if you anticipated his every move, he didn’t bruise your
face,” Jackson translated, and Henry gave him a sideways scowl.
“He just needed us to not be dumbasses.”
“And your mom?”
“Did everything she could to make him happy.”
“Hunh.” It was Ellery’s least favorite sound of Jackson’s, but he couldn’t help it. He could see the whole picture fairly clearly, he thought. He just couldn’t see what a good little son-bot like Henry could have done to not be welcome there anymore.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Henry growled.
“It means we’re getting off the subject,” Jackson evaded, and pretended not to hear Galen’s amused grunt behind them. “Exactly what drugs was Sampson trying to sell?”
“Pills,” Henry said promptly, and at the same time Galen said, “Coke.”
Jackson’s eyes went wide. “So, Henry, that’s only pills, or was it both?”
“No, it was just pills,” Henry said. “Oxy, gabapentin, Vicodin. He was really fucking organized. Had little ten-pill bags going for thirty bucks a piece, all of them labeled and shit. No cocaine. Not even a little.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Well, when he first came around, one of the guys asked if he had… I guess he called it P-Top. When I asked him what the hell he was doing, he said, ‘Cool your jets. It’s a diet aid—supposed to curb your appetite.’”
Ugh. All the guys on the site were ripped and shredded with zero body fat. Jackson figured there had to be a lot of that going around. “Did Sampson have any of it?”
“No. But he did say that coke used to keep him skinny, but he didn’t sell any of that anymore.”
“Hunh,” Jackson said thoughtfully.
And behind him he heard Galen go “Mm….”
“You knew for sure it was coke?” Jackson asked, pitching his voice to reach behind him.
“Yes,” Galen said without hesitation. “John had picked up the habit in college. He stayed away from meth or crank because he thought he could control coke better.”
