“I’m just following the rules so you don’t get off on a technicality,” I told him. “With these rights in mind, do you wish…”
Broadman made a spin move and head-butted Dorchester just as he started to bring Broadman’s right arm down to cuff behind his back, knocking Dorchester out cold. Broadman grabbed for Dorchester’s gun from his holster, and I had no choice but to take a shot.
The receptionist screamed as the sound of the gun reverberated loudly in the tight office space. Broadman clutched his shoulder and fell to the ground. Adrian and Whitworth entered the building shouting after the gun discharged but my sole focus was making sure Broadman stayed down.
“Don’t you fucking move,” I shouted, “or I’ll put you down.”
“Call 911,” he said between gritted teeth.
“We are 911 you son of a bitch,” Whitworth said, as he knelt beside his partner.
“He’s just been knocked out,” I told the distraught detective. “Adrian, call it in.” I secured Broadman’s hands and used Lucy’s cardigan to apply pressure to the wound that appeared to be a clean shot through the fleshy part of his right shoulder. I didn’t want him to bleed out because death would be too good for him. He would need surgery to repair torn muscles and ligaments, but then he could recover and get physical therapy in the prison infirmary while he awaited trial.
I wanted to pin that fucker down and get my answers, but I knew they wouldn’t hold up in court if asked while he was under duress. He whined and cried about how miserable he was and how he planned to sue. I laughed at the lawsuit portion of his comment, but not over his remarks about being in pain. I was certain that Nate, Owen, Lawrence, and Rick would’ve much preferred to have his injuries over their grave ones. It took everything I had not to dig my fingers in his wound and make him suffer even more. Luckily for him, the paramedics got there before I forgot that I was a decent man.
Unfortunately, the Goodville Police Department arrived and wanted to take over the crime scene and the investigation. Technically, Dorchester and Whitworth’s deputy sheriff status trumped Goodville’s authority, but the jackasses who showed up wanted to fight for it. My adrenaline was pumping quickly through my veins and, to tell the truth, I was spoiling for a fight. I would’ve preferred to fuck it out of my system, but that wasn’t an option right then. I was prepared to settle for the next best thing until two loud voices rang out loudly in the office.
“I got this, Detective Wyatt,” Captain Reardon said. “Stand down, Officer, our men are taking the lead in this case.” I slowly released the fistful of the starched uniform of the officer I had grabbed when he implied that country people were too stupid to investigate a crime properly, acting as if Goodville was a fucking metropolis. It had one extra traffic light, two extra dollar stores, and a McDonald’s.
“This man is being arrested for crimes our task force is investigating—a force that includes law enforcement agencies from Carter County Sheriff’s Department, Blissville Police, and Cincinnati Police. Detective Wyatt leads the task force and will oversee this investigation also,” Sheriff Tucker stated firmly. It was the first time I’d ever seen them agree on anything. “The shooting today was a result of our investigation into four homicides, and it takes precedence over your investigation. We’ll inform you if we need your assistance beyond securing the outside of the premises to keep the onlookers away from our crime scene.” Tucker nodded to dismiss the man, who swallowed hard then got to boot scooting it out of there.
Lucy was taken outside and questioned while we searched the office for evidence, making sure to stay out of his client files. We were coming up empty until we found a safe hidden inside a closet. Lucy provided the combination and gasped when she saw what was inside.
“That wasn’t in there last night when I put the bank deposit inside,” she said. I stared down at the stacks of cash that obviously came from Robertson’s safe deposit box. They were the same straps that we initialed after the money was discovered and counted. “I wasn’t involved in any of this,” she said, tears running down her face. I wasn’t falling for tears again so easily. We’d double-check everything to make sure she was telling the truth, if not, she’d be going to jail too.
I realized that I set my phone down on Broadman’s desk while I was in there and went to retrieve it. I noticed that I had missed a text from Josh that simply said he loved me. It gave me the warm and fuzzy feelings, and I returned a quick message to him so he wouldn’t think I was ignoring him. Tucker and Reardon followed after me for reasons I didn’t know because they both got distracted by the diploma hanging on the wall.
“A Wisconsin graduate,” Reardon scoffed.
“You can’t ever trust them,” Tucker added.
The situation was grave, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. The only thing that could bring a Michigan fan and an Ohio State University fan together was the hatred of another rival Big Ten school. And, perhaps solving crimes too.
“Your deputy did a good job,” Reardon said to his father-in-law with a tone of voice you’d expect someone to use while discussing a rectal exam, which should never be confused with a prostate massage.
“Your detective isn’t so bad either,” Tucker replied as if I was a half-step above a root canal.
I was about to leave the office for good when an idea struck me. I removed the framed picture of the baseball team from the wall and took it out of the frame to see if their names and a date had been written on the back of the photo like my mom had done for me as a kid. Sure enough, it was from when the guys were eleven years old. The names of the other members of the team were listed, and one jumped out at me big as shit: Jeffrey Smithson. I would bet Dorchester’s right nut that Jeffrey was Owen’s father. Somehow either Spizer and Broadman together, or Broadman alone, brought Owen into the situation then killed him to keep him quiet.
The motherload of evidence was found at Broadman’s house. Not only did we find a .45 caliber gun, but we found a baggie full of mangled bullets coated in blood and other biological matter that I was sure would test positive for a DNA match to our victims. Broadman’s search history on his computer turned out to be very damning as well, most especially the one about the hardest accelerants for arson dogs to detect. And like other psychotic killers, the dumbass kept something from each victim that put him at each scene, including Rick Spizer’s. He kept Nate’s license, a flash drive that belonged to Owen Smithson, Lawrence Robertson’s dog tags, and a personalized pen with Rick’s name on it. The final nail in his coffin was the damage to the front bumper of his truck that was consistent with the damage to Turner’s rear bumper. We had plenty of evidence for the DA without a confession, although I planned to give it my best shot once Broadman recovered.
I went to the station after the search was concluded to write up my reports and call my task force to fill them in on what we had found. At the time, I couldn’t call Mrs. Spizer and tell her that her husband’s death was a homicide until after Chief Hopkins with the CPD granted me permission. My last call was to Silver to let him know what we’d found out.
He sighed in relief and said, “Thank you, Gabe.” Silver’s voice choked with emotion, and I knew a man like him would want some privacy to process what he’d learned. I promised to keep him posted and hung up the phone to go home to my man.
It was much later than normal by the time I arrived home. The adrenaline from earlier had never diminished; it spiked even higher when I got an eyeful of Josh in his black yoga pants doing his stretches. He didn’t like to be disturbed when he was trying to decompress through yoga, and I knew when he sent the text that he’d had a rough day. It wasn’t that Josh was stingy with his affection, but his texts tended to be more cutesy or sexy than mushy. Had I not been in the middle of collecting evidence, I would’ve called him right on the spot.
I stood quietly and watched him go through his routine. Hell, I had already waited hours to sink inside him so what was a few minutes more? I was proud of my maturity and eagerl
y anticipated the moment I felt his tight heat surrounding my raging hard-on. More than sex, I just wanted to kiss him and hold him in my arms and soak in the preciousness of the time we had together.
“Gabe loves Josh!” Savage squawked loudly. I had been trying to teach him that phrase for months when Josh wasn’t around, but he never said it until then. Almost as if he could understand the mood of the moment.
Josh lost his balance and nearly fell over. The glare on his face made me happy it was the bird that fucked up that time. He smiled when he saw me then ran and leaped into my arms to give me a hero’s welcome home—his words, not mine. I gave him a wall-banging fit for a prince—my words, not his. Afterward, when we collapsed to the floor with him wrapped tightly around me as if he was afraid to let me go, I knew what I needed to do. I also knew it would take careful planning because Josh wasn’t just any guy and any old proposal would never do.
I blinked and next thing I knew it was the most wonderful time of the year—my birthday, not Christmas. Technically, it was the Friday before, but I believe in a birthday week, not just a day. I mean, if I couldn’t get a national holiday out of it then I could at least take a weeklong vacation with my guy. Honestly, it had been Gabe’s idea, not mine. I joked that June 1st should be a national holiday, but I usually just took the day off from work. Gabe decided he wanted to take me on a birthday trip. What guy refused something like that? Not this one.
Besides, a week on a white sandy beach in the Bahamas was just what we needed after the chaos we lived through the past several months. Things were about to heat up when the Broadman murder trials began a little later in the summer, so I agreed that it was the perfect time to get away. I knew how much it bothered Gabe that he wasn’t able to get Rylan Broadman to confess to the crimes, but I assured him that not everyone could be Deputy Brenda Leigh Johnson. He had no idea who I was talking about, of course, so I had to school him on excellent television because he still seemed to be stuck on those dang sports.
I had serious doubts that he’d confess to binge-watching all seven seasons of The Closer, but I didn’t need that. His laughter over Provenza and Flynn’s antics was all the acknowledgment I needed to know that my shows were far superior to his. He never laughed that hard while watching his ballgames. Brenda Leigh was badass and always solved her cases. Some of her outfits were less than attractive, but her hair always kicked ass. Gabe didn’t seem to notice her outfits or hair, and he didn’t find me amusing when I recommended that he use some of her tactics to get Broadman to spill his guts.
I had started filming the wedding series for Channel Eleven the week following Broadman’s arrest. I enjoyed it far more than I ever expected to and my co-stars were amazing. I told Cindy upfront that I had no desire to be the “token gay” on the show. I was flamboyant as fuck at times, but always on my terms and only when I felt like it. I had no desire to be part of anything contrived because it was PC or showed how “cool” the station and network were. Diversity had to be real and genuine because people could see and feel fakeness; not only that, it was awkward to be included in a group that didn’t want you.
Our group clicked from the very beginning. Marla Henderson was the boutique owner, Cliff Nathanson was the caterer, Brenda Halstrom was the florist, and Juan and Joan Diaz were the photographer and wedding planner duo who were partners in business and life. Sometimes it took a few takes to film certain segments because we laughed so much. Our series was so successful that we were invited to be a big part of the wedding Expo at US Bank Arena, which generated a lot of traffic to our businesses.
My staff remarked that we had almost outgrown our location, which got me thinking about something I never thought would happen—relocating. I had purchased my childhood home from my parents with the plans of living there for the rest of my life, but Curl Up and Dye could use the upstairs space to expand the salon. If it wasn’t my living space, I could move the spa services upstairs and have more room downstairs to put in more stations and hire more stylists. It was something that I needed to consider for the long-term growth of my business.
It wasn’t something that I had discussed with Gabe but planned to do on vacation. I wasn’t sure how he felt about house shopping and moving all over again. Once the idea of buying a new house took root, I couldn’t get it out of my head. The more I thought about it, the more I thought it was the best idea I had in a long time. We could find a place that would be both of ours because it still felt like Gabe was just staying over because it had been my place without him for quite some time.
We really could use a guestroom for parental visits, a bigger yard for Buddy to run and play in, and a garage so Gabe could bring Charlotte home. As annoying as small-town life could be at times, I didn’t want to move to a bigger city. I checked the internet for listings daily, but nothing screamed “forever home” at me. I knew the right one would come along if it were meant to be. Hmm, maybe I should ask Emory.
The Friday of Memorial Day weekend was our last shoot for our series, and it was going to end with the group sitting on comfy couches doing a kind of series wrap-up chat and answer viewer questions that were submitted online. Viewers could watch it streaming live on the website or catch clips of it over a few days during the daily news broadcasts.
By the time we got to the chat, I was amped up and ready to go. Not only did I have an amazing time filming the series with a great group of people, but I was also looking hella good, and I was leaving for the Bahamas with Gabe the next day. We already packed our bags; the only thing left to do was head to the airport at an ungodly hour the following morning. Gabe grumbled about the early hour, but to me, it just meant we’d hit the beach that much earlier. I bought special bikini trunks that I knew Gabe was going to love. I was certain he’d spend all his time trying to get me back to the hotel room and out of them. I couldn’t wait!
Cliff catered a scrumptious celebration lunch for us then we took our places on the comfy set that looked like a posh living room. I sat on the ivory leather couch with Marla that was set in the center of the room because Cindy made me. I would’ve been happy sitting in one of the club chairs off to the right, but Cindy said the camera loved my face and my personality drew in the viewers.
“Shut up,” I told her while waving my hand for her to continue.
Joan and Juan curled up on an ivory-and-gray-striped loveseat to the left of the couch while Cliff and Brenda took the dove gray club chairs that I wanted to take home with me. Don’t think I didn’t snap a picture of the setup for a future home I hadn’t even found yet. It was always a good thing to have goals.
“Oh, we have our first question,” Marla said, looking at the laptop in front of us. The two of us were to take turns reading the questions that popped up during our live event. “It’s for you, Cliff. Martha S. would like to know the best entrée to offer guests at a reception.”
“Thanks for the question, Martha,” Cliff said. “I think it’s best to offer your guests a choice of entrées, especially if you plan to offer seafood. Not everyone likes seafood and a lot of people are allergic and can’t eat it. Steak and chicken are the most common, but you shouldn’t shy away from them for that reason. They’re popular because they’re versatile so you can change yours up with a unique seasoning combination or marinade.”
“Good to know,” I said to Cliff. I looked at the next questions that popped up. “The next question is from Jennifer R., and she has a question for you, Marla. Jennifer would like to know if you offer a variety of sizes at your boutique or if you only dress skinny bitches.” I laughed and added, “I like this girl.”
Marla laughed also and said, “We want to make every woman look beautiful on her special day. If I don’t have the dress you’re looking for, then I’ll find it for you, but please give me the time to do so. I can’t begin to stress how important it is to start shopping for your dress at least six months in advance of your wedding. There are fittings and alterations that take time. Weddings are stressful enough without the
added anxiety from poor planning.” I loved how Marla could insult people without really sounding like it. Gabe said I was the only other person he knew who could pull that off.
“Okay, let’s see who’s next,” Marla said. “Bethany J. would like to know from Brenda what her favorite flowers are.”
“Oh wow, I can’t pick a favorite,” Brenda replied then discussed the merits of several popular wedding flowers and how she liked to pair them with less common flowers to give each wedding a unique feel to them.
The next question was for Joan, the one after was for Juan, and then another question for Marla. It seemed like no one had any questions for me about hair or makeup. I was getting a little discouraged but did my best not to show it. The questions were great, and the answers given were even better, so I just had to wait my turn and not pout that people weren’t fighting over one another to hear my little pearls of wisdom.
“Here’s a question for Josh,” Marla said. I perked up but tried not to look pathetic. “It’s from a Detective Smitten from Blissville.” A smile spread across my face as I wondered what the hell Gabe was doing. “He wants to know what you’re doing for the rest of your life?”
“Huh?” There went my polish and professionalism. “He asked what?” I leaned forward and read the question for myself. A follow-up question popped up beneath the first one. “Will you marry me?” I read out loud. The guys on the set chuckled while the girls giggled happily at the shell-shocked expression on my face, which was nothing to the jaw-dropping that happened when Gabe stepped onto the set and walked toward me with a sexy grin all over his face. I noticed that he was wearing my version of a skinny jean for him that I placed in his drawer without telling him. I was briefly distracted by images of me unbuttoning his fly from my knees, but not on air.
“Hi, Sunshine,” he said when he reached the beautifully patterned area rug covering the hardwood floor of our makeshift living room.
Welcome to Blissville Page 70
