No, he corrected. He obviously couldn’t handle the detective the last time, and his mind had gone the other way, washing a layer of doubt over the actual article so his brain could continue to function. He was paying for it now, because the sight of the detective framed by the lit-up, sized-down Stargate he’d had built into the long wall for decoration was enough to make him weep.
Castillo wore the same leather jacket Alex’d first seen him in, but his jeans were now faded blue Levi’s, and the shirt was a heather gray Henley, its buttons undone and the flap pulled open enough for Alex to catch a good peek at Castillo’s tanned chest and collarbone.
God, he apparently also had a thing about collarbones.
“How are you doing, Alex?” Castillo smiled, turning the sexy up to a dangerous level. “Do you have a minute? Maybe grab some coffee?”
“Sure. We can talk in my office.” He looked toward the back where he’d set up a coffee machine. “Um, I can make a pot.”
“Just made one,” Giselle called out sweetly from where she’d been eavesdropping.
“Okay, then.” Alex clapped his hands, instantly regretting doing so. Nothing said gay man like a Teletubbies impersonation. “Um, follow me.”
He walked a few feet ahead of Castillo, but Alex could have sworn he felt the man’s heat on his back and thighs. Opening the door to his office, he motioned the detective in and asked, “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black’s fine,” Castillo answered, sliding up past Alex close enough he could smell the detective’s faint cologne mingled with the leather he was wearing.
Separated by mere inches, Alex stood against the office door and brought his hands to his sides. He clenched his fingers in, steadfastly refusing to even accidentally brush the man’s body. He needn’t have worried. Castillo did it for him, with a gentle brush of fingers along Alex’s thigh as he went in.
After clearing his throat—because suddenly there was a lump of something in it—Alex said shakily, “I’ll be right back. Um… the couch is comfortable. Sit wherever you want.”
Retreating back up a few feet to the break room, Alex almost jumped out of his skin when Giselle hissed into his ear, “Holy shit, he’s hot. New guy? Hell, did you have an old guy?”
“Why are you back here?” Alex muttered back. “Suppose there are customers?”
“I’d hear that chirping thing go off.” The young woman rested her chin on Alex’s shoulder, watching him as he doctored up his own coffee after filling up two mugs. “You’re going to go in there with those dorky transporter cups? Dude, no one wants to watch old-school Kirk and Spock disappear as they drink coffee. So not sexy.”
“I’m not trying—will you get off my shoulder?” Alex nudged her back with his elbow. “He’s probably here about the dead guy. Remember that?”
“God, how can I forget? Best two days of not-working I’ve done in my life,” she said gleefully, tousling her bright red hair. “Went to the beach. Got a pedicure—”
“If working here’s a problem, we can cure that,” Alex jibed playfully. “Especially since you’re supposed to be work-working right now.”
“Well, shit, give me the details when you’re done.” She pouted. “Or better yet, lock the office door, and I promise to keep everyone out for at least an hour. If you yell loud enough, you can even make it two.”
“God, I’m going to fire you one day,” he promised without much heat. “Go back up front. Now.”
Juggling the mugs, he made it back to the office without spilling anything on the floor only to find Castillo up on his feet and studying the items Alex’d shoved into the bookcases lining one side of his office walls. He was fondling a blown-glass dragon when Alex walked in, turning the creature over to watch the opal chips suspended in glycerin bob about in its hollow belly.
The area was originally used to store collectibles, but Alex had converted it into his office when he took over Planet X, opening up the space in the front as a break room for his employees. Spacious enough to hold a desk and a short couch, it was a place for Alex to relax in while he did the books. Furnished mainly for comfort, the office resembled more of a family room than a place of serious business. He needed that bit of comfort, especially since he used the office to flee the employee-empowered musical program if the tunes got too much for him.
“This is pretty,” Castillo remarked, carefully returning the dragon to its original spot. Alex felt the detective’s gaze follow him as he sat down on the wide chair near the couch, and when he looked up, Castillo’s amber eyes caught him as neatly as if he were an insect on a tree. “But then, so are you.”
Alex fumbled his coffee cup, splashing a few drops into his lap. Staring up at the cop, he patted away the liquid, wondering if he had heard correctly. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“Yeah, I’ll get back to that,” Castillo promised as he sat down on the couch. “I suppose I have to take care of official business before anything else.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m really confused right now,” Alex admitted.
“Let me help with that.” The detective pulled out a small notepad from the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ve discovered who the dead body was and, more importantly, found out how he got in your shop.”
Alex had to put his mug down. His hands were shaking, and he didn’t trust himself not to drop his coffee. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Okay. What happened?”
“First, I wish you’d told me your father invented air or something.” Castillo’s rueful look was back. “We—my partner and I—were surprised by how much cash flow you’ve got. It sent up a couple of red flags for a few days until we got it all figured out.”
“My father didn’t invent air. He just sort of figured out a couple of ways to make—look, what does that have to do with anything?” Alex frowned. “I didn’t think my financial situation had anything to do with me finding a dead man in the middle of my shop.”
“No, but it did help us get to why that man was there,” the detective replied. “Apparently part of your shop’s services include acquiring expensive collectibles.”
“Well, yeah, but none of that’s stored here.” Alex shrugged. “My cousin is—well, I don’t know what you’d call him exactly, but he deals in antiques and collectibles. Geeky stuff, mostly. He offers me first bid if it’s something he thinks I’d be interested in. I have a list of clients who are interested in a lot of things but mostly pop culture stuff.”
“And you store those items where? Not here, right?”
“No, at his warehouse. If I buy an item, I rent the space it’s in until it is purchased. He’s got a staff there who’ll box it up and ship it out for me. I mean, I do go look at the items. I don’t ever purchase anything blind.”
“And these items—those would be the ones listed on your website?” Castillo referred to his notes when Alex nodded. “Some of these things are worth a lot of cash and aren’t too big, right?”
“Some,” he agreed with a shrug. “Price is all dependent on rarity. Sometimes the smallest things are worth the most, because people threw away a lot of props from early movies. A near-mint lobby card of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula sold for over twenty thousand dollars. You’d be surprised at what people have stashed up in their closets or attics. Why?”
“Because we found a list of items in the dead man’s pocket—a list that matched up to some of the inventory you had on your site. A few items didn’t line up, so I’m going to ask you to verify they were sold.” Castillo unfolded a Xeroxed list from his notebook and passed it over to Alex. “Can you do that for me?”
“Um, sure.” Alex took the paper and studied it. “I’ll have to check my inventory to see when something was sold, but what you’ve highlighted looks about right.”
Castillo nodded and took the paper back. “Apparently, your next-door neighbor, Mr. Shandan, felt the printing and copying business wasn’t as lucrative as he’d like, so he decided to pay one of his more… larcenous employees to liberate s
ome of the items listed for sale on your site.”
“But none of that’s stored here,” Alex protested softly.
“Mr. Shandan seemed to think otherwise.” The detective motioned around the office. “Has he ever had access to your shop? Back here, maybe?”
“He uses our bathroom a lot, but that’s across the break room. I usually keep my office locked unless I’m in it. We don’t have a lot of cash on hand. Most of our payments are electronic, but there’s a safe for the drawer. It’s maybe two thousand at most.”
“See, our dear Mr. Shandan didn’t know that. He thought you were stashing the good stuff back here. So he sent one Michael Rafferty, formerly a resident of North Kern State Prison, to locate a few things in your inventory in exchange for a payout. The plan was for Rafferty to go up into the ceiling, squeeze through an opening between your shops, and let himself down into your place.”
“But how the hell did he end up dead? And in my shop?”
“That’s where it gets interesting. Our Mr. Rafferty not only did not show up for work, he also did not contact Shandan about the items he’d been sent for. Shandan figured he split with the goods, but after a little while, there was a curious smell coming from Shandan’s shop. He finally popped the ceiling tiles up over on his side and peered through the opening—”
“And what?” Alex was almost afraid to ask.
“His burglar had the unfortunate luck of expiring from a heart attack before he could actually get into your shop.” Castillo paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Shandan didn’t know what to do, so he left Rafferty up there until he could figure something out. What he finally decided on was to go through the opening himself and get Rafferty out of the crawl space by pulling back the tiles on your side and shoving his deceased employee out of the hole.”
“Oh God, so he’s been up there? The entire time? Dead?” Alex was grateful the cream he used in his coffee was nondairy, or he was sure it would have curdled in his stomach at the thought. “Oh my God!”
“See, Shandan opens later than you do, and for some reason, he thought the two of you were on the same schedule. He’d just gotten Rafferty pushed out of the space when you pulled up. He didn’t have time to retrieve Rafferty’s body. Hell, he barely had enough time to get out of your ceiling space before you got the door open.”
“Shit, he was there when I was throwing up in the bushes,” Alex murmured. “It didn’t even dawn on me he was there early. He never opens up early.”
“So there you have it. Once we ID’d Rafferty, it was a quick walk to motive and then to Shandan. We showed up to ask him about Rafferty’s disappearance, and he stonewalled us. That’s a bigger red flag than some rich kid selling comic books in a strip mall.” Castillo winked at Alex’s scoffing laugh. “See, and now comes the difficult part, because when I started this investigation, I was planning on doing one thing when we got it all wrapped up, but now I don’t know if I can.”
“What? What one thing?” He studied the detective lounging back in the nearby couch. “You found the guy who did this… even if it’s Mr. Shandan. Hell, he’s been there for years. I can’t believe it. What’s there left to do?”
“Just one matter I wanted to deal with, but it’s all dependent on you,” Castillo replied. “You’re kind of way above my pay grade now.”
“Eh?” If confusion was edible, Alex had an entire mouthful and was choking on it. “I don’t understand.”
“Would you like to go out with me?” Castillo leaned forward, his hands dangling between his spread knees. “I’ve been wondering how that mouth of yours tastes since the moment I laid eyes on you, and I’ve worked this case so hard to close it just so I could find out. So what do you say, Alex? Maybe dinner and a movie?”
“WOW, YOU look incredible.” James stood outside of the Italian restaurant he’d suggested to Alex. It was a casual enough place to wear jeans to—something Alex looked relieved to discover—but with intimate tables and candlelight, a romantic kind of place meant to put the man at ease.
And if anyone needed to be put at ease, it was Alex Martin.
Dressed in dark jeans, light blue French-cuff shirt, and a black pea coat, Alex Martin was hitting all of James’s buttons. When the man dashed through the light Los Angeles rain to duck under the awning next to James, he lit up with a faint shy smile as he shook a scatter of drops from his thick, wavy mop.
“Sorry I’m late.” Alex shot a dirty look up at the sky. “I don’t know why we Californians get crazy when there’s rain. Everyone on the road acts like it’s the apocalypse.”
“Well, you know… Death, War, Famine, and Precipitation,” James joked, pulling a full, sweet laugh from the other man. “You’re right on time.”
Dinner was fun, if a bit perplexing at times. Alex seemed to have no clue about what a date entailed, and if James didn’t know better, he’d have thought the man was interrogating him for a case. Halfway through their entrée, Alex broke off a piece of bread from the basket between them and heavily dabbed it with Alfredo sauce. The sight of the man’s open mouth enveloping the white cream dollop made James think of much better things for Alex’s lips to be wrapped around.
“I am very jealous of that piece of bread right now,” James said softly as Alex took a bite. “And maybe your fork. I like how you glide it in and out of your mouth as you take a bite of your food. Possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Not for the first time in his life, James was very happy to know how to perform the Heimlich maneuver, although judging by the beet red burn on Alex’s cheeks when he was done, James was fairly certain the other man would have preferred to expire on the spot.
Even after he’d gotten the bread dislodged, James left his arms wrapped around Alex’s torso, his fists pressed into the hollow beneath the man’s breastbone. It was probably wrong to get hard when forcing a bit of bread out of a man’s windpipe, but James’s dick didn’t seem to care about propriety. It gleefully took the embrace of Alex’s butt cheeks, and James damped down his desire, choosing instead to rub at Alex’s bruised belly.
“You okay there, babe?” James whispered softly amid the panic and chaos around them.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Alex choked out. “Is that your sick idea of job security?”
“I am so sorry, Alex.” He eased the man down into his seat, crouching by Alex’s knee. “I don’t normally kill on the first date. Usually it takes me at least until the third before I trot out the hard stuff.”
“Don’t joke. It hurts to laugh.” Slinging his arm around his ribs, Alex winced in pain. “Oh God, you’re strong.”
“Yeah, sorry,” James said ruefully. “Feel like finishing dinner?”
“Hell, no.” Alex shook his head. “Can I get a rain check? I need ice cream or something. My throat feels like it’s on fire.”
MRS. WHO met him at the door, her mottled form winding around Alex’s legs as he tried to get through the foyer. He tossed his keys onto the table near the front door, then picked up the tortoiseshell cat and carried her into the living room, collapsing onto the couch in front of a river-stone fireplace. The feline mewed and pushed her chin against his cheek, and Alex buried his face into the cat’s fur, breathing in deeply.
“Ick, you smell like tuna,” he muttered, pulling the cat away. Mrs. Who meeped and wiggled down out of his grasp, settling on the couch to knead at a throw pillow. “Mrs. Who, I totally suck at this dating thing. He let me out and then sped off. I’d be surprised if I ever see him—”
The doorbell chiming a hearty tone through the house interrupted Alex’s thoughts. Moving the cat out of the way, he passed through to the foyer and peered out of the door’s inset glass panel, sighing when he recognized Detective James Castillo standing on his front porch.
Resting his forehead on the door, Alex called out, “Can you just let me die of embarrassment in peace? Or are you hoping you can watch me choke on my own tongue or something?”
“You die of embarrassment? I’m
the one who had to flee the villagers’ torches and pitchforks! Pretty sure they called me a witch for bringing you back to life!” Castillo answered through the door. “I promised you dessert.”
“I spat up on you like a baby with colic!” he reminded the detective.
“I brought you ice cream.” The enticement was a good one, and Alex sighed, seriously contemplating letting him in. Then James said, “It’s mint chocolate chip.”
“Shit.” Alex opened the door and grabbed at the plastic Rite-Aid bag. “That’s like my kryptonite.”
“Isn’t kryptonite bad for you?” James asked as he closed the door behind them. “If you point me toward the kitchen, I’ll grab a couple of spoons. I figured we could share a pint.”
“No, I’m just going to open the container and shove my face in it. I hear wallowing’s good for depression.” Alex set the bag down and motioned to the cat. “Castillo, meet Mrs. Who. Mrs. Who, this is the man who tried to kill Daddy earlier. Try not to eat his face while I go get utensils.”
James dug through Alex’s DVDs and found an old black-and-white sci-fi movie he’d never seen, and they ate enough of the ice cream that neither one of them wanted to see another chocolate chip for at least several days. When James nodded off on the end of the couch with Mrs. Who purring in his lap, Alex let the man sleep until the end of the movie, staring at James’s hand clasped over his.
THEIR SECOND official date didn’t go much better. It came after spending more than a few nights together on Alex’s couch, eating takeout and watching movies. When James suggested they hit up the Santa Monica pier one night instead, Alex thought it would be fun to spend an evening eating bad food and walking with James out in the open.
To be fair, Alex had to suppose James wasn’t expecting the clown’s rainbow wig to catch on fire, but it did, and things took a downturn when one of the boardwalk workers accused the detective of sabotaging the man’s act. Despite James’s smooth charm, they’d finally just made a run for it, scrambling to get to Alex’s Mini Cooper before escaping in a squeal of tires and laughter.
Grand Adventures Page 20
