The Mystery of the Bones (Snow & Winter Book 4)

by C. S. Poe

  “It doesn’t explain the reason this person mailed human body parts and included anatomically correct drawings,” I replied.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Cope was an artist,” I suggested. “I mean, nothing to the extent of those clinical drawings, but he drew reconstructed fossils.”

  “Hmm….” Calvin rubbed the back of his neck briefly and then gently took my computer from my lap. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” I echoed.

  He put the laptop on the desk and closed the top. “Let’s go back to bed.”

  “What? No. I’m really on to something with this.” I reached out for the computer, but Calvin took my hand.

  “I’m a little tired, Sebastian.”

  Calvin’s admissions of perceived physical weaknesses were about as rare as my own confessions when it came to fear and uncertainty. There was always a significant weight behind his words. Because a little tired meant he was absolutely wrecked. It reminded me of last December during the Nevermore case, when I’d found him asleep on the landing of my stairs, waiting for me to come home. That was one of the first hints I had about how hard Calvin worked himself and how dangerous that pattern of behavior was for his health.

  “All right,” I said.

  I stood and went back to the bed with Calvin. I set my glasses on the nightstand and turned off the light. He climbed in beside me, rolled close, and draped his big body over my own. I liked when he did that—found comfort in my arms. And his weight was sort of like my own anchoring to reality.

  Every so often, I had to be brought back to Earth.

  I WOKE up to Calvin leaning over me, turning off the alarm clock that was set to a quiet radio station. He sighed and dropped back down on top of me.

  I grunted. “Big guy… I can’t breathe.”

  Calvin smiled against my neck before sitting up a little. “Sorry. You’re comfy.”

  “You mean squishy.”

  “I mean perfect.” Calvin kissed the side of my head.

  I turned and squinted at the LED numbers of the clock. “Is it really seven o’clock?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dammit.”

  Calvin made a sound of agreement under his breath. He pushed the blankets back, swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, and got to his feet. He chuckled as Dillon all but flew off the bed, barked excitedly, and ran to the hotel door.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told me, putting on yesterday’s clothes and grabbing the dog leash.

  “I’ll be here,” I answered, rolling onto my stomach.

  When the door shut behind them, I lifted the pillow over my head to burrow underneath. I shut my eyes and dozed in and out of semiconsciousness a bit longer. The problem with being woken enough for me to form words was that there was typically little hope of falling asleep again. My brain was already problem-solving, asking questions, going over to-do lists….

  I pushed up from the mattress and cocoon of moist, wet heat accumulating under the pillow. I got to my feet, stumbled to the bathroom, popped in my red-tinted contacts, and had started brushing my teeth when Calvin returned. I poked my head out of the room and squinted, watching his out-of-focus form pour kibble for Dillon and then strip naked. I moved from the doorway, bumping against the counter as I allowed Calvin to step inside. He pulled the shower curtain back, turned on the water, and got in.

  I spit into the sink, rinsed my mouth, and asked, “Got room in there for a plus-one?”

  “Sure,” Calvin answered. He opened the curtain once more in invitation.

  I shucked off my pajamas and climbed in behind him. I put my fingertips on Calvin’s back and pressed against the rock-solid muscles. Flexing. Powerful. A warrior’s body. In a previous lifetime, he could have been a muse to classic Greek sculptors.

  “What’re you thinking about?” Calvin asked over the water. He had his head in the stream, washing out shampoo.

  “Greece.”

  I picked up the complimentary soap and washcloth and lathered it up. I put it on Calvin’s chest as he turned and wiped water from his face. I got his chest hair nice and sudsy before moving on to his arms. This made my mind calm. Helped to slow everything in my head down. Allowed me to take a moment and smell the roses, so to speak. I’d nearly reached a state of absolute tranquility as I scrubbed, focusing on nothing more than the warm water and bubbles soaking freckle-splattered skin, when Calvin wrapped a hand around my throat. My breath caught when he squeezed lightly, and I looked up.

  Calvin dragged his thumb across my lower lip. “Lather yourself,” he said just loud enough to be heard over the spray.

  I swallowed against his hand, then lowered the cloth from his body, reached down, and began to soap my dick. I hadn’t been hard, hadn’t even considered a morning romp, but the way Calvin’s gaze followed my movements, the way his eyes narrowed as he appraised—approved—I might as well have woken up with this flagpole.

  “Now me,” he ordered, giving my neck another gentle squeeze.

  I didn’t respond. I wasn’t meant to. I blindly reached for Calvin, never looking away from his face, using touch alone to determine when he was properly soaped up. I dropped the washcloth to the floor, where it landed with a wet splat.

  Calvin closed what little space was left between us. He kept his hold on my throat and took our erections into his other hand. He tightened his grasp and gave us a quick, hard stroke. The angle wasn’t quite right, had I been jacking myself off, but his hard cock wet and rubbing against mine more than made up for it. Calvin kissed my mouth. He seemed to savor every breath I gasped for when he applied pressure to my neck.

  “Good,” he murmured.

  I reached up, putting my hands on his shoulders before moving them to his wet hair to give a tug.

  Calvin kissed me again, tongue soft and warm and so fucking delicious. “You really are perfect,” he said. He sounded breathless. He sounded in love.

  Calvin was the Watson to my Sherlock.

  The jelly to my peanut butter.

  Knight to my prince.

  Calvin had me tilt my head back with the lightest touch of his thumb on my jaw. He kissed and nipped my lips, chin, earlobe. “You gonna come, baby?”

  I weakly nodded. “Y-yes.”

  He sped his hand up and squeezed my neck again while saying in my ear, “Say my name.”

  I looked at his face—the strong angles, sharp eyes, and constellations of freckles. That one second between us held suspended. As if time stopped. And despite knowing twelve months ago that I’d found my soul mate, this force felt like a sudden revelation. It took my breath away. I loved Calvin. More than I could ever say. And his name was sacred.

  “Calvin,” I whispered.

  Something in his expression changed. Maybe it was hard to tell without my glasses on. Or maybe it was simply one of those emotions that was… undefinable. Because despite having over one hundred thousand words in the English language, none of them seemed to explain the reaction I’d witnessed from Calvin upon speaking his name.

  He let go of my throat, leaned in, and kissed my mouth firmly.

  My hips jerked into his strong touch once, twice—then I was shuddering and spending in his hand. I broke the kiss, wrapped my arms firmly around Calvin’s neck, and clung for dear life as my knees threatened to send me crashing to the shower floor. He grunted and kept stroking our cocks. I squirmed and panted. It was too much. A physical overload bordering on painful. I groaned, but it came out as an embarrassing whimper, and I had to pull back from his touch as Calvin spurted cum onto his hand and my stomach.

  He sagged a little under my grip, sighed, and gently let us go. He smoothed one hand up and down my back.

  “I love you,” I murmured.

  “I love you too, Sebastian.”

  “WHAT DO you think triggered your dream?” Calvin asked. He sat on the edge of the unmade bed, tying his oxfords.

  “A generous portion of cheesecake and beer,” I answered while pulling a sweater on. “Th
at seems like a good combination for a nightly disturbance.”

  “Ah.” Calvin stood. He buttoned his cuffs before beginning to knot the tie around his neck. “Do you want to go to work today?”

  I paused from trying to wrestle the sleeve of my button-down shirt, which was bunched up in my sweater. “Is this a trick question?”

  “No.”

  “Then yes. Of course.”

  Calvin finished with his tie. He walked to the mirror on the far end of the room to check his appearance. “I got approval for your police protection last night. So long as you don’t stray from the officer’s side and promise to check in with me throughout the day—”

  “How did you swing it?” I interrupted.

  Calvin turned around. “Swing what? An escort?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t call yesterday morning because I figured your sergeant would have suspended you for getting tangled up with me again. Now he’s approved diverting resources for me?”

  “Things are different than they were ten months ago,” Calvin answered as he walked toward me. “Hell. Even two months ago.”

  “Say it ain’t so.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders. “Threats against a cop’s fiancé are taken into… greater consideration than those against his nosy boyfriend. I know that’s not fair.”

  “Such is life,” I answered.

  Calvin looked like he wanted to say something else, but the hotel phone rang. He went to the bedside table and picked up the receiver. “Hello? … Speaking. … Oh. Good. I’ll be right down. Thank you.” He hung up and patted my arm as he passed to go to the door. “Speaking of your protection….”

  “I’ll be here,” I said for a second time that morning.

  Calvin saluted over his shoulder before the door fell closed behind him.

  “Thank God,” I muttered before glancing at Dillon on the second bed. “Because we were going to have to have a come-to-Jesus moment if he thought I’d sit in this room all day twiddling my thumbs.” I slipped my loafers on, dancing from foot to foot as I tugged the backs over my heels.

  A cell phone rang. I patted my pockets and looked around the room before picking up mine from the desk. The screen was dark. Not me. I turned again and rushed to the nightstand for Calvin’s phone. If it was Quinn, I was comfortable answering. Any other number I’d let go to voice….

  Marc.

  Hold up.

  Marc, as in, Marc Winter?

  My blood pressure rose with each ring. To my knowledge, Calvin’s older brother had not phoned once since he’d come out to his family last Christmas. His father had called maybe two or three times, but it’d always been in regard to Calvin’s uncle and nothing more. Never had any of his immediate family members attempted to make amends.

  So what the hell was this about?

  Had Uncle Nelson fallen ill again?

  Maybe something had happened to Calvin’s asshole, homophobic father?

  And then, because I was a semidecent human being, I immediately felt guilty for giving life to such a thought. I swore and tapped Accept.

  “Uh—Calvin Winter’s phone.” I winced.

  Acute silence and hesitation echoed on the other end. Finally a voice asked, “Calvin…?”

  “No. This is Sebastian Snow. His—er—” I froze up before blurting out fiancé. It wasn’t my place. Marc might be my future brother-in-law, but this announcement needed to come from Calvin, in whatever method he felt was best for delivering it. “His guy,” I eventually said. I smacked my forehead.

  His guy?

  Christ.

  “His boyfriend,” I corrected. Wow, did I sound like a complete dunce.

  “Oh.” More silence. “My name is Marc. I’m his… I’m Calvin’s brother.”

  “Yeah. I mean, I know. Your name is in his address book.”

  “Is Calvin available?”

  “No.” Okay, maybe a touch hostile.

  “When would be a better time for me to call?”

  “Uh….” I ran a hand through my still-damp hair. “Can I ask what it’s in regard to?”

  “It’s personal,” Marc answered coolly.

  “I see.” I shoved my hand into my pocket. “It’s not my intention to stir up drama by saying this, but now probably isn’t a good time.”

  He let out a long breath over the line. “With all due respect, Mr. Snow, this is my brother’s phone number. Not yours.”

  I took a play from both Calvin’s and Neil’s handbooks—count to ten.

  Unfortunately I only made it to three.

  “He’s in the middle of a homicide investigation,” I answered, more curtly.

  Another pause from Marc. “All right,” he said, drawing the response out. “Look… I’m calling because I’m in the city for business all week. And I would like to see Calvin.”

  My gut was saying no. Not no, but hell no. Don’t let this familial pressure bog Calvin down during a case that’s already got him stressed-out. But how did I relay that importance to Marc without simultaneously undermining the man I loved? For someone related by blood, I was fairly certain Marc knew little or nothing of how the atrocities of war left their mark on Calvin. And he definitely wasn’t aware of the effort Calvin put into bettering his health, or how his family suddenly parachuting into his life would probably have an adverse effect.

  I had my suspicions that, in the Winter household, Calvin was a decorated military officer to boast of. Heroes didn’t suffer. Heroes didn’t have scars. So in retrospect, it was of little surprise that Calvin refused to admit for so long that he had PTSD. He’d been conditioned to lie about his sexuality for forty years—what was a little extra emotional and mental trauma added to that?

  God. It made me feel sick to imagine growing up in such a way. But it also made me all the more thankful that I could share my own dad with Calvin, give him the loving father figure he never had.

  “Marc?”

  “Yes?” he asked warily.

  “Can we meet first? You and me? Calvin really is in the middle of a case. A high-profile one,” I added, which was a lie, but whatever. “I’m on my way to work—my shop is in the East Village. Snow’s Antique Emporium. Can you be there by nine?”

  More silence.

  I heard the distant ping of the elevator down the hall.

  Fuck.

  “Marc?” I asked insistently.

  “I… suppose—”

  I cut him off, quickly gave him the street address, and said goodbye before hanging up. I brought the phone closer and opened the recent calls list. I swiped and deleted the record of Marc’s call at 7:42 a.m. before putting the phone back on the nightstand as the door opened.

  I turned around and gave Calvin a smile, which I felt sort of slide off my face and hit the floor when a plainclothes Officer Rossi followed from behind, shutting the door as he entered.

  “Oh” was all I got out.

  Calvin gave me a look before saying, “Seb, this is Officer Nico Rossi. Rossi, I believe you already know Sebastian Snow.”

  Rossi nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Rossi has been assigned as your protection,” Calvin continued.

  “Lucky me,” I answered. I looked Rossi’s way as Calvin collected his cell and put his jacket and scarf on. His posture indicated he was about as thrilled to be assigned babysitting duty as I was for him to be the babysitter.

  “Text me when you reach the Emporium,” Calvin said as he stood in front of me, buttoning his coat.

  I quickly turned my gaze to him and nodded. “Text, yup. Will do.”

  “I’ll give you a call around noon. And remember, anywhere you go, Rossi goes. Clear?”

  “Crystal.” I took the front of Calvin’s coat, tugged him closer, and stood on my toes to kiss him.

  Calvin smiled. “See you tonight.” He kissed my temple before turning.

  Rossi sort of startled to attention and gave a quick nod to Calvin. It was one of those knee-jerk reactions that suggested he wasn’t uncomfor
table—per se—but that he was at least uncertain if his response to two men kissing should be… different, I guess. Like he didn’t realize our affection was exactly like any other couple and he could be as engaged or apathetic as he wanted to be.

  “Regular intervals,” Calvin said to Rossi.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once Calvin left the hotel room, I looked at Rossi while crossing my arms. “This will be fun.”

  Chapter Six

  I NEEDED food. And coffee. But I wasn’t looking to share a meal in the downstairs lounge with Rossi, so I forwent a semidecent breakfast in favor of eating whatever snacks or leftovers were squirreled away at the Emporium.

  We exited the hotel, took a right, and caught a cab at the corner of Ninth Avenue for the long trek downtown. I sat in the back with Dillon—Rossi opted for the front with the driver.

  “Pleasure to see you again, Rossi,” I finally said.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Sorry it was you who got saddled with this.” Sorry for him or for me—the jury was still out on that.

  “I offered my services,” he said in a clipped tone.

  I raised an eyebrow, stared at his right shoulder and arm, and the sort of blurry reflection of his face in the side mirror. He was looking down—texting on his phone, I think. “Couldn’t get enough of my charming personality, huh?”

  He once again declined further comment.

  Ah-ha. I got it.

  “Detective Winter has some serious pull in the NYPD,” I said casually. “Keeping his fiancé safe during this investigation would definitely put you on the right trajectory for a promotion to detective.”

  Rossi met my gaze in the mirror.

  His silence was… loud. But when he ultimately didn’t rise to the bait, I dropped the line of inquiry. It was stupid, bureaucratic bullshit anyway. If I had the patience for those kinds of games, I wouldn’t have taken the chance at opening my own business. I did make note to myself that Calvin would need a heads-up about Rossi’s personal motives. However, considering Quinn’s choice of words yesterday regarding him, I figured Calvin already knew the angle being played. He was much better at reading people—dead or alive—than I was.