by Aiden Bates
“Okay. For your comfort, then.” I smiled in his hair, breathing in the herby, green sweetness that the scent of his shampoo left in it. “You don’t gotta cry, sweetheart. I’m going to take care of you. Protect you. Keep you safe always.”
“How are you going to prove it? Take a bullet for me?”
I smirked. “Course I would. Any day of the week. Wouldn’t even have to think about it.”
“Fuck. Okay, that’s also hot.” He sniffed, wiggling his nose a little deeper into the crook of my neck. “I mean, I don’t want you to or anything, but…well, but…”
“Perfect thing.” I chuckled, kissing his hair. “Perfect, perfect thing. Look at me, okay? There’s more comfort to be had still.”
“Yeah?” Nick pushed himself up off of me, staring down at me and holding my gaze. His eyes were a little red and puffy, but the blue in them was bright and clear as ever.
“I’m going to keep me safe too,” I promised. “And furthermore—I’m never gonna make you cry like this again.”
His smile was soft. Tender. Full of something almost unbearably warm—something that looked a lot like love.
“I’d like that,” he said, folding himself over me again and wrapping his arms around my neck. He squeezed me tight. Kissed my cheek. And best of all, he didn’t let go.
I lay there in his arms for long enough to lose myself in him, the taste of his cum still on my lips and the smell of our sex all around us. Hot, heady, musky and sweet. His body against mine was warm and relaxed, enough to make my joints ache for rest and my eyelids feel heavy. My heart pounded with a different need now, reverberating every bone in my body as I fought off the urge to stay there with him. To sleep in his arms and enjoy the heat of his touch, the softness of his skin.
But finally, with a grunt and a sigh, I moved over to kiss him one last time before I pulled myself up out of bed. My shirt had ended up draped over the lamp. My jeans, tangled in my boxers, socks, and boots down on the floor.
“You’re going, then?” Nick asked me, his voice small and surprisingly delicate.
I could see the worry in his eyes. That fear in them that had always held me back from having exactly the kind of life I knew he could give me. I hated the idea of him fretting over me. Hated myself even more for making him feel like he had to.
“Time’s a-wastin’.” I kicked my jeans free of my boots, then stepped into them with a clank of my belt—boxers and all. “Quicker I go, the sooner I’ll be back.”
“But you will be back.” Nick’s gaze was sharpening now, the softness of post-orgasmic bliss quickly fading as I sat back down to tug on my boots and do up my belt.
“I will be,” I assured him, tying my laces tightly into place. “Of course I will.”
“Good,” Nick sighed, nodding his head a little and closing his eyes. “Yeah. Good. Good.”
I didn’t hear him pipe up again until I had my shirt on and my arms through the sleeves of my jacket. When he did, I was surprised. Part of me had been sure that he’d fallen asleep.
“Harper?” he said, looking up at me with a sweetness that made my heart melt.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Be careful, okay?” He cuddled a little deeper into the pillows, turning on his side and hugging one tightly to his chest. “Promise me you will be.”
“Of course,” I said, smirking and giving him a little laugh. “Always am.”
But as I kissed his forehead and made my way out the door, I knew that those last words were a lie. One that might get me killed this time. There was no careful in this business—just lucky. And while it had been nothing short of the greatest luck of my life to have someone like Nick in my life through all of this…
I just hoped that my luck hadn’t run out. At least, not yet.
26
Harper
Leaving Nick wasn’t easy. What came next was almost as hard.
I turned the key in the Mustang’s ignition, then hopped out again when I saw Ernesto slip out KPS’s front doors.
“You have a plan, Harper?” Ernesto asked, rolling his knuckles against his palm until they cracked. “Or are you just going into this cocked and loaded, guns blazing?”
“Cocked and loaded isn’t really my style, you know.”
Ernesto smirked. “Not too far off, from what I heard up there in the suite. Thin walls, son.” Ernesto tapped his temple twice with his index finger, a twinkle in his eye. “Sound travels.”
“I’ll, uh…” I kicked the curb, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “I’ll remember that.”
“So. What are we doing, then?”
I quirked an eyebrow, feeling a tinge of déjà vu. We—why was it always we?
“No offense, old man, but you’re, ah…” I furrowed my brow. “Well, you’re an old man. Come on—do you even work jobs anymore?”
Ernesto chuckled. “I may be a mature man, Harper, but I’ve aged like a fine cask of Havana rum.” He flexed for me as punctuation—and to be fair, he did still have biceps like a couple of footballs. “Besides—you’ll need backup, my friend. Don’t pretend that you won’t.”
“I…” I glanced across the street, watching the way the squat apartment buildings and thin terrace houses rose and fell along the skyline. Ernesto had taken King’s Place and whipped it into shape with little more than a few good men and the force of his own personality. He’d kept it safe with his own gun, no help from the city whatsoever. And he was right—where I was going next, I couldn’t go alone. His help was as good as any—especially given his feelings towards the Fort Greene police department. “I’m headed to the police station, I reckon. At first, I thought maybe Atlanta…but there’s a storm brewing there that’s bigger than me. Even with you watching my back.”
Ernesto nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “An astute observation, Harper. Better to be a big fish in a little pond than a little fish in a—”
“Exactly. But…” I thumbed my nose. “There’s, ah, a problem.”
“There always is.”
“There’s corruption in the city PD. Someone’s paid them off to turn a blind eye to Josh’s murder—but we don’t know how many officers are in these people’s pockets. Or which ones, for that matter.”
There was a long silence as Ernesto let that set in. When he finally realized what I was saying, he only had a sigh to give me. “So you’re planning on using yourself as bait, then.”
“I am a big fish, remember.”
“Catch of the day, in fact.” Ernesto jerked his chin up sharply. “All right. I’m with you on this, Harper.”
“Don’t suppose you could lend me one of your boys instead? I get it,” I said, seeing him open his mouth to argue. “I know you’re capable, Ernesto. But I don’t want you to get caught up in this. Or hurt, for that matter. You’ve got the community here to watch over. They rely on you. And if the Fort Greene PD decide that they might not feel so accommodating about the way you’ve been running King’s Place under their noses all these years…”
“This is a high-risk gig, Harper. And a volunteer one, at that.” Ernesto shook his head. “No. It’ll have to be me.”
“You sure? I’m not opposed to going into this alone,” I offered.
Ernesto only smiled. “This is for Josh, Harper. For your Omega. Some risks…they’re worth taking.”
I thought it over for a minute, then cocked my head toward the Mustang’s double beams. “All right. Get in.”
I left Ernesto outside the station with the passenger seat of the Mustang tilted back and the lights off. The police knew better than to think that I’d bring Nick along with me on this. Aside from him, they’d be expecting me to work alone. It gave Ernesto a vantage point. He’d be able to buzz me with a text if he saw anything suspicious—but no one else would be able to see him.
At the front desk, I found the officer who’d given me access to Josh’s phone perched, scribbling away. Notes on the case, I thought at first—but as I leaned up on the counter,
I saw that he wasn’t doing anything more than doodling dicks.
“PI King,” the officer said with a grin. “Pretty late at night to be gumshoeing, doncha think?”
“Ah, yeah, but you know how it is.” I returned his smile, pretending not to see the series of lopsided penises he was filling his notepad with. Based on their meager length and sizeable girth, I hoped that they weren’t self-portraits. “Is Chief Sorenson in? Wouldn’t mind a word or two with him on Josh’s case, if he is.”
“The chief? Uh…” The nervous way the officer tilted back in his chair, craning his neck toward Sorenson’s office, told me that the chief was there. Whether or not I’d be allowed to see him was the real question. “I don’t know about that, Harper, he’s been real busy—might be out on a, ah…a donut run or somethin’…”
“You boys in blue and your donuts,” I teased dryly. “Strange time of night to be going for pastries, if you’re all so, ah…” I let my eyes wander down to the officer’s dick-covered notebook. “Busy.”
Blushing bubblegum pink, the officer flipped his notebook closed with a snap. “Well, it’s just, uh…Hell, you know how it is, Harper. This, uh, this murder and all to follow up on, leads to track down, and the chief… Well, the chief’s real, um…”
“Right here, Harper. Glad to hear you got my message.” Sorenson drew himself up to his full height as he emerged from his office, the badge on his jacket shining in the fluorescent light. “Come on back—I think you’ve harassed Detective Bingley enough for one night.”
I gave Detective Bingley and his dick doodles a little wink in parting as I followed Sorenson into his office. Sorenson shut his door behind me. As I settled into the seat in front of his desk, I could swear I heard a lock click behind me.
“So. Still beating down clues, Harper.” It wasn’t a question. Sorenson placed himself behind his desk, hands curled around the arms of his chair. “Thought we were all in agreement that you were going to leave this case in our very capable hands.”
“Well, that’s the thing, Chief.” I rubbed the back of my head, looking as aw shucks as I could. “Way I see it, this thing’s been going on for a while. Me and my brothers, we’re achin’ for an update.”
Sorenson didn’t even flinch. “And we’ll give you boys one as soon as we’ve got any new intel ourselves, Harper. Unfortunately, as I’m sure you’ve discovered for yourself…” There was a pause, during which Sorenson’s colorless eyes bored into me, daring to say otherwise. “Our leads have all run dry.”
“Sorry to hear that, Chief.” I smirked. “Glad I came in now, though. You need a lead, I’ve got one for you. Wanna hear it?”
Sorenson blinked. Otherwise, he was all poker face. “Of course.”
“Carver Media. Maybe you’ve heard of them?” No reaction. “They’ve gone through a whole hell of a lot of trouble to cover up the story Josh was working on. Before your buddy put a knife through his ribs, I mean.”
“I’m not sure what you’re implying, Harper. The Fort Greene police don’t consider ourselves, ah…how would your friend Nick put it? BFFs with criminals, if you will.”
I fought back a scowl, wishing that Sorenson would keep Nick’s name out of his mouth. “Course not, Chief. Just a turn of phrase. But from the way I see it, Carver Media’s got their greasy little hands all over the things Josh was looking into. Bought up some small-time papers, scrubbed the web of the whole thing.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“Over one little story? You’re tellin’ me. But Josh…he wasn’t some halfwit Buzzfeed reporter. No small-town newsboy, either. Given his background, his resume, the lengths he’d go to just to get a story… You know how us King boys are, Chief.” I smiled, remembering how Nick had put it. “Just like dogs. Once we sink our teeth into something, we have a hard time letting it go.”
“I see.” Another blink—then, to my surprise, Sorenson reached across the desk toward me, laying his palm flat on the wooden surface as his voice softened. “Maybe learning to let go would be a good exercise for you King boys, then. Especially you, Harper. You’re grieving. Grief can make men do stupid things.”
“Dangerous ones, too.” I held his gaze. “Which is why I reckon maybe Carver Media felt the need to take this into their own hands on a more…personal level. Deal with him directly.”
There was another long pause, then Sorenson cracked a smile, leaning back in his chair and withdrawing his hand.
“That’s quite the tale, Harper. Sounds an awful lot like one of them conspiracy theories to me.” He cocked his head to the left. “We’ve got an old wino in the drunk tank who’d probably like to hear that one. In exchange, he’ll tell you about how the FBI’s putting mind control fluoride in the water, using reality TV shows to beam nuclear launch codes into our brains. Two of you could start a club. Get matching tin foil hats.”
“Sounds like a laugh.”
“Might be. But as far as this whole Carter Media thing goes—”
“Carver. Carver Media, Chief.”
“Whatever you say, Harper. Just…” Sorenson stroked his chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Gee. I reckon I might recall Detective Thomas telling you that this is an open police investigation. Twice.”
“He might’ve mentioned something along those lines.”
Sorenson raised his hands in the air, palm-up, as he shrugged. “So you understand why I’m a little surprised that you’re still running around playing Nancy Drew on this.”
I only smiled. “You know how I love a good mystery, Chief. Besides—you said you were out of leads. And here I am, handing you one.” I leaned forward, crossing my forearms over his desk top. “So. What’re you gonna do with it?”
“We’ll follow up. Of course.”
My grin widened. “Gee,” I echoed him. “I’m real glad to hear that, Chief. Because, you know, if you weren’t interested, I bet the local news would be. Murderer on the loose, public in a tizzy… And the military, too. Fort Greene’s the army’s stomping grounds, ain’t it? If the boys in blue aren’t willing to beat the ground on this, I bet our boys in green would be real interested in how this could happen in their own backyard.”
I watched Sorenson’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. Just like that, I knew I had him.
“We’ll look into it, Harper. You have my word.”
“Happy to hear it.” I rose, still grinning like the smug bastard I was, and turned the door. It didn’t budge. “Say…this door’s still locked, Chief. Am I under arrest or somethin’?”
“Not this time, Harper. Lock is just above the handle. Figured a smartass PI like you would be able to puzzle that one out for yourself.”
But as I unfastened the lock, I heard Sorenson clear his throat.
“Yeah, Chief?” I turned to him, raising an eyebrow.
“This is your last pass, Harper. Obstruction is a nasty charge for a PI to try to shake, you know.”
I gave him a wink as I opened the door. “Thanks for the warning, Chief.”
As I made my way back out of the police station, I felt a pair of eyes on me with every step I took. Turning, I expected to see Sorenson watching me go. Maybe even Detective Bingley—maybe he’d finally abandoned his penis scribbles in favor of keeping his wits about him for once.
Instead, I spotted Detective Thomas. Broad as a fridge and just as solid looking. Our eyes met, a hard, sharp look cutting out from his gaze.
I blew him a little kiss for luck as I headed out the door.
On my way back to the Mustang, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I yanked it out, expecting a text from Ernesto—but instead, it was a call.
Kaleb. Must’ve finally turned up something on those names I’d given him.
“Heyo. What’s the news?” I answered, feeling a little spring in my step. My rabble-rousing at the police station couldn’t have gone better if I’d come in ranting about fluoride in the water and subliminal messages between Kim Kardashian’s ass cheeks. Another break in the case from Kaleb’s end would
be a perfect end to the night.
But when Kaleb answered me, his voice was dry and grim. “Looked into the journalist thing for you, Harper.”
“And?”
“Three weeks ago, Peter Preston was found dead.”
“Murder?”
“Suicide by hanging.”
“Yeesh.” That was fucking dark, even by my standards.
“Yeesh indeed. Especially since he stabbed himself with a fountain pen twelve times in the back of the neck before he strung himself up.”
I stopped in my tracks, feeling a chill wash over me. “Some suicide.”
“I thought so too—until I saw what happened to his editor.” A long pause, and then. “Whoever you’re messing with, Harper, they’re bad news. Steer clear of this. Whatever they’re selling, you don’t want to buy it.”
“Yeah, so…” I glanced behind me, seeing the door of the police station open and close again. A figure stood out on the steps, unmoving. Tall as a fridge and just as wide. “It’s a little late for that.”
27
Nick
My laptop was running, my research tabs open…
But for the life of me, I couldn’t focus on anything beyond all my worries and fears for the big, stupid idiot in a black Mustang and a leather jacket who’d turned my life upside down since Josh King’s death.
Harper was a professional. I’d seen enough of his work to know it was true. No one could have dug as far as he and I had into this case otherwise. Harper’s own brother’s murder was proof enough of that. And when it came to danger, Harper had the scars to prove his mettle. Bullet wounds. Knife slashes. Ragged, twisted bits of flesh, raised and tough and white pale against his sun-kissed Miami skin. If he didn’t have what it took to do the job he’d set out on, he wouldn’t have been able to survive half the things he’d been through.
Instead, he’d survived every one of them. And he’d promised me that he’d survive this as well.
