Broken Pieces

by Deja Black

  Like a missing piece to Peter’s puzzle of life, Remi fit right in.

  Remi entered further into the room, “I’d wondered what your home would look like.”

  Peter smiled gently. “And now that you see?”

  “It’s nice.” He looked into Peter’s eyes. “I like it.”

  Remi approached him steadily, but Peter saw when the detective noticed the others in the room.

  Arching a brow, the detective said, “What’s with the small army, Peter?”

  “We are on first name basis, Detective Devereaux?”

  “Yes, Peter. We are.” He paused waiting. Though he asked, Remi’s stance was relaxed, as if he didn’t seem to care men shadowed his movements. Did Remi know how much danger he was in? Still, the detective’s focus was completely on him, and Peter liked it.

  * * * *

  What was it about Peter that drove Remi nuts, to the point he would use any excuse to find himself trapped in his gaze, those eyes drifting over him with interest? Unhurried, but questioning, wondering. Drawn to Peter, he stepped closer, moving to lessen the gap between them.

  “Detective Devereaux, may I help you?” The doorkeeper asked, suddenly appearing before Peter, separating them.

  Awaking, as if from a dream, Remi shook himself out of the haze that enveloped him within inches of being close to Peter. He’d wanted to recapture the moment of their lips touching, the moment when his soul was branded by his touch. But, in the space of seconds, Peter moved back to a plush cream lounge, his legs underneath his slight frame, long fingers drifting over his thighs, touching the skin Remi wanted to caress himself.

  Remi needed to focus on the questions he had to ask. No matter how much he craved to feel this man beneath him, Peter Romanoff was involved in this case. “Peter, how well did you know a Marisol De La Cruz?”

  “Did?”

  “Yes. Dr. De La Cruz was murdered in her own home a few days ago. You knew her as a professor? Can you tell me anything?”

  Peter echoed the word murder while Remi watched him carefully looking for signs he hoped wouldn’t see, facial tics that might just indicate Peter Romanoff may be responsible for the professor’s death.

  “Aww, Cher, while I love seeing those lips of yours move, repeating my questions doesn’t answer them.” The men in the room shifted, created a semi-circle around Peter.

  “Marisol is dead?” Peter’s voice shook as he spoke.

  Remi told him what they knew but left out the bites Davis found. He had his suspicions but now wasn’t the time. “And, from the way your pictures cover her walls, it looks like you were friends? Lovers?” From the way Peter’s eyes enlarged, Remi was starting to suspect maybe there was more between his future lover and his victim than he wanted to know. “Care to tell me how well you two were acquainted.”

  * * * *

  Peter’s eyes were wet as he described the Professor De La Cruz he knew, that she was the first to make him see photography as his gift, to treasure his ability to look through a camera lens and find the stories behind the images, to create visual treasures. He shared his memory of walking through Spalding University campus, the mansion built long ago in the 1920s.

  He’d awoken several years ago with a thought to take pictures of the roses in the universities garden and how they fell against the outside wall when a tiny woman stepped into view. She walked with a man who Peter learned was her brother, Martin. He taught there, at Spalding, while she taught at UofL. She’d stopped suddenly, walking away from the tall dark-headed man and immediately stood next to him. She’d asked him about the camera and what he was doing.

  Curious, she’d watched him a moment, noticed how focused he was on his subject. Unperturbed, she’d continued questioning him. She wouldn’t be deterred, so Peter told her how he often visited at other times of the day to take pictures of the rose bushes, the flowers on the side of the mansion, and others wrapped around the black wrought iron fencing. He had fantastic shots with birds, pictures of snow, a rainstorm.

  He’d needed an umbrella for the day the storm opened up the sky with such a torrent he almost gave up, but with a C33 3O—wind resistant and with an auto open—he stayed. No matter what, the plants survived. They thrived in the care and nurturing of those who saw beauty worth preserving. Marisol asked him that day what it all meant to him, and he’d responded, “Survival.” Entranced by his passion, and totally enamored with his focus, she’d invited him to her photography class.

  “You, young man, have a vision. One exceeding that of my so-called photography students. They could learn a thing or two from you, and in turn, you would attain a few kernels of knowledge yourself—technical skills mostly.” He remembered seeing the wheels of her mind turning as she spoke. “Help them to see what you see, maybe look beyond their digitized viewpoint.” They talked more that day about visions, about his reasons for focusing on flowers.

  He remembered saying to her that flowers were often taken only at face value. The onlooker only saw the flower’s beauty. When he saw a flower, he saw the steel behind its façade. He saw its strength, its ability to endure suffering and return bolder as long as there was support, as long as there was love, the flowers bloomed returning each year more lovely than before.

  “And do you see yourself in this?” She’d relaxed then, as if ready to wait, but Peter hadn’t hesitated. He didn’t get the opportunity often, and it was nice to share with someone who understood.

  “Of course. I am beautiful to many, but most forget the steel beneath my physical features or,” he whispered, “the monsters within.”

  She was quiet at first, then her smile grew, and she hugged him tight enough to break a rib. He’d been surprised, but left with no other choice, he relaxed into her hold and was disappointed when she stepped away.

  “The Artist. We are an eccentric lot.” She’d reached within her vast purse, plucking out a card. Her brother coughed quietly. She’d only shushed him and handed the card over to Peter who took it and bowed dramatically before giving it to one of the men who stepped near. “Come, see me...”

  “We’ve not even exchanged names. Peter. Peter Romanoff,” he extended his hand to the dynamic woman before him.

  She took it in her own, then said, “Dr. Marisol De La Cruz, and this is my brother Martin Chavez De La Cruz.” Martin glanced over quickly, gray eyes sharp over glasses, then dismissed him. Peter returned his attention to the professor.

  “I would love to visit your class,” Peter said.

  “You shouldn’t just visit, young Peter. You should attend, major in photography.” One final hug and she turned and walked away, reprimanded quietly by her brother. Her laughter was a trail of tiny cymbals on the wind.

  And, now, what Remi Devereaux was saying of his lovely friend who saw as he did, eyes that would no longer gleam at him. Who echoed his determination to find the strength behind beauty and discovered a way to not only connect with him but to encourage him to grow and learn more... Was gone.

  In his peripheral vision, he saw the lights dim in the room. Martin, Marisol’s brother. What would he do without his sister, his best friend? Did he know?

  “Martin.”

  “What.”

  “Martin. That’s her brother. Does he know?” He stood quickly, agitated. Energy crawled along his skin, the muscles beneath prickling.

  He and Marisol moved beyond teacher and student years ago—they’d become friends. He’d allowed her to see him. How had he not felt her terror, her fear of being ripped apart? He could have helped her, saved her from a fate she didn’t deserve. He was itching, his skin tight, throbbing.

  “Was she awake? Did she know?” Peter could barely breathe. Remi reached out to him, wrapping his arms around Peter, tugging him toward the butter-soft leather, sat with him as the wave of shock rushed over him, leaving behind ice in his veins. Did Remi feel the heat, the burn that Peter himself felt coursing over him?

  Marisol dead, murdered brutally
? He looked down seeing the light dance over his fingertips, wandering his hands, growing more vivid, more restless. He looked back to Remi. Did Remi see the light as Peter did?

  “Her brother and family were notified.” Of course, from what Peter understood of the procedure, the family was notified first, weren’t they? Caleb would know. Where was Caleb? The lights flickered again, the temperature rising in the room.

  “Andre?”

  “Yes, Korol.”

  “Caleb.”

  “He’s been summoned, Korol. He will be here in moments.” Caleb would know what to do, how to handle the family now left grieving. Such a vitally amazing part of them ripped from their center. His pulse raced as he remembered her laughter, her joy and now it was all gone, vanished in horrifying moments.

  The blood powering through his veins was a drumbeat rushing in his ears as he envisioned her helplessness, her fear. And, here he was able to do nothing.

  The rage was unbearable, the grief overwhelming.

  Chapter Nine

  “Peter, I think you’re going into shock.” Whatever Remi expected, this wasn’t it. There’d been a better way to handle this, a varied approach to avoid this.

  From the shadowy look, the too huge eyes, and racing heart, this man loved De La Cruz, a detail to remember.

  It was moments before Caleb Waneek stormed into the room, eyes targeting Peter. Remi’s presence there didn’t please him, and he moved swiftly to Peter’s side. Remi already missed Peter’s warmth and was more than jealous of Caleb who bent near to speak quietly to Peter.

  Remi stood and walked over to the fireplace, giving them some space. But, this wasn’t over.

  Aloud, Caleb said, “Andre. The Valerian Root tea. Packets from Ms. Dunham are in the cabinet over the dishwasher.” To Peter, he said, “This will settle you, my Korol. A moment while I speak to Detective Devereaux, and I’ll be there shortly.” Peter looked up, a war in his expression, but Caleb turned quickly toward a solidly built man, one whose arms were cinder blocks but handled himself with the ease of someone who knew how to conserve movement.

  “Mischa, please escort Peter to the bedroom and stay with him until I arrive. Thank you, Peter, for allowing us to help.” In moments, Peter was shuttled out of the room, and out of Remi’s view.

  Time passed while Andre prepared the tea, Caleb observing Remi, saying nothing. Caleb’s earlier submission was gone. Now, Caleb possessed the countenance of a man who was comfortable, self-possessed. His arms swept the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. He was dark, cold.

  Whatever his role was concerning Peter earlier, it was all enforcer now, his blue eyes like chips of ice searing Remi’s skin. The illusion of nonchalance failing to hide the coiled steel ready to spring just beneath the surface.

  “Why are you here, Detective Devereaux?” he asked, his voice rumbling through the void in the room. Remi supposed if he were a man who jumped at sounds intended to be threatening, he would feel intimidated, but no. Peter had his full attention, taken away from him, hidden behind a closed door. Remi needed to be there with him.

  “I had some questions concerning a case I’m working on, a murdered professor,” Remi said, folding his own arms. Look, he could posture, too.

  “And, you thought you would endear yourself to Peter with news of a professor’s death, telling him the details of the gruesome event?” Caleb’s head tilted to the side as he waited for Remi’s response.

  “Not exactly, but there is a connection there, one between Peter and Dr. De La Cruz that needs to be explored.”

  “And yet, that doesn’t tell me why you’re here. To follow up on this case? How many people took Dr. De La Cruz’s class? Have you visited each student personally, dropped by their home?

  “I fail to understand why a visit to Peter is required, Detective. Let me see if I can guess.” Caleb Waneek’s non-verbal communication was strong, the way his jaw tightened and his eyes hardened. His voice itself was cold as he spoke, disbelief frosting his words.

  “How many students’ photographs hang in the victim’s home?”

  “One. Only Peter’s.”

  Caleb silence was loud across the room.

  “Something’s going on here, Caleb, and it involves him. I’m here for Peter, but I also have a job to do. These people who did this to his professor? They’re monsters.”

  “You see Peter once. Now, what is it, three times? You’ve determined for yourself he needs you? The thing of fairy tales where there are damsels in distress, big bad wolves? You have no idea what Peter is, how powerful he is. He’s not a damsel that needs your protection.

  “And, as for big bad wolves, it’s all relative isn’t it, man and monsters,” Caleb paused. “It’s no matter because Peter doesn’t need you.” He rose, his movements fluid, his long legs striding forward. “If it is justice you want, then we will see you receive your answers. It’s time for you to leave.” Caleb headed toward the door.

  “I suppose he’s for you, then.” Were Peter and Caleb more than friends? Intimate? He wasn’t above digging beneath the skin to discover the answer. “You two together, the way—”

  “What? A man who loves his best friend, who’s cherished and protected him from the first day they met?” Caleb turned back to Remi. “I will allow no harm to come to him by you, with all the force of your law behind you, or your lust.

  “For that’s all it is, Remi. May I call you Remi?” He continued. “Once the haze of your lust is gone, Remi, you will move on. For Peter, you will be an unhappy memory, leaving him hurt, scarred, and disappointed—forgotten.” If he hadn’t watched him, he would have missed the tremble in Caleb’s spine. It wasn’t just Peter he was trying to protect. Caleb Waneek possessed his own secrets, it seemed.

  “Not going there, Caleb. That’s between Peter and me. Obviously, he and I won’t be able to talk right now. I can walk myself out.”

  “Yes, Remi. You do that. I will be sure to let Peter know you’ve left. Any more meetings of this kind will require the necessary paperwork, of course.”

  “Thought you didn’t care about my laws.”

  “We do what we must when we must. Good day, Detective.” Caleb opened the door shutting it soundly behind him as Remi left the suite.

  Later Remi was outside in his car enjoying the sunshine. It was getting warmer, and it wouldn’t be long before the worries of snow were a thing of the past. Remi’s pocket vibrated.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, I take it from your tone, it didn’t go well?” Kaden asked.

  “Ran into a snag.” Remi gave him the run down. He described talking to Peter, Peter’s reaction to the news of Marisol De La Cruz’s death, and how much of a blow it was to him.

  “Hell, didn’t realize they were that close.”

  “Apparently no one does. Caleb showed up after Peter had a near meltdown. Fucked that one up.”

  “How would you know what the news would do to him? Who’s that close to their teacher? Isn’t that like illegal or something?”

  “Kaden, some people actually liked school, liked their teachers.”

  “Just strange is all I’m saying. So, his bodyguard shows up?”

  “Yes, basically warns me not to come around again.”

  “Something strange there, too.” The cars following her, the bites on the body, and now Caleb threatening him. All of it was strange.

  “Same thing I said.” He watched the children playing outside. It didn’t take long for them to sniff out the weather. He smiled when he saw a few riding bikes rather than trapped inside playing video games all day.

  “And, of course, that doesn’t deter you in the least.”

  “Of course not, you hear me.”

  “Loud and clear.”

  Chapter Ten

  “He left?” Peter questioned.

  “Yes, Peter, the detective is gone,” Caleb said

  “You weren’t too...”

  “I was
n’t too what, Peter? Rude, crass, an ass?” Caleb turned to face his Korol. They stood at the window, both looking out over the city.

  “I would never question you if you were, Caleb. I just...”

  “Just what, Peter? Say it. You wanted to know if I left an opening for your human to come again, check in with you.” Caleb growled aloud. “No, of course not. There is nothing to be gained from your continued interaction with him.”

  “Is that it, Caleb, or are you afraid of what continued interaction with the detective will gain you, my wolf? He has an effect on you as well. “

  “There is something there, I’ll agree,” Caleb said grudgingly. “His spirit calls to me, but he is still human, and that is what makes me hesitate. Humans fail to acknowledge boundaries, to see what is right before their eyes.”

  Peter shrugged. “While that is true, he didn’t know how Marisol’s murder would affect me.” It hurt to say the words. The burning he’d felt earlier, the shredding of his insides as the fire assaulted him was still an echo, his mind still reeling with the rage of not being there to help her. “Even I didn’t know how much it would affect me.” Peter walked away to sit down, looking up at Caleb who remained standing near the floor length glass.

  “That’s because, Peter, there are a grateful few who are able to be in your line of vision, who warrant a second look by you. Dr. De La Cruz did and saw you as you saw her. Of course, her loss would make you feel something.”

  But, it wasn’t often Peter did. For years he lived under Jeremiah Tolliver’s roof, watched pack members and those honored enough to call family and friend interact, share, and love.

  His only friend, his only confidante, was always Caleb. Saddled together at a young age, the two grew close. Caleb dragging him along on one adventure after another, encouraging him. Caleb was more than a friend. More than a brother.