Isaac snorted, struggling to not give in to Andrew’s charms as easily as usual.
Then Kevin and Steven were heading over, and Andrew straightened like a soldier being lectured by a drill sergeant. Isaac had only ever seen Steven Wen in passing other than their one prime encounter—when he helped Isaac avoid added prison time. That didn’t mean they were friendly.
He looked out of place in a domestic setting, having carried salad to the table, while Kevin brought bread, and now stood before Isaac in a simple T-shirt and jeans, positively smoldering as he sized Isaac up, and then Dalton.
Steven was a little attractive, Isaac could admit, but he still preferred Andrew.
When he wasn’t pissed at him.
“Ford,” Steven said like he wasn’t quite sure he’d made the right decision suggesting a dinner party.
“We brought dessert.” Isaac pushed the pan at him rather than engage in the pissing match they’d likely get to later.
Steven stared at it skeptically.
“If you’re concerned about its contents, Detective, I’m sure Dalton will happily eat the first bite to prove it isn’t poisoned. Assuming he can beat Andrew.” He swatted Andrew’s hand when he tried to take the pan from Steven.
“I was just going to put them in the kitchen!”
“Hi.” Kevin waved awkwardly, looking put out at being an extra wheel for this gathering.
“Why don’t we head into the dining room so we can eat?” Steven said, hefting the brownie pan. “I’ll put this in the kitchen. Ford, Dalton, beer?”
“Sure,” Dalton said, undeterred as ever.
A few open beers were already on the table, so Isaac figured, “Why not.”
* * * *
Andrew could hardly believe dinner started going well. At least through most of the meal. Spaghetti and meatballs were a people pleaser, with salad and bread and those brownies waiting in the kitchen—with ice cream, he decided, because that would be amazing, especially if they were as good as they looked.
Ford was talented at so many surprising things.
Andrew had never added the leaf to his table before and wondered if Candace and Steven had planned to sit one at each head of the table on purpose, being the most outspoken detractors of Ford, but that’s how they ended up. Dalton and Ford were on one side, with Ford closer to Steven’s end, and Andrew sat across from him beside Kevin.
It was strange, having dinner in Andrew’s home with his brother, his friends, and his nemesis, but also kind of nice, because Ford couldn’t keep up his polished persona with Dalton sitting right next to him, softening his comebacks.
Conversation did eventually stray to the thief and to Andrew and Ford’s current partnership, but Steven remained quiet about an ongoing case—other than to voice his disapproval.
“You set a trap?”
“Not like you’re thinking,” Andrew said. “No interference with police business and all sanctioned by Vallancourt. If it works, and they try to go back for the rest of Dalton’s things, we just left a more desirable path to follow, an alarm they can’t avoid, and a way to track them after.”
“Track them?” Steven continued to frown. “It’s bad enough Olivia went and blabbed to the whole city that we have a serial robber, now you’re out there playing vigilante?”
Andrew cringed. Sometimes he forgot that Ford wasn’t the only one his flub with Olivia had pissed off. “That’s not what this is. If it works, and we get even the slightest lead on who or where this person is, you’re the first one I’m calling,”
He was lying, but it was better to tell Steven what he wanted to hear.
“Aren’t you worried the thief already fenced what they stole?” Candace asked.
“A little,” Dalton said, “but if we’re right about this, whoever hired them is going to want everything. It’s still possible they’re hanging on to what they took.
“I know you can’t tell us about your progress, Detective,” he turned to Steven, “but I just want to impress how important it is to get my research back. If it can be recovered, the time and money saved would be invaluable.”
“I can tell you we’re doing everything we can,” Steven answered diplomatically, “but this is a tough case. Every possible lead seems to come to another dead-end. This is an experienced thief. Maybe someone you ran with, Ford?” His expression turned challenging. “You’d tell us, wouldn’t you, if it was someone from your old life? I’m sure helping your son is the most important thing.”
“It is,” Ford said just as spitefully. “And on this case, Andrew and I aren’t keeping any secrets.”
“I’m sure you aren’t.” Steven glanced between them, since he knew at least one secret they were keeping from Dalton. “I’m just glad you two aren’t dating anymore.”
Andrew glared at him. He’d asked him not to bring that up, but a couple beers tended to make Steven more passive aggressive.
“Why is that?” Dalton asked without losing his smile.
The table went quiet, because Steven couldn’t respond without saying something mean, and having Dalton’s attention on him with that patient but expectant smile trapped him.
“Because people can’t change?” Dalton pushed.
“Dalton—”
“No, Dad, I want to say this. Dinner has been great, Detective. I’m glad you suggested it. But I think you need to hear that my dad’s never been anything but good to me. He didn’t have to listen or want to connect when I showed up on his doorstop. He wasn’t a part of my life before, didn’t even know I existed. But despite all that, dismissing me never crossed his mind.”
The way he turned to gaze at Ford was so heartfelt and pure, even the ex-thief looked disarmed, and Steven cleared his throat of any biting remarks.
“I’m grateful, Detective, that you were one of the people who gave my dad a second chance,” Dalton continued, “but then don’t let it only be about a deal. He really is trying, and he deserves to have his second chance mean something.”
“He even donates to abuse shelters,” Andrew added.
“No need to paint me like a saint.” Ford scowled. “You run in certain crowds, meet certain people, some need to be taught a lesson, others need a helping hand. Quid pro quo doesn’t make me Robin Hood.”
“You were a foster kid who went through a lot growing up,” Dalton said. “You wanted to prevent other kids from experiencing the same thing. I can think what I want.”
Even Kevin looked convinced that he might have pegged Ford wrong.
Candace was harder to read, but Steven looked honestly cowed.
“I suppose I have a bad habit of assuming the worst,” he admitted.
“You mean like all the time,” Andrew said. “Once, you almost—”
“We don’t need examples,” he cut him off, causing most of the table to dissolve into snickers that eased the remaining tension.
“You know what else about Ford?” Andrew said to change the subject. “He likes jazz. Even the crappy stuff you like.”
“It’s not crappy just because it’s instrumental,” Steven snapped, but then looked to Ford with curiosity. “You’re a fan?”
“I appreciate the greats, but especially Ellington.”
“Our mother loved Ellington,” Stephen softened further. “Andrew hates those records.”
“I know.”
“You do? I didn’t realize you two were so close.”
Andrew feared that would turn things sour again, but Steven continued.
“It’s nice having someone at this table who appreciates talent.”
“I don’t hate all those records,” Andrew defended. “I just haven’t found one that moves me. I like the singer being the focus, not seven minutes of trilling piano or wailing saxophone.”
“Plenty of jazz focuses on the singer,” Ford said.
“Not the ones Steve listens to.”
Even Candace snickered at that. “Remember that time Steve was trying to school you on ‘the classics’, and you f
ell asleep to that awful record—”
“Hey,” Steven pointed a finger at her, “none of my vinyls are awful.”
Everyone laughed then.
“Maybe after this thief is caught, we can do a karaoke night,” Dalton said. “Dig up some good jazz with classic singers.”
“Oh!” Kevin jumped on the bandwagon finally of this not being a complete awkward mess. “Even better, when Andrew gets really wasted and starts howling ‘Welcome to the Jungle’, they usually have to cut him off.”
“Hey! I kill at that rendition!”
Laughter erupted again, and for once, Andrew’s cheeks burned from something less mortifying than flirting—because he did an amazing Axl Rose impression!
“I’m sure you can enjoy that without me,” Ford said.
“And me,” Steven agreed.
“Come on, Dad, you can come,” Dalton argued. “Or we could do that Star Trek marathon finally. Dad’s a huge Trekkie too,” he said to Andrew.
“I noticed,” Andrew said, remembering the boxsets in his living room. There was a curious warmth that filled his chest every time he got to know Ford better, especially when their eyes met, and Ford’s expression no longer boiled with murderous intent.
“Why don’t we start clearing the table for dessert? Andrew?” Candace stood, passing him a look that said she wanted to talk. He was feeling so good about Steven not being, well, Steven, he figured she was ready to eat her words too.
“I cannot believe Steve is fooled by that act,” she said the second the kitchen door swung shut behind them.
“…act?”
“Ford.” She turned to face Andrew after setting her dishes by the sink. “He’s an opportunist, Andrew, and you aren’t the best at spotting them.”
A wave of nausea struck him as he quickly set down what he’d been carrying too.
“That was awful.” Candace cringed in sympathy, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I’m sorry. It’s only because I’m mad at Olivia too. For everything. She was just so predictable writing the article like that. I know it isn’t an act with Dalton. He’s a good kid, but he doesn’t know Ford like we do. You need to look out for you once in a while. Okay?”
The door opened with the arrival of Steven carrying more dishes, and Candace gave another parting squeeze before heading out of the room.
Andrew waited for Steven to say something next, some snide comment to prove he hadn’t been convinced either, but when all Steven did was quietly set his dishes down, Andrew had to ask, “You don’t think Ford is acting, do you?”
“Do you?” he asked after a slow, calculating pause, turning to lean back against the counter.
“No.” Andrew didn’t want to.
“He doesn’t seem to be,” Steven said, surprising Andrew with the softness in his tone. “You knew Dalton before. You trust him, he trusts his dad…I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong about him. Still glad you never dated though.” He patted Andrew’s shoulder jovially. “You two together would have been a nightmare.”
Andrew’s stomach roiled as he watched his brother walk away.
Dalton came in next before Andrew could move from the sink, like the kitchen doorway was a clown car with an endless stream of people trying to trap him.
“Brownies?” he asked.
Oh, right. “Yes. Best idea I’ve heard all night.” Andrew turned around to find the pan.
“Better than karaoke?”
“Good luck convincing Steve or your dad to come.”
“I’m pretty good at wearing people down. Though, usually, if they really want something, they tend to wear themselves down.” Dalton set his dishes on the counter, obviously meaning that in more ways than one and drawing Andrew’s eyes up from the brownies. “It sucks what happened with Olivia. Originally between you two and with the paper.”
“Thanks.”
“Nice to know you’re open to finding love elsewhere though.” He nudged his shoulder.
“Dalton!” Andrew chuckled helplessly. “You are relentless, but…maybe I am.”
“Hey, Dad!” Dalton whipped Andrew’s attention back to the door, where Ford had managed to enter silently. “Why don’t you help Andrew serve the brownies? I wanted to talk to Kevin about something.”
That little…
“Something, is it?” Ford sensed Dalton’s scheming just as easily.
“Yep,” Dalton said, and was gone in an instant.
“Back to parent-trapping?” Ford almost looked apologetic as he walked over.
“Seems so,” Andrew said, glad for the moment alone, to be honest, because the warmth came back just from seeing Ford. He knew what it was; he just hadn’t felt it in a while. And he definitely hadn’t said it. “I’ve, uhh…got nicer ice cream bowls in the end cabinet there.”
Ford moved to retrieve them, while Andrew took out the ice cream, the scooper, and a knife for the brownies, excitedly removing the tinfoil.
“You get one piece,” Ford said.
“I’d like to see you enforce that.”
Ford chuckled, but it wasn’t only for the comment. After getting down the bowls, he pulled out the Santa mug that Andrew had drank wine from at Christmas. “I was wondering where he might be. You know, one of these days, you might find him mysteriously missing.”
“Like my T-shirt and sweatpants?”
“Why, Andrew, I have no idea what you mean.” Ford replaced the mug, and then moved slowly back across the kitchen to join him, making it clear that he was prowling on purpose. He leaned into Andrew’s body as he made to reach for the knife to cut into the brownies, but then merely hovered.
Andrew leaned closer too, drawn to Ford’s eyes, and his lips, and clutched at his shirt to pull them together—
“Do you have whipped cream instead of—” Kevin cut off abruptly as he blew into the kitchen, neither of them having enough time to pull away, and leaving it obvious what had been about to happen. “Never mind! Ice cream’s fine!” he blurted and bolted back into the dining room.
“Shit. That was stupid,” Ford grumbled, pulling away and snatching up the knife. “After that damn article, we need to be less careless.”
All at once, they were back to the animosity from when Andrew first welcomed him into the house. “I know you’re worried about Dalton, but I really think—”
“You have no idea what might happen.” Despite his anger, the brownie pieces turned out perfectly symmetrical. “This case is bad enough. The more Dalton gets pulled in, the more chance there is that someone will come after him to get to me.”
“Have you been threatened?”
“I get threatened every day,” he looked at Andrew snidely, “and not only by criminals. I don’t want Dalton to become a part of that world.”
“I hate to tell you this,” Andrew said softly, “but he already is. It doesn’t matter how much he knows about our work or us or your enemies. He’s at risk because you have enemies. But you’re not alone.” He tried to reach for him, but Ford stepped back like Andrew’s touch was corrosive.
“This isn’t permanent.”
“I know…” Andrew’s stomach roiled again, but he thought that, maybe, Ford looked apologetic for snapping. “But it is addicting. I’m sorry Kevin saw.”
“Think he’s in there telling them all?”
“No, but I’ll have to talk to him.”
“At least he and Riley are even now.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Andrew sneered. “I almost wish the thief was you, running jobs through the classifieds again, so you could have some reassurance about Dalton. No criminal hotline to contact to find out more?”
Ford’s expression slackened.
“I’m joking.”
“I’m not.” Ford stepped abruptly closer. “Willow G. I think she was giving me a hint.”
“Who?”
“Do you want to make this up to me? All of it?”
“Uhh…yes?”
“After dessert, once we leave, I’ll text you where to meet, and
you go along with everything I say. Deal?”
“I…yeah, of course.” Andrew felt a little guilty for the wave of heat that pulsed down into his belly since this was about Dalton, not sex, but Ford’s proximity and intensity did things to him nothing else ever had.
Not even Olivia.
They were similar creatures, but Ford had never lied about what he was.
“Does this mean I get the first brownie?”
Ford’s hard demeanor cracked, and he turned to fish out a brownie with a fork, lifting it from the pan, looking rich and gooey enough that Andrew’s mouth salivated—only to take a large bite, swallowing half the brownie himself.
“No,” he said with a wicked flash of his tongue across his lips, “but I’ll let you have the second one.”
Just when Andrew was about to whine like a five-year-old, Ford popped the rest of the brownie into Andrew’s mouth.
It was the best damn thing he’d ever tasted.
Chapter 10
“You didn’t say Watts was coming.” Andrew frowned as he appeared from around the corner where Isaac had told him to meet.
Barker Street, the alley between the cleaners and the deli—both of which were fronts for money laundering, but then, most of this area was a hotbed of criminal activity.
“Oh, honey.” Kathleen batted her eyes, sizing Andrew up just like Luke had but with a more amused smirk. “I’m your way in. Where we’re going has layers of checkpoints, and the only way an ex-cop and a snitch are stepping even one foot inside this place is with the proper front woman.” She fluffed her long red hair over her shoulder.
Kathleen contrasted their black attire by wearing a brilliant royal blue dress and khaki-colored trench coat, like a dame right out of a classic ‘40s film. Isaac wanted him and Andrew to blend in behind her, like hired muscle.
Although, when Isaac wore all black, he looked refined and intimidating. Andrew looked like a boy playing dress-up, having donned the same black outfit from last night that he thought made him look like a badass criminal.
“You also didn’t say we’d be doing anything illegal,” Andrew hissed, as they continued down the alley toward an unmarked and generally unimpressive door.
Public Enemy, Undercover Lover Page 14
