by Keaton, Elle
He flipped through the brochures. They all looked the same to him: pretty buildings with arbors for the ceremony, large seating areas, and places for guests to linger afterward. Was it bad he honestly didn’t care? He just wanted to be married to Mat already.
The brochure at the bottom of the pile caught his eye. In the bottom corner of the first page was a rainbow, and the couples featured on the front were same sex. He flipped it open. It was actually a tasting room for a place called Walker Winery, but they had a beautiful, even to Niall’s eye, facility. It looked like the owners had remodeled an old barn. It wasn’t too far from Piedras but definitely far enough so gate-crashers wouldn’t make the trip.
“That’s my favorite too,” said Alyson. “When the kids were little, we used to take them on day trips to Skagit. There were places you could pick pumpkins, ride in hay carts, have hot spiced cider.”
Niall frowned. “Couldn’t you do that here?” The islands, especially Lopez Island, were dotted with small—and large—family farms.
“Yes, but here, everyone knows the sheriff. In Skagit we were just another anonymous family. It’s really quite a lovely little town—and LGBT friendly.”
Niall pushed the brochure across the table to her. “Do you mind calling them?”
Once Alyson left, promising to call Walker Winery and let Niall and Mat know what she found out, Niall called Leo. They needed to debrief.
“Niall, how are you feeling?” Leo’s low-key California voice came across the line.
“Probably a lot like you are: battered and bruised but glad to be alive.”
Leo huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I ache in places—like my shins. Why are my shins sore?”
Niall chuckled. “How’s Dawson doing?”
“Last I checked, his surgery had gone well. He has a long road to recovery, but he’ll have both his legs and be able to walk.”
“Jesus Christ, that was close.” Niall shuddered. If they’d been any closer to the sheriff, their injuries would likely have been much worse—they could easily have died, which was probably what Marcus Langley had intended. “You know, I thought being a consultant would be a lot safer than being a street cop.”
“You’re telling me. Although this is the first time anyone from WCF has been injured by a building. Kimball took a bullet a few years ago—but he walked into a situation knowing the perp was armed and dangerous.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
Leo and Kimball were close friends, Niall knew, having come up with the concept of WCF together several years earlier. Kimball had started the company, and Leo had joined when he retired from the Seattle police force.
“How was the ride back?”
Niall groaned, slumping in his chair. “Ryder can talk.”
“He can. He’s a good guy, though. Has some serious smarts, as I’m sure you figured out.”
“Yes. I now know about types of crows, South American tree frogs, and the great flood that created Dry Falls and thus the topography from Montana to the Cascades.”
“You must make him nervous if he’s breaking out all those facts.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Niall. You can come across as a bit formidable.”
“I’m just a big teddy bear.”
“Heh,” Leo snorted. “Nooo, you’re more like a scare bear.”
“A… what?”
“Never mind. Let’s go over Langley so we can close the file.”
An hour later Niall’s cell phone battery started to complain, and he and Leo disconnected. They were both off active cases for a couple weeks, but Scarlett or Kimball would be sending Niall cold-case files to look over. These were files forwarded by small police departments and sheriff’s offices in the hopes that WCF would be willing to take them on and give a family closure.
Niall was glad for the time off. As much as he needed to work—loved what he did—until they figured out who killed Cooper and why it happened now, he had no intention of heading to San Fran and leaving Mat on his own. It was a weird, painful kind of kismet that Marcus Langley had tried to kill them, as it meant he could stay at home guilt-free.
He was down at his beach with Fenrir, watching the waves tumbling into the shore and Fenrir trying to herd them back out to sea—his eternal battle. The big dog was definitely mostly wolfhound, but Niall wondered if he didn’t have a bit of sheepdog in his genetic history. It would explain much of his non-wolfhound-like behavior.
The day was chilly, and the wind was doing its best to sneak underneath his parka. The toque he’d pulled down over his ears wasn’t keeping them warm, but he wasn’t ready to go back inside. This beach was the center of his physical universe. It was where he was able to quiet his thoughts, where he visited his grandparents in his memory. Mat was the center of his heart; he grounded Niall, loved him for who he was and brought him back into the light. Niall took another lungful of the cold, salty air, letting it fill him up and chase his headache away.
From behind him, the crunch of gravel reached his ears. Turning to look over his shoulder, Niall spotted a shiny, extra-large black SUV coming slowly down the drive. He spotted Shay in the driver’s seat and Ryder sitting next to him.
Today the beach was also going to have to provide him with patience.
The SUV’s doors popped open, and Ryder slid out. Shay followed more slowly. Was it Niall’s imagination, or did Shay give him a bit of stink eye? He chuckled to himself.
“Wow,” Ryder gushed, turning in a circle, trying to take in everything at once. “This is beautiful!”
Fenrir noticed their guests and let out a loud woof, bounding toward them. Ryder didn’t flinch. In fact, he went down to his knees and greeted Fenrir with enthusiasm. Why had Niall thought Ryder’s reaction might be different? Dammit, he was going to have to start liking the kid.
“What’s your name, you sexy beast?” Ryder ruffled Fenrir’s fur, and Niall thought Riley might have a competitor for Fenrir’s affections.
“Fenrir.”
“Oh, the son of Loki and Angrboda. ‘Much I have travelled, much have I tried out, much have I tested the Powers; from where will a sun come into the smooth heaven when Fenrir has assailed this one?’”
Shay and Niall both stared at him.
“What?” Ryder protested. “I love Norse mythology.”
Niall opened his mouth but then realized he had no response and shut it again. Shay caught his gaze, and this time Niall was certain he saw mirth.
“Nice hat,” Ryder commented.
“It’s a toque,” Niall corrected.
Ryder narrowed his eyes. “A what?”
“Are you telling me this is something you don’t know about? This”—Niall pointed at his knit cap—“is a toque. I picked it up the last time I was in British Columbia. The woman who sold it to me informed me I was never allowed to refer to it as a hat or a beanie. It is, in no uncertain terms, a toque.”
“Huh.” Ryder didn’t sound convinced. “It’s a beanie,” he grumbled, continuing to pet Fenrir.
“Not a beanie. Subject closed. Anyway, what are you here for?”
“I’d run out of answers for Ryder,” Shay joked.
Niall couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing. Ryder looked surprised and then joined in. Shay watched and shook his head like they were both from another planet.
“I’m heading back tomorrow,” Ryder said. “I asked Shay to bring me by to let you know, since you weren’t answering your phone… and I’m nosy, so I wanted to see where you live.”
“Well”—Niall turned a little, so he was facing the water—“this is it. This is my little piece of paradise.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Do you want to grab some lunch? I bet you haven’t eaten today,” Shay said.
Niall’s stomach growled at his words, reminding him he hadn’t had anything but coffee and Tylenol. “Sure.”
“How about the Hook? We could show Ryder a little of the island before he has to
leave,” Shay said. “If you have time?”
Niall suspected that even if he was too busy, Shay and Ryder would find a way to get him out of the yurt. “Sounds good,” he agreed.
Shay drove them, pointing out a few landmarks along the way, like the supposedly haunted woods a mile or so past Niall’s property. As they cruised into Hidden Harbor, he pointed out the high school he and Niall had attended, the camping goods store that had been in business since the 1950s, and a few other places. Ryder was so busy taking in the sights he didn’t have time to talk. And of course, there was the Hook itself, which, while touristy, was also quintessential Hidden Harbor. Stu Dennis was sitting at the counter. He nodded to the three of them as they came inside.
“Where’s Fenrir?” the waitress asked.
Niall was fairly certain that most residents liked his dog better than they liked him. That was fine; Fenrir was nicer. “At home.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to make him up a little doggie bag.”
Niall rolled his eyes, and Shay chuckled.
“Is Fenrir a celebrity?” Ryder asked as they sat down at a four-top next to one of the picture windows that looked out onto the street and the harbor beyond.
“He’s become quite popular,” Shay answered for Niall. “The city council is thinking of having T-shirts and sweatshirts made with Fenrir’s face on them. We’re going to be bigger than Forks.”
“Forks?” Ryder looked confused.
“Where that vampire movie was filmed,” the waitress offered as she filled their coffee cups without being asked.
“What?”
“You’re a millennial,” Shay said. “The glittery vampire love story from a few years ago.”
Niall had no idea what they were talking about, but he wasn’t about to admit it now. Having Ryder not know another fact was making his day.
But then, of course, the light bulb went on and Ryder’s face lit up. “Oh, Twilight. That’s not my cuppa, but my little sister loved it.”
Niall thought it was funny how Ryder sprinkled his sentences with odd words like “cuppa.” As far as he knew, Ryder had grown up in SoCal, not England.
The waitress waited for them to decide while they looked over the menu. Niall ordered a short stack of pancakes and Shay a vegetarian omelet. Ryder lingered, seeming to want to look at everything before making a choice.
“We serve breakfast all day, if that’s what you want,” the waitress said. “We’re known for our club sandwiches. And we have a BLT and A that’s to die for. It’s the house specialty.”
“A what?” Ryder asked.
“Bacon, lettuce, and tomato with avocado.”
Ryder handed her the menu. “That sounds great. With a salad, please.”
Silence fell between them, but Niall knew from experience it wouldn’t last for long.
Ryder leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hand. “So you guys are half brothers? How was it finding that out?” He turned to Niall. “Shay told me a little about you guys this morning.”
“When I could get a word in edgewise.” Shay chuckled.
Niall had a window seat. People watching was one of his favorite sports. He figured it was a mix of being an introvert combined with years on the police force—it had become habit.
A large blond man he didn’t recognize strolled past on the sidewalk.
“Whoa,” whispered Ryder, saving Niall from having to come up with an answer about Shay.
“What?” Niall asked, still watching the stranger, who’d stopped just past the Hook and was ordering a coffee drink of some kind from Corridor Coffee, proudly known as “the smallest coffee house in the state.” Something about the man—his stance, the way he kept his attention on what was going on around him—screamed law enforcement to Niall.
“That guy,” Ryder stage-whispered. “Are the guys all big out here? Check him out; he must be at least six four. And look at those thighs, jeez.” His eyes were comically wide.
Probably because all three of them, Shay included, were staring out the window at him, the stranger turned his head and caught Niall’s gaze. He nodded, accepted his to-go cup from the barista, and then continued on his way.
Not that someone from law enforcement couldn’t take a vacation in Hidden Harbor, but Niall didn’t think that guy was on vacation. He’d been wearing khakis, with a button-down shirt underneath his leather jacket, and he was carrying. Most men dressed down on vacation, not up… and left most of their weapons behind.
Their food arrived, and Niall allowed the conversation—the stream of chatter Ryder kept going, asking and answering his own questions—to flow around him. It felt nice. A year ago he never would’ve imagined himself having a meal with either of these men. He’d lived a lonely, head-down existence in Seattle. Except, he reminded himself, for his ex-boyfriend Trey, who had turned out to be a murderer.
His cell phone vibrated. Reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker, he pulled it out and glanced at the screen to see a text from Marshal Soper. Another new person in his life he could call a friend.
Marshal wanted to know how Niall’s head was feeling and would he stop by the hospital. Niall thought about saying no, but Marshal would tell Mat, and… this caring-about-people business was complicated. Grudgingly, he agreed to let Marshal check him over. At least then maybe Mat would quit worrying about him.
“Can you drop me off at the hospital?” he asked Shay. “Soper wants to give his own opinion about the concussion, and he’s free in twenty minutes.”
“Any double vision? Headache so painful you can’t sleep? Does it hurt when I do this?” Marshal pinched the top of Niall’s arm, which was bare since he’d just taken Niall’s blood pressure.
“What? No.” Niall swatted his hand away. “Leave my arm alone.”
Marshal sat back on his wheeled stool, grinning. He was very pleased with himself. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Doctor humor. I think you are well on the road to recovery. You don’t have any weird symptoms like the sudden appearance of a sense of humor.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” Niall rolled his sleeve back down and stood up. He grabbed his coat from where it hung on a hook on the back of the exam room door.
“Seriously, Niall.” Niall turned back around while he shrugged into his jacket, and Marshal continued, “I’m really glad you’re okay. Not just for Mat’s sake. It’s kind of nice having you on the island.”
“Am I supposed to thank you?” Niall grumbled. No way would he admit to Soper he liked being back on Piedras as well. It was obvious anyway, wasn’t it? What with the rebuilding and the cabin and the upcoming wedding?
Marshal shook his head. “Nope. Call me if your headaches get worse or any other symptoms arise. A concussion is nothing to fool around with.”
9
Wednesday—Mat
Birdy’s observation stuck with Mat all the way back to the station: as far as anyone knew, his father’s death had been an accident.
Mat himself had certainly accepted the findings; the coroner who examined his father’s body didn’t note anything odd. Sean Sr. had hit his head—likely on the bulwark of the boat—and been flung into the water, where he’d drowned.
Now Mat had doubts, and they were there because of fucking Jeffrey Reynolds. Duane Cooper had been the one to pull his dad out of the water. Cooper had been the only witness. Ten years ago, no one had suspected Cooper had a dark side.
“Shit.”
Birdy was quiet, and Mat knew he must be worrying her if she didn’t scold him for use of poor language.
He parked, and together he and Birdy walked into the station. Deputy Radden was at his desk; a blond man Mat didn’t recognize sat in the visitor chair nearby.
The man stood when Mat entered the room, sticking his hand out. “Sheriff Dempsey? Sorry I was a little early. Soren Jorgensen. I’m here for an interview.”
Jorgensen was about Niall’s size, maybe even a bit taller. Where Niall was dark and had olive-toned skin, Jorgens
en looked like he’d just ridden the Bitfröst from Asgard to Earth. Except, of course, instead of pelts, or whatever Viking gods wore, Jorgensen was wearing slacks, a plaid button-down, and a black leather jacket.
Shaking Jorgensen’s hand, Mat said, “Welcome to Piedras. Thank you for making the trip out here.” He looked around. “Let’s chat in one of the interview rooms. Coffee?”
“Thanks.” Jorgensen lifted a to-go cup. “I picked something up on the way here.”
“Didn’t trust the station coffee? Good instincts.”
“So, your resume is strong,” Mat began. “I see you were involved in the takedown of a human trafficking ring a while back. And one of your recommendations is from the head of the FBI field office in Skagit.”
Jorgensen nodded as he leaned forward and set his coffee on the table. “Yeah, that was intense.” He shook his head. “Trafficking is a real problem. I don’t think the general public understands how bad it is.”
“With your recs you could apply anywhere. Why here?” Mat asked.
Jorgensen looked up at the ceiling a minute before answering, “It’s not like I don’t have ambitions; I do. But I don’t want to move to a big city. I’m a small-town guy.”
“Why leave Skagit, then? I talked to your Lt, and she’s sad to see you go.”
Jorgensen sighed. “I need a change. That whole case”—he waved a hand, encompassing a whole lot of things left unsaid—“and some personal stuff make it hard to be in Skagit. I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t want to move far, and Piedras seems pretty perfect. Also,” he said, leaning toward Mat, “I know from the grapevine that you’re gay. I am too, and I’d like to keep working in an LGBTQA-friendly environment.”
Mat tucked that fact away and veered the conversation back to Jorgensen’s experience and motivations for being a cop. He was surprised to learn it was kind of the family business, as Jorgensen’s uncle had headed up SkPD for a number of years. Jorgensen rushed to assure Mat he was not like his uncle at all, just another thing he wanted a potential employer to be aware of. Mat made a note, wondering what the hell Jorgensen’s uncle had been into.
