by Keaton, Elle
The separate garage and smaller garden shed looked to be locked. A lone shovel lay where it had fallen or been carelessly dropped by the last user.
“When was the last time you saw Sharleen?” Mat asked.
Birdy bit her bottom lip, considering the question. “Probably April or May? I think I saw her once at the farmer’s market, maybe?”
Mat lifted his hand to tap on the door, but before he could knock, the door opened and Sharleen peered out at them, her expression wary. Her cheekbones were prominent, and Mat wondered if the already wiry woman had lost weight from illness or if it was stress.
“Afternoon, Sharleen,” Mat said. “How are you?”
“I’m doing fine. Why are you here?” Her gaze ping-ponged between Mat and Birdy.
“Can we come inside and ask a few questions about Duane Cooper?” Mat asked.
“I told you before, Duane and I weren’t friends.”
Mat met Sharleen’s gaze and held it. Sharleen blinked. Her grip on the doorknob tightened, her knuckles white under her skin, which was tan from years of being exposed to the sun.
“Duane Cooper’s body was found yesterday, and we’re just asking questions of the people who… were closest to him.”
“I told you months ago, and I told you again just now, we weren’t friends.” Now she sounded exasperated.
“That’s fine, Sharleen. You did know him, and he spent time at the marina. Do you mind if we come inside and ask a few questions?”
Sharleen must’ve realized they weren’t going away. She opened the door wide enough Mat and Birdy could slip inside and quickly shut it behind them.
The inside of the house was worse than the outside. Mat peered around as she led them to the living room. There were piles of things everywhere: grocery bags, envelopes, unopened mail, empty boxes. And not as if she was moving, as if she’d come into the house and just dropped things and let them lie where they fell. He glanced into the open kitchen as they passed by. A cloud of fruit flies hovered over the sink, which was stacked high with dirty dishes. The faint sweet stench of rotten food hung in the air.
“Something to drink?” Sharleen offered, pushing a pile of clothing from an overstuffed chair onto the carpeted floor and sitting down. She motioned for Mat and Birdy to take seats on the couch.
“No, we’re fine, thank you.” Mat didn’t want anything that might come out of that sink. Ugh. He and Birdy sat. Birdy had to move a heap of magazines to the already-piled-high coffee table in order to sit down. Cobwebs hung from the blades of the ceiling fan over the great room. They moved lazily in a draft Mat didn’t feel. They’d agreed on the drive over that Birdy would do the questioning, as Sharleen seemed to like her.
“We don’t want to keep you too long, Sharleen. Can you go over your relationship with Duane? Just”—Birdy glanced at Mat—“go through what was a normal exchange between the two of you, how often you saw him, that sort of thing.”
Sharleen clasped her hands together in her lap. “I… don’t know what you want to hear. Duane stored a couple boats at the marina, along with the one he used for rescue. If there was a call, he didn’t stop at the office. He and the officer responding with him just jumped in the boat and roared off. If he was using his other boat, he’d often stop and talk to me, ask about the weather, sailor gossip. He’s really dead?”
Mat had a hard time believing Sharleen hadn’t heard the news yesterday, but Birdy just did her thing. “He is.” She reached over to squeeze Sharleen’s arm in sympathy before continuing with their questions.
“Did Duane have any unusual habits? Were there ever people with him you didn’t recognize? Someone maybe you didn’t know, not from the island? We’re interested in anything you can think of that might be of help. It might even be a small thing, something that may seem trivial.”
Sharleen bit her lips together, shifting in her seat, her gaze again jumping between the two of them. “Once in a while I would be at the marina late in the evening, stopping by to check on things—especially in the summer when it was busier—and I saw Duane taking the other boat out. There’s nothing wrong with taking a boat out at night,” she hastened to add.
“No, there isn’t. What struck you about it?”
“Once or twice there was someone with him I didn’t recognize.”
“Can you tell us what he looked like?”
“It was dusk, almost dark, but I think younger than Duane by the way he walked, and big.”
“What do you mean big?” Birdy pressed.
Sharleen shot Mat a look. “Big, like Niall Hamarsson—but it wasn’t him, of course.”
“Did you ever see the man’s face?”
“No, I wasn’t close enough. And I had a feeling they didn’t know I was there, and I didn’t want to say anything…” She didn’t meet Mat’s gaze, instead staring past him at nothing.
Something about the man had made Sharleen nervous, or maybe she was hiding something. Likely it was both, but, conveniently, the marina had been burned to the waterline by Sharleen’s lover’s wife, so Mat and Birdy couldn’t head that way and ask questions there. They were just lucky no one had been killed in the blaze.
Mat asked, “How’s Merle?” both out of curiosity and to see what her reaction would be.
Her lips thinned. “Fine, I suppose. I heard he’d recovered from his injuries.” The twisting of her hands in her lap belied her true feelings.
Mat stood up, and Birdy followed suit. “Thank you, Sharleen. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to let one of us know. You can call the station line, and someone will transfer you to Birdy or me. We’ll let ourselves out.”
As they were getting back into the car, Mat’s phone vibrated.
“Marshal,” he said.
“Sheriff Dempsey,” Marshal responded.
“What do you have for me?”
“A request for you to not keep me quite so busy. I’d like to spend some of my time with Trevor and Caleb.” Marshal had a teasing tone to his voice, but Mat knew he was serious.
Marshal was a caring man with a huge, giving heart. After being rejected by his family, he’d spent years living only for his job and to help others—until a pint-sized kid asked him to help his dad, and the rest was history. Marshal and Trevor, Caleb’s dad, were a couple now. Stronger together and all that. A lot like him and Niall.
“Look,” Mat replied, “I understand, believe me.” All Mat really wanted to do was to stay at home with Niall and make sure he was okay, that he rested and didn’t overdo it—regardless of Marshal declaring him fit.
“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I’m releasing Cooper’s remains. His ex-wife is taking care of them. And, as far as the bones you and Niall found, I’m fairly sure they’re not Native American, but I don’t have the time or expertise to extract them properly, so we’re going to need to call in the state archaeologist. And I’m warning you now, they don’t move fast.”
“Fuck.”
“Sir,” Birdy admonished from the passenger seat.
“I’ll drop five bucks in the swear jar.”
“What’s it going to this year?” Marshal asked. He knew about the station swear jar and Birdy’s attempt to clean up the language they used at work.
“Marshal wants to know what the swear jar fund is going to,” Mat said to Birdy.
“Not sure yet, Dr. Soper. Either Toys for Tots or one of the women’s shelters,” she answered loudly enough for Marshal to hear.
“I’ll drop in a fifty if you call me Marshal instead of doctor. But, back to the bones, maybe you could talk to the guys Niall works for? I’m fairly sure they do extractions like this one—or know of experts who could help us out.”
Mat turned to Birdy. “Speaking of which, has anyone had time to look through missing persons… What do you think, Marshal? How far should we go back?”
Their connection crackled. Mat heard, “—last twenty years to start. The zipper seems newer to me, rather than older.”
They disconnec
ted, and Mat shifted the cruiser into drive, slowly heading away from Sharleen’s toward the road. Glancing in the rearview mirror for a moment, he thought he saw a curtain twitch. Sharleen had been watching them leave.
14
Thursday—Niall
“You should consider some protective wards.”
Niall glanced up from sliding his debit card through the card reader. He was at Chester’s Grocery-Mart picking up a few things for dinner. He and Mat might end up eating with Alyson and Riley, but if not, he didn’t want canned soup again. He wasn’t the world’s greatest cook, but he could make a mean chili. Of all the things about being in love, the most unsettling to Niall was his need to protect Mat and take care of him—to do shit like make dinner.
He frowned at her. “What did you say?”
Sage, Chester’s manager, head cashier, and everything else, watched Niall with a sharp gaze. “I said, you should consider some protective wards.”
Sage, Niall knew, was a practicing Wiccan. He didn’t have a problem with it. He figured Wiccans had just as much right as Christians to practice their beliefs, and Wiccans didn’t trespass on his property trying to give him pamphlets.
“Why?” he asked as he entered his PIN and slid his card back into his wallet.
“I’ve been concerned. First Sheriff Dempsey was hurt badly by that bomb, and then you were hurt too.”
“How did you find that out?” There was no use denying he’d been hurt; scrapes still covered his face from the explosion. The many bruises were covered by his clothing, but no doubt he was moving a little slower than usual.
“Shay Delacombe was in this morning, with the young man you work with.”
“Ryder Mann.” Niall rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Ryder, a very nice person as well.”
He was going to kill Ryder, possibly with his bare hands. Unfortunately, he’d dropped him off at the ferry before stopping in at Chester’s.
As if Sage could read his mind, she said, “It was Shay who said you’d been injured. I just think it wouldn’t hurt to ask for extra protection. Fall equinox is almost here; I could gather a few of the witches on the island, and we could have a small ceremony. It would be very simple.” As she placed his items into a bag, she continued, “No one wants to see you, or Sheriff Dempsey, hurt.”
Whether it was the recent head injury, the fact he’d missed Mat, or the memory of those terrible hours after the bombing, Niall wasn’t certain, but he found himself nodding. What would it hurt? “I’ll run it by Mat and see what he thinks.”
After all, he’d spent a good part of his childhood soaking in his grandfather’s tales about the Norse gods. The goddess Eir was who the ancient Norse had applied to for help when ill, wounded, or in need of protection.
Niall suspected Od had made up the stories he told about Eir, as Niall had never found other evidence of them, but they still resonated with him. He had a tattoo of Fenrir on his chest. There was no reason not to let Sage and her friends have a protection ceremony—he and Mat needed all the help they could get.
They did not go to the Dempsey household for dinner that evening. When Mat arrived home, Niall knew with one glance he had too much on his mind. Spending the evening with Alyson and Riley was not what he needed.
Mat tossed his keys onto the table, where they landed with a clatter.
“How about I make chili and corn bread?”
Mat collapsed into the chair opposite Niall. “That sounds… incredible.”
“Go get changed, and we can talk about the case if that’s what you need. Or I can come up with other ways to distract you.”
“Mmm.” Mat waggled his eyebrows. “Both?”
“I can do both.”
While Mat was showering and changing, Niall pulled the ingredients for his chili out of the refrigerator. He listened to the shower as he chopped onions and poblano peppers, adding them to the ground beef browning in the pan. Once the beef was cooked, he added a can of tomatoes and a can of black beans. The flavors could mature while he put together the corn bread.
Ten minutes later the shower turned off and Mat reappeared, now wearing a worn 49ers sweatshirt and a pair of cotton sleep pants.
Niall glanced at him and growled, “I hate that sweatshirt.” He wasn’t a huge football fan, and Mat only wore the sweatshirt when he wanted to get a rise out of him. So, he complied.
Mat waggled his eyebrows. “I can take it off, if you like.”
“If you don’t take it off, I’ll take it off for you,” Niall warned.
“Is that a promise or a threat?” Mat teased.
“Both.”
Niall turned the stove down and covered the chili—it could simmer while he took care of business. “I don’t know why you bothered getting dressed.”
He padded across the floor, closing the distance between them. With a smirk on his handsome face, Mat retreated until his back met the wall behind him and he could go no farther. Niall crowded in against him, caging Mat in with his larger body. Lowering his head, he nipped Mat’s ear before tracing a line with his tongue down Mat’s neck to the juncture with his shoulder, where he bit down—not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough for Mat to feel it. Niall needed to claim him, to make sure Mat remembered whose he was. That even when Niall was away he was thinking about Mat. Loving him.
“Jesus, Niall.” Mat’s head thumped against the wall, his eyes filled with lust.
“I warned you,” Niall muttered against his skin, breathing in Mat’s scent all the way to his soul, reminding himself how lucky he was.
As Niall reached down to lift the hated sweatshirt over Mat’s head, Mat thrust his hips forward. Mat’s thick erection brushed against Niall’s, hot even through their clothes.
“You’d better be naked under those.”
“Mmm.”
Niall figured that was a yes. He tugged off the sweatshirt and flung it aside before going to his knees. Reaching up with suddenly trembling hands, Niall pressed his palm against Mat’s cock. Mat groaned and thrust his hips into Niall’s touch.
“Niall,” Mat begged.
He’d been intending to take care of this in their bedroom, but now, here seemed perfect—at least to start. Tugging Mat’s sleep pants down over his hips, Niall was rewarded by the sight and scent of Mat’s cock. Mat was fully erect, and not small. As Niall watched, a bead of precome seeped from his tip. Niall’s own cock pulsed in response.
Taking Mat in his fist, with his other hand on his hip to keep him still, Niall licked Mat’s shaft up and back down, pausing at the bottom to suck his balls into his mouth.
“Niall, oh, fuck.”
Niall loved the feeling of Mat’s erection in his grip: the heat of it, how responsive he was, the vein that throbbed underneath his palm. Niall’s own cock was fully erect in response, and he took a second to adjust himself through his jeans. Fuck that; he unzipped and pushed his pants down so he could take himself in hand.
“Niall, I’m not going to last.”
“Yes, you are.” He tightened his hold on Mat, right at the base.
Then he took Mat into his mouth, engulfing him, running his tongue under his mushroom cap. His cheeks concave, he slowly wetted him with his tongue and his spit until Mat was lodged against the back of his throat. Still, he kept his grip tight. He didn’t want Mat coming yet.
“Niall, Niall, Niall,” Mat chanted.
Relenting, Niall pulled off him slightly, still lapping at him, tasting the precome that was now dribbling out at a constant rate. Easing off, Niall moved up so only Mat’s tip was in his mouth.
“Shit.”
Niall sucked, his lips a circle encompassing Mat, his tongue pressing inside his slit. Niall needed to taste his man for real.
Reluctantly—except he was looking forward to what was coming next—he let Mat’s erection slip from between his lips. As he stood up, Niall kicked off his jeans and ripped his T-shirt off, tossing it next to Mat’s sweatshirt.
Mat watched him, his
eyes half closed, precome dripping onto the floor. He was so hard his shaft was an angry red—as if coming couldn’t happen soon enough. And yeah, Niall wanted to come too, but he also wanted Mat to forget his own name.
“Get on the bed.”
Mat lay on his back. One of his hands began to stray toward his cock as if he was going to try to get himself off. Niall knocked it away as he crawled onto their king-size bed.
“That’s mine,” he growled, tapping Mat’s hip. “Turn over.”
Niall sat back on his haunches and took in the beauty that was Mat’s ass. Between Mat’s thighs, Niall could see his heavy cock pointing down toward the mattress. Sometimes he had a hard time believing Mat was his. In a sort of slow motion, he reached out with one hand, running it across and down Mat’s flank, caressing him, feeling the shudder that ran though Mat’s body all the way to his bones.
Without him asking, Mat raised himself onto his knees so his ass was jutting toward Niall. He had to shut his eyes for a moment in order to regain a semblance of self-control. He’d had a plan—obviously poorly thought out—to take his time in the bedroom as well.
Leaning over, he ripped open the drawer to the bedside table and snatched up the container of lube. With shaking fingers, he opened it and squeezed the viscous liquid into the palm of his hand and onto his fingers. He thanked all the gods that he and Mat had been tested and decided to forgo condoms a few months ago.
Gently he parted Mat’s ass-cheeks, squeezing the tube so the liquid slipped down to his hole. With his free hand, Niall began to massage the ring of muscle, reveling in the feel of Mat’s body, the way he moaned and tried to push back onto Niall’s fingers.
Niall pressed his index finger inside Mat, twirling it, getting Mat ready for him. Using his knees, he forced Mat’s legs even farther apart and reached underneath him for his cock. Mat groaned again, thrusting into Niall’s hand, then backward onto his finger.
