Doubleback

by Lissa Ford

  “Sure he is. He’s got plenty to hide, too. Obviously, he’s still angry over the deaths of his family members—”

  “And blaming you for it.”

  “And blaming me.” Jude stared at his food, appetite gone. “But I don’t think he killed Travis Gruber.”

  Rowan shrugged. “Natsios likes you for the crime,” he said, followed by a huge bite of his double.

  Jude gave a snort. “Of course he would. It’s the simplest avenue of investigation. Less work for him, too.”

  Rowan grunted in acknowledgement.

  “You don’t, though,” Jude added.

  Rowan took his time chewing and swallowing before he answered. “No. I know you better than that.”

  They ate in silence for a minute, while Jude processed the ridiculously happy feeling left in the wake of Rowan’s blunt assessment.

  “Have you told Natsios how we know each other?” Jude asked.

  “He knows we have a history.”

  “Does he know you’re queer?”

  “It’s none of his business. I’m private about my personal life.”

  Uh huh.

  “I’m not hiding anything, Anderson. But I’m not gonna march in any Pride events or slap a rainbow bumper sticker on my car.”

  Rowan kept his attention on his food, but Jude could feel the tension fluttering around the edges, ready to creep back between them. Jude didn’t trust himself to respond, otherwise they’d get in another argument and right now, Jude was sick of being in conflict with Rowan. The détente between them was…nice. Like old times, in fact, an easiness with the spice of attraction flavoring everything. Maybe Rowan liked it, too because he studiously plowed through his double, unwilling to continue his protestations. They ate to the sounds of traffic grumbling from Highway 370 and Canadian geese honking overhead on their way to Florida.

  Rowan broke the conversational lull first. “So, tell me what you weaseled out of the bartender.”

  “I didn’t weasel, I interviewed.”

  “Oh, then let me rephrase: stuck your nose where it didn’t belong. Interfered in a police investigation. Contaminated a potential witness.”

  “I couldn’t wait around. Things were snowballing.”

  “Such as?”

  “I received a couple of emails. First, a homophobic message in my work account.”

  “What? What type?”

  “It wasn’t like, ‘die, you fag.’ More of a, ‘you’re an abomination in God’s eyes’-type screed.”

  “You usually get them?” Rowan asked. “Homophobic threats?”

  “That’s the thing; I don’t. I haven’t. It’s the first one. Could be connected to the publicity of the murder. I don’t know.”

  “And the second?”

  “Was from Annette Morelli. She—” Jude swallowed. “She was upset about the murder.”

  “Annette Morelli. Unexpected.” Rowan’s gaze went inward for a moment, thinking hard before he saying briskly, “Forward both emails to me, and turn over your tablet to Cyber. We can put a trace on the anonymous one’s IP. Cyber is conducting a forensics analysis of Gruber’s cellphone. As soon as the password is cracked, we’ll start sifting through his calls. They can add your emails to the pile. But nasty emails aren’t a reason to go rogue on an investigation.”

  “Someone poisoned my dog the same night Travis was killed.”

  Rowan froze in the act of reaching for his drink. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I called. You didn’t answer.” Jude stuffed a few fries in his mouth.

  “Next time, wait for me to call back before you go vigilante, okay?”

  Jude concentrated on chewing his fries. He wasn’t making any promises.

  Rowan lifted a brow, reading Jude perfectly. He said, “As shitty as it is, taking out your dog is more evidence that Travis’s murder was preplanned and designed to fuck up your life. Or maybe even frame you for the crime. Or get your attention; I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Whatever happened to sending a Hallmark card?”

  Jude was a little disappointed when Rowan didn’t take up the banter.

  They ate a few more bites in silence.

  “Is your dog going to be okay?” Rowan asked gruffly.

  “Yeah. I think so. I hope so.”

  “When did you get it…her…him?”

  “Shiloh? I got her after…” After we broke up and I was so lonely I ached. He cleared his throat and said instead: “Shiloh’s a German Shepard. It’s a good idea to have an overprotective guard dog when you live out in the woods. She’s my early warning system.”

  “So she needed to be silenced.” Rowan’s expression was thoughtful as he ate his fries.

  “Or maybe whoever committed the murder needed me out of the way that afternoon. I found her just after three.” Jude remembered seeing poor Shiloh vomiting and staggering near the woodshed before collapsing. “I didn’t even hesitate. I got the dog in the truck and hauled ass to the vet. I wasn’t thinking that I was being lured away from my property. By the time I got home, it was after eight and completely dark. Even with security lights, it’s damn near impossible to see anything out there once the sun goes down.”

  “You ever uncover any signs of hillbilly pot farms or meth sheds tromping around in those woods?”

  “You mean, did someone need me out of the way before I stumbled over something hinky?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Jude shook his head. “I’ve never seen any suspicious activity. But again, I’m not looking for it, either. Bear Swamp Forest isn’t as unpopulated as it seems. There are more than a few homesteads, plenty of hikers, camping, lots of outdoor recreation. It’d have to be deep in the forest for a narcotics op to go unnoticed.”

  “I’ll call DEC, see if they’ve opened any investigations in that region.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Jude was bothered by the idea that drug crime was going down near his home. That’s why Jude had moved out to the country: to get away from that crap. He fell silent, brooding.

  “You got a real farm out there, horses and shit,” Rowan remarked after letting him indulge for a moment.

  Jude roused out of his funk to give a self-conscious laugh. “The roans are Kristy’s. She wanted me to take in her llamas too, but I had to draw the line somewhere.” He sobered and admitted, “Kristy’s worried.”

  “She should be,” Rowan answered bluntly. “So how is Kristy, anyway? Still trying to make people care about the endangered spotted newt?”

  “It was a flecked salamander, but yeah, she’s still the same. She’s fine, in Costa Rica now, studying tree frogs and trying to bring awareness to their plight of being at the bottom of the food chain.”

  “I’ve always liked Kristy’s devotion to the weirdoes of the animal kingdom.” Rowan smiled fondly as he wiped his hands with a fresh wet nap, reminiscing about something private, and Jude felt his heart shudder again. “Tell her I said hello,” Rowan added softly.

  “I will,” Jude answered quietly.

  They stared at each other over the empty paper hot dog sleeves. Nervously, Jude licked his lower lip. Rowan’s eyes lingered on Jude’s mouth just a little longer than necessary. Jude’s gaze caught Rowan’s; the other man immediately looked away, exhaling with a slow and careful breath.

  Danger zone, Anderson.

  Jude took a deep breath of his own and dove into the subject they were both dancing around: the victim himself, Travis Gruber. Jude related what Jonni had told him about Travis Gruber’s possible interest in a guy beyond the one night stand variety. After he was done, he took a swallow of his drink to lubricate his dry mouth. Rowan’s gaze was blank. And cold.

  “You don’t think the guy Travis had the hots for was you?” Rowan asked tonelessly.

  Jude nearly spluttered his soda out of nose. “Hell no! No. It wasn’t like that with…us…” Jude flailed to a stop. Jesus fucking Christ, this was awkward. “Travis slept around. It could have been anyone.”

  “The bartender
said that Gruber talked to someone with a name that sounds suspiciously like E.J. Tully’s at some point before he was murdered. A few days later, Gruber is left for dead on your porch, on the anniversary of Billy Tully’s birthday. I just find the dots that are connecting to be more than coincidence.”

  “You really think Tully is out to get me?”

  “Don’t know yet. But we know now that Gruber hung out with E.J. Tully, and possibly was one of his distributors.”

  “We don’t know that yet either.”

  “But we will,” Rowan answered implacably. “Gruber is a link between you and Tully. Maybe Gruber mentioned you to him.”

  “Why would he?” Jude asked in surprise.

  Rowan shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe you were too good of a lay and Gruber couldn’t keep the news to himself.”

  “We’ve been over this already, Rowan,” Jude bit out.

  Rowan waved away Jude’s awakening wrath as if it were annoying cigarette smoke. “Means, motive, opportunity. Coupled with strong emotional need to avenge his dead nephew and girlfriend, and who knows what a guy like Tully would do? What if Gruber was already a marked man and Tully had plans to get rid of him, anyway? The opportunity to mess with you could have been too good to pass up. Dumping Gruber on your porch would have been just as easy as dumping him in the middle of the woods.”

  “But not as clean. People disappear all the time and are found decomposing in remote areas months later. If ever. But Travis—”

  “Was meant to be found.” Rowan gazed thoughtfully out over the parking lot. “So, you have to ask yourself why. Who would hate you enough to do such a thing?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that since yesterday.”

  “You killed the chick pregnant by one of the Tully clan. An innocent life. The Tullys obviously aren’t forgiving and forgetting.”

  Jude swallowed. He never forgot it, so why should anyone else?

  Rowan went on. “Or maybe it was a set up all along, and Gruber became collateral damage the minute you hooked up with him.”

  Jude felt nauseous at the thought that Travis was murdered to target Jude. Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t think it was a set up. A set up means premeditation. The encounter with Travis wasn’t premeditated. I went into Eight Ball on an impulse. Travis had no way of knowing who I was before I walked through the door of the club. He couldn’t have known I had any connection to Tully.”

  Rowan grunted in reluctant agreement. They were silent for a moment while Rowan chewed his lip, deep in thought. Then he said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, just because of our…history. But I need to ask: why’d you do it? Why did you hook up with a dude like that?”

  “Why?” Jude repeated, stalling.

  Because I missed you, Rowan. I missed you so damn much I was withering like an old cornstalk left out in the field too long.

  And that? That was pathetic.

  The moment spun out as Jude stared at Rowan, words tangling in his throat. He couldn’t tell Rowan the truth behind why he had sought temporary oblivion in the arms of another man. It would open old wounds, thick with scar tissue. They both deserved to move on.

  Rowan didn’t look angry. Or frustrated. He looked…sad. And Rowan’s sad, almost patient expression hurt Jude more than a heated insult or a roundhouse kick to the gut.

  It was too much for Jude’s chafed emotions. He shifted his gaze to the traffic lining the road, like the answer to the universe could be had in the flashing break lights, and remained silent.

  “And just like that, you turn into the Great Wall of China.” Rowan sat back in his seat and threw a shredded paper napkin down on the tray. Jude realized Rowan must have been rending it apart under the table “Whatever. Like you said, it’s none of my business. I’ve got to take off. Thanks for lunch.”

  Jude blinked at Rowan’s abrupt retreat. Jude’s heart sounded so loud in his ears he thought surely Rowan heard it, too, but Rowan gave no sign of awareness as he hastily rose to his feet and brushed nonexistent crumbs from his slacks. Slowly, Jude stood too, and followed Rowan’s rapidly withdrawing back out to the parking lot. Jude recognized a strategic retreat when he saw one, because that’s what he’d do in Rowan’s place, if Jude were…

  Hurt, Jude realized suddenly. Rowan was hurt. Rowan put himself out there, asked for an honest dialogue, and Jude had shut him down. Again.

  Jude reminded himself why he kept Rowan at arm’s length, what Rowan might discover if Jude let him in. Jude was trying to protect Rowan, right? All those long months of being alone, Jude told himself he was doing the right thing, freeing Rowan from the burden of dealing with Jude’s complicated, fucked up issues. He was doing it to protect Rowan.

  Or was he? In the face of Rowan’s pain, Jude admitted now why he kept locking Rowan out: because Jude didn’t want to see Rowan’s disgust when he learned the truth. Or worse, pity Jude. Was that unfair? Shouldn’t he at least have had the guts to let Rowan try to understand?

  Jude’s breathing quickened as he watched Rowan walk farther and farther away. He felt like he was standing at a crossroads. Either he could take a chance, tell Rowan the truth and let the chips fall, or Jude could go on as he was, living a solitary life, fucking strangers when the loneliness became unbearable.

  Without much conscious thought, Jude began limping toward Rowan as fast as his damaged leg would let him.

  Rowan had gotten as far as the bumper of his unmarked, fumbling blindly with the key fob when Jude reached the other man. He put a hand on Rowan’s arm.

  Rowan looked up, surprised.

  “Rowan, I—” Jude’s breath clogged up his throat and stopped the next words.

  Rowan waited. When Jude still couldn’t speak, he prodded, “Yeah? You what?”

  Jude swallowed, tried again. “The reason I went to Eight Ball was because—” He faltered, sucking in a deep breath to steady his pounding heart. “Was because—”

  The screech of tires against pavement made them both jerk their heads around. A piece of shit compact car was barreling toward them. Jude caught a flash of whoever was behind the wheel: a face obscured by oversized sunglasses and a cap. Sun glinted off the car’s bug-covered windshield as the car swerved directly to where they were standing, watching in shock as it accelerated toward them.

  Jude realized the car wasn’t going to veer from its path of running them down. “Ro!” he shouted. His instincts kicked in and he grabbed Rowan by the shoulders, tackling him to the concrete pavement. They fell together while the car gunned past them in a squeal of tires and cheap gas. Underneath Jude, Rowan let out a surprised whoof, followed by a groan. Jude tried to roll away but his leg had burst into flames of agony when he hit the ground. The breath he struggled to inhale seemed to be coming through a congested straw. Red and white spots floated across his vision. The thunder of his own pulse blocked Rowan’s voice as the other man cursed and swore underneath him.

  He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

  Jude knew then he was blacking out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hands. Warm hands were running over Jude’s face, his neck, down his arms to the throbbing pulse on his wrist. One hand crept back up to his hair, pushed the sticky strands away from his forehead. The back of Jude’s head hurt. His leg hurt. Everything hurt. But the hands roaming his body felt good. Through the pain and the panic, Jude realized it’d been a long time since he’d been touched like that. With tenderness.

  “Goddamn it, Anderson!” Rowan’s voice punched through the fuzz that muffled his hearing. “Always trying to be the fucking hero!”

  The words were harsh but the gentle touch kept him anchored. On a gasp, Jude pried his lids open. He was lying prone on gritty pavement, the smell of oil, dirt, and burnt tire rubber filling his lungs. His chest felt like it was coming apart from the pressure building within, and his heart seemed to be tripping and bumping against his punished ribs. Rowan’s face was a mask of calm as he loomed over Jude, except for his tawny eyes. Those were a
live with concern.

  “Chest hurts,” Jude got out.

  Rowan’s fingers pressed against Jude’s pulse and he swore. “It’s doing the fucking Macarena in there.” Then he turned his head to shout over his shoulder: “Someone call 9-1-1. I think he’s having a heart attack—”

  Jude’s hand shot out and clamped around Rowan’s wrist. “No,” he gasped. “Not a heart attack.” He sucked in a precious breath of air, then: “Panic attack. Meds in…” The confusion on Rowan’s face was painful to witness. “…in glove box. My. Truck.”

  “Panic attack?” Rowan echoed.

  Jude let out a strangled wheeze. “No doctors.”

  “But—”

  An overpowering sense of terror rushed through Jude. He shoved Rowan’s hands away. “I need to go. I need to get out of here, I—” He reeled as he sat up. Lights flashed across his vision, and he began to shake. The urge to flee was overwhelming.

  “Sit your ass down, Anderson!” Rowan leaned in and murmured, “Jude, what the fuck?”

  “I’m having a fucking panic attack, that’s what the fuck,” Jude gasped. “I need my meds.”

  Comprehension flooded Rowan’s expression. Followed by an expression that Jude had never wanted to see on Rowan’s face—distaste.

  Shame, mortification and fear—the humiliating tangle shot adrenaline into Jude’s overloaded system. He gulped for air again, certain he was going to die of asphyxiation and destroyed pride.

  Rowan’s voice came to him from far away. “Breathe, Anderson. Just breathe. Big breath in. That’s it. And out, slowly. Good. You’re going to be okay. EMS is on the way.”

  “No paramedics. Please!” The humiliation of losing control was already unbearable; no way did he want to be hauled off in an ambulance just because he’d had a fucking panic attack. It was bad enough that Rowan could now see how messed up Jude was, a fucking mental basket case who needed pills to keep it together. Did he have to undergo a psych eval from first responders in front of Rowan, too? Did it really have to be hammered home like that?

  Rowan’s hands were on him again, running up and down his arms as Jude struggled. Gently, he eased Jude into a sitting position against the Crown Vic’s tire. “Breathe in and out. That’s it. Someone will get your…meds,” Rowan added stiffly. He patted Jude’s pockets for his keys and took them out. With a quiet word to one of the spectators, he tossed them the keys and turned back to Jude. Jude bowed his head between his propped up knees, finally remembering his calming techniques.