by Elle Keaton
Aside from the cold beer, all he felt was Sacha’s hard body pressed fiercely against his own, chest heaving. Nothing else happened, except maybe time stopping for a minute while Sacha held him. Too soon, Sacha stepped back, taking the beer from his hand like nothing had happened, and went out into the backyard. Seth trailed along behind.
They spent the rest of the evening amiably discussing baseball, of all things. Seth discovered Sacha was sort of a fan, which surprised him because baseball was a game for the patient. On the other hand, it added to Seth’s increasing hoard of information about him. Growing up in the land of spring training had its benefits. They talked players, RBIs, on-base percentages, the value (or not) of the designated hitter, and myriad other baseball stats until they were both tired.
Parker stayed in the spare room, forcing Sacha to sleep on the couch, which wasn’t long enough for him. Some unnamed emotion—fear?—held Seth back from offering Sacha space in his bed. He wouldn’t let himself offer something Sacha might interpret as permanence. He couldn’t allow himself to get used to having Sacha, in his bed or elsewhere. Sacha didn’t say anything about being relegated to the living room. He was tucked up on the couch and asleep before Seth finished brushing his teeth. Sacha half turned onto his back, arm thrown over his head, face in repose. Seth longed to run his fingers through his hair, whisper nonsense in his ear, tell him he was afraid of the dark so Sacha would hold him tightly. Instead he went to bed alone.
Christ, he was messed up.
Twenty-One
Sacha
Parker was hungry. Which Sacha supposed he should be glad of; the past few days, almost a week, with Parker holed up in Seth’s house refusing to do anything but sulk had been driving Sacha crazy. He understood—this was how Parker reacted when he was hurt, and no doubt whatever Zeke had done (or not done) had hurt him. But he needed to quit the running away. Adam was supposed to get back to Sacha any minute with what information he was able to find out about the fire and the dead body, and how badly the authorities wanted to talk to Parker. Which, he figured with the time it was taking Adam, wasn’t terribly badly.
“There must be somewhere decent to eat in this village,” Parker whined.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” They were driving up State Street. Sacha could see the SkPD headquarters and knew there was a good coffee-and-sandwich spot across the street. As luck would have it, there was a car pulling out of a parking space.
The Booking Room was busy and full of cops. It made Sacha oddly wistful—a feeling he hadn’t expected, missing the camaraderie of his Marshal days, shooting the breeze about cases and suspects over terrible cups of coffee.
Scanning the seating area, he stopped short when he spotted a very recognizable brown, curly head of hair. Parker nearly ran into his back.
“Did you purposely pick a spot where all the cops in this town go for lunch?” he whispered into Sacha’s shoulder.
Before Sacha could come up with a reason why they should turn around and leave, Micah looked up and saw them. Sacha could see why Adam had fallen hard for the guy; his smile lit up his entire face.
“Have you been making friends?” Parker asked incredulously, seeing Micah’s reaction. “This is not the Sacha I know and love.”
Micah waved them over, tucking his laptop into a ratty messenger bag as they cut through the lunch crowd toward his table. “Have a seat, it’s great to see you.”
They sat, and Sacha made introductions, then listened as Micah and Parker charmed each other. Sacha watched the SkPD stream in and then back out with their gallon jugs of caffeine. He recognized a few of them from when he was undercover.
Parker poked him in the side. “Order me something, will you? I’m starved.”
He was finishing ordering when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Managing not to spin around like a lunatic, he plastered a smile on his face before turning to see who it was. It was Meyer from the Chamber of Commerce. The guy was worse than a tick.
One summer while Sacha still lived with the Finlaysons, he’d semi-adopted a stray dog that had been living out in the abandoned field behind their neighborhood. Meyer reminded him of the dog, except Sacha had liked and encouraged the dog. He’d been sad when it had disappeared. Meyer grated on his nerves.
“Sacha! Great to see you; what are you doing on this side of town?”
Meyer ended up sitting with them at Micah’s table. There had been no way to politely—or rudely—get rid of him. The guy ignored or simply did not understand social cues. He really was like a puppy. He oozed in between Parker and Sacha, sitting far closer than necessary, even though the table was small. Sacha scooted his chair away as far as he could.
Parker seemed fascinated, but Sacha couldn’t tell if it was in a good way or the way a person watches a slow but inevitable car accident. Glancing up, Parker saw Sacha eyeing him and shook his head before tossing out a knowing smile. Sacha had no idea what that was about.
“Call me Chris,” Meyer repeated, after Sacha introduced him as Meyer. Old habits.
And good fucking God, he’d forgotten how Parker could talk when he got going… about anything. While the other three men talked about the city of Skagit, business, random things Parker brought up—including a few stories from their shared childhoods (names changed to protect the innocent, of course)—Sacha’s mind wandered. He wasn’t a master of casual conversation.
He mused over the time since his return to Skagit. Seth. Almost every memory had Seth in it or some association with him. Seth returning from a job, covered in a fine coating of dusty soil held tightly to his skin by the sweat of the day. He should have smelled terrible, but instead he smelled like sunshine and the outdoors. A little bit like laughter. Seth sitting on the floor of the Warrick, again dusty and sweaty, hunched over the box of long-lost artifacts. Seth, ignoring Sacha to gather the day’s debris and put it in the trash. Seth, at ease in his backyard, chatting with Sacha about mountain biking as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing.
Parker smirked at him as if he knew exactly what Sacha was thinking about.
Twenty-Two
Sacha
“Why are you being such an asshole?” Parker punched him in the shoulder.
Sacha’d gotten a phone call from an old boss, the one person from his old life he would call in a favor from. After briefly entertaining the idea of asking Rick instead, he’d called Johnny. He’d never bothered to memorize his old partner’s phone number, and he hadn’t wanted to go through official routes.
“I heard through the grapevine that you retired. Could have knocked me over with a feather; I thought you’d die with your boots on.” Johnny’s deep voice rumbled over the connection.
Yes, well, that was exactly what Sacha had been trying to avoid. He’d called Johnny asking if he could find anything out about Parker’s ex and the marina fire.
Parker’s ex-boyfriend, while maybe not a rising star in the Miami PD, was a clean cop. And, it seemed, very concerned about Parker. Zeke had told authorities that his “roommate” often left for days at a time but that he’d never not come home before. The boat was apparently an inheritance from his grandfather.
“Parker, you’re in the middle of an arson case, and we don’t know why. The good news is, your boyfriend—” Sacha waved a hand at Parker’s expression, “—whatever he was-slash-is, didn’t have anything to do with the fire. In fact, he was at some kind of training that week.” Sacha had considered that possibly this Zeke guy had lit up the marina himself for insurance or something, but there was no evidence at all, and the boat itself hadn’t been worth much.
Seth wasn’t at home, but typically—and Sacha really needed to talk to him about that—the back door was unlocked, so he and Parker had let themselves in. There was going to be a safety conversation in Seth’s future that had nothing to do with condoms. Seth’s “but I’ve got nothing worth stealing” meant nothing. Lives could be stolen too. Parker went into what now seemed to be his room; Sacha headed out
to the backyard.
It was after nine when he finally heard Seth’s car pull up onto the parking strip. Parker had come out for a while but had given up on Sacha being conversational and was back inside reading a book. The neighborhood was quiet; even though the sun had peeked out from behind the clouds later in the afternoon, it was still cool. A hardy mosquito buzzed around, trying to land on Sacha’s arm, and he smashed it with satisfaction.
The rumble of conversation drifted out the back door. Parker laughed, and Sacha felt the sting of jealousy. He was pathetic, sitting in Seth’s backyard feeling out of sorts because the man had left for hours without telling him why.
Seth and Parker wandered into the backyard, Parker choosing to disregard Sacha’s terrible humor and Seth blissfully unaware.
“Hey, guess what?” Seth was smiling as he approached Sacha, something that had not happened much in his life. Most people didn’t smile when they saw him; they frowned and often ran in the other direction. He found himself drinking Seth in, memorizing what he looked like in this moment: sparkling eyes; warm smile; a T-shirt worn enough to look like he’d owned it since the early 90s, with an old rock band logo or something on it.
Parker leaned down, whispering loudly into his ear, “Man, you have it bad. You should see the look on your face.”
“I may have tracked down the right Theodore Garrison,” Seth continued. “He’s still alive, but I couldn’t talk to him today. He has quite a wall of protectors in the English department.” Seth went on to describe his visit to the university and how certain he was that this was the right person.
Seth had texted Sacha that morning after leaving the house while Sacha and Parker were arguing over something completely unimportant, like who had used the last of the milk. The text had merely said that Seth was going to Seattle for the day; he’d be back that evening. Sacha’d been in a bad mood ever since, purposely egging Parker on, arguing about, of all things, the finale of a show Sacha had never even watched. It sounded so stupid he certainly would never watch it now.
At some undefinable point over the long hot summer, a complete stranger had become very important to him. He snorted. Important didn’t really cover it, but he wasn’t going any farther—not even in his head—right now. The list of people Sacha considered friends was short; the list he considered family even shorter. Family was something he protected fiercely. Family was not to be fucked with. When he wasn’t paying attention, this generous, sexy, sweet-talking man had become family.
Big-hearted and seemingly carefree, Seth had befriended a complete stranger who looked like he’d been in a car accident. Taken him home and, if Sacha was going to be honest with himself, he’d never really left. Yeah, he’d slept at the Warrick for the most part until Parker arrived, but whenever he had, he’d missed the warmth of Seth’s home.
At the same time, there were hidden depths to Seth, something lurking out of sight but not out of mind. For all their random conversations while working and the few times Sacha had shared something about himself with Seth, it hadn’t escaped his notice that Seth didn’t really tell him anything about himself.
Sacha could run a background check, of course. He’d done so several times in the past, and each time had led to him ending a nascent relationship. For whatever reason, Sacha felt it important that Seth share his history himself. Whatever it was that led to him being raised by an aunt. Whatever led him to being… elusive. A laugh on the wind, a dandelion clock drifting on a breeze tantalizingly out of reach.
Now he felt stupid for being grouchy and argumentative all day and, possibly, jealous. Sacha’d forgotten about the postcards and the book he’d found in the wall. His distrustful nature had Seth going to Seattle for a different reason; he had jumped to a conclusion with no facts to support it. He was the one who travelled to different cities for anonymous sex, not Seth. He was mortified to have thought that Seth was hooking up with someone, when instead he had been following up on a lead that might help them discover who the boys in the photo were.
Seth kept smiling at him, a look of excitement that had Sacha grinning back regardless of his inner turmoil.
“I left my phone number and email; the secretary is going to pass them along. Professor Garrison will get in touch with me if he’s interested. He’s very elderly.” Seth talked with his hands, and it was clear how excited he was about this possibility.
Seth said the return commute had been hellish, making Sacha feel even more like shit for jumping to an extremely wrong conclusion about why Seth had gone to Seattle.
Before leaving the Marshals, Sacha had never much considered his future. Morbid? Probably, but he’d assumed he would die in service one way or another. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that instead of that fire escape collapsing he would have been lying on the ground with a big hole in his head.
Now he had a future, and Seth kept slipping into it. Sacha wasn’t sure exactly when that idea had insinuated itself into his head, but it was there, humming in the background, refusing to be ignored. It frightened him; futures required planning, and Sacha didn’t even know what he wanted for dinner most days. He wanted Seth, and he wanted a future with him.
He patted the patio chair beside him, and Seth sat down, grabbing a beer from the six-pack Sacha had brought out earlier. Parker rolled his eyes and shot Sacha a look before mouthing, “We’re going to need to talk.” Sacha would have to see about that. He had a plan for Parker, and Parker probably wasn’t going to be very happy about it. Too bad.
Sacha turned toward Seth, and proximity turned the careless movement into an accidental-on-purpose brush of lips in the near dark. They were so close Sacha saw Seth’s eyes widen before he pulled back a fraction and licked his lower lip. The almost-kiss sent a pop of awareness coursing through Sacha, head to toe.
Fuck. He’d missed Seth today. Giving in, he pressed his lips firmly against Seth’s. He could smell the beer they’d drunk and the scent of the day on his skin. Oh, lord, he was starving. He shut his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the kiss, their breath and tongues tentative and empowering. One of them groaned.
“Uh, guys? I’m right here.”
“Shit.” Sacha jerked away like he’d been stung, snatching his hand off Seth’s thigh but managing a last-minute squeeze.
The next morning, Adam showed up. He looked tired and rumpled. Out of town on a case, he’d flown in the night before, not landing in Seattle until after ten.
“The flight was ridiculous; I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Seth, Sacha, and Parker had been lounging in the house between the kitchen and living room area, cradling huge mugs of coffee. Sacha stood to shake Adam’s hand; they did the weird handshake-backslap thing straight men and, apparently, law enforcement agents of any persuasion engaged in. Micah, a step behind Adam, shook his head at the two of them.
“So, Bolic, you come to Skagit and trouble follows. Big surprise,” Adam said.
Seth and Micah chuckled; Parker pouted. It was all Sacha could do not to run screaming.
Adam turned to Parker. “You I don’t know, but I have a feeling.”
“Yeah.” Parker stood. “Parker Crane; not sure it’s going to be a pleasure to meet you.”
“Parker,” Sacha growled.
Parker snorted. “Your growly bear thing has no effect on me.”
“Me locking you up and throwing away the key—”
“Gentlemen.” Adam cut across the bickering. “I think we need to have a little chat. First we’ll talk about Parker, currently the only known witness to the murder of Diego Smith. ‘Witness’ is pretty loose; from what Sacha told me you didn’t see anything, but I gotta ask questions. Since I know Sacha, we’re gonna keep this informal for now, but Agent Gonzales will take your statement later. Luckily your background check came back clean.” He gave Parker a look. “Don’t even think about leaving anything out.” Parker huffed and scrunched back into the couch.
Parker did a good job; he told Adam what had happened that night at th
e marina, what he’d heard, and how he’d laid low before coming to Skagit. He remembered a few new things, but the story he told was basically the same one he’d told Seth and Sacha.
“It’s too bad you didn’t see anything,” Adam remarked after Parker finished.
“Why?” asked Parker.
“Well, the parties involved likely think you did. The local authorities don’t, but they still need to speak to you as a witness. We can take care of your official statement here. It would be nice to have some information to pass along to our team in Florida. At any rate, we’re going to have to make contact with them.”
Parker’s whine was unpleasant.
Adam raised his eyebrows. “Does somebody need a snack before we interrogate him?”
Twenty-Three
Seth
The Booking Room was one of Seth’s top ten places in Skagit. The downside was that it was located almost directly across from police headquarters. There were always cops in there getting coffee and chatting up the cute wait staff. Seth had nothing against cops. Or US Marshals. Still, they made him edgy, like they were waiting for him to make a mistake so they could haul him off to jail or something.
This downside made itself apparent when he, Sacha, Parker, and Adam and Micah crowded into the café. Adam was something of a local celebrity, and even though there was historical animosity between the agencies, all the cops still stopped by the table to say hi and shake his hand.
Parker was standing next to him while Sacha went to grab a couple tables for their group to sit at. Some big blond cop was taking all of Adam’s attention when Seth felt Parker stiffen and mutter something under his breath that sounded a great deal like, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
