Gray sputtered, nearly choking on his whiskey. “What?”
“We can host big parties, though, maybe a Christmas one.”
“What the hell?” Gray almost pinched himself to see if he’d fallen asleep after sex.
Jack grinned. “If tonight is an example of what happens when you’re stressed out by planning, we need to do more of it.”
“Mmmhmm,” Mason agreed, his mouth full of the sandwich Gray insisted he eat.
Gray glared at them. “That’s cruel.”
Mason snickered, and Jack outright laughed. Then Jack said, “You’ve been so wonderfully impossible.”
“And you’ve been begging for an ass redder than his”—Gray gestured at Mason—“all night.”
“Maybe that’s because I like you like this.”
Gray huffed. “Tired. Pissed off. Regretting I ever brought up this ceremony idea?”
“Are you really?” Mason asked.
“Fuck, no.” He was, truthfully, really damn happy. “But I don’t need any of this party nonsense. I just want to make our relationship formal, not get all our friends liquored up and have to mingle with them.”
Jack rolled his eyes.
“Do you really not want our friends there?” Why did Mason always have to ask the pointed questions that forced Gray to relax his bluster?
“No, it’s just…” What could he say that didn’t make him sound terrible?
Jack frowned. “Gray, if you really—”
“It’s fine. I didn’t want a big fuss, but you do, and some of our friends do, and I get it, okay? We’ve only invited people who’ve had our backs through my promotion, Jack getting shot, us all coming out. These people care about us, and we care about them. So if I have to put up with a party to please them, then I will.”
“Good, because all of them want to be part of this moment,” Jack said.
Mason nodded. “I know it’s been a lot of work, more than any of us realized it would be, but if we can make it through the next week and a half and get everything done, I think we’re all going to have fun.”
Jack grinned. “We will.”
“You two will, at least.” But Gray was mostly joking. He might not enjoy it as much as them, but he would still have fun.
“Graaaay,” Jack scolded. “You know you’re going to enjoy our big day even if you won’t admit it.”
“He’s so not going to admit it,” Mason added.
Gray scowled. “I give you both what you need, and this is the thanks I get?”
“I’ll give you some thanks,” Jack said. He lifted Mason’s legs so he could slide to the floor. Then he crawled slowly toward Gray.
Gray waved him away. “Sit back down. We’re all tired, and I don’t need that now.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open in a parody of shock, and Mason snorted.
“You know what I mean. Jesus! Are you two going to be like this until the ceremony?”
Jack shook his head dramatically. “No, sir.”
“Of course not. We would never do that,” Mason added.
“Right,” Gray said. “When we take our honeymoon later this fall, I’ll have you two at my mercy for a whole week. I will get my revenge. ”
Mason grinned. “I sure hope so.”
Gray turned to Jack. “You are a bad influence.”
Jack dismissed his comment with a wave. “I’m wonderful, and so are you two. I can’t wait to stand in front of all our friends and say how much I love you. It will be beautiful.”
Gray couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, it will be.” Especially if he actually managed to say the vows he’d written without choking up.
CHAPTER TWO
When Gray lifted his coffee cup to his lips, he realized it was empty.
“Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” Eliza Sanchez, another junior detective from Major Crimes, frowned at him as she rubbed her eyes.
“Were you asleep?” Gray asked.
“No. Yes. Shit, I’m sorry.”
Gray shrugged. “One of us may as well sleep while the other watches, since this bust seems to have gone to shit.”
He popped the lid off his coffee cup as if that might make some appear. Nope. Still not a drop.
“Out of coffee?” Sanchez asked.
Gray nodded.
“Why don’t you go get some? If they haven’t shown by now, what’s the chance they will?”
Gray contemplated that. They’d gotten information that Williams, a man who dealt in drugs, arms, and easy cash, was meeting a supplier at a downtown warehouse. The exchange was supposed to happen at midnight, but it was two o’clock and there hadn’t been so much as a rat stirring anywhere near them. Either they’d been misinformed, or the parties involved had gotten word about the bust, or something else had fucked it up. The chance of anyone showing was getting lower by the minute. Soon it would be time for all good little crime lords to be in bed.
Still, he shouldn’t leave his post, not when, despite the odds, there was a chance something would go down. They had someone watching the dealer’s house, but all indications were that no one was at home, not his wife or kids or his cousin who lived with him. And no one at the hotel where he brought his high-end prostitutes had seen him. While there were plenty of explanations for his absence, something felt off. Gray hadn’t come up with any decent theories yet. Probably Williams had just gotten wind of the surveillance and was lying low.
Or maybe the asshole had skipped town for a while. His disappearance might have nothing to do with the police. Maybe Williams had crossed one of his suppliers or fucked over someone else in his criminal empire.
But usually Gray or another detective in Major Crimes would’ve heard something about a move that big.
He glanced down the street toward the twenty-four-hour convenience store and then back at Sanchez. “You sure you’re good on your own for a few minutes?”
She nodded. “Yes. Just bring me a cup too, the largest they have.”
They’d parked tucked into the shadows in an alley across the street from the warehouse. In case anyone was lurking and hadn’t seen them yet, Gray eased the car door shut, trying not to make a sound. Then he moved toward the street, tense and alert. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
That’s when he saw them, men in black, exiting the far side of the warehouse, carrying crates.
The officers watching that side of the building jumped out of their car. “Stop! Police!”
Gray radioed Sanchez. The four men dropped the crates, and their hands shot into the air. None of them seemed to be going for a weapon.
But Gray kept his gun out, trained on them. “Step away from the crates.”
They did as he said.
“Where’s Williams?”
“Who?” one of the men asked.
“I don’t know any Williams,” another said.
One of the others said he didn’t speak English, and the fourth didn’t speak at all.
“What’s in the crates?” Sanchez asked.
“Food for the shelter.”
“What shelter?”
“Ark Ministries.”
“You’re telling me you’re sneaking around in the dark, loading up crates of food for a homeless shelter.”
The first man who’d spoken nodded. “That’s right.”
Gray looked at Sanchez. She shrugged.
“Let’s see,” Gray said.
“Do you have a warrant?” the second man asked, stepping forward in challenge.
The first man laid a hand on his arm. “Just let them look. We’ve got nothing to hide.”
The man mumbled under his breath, something uncomplimentary about cops, but he popped the crate open and lifted the lid. “See? Nothing in there but cans of soup.”
Gray picked up several soup cans and examined them. They were sealed as far as he could tell. No signs of tampering.
The men opened the other crates. All of them appeared to be filled with staples: canned veget
ables, boxed dinners, powdered milk. Nothing looked amiss, but he was sure something was wrong. There was no reason they’d be loading up these supplies in the middle of the night.
“Everything looks to be in order. But I’d like you to wait here while I make a phone call,” he said.
“Look, they’re expecting us at the shelter. You don’t have any reason to keep us here. There’s no law against moving food, is there?”
“No, sir. There’s not.” He really couldn’t hold them there. The police suspected that the warehouse, owned by one of Williams’ companies, was a front, but they had no concrete evidence that he was using it for illegal purposes.
“Why were the supplies here?” Sanchez asked.
“The guy who owns the warehouse donated them.”
“But he couldn’t bring them to the shelter?”
“Look, nobody told us. They’re paying us to load them; that’s all.”
That was the first thing Gray had heard all night that sounded right. He looked up the number of the shelter and dialed it. He had to work through a phone tree until he got someone on the emergency line.
“This is Detective Sadler with the Durham Police Department.”
“How can I help you, sir?” the man asked.
“Are you expecting any deliveries tonight?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve got a shipment of food, a large donation that should have been here already. Is there a problem, sir?”
“No, it just struck us as unusual when we saw the truck being loaded, so we had a chat with the men who are loading the supplies.”
“We were supposed to collect them earlier, but we had a power failure this afternoon. We had to purchase some fans and coolers to keep the perishables, and we got behind schedule.”
“I see,” Gray said. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“You’re welcome, Detective. Have a good night.”
“You too.” Gray slid his phone back into its holster.
“Carry on, gentlemen.” He waved toward the waiting truck.
“Are we done here?” one of the officers asked.
“Apparently we are.”
“Shit,” Sanchez said. “I don’t like this.”
“Yeah, me either.”
They stood there for several seconds, watching the men load the rest of the crates into the truck.
Gray tried the number he had for his informant, but he got nothing. Sanchez checked in with the officers watching Williams’ house and favorite hotel. Still nothing there.
“Let’s go home,” Sanchez said.
As they turned into the alley, something came at Gray with a screech. He jumped back, going for his gun. His foot hit some muck. He slipped and down he went, on his ass in something that smelled like rotten fish and wet dog. He sat up quickly, looking everywhere for his assailant, but he didn’t see a damn thing.
Wait. What was that? A shadow streaked between two buildings across the street and disappeared.
That’s when he realized Sanchez was laughing, not just a chuckle, but a full-on, near-hysterics crack-up.
“What the fuck?”
“A cat,” she said. “A goddamned cat. Not even a big one, just a cute little orange guy.”
As soon as she said it, Gray realized he had two long scratches on his arm. But the shadow he’d seen hadn’t been a cat.
“Was someone with him?”
“Yeah, he brought his butler.”
Gray flipped Sanchez off. “I saw someone or something larger than a cat over there.” He pointed across the street.
“Maybe he was meeting up with a werewolf.”
Gray scowled at her. “You’re really on top of your game tonight.”
“Fuck off.”
“Seriously, did you see anyone lurking around?”
Sanchez shook her head. “Probably just someone who lives in the neighborhood. Might’ve even been out looking for the cat.”
Gray nodded. He was literally jumping at shadows. As he walked to the car, the full extent of his predicament hit him. He was soaking wet from the waist down and smelled like the juice at the bottom of a Dumpster.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am this is your car not mine,” Sanchez said as Gray settled behind the wheel.
“Thank God I’m taking tomorrow off.” He’d promised Jack and Mason he’d help them get ready for the wedding. Now, it would be a miracle if he could stay awake.
She laughed. “Yeah. By the time we get through at the station, no one’s going to want to see you for a while.”
Gray didn’t respond. He was too busy trying not to breathe.
***
Gray slammed the door behind him and grimaced. He’d hoped that as he dried he wouldn’t smell quite so strongly. If anything, it was getting worse.
“Ew, what’s that sme—” Jack rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw Gray. “Wow, what happened?”
Jack’s expression was an absurd combination of disgust and amusement.
“I want a shower, a drink, and enough pancakes to put me in a food coma for the rest of the day.”
“I’ll get the story out of you after you’re clean. Considering the circumstances, I won’t even question the need for a morning drink.”
Mason walked into the kitchen then retreated a few steps. “Damn. You do look like you need a drink. I’m just glad you don’t want anything that involves us touching you. I could smell you all the way down the hall.”
Gray glared at Mason. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I’m covered in God-knows-what from a downtown alley. I’ve been scratched by cats, and the bust was a bust. You do not want to fuck with me right now.”
“No, sir, we don’t,” Jack said.
Mason was still standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall.
“Move. I need a shower.”
Mason looked like he was trying not to laugh, the bastard.
“Wait,” Jack said. He opened the cabinet under the sink, extracted a garbage bag, and held it out to Gray. “For the clothes. Maybe you should just take them off here.”
He was probably right. Gray didn’t want to risk getting this muck on anything else. He stripped off, shoved the clothes into the bag, and yanked it closed. “Burn them,” he ordered.
Jack grimaced. “That might smell even worse. I’ll take them to the Dumpster at the park.”
“Good idea,” Mason said.
“Whatever. As long as they disappear and I can’t smell them again,” Gray said as he moved past Mason and headed to the bathroom.
It took several minutes of standing under a scorching-hot shower before he started to feel human again. He scrubbed himself vigorously, except for his scratched arm. If he ever decided to leave the warm, soothing spray, he’d treat it with some antibacterial ointment.
Eventually, his stomach demanded he acquire food. So he shut off the shower, dried himself, and dressed in loose shorts and T-shirt. It was too hot for anything else. The afternoon high the day before had been near one hundred, and even now it was in the upper eighties. The air conditioning couldn’t keep up.
He hoped to God it wouldn’t be this hot on Saturday when they had their ceremony. What the hell were they thinking holding it in August? They’d be wearing suits, for God’s sake. They’d originally intended to have it in June, but planning things that fast turned out to be unrealistic. Gray had pushed for fall, but Jack and Mason begged him to have it as soon as possible, and he couldn’t say no to them.
Mason and Jack were seated at the kitchen table with cups of coffee. The bag of putrid clothes was gone, and the floor was clean. Everything smelled like lemons.
“Thank you for cleaning up.”
“You’re welcome,” Jack said. “Look on the counter.”
A bottle of whiskey sat next to the coffee pot, along with a mug and a plate with a cinnamon roll and two sausage patties.
“It’s not pancakes, but we were supposed to go to brunch in a few hours.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Gray had forgotten they were going out with Henry, a formerly homeless youth Jack had mentored, and Andy, the director of the youth shelter where Henry had gotten help. It had been far too long since Gray had seen them, though Jack had kept him up-to-date on how Henry was doing with classes and work. And he knew the shelter had received a grant to fund an expansion.
“You don’t have to come,” Jack said. “They’ll understand.”
“No.” Gray joined them at the table with his doctored coffee and his plate. “I’ll come.”
Mason frowned at him. “You should sleep.”
“I think at this point I’d be better off if I just stay up until tonight, or at least until early afternoon when I can take a nap at a reasonable time. Otherwise my sleep patterns will just stay fucked.”
“What if you get called in tonight?” Jack asked.
“Don’t jinx me,” Gray said.
Mason and Jack talked, and he focused on his food, trying not to eat like a wild animal. He always woke up hungry, but when he didn’t sleep at all, he was twice as ravenous. He felt like he’d missed several meals during the night. The bear claw he’d gotten with his coffee last night was a distant memory. He took a sip of coffee and sighed.
“Good?” Mason asked.
He nodded.
Mason and Jack were both smiling at him, patronizing him more like.
“Did either of you stay up all night waiting for a drug sale only to find some men loading crates of food for a homeless shelter? No? Then don’t judge.”
Mason’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh my God!” Jack said. “Are you serious?”
Gray nodded. “Fucking right I am.”
They were both pressing their lips together, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Don’t do it.”
Gray’s annoyance seemed to be the tipping point. They both ended up facedown on the table cracking up.
“How?” Mason asked when the laughter died down.
“How did we get things so fucking wrong?”
Mason nodded.
“If I get a hold of my misinformant, I intend to find that out.”
“I can only imagine how pissed off you were,” Jack said.
Gray growled. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Just let me eat.”
Getting Hitched (Fitting In Book 5) Page 2
