Accidental Roots The Series Volume 1: an mm romantic suspense box set

by Elle Keaton

  The new address was out in the county near Bow-Edison like the first one, but not the same place as that night, the new address was even more isolated than the first one. Today he turned right onto an overgrown driveway nearly invisible from the road; bare branches of buddleia, European blackberry, and several enormous rhododendron bushes scraped both sides of Buck’s car as Joey inched along. He could barely see where he was going. Eventually he came to a slightly more open area where a dilapidated one-story house crouched. Abandoned or neglected, the place gave Joey the heebie-jeebies.

  Its roof was encased in a thick pelt of dark-green moss; it had been painted at one time, but whatever color it had been was diluted by time and weather into a smattering of peeling gray strips clinging to the siding. Most of the house was exposed wooden siding; in some places insulation protruded grotesquely. Its windows were small and mean, and two of them were boarded up. Christ, it was probably a meth house. The county was sick with it.

  What the fuck. What the ever-loving fuck. When he’d muttered “Fuck my life” that morning, he hadn’t meant for his life to be more fucked.

  They wanted him to clean the body.

  Judging from the parts of the conversation he could understand, Sacha didn’t care, but the other guy, older than Sacha, whose name he thought was Andre or something close to that, was adamant. The body absolutely had to be cleaned and buried by nightfall. They insisted, or Andre insisted, since Sacha was literally standing in the dark living room, hands in his pockets, as if to demonstrate how much he was not going to help Andre do this.

  Of course, the patient had died. A terrible, painful, awful death that he could not bring himself to wish on his worst enemy. Joey couldn’t imagine what the man’s last hours had been like, dying of dehydration and infection. An infection the medical community had been able to prevent with a vaccine since the 1940s.

  Joey had thought these guys were Russian, but apparently, the patient and Andre, at least, were Bosnian. Many Bosnians were Muslim, Joey knew. It seemed Andre was a devout Muslim when he wasn’t trafficking underage children for the sex-slave trade. Andre needed Joey to wash the body because he was afraid to and Sacha refused. When Joey was done, Andre would take over and rewash it with the proper rites. Then Joey would come with them to help them bury it. Him.

  Rarely in his life had Joey been speechless. This was twice in two days. These ... gangsters, for lack of a better word, wanted him to help them with last rites for someone who had violated every commandment out there. Joey wasn’t sure, because he had never read the Quran, but he thought he remembered there was a basic idea that Muslims do “good deeds.” Pretty sure child trafficking, murder, and whatever else these guys had their fingers in did not count as good deeds.

  The inside of the house was as frightening as the outside. The addition of a dead body, stinking from a tetanus infection and the filth of sickness, did nothing to dispel his fear or the nausea roiling in his gut. Joey wanted to know what was going to happen to him, but he was terrified to ask.

  When he’d left his mom’s house that morning had it been the last time? He’d just met Xena. He’d promised Buck and Miguel he would attend their New Year’s Eve dinner party that evening. Was his life going to end in a shallow grave just as it was beginning? Just as he had, maybe, found his prince? What about his mother? She’d already lost her husband to the ravages of memory loss; would she have go through the pain of losing Joey, too?

  Numbly, Joey approached the shrouded body.

  Cleaning the body, well, that was something he had practice with. Regardless of the horrific smell and the dried fluids that covered it, this was a chore Joey could do. Sacha handed him a pair of latex gloves and Joey got to work. So much for his favorite comfort clothes; as soon as he got home he was burning them. As he worked, his mind raced, trying to figure out how he was going to get away. He wanted to draw the task out to give himself more time, but he couldn’t bring himself to linger over the hideous form.

  Once the body was clean of sickness, blood, and stench, Andre took over. Sacha conceded to bringing bowls of water and providing a fresh sheet to use as a shroud. The rite was very complicated: Andre first washed one side and then the other, then started again, moving from the head to the feet. He muttered quietly in his own language while he worked. Sacha watched dispassionately from the kitchen doorway. Joey’s head hurt; he wasn’t sure if it was just from falling on it or if he also had a stress headache. He was certain he looked worse than he had earlier, judging by the way the side of his face throbbed. The peas had long ago thawed to useless mush.

  Twenty-Two

  The debacle referred to as “Buck and Miguel’s last-minute New Year’s Eve party” was still in the planning stages. Not being a particularly social person, Buck had never planned a party before, so the hard work was left to Miguel and his one working hand. Miguel thought they couldn’t ambush Joey with an intimate dinner, but also the party should be kept small so Buck could “woo” Joey. Buck was going to kill Miguel; then he wouldn’t have to worry about his stalker.

  Miguel had put Buck in charge of inviting a few more guests. Like Buck knew anyone? Crikey. While he pushed the grocery cart around Hardwick’s tossing all sorts of ingredients in as Miguel demanded, he tried to come up with ideas. He had to admit it was kind of fun to be in the crowded store with all the other shoppers getting ready for their festivities. The store was still decorated with glittering lights and lots of green and red piping. There were even still fresh evergreen boughs across the front awning.

  Buck was pushing the cart down the baking-supplies section, not paying attention to his surroundings, arguing good-naturedly with Miguel about what kind of dessert they could make, when he ran smack into Sara Schultz. Literally. With his cart.

  After apologizing profusely, he somehow ended up inviting her to the party. She and her dad usually spent the evening together, but Ed Schultz had plans in Seattle that evening. Buck was sure Sara had lots of people she could spend New Year’s with, but he saw the way she glanced at Miguel. Two could play this game. Noticing Miguel’s bandaged hand, she demanded to know what had happened.

  “If this party is going to come together by tonight, you are going to need another full set of hands. I’ll be over by four. What’s the address?” Buck supplied it, and she was gone without a backward glance.

  “What just happened?” Miguel asked.

  “I think . .. I think I don’t know, but,” Buck snickered, only a little hysterically, “I think we are in over our heads.”

  Complete state of panic.

  Buck had lived in and owned this house for six years; why was it only now that he realized what a dump it was? Four hours until Sara and the others he had invited would arrive. After seeing Sara at the store, he had decided to see if Adam and Micah wanted to come. Yes. Micah asked if Carroll Weir and Seth Culver could come, too.

  Weir was still in town trying to tie up loose ends from the case he and Adam had been working on. Seth had never returned to Arizona after traveling to Skagit to meet Adam, the brother he hadn’t known existed. Adam hadn’t known either, from what Micah said. At this point, Buck figured why the hell not; the more people in his house the less likely they would notice how little he had done to it.

  Buck didn’t think Sara would mind being the only woman, and he had exhausted the list of people he was willing to call. His other acquaintances were unrepentant grease monkeys. There was nothing else in their brains except cars: kinds of cars, the coolest new cars, fixing cars, shortcuts, new techniques, who was testing what, etc. Yeah, Buck could talk like that for hours, too, but he didn’t want to while Joey was there.

  This led him back to stewing over the shameful state of décor in his house.

  “You got any decorations?” Miguel had caught him standing and staring at the mostly blank walls and drab shag carpet.

  “No. My mom gave me the ones she had before she moved to Atlanta, but I threw them out. I thought if she didn’t care enough to engag
e as an actual mother that I didn’t want any reminders of my childhood.” That had been around the same time he had cleaned out his dad’s office at the shop.

  Miguel just nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world to throw out the last reminders of the only family you had.

  “How about this: everything is on clearance now, perfect time to load up. You head down to one of the big-box stores at the mall and pick up some lights and sparkly stuff while I stay here and prep a few things for tonight?”

  An hour later Buck was the proud owner of enough holiday glitz to decorate the White House. He’d also picked up a couple nerdy lawn decorations as well as a slightly dry wreath for his front door. It would have to be enough.

  Even though he had been on a quick mission it had been fun to pick things out for his house. In the checkout line at the last store he’d gotten some stares; his cart had been overflowing with fairy lights, multi-colored lights, snowflake lights, and blinking icicle lights. Halfway through his binge he’d gotten the idea to make life-sized snow globes for his front yard with scenes from around the world in them. That had led to the second cart he pulled behind his first. Miguel was going to kill him.

  It was after three by the time Buck got home and had the car unpacked. No way was he going to be able to make the snow globes today, but just having the supplies stashed in his garage made him happy. Dragging out the ladder, he quickly got to work draping the icicle and colored lights along the front. The process took longer than he expected; once he was up there he realized how filthy his gutters were and was mulling over whether or not to hook up the pressure washer when he heard a voice calling to him from below.

  “Most people take their lights down this time of year!” Sara yelled.

  Wow. Even Buck, who knew nothing about women or fashion, knew that Sara was knocking it out of the park with her outfit. She was stunning in a calf-length black dress with a wide white stripe just above the hemline. The skirt was full, but the top part was fitted to her beautiful curvy figure. The bodice thingy came up to her collarbone, cutting straight across, and was accented with two white bows at her waist. Her dark hair was done up in some sort of complicated twist. Holy cow. She’d topped it off with a soft-looking black wrap and four-inch heels.

  “Wow, Sara, you look amazing.” Buck was not one of those guys who didn’t recognize a beautiful woman; they just did nothing for him. “How are you going to cook in that?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I have mad skills. Your house looks great, by the way. I’m going to head inside, okay?” Buck nodded his assent, attention already back to perfecting the light display. He was going to have to stop soon; darkness was falling quickly and he wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing. Besides, his fingers and hands were numb with cold. The snow earlier in the week had melted, but the cold temps had returned. If it snowed again the stuff was going to stick around.

  The last string of lights was going up when his front door opened, casting a bright beam of light across his front porch and lawn.

  “I hope you don’t mind; I called a few more friends to come and help decorate. Miguel seems to think you two can get it all done, but unless you want to serve pigs in a blanket and play spin the bottle you need help.”

  Buck wasn’t going to admit he liked pigs in a blanket. A lot.

  “Both of you need to clean up. So, get down off that ladder and come inside.” The door shut behind her, leaving Buck in the dark, speculating what he had gotten himself into.

  Help came in the form of three additional people. One Buck knew, kind of: Sterling Bailey was a bartender at the Loft, and he seemed like an okay guy. Buck had only been there once or twice, but he had a memory for faces. He was pretty sure Sterling had grown up in Skagit, although he could have been wrong. Sterling wore his signature all-black outfit: black dress shirt, black jeans, black boots. He also had some kind of eyeliner stuff on. It gave him a punk-rock look.

  The other two were friends of Sara’s. Later, Buck found out Jon Buckley owned and operated Skagit’s only independent movie theater. Jon was a nice guy. Tall, shaggy blond hair, on the skinny side. How he stayed that way surrounded by the candy, pizza, and beer he served, Buck had no idea. The guy had more self-control than he did. Buck loved movie candy. When Buck wondered aloud how Jon had time to come to the party, Jon explained New Year’s Eve was the one holiday he closed for. Any revenue he made was not worth the cleanup. He’d met Sara at the Chamber of Commerce meetings. Buck questioned if Jon was interested in her as more than a friend.

  The other person was an adorably sweet Asian man incongruously named Kevin Smith. Kevin was the newest barista at the Booking Room. He’d recently moved to Skagit from Portland, Oregon. Buck sensed a story behind his move north, but didn’t pry. Kevin was tiny and beautiful; the top of his head barely came up to Buck’s shoulder. His body and the way he moved made Buck think of a dancer: he moved fluidly, always on the balls of his feet. He wore a beautiful deep-red linen shirt with a pair of loose-fitting striped slacks. Buck was envious of his inherent grace.

  After his shower, Buck couldn’t decide what to wear. Seeing all the beautiful people in his house when he was just a regular guy made him self-conscious. He’d never cared about his clothes or the way he looked. Joey would probably take one look at him and head straight for Sterling. Even Jon had a sense of style. Settling on jeans and a newish T-shirt (with no logo on it), he headed back into the throng.

  “Hell no,” Miguel said after one look at him. “Turn yourself right back around. You must have a decent outfit in that closet of yours. Operation JJ is not going to be a success with you wearing your J. C. Penney sale-rack shit.”

  Buck looked down at himself. How had Miguel known these were from Penney’s? He sighed. Everyone else chuckled.

  “What’s Operation JJ?” Sara asked, as the room fell silent. Miguel had the sense to look chagrined at his slip-up before grabbing Buck’s elbow and practically dragging him back to his bedroom.

  “I am going to kill you.”

  “You can only threaten so many times before I stop being afraid.” Miguel chuckled, throwing open Buck’s closet door. “Wow. Huh. There is a significant amount of denim here.”

  A knock on the door startled them both from their perusal of the several pairs of jeans tidily folded and tucked into his closet organizer.

  “You know he hates to be called JJ,” Sara announced.

  “What?” Buck and Miguel said in unison.

  “Joey James. Don’t even think of calling him JJ. He will shank you.”

  “Uh, how . .. what are you talking about?” Buck asked warily.

  Sara swept across the room, a guided missile directed at Buck’s closet, completely ignoring his question. Stopping next to Miguel, she folded her arms across her chest while she stared at the options. “Well, there’s not much time now. We’ll have to make do. Miguel, go change your clothes.”

  Miguel looked down at himself, much as Buck had done. “What? Why?”

  Sara regarded him speculatively and, Buck thought, maybe a little hungrily. “Because later, when we’re dancing, I want us to look good together.”

  “I don’t have a lot that goes with a sling.” Miguel motioned his bandaged hand.

  “Leave.”

  He left. Leaving Buck alone with Sara.

  They finally emerged when Sara declared his outfit “adequate.” She’d had to settle for a newer pair of blue jeans and a plain white button-down with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms (he’d bought it for random business trips to the bank, and funerals). Somewhere from the back of his closet, she had dug up a dark-blue vest with very subtle gold thread woven through the fabric to top the whole thing off. Buck felt silly, but Sara and everyone else assured him he looked great.

  Now would be the time for the floor to open up so he could disappear. Twenty-six and unable to dress himself.

  While he had been in his room Jon, Kevin, and Sterling had been working on the front of the house. Bu
ck almost didn’t recognize his own living room. The guys had hung the fairy lights and the boughs along the crown molding and the railing heading upstairs. Someone had found, or brought, a ton of pillar candles and three candle stands. These had been placed in corners where they waited to be lit. A fire had been set up in the fireplace, and someone had moved his furniture around so there were several areas to sit and talk instead of the arena it had been before. Each little area had a side table with wine and champagne glasses and room for hors d’oeuvres. Well, chips and stuff, anyway. Buck was blown away.

  Just in time, too. A knock sounded on his front door; Buck opened it to find Adam, Micah, and Seth waiting. He was doing this.

  By eight-thirty Buck had reassured himself a million times that Joey was still coming. That he had been delayed. That nothing bad had happened to him. His guests were starting to look at him funny because he couldn’t focus on the conversation flowing around the room. Micah had outright asked him if he was okay.

  Only Miguel and Sara knew that Joey had been invited; they knew what was going through his head and kept giving him sympathetic glances while doing their best to distract him from checking the kitchen clock every two minutes. He hovered somewhere between panic that Joey was dead in a ditch somewhere and embarrassment that he had invited him to a hastily planned New Year’s Eve party just to “woo” him as Miguel seemed to think he should. He wanted everyone to leave and take the cheerful decorations with them so he could lick his wounds in peace.

  Twenty-Three

  Joey felt like the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland: “I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date!” He was late. He was so late he debated whether he should show up to Buck’s at all. He wanted to go; he needed the distraction of mindless flirting and maybe some more kissing. The gorgeous man was such an agonizing mix of sweet and hot, Joey couldn’t bear not to go and try to lose himself a little. But he had needed time to compose himself. He still needed time. Time to get his head around the events of the day. Time to see what he could do about his swollen eye.