by Hank Edwards
Michael was a bit taken aback by Kevin’s selfish spin on the morning’s incident, but schooled his face and spoke in a professional but firm tone. “I cannot comment on an ongoing investigation. And as for my boyfriend’s schedule, I don’t have the foggiest when he can fit you in for your haircut. You can call the salon once they’re open again.”
Kevin flinched when Michael said boyfriend, and Michael wasn’t quite sure if he’d intentionally or accidentally put emphasis on the word, but Kevin rubbed Michael the wrong way—like sand in his ass crack, as Jazz had once said.
Frowning, Kevin shook his head. “No, Jazz will have to find a spot for me. That receptionist is always lying about his schedule and giving me a hard time and moving my appointments around willy-nilly.” Grumbling to himself, he stalked off.
Michael dismissed the man and decided not to mention the encounter to Jazz. He had enough on his plate that he didn’t need to be reminded about obnoxious clients.
Needing to check on Jazz, Michael hurried back to the loft before the coffee cooled.
Skirting the small crowd of curious citizens, he found no sign of the tall man among the people still lingering near the salon, wanting to know what was going on.
Maybe the man was no one of import.
It didn’t matter. Jazz was his number-one priority right now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
COFFEE IN hand, Michael stood at the back entrance for Jazz’s loft. They hadn’t gone so far as to give each other keys to their homes, and Jazz hadn’t shared the entry code for his building, therefore Michael had no way to get in. He rubbed the pad of his finger against the hard plastic of the buzzer button, not pressing it but trying to see if he could feel Jazz’s presence. He felt an urgent need to be near Jazz, even if they didn’t talk, just to hold him and comfort him and make sure he was doing okay.
But now that he was at the door, nervousness itched at his mind.
Maybe that was the real reason he stalled by getting Jazz a coffee.
He’d all but flown down the street when he thought Jazz might be the body they found—irrational—but all the deaths lately had put his imagination in full swing.
But Jazz was okay.
Physically, anyway.
Emotionally might be another story.
Everything had been going so well between them, and then the shit had hit the proverbial fan. First the return of Norbert’s trying presence, then divorce papers from prison, followed by two murders, which seemed to be a message specifically for them.
And in the midst of all that, Michael had instigated a major change in their relationship in the heat of the moment. What if Jazz had only agreed to lose the condoms because it felt better, not because of some imagined commitment? Had Michael somehow pressured him into making their relationship exclusive?
His stomach dropped.
Jazz had been distant when he’d left last night. He hadn’t told Michael that Russell had been calling. He kept insisting he was okay, but was he? And just now, he didn’t even tell Michael he was leaving the salon.
Was he upset with Michael?
You’re rereading Russell’s books and didn’t tell him, a voice whispered, sending Michael’s mind into a tailspin.
Jazz had been oddly calm when he’d spied the book, but did he see it as a betrayal?
Admittedly, Michael had been feeling sentimental, wanting to say goodbye to his favorite character. But he also intended to do anything in his power to help lock Russell away so he could never hurt Jazz again. Michael wasn’t being selfish. He wanted to keep Jazz safe. He was doing this for Jazz.
That spanking was all about you, the treacherous whispers argued back.
But Jazz enjoyed it, hadn’t he?
Unless that’s just what he told you….
The door opened.
“Michael?”
With a squawk of surprise, he jumped, and managed not to spill the coffee.
“What are you standing here for, sweetie? Why didn’t you buzz?”
Michael shook his head. “I did ring the bell.” Hadn’t he?
“No, you didn’t, sweetie,” Jazz said with a sleepy smile. “Misty texted that you were on your way up. I was keeping an eye out for you, but you took so long I peeked out and you were standing down here like a deer caught in the headlights. Everything okay? Aside from ol’ Norbie dead and bleeding two doors down.”
“Woolgathering, I suppose.”
Jazz stepped aside. “Well, you can do that in here.”
Michael cursed himself. He was worrying about nonsense in his head, and he wasn’t sure why. He and Jazz were in a good place, but in light of everything happening around them, Michael should dial it back. Any declarations of love would have to wait until all of this blew over. To add an I love you would put too much pressure on Jazz after such a shock. Michael didn’t want to cause him any undue distress.
Right now, the most important thing was making sure his boyfriend was okay.
“I brought you a coffee.” Michael held up the drink.
“I adore you,” Jazz said, smiling and taking the drink with both hands before leaning in for a chaste kiss. “Come on, let’s go up to my apartment.”
Being near Jazz had a calming effect on his mind. Michael followed Jazz up the steps to the second floor, drinking in each flex of his ass.
“You looking at my ass?” Jazz asked without turning around.
Michael blushed. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I was hoping you were doing it.”
Jazz smiled over his shoulder as they reached the second floor, making Michael’s heart flutter like the first time. His apartment door was propped open, and he led the way inside. Michael closed the door behind him and locked it before joining Jazz on one of the purple velvet couches that suited Jazz’s effortless style so perfectly.
“How are you?” Michael asked.
Jazz shrugged. “Surprisingly all right. Maybe still in a bit of shock. It’s a ghastly way for someone to go out, and a really awful way to find them.”
“It must be bringing up a lot of memories for you,” Michael said. “Being Norbert and all.”
“Yes, imagine that: Norbert reminding me of a bad time in my life.” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s a terrible thing, but I can’t say I’ll miss the man. Does that make me an evil person?”
Michael touched his forearm. “Not at all. Things between you and Norbert were… very complicated.”
“At least,” Jazz muttered, then fell silent a moment. He shifted and placed his feet on the cushion, facing Michael with his back against the padded armrest. He sipped the coffee. “Mmmm, peppermint mocha. My new favorite.”
Michael felt warm all over at that smile, as if the hot coffee were working through his every limb. “I’ll make a note.”
Jazz’s smile faded. “You know, with everything that’s happened these last couple of days, I can’t help but feel like the man you found in your garage and now Norbert sitting in my salon chair is some kind of message.”
“I thought the same,” Michael said. “But from whom?” With Jazz’s bare feet so near, Michael scooted closer and placed them in his lap.
Jazz arched an eyebrow when Michael began to gently massage his feet. “Who do you think should be on the top of our list?”
Michael frowned and pressed his thumb deep across the arch of Jazz’s foot, delighting in the satisfied sigh he brought out of him. “I will admit that Russell came to mind. But he’s in jail awaiting trial.”
“Oh, and no one’s ever managed to hire a killer from behind bars,” Jazz said, then groaned. “Fuck, that feels good.”
His tone was so sexual, so decadent, that a spike of arousal went through Michael, despite the conversation topic. “Feet sore?”
“Ten hours behind the chair yesterday,” he answered, eyes closing as he enjoyed Michael’s touch for a moment. Then he let out a weary sigh and looked right at Michael. “I know it sounds like I’m paraphrasing one of Russell
’s Brock Hammer books, but it’s got me thinking these murders have hit a little close to home. Don’t you think so?”
A twinge of guilt over rereading the books hit him, but he devoted his attention to Jazz’s foot. “I do see your point. But if Russell is involved, why did he murder Bill and leave him in my hearse? What kind of message is that? He’s a complete stranger to us.”
“Hard to understand the mind of a psycho. No one knows why he cut off Dylan’s hands either.” Jazz gave Michael a sideways glance. “Unless you discovered a clue rereading the books.”
Jazz’s not-so-casual tone was like a knife in the heart.
“Actually, I think I did discover a reason for that,” Michael admitted. He is upset I’m reading them!
“Oh?”
“In every book, there’s a major foreshadowing for the next murder. His last book, Sea of Discontent, drug mules transported heroin in their rectums with condoms. And in Dylan’s book, the one Russell stole for his own, the last victim has his hands chopped off for no apparent reason. Perhaps Russell cut Dylan’s hands off in homage to Dylan’s book, or perhaps it was a clue for the next book. We may never know.”
“Oh snap,” Jazz muttered. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re reading them, huh?”
Michael concentrated on massaging Jazz’s foot. “Are you upset I didn’t tell you?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, yes, but I do understand why you’re doing it. I probably would’ve tried to talk you out of it, but it’s obviously turning up clues, so you were right, and there’s no sense worrying about it now. Too bad Russell didn’t write the next book so we could have the clues we need to solve these murders.”
At Jazz’s casual but oh-so-honest reply, the rapid spiral of panic that had plagued Michael began to quiet to a dull murmur. “Musgrave told me that Norbert and Bill Denton hooked up at the HPP.”
“What?”
“Yes, via a gay hookup app.” Michael did air quotes before returning to his massage. “It’s one I never heard of before. Grind Him, Musgrave called it. Because why would we gays use an app called Grind Her.”
Jazz stared blankly for a moment, and then a bark of laughter escaped him. “You shitting me? Musgrave said all that?”
Pleased he’d been able to bring a light to Jazz’s eyes, Michael nodded. “Yes, he did. Norbert hooking up with Bill made him the prime suspect. Obviously he isn’t now.”
Jazz sobered. “The crimes are so similar, they have to be the same killer, right?”
“Or a copycat killer,” Michael mused. “But that doesn’t make much sense, because they knew each other, and we know each other. There must be a connection.”
“Russell.”
It keeps coming back to him, doesn’t it?
Focusing on Jazz’s foot and the current case, Michael contemplated what they knew of Russell’s attention to detail. “At least with Norbert being killed, there’s some kind of personal connection to Russell and to us,” he said aloud, and then he had a thought and paused his hands to stare straight ahead. “Unless….”
“Uh-oh,” Jazz said with a smile that looked even more tired than when he’d opened the door downstairs. “I know that expression. Michael Fleishman, Mortician Detective, is onto a scent. Unless what?”
“Well, let’s step back. Russell is in prison, and as possible as it might be for him to orchestrate something from behind bars, what if it was someone else with a connection to both victims.”
“You’re thinking about Ally.”
“I am,” Michael said with a nod. “She only recently joined Denton and Sonya Metcalf in the band. And we know about their connection to Norbert. It’s an unlikely coincidence, her being with Norbert’s old friends in Lacetown at the same time Norbert was here.”
“True,” Jazz said. “She really was going after him last night. And for good reason. I mean, it sounds like she and Dylan had been really close.” His eyes went wide. “Oh my God! I totally forgot to tell you that I saw her last night outside the back door of the salon!”
“What? When?”
“When I got home from your house. Ally was lurking near the door, and the motion sensor light spooked her or something because she ran off. I checked the door, but it was still locked.”
“That’s pretty damn suspicious,” Michael said. “And it’s shifting my thinking even more to Ally being the killer.”
“But why would she kill Bill? Acting out a Tarantino movie?”
Michael gave him a grim smirk. “That is darkly funny. But maybe Ally was following Norbert the other night and saw him meet up with Denton and became angry at him for getting back with Norbert? Maybe she saw Denton’s act as a betrayal to her?”
“It’s possible.” Jazz gave a tired shrug. “But why would Ally target us?”
“As for me, perhaps she finds me culpable during the investigation. Like I didn’t find Dylan’s killer fast enough so she almost lost her father. And last night, you mentioned Dylan when you threatened Norbert, saying what Russell did would pale in comparison to what you would do to him. And you’re married to Russell.”
Jazz waved the last statement off. “I was defending my man’s honor, not besmirching Dylan.”
“Which I appreciated.”
That gifted Michael with a genuine, albeit brief smile. “Anytime, sweetie. But if what you say is her motive, why not target Musgrave as well? Unless that has something to do with Rae.” He sighed. “But when it comes right down to it, I’m a suspect as well. You should’ve heard Tanner questioning me. He actually sounded like a cop.”
Michael made a face. “And I can’t be your alibi. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Musgrave believes you’re guilty. Not truly.”
“But I doubt he thinks I’m innocent either. Musgrave’s had it out for me from the beginning, everyone knows that. Which leads me to believe that this was all staged by Russell. He’s trying to frame me for Norbert’s murder.”
“And Denton’s?”
“Maybe that was a mistake?” Jazz looked across the room as he talked through his thoughts. “What if whoever Russell hired to kill Norbert followed good ol’ Norbie to the HPP and witnessed their hookup? Maybe he got them mixed up or Bill saw him or something, and he had to kill Bill first? Russell probably told him about your funeral home, so he decided to put Bill in your hearse to throw things off a bit? Russell would probably pay a bonus to know he’s framing both of us.”
“That’s a lot to consider. There was a tall fellow acting suspiciously outside the salon when I went to get your coffee. He followed the deputies into the coffee shop and lingered long enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. If this is being orchestrated by Russell, he could be the hired killer.” Michael paused, then switched feet, digging his thumbs into Jazz’s arch. “Although wearing brightly colored clothing isn’t helping him blend in.”
“Fuck that feels good.” Jazz groaned, lost to bliss. Eyes closed, he asked, “You going to tell everyone’s favorite sheriff about our theories?”
“I might mention them to him.”
“Probably should, huh?”
“Probably. All he can do is call me names and roll his eyes, right?” Michael grinned.
Jazz grinned back. “Our tax dollars at work.” He sipped his coffee again and stared down at the lid.
“Something more on your mind?” Michael asked, feeling a trickle of concern.
“Yeah, there is.” Jazz took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I don’t really know how to say it, though.”
The trickle of worry he thought had ended became a heavy downpour. “Oh?”
“I need to talk to you about something,” Jazz said seriously. “You’re not gonna like it, but….”
Ezra’s words echoed in the back of Michael’s mind. Oh, he left without saying goodbye? Fast on the heels of that were all the other fears his own mind taunted him with.
Panic ignited inside him like a brush fire. It was like a physical thing, expanding rapidly and pushing against his lun
gs, making it difficult to catch his breath. As the panic filled him, it pushed the words up his throat and out before he could even try to stop himself.
“Are you mad at me?” Michael blurted.
“What?” Jazz flinched. “No! Why would you think that?”
“I-I….” What could he say? His panic deflated a bit, and all he could do was shrug and stare down at Jazz’s foot in his hands. “I dunno.”
From the corner of his eye, Michael saw Jazz cock his head. “What would make you think I was mad at you?”
Michael’s palms grew sweaty. Hastily he dried them on his pant legs and devoted his attention back on Jazz’s foot. Michael was so bad at this kind of relationship thing. He focused on massaging each curve of Jazz’s sole, the length of his toes, and not the whirlwind inside his mind.
Jazz asked you a question.
Cheeks flushing hot, Michael kept his face down, unable to look him in the eye. “Last night when I….” His throat tightened, and he barely whispered the words. “I wonder if I pressured you into sex with no condoms. Maybe you really don’t want that much commitment with me? And then I… I spanked you. Hard. Did I take things too far or—”
The deep rumble of Jazz’s laughter made Michael’s stomach knot and his throat tighten.
Mortified, Michael summoned the courage to look at Jazz.
His smile was not mocking or critical.
“You were worried about that, sweetie? Oh, I wish you hadn’t. That was fantastic! I loved every second of it. It was so hot, knowing you were inside me with nothing between us, that when you came you left part of yourself in me. And I was really turned-on by the spanking. I totally want you to do that again.” Jazz waggled his brows. “Harder next time, actually.”
Michael stared at him stupidly, his mouth agape. “You really liked it?”
“Yes. It was so hot,” Jazz assured him. “Just what I needed.”
Hearing Jazz’s words were almost impossible to believe. “You’re really sure?”
“Were you actually worrying about this after I left?”
