by Morgan Brice
“No. Nothing like that. But…” Dan was usually unflappable, but he looked spooked. “We had to go in and trace a water leak. When we opened up some of the wall to get to it, we realized that someone had covered over a closet. And, well—see for yourself.”
He led Ben over to the hole in the corner. The crew had busted out enough of the wall to reveal the old closet. And the yellowed skeleton inside.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Ben found himself talking to Officer Dorchester. Dan gave his statement and supplied the names of the guys who made the discovery. The cops were polite, but Ben knew from experience that their captain was probably already trying to make a connection between the break-in and the skeleton, because cops didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Looks like the wall had been in place for quite a while,” the police technician told Dorchester. “And the bones aren’t new. If I had to guess, I’d say maybe thirty, forty years old, based on the clothing. Forensics will narrow it down.”
“People don’t wall themselves up in closets and die of old age,” Dorchester replied. “Can you figure out what killed her?”
“Him,” the tech said. “And cause of death isn’t the hard part. Bullet to the back of the skull. Execution style. Definitely not a suicide. Off-hand, I’d say it was a hit.”
Once again, red tape and paperwork meant Ben didn’t get back to clean up for his date with Erik until the last minute. He had just enough time for a shower after he stopped to pick up a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of good wine.
On impulse, Ben had grabbed his messenger bag and gotten his Glock out of the safe. He had a concealed-carry license, but he rarely felt the need unless he was doing an investigation. The break-in had spooked him, and Cooper’s warning still echoed in his ears. If anyone was watching him, they’d know about Erik. And given Erik’s business, it wouldn’t take much to suspect where the clock had gone.
The skeleton had raised the stakes in the game. Ben had no intention of becoming a victim—or letting anyone get near Erik. He tucked the gun into the bag, hoping he didn’t need it, and wondering how he’d explain its presence to Erik.
Ben also second-guessed himself over the flowers. Caleb had been ex-military, not long out of the closet—or the footlocker, as he’d joked. Maybe it was armed forces macho bullshit or the way Caleb had been raised, but while he owned up to being gay, he was quick to take offense at anything that appeared to sleight his masculinity.
Flowers would have touched off an epic fight.
But Erik wasn’t Caleb. Funny, but after he’d learned more about what Erik’s past life had entailed, Ben put his money on Erik as the bigger badass over his hulky former lover. Somehow, they had managed to start with the sex and the broken parts and skip over the stuff normal people usually covered in the early days of a relationship. Favorite music. Funny childhood stories. Pets. Books. Video games. Movies.
Relationship.
Ben hoped that was what he and Erik were forging. The more he got to know Erik, the harder Ben knew it would be to ever let him go. He, at least, was well past “fling.” And he looked forward to learning all those little details that partners knew about each other.
Like whether Erik would be offended by getting flowers.
He likes art. There are lots of paintings of flowers. Go for it.
By the time he got to Erik’s house, he was still carrying the bouquet, and he either needed to present the flowers with the wine or ditch them in the bushes. He hung on to them and hoped for the best.
Erik met him at the door with a kiss. He smiled when Ben offered the flowers and wine. “Thank you.” Erik bent to sniff the large pink and white Stargazer lily in the center of the bouquet. “My favorite. How did you know?”
Ben gave a sheepish smile. “Lucky guess.”
“Good instincts,” Erik said, leading him up into the apartment. Ben put his bag on a chair in the kitchen.
Ben had tried to imagine what Erik’s home looked like. He had figured it would be full of antiques, maybe a little formal. Instead, the furnishings were modern and comfortable. A large leather sofa faced the TV, and Ben admired the media system housed beneath it. Another oversized leather recliner and a coffee table created a comfortable place to relax. Bookshelves covered the walls, filled with paperbacks and DVDs.
“Dinner’s almost ready, so I’ll give you the grand tour after we eat,” Erik said. “The short version is that there are two bedrooms and a bath on the third floor, which are for guests, and two more bedrooms and the main bathroom here. One of the rooms on this floor I use for a computer and workout room, and the other is the master bedroom.”
Erik’s modern furnishings mixed well with the architecture of the old Victorian house. The framed prints decorating the walls were a mix of styles and periods, some of which looked vaguely familiar from long-ago museum field trips. The apartment was eclectic and off-beat, just like its owner.
“I like it. It’s…very you,” Ben said. He reached for Erik, but his boyfriend eluded his grip with a smile.
“Eat first, sex later,” Erik said, heading for the kitchen.
The homemade sauce smelled so good, Ben hoped he wasn’t drooling. That was doubly hard to avoid, watching the way Erik’s jeans hugged his ass. Ben followed him into the kitchen. Erik wore a blue T-shirt that played up his eyes. He was barefoot, which somehow seemed even sexier. Smooth jazz played in the background, and Erik swayed as he stirred the sauce. The pot on the next burner bubbled and steamed, and Ben couldn’t help thinking that he felt the same way.
Every time he was with Erik, he fell a little harder. He really hoped Erik felt the same way, but Ben hadn’t exactly been good at reading signals with Caleb, and he was afraid to find out his feelings were one-sided. Admit it. You’re falling in love with him.
Deep inside, Ben knew it was true. But did Erik feel the same? Or was this just a summer fling for him, safe because Ben was supposed to leave in the fall? A classic beach romance with the bad boy, never meant to be more?
Ben knew he didn’t belong in a world of art museums, galleries, and billionaire collectors. If he had any place in that world, it was working security, invisible hired help. The realization stung, but that didn’t make it any less true.
Erik left that world. And maybe, an ex-cop and an antique store owner can make it work.
Ben decided he’d do just about anything for a chance at that future.
“Ben?” Erik looked at him as if he’d been talking for a while. “Are you okay?”
Ben managed a smile that probably looked as fake as it felt. “I’m just off my game,” he said. “I’ll tell you after dinner.”
Erik stiffened. “Bad news?” There was that vulnerability again.
Ben moved up behind him and nibbled on his ear, making Erik squirm. “Nothing that has to do with us. I promise. Just weird stuff at work. We’re good. Better than good.”
Erik relaxed, and Ben snuck another kiss to his neck. He didn’t miss the way it made Erik shiver. “Can I help with dinner?”
“There’s a bag of salad in the fridge and some croutons and fixings on the counter if you want to toss it all together,” Erik replied. “The pasta should be done any minute, and the garlic toast is in the oven.”
Ben opened cupboard doors until he found a serving bowl, and realized how comfortable he felt, not at all like someone visiting for the first time. He pushed that thought out of his mind and concentrated on the salad, then found a corkscrew and opened the wine.
“I hope you don’t mind if we eat in the kitchen,” Erik said, still facing away from Ben. “I don’t have a dining room.”
Ben winced, remembering. “This is fine. It’s…cozy.”
The table was already set. Erik fixed plates for both of them, while Ben carried the salad and wine over to the table, then pulled the garlic toast out of the oven. “This looks great,” he said.
“I hope so,” Erik replied. The shy smile was back. “I got stuck in Rome on a
case and found this little restaurant in Trastevere where the food was so good, I ate there every night for two weeks. When I left, the woman who owned the place gave me the recipe for her sauce.”
Now it was Ben’s turn to feel insecure. “Never been to Rome,” he admitted. “But there are some great Italian restaurants in Newark. That was what I figured I’d miss the most about leaving.”
“So if the food isn’t what you miss, what is?” Erik tried to make the comment sound off-handed, but it didn’t quite fly.
Ben met his gaze. “Nothing. Turns out, I don’t miss anything about Newark. Hadn’t realized I’d find so much to like here in Cape May.”
Erik smiled, and the hint of color that came to his cheeks told Ben the message had been received. God, he hated dancing around the elephant in the room like this, but he needed to be sure that Erik felt the same before he just went and blurted out “I love you” like some love-struck teenager.
Because if Erik hadn’t gotten to that point yet, or didn’t feel the same, Ben didn’t want to know. And if they did stand a chance, Ben didn’t want to scare Erik off. He’d seen how deeply that son of a bitch Josh had hurt Erik. He couldn’t blame Erik for being cautious. And Ben had already decided to give Erik all the time he needed.
Should he tell him that he planned to stay in Cape May? Or would that make Erik feel pressured? Shit, Ben was bad at this romance thing. And if Erik was just counting on this being a summer fling, would finding out Ben intended to stay make Erik pull back? Ben wished to hell relationships came with a manual.
“Try the linguine. See if you like the sauce,” Erik prompted.
Fuck, Ben had spaced out again. He was going to give Erik a complex if he kept this up. Ben did his best to twirl a reasonably neat amount of pasta on his fork and managed to get it to his mouth without dropping anything on his shirt. Then the mix of flavors hit him, and his eyes went wide.
“Oh. My. God. That’s so good.”
Erik grinned. “Simple, too. The best things usually are.” He reached out to cover Ben’s left hand with his own, and Ben twined their fingers together.
“I’ll drink to that,” Ben replied.
They both dove into the food, and Ben had seconds on the pasta, while still doing his share on the salad and bread. They split the bottle of wine, and while two glasses weren’t enough to give him a buzz, it did take the edge off a hard day.
“Can we wait a while before dessert?” Ben begged. “I’m stuffed.”
Erik’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Sure. It’s got whipped cream though. I had some ideas about how to serve it…”
“Hold that thought,” Ben replied. “I like that idea.”
Erik opened a second bottle, and they took their glasses into the living room. The leather couch was as comfortable as it looked, and Ben loved that Erik sat next to him, close enough for their thighs to touch, and leaned in when Ben slipped an arm around his shoulders.
“So…what happened today?”
“We found a skeleton in the closet.”
Erik frowned. “You came up with some info on Cafaro?”
Ben shook his head. “No. My guys were doing some remodeling and found a real skeleton in a real boarded up closet. And here’s the kicker—he’d been capped.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yep. I also got an earful from a retired cop who knew a lot about the Commodore Wilson. All the scandals. And I definitely got the feeling from him that there might still be some people around with reasons not to air that dirty linen.”
Erik chewed on his lip before answering. “Do you want to drop it? Looking into the clock?”
“Do you?”
“No. At first, I thought it was just a harmless bit of history. But now, I’m thinking there might be more to it.”
“Maybe we should turn it over to the cops.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “Would they believe us?”
Ben sighed. “Probably not. Right now, all we’ve got is coincidence. Even in Cape May, I doubt they’re bored enough to go looking into decades-old mysteries without a smoking gun.”
“Then I say we should keep digging,” Erik replied. “Are you in the mood for dessert yet? Because I could go for some whipped cream.” Erik licked his lips, and Ben felt his cock twitch in response.
“I think you’d taste good now,” Ben replied, reaching to bring Erik in for a kiss.
The alarm shrilled, an ear-splitting siren, and both men jumped. Erik’s eyes widened. “The store!”
They headed back through the kitchen. Ben reached into his bag for his gun. Behind him, Erik pulled something out of a drawer. They went down the stairs together, with Ben a step ahead. There was no way he intended to let Erik go first, unarmed.
They got to the shop door just in time to see a dark figure in a hoodie sprinting away.
“Stop! Police!” Ben shouted, raising his Glock.
In response, the figured turned, and Ben saw the motion before he saw the gun.
“Down!” he yelled, dropping and pulling Erik with him as a shot zinged over their heads and hit the wall.
By the time they got to their feet, the intruder was gone. That’s when Ben realized Erik also had a gun in his hand.
“You know how to shoot that thing?”
Erik rolled his eyes. “Yeah. My old job didn’t always introduce me to the best people. Seemed like a good investment. I’m decent at martial arts, too.”
Before Ben could reply, two patrol cars pulled up, lights flashing.
“Put your weapons on the ground. Come out with your hands up.”
“I’m the owner!” Erik yelled as he and Ben both laid their guns down. “Don’t shoot!”
“Get on your knees. Hands behind your head.”
Ben felt his heart thud. He’d been on the other side, and he knew how easily and quickly things could go to hell. He and Erik fell to their knees, hands laced behind their heads, as one of the cops retrieved their guns.
“Nolan. You again?” Ben looked up to see Officer Dorchester looming over them.
“Officer Dorchester. Good to see you. Erik owns the shop. We were having dinner, and the alarm went off.”
“You have permits for those pieces?”
Ben and Erik both nodded. “Yes sir,” Ben replied. “License and concealed carry.”
“Me, too,” Erik confirmed.
Dorchester gave a long-suffering sigh. He turned to his team. “Stand down. They’re not the bad guys.”
He looked back at Ben. “All this, after you find a skeleton in one of your rental houses earlier today?”
Ben licked his lips. “Yeah. I guess it’s my lucky day.” He didn’t mention that this was the second time in two days he’d been cockblocked by an alarm.
“All right, get up. Nolan here should remember how this goes. How is that you two come to town, and we get a freak crime spree?”
Ben didn’t think any answer he gave would help the situation, so he kept his mouth shut. He stood by while Erik answered questions, and the team examined the door. This intruder had tried picking the lock instead of forcing his way in. That told Ben they were dealing with a motivated amateur, because a pro could have gotten around Erik’s lock, and the alarm systems, too.
“The guns check out,” a second officer told Dorchester after Erik had spent an eternity answering questions.
“Do you usually eat dinner armed?” Dorchester asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“I think we were both a little freaked out over the break-in at Ben’s office,” Erik replied. “I guess we were right to be nervous.”
“We’ll see if we can get any prints. But at least the thief didn’t actually get into your store,” Dorchester replied. “We’ve got all we need from you for now, but Captain Hendricks may want you to come down and give another statement or answer some more questions.” He shook his head. “Two break-ins and a skeleton? This is not going to be good for his blood pressure.”
The second officer returned their guns, and Dorc
hester and his team headed off. Erik and Ben watched them go. Ben tucked his gun into his waistband and reached out to take Erik’s hand.
“You’re just full of surprises,” he said.
Eleven
Erik
Erik shut the door behind Ben and locked it, then reset the alarm. He put his Sig Sauer P226 back in the drawer. Ben let out a low whistle.
“That’s a serious gun,” he said. “It’s what the FBI uses.”
Erik kept his back to Ben and nodded. “Yeah. That’s what they trained me with.” He had been putting off this conversation, afraid of how it would go over. Tonight had forced the issue.
Ben had left the police because he no longer trusted the Newark cops. Erik knew that the law enforcement agencies he’d cooperated with weren’t totally pure. Would it matter? He’d left all that behind, come here to start over. Would those old connections cost him this relationship?
“Talk to me, Erik. Please?” Ben was behind him, and his voice was quiet.
Erik braced his hands on the counter and stared out the window. He couldn’t look at Ben, not right now.
“I wasn’t an agent, just a consultant. But I had a very specialized skill. I guess I was a little too good at my job,” he said with a hitch in his voice. “I was already working with museums and the high-end auction houses to authenticate acquisitions. A big-name museum bought a very good forgery. I exposed it. That’s what put me on the radar for the FBI and their buddies.”
Erik saw his own reflection in the glass. He thought he looked tired and worn. What could Ben possibly see in him? “I guess I was naive. I didn’t realize what I was getting into. Then again, I’m not sure I could have said no.”
He hung his head, not wanting to see his face staring back at him. “Art thefts, black-market sales, relic misappropriation—it’s not just about greedy collectors and entitled billionaires. It’s also money laundering. Cartels. Russian Mob. Traffickers. The feds loaned me out to Interpol and some others like them. Because not many people could do what I did. I had a good eye. But I also had…intuition. Freakishly accurate intuition. The more successful I was, the more they used me, and the harder it was to walk away.”
