by RJ Scott
“Anything would be great.”
“Sit,” I instructed and gave him lemonade, rambling on about everything and nothing, just to try and make him smile. “This is Nonna Calabresi’s red sauce, which she shared with me on pain of death if I was ever to reveal it to anyone. It’s made in the morning and then simmered all day on low. The pasta isn’t homemade, though. I’m pasta-challenged, or so Nonna had said when she tried to show me, Drew, and Sawyer when we were kids. In our defense, we were only seven, and I could never sit still.” I rambled on about pasta and the town, but as I did so, I watched Lucas relax bit by bit. The tension that bracketed his eyes went first. Then he actually smiled at a story I was telling him about Sawyer and the time he’d eaten a chili whole on a dare. “Here you go.” I placed the bowl in front of him, and he didn’t so much eat it as inhale it.
“Thank you, that was wonderful.”
“You’re welcome.”
I ran water into the sink, and he placed his bowl next to it, close enough so that our arms brushed, and just that casual touch was enough for me to feel a stirring in my pants.
Imagine him in my bed.
Nope. No imagining anything. He locked himself in the poker room, and I heard one hell of a number of bangs and crashes as he moved around and set up what he needed. When he finally went to bed, I left my office, locked everywhere up, and headed to my apartment. Sleep was a long time coming. All I could picture was Lucas sleeping in his room and the feel of him touching my arm, accidentally or not, and the fact that I’d gotten him to relax at dinner. I tried reading, counting back from one hundred, and at just after two a.m., I gave up, heading down to the kitchen, and wasn’t at all surprised to find Lucas sitting at the table, nursing a drink, the same as last night.
“You don’t sleep much,” I observed, and this time he didn’t jump because I’d made a noise like a herd of elephants as I’d approached the kitchen.
“Pot, kettle, black,” he murmured.
“The cases get to you?” I asked, all innocent, as I made my own hot milky drink.
“I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if it didn’t keep me awake at night.”
“Nightmares?”
He shook his head, his hair a mess of silky layers that swished with the movement. “Connections, ideas, theories, but yeah, sometimes things I wish I could forget come back.”
“How many of these cases have you had to work on?”
“I’ve been an agent for six years now, but mostly at the office—stats, computer work, analysis. This is actually only the second time I’ve been out on an active case. The first one I was only there a few days.” He sent me a guilty glance. “I don’t know why I told you that.”
I leaned on the table and rested my chin on my hands, sensing awkwardness in Lucas and a weird kind of innocence. Shouldn’t federal agents have been all hard edges and bluntness, not guilty or awkward, or sitting with me, exposing his life story over mugs of chocolate?
“The dark always invites secrets,” I said in my deepest best impersonation of Ryan from Buzzfeed Unsolved and was surprised when he let out a snort of laughter.
“Ryan Bergara!”
“You watch that show?”
He pointed at his chest. “FBI, unsolved cases. Of course I watch it.”
“I bet you know more about the cases than you let on.”
He raised a single eyebrow. “Me?” he said in all innocence.
“Tell me about the man on the grassy knoll.”
He snorted another laugh. “I wish.”
“So you’re not saying that there wasn’t a man on the grassy knoll?”
He leaned toward me, so close I could smell tea tree shampoo that I supplied in all my rooms, and his breath soft on my face.
“I can tell you one secret,” he whispered and made a show of glancing around us.
“What?”
He channeled Ryan. “For now, the case will remain unsolved.”
I sat back in my chair and laughed, and we exchanged broad grins, and for a moment, we connected with our shared love of an Internet show and puzzles, and he finished the remainder of his drink.
Then, with a casual wave, he headed out of the kitchen, and I followed before breaking off to go back to my office. When he went up the stairs, I tried my hardest not to stare at his ass molded by his shorts or the way his thighs bunched and relaxed as he took each step.
I failed.
The woman with the auburn curls arrived just after two in the afternoon. She strode into the lobby with complete confidence, as if she’d been here before, holding up ID and waving it in front of my nose. “Special Agent Avery Kerridge. Call me Avery. I think you’ve been expecting me.” She paused then, and I knew I should have said something, but I was struck dumb by this Amazonian beauty who looked as if she could’ve broken me in half. “Uhmm… I’m here working with Special Agent Beaumont. Is he around? Do I have the right hotel?”
“Sorry, yes, of course.” I held out a hand to shake, and her grip was strong. “Josh Baker, manager. Last thing I know, Lucas is down at the police department.”
She raised a perfect eyebrow at my casual use of his first name, but his full title was a complete mouthful, and somehow over hot chocolate, he had just become Lucas. Should I have told her that the last thing I’d heard was the cops and Lucas planning to scatter to various places?
“Nice to meet you, Josh.” She wasn’t letting go of my hand, and the hold had gone past polite and straight on to intimidating.
“Let me get you signed in, and then we’ll get your bags up to the room.”
Finally, she let go and grinned at me. “You might regret that, Josh. I have a lot of bags.” Her tone was teasing, and she tossed her hair. Yep, there was very obvious tossing of the gorgeous copper curls.
“It’s okay, ma’am. I can handle bags.”
“Hmmm.” She leaned on the counter, peering over at what I was doing on the computer. “I think you can handle all the bags.” Her vivid green eyes were lit with interest. I didn’t know what she saw in me, but the way she stared at me was unnerving. Maybe she was the agent who was all observational skills, like the ones in the shows who notice imperceptibly tiny clues. Whatever she saw in me, the tossing of curls stopped, the flirty smile cleared, and instead, she shook her head in mock sadness. “Not interested huh? There goes my idea of a small-town affair.”
I could have said that in normal circumstances I would have been interested, but something about that instant attraction to Lucas meant I had no clue what to say at this point. The best part of never leaving town and having your private life being everyone’s gossip fodder was I never really had to have the conversation about whom I was attracted to. People here knew I was bisexual, and had known since Sadie had left town over ten years ago. Instead, I smiled at her.
“I’ve put you in room three, across the hall from Lucas.” Keeping my head down, I typed as if it was vital that I allocate all the notes about rooms.
“Thanks. I’m part of the team that Lucas is working on. Senior Special Agent Dupuis is heading here as soon as possible, but the SSA won't be here until his current case is closed. There will also have technicians; quantity depending on the case.” She pushed her way out into the rainy afternoon.
I followed, and we did quick work of emptying her SUV of bags and several boxes, and then together, we moved everything upstairs. Room three was the second biggest space in the hotel, sitting on the corner with views of the town clock from one window, and the scorched earth where the church had been from another. Thunder rumbled, and even with the AC, the air was oppressive. Light filled the room as the storm sparked and hissed around us, and the rain was fiercely heavy for the longest time, so loud against the windows that it was difficult to hear ourselves think, let alone talk.
“I guess the reservoir is filling up again,” she mused, staring out at place where the church had stood.
“I should imagine it is.”
“It’s not something you’d wan
t to watch? All that water rushing back in.”
And when would I have time to have done that? I shook my head. “Nope, I leave that for the tourists, but FEMA are here monitoring it, and I know it typically fills from the river that runs through the lowest part of the valley.”
She nodded. “The same river that is also fed by the springs at the sinkholes.”
Was she asking me a question? Or making a statement? I didn’t know much about the geology of the area, but I assumed the same water that washed bones from the cave system also joined the water in the reservoir. Not something I want to think about right now.
“Anyway, I need to get on,” she commented and picked up the last of her bags, the smallest one, placing it onto the bed with the pale blue covers, then took a moment to look around. “This is a very lovely room.”
“Thank you.” I was proud of this room. I’d spent hours sanding back years of paint layers to expose the wood before staining it, then painting the walls a pale cream, hanging navy drapes with tiny yellow flowers and, the finishing touch, a solid oak bed. There was an attached bathroom, and adding in the views of what had once been a very pretty church, it was a room I’d once charged ten dollars more per night for. I wasn’t sure what I was charging for anything right now, as I assumed the FBI would be interested in a blanket charge for everything. Who knew? I just clung to the statement that the feds were actually paying at all.
She rubbed her hands together as if she was brushing off the day. “Okay, then, I need to see the room where the team is setting up, a cup of decent coffee, and then can you direct me to the PD. In that order, please.”
“I have coffee.” I led her down the stairs and through the double doors into the small kitchen. “We don’t run a restaurant here. Most people who visit want to eat dinner out.” Lying about this was second nature to me now. I poured her a coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”
She cradled the coffee as if I’d given her a fragile gift. “Black is good. Thank you.” She sipped it and let out a sigh of pleasure. I didn’t think my coffee was that good, but as long as the client was happy.
“You can help yourself to whatever you need in here, but if you’re out, then the best coffee is at Calabresi’s. Just ask for Luca. Breakfast will be in here, or you can go to the diner or the deli, which are just over the street.” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the rest of town.
“Can you show me where we’re setting up?”
I led her to the room that I’d offered Lucas, and she took a moment to check it out, nodding, then went back to reception to pick up the last of the boxes she’d said we should leave there, before bringing it into the room and placing it on a chair.
“Could you help me move some stuff around? I know we’re messing with your things, but that’s not too much trouble?”
“No, that’s fine. What do you want to move?” The fact that I was losing what I’d grown used to calling the poker room wasn’t any great loss right now. We’d just move the Friday night game to the kitchen. What with Pastor Bill gone, maybe a change of scene would be a good idea. I couldn’t believe we’d all sat there and listened to his sermons as if he was the fount of all knowledge.
I can’t believe we sat and listened in church.
Avery checked out the room with a critical eye, and I wondered what she saw. Was it the fact that the space, which used to be the dining area until two years ago, was worn around the edges or that the colors on the wall were fading? Or would she see the beautiful open fireplace and original tiled surround and the large windows that faced the street? I guessed she’d be drawing the blinds for privacy and that they’d have to use lamps, but the view was nice across the town to the park. It might have been an old room, but it was my favorite in the house. Two recliners stood in front of the fire, and in the winter, Harry and I might sit there, and I would read, and he would play games, or we’d turn on the small television in the corner and watch hockey, the only sport we agreed on.
“It really is a beautiful place you have here,” she pronounced. “I can just imagine snow outside, me sitting in front of the fire, glass of wine, reading. I think I might come back to visit when this is all over.”
“You’d be welcome.” Only it wouldn’t be my hotel by then, unless miracles happened.
“Okay, for now, let’s start by clearing some space.” She gathered her curly hair, and in a few deft moves, she had the weight of it pinned up, which I assumed was her version of rolling up her sleeves. We shuffled the recliners back and out of the way and then each took one end of the large table. “If we can just push this back into the corner.”
Between us, we hefted the table into place, and satisfied with its position, she stepped back and eyed the layout before pulling dining room chairs into position along the exposed side.
“Other than me, then Lucas, we might have Bryan if he is based here. Maybe a couple of technicians.” She wasn’t talking to me, and I knew for sure when she began to hum as she emptied the box containing stationery items. There were pads and pens, and at the same moment that I thought to mention we had places in town that sold office supplies, I realized that these were probably super official FBI pads and pens. Who knew?
“Is this okay?” I asked when it seemed as if she’d stopped.
“Does the room lock?” She crossed to the window and closed the blind enough so that anyone outside wouldn’t be able to see in. Then she checked the lock on the heavy wooden door with the old-fashioned keyhole and big brass key.
“Sure does.”
“And you’re the only one with keys?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Avery,” she reminded me. “We’ll need all the keys, and I think this will have to do.” Her eyes widened. “Sorry, no offense to you. This is a large uncluttered room, but I’d rather be working at a secure police department.”
“None taken.”
“I notice you have another room with more efficient locks.”
“It’s tiny. Our accounting office.” I aimed for casual.
“Shame. Okay, we’ll have to close vital parts down each day if necessary, box it up. I assume you have a safe?”
“Yes, ma’am. At the moment Lucas is the only one with the code, and his weapon is in there.”
“Okay, then.” She cracked her neck and then bounced on her toes a few times. “Can you point me in the direction of the police department?”
“I’ll take you down. I need to head that way.” I gestured vaguely when what I’d meant to say was that I wanted to check in on Lucas. Sue me. We left by the front door, which I locked behind us, and then we headed across the park, past the fountain, and over to the PD. Stepping to one side, I let her in first, but it was me who Tate acknowledged.
“You again!” he said with a smirk. Great, all I needed was for the new agent to know I’d been hanging around following Lucas.
“I have things to do,” I defended. “This is Special Agent Kerridge.”
“Call me Avery,” she announced, and they shook hands.
“We’ve been expecting you. Lucas is back at yesterday’s scene, and he left you a note.”
I wasn’t exactly being nosy as I read the note over her shoulder, merely interested, is all, but the note didn’t give much away.
“Call me,” Avery murmured, turning the paper over as if she expected an essay on the other side. “That’s Lucas. He’s a man of few words.”
I felt defensive then because he’d talked to me, and was she criticizing him? Why am I getting defensive over a guy I’ve only just met? The two words of the note were written in capitals in a very strong hand, and somehow that fit his personality.
And there I go again.
Maybe it was in capitals because the words formed a serious message, or maybe he was one of those people who hadn’t quite picked up cursive writing. Either way, they were sexy words.
Stop!
Tate led her into the office, and I heard him talk about coffee and Sawyer’s office and how Heather would be
back in a few moments, and then offered his help if she needed it, and there I was standing like an idiot at the door when clearly Lucas wasn’t here, and there was actually no need for me to be here either.
“Do you need anything else?” Tate asked when he headed back, leaving Avery at Logan’s desk. I didn’t have a chance to answer when Avery bounded back and slid to a halt in front of me.
“You said there was good coffee in town. Can you show me?”
“Bring me and Heather back one,” Tate interjected.
I wasn’t sure if Avery stopped chatting the entire time we walked to Calabresi’s, but to my horror, I saw Nicky walking the other way and knew that this could go seriously bad fast.
“Twelve o’clock, town gossip,” I spoke out of the side of my mouth, and I knew that Avery had heard because she stopped talking. Her eyes narrowed, and I could see she was processing the information. She’d been a whirlwind of noise and action since the very moment she’d stepped through the front door of my hotel. So different from Lucas, she was a dynamo of frenetic movement. I wondered how she’d gotten so far in the FBI with her propensity for talking about everything and nothing. She was a contrast to Lucas, who took time to assess and summarize. I’d seen this in cop shows, the sassy kid who couldn’t stop wisecracking, Avery, and the quiet type who was so invested in a crime scene that he spotted all the good stuff, like clues. At the end of the show, both characters would come together, using their particular skills to solve a case. Sometimes they kissed, and it was sexual tension heaven. Only that was not the way this was going to end because Lucas was all mine, and the sexual tension was between him and me, and this was actually the plot to a very well-thought-out Netflix crime show with gay leads.
I watch too much television.
“Josh! Hey!” Nicky called from at least ten paces away, adamant on grabbing my attention.
Avery sped up, making sure she got first to Nicky, extended her hand. Her whole demeanor shifted from bouncy to severe.
“Mrs. Farmer,” she began, “I’m Special Agent Avery Kerridge.” She pulled out her badge and stuck it under Nicky’s nose. “We’ll need to catch up with you, as I understand you have vital insight on the original find.” Nicky preened at the words. “We could meet around four p.m. at the department, tomorrow, if that is suitable for you.”