by Onley James
“You’re coming?” Robby asked, sounding uncertain.
“I’ll be there before you know it.”
“Hurry,” Robby begged before disconnecting the call.
Calder shoved a white t-shirt over his head, stuffed his wallet in his back pocket, and pulled the pistol from its hiding place in his top drawer. Once he had his keys in hand, he called up Linc.
“It’s three in the morning. Somebody better be dead,” Linc growled into the phone.
Calder gave a humorless laugh. “Funny you should say that. I need a criminal defense attorney.”
“Christ, Calder. Tell me you didn’t kill some hookup’s spouse. Or worse. A client.”
“Not me. Robby Shaw just called me in a panic saying he killed somebody in his apartment.”
“What? What happened?” Linc asked, sounding much more alert than just a moment ago.
“No idea. But the kid sounded real shook up.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone for so long Calder checked to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected. “Wyatt just left his house a few hours ago,” Linc finally managed. “Why the hell did he call you? You messing around with this kid?”
“Hey, he’s not a client,” Calder said by way of an answer. “Are you going to help me out with an attorney, or do I need to Google while I’m driving?”
Linc grunted. “I’m on it. I know a guy. I’ll have him call you.”
When Calder pulled into the lot of Robby’s building, the place already crawled with patrol cars. He walked towards the building’s entrance with purpose, flashing his credentials at the officers and closing them too quickly for them to get a good look. He ducked beneath the crime scene tape, making his way past a group of shell-shocked building staff toward the elevators in the middle of the hall.
A pale, sweaty, plain-clothed detective with a receding hairline and a paunch over his waistband held out a hand to stop him once he reached Robby’s floor. “I’m sorry, but you can’t be up here.”
Calder didn’t even hesitate. “That’s my boyfriend’s apartment.” He pointed to the open doorway.
The man’s brows shot up. “Is that kid even legal?”
“Can I see him or not?” Calder drawled, refusing to take the bait.
“Don’t touch anything,” the man snapped, stepping aside.
Calder tipped his head. “Much obliged.”
The detective rolled his eyes, following Calder into the apartment. He stopped short just inside the doorway. It looked like a massacre had taken place. On the floor was a large middle-aged man with a neat inch-long gash in the side of his neck. He had a pasty gray pallor to his skin, and his jaw hung in a grotesque caricature of a scream. Robby sat on the sofa, his once white long-sleeved henley now mostly rust-colored. He cradled Casanova on his lap, the dog’s body covered in bloody handprints.
When Robby noticed Calder, his face collapsed and he started to cry. Calder’s heart seized at the boy’s tears. He couldn’t think of anything else to do but wrap his arms around him.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” he said, his words muffled against Calder’s chest.
“Shh, I know. It’s going to be alright. We’ll get it sorted out. I called an attorney.”
“What’s the kid need an attorney for?”
Calder turned to look at the detective, not relinquishing his hold on Robby or the dog squirming between them.
“Because he’s a celebrity and there’s a dead body in his apartment. I just want to make sure he isn’t about to be railroaded for what was clearly a home invasion.”
The detective scoffed. “You’ve seen one too many movies, buddy.”
Calder scoffed. “I was a Texas Ranger for over a decade. I know exactly how these things go. He’ll be happy to answer any questions down at the station with his attorney present. Take it or leave it.”
The detective turned around, muttering under his breath as he walked away. Calder turned his attention back to Robby. “They are probably going to photograph you, and they’ll likely collect your clothes as evidence. I’m going to grab something for you to wear home. Don’t move, and don’t talk to anybody.”
Robby just nodded, his red eyes glassy.
Once an officer had escorted Calder to collect Robby’s necessities, he carefully took the dog and placed him in his crate, which still sat where Calder had left it three days ago. Three fucking days. Why couldn’t this have happened the night Calder was there? You snuck out on him. Left him with a note. He still would have been alone when he was attacked.
Robby almost had another meltdown when the detective told him they’d have to escort him to the precinct to preserve any evidence on both him and the dog. Calder assured him he’d meet him there with the boy’s attorney, a man named Stanton Fields. Calder had never heard of him, but his name sounded lawyerly, so he’d just have to trust that Linc knew what he was talking about.
Hours passed as Calder sat outside in the waiting room of the precinct with the now processed Casanova. Robby wasn’t alone in the interrogation room. His attorney had arrived about an hour after Calder, but the detectives were leaving Robby to wait, likely hoping to rattle the kid. They clearly didn’t understand who they were dealing with. Robby couldn’t hurt a fly. Except, he had. He’d killed a man and, just four days ago, had assaulted an officer. Shit.
Calder was playing a game on his phone when the plain-clothed detective from the apartment stomped his way into the lobby and stared Calder down with daggers in his eyes. “Come with me.”
Calder frowned but complied, gently slinging Casanova’s crate over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“The kid’s refusing to speak without you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you,” the man grumbled.
Odd, but okay.
Outside the door, the detective shoved a fat finger into his chest. “One word out of you and you’re back on the bench. Got it?”
Calder merely nodded. Once he entered the room, Robby’s shoulders sagged, his relief evident. He took the bag from Calder and pulled the ugly mutt free from his canvas prison, snuggling him close.
Calder took a seat beside him, his stomach churning as he looked around. All of these rooms looked the same, smelled the same. They all had the same eggshell-colored walls and uncomfortable plastic and metal chairs. They all smelled faintly of stale sweat and bad decisions.
The detective sat opposite Calder, Robby, and his attorney, flipping a switch on the table that turned a green light on. “This is Detective Michael Grady interviewing Obidiah Shaw. Also present in the room is his attorney.” He looked at the older man with his salt and pepper hair and thousand dollar Brooks Brothers suit. “State your name and title for the record, please.”
“Stanton Fields, litigator.”
The detective rolled his eyes. “And also in the room is…”
He flicked his gaze to Calder. “Calder Seton, private investigator and personal protection agent.”
Calder’s response had Grady sneering as if Calder had said he was a professional kitten mangler. He was used to it. It didn’t help that Calder had lied to the man upon their first meeting. Robby had likely explained that Calder was not, in fact, his boyfriend, but then again, maybe not. Was that why Robby had asked for him, had called him and nobody else?
Beneath the table, Robby’s leg jiggled fast enough for him to power all the electricity in Los Angeles. The boy looked two seconds away from having a stroke.
“Obidiah—” Grady started only to be cut off immediately.
“Robby. My name is Robby. I had it legally changed.”
“Robby,” the detective said through gritted teeth. “Now, would you please explain what happened in your apartment?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Robby said, his voice thick. “My friends, Wyatt and Charlie, came over last night and we were drinking wine. A lot of it. When they left, I fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t even walk them out, I just passed out on the sofa.�
� Robby swallowed hard, his hand stroking Casanova’s fur almost compulsively.
Calder slid his hand beneath the table and pressed down on the boy’s jittering leg. He released a shuddering breath.
“So, you were asleep on the couch and then what happened?” Grady pressed.
“A noise woke me. At the time, I couldn’t place it, but now, I think maybe it was the sliding glass door closing. It makes a weird sound. I was dizzy, and I heard Cas whimpering and scratching, but it was far away. That’s when I realized he was outside on the balcony.” He clutched the dog tighter, kissing his head. “I got scared. I thought somebody must be in the house.”
The detective leaned forward. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
Robby’s hand fluttered into the air as he shook his head. “I don’t know. All I could think was that I had to get Cas off the balcony before he fell. I was drunk.”
“When did you grab the cheese knife?”
A cheese knife? Seriously?
Calder massaged the boy’s knee, hoping it helped somewhat.
“I grabbed it from the coffee table as I walked toward the back door. I couldn’t see anything. Somebody had turned all the lights off. I thought someone was lurking in the shadows.”
When Robby didn’t continue, the detective prompted, “And they were?”
“Well, yeah, but not in front of me. Behind me. I was bending down to pick up Cas. He tried to hit me with this giant ugly stone sculpture my designer picked up in Peru, but he missed. It startled me, and I turned and swung my hand and”—he shuddered—“then I felt it.”
“It?” the detective asked.
“The knife blade sinking into his skin.” The boy paled. “It made this wet sound and—” Robby jerked from the table, shoving Casanova at the lawyer before he lurched to hover over a small rubber trash can, losing the contents of his stomach. Calder went to crouch beside him, rubbing his back as the kid heaved over and over again. Oof. He was not lying about the red wine.
“Can he get some water or a soda or something?” the attorney asked.
The detective left and came back with a ginger ale and a paper cup. Once Robby was no longer green, they continued the interview. “Mr. Shaw, do you know the man who broke into your apartment?”
Robby shook his head. “No.”
Grady leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anybody you know might want to hurt you?”
Robby started to shake his head but then froze, staring at the wall long enough for Calder to exchange a confused glance with Fields.
“No,” Robby finally said, but it lacked any strength.
“If you know something, you need to tell them, angel face,” Calder urged.
“I don’t know that he’d hurt me exactly, but he’d definitely make somebody come get me and try to bring me back.”
“Who?” Calder asked, earning a glare from Grady.
“My dad.”
Grady stared down Robby. “Now, why would your father have somebody break into your home to ‘come get you’?”
“Because he thinks he can get me back into the fold now that he saw me kiss a girl,” Robby said as if that made a lick of sense to anybody in the room.
“I’m going to need you to speak plainly,” Grady snapped.
Calder agreed but he didn’t appreciate the man’s tone. He turned furious eyes on Grady, but Fields spoke first. “My client has been through a very rough night. Somebody broke into his home, and he defended himself. We’re under no obligation to answer your questions unless you plan on arresting my client. Give him a minute.”
Calder relaxed but placed a hand on the back of Robby’s neck, massaging gently.
“My father is Jeb Shaw.” At everybody’s puzzled looks, he said, “The leader of the Church of Magnus Dei.”
“That’s not a church. It’s a cult,” Grady spit.
“Yes,” Robby confirmed.
The detective frowned down at his file. “Your IMDB profile said your father was a preacher and your mother was a school teacher.”
Calder shook his head. Even the cops in LA were Hollywood. Hopefully Grady had done more than a quick Google search before he’d questioned Robby.
“Son of a notorious cult leader doesn’t sell well when you’re trying to make a name for yourself in Hollywood. It was my father’s idea,” Robby finally said.
“Why would your father want you to lie about who you are?” Grady asked.
Calder was curious too.
“He thought if my siblings and I became famous, we could recruit other celebrities into the fold. Celebrities bring money and legitimacy. My brothers and sisters couldn’t book any jobs. I was picked up by an agency almost immediately. Then I got the television gig. Once I knew I had the ability to pay my own way, I came out to my family as gay. My father declared me dead in the eyes of Magnus Dei, which was fine by me. But he said I couldn’t see my brothers or sisters anymore or my mom. Not that my mom wanted to see me after she knew. My publicist thought it best to just stick with the original story.”
“But now he thinks you’ve gone straight and he wants you back on track?” Calder muttered.
Robby shrugged. “Maybe. He bailed me out of jail the other day. Tried to make me go with him. I don’t think anybody else cares enough to try to kidnap me. I’m not the kind of celebrity who has stalkers.”
Calder felt like somebody had mule kicked him at the boy’s words. Nobody else cared enough to kidnap him. Jesus.
Robby looked visibly upset, like the morning had finally caught up with him. “Look, I answered all your questions. Can I please go home now?”
Grady shifted in his seat. “Your apartment is still an official crime scene.”
“Are you going to arrest my client?” Fields pressed.
“That’s up to the prosecutors, not me. He’s free to go, for now. But he needs to make himself available if we have questions in the future.”
Stanton Fields was already on his feet. “You know how to get in touch.”
The three of them were almost to the door when Robby stopped. “If he was one of my father’s followers, there will be a burn on his heel in the shape of a cross. If that helps.”
Branded. Like Jennifer. Like all of Elizer’s girls. What was it with men like Elizer and Robby’s father that made them want to mark their flock like cattle? Did Robby have a scar on his foot? Calder couldn’t remember. He felt like an even bigger asshole than before. He never should have messed with Robby. The kid needed help, not sex. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Outside the station, the attorney handed Robby a business card and then headed for the parking lot, leaving them alone. “Is somebody coming to pick you up?” Calder asked.
Robby scoffed. “Like who?”
Once more, Calder’s stomach churned. “Come on. We’re going to stop at the office, and then you’re coming home with me.”
“I am?”
Calder was sure he would live to regret this. “Yes, you are.”
It was a testament to Robby’s exhaustion level that he managed to doze off with Calder beside him in the truck, but he must have because Calder gently shook him awake.
“Come on, angel face. I need to talk to Linc for a few minutes, and I don’t want you alone out here.”
Nausea and fatigue warred within Robby, but he didn’t fight when Calder took Cas from him and helped him from the truck. On the ride up the elevator, he leaned against the mirrored walls with his eyes closed. Ten steps into the office, two pairs of arms enveloped him. Charlie and Wyatt. He wanted to cry for the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours.
“Why are you guys here?” he asked, flushing at how rude it sounded.
“Are you kidding? It’s all over the news. When Linc said you were on your way to the office, we hurried over to check on you. I can’t believe this happened. We never should have left you alone last night,” Charlie cried, her coconut shampoo overwhelming his senses as she clung to him.
“I don’t think th
at would have helped,” Robby managed.
“You stay here with them while I talk to Linc. Why don’t you guys go hang out in the kitchen or the conference room? Somewhere quiet,” Calder suggested, his large hand practically burning a hole into Robby’s shoulder.
Robby let his two new friends drag him into the conference room and slam the door. Wyatt pushed a button, frosting over the glass for added privacy. Robby sat in the same chair he’d sat in just days before, and Charlie and Wyatt sat on the table. It was like deja vu, only with more blood and an unhealthy amount of guilt.
“Did you really kill somebody?” Charlie asked.
“Yep,” he said, too exhausted to embellish and grateful that his body seemed to have run out of tears.
Charlie puffed up her cheeks and then let out a big sigh. “Like, way to commit to a plan.”
Robby blinked at her. “What?”
“Getting Calder to guard your body,” Charlie said as if reminding him they were part of some conspiracy. “I just thought you should make up a stalker, but you literally killed a dude. That’s some Shepherd levels of commitment. I’m impressed.”
“Charlie,” Wyatt warned before looking at Robby. “What happened?”
Robby woodenly told the story for the second time that day. Or maybe it was the third. He honestly couldn’t remember. Everything was running together except for the feel of the knife penetrating that guy’s skin and the wet sound it made and the feel of hot blood running over his hands and the stink of a million copper pennies still stuck in his nostrils, making him shudder.
“Holy shit,” was Wyatt’s only reply.
Charlie shrugged, tossing her chestnut hair over her shoulder. “I mean, it’s extreme, but it worked.”
“He didn’t kill a home invader to get laid,” Wyatt exclaimed before asking, “Did you?”
Robby sighed. “Seriously?”
Wyatt held up both hands. “I was just asking. But why call Calder and not the police?”