Grand Adventures

by Dawn Kimberly Johnson

  He wasn’t dressed the way James would think a fanboy would show up for work in a comic book store. A pair of worn but expensive jeans made the most of his long legs, and a collarless button-up shirt poked up from the V of his dark green sweater, his sleeves ruched up to expose most of the man’s sinewy forearms. A pair of black Chucks covered his feet, but they were practically new, or Martin took very good care of them. From the looks of the slimline gold watch on the man’s slender wrist, James supposed the man was used to having money or at least knew how to appear as if he’d been bathing in a silver tub since the day he was born.

  Yeah, James decided, he definitely was going to interview Martin before he headed in to look at the body. There was something off about the man owning a mecca for geekdom, and damned if he wasn’t going to find out exactly what that was.

  ALEX KNEW the man was a detective as soon as he got out of the black sedan. Actually, he looked more like he’d be rappelling down a steep cliff to rescue a busload of Swedish Bikini Team hopefuls while holding off a yakuza kidnapping squad with little more than a knife and a winning smile, but a detective wasn’t much of a stretch.

  The man was dressed in black, an unrelieved black of jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket. Broad shouldered and trim hipped, he pulled off his sunglasses, tossed them onto the car seat, then slammed the door behind him. A quick flash of metal—a badge by the look of it—was shown to one of the four cops who’d shown up to hold vigil on Planet X, and he was through the blue line, striding with powerful long legs to the shop’s front door.

  The day was overcast, but the sun was bright enough to pick up the blue sheen in his black hair, and Alex looked away, wondering if the man was as hot up close as he was from a few doors down. Behind him, a woman murmured appreciatively when the detective glanced to where Alex stood, and he felt his face go red at the man’s assessing, keen gaze.

  “Oh great. Look who’s here. Castillo,” one of the older cops muttered under his breath. “Damned homo. We’ll be here forever.”

  “He’s not so bad,” another cop—the lone female in the group—answered.

  “That’s ’cause you’re both chicks,” the grizzled cop snarled.

  “And that kind of shit is why you’re still driving around in a squad car waiting for your get-out date. He better not hear you, or you’re going to be gumming your morning doughnut,” she shot back, then eyed Alex carefully. “Sorry. Hopefully no offense.”

  “Oh no, none taken,” he replied absently. Alex wasn’t surprised she’d figured out he was gay. Hell, his own mother said she’d known he’d like dick before he even entered kindergarten, a declaration that made him very uncomfortable at the time since really, whose mother assessed a child’s sexuality before he could even fully recite a multiplication table?

  But the detective being gay—that left Alex speechless. He was the kind of man Alex lusted after but never in a million years approached. He didn’t go out with hard-bodied, tough-faced bad boys. Hell, he didn’t go out at all, so running into a hot gay man wasn’t even something he’d ever done—even if he’d had fantasies about being frisked by a broad-shouldered cop.

  Although by the looks of the detective eating up the sidewalk with his long strides, Alex soon would be doing more than just running into one; he’d actually have to make conversation. And about a rotting corpse in the one thing he’d been truly successful at—his shop.

  “Mr. Martin?” Castillo, as the cops called him, was heartbreakingly gorgeous up close, and worse, he smelled good. Like fresh-linen-and-coffee good. “I’m Detective James Castillo from LAPD. Can I have a few minutes of your time, please? To talk to you about what you found in your store?”

  Castillo had a few years on Alex’s late twenties, but they were damned good years. His black hair fell over two soulful brown eyes, and the man’s mouth crooked in an off-kilter rueful smile, as if he was kind of sorry Alex had started his day off with a dead body. The low purr of his voice grabbed at Alex’s spine and tickled up and down his back until his balls danced in response to even the purse of the detective’s lips. He was golden skinned and laughed a lot, if the tiny lines around his deep honey-colored eyes were anything to go by.

  The man’s strong, large hands were on his hips, pulling back his leather jacket enough for Alex to spot the leather straps of his harness and the weight of a weapon nested into his side. It also gave him a clear view of the man’s rock-hard stomach, because Castillo’s gunmetal black shirt fit him tightly enough that his abdominal muscles stood out in faint shadow.

  “Mr. Martin? Alex?” Castillo repeated softly. “You okay?”

  “What? Oh yeah, sorry.” Alex tried to get his tongue to work, but the presence of the man pressing into his space was nearly too much for his tired brain to handle. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… been a long morning.”

  “Let see if we can’t shorten it up a bit?” The detective looked around the area, and his gaze fell on the coffee shop tucked into the corner. “How about if we grab something hot to drink, and I’ll take down your statement?”

  “Sure, okay.” Alex heard himself and winced.

  “Why don’t you sit down at that table, and I’ll get you some coffee. Black? Cream and sugar?” Another purring rumble, and Alex had to tell his knees to be strong enough to carry him to one of the metal café tables outside of Drip and Stir Coffee.

  “Uh, cream and sugar,” Alex mumbled, pushing himself to follow Castillo. The man’s jeans snugged up into his ass, and Alex was given an incredible view of two firm, rounded cheeks moving beneath black denim. He plopped down in a chair, scraping its metal legs on the cement, and watched Castillo open the door, suddenly remembering his manners. “Oh, um… thanks!”

  “Don’t mention it,” Castillo replied smoothly. Then he was gone, swallowed up by the coffee shop’s interior.

  Alex exhaled and leaned back against the chair’s hard wooden back. His legs were shot, nearly gummy at the thought of dead bodies, hot detectives, and an empty, echoing stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten since early last night.

  “Damn it.” He glanced back at Planet X’s front door, where he’d accidentally dumped his lunch. “I probably should have cleaned that up before the cops got here.”

  “Cleaned what up?” Castillo’s former purr now had teeth, and they sank down into Alex’s nerves as the man put down two cups of coffee on the table. “I hope you weren’t talking about the deceased. You seem like you’d have more sense than to mess with a crime scene, Mr. Martin.”

  “No! I wouldn’t—” Alex protested softly. “I dropped my lunch in the doorway. It’s probably all through the carpet by now.”

  “Ah, the noodles?” The detective slid one of the cups in front of Alex. “No, we got that up off the cement. They’ll be bringing a gurney in, and yeah, it would contaminate the findings. Have a sip, and let’s see if we can’t figure out what this mess is all about.”

  The coffee was good. It was always good, and Alex let the caffeine work through him, wishing he’d worn something warmer since the air cut right through his sweater and shirt. Although, he realized, Castillo seemed quite the heater, and Alex shifted in his chair, angling his legs to leech off as much of the man’s warmth as he could without looking like a perv.

  Castillo didn’t appear to mind Alex’s proximity. In fact, he turned his chair and blocked off most of the wind coming through the mall’s curved adobe-plastered columns.

  “Thanks. It’s a bit cold,” Alex admitted. “The coffee really helps.”

  “That could be shock too,” Castillo replied gently. “You’ve gone through a traumatic experience. Let’s start at the beginning and see what we can find out.”

  “Sure.” He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “I was late this morning….”

  It didn’t take him very long to tell the detective what he’d done and what he saw. Castillo was exacting, going over several points in Alex’s story and then inquiring about his staff. Alex’s brain short-circuited at th
e thought of someone on his staff being able to—being willing to—drag a dead body in the store, and he said as much, bringing a smile to the detective’s sexy mouth.

  “Sometimes people do odd things.” Castillo jiggled his coffee cup, stirring its contents in a swirling motion with his wrist. “I’m not saying that someone on your crew is responsible for this, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask.”

  Alex nodded and shivered again, caught in a gust of wind. “I understand.”

  “Much like I have to ask you this.” The man must have practiced his little-boy-lost look in a mirror, because his brandy brown gaze cut through Alex much like the wintery chill had a few moments earlier. It was a begging-forgiveness instead of an asking-permission glance, the kind of look guaranteed to get a man out of trouble—or into another man’s bed. “Where were you last night?”

  “You think I did this?” Alex gaped at the man, his outrage rolling over any burgeoning desire for the handsome detective. “I could never—hell, I can’t even kill the spiders in my house. I just leave the door open and hope they go outside.”

  “I have to ask, Alex.” Castillo rolled over his name, wrapping it in velvet and heat. “It’s just procedure.”

  “I was at home.” He sniffed, suddenly disgruntled. He spent most of his nights alone, much to his disgust.

  It wasn’t that he felt ugly. At the very least, Alex thought he could pull off cute if absolutely necessary, but what he couldn’t fake was interest in hitting a club and drinking himself silly. Any friends he had—and he did have friends—were either married with children or lived too far away to spend an evening with. His social life mostly included trips to conventions or film festivals—perfectly acceptable activities, he reminded himself, except they seemed to be severely lacking in hot gay men.

  Glancing up at Castillo, Alex briefly wondered what the supposedly gay detective did for a social life. When his mind eagerly provided graphic and vivid images of backroom sex orgies and lines of young men willing to suck the detective off, Alex struggled to contain the blush he felt burning up his face.

  “Can anyone corroborate that?” The detective looked sincerely apologetic for having to ask, but Alex wasn’t sure he believed the man.

  “Other than my cat, no.” Alex shook his head. “No.”

  “What did you do? Alone. You and the cat?” The man’s odd phrasing made Alex look up, and Castillo grinned widely. “Watch television? Read?”

  “I don’t see—” He cut himself off and swallowed reflexively. “I was watching Sherlock. The new season’s out, so I wanted to catch up. Mrs. Who doesn’t have much say about what’s on the television.”

  “Mrs. Who being the cat?” Castillo sipped at his coffee.

  “Yeah.” Alex looked over to where a large dark blue van pulled up in front of Planet X. “Is that… forensics?”

  “Coroner’s.” Castillo followed his gaze. “A couple of the forensics techs will be along in a few. We should have you open again tomorrow. Day after by the latest.”

  “God, I’ve got to call everyone on shift.” He realized he didn’t have a clue about what to do when the business was closed for a dead body. They’d never even been held up, although he did have his accountant set up a pay code for his staff if there was a robbery. “I’ll have to arrange to pay everyone for time lost, I think. Hell, who the hell plans for shit like this? God, and that poor guy. Jesus.”

  “Probably not the guy in there—plan for this, I mean,” Castillo said, jerking his thumb toward the store. “But it’s decent of you to pay your guys. Can you afford it?”

  “What?” Alex looked up from his phone where he kept the store’s schedule. “Yeah, the store’s… good. I make more money on rare comics and collectibles than subscriptions, but the shop’s been pretty solid.”

  “So money isn’t an issue, then?”

  “No, it’s….” Alex scowled at the man. “What are you asking me? Is this about the man in the shop? Do you think I’m connected to him somehow?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Alex,” the detective admitted softly. “Most people are killed for money or relationships. If the man in there isn’t connected to you, then I have to find out who he is connected to, but I’m always going to start off where a body’s been found. Essentially, it’s ground zero. If I’m lucky, I can find a trail back to who killed him, but in order to do that, I have to eliminate everyone else—and that includes you.”

  HE FLUSTERED Alex Martin. If there was one thing James knew, it was men, and the owner of Planet X definitely was flustered. After a few more minutes of questioning and securing the names and contact information of Martin’s staff, he cut the man loose and watched him as he walked back to the shop, arms tucked in tight against his body to ward off the cold.

  A few hours later and covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs he’d gotten from climbing through tight attic spaces, James was lost in thought as he sat in front of the coffee shop when the table rattled under his elbow. He looked up to see his partner, Lois Washington, easing into the chair Martin had vacated a few hours before. Lois placed what would be his third cup of coffee in as many hours in front of him, and James took it gratefully as she joined him.

  A pleasant-faced black woman from East LA, Washington’d been his partner for nearly three years, and they’d hit it off nearly immediately. He admired her doggedness, and she tolerated his leaps of intuition, providing of course he could find evidence to back them up. Their close rate was good—quite good—and he’d been touched when she asked him to give her away at her wedding. He’d accepted on the stipulation he didn’t have to do a father-daughter dance with her. He did it anyway and embarrassed the hell out of her with his rendition of the mashed potato.

  Thankfully, she’d decided to forgive him by the time she and her husband, Raoul, got back from their honeymoon.

  “Came with the meat wagon?” he asked, giving her time to swallow from her own cup. “I thought you were going to be out until the afternoon.”

  “It’s two thirty,” she growled over her coffee. “Close enough. What was the deal with the owner? Uniforms say he’s shaken but not too bad.”

  “I cut him loose. One of the uniforms will call him when he can lock up.”

  Lois eyed her partner. “Is he good for the kill?”

  “Did you see the DB? Heavy guy. I don’t think Martin could have gotten him up into the ceiling to stash him there, and the DB was definitely up there.”

  “Yeah, so not recent. From the looks of things, I’d say a few days dead. Maybe even more. Bloated, and there’s insect activity.”

  “Yeah, Martin said the victim’s side burst open. I’m guessing parasitical expulsion. I don’t think he did it. Too… clean. Not meek but gentle. Besides, I saw the guy on the floor. Even with bloat, he was a big guy. I don’t think Martin ever saw the ceiling tiles were missing.”

  “He didn’t mention the missing ceiling tiles?” Lois cocked her head. “Not even to ask where they were? Because they weren’t under the DB. Someone’d left them up there. Moved them out of the way. I’d say he was shoved out from the hole.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t think Martin actually looked up. He said he checked the DB, then went outside to toss his guts. So the question is, who moved the tiles, and how did the body get up there?”

  “Stored up there? Odd place to put a kill, but we’ve seen odder.” She contemplated the mall’s exterior. “All of the shops share walls, but you saw the pass-through break between the right part of the curve and the rest of the place.”

  “So if he came from the ceiling, then there’s only a few shops he could come from,” James concluded. “The comic book shop is just one of them.”

  “Want to make a wager?” Lois looked innocent, but he’d been her partner long enough to know her round-cheeked guilelessness hid a cunning mind. His wallet still whimpered when he thought of the first time they’d joined Raoul’s monthly poker night and she’d cleaned them all out with a wink an
d a smile.

  “No, I’d like to be able to put my mother in a nice nursing home at some point.” He rocked back in his chair.

  “So what do you think happened?” She pressed him. “No bet involved. Just, you know… a guess.”

  “I don’t know, but I sure as hell want to find out.” James wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Because the sooner I do that, the sooner I can hit on our lead witness.”

  IT’S MADDENING—the not knowing, Alex grumbled to himself. Also, if he had to listen to “The Time Warp” one more time over the shop’s speakers, he’d go insane. One of his business classes had suggested a good owner allowed his employees to take ownership of their environment, and he’d initially thought having each employee determine the music selection for two hours during their shift was a good idea—providing there was little to no profanity.

  He just hadn’t expected show tunes. Just ten songs. On an endless loop. For two straight hours.

  A communicator chirrup announced the store’s latest visitor, but Alex didn’t look up from his filing of misplaced comics. He’d just gotten to putting away yet another stack of Lady Death when Giselle called out to him over the squeak of Columbia’s singing voice.

  Detective James Castillo nodded a hello to him, as suave as if he walked into Planet X on a daily basis just to grace them with his sexiness.

  From the openmouthed expression on Giselle’s face, Alex figured she wouldn’t mind at all if Castillo made the store a pit stop in his daily routine. He almost handed her one of the shop’s dusting rags to catch her drool before she slobbered all over the glass spotlight case, but he thought better of it.

  Mostly because he might need it himself.

  Alex couldn’t imagine how he’d forgotten how buff the man was. Or how hot. But it’d been nearly three weeks, and Alex figured he’d romanticized the man in his mind, adding a layer of sexiness he couldn’t possibly have possessed.