* * *
“So that wasn’t just bullshit on the side of his car?” Tracy demanded over the cycling howl of the sirens. “Why the hell didn’t he tell anybody?”
Alex threw him a look. “It wasn’t anybody’s business.”
“Sure as shit is now. Anyway, nobody has a problem with Gaffney.” He took a curve with the expert control of a veteran of high-speed chases.
“Straight cops don’t find lesbian officers threatening.” She curled her hands into fists. “But gay men . . . Some people think they float around on fairy wings. Ted was afraid that he would have been taken less seriously.”
“I went hunting with him.” Tracy flashed a hard look at her, frowning. “I never had any idea. Was all that some kind of act?”
Alex managed not to snarl; it wasn’t a good idea to alienate the detective investigating her friend’s murder. “Ted hunted because he liked hunting, not because he was trying to pretend to be something he wasn’t. He wasn’t like that.”
“He pretended to be straight! Everybody thought you two were involved.”
Taken off-guard, Alex found herself laughing for the first time since she’d found Ted’s body. “We never pretended we were dating. Frank’s right—Ted is . . . Ted was like a father to me.”
“What about Murphy?” Apparently he’d read between the lines of the Dom’s protective behavior.
“What about Murphy?” Alex glowered at him, silently telling him to drop it.
Nobody was more immune to social cues than a homicide detective working a murder. “Are you two involved?”
“We’re dating.” Which was oversimplifying things considerably, but still.
“So you’re straight.” Tracy added hurriedly, “Not that it’s any of my business. I just want to know if you might be a target.”
“No, I’m straight. Whether I’m a target . . . Who can tell with a psycho?” Alex almost hoped the killer did come after her. She had a violent need to blow his brains out. “I just pray he hasn’t killed Cal. Why the hell didn’t I think of this two hours ago, before he got home?”
“Look, we don’t know this Cal guy is dead. Don’t borrow trouble. And Murphy was right—you didn’t think of it because you’re holding together with spit and bailing wire.” His voice gentled. “I know you, Rogers. You’re a good cop.”
“Not good enough to catch my partner’s killer.”
“That’s my job, Rogers.”
“But I was there, Sarge. I was there, and I—”
“Bruce Greer was Ted’s partner, too, y’know. I didn’t notice him thinking of this Cal guy either.”
“Bruce didn’t know about Ted.”
He flicked a look at her before returning his attention to his driving. “Why did Ted tell you when he kept the rest of us in the dark?”
Because I went to an Atlanta Munch right after I was hired and ran into him. The local BDSM community was tiny; everybody knew everybody. Alex said simply, “We were close.”
The three patrol cars peeled into the complex with its clusters of three-story buildings. A thought flashed through her mind: The neighbors are going to love this. But she really didn’t give a damn. She just wanted her friend to come to the damned door.
As to how she’d tell Cal the man he loved was dead . . . Well, she just wanted him to be alive to have the conversation. Instead of, say, lying in the living room covered in blood, a vision that had been tormenting her since he’d failed to answer the phone.
Have I failed Ted again? Alex fought a wave of despair. If Cal was dead, she thought she’d finally lose control of the screaming pain inside her.
The car barely had time to roll to a stop before she threw the door open and jumped out, drawing her Glock as she sprinted across the parking lot.
“Rogers!” Tracy snapped as Frank and Bruce roared up.
Swearing mentally, she slowed to wait for the other cops. “This way.” Alex took the stairs to Cal’s apartment two at a time. She was absently aware that Frank had passed Tracy at a run, obviously intent on keeping up with her.
When she arrived at 2D, she automatically moved to one side of the door, out of the killer’s potential line of fire. Frank, Tracy, and Bruce moved to the other side of the door.
It opened before her knuckles hit the wood. “What the hell is . . .” Cal began. He froze as he saw Alex’s face.
“You didn’t answer the phone,” she told him numbly.
“It didn’t ring. I probably forgot to charge it again. Alex, what . . .” His eyes went wide with fear as he scanned the cops’ faces without seeing the one he was expecting. “Alex, where’s Ted?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alex tried to speak, found her throat too tight for a long moment before she finally managed to croak, “Cal, I’m so sorry . . .”
Every lover, spouse, or parent of a cop knew what it meant when his coworkers showed up at the door saying something like that. Horrible comprehension flooded her friend’s chocolate eyes. “No. Alex, no.” Face going gray, the young man’s knees buckled before he caught himself and straightened with an obvious, agonizing effort.
“Come on, Cal.” She looped an arm around his shoulders and turned him toward the couch. “Let’s sit down.”
The deputies stepped inside as the pair of them dropped onto a worn blue love seat.
Tracy gave Alex a look. Her training told her what he wanted. “Cal, mind if Frank and Bruce take a look around? Everybody’s feeling a little paranoid.” She caught his hands and squeezed them, silently apologizing for the question.
“Yeah, sure,” Cal said, though from his stunned tone, she doubted he was processing well enough to know what she was implying.
The two cops nodded and silently moved off to make sure there was no one else in the apartment. It didn’t take long. It was a small place, all Cal could afford on a bartender’s salary. Alex knew the apartment as well as her own house: the living room where they sat, separated from the efficiency kitchen by a butcher block countertop bar; a bedroom, and a tiny bathroom.
Being that Cal was a devout nerd, the walls were hung with movie posters from Star Wars, Star Trek, and assorted superhero movies. Every flat surface held superhero figurines and toys, and a pair of crossed light sabers hung behind the couch.
Frank and Bruce returned a minute later. Greer shook his head at Tracy; they hadn’t found anybody hiding in a closet or something. He took up a post beside one of several bookcases, a bust of Darth Vader at his elbow. Frank leaned next to a movie poster depicting Batman in a heroic pose. Tracy crouched down in front of Cal, and all three cops started watching the civilian with the kind of hawkish attention reserved for potential suspects.
Neither Alex nor Cal gave a shit.
The sub stared at her, tears spilling free to run silently down his dark face. “What happened? Did he wreck that damned patrol car of his? I told him he drives too fucking fast . . .”
“It wasn’t an accident, Cal. He was . . .” She had to stop and regain control of her voice. “Cal, Ted was murdered. Shot in the head.”
He stared at her. His mouth opened and closed several times before he managed speech. “But . . . why? Why would anyone do that? Did he pull the wrong guy over or what?” It was a logical assumption. Usually when a cop was shot, it was because he’d accidentally run into a felon who didn’t want to go back to jail.
She was trying to figure out what to say when Tracy spoke up. “The killer spray-painted racial and sexual slurs on Ted’s car about . . . your relationship.”
“That’s why we all roared up the way we did,” Frank put in. “We were afraid the bastard had shot you, too.”
Cal froze, looking between Alex and Frank in bewildered pain. “Ted was killed because of me?” He sounded very young.
Alex tightened her grip on his hands. “No, Cal, he was killed because somebody’s a bigoted asshole.”
Tracy spoke up then, watching Cal’s face closely. “Mr. Stephens, I’m Sergeant Tracy . . .”
&nb
sp; Cal nodded. “Oh, yeah. You guys went hunting. Ted talks . . .” His expression flattened. “Talked . . . about you. He thought a lot of you.”
Tracy looked a little taken aback, as if he’d assumed that because Ted hadn’t talked about Cal to him, he’d never talked about him to Cal. “Oh. Uh, thanks. Look, if we’re going to catch the killer, we’re going to need help. What can you tell us? Had anybody made threats against Ted? Or you?”
“People are always making threats against Ted. He said it didn’t mean anything. Just part of being a cop.” Which was true.
Tracy scrawled something in his notebook and looked up at Cal again, his gaze intent and analytical. “Where were you between 1:40 and 2:04 a.m. this morning?”
Cal frowned. “Am I a suspect?” Anguish tightened his face, and his eyes shone with welling tears. “I loved Ted. I would never have . . .”
Alex laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Of course not, Cal. You’re the least violent person I know. And Ted loved you every bit as much as you do him. But the sergeant needs to eliminate you as a suspect so he can find who did do this.”
“Oh.” Reassured, he met Tracy’s gaze. “I’m a bartender at Southern Sports. I was working until we closed up at three a.m.”
“Is there somebody who can confirm that? Coworkers, your boss?”
“Yeah, the manager and one of the waitresses.” He recited names and cell numbers for the detective, who dutifully wrote everything down.
For the next hour, Tracy questioned Cal exhaustively about Ted, their relationship, and their mutual friends. The submissive managed to answer honestly without mentioning BDSM, even when the detective asked the same question several different ways. Even when tears ran silently down Cal’s face until Alex wanted to beat Tracy with his own notebook.
Finally the detective wound down, and Alex saw an opening. “Cal, is there somewhere you can go?” she asked. “Someone you can stay with for a while? We’re afraid this guy . . . He might come after you.”
“My sister’s.” He frowned. “Or would that put her in danger, too?”
“Probably not,” Tracy said, looking up from his notebook. “Yeah, the sniper may have seen you and Ted together, but I doubt he’d know enough to track down your family. Besides, the stuff on the car didn’t mention you by name. For all we know, it was just random racial insults that happened to hit a little too close to home.” He grimaced. “People call cops cocksuckers all the time.”
“Yeah, Ted says . . .” Cal broke off, and his eyes filled again. He sniffed and swiped a hand over his face. “Look, I’m gonna call my sister. Make sure she won’t mind me showing up.”
“You okay to drive?” Frank asked. “I can give you a ride.”
“Thanks, but I can make it. It’s not far, and it’s not like there’s a lot of traffic this time of night.”
“You sure? It’s no trouble. I’m not technically on the clock.”
Tracy gave him a narrow Are you gay, too? look, which Frank proceeded to ignore. Alex could have told him the offer had nothing to do with sexual orientation and everything to do with a Dominant’s instinct to protect any submissive, even one he wasn’t involved with. Or maybe it was just being a cop, which, at least for someone like Frank, came with a similar set of instincts.
“No, I’ve got it,” Cal said, evidently too upset to notice the byplay.
“Here, use my cell.” Alex pulled it off its belt clip. “Yours is dead, remember?”
Cal grimaced. “Yeah, I need to plug the damned thing in.”
He stood up and walked off down the apartment’s short hallway. “Jaz? I’m sorry to wake you, but . . . Ted’s dead.” The sob that followed wrung Alex’s heart. “Can I . . . Can I come over? Thanks. Thanks, sis. I’ll be there in . . . No, I can drive.” His voice grew indistinct as he moved into the bedroom.
“That kid wasn’t involved,” Tracy said softly. “He’s too broken up about it. And I don’t think he’s acting.”
“He’s not.” Alex dug her fingers into her hair in an effort to massage the knots that had taken up residence at the base of her skull. She grimaced, discovering that her French braid had begun to unravel. Apparently this wasn’t the first time she’d unconsciously gone looking for knots.
“Hell of a night.” Tracy watched her with steady sympathy.
When she snorted, the sound edged a bit too close to a sob. Alex took a deep breath, managed to regain control. “Tell me about it.”
* * *
Alex walked into the MCSO training room at eight in the morning. Pain stabbed her chest as she remembered the last time she’d been here, Ted had been alive and giving Frank hell.
She fell wearily into a chair, scrubbing both hands over her burning eyes. “I feel like I’ve been beaten with a two-by-four,” she muttered to Frank as he settled down beside her.
For what must have been the tenth time in the past few hours, one of his big hands engulfed her shoulder for a comforting squeeze. It was the kind of thing he might have done to a male deputy, yet somehow it seemed tender. A lover’s gesture.
The room filled up around them. Again, she couldn’t help but compare this meeting to the one the evening before. The crowd was a hell of a lot quieter, the voices low with grief or growling with anger.
“Can’t believe Ted was gay.”
“Me either. Hell, he swished less than Richards.”
“Fuck you, too, Donaldson.”
“You ain’t my type, son.”
“Damned white supremacist coward. We need to find that bastard and put him under the jail.” Rather than in it, in other words.
Alex agreed with Richards.
Sheriff Ranger walked in with the department chaplain, a balding elderly minister who had been volunteering his services to the MCSO for years. Ranger stepped up to the podium and said, “Reverend Dave Grayson is going to lead us in prayer.”
Alex automatically bowed her head with everybody else.
“Lord, we ask you to be with this department as we remember Master Deputy Ted Arlington. Guide detectives as they seek his killer. Help us remember that we are not to judge our brother, lest we be judged.” Evidently somebody had told the reverend that Ted was gay. “And protect these deputies as they serve you and protect those the citizens of this county. In the name of Christ Jesus we pray . . .”
“Amen,” the deputies chorused.
“Thank you, Reverend,” Ranger told the old man, who nodded and moved heavily to take a seat. His face was set in lines of sadness that suggested he’d known Ted personally. “The chaplain and I just got back from telling the master deputy’s mother her son was murdered. Y’all do me a favor—don’t make me do that again.” He shook his head. “That was brutal. It’s one thing to lose one of y’all to a car crash, but to some cowardly slime who set a trap for him and then blew him away?” He swept a hot gaze over the room. “Until this creep is caught, I want you all to be damned careful. Don’t take anything for granted. If you’ve fallen into a routine drivin’ your patrols, change it. You don’t want anybody knowin’ where you’ll be and when you’ll be there so he can shoot you from ambush. Don’t hesitate to call for backup if you get a bad feeling about somethin’. It’s better to feel a little stupid and be alive than try to handle a situation on your own and get yourself killed. Arlington had no reason to suspect anybody might be gunning for him. Y’all can’t say the same.”
Ranger let that sink in a moment before he continued. “I’m sure this doesn’t need to be said, but I’m going to say it anyway. If you find out about somebody who might have done this—I don’t want anybody trying to go all Rambo on the bastard. You report it to a supervisor, or to Detective Tracy, who’s handling the case. I know emotion is running high, but I will not have vigilantism in my department. We’re going to play this by the book. I don’t want the public thinking we lynched this asshole, no matter how tempted we might be. Y’all got that?”
The deputies chorused, “Yes, sir,” but it so
unded a little sullen.
“I said,” he repeated in a ringing voice, “Y’all got that?”
“Yes, Sheriff!” they thundered.
“That’s better. Now, I want to address another point. You have probably heard a lot of rumors today about the master deputy’s private life. Let me be clear—I do not want to hear any of that repeated to the media. I don’t want his mama to have to listen to her son’s name getting dragged through the mud. Ted was a damned good cop. Even aside from his military service as a decorated Green Beret, even aside from all the times I know for a fact Ted waded into fights to back up fellow officers over the years . . .” Ranger smiled faintly. “He might have been short, but damn, that man could fight.”
The deputies laughed, but the sound held a note that suggested tension relief as much as anything else.
Ranger sobered. “But there was more to Ted than the ability to kick any butt that needed it. About eight years ago—before a lot of you even joined this department—Ted ran into a burning trailer because he was afraid the woman and two little children who lived there hadn’t gotten out. It’s worth noting he didn’t know that for sure. It would have been easy to assume they’d already escaped, or that they were already dead, particularly since we all know how fast a trailer can burn. Ten, fifteen minutes tops, and we’re talking fully involved. Ted knew that, but he didn’t hesitate. He kicked the door in and charged inside, and somehow he got the woman moving and carried her kids out, one under each arm. Man was strong as a bull.” He swept a hard look across the room. “Those three people are alive right now because Ted Arlington was a hero. No matter what you think about the way the master deputy did—or did not—spend his personal time, you need to remember that. As the reverend just reminded us, the Good Book says, ‘Judge not lest ye be judged.’”
Alex gave the sheriff a smile. I knew there was a reason I liked that man.
She also knew that while his deputies might listen to him, there were plenty of other people who wouldn’t.
* * *
Frank was about to head on shift when Major Jennings called, “I’d like a word, Murphy.”
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