by Tara Lain
“Hi, dear. What’s up?” His mother sounded busy. Nothing new about that.
“Murder.”
“What?”
“Remember I told you that this woman had offered Lewis and the university five mil to investigate the whole Shakespeare thing?”
“Yes.”
“Somebody killed her.”
“What the hell? Why?”
“There could be a lot of reasons. Five million of them, I’d guess, but that’s not why I called. The police are questioning me.”
“Why?” She sounded… neutral.
“Somebody stole some documents that Anne de Vere gave to Llewellyn. I found him knocked out on his porch, and then I was there when Anne barged in and, uh, I took Anne, the murder victim, back to her hotel, and then was with Llewellyn pretty late.”
“We spoke last night. Why didn’t you tell me about the theft then?”
“I didn’t think it was vital information at that moment. I was a little busy, as you remember.” And he’d gotten to the point where telling his mother one thing he didn’t have to made him sick.
“And what were you doing with Llewellyn Lewis so late?”
“That’s not material to my question. I want to know if I should hire a lawyer.”
“Good heavens, Blaise. You don’t need a lawyer because you were fucking a guy who might be under investigation.”
“Uh, I was with Llewellyn when Anne was getting murdered.”
“Okay, and you know that because of time of death?”
“No.” He swallowed really hard. “I know that because I went to Llewellyn’s office after I left his house to see if I could find any evidence we could use—and saw her body.”
“Blaise, what the everlasting living fuck have you done?”
Chapter Fourteen
LLEWELLYN ADJUSTED his feet on the arm of the couch and took a deep breath, pressing up against the weight of three furries. Normally Marie Antoinette had exclusive claim to lying on Llewellyn’s chest or lap. If she declined those positions, the other two could jockey for rights. Tonight appeared to be the exception. Apparently he needed so much fuzzy therapy that all three of them had taken up purring spots on his body parts. He didn’t dare move. Not that he was in any hurry to go anywhere.
Oh God, he had to be living in a nightmare. He just wanted to wake up and discover that no innocent person had been killed in his office.
A scratching sound he would have blamed on the cats if they hadn’t all been clustered on top of him came from the dining room area. Had the wind come up? It sounded again and seemed too regular to be a bush scraping the window. He raised his head.
“Mew.” Emily, of all of the cats, was objecting.
He sighed. Since he’d been awarded this feline fandom, he hated to look it in the butt, but—I better go check. Lest he forget, someone had bashed him over the head, though a far lesser evil than Anne’s murder. “Sorry, m-my friends.” He sat up.
Julius gave him a squall, while Emily looked hurt, and Marie turned her back on the peon who didn’t appreciate her gifts.
Llewellyn rose and walked tentatively toward the dining room. He peeked around the corner at the windows as the scratching came again. Llewellyn crept closer and jumped a foot when the scratching turned into knocking, soft but consistent.
What the hell? Bending down, Llewellyn pressed his face toward the far window in the dining room and came face-to-face with Blaise. Llewellyn gasped. Blaise pressed his palm against the window, then pointed toward the back door.
Glancing over his shoulder like some hidden enemy might have crept up on him, Llewellyn hurried to the back door and unlocked it, then pulled it open an inch. Blaise was right there. Llewellyn pressed his mouth against the gap in the door. “Sh-should you b-be here?”
“No. Let me in.”
Llewellyn half wanted to slam the door closed and half wanted to pull Blaise in and kiss him. His dumber instincts won. He opened the door, flipped off the lights in the kitchen to make less of a target, and pulled Blaise in by his arm, then closed the door and locked it. Before he could even stop himself, he pushed Blaise against the wall and covered his mouth with a hungry kiss.
Blaise wrapped two very satisfying arms around Llewellyn’s back and returned the kiss with something between passion and desperation.
For minutes they drank comfort and strength from each other’s mouths; then Llewellyn pulled back. “I th-think the police must be w-watching me. It’s not g-good for you to be here.”
“They’re just as suspicious of me.” He smiled, though it wasn’t quite as sparkling as usual. “Besides, if they were really watching closely, I doubt I could have gotten in here.”
“I’m s-so sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you got p-pulled into this.”
“I jumped in.”
“Because of m-me.”
Blaise cupped his cheek with his long fingers. “Catnip can’t apologize for being addictive. There’s nothing I could have done to stay away.”
Llewellyn snorted loudly and waved a hand at Blaise. “Stop.”
“Are the curtains closed in the living room?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good. Can I get you a beer?”
“Just g-got some more delivered.”
“Good, since I’ve been drinking it all up.”
Blaise pulled two bottles from the refrigerator, uncapped them, slid an arm around Llewellyn’s shoulders, and walked him into the living room. They sat side by side, and the cats jumped up, with Marie insinuating herself between them.
Blaise clinked the bottom of his bottle against Llewellyn’s. “To finding answers.”
“Yes.”
Blaise looked at Llewellyn. “Have you heard from Anne’s siblings?”
“Since the murder? No.”
“I just wonder what they’re thinking. Anne said the money was left specifically for the project by her father, and the sibs can’t say shit.”
“E-even if she’s d-dead?” His breath rushed out as he said it, and he dropped his forehead against the cold wetness of the bottle.
“That’s a question, isn’t it? If the money reverts to the sibs, it’s clear motive for murder.”
“C-could be.”
“One thing’s for sure.”
Llewellyn turned his head so the bottle rested against his cheek. He slid it so the top slipped between his lips and drank a mouthful. It made him realize how thirsty he was. Another long pull from the bottle tasted so good he wanted to finish it all, but that wasn’t wise. Keeping his wits sounded like a damned good idea right now. “W-what’s for sure?”
Blaise held out his bottle. “Want more?”
Llewellyn shook his head.
Blaise sat back. “What’s for sure is that somebody really didn’t want Anne to prove de Vere is Shakespeare.”
“Or d-didn’t want her to sp-spend the m-money to prove it.”
“Right, but the outcome’s the same. Nobody proves Shakespeare isn’t Shakespeare.”
“R-right.”
“What do you think that might indicate?”
Llewellyn curved a half smile and cast his eyes sideways at Blaise. “Th-that maybe Sh-Shakespeare isn’t Shakespeare.”
“And Edward de Vere is.” Blaise’s throat worked as he swallowed some beer. Even that was sexy.
“V-Van Pelt wants me to investigate the m-murder.”
His blue eyes widened. “You’re shitting me?”
Llewellyn shook his head.
“Holiday won’t like that.”
“I t-told him everything I know.”
“So it’s not like you’re withholding evidence.”
“R-right.”
“And just because the police department doesn’t have a brilliant researcher like Dr. Llewellyn Lewis on staff isn’t your fault.”
“S-so true.” Llewellyn actually smiled. “I d-didn’t really l-like Anne that much. B-but I hate to think s-someone k-killed her because of
me.”
Blaise set down his bottle on the coffee table and turned, taking both of Llewellyn’s biceps in his hands. He squeezed a little. “Funny, I’m always surprised at how fit you are. You manage to come off as such a nerd.”
Llewellyn tried to control his frown. Ramon kept fit. Not great for people to notice. “G-good genes.”
Blaise tightened his hands. “She wasn’t killed because of you. She was determined to find someone who would do this research for her. She came to you first, but she would have moved on to Rondell if you’d flatly refused.”
Yes, and I’d still be responsible for her death. He sighed.
“Okay. So you’ve been given carte blanche to investigate and do backup for the cops.”
“N-not that Van Pelt’s s-say-so counts for much with the cops.”
“So how do we start?”
“W-we?”
“Of course. Like you said, I’m involved in this too, and I need to find out who really did it so I can get back to work.”
“Work?”
“Teaching assistant, remember?”
Llewellyn gazed at Blaise’s beautiful face. Why couldn’t he get rid of the itch that said there was something off about Blaise? Not enough to quell his ravenous attraction for the guy—but enough to keep him from getting totally comfortable. “R-right.” He stood and walked to the desk to get his laptop, then carried it back to the couch. “L-let’s search the s-siblings, shall we?” He set the computer with its EMI-reducing laptop pad on his lap, then input “de Vere family” into his search engine.
Blaise peered over Llewellyn’s shoulder. “Four siblings. That agrees with what Anne told me. Two sisters and a brother.”
Llewellyn clicked a couple more times. “B-but did you know that one was a tw-twin?”
“No. She never said that.” Blaise frowned.
Llewellyn turned his head. “Not just a tw-twin. Anne’s twin.”
“Holy shit. Why wouldn’t she have mentioned that?”
“M-maybe the sister is against her, and she h-hated that?”
“Possible. Where do they live?”
“S-San Francisco.”
“All of them?”
“All.”
“Hmm. So maybe we should be making a trip to the big city.”
“Y-yes. Maybe.”
“We’re not supposed to leave town without letting Holiday know.”
“H-he can’t stop us unless he ch-charges us.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want to tempt him.”
“T-true.” Llewellyn couldn’t help it. He yawned.
“You’re exhausted.”
“T-tired.”
“Hell, with what you’ve been through, I’m surprised you can keep your eyes open. How about I tuck you in?”
Llewellyn needed to glue his lips together and not say—damn. “Will y-you stay?”
“You couldn’t get me to leave.”
Something in his chest—tight and hard—unraveled into a sweet warmth, and the fatigue spread through him like melted butter. He took a step toward the bedroom and stumbled.
“Whoa.” Blaise caught him. “Come on, smart guy. Time to sleep.”
It was really nice to just be led—especially to the bedroom. By Blaise.
In the room, Llewellyn sat hard on the edge of the mattress, toed off his tan shoes, and started unbuttoning his shirt. Blaise pushed his hands away. “Let me.” He knelt in front of Llewellyn and efficiently removed his clothes. Llewellyn knew because air started hitting bare skin in various locations.
At the moment he most wanted to be totally aware, he couldn’t keep his eyelids in a full upright position. Moments went missing before he noticed a blanket being pulled up under his neck. “W-wait. I—”
The next time he had a conscious thought, there was a warm weight pressed against his back and soft breathing on his neck.
Don’t want to get used to this.
Oh hell. For one short night, Lewis, just enjoy yourself. With a deep sigh, he let his eyes close and his brain believe this was something he deserved.
PURRING IN his ear. Blaise opened his eyes. It was still dark, but whiskers tickled his nose. How did one cat get whiskers in his nose and still manage to vibrate his earlobe? Ah, two cats.
Have to pee.
Llewellyn had turned on his side, so Blaise could slide to the edge of the bed. Claws dug into his shoulder. “Ow. Damn, Julius.” He whispered it, but those claws still hurt. He reached up and grabbed the cat, who had to weigh a good fifteen pounds. He set the giant beast on the floor and padded to the bathroom nude. Inside, he flipped on the light and used the bathroom.
The closet door stood cracked open. Some piece of his heart wanted to say fuck it and fuck them all. He liked Llewellyn. Really. A lot. He washed his hands and wiped one of them over the back of his neck. Damn.
He turned and pulled open the closet, flipped on the light, and stared inside. Everything had changed. The neat rows of khakis hung in the middle of the clothing rack, but the fashionable suits, shirts, and shoes were gone. The tote bag still stood on the floor by the back wall, but he could tell without even touching it that it had books in it and nothing else. The wig and whatever else had vanished.
Funny how that made him sad. Like maybe Llewellyn had given up some part of himself. I wonder why?
The whisper from his heart that said it was his fault made him want to cry.
Go back to sleep.
Quietly he pulled the closet door closed the way he’d found it. He walked toward the bathroom door and flipped off the light, but as he started to turn, he heard the cry.
“No!”
“Llewellyn!” He threw open the door and ran toward the bed, but no one was attacking.
Llewellyn thrashed his arms as his body twisted. “No. No, please. I won’t d-do it anym-more. P-please.”
Blaise sat on the edge of the bed and gently pressed his hands against Llewellyn’s shoulders, stilling him, then ran his palm across his sweaty forehead. “It’s okay, dear. You’re free. You can do anything you want. Don’t worry.” He leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Shhh. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Llewellyn sighed and quieted. Marie jumped up on the bed from the other side, crawled onto his pillow, and wrapped herself around his head. She knew he needed comfort. She gazed at Blaise. He knew judgment when he saw it.
Blaise slipped onto the bed and pressed himself against Llewellyn’s side.
Not letting anyone hurt Llewellyn. There was a promise he couldn’t keep.
LLEWELLYN STARED out the windshield at the crazy-nuts traffic crowding on all sides of Blaise’s little black Prius. It only took a few minutes on the 280 freeway to remind him why he liked living on the central coast. San Luis Obispo’s idea of a traffic jam was too many students at a crosswalk when his car was trying to get through. He stifled a yawn. Yes, he’d slept through the night, but apparently fought his childhood demons the whole time. Demons could be exhausting.
Blaise chuckled, and Llewellyn glanced at him. Blaise said, “You look like you want to say, ‘Are we there yet?’”
Llewellyn drew his brows together. “Of course n-not. I’m much too s-sophisticated, erudite, and intellectual to ask such a ch-childish question. But are we there y-yet?”
Blaise laughed, and the tension that had pussyfooted around the car for the last three-plus hours relaxed. “I love your sense of humor.”
“Th-thank you. Sometimes it’s hard to be f-funny. Too much w-work.”
“I appreciate you sharing that.”
“Does your f-family live around here?”
“Uh, yes. In Palo Alto.”
Hmm. Was the tension back? “W-what does your f-father do?”
“Nothing. I mean, I don’t have a father. I was raised by my mother. She’s kind of a, uh, serial entrepreneur, but she can afford to be. Family money.”
“Ah. N-nice to have.”
“Yeah. You were raised by your mom too, right?”
�
��Y-yes.” He took a breath. “No f-family money. Just the house and m-my education.” He stared out the window and tried not to see his past.
“I don’t mean to pry, but I got the feeling last night that you didn’t have the happiest of childhoods.”
“Y-you could say that. At least it was sh-short.”
“How old were you when your mom died?”
“Fifteen. I w-was already in c-college.”
“Who took care of you?”
“N-no one. I-I officially lived at school and c-claimed my f-father’s family were my guardians.”
“Officially lived at school?”
“I h-had the house my father g-gave my mother.” They crawled onto the bridge into the city. “Where I l-live now.”
“Did your father go along with all this? Where the fuck was he?”
“N-nowhere. He g-gave my mom two th-things she never wanted. The house and m-me.”
Blaise gave a soft gasp. Funny. Llewellyn hardly ever talked about his family or lack thereof. But a sympathetic listener with no axe to grind seemed to trigger some desire to confess he didn’t know he possessed.
“But shit, Llewellyn. You were fifteen.”
“Wh-when she died, I searched out my f-father’s phone number and called him. Asked if I c-could claim he was m-my guardian to stay out of the system. He answered with one word. Y-yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“C-can’t tell you.”
“Why? Is he famous?”
“N-no. Just my agreement.” He turned to Blaise. “Y-your turn. W-where’s your father?”
He shrugged. “Dead, I believe. He was never in the picture. I think of him as a sperm donor. My mother says he was handsome and smart. I think she chose him for that reason.”
“M-maybe your father and m-mine are related.”
Blaise barked a sharp laugh.
“You’re c-close to your m-mother?”
Blaise glanced toward Llewellyn, then back at the road. “I guess so. She’s a challenging personality, but she’s mine.”
“Are y-you going to stop and see her, since we’re so close?”
“Oh hell no.” He said it with humor but still emphatically. “Sorry. I guess I get enough of her. It’s nice to be away.” He nodded ahead of him. “We’re almost there. Uh, do we have a plan?”