by Lisa Worrall
Editor: Jae Ashley
Cover Designer: Book Cover by Design
3rd Edition – Copyright © 2020 by Lisa Worrall
All Rights Reserved
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of Copyright Law.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to my sister, Teresa,
without whom this story wouldn't have come to fruition.
I thank her for having a dream, giving it to me for the bones of this story
and for letting me go nuts with it.
I also thank her for her support, her love and her innate ability
to be the only person I know who really tells it like it is.
So, if she says it's good… it must be.
Without her shoulder to lean on, her ear to bend
and her hand to slap me when I'm being stupid,
the last eighteen months would have been so much harder,
and there are no words to express how much she means to me.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright etc
Prologue
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Epilogue
About Lisa
Also Available
PROLOGUE
The gated housing development of Laurel Heights was quiet in the early hours.
The houses were dark and their occupants asleep.
Nobody heard the muffled shot that rang out in the still of the night.
A shot; quickly followed by another.
Shots that left two members of their exclusive community dead.
"Where are you going? It's two in the morning."
Will pulled his T-shirt back on and raked his fingers through his blond hair. "Early start tomorrow," he said picking up his wallet and his cell. Checking he'd not received any messages while he was otherwise engaged, he shoved them both into his pocket, and sat on the edge of the bed to slip his feet into his boots. Will closed his eyes at the feel of soft lips feathering across the nape of his neck. Warm breath lifted the strands of his short hair where it sat against his skin and Will sighed inwardly. He hated this part. The leaving. Especially when the sex had been good, which it had. Ignoring the insistent pull of the man’s impatient fingers at his shirt, he laced his boots then stood up.
"Do you want my number?"
"Sure," Will replied, taking out his cell. He moved his fingers over the pad and pretended to put the number recited to him into his contacts. He wasn't sure why they were bothering to go through this charade. The man staring up at him wasn't fooled by Will's actions, yet he continued to reel off the numbers. Will pushed his cell back into his pocket, leaned down to run his fingers through the man’s curly blond hair and dropped a kiss on the proffered lips. He pulled back before it could become anything more and strode across the room. Pausing in the doorway he raised a hand, scrabbling desperately—and failing—for the guy's name. He threw aa lame goodbye over his shoulder as he opened the door. At least he had the decency to blush when the cold reply followed him out into the hall.
"It's Jack, asshole."
Scott threw his head back, lost on a sea of sensation as he pounded relentlessly into the willing body beneath him. "Fuck, yes," he cried out when the heat around him tightened and his orgasm pulsed through him. He thrust mindlessly, chasing the last of his pleasure. When his breathing had calmed enough to move, he grabbed the end of the condom and pulled out then turned to flush it down the toilet beside them. Club bathrooms were never exactly the easiest places to have sex in, but eyes across a crowded room and all that. Tucking himself back into his pants, Scott gasped as hands grabbed his face and turned him around into a searing kiss.
"My place?" The gray eyes gazing into his were hopeful.
Scott shook his head, his lips curving into a regretful smile. "I'm sorry, I have an early meeting," he replied, softening the dismissal with a kiss. "But I had fun; maybe we can do it again some time."
"Ah, so you're one of those guys who gets his rocks off and then isn't interested, huh?" The other man's tone was angry, as he glared up at Scott.
Scott's eyes hardened and he pulled himself up to his full height of almost six feet before unlocking the door of the stall. "I'm never interested in some twink who'll let me fuck him before I've even asked his name." Ignoring the stunned look on the other man's face, Scott walked out into the crowded bathroom, and kicked the stall door closed behind him. After quickly washing his hands, he ran his fingers through his short, black, sweat-dampened hair, and then made his way back out into the club.
Surrounded by a sea of writhing bodies, Scott looked at the illuminated hands of his watch and yawned when he saw that it was two in the morning. Lowering his head to avoid anyone mistaking a glance for a come on, he began to push his way through the throng toward the exit. Even though the guy in the bathroom had thought he was being blown off, he really did have an early start tomorrow. Outside in the cold New York air, he hailed the first cab he saw and clambered into the back.
Chapter one
Staring down at him, Grace wondered what time Scott got home from the club last night. Although she knew he was aware they had to be in early this morning, she also knew him well enough to know that that was where he'd undoubtedly spent his evening. It also annoyed her that he could still look good after a night of drink and debauchery, when she would have looked like warmed over shit. She smiled at Scott's groan as she pulled the bedclothes off his body, and chuckled as he made a desperate grab for them at the last minute to cover his modesty.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he growled, opening his eyes and glaring at her.
"Getting your lazy ass up," she said in a matter of fact tone. "What time did you leave the club last night?"
"Who said I went to the club?" he muttered, pulling the duvet back over his head.
"I did," she replied, yanking at the covers again. "Come on, it's nine-thirty, and we've got a shitload of paperwork to get through." She walked across the room and paused in the doorway, turning to grin wickedly at him. "Never give a woman the key to your house, Scott. Not if you don't want her to use it."
"You're not a woman," he grumbled. "You're a Rottweiler, now get out." Grace Cassidy laughed as she made her way into the kitchen to put the coffee on, her long blond hair flowing behind her like a curtain. She had been Scott's partner for just over a year and she was the only one in the department who knew he was gay. He'd shared this piece of information with her after working with her for only a couple of months, a fact that she was both humbled and touched by. That he would feel comfortable enough with her to tell her what he considered to be his deep, dark secret practically right off the bat had touched her, and she was fiercely protective of him. She'd told him that she had no problem with his sexual preferences, if anything it was a relief because it meant that she could work the job instead of worrying about him looking up her skirt.
She'd understood
the reasons why he didn't want it made public knowledge, although she believed it was probably better to come right out with it. That if he was upfront and weathered the storm, the fallout from his honesty would be quieter and fizzle out sooner than if someone found out by other means. But Scott wouldn't be swayed. So, Grace had simply taken the secret he had entrusted her with and guarded it closely.
Searching the cupboards for two cups, she placed them on the counter and then reached up for the open sugar packet. She hastily dropped it when she opened it and came face to face with a large and desiccated spider. "Jesus fucking Christ, Scott," she hissed, throwing the entire bag in the trash. "For a gay guy you're such a slob."
"Jeez, stereotype much?" Scott chuckled, wandering into the kitchen, rubbing a towel over his hair. There were damp spots on his dress shirt and his tie was lop-sided, obviously having been tied in a hurry after he'd re-defined the term quick shower. "I'm hardly here. You know the hours I work, hell, you work 'em with me."
"Yes, I do, moron," Grace retorted. "But even I manage to put food in the cupboards once a week and check that I haven't got dead bugs everywhere. But then I suppose you are a man, after all."
Scott laughed as he poured the coffee Grace had made into the two mugs and slid one across the counter to her. "Exactly; just because I like to suck dick doesn't mean I'm Martha Stewart in the kitchen."
Grace's gaze traveled the length of Scott's body as she drank her coffee. She took in the muscular six-foot frame, made up of broad shoulders, slim waist and lean hips. Scott was beautiful, plain and simple, and she often told him that he was doing a disservice to women everywhere by not even attempting to go down the straight and narrow. His short black hair was always gelled to give him that "I just got out of bed" look, even though she knew that if she attempted that look it would take her half an hour to get it to look like she didn’t have a cat on her head. She smiled at the thought and openly studied his handsome face.
Rimmed with long, dark lashes that Grace herself would personally kill for; his eyes were of a brown so dark they were like limpid pools of chocolate. Scott's aquiline nose had a slight bump in the middle, but the slight imperfection only served to make his face more beguiling. Below that, he sported an expertly groomed five o'clock shadow which gave the impression he hadn't shaved that morning, when in fact it looked like that on purpose. It didn't hurt that he had full, voluptuous lips just made for kissing, that drew your eye whenever he spoke. She'd seen many a female suspect confess without even realizing she was doing it, while concentrating on those lips. Grace sighed at the lyrical tangent she had wandered off on and put the now empty coffee cup in the sink. Picking up her badge, she fitted it to the waistband of her trousers, and then holstered the gun she had put down on the counter.
"You're staring again," Scott muttered a complaint. He put his cup in the sink next to hers and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair, rolling his eyes when he caught Grace's gaze and pushed his arms into the sleeves.
Grace grinned and gave him the once over again. "Are you sure you're gay?" she asked hopefully.
"Shut up," Scott replied, his cheeks flushing as he pushed her toward the door.
Laughing loudly, Grace waited for him to lock the door behind them and then trotted down the drive beside him. God, he was fun. She would have thought he was well used to her quick-witted responses and open teasing by now; but his face flushed quicker than a toilet every time. Consequently, for her, it never got old.
Grace depressed the button to unlock her cherry red sedan and slid behind the wheel, unable to contain her snigger when Scott all but threw himself into shotgun, his expression petulant. Starting the engine, she headed the car toward the White Plains City Police Department. Regardless of their easy banter, they did have a shitload of paperwork to get through. Hopefully, being Sunday, a supposed day of rest, no one would decide to kill anyone so they could get on with it.
"Would you please stop gloating," Julie Bates, Will's partner, complained, keeping her attention on the computer screen in front of her. "What are you? Twelve?"
Will snorted and carried on transferring details from the arrest sheet he was reading on to his PC. "I'm not gloating. Hey, if Turner can't drag himself away from last night's floozy, far be it from me to complain because we got here first."
Admittedly—although he hadn't exactly spent last night alone—for him it had been the first time in two months; he was sure Scott 'next please' Turner could make no such claim. He'd been just as surprised to find himself in someone's bed last night as Julie obviously was from the look on her face when he filled her in en route this morning.
When he'd decided to go to the bar for a quiet drink last night, he'd intended to have a quiet drink. But once he'd locked eyes with the gorgeous guy in the corner booth, he'd thrown caution to the wind and accepted the beer that had been sent over. Of course, the evening could have ended a little better, you know, he could have remembered the guy's name—but hey, nobody's perfect.
Looking up at his partner of eight months, Will grinned. He ignored her eye roll and combed his fingers through the gelled spikes of his honey-blond hair, returning his concentration to the paperwork beside him. Glancing up, his gaze followed Turner and Cassidy as they came out of the elevator and walked to their desks. Turner sported the hesitant gait of someone who had overindulged the night before, not that that was a huge surprise. "Afternoon, guys," he couldn't resist teasing as they sat down.
"Wow, were you here with the dawn chorus, Harrison? Did you bring the Cap a nice shiny apple?" Scott drawled, taking out his gun and putting it in the top drawer of his desk. "Waiting for the arrival of your plaque as chief suck up?"
Will's eyes narrowed as he looked at the other man. "Aw, poor baby, wouldn't Cassidy put out last night?" His tone was filled with mock sympathy, and sarcasm dripped from every syllable. "Or did you only make your way through four girls instead of the usual six?" A satisfied smile spread across his lips as he watched Scott rise from his chair, and Cassidy put her hand out to restrain him. "Ooh, did I hit a nerve? Didn't Scottie get his fill last night? You should keep him on a leash, Gracie."
"Shut up, Will," Grace tapped a warning on Scott's forearm and waited until he returned to his seat before picking up the first file on the mountain of files on her desk. "Jules and I are getting pretty fed up with the two of you. So, grow up, grow a pair, grow what the fuck ever, but stop bickering like Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie for five minutes, and get the fuck along."
She stood and walked around the back of Will's chair, and he froze as she slowly ran her hand down his chest. Will gasped when her glossed lips brushed his ear and the tip of her tongue licked around the sensitive shell as she intoned huskily, "And by the way—I always put out."
Will scowled at her as she walked behind Julie's chair on her way back to her own desk and held out her hand for the high five that Julie slapped onto it, before sliding into her seat. The two of them took great pleasure in making him feel like a gawky schoolboy, which afforded her and Julie seemingly endless amusement. The fact that Scott enjoyed his discomfort, too, didn't help. However, he felt slightly vilified when she turned to glare at Scott, the look stilling the man's laughter as though she'd pressed a mute button and growled at him.
"I don't know what you're laughing at, Sparky. You're just as bad. Now shut up, we've got work to do."
Will grumbled under his breath as he started up his PC and picked up a file while he waited for it to whir into life. Three days ago, they'd finally managed to close a long running case that the four of them had worked their asses off on. For six months, they'd been trying to close in on Dean Kinkade, a wealthy industrialist who had faked a burglary in order to murder his wife and collect on her life insurance.
Six months of subpoenas, interviews, knocking door to door, and going through paperwork; anything just to get a break, and then they found it. He hadn't quite covered up the paper trail for the knife he'd used, and they'd got him. Instead of su
nning himself on a beach in Cancun, Kinkade now found himself in the Westchester County Jail, awaiting arraignment, where Will was sure they didn't have a pool or bikini clad hotties.
Although they were still on a high from their success, there was now the obligatory mountain of paperwork to transfer onto computer, hence their early arrival at the office on a Sunday, their collective day off. Will sighed heavily as he pushed his reading glasses onto the bridge of his nose and then logged into his PC. This was going to take forever.
Two hours later, their Captain barked a command from the open doorway of his office. "Cassidy, Bates, bring your girlfriends in here!" Slamming the door behind him, he returned to his desk and handed a box of tissues to one of the other two men in the room. "Are you sure you don't want something to drink?" Glenn Hall asked for the third time since they'd arrived. He sighed as his cousin shook his head, for the third time. "You look like shit, Damon," he said quietly.
Glenn had been the Captain of the White Plains Homicide Team for six years and not once, in all those years had he had a member of his own family involved, albeit very loosely, in a murder. His gray eyes narrowed as he watched Damon blow his nose again, and dab at the tears rolling down his cheeks. Glenn had appointed himself Damon's surrogate brother while they were growing up and they were remarkably close. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair and looked up at the knock on the door. "Come!" he yelled and watched his four best detectives file into the room. "Sit," he instructed, waiting until the two women had taken seats and the two men were standing behind their respective partners.