by Gregory Ashe
“Something at work.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m not going to break if you tell me, John. It’s not like I can’t hear about it. I’m not going to fall to pieces.”
Somers wasn’t sure about any of that. He wasn’t really sure about anything, not anymore. He thought of Hazard in the dark, staring up at nothing, falling to pieces in places and in ways that Somers couldn’t see. No, he wasn’t sure that even Hazard knew what he was talking about.
“Fine,” Hazard said, dropping the spoon with a clatter and stripping off his apron. “I’ll have to torture it out of you.”
“I’m pretty tough.”
Hazard just rolled his shoulders and took a step toward Somers. Somers retreated. Hazard kept coming. Somers fell back. Hazard looked wild right then: his long, shaggy hair swinging, the three-months’ growth of beard bristling. In a flash, Somers realized that his boyfriend was thin—still a big man, still dense with muscle, but a layer of padding had been stripped away. It made him look as though he had been sick a long time, and suddenly the game didn’t seem as fun anymore.
Somers hit the pantry door with a thud.
“Gotcha.”
“I surrender.”
Slowly, Hazard shook his head. “Let’s hear it: what happened at work?”
“Nothing.” Hazard opened his mouth, but Somers held up a hand. “Nothing I want to talk about right now. I don’t want to ruin dinner.”
When Somers tried to slide right, Hazard planted a hand against the wall. When Somers tried to slide left, Hazard’s other hand came down. One dark eyebrow went up.
“What happened at work, John?”
“I spilled coffee.”
Hazard’s hands glided along the wall, closer and closer. “Bullshit. You never spill.”
“I got a paper cut.”
Hazard’s hands were still closing in. “Let me kiss it and make it better.”
“My copies got jammed.”
Hazard didn’t even bother with a reply. His arms slid around Somers now, a loose tangle around Somers’s neck, and Hazard made a low, soft humming noise as he stepped in, the weight of his body pinning Somers to the wall.
“I was—” Somers tried to think, but it was getting difficult. Hazard’s beard tickled; his breath was hot on sensitive skin. Using gentle pressure, the bigger man nuzzled Somers’s head to the side, exposing more of his neck. “I was trying to send a fax—”
The last word dissolved into a moan as Hazard ran his tongue up Somers’s neck.
“What,” Hazard whispered before nipping once at Somers’s neck, “happened at work?”
“I’ll make you pork chops. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll make you—I’ll make you that chocolate fudge cake you like.”
“You’d just go out and buy it and pretend you made it.” Hazard bit Somers’s ear. Not a nip this time.
“No, no,” Somers could hear the reediness in his voice, the slightly desperate note that only made the whole thing hotter. “I’d learn. I’d figure it out.”
Hazard just made another of those low humming noise, skating back down Somers’s neck, his beard burning where it rubbed bare skin—a thrilling kind of burn that made Somers feel totally, a hundred percent, wobbly.
Tracing a spot on Somers’s neck with one thick finger, Hazard said, “I’m going to give you a hickey the size of the moon right here.”
“Shit.”
“Everybody’s going to be able to see it.”
“Shit.”
“Unless you tell me what happened at work today.”
They locked gazes for a moment. Just long enough for Somers to drag himself back from the edge, work up his best attempt at a lazy grin, and say, “I look good with hickeys.”
With a growl, Hazard leaned back down, biting and suckling. Somers could hear himself whimpering. He sounded like a kid, like he’d never been touched before. And then he felt Hazard fumbling with his belt.
Thrashing, Somers said, “Shit, Ree. You’d better not. I’m—oh Jesus. I’m—”
Hazard caught a handful of hair, still working on Somers’s neck, biting and suckling in the way he knew drove Somers wild, and held Somers in place. His hand slid past the waistband of Somers’s trousers, caressing sensitive skin once, twice, before he closed his hand into a circle and began pumping.
“Ree. Ree, I’m going to—oh shit.”
Somers jerked, his back bowing as he thrust into Hazard’s hand, his whole world flaring out for a moment. Then he was back, his knees buckling, as Hazard helped him into a chair.
When their eyes met again, Hazard smiled, just an Emery Hazard smile that most of the world would miss.
“Uh,” Somers said, sprawling bonelessly in his seat. “Hi.”
“Welcome home from work.”
Somers made a strangled noise of pleasure. He reached up, his fingers grazing the spot where Hazard had been working on his neck, and let out another groan.
“This,” Hazard said, “is where we take a break in the interrogation.”
“Ree.”
“I’m going to wash my hand, thank you very much, and then I’m going to finish dinner. And then, after dinner, I’m going to see if I can break you down with a foot rub.”
Somers managed to at least hold his head up and open his eyes. That felt like a major accomplishment. He watched as Hazard scrubbed his hands at the kitchen sink. He watched as Hazard found a towel and dried his hands, running the terrycloth up his big forearms with their dark, silky hair. The bliss of the orgasm was draining out of Somers, and he could see again what he’d seen before: too thin. And shadows under the eyes that, somehow, Somers had missed until now. Like bruises. He wanted to excuse himself, wanted to say that the long, dark hair and the thick dark beard had distracted him; that’s why he hadn’t noticed. But.
“They hired a new guy today,” Somers said.
If Somers hadn’t been watching for it, he would have missed the way Hazard’s hand froze, for only an instant, as he picked up the spoon.
“My job?”
“Well, he’s going to be a detective.”
Hazard stirred the sauce that was still simmering. “But it’s my job, my old job, that they’re hiring him for.”
“He’s just another detective they hired.”
Hazard set the sauce swirling again. Then he retrieved a pot from a lower cabinet and filled it with water at the sink. When he had it on the stove, a gas ring burning blue underneath, he said, “But he’s your partner. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
“We don’t—”
“Sure, he is. Miranda Carmichael and Jonny Moraes are working together. They took Lender and Swinney’s beat. And you need a new partner.”
Somers propped his head in his hand, leaning on the table. He scrubbed at his hair. That spot on his neck throbbed. Hazard had been right; it was going to be one hell of a hickey.
At the stove, Hazard got out dry pasta and set it to one side of the pot of water. He pulled kosher salt, measured it into his hand, and dumped it in the water. Then a few quick twists of the olive oil bottle.
“Will you please say something?”
Hazard looked over at him. “What?”
“It’s all right to be mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You know what I mean.”
Hazard gave another of those tiny smiles. “Apparently I don’t.”
Somers had this vision of himself doing all sorts of dramatic things: burying his face in his hands, throwing his arms out in a wild gesture, kicking a kitchen chair across the room. The last one seemed the most satisfying. Instead he just stayed there, head propped on his hand, feeling like he had a bad case of indigestion.
“I picked up some movies,” Hazard said. “Appropriate movies,” he added with another of those tiny smiles, “that we can have on while the trick-or-tr
eaters are coming. And since Evie is with Cora tonight, I thought we could just take things slow. I’ve got the candy in a bowl, and if we get tired of answering the door we can just leave it on the porch. And—”
“That’s all you’re going to say.”
“What?”
“I told you I got a new partner today. And all you can say is that we’re going to put the candy in a bowl and, Christ, I don’t know, whatever the hell you’re talking about.”
“Technically, I think I’m the one who said he’s your new partner. You just said they hired someone at work today.”
Somers stood up. All of a sudden he felt tired and sick and sticky. He walked out of the kitchen, crossed the living room, and took the stairs up to their bedroom. He peeled out of his clothes, cleaned up with a washcloth at the sink, and then went back into the bedroom. He lay on the bed, naked, staring up at the dark. He wondered what Hazard saw when he lay like this, staring up at nothing. He still felt like he had the worst indigestion of his life.
It was an old house. Stairs creaked. Floorboards creaked. Hinges creaked.
Even the mattress creaked when Hazard lay on his back next to Somers.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Somers laughed. “Oh yeah? What did you do?”
“I don’t know. But I know it was something. And I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything, Ree. You don’t need to apologize. I guess . . . I don’t know, I guess this is a bigger deal for me than it is for you. But I’m freaking out. I don’t want to be partnered with some asshole. I want to work with you.”
Springs groaned as Hazard rolled onto his side. One of his big hands came to rest on Somers’s belly.
“John—”
“I know. I know it’s not going to happen. I’m just trying to tell you how I feel.”
Hazard’s hand slid up to Somers’s cheek. With one finger, he rolled Somers’s head toward him. Then he kissed him.
“Is he?”
“What?”
“An asshole.”
Somers laughed again. “I don’t know. I haven’t even met him. I think he starts Monday.”
Hazard nodded slowly. “So maybe you should wait and see.”
“I guess.”
“Ok. Here’s the plan: no trick-or-treaters tonight. I’ll put the candy out, lock the door, and turn off the lights. We’ll eat dinner in bed. Watch a movie. Call it a night.”
“Spaghetti in bed sounds messy.”
“You’re lucky I know the guy who does all the laundry,” Hazard said, rolling off the bed and onto his feet.
“Ree?”
Hazard’s dark eyebrows rose slightly.
“Thanks.”
For a moment, it looked like Hazard might say something. Then he shrugged and stepped toward the door.
And the rest of the night went more or less as Hazard had said. It was nice to eat in bed, although, as Somers had predicted, messy. And it was nice to cuddle while Young Frankenstein made Somers laugh and Hazard groan. Once or twice, someone rang the doorbell, but Hazard and Somers ignored them.
It wasn’t until the phone rang, much later, that things took a turn.
“Shit,” Somers said. He slid off the mattress and dug through his clothes piled on the floor. Then he had it, pressing it to his ear as he said, “Somerset.”
It was Andrea Ehlers, the new patrol officer who’d been on semi-permanent dispatch duty ever since a string of complaints rolled in during her first week on the job. Her voice was nasally.
“Detective Somerset?”
“Yes. That’s why I said: Somerset.”
“Well, this is Andrea Ehlers at the police station, and I—
“Jesus, Ehlers. What?”
“Schmitty and Carlson need you at the college.”
CHAPTER FIVE
OCTOBER 31
WEDNESDAY
10:46 PM
SOMERS DROVE SOUTHWEST through Wahredua. The town had grown up in stages, and he was driving into its most recent development. Wroxall College was old, almost as old as Wahredua itself, but over the last twenty years it had exploded with new students, new money, and new influence in a sleepy Midwestern town. Where so much of the rest of Wahredua had been built in brick and fieldstone, with narrow streets and old-fashioned buildings, the new area was full of glass and steel. The streets were wide, and so much of the new construction was “mixed use” that Somers felt like every apartment building had its own bar—or maybe it went the other way around.
Wroxall College showed the same mixture of designs and influences. Historically divided into North Quad and South Quad, the original college campus was made up of massive limestone buildings decorated with gargoyles and buttresses and tympana, like some wildly inferior version of Oxford or Cambridge. As the college had grown, however, and money had rolled into the institution, the campus had spread. Some old buildings had come down; many new buildings had gone up. It was like a crash course in 20th-century architecture, Somers thought as he found the police cars on the edge of North Quad. He just wished somebody would tear down all the spaceship buildings they’d put up in the 70s.
Somers counted the cars. It looked like every police officer Wahredua had was out tonight. Even the chief had shown up; Cravens had pulled Carlson, another new hire, off to the side and was talking to her.
When Somers got out of the Mustang, Cravens hailed him and waved him over. He padded across the street, the sound of his steps disappearing into the conversations between police officers. A few of them, like red-headed Patrick Foley, waved to Somers or acknowledged him in another way. Others didn’t. A lot had changed since the Fourth of July.
“Detective Somerset,” Cravens said.
“What do we have?” Somers asked. “Ehlers was Ehlers, so I don’t know shit.”
Cravens didn’t roll her eyes, but it looked like it took an effort. Instead, she nodded at Carlson.
“Murder,” Carlson said. She was slim, making her pregnant belly stand out even more, and her long dark hair was tucked up under her hat. “Some professor. A new guy.”
Somers waited.
With a blush, Carlson took out a small notepad and ran her finger down the front page. “Fabbri. James Fabbri.”
Somers glanced at Cravens.
The chief was an older woman with a long braid of silvery hair. Too many men had underestimated her; the mistake would have been easy because at first glance, she might have passed herself off as someone’s grandmother. But she’d been the first female detective in Wahredua’s history. The first female chief. And she’d navigated dangerous waters to accomplish both of those things. Tonight, her face was closed as she looked at Somers and said, “It’s bad.”
“What?”
Carlson opened her mouth, but Cravens waved a hand. “I want you to see it for yourself,” Cravens said. “And tell me what you think.”
Somers kept his expression even and nodded.
“Carlson, why don’t you take him around, show him. No commentary, please.”
“Of course not, Chief.”
“Detective, we’ve got the witnesses at the station already. You can talk to them after you’ve had a chance to look at the scene.”
“Statements?”
“I’ve got Lloyd and Hoffmeister on it.”
Somers and Carlson headed across the street onto North Quad proper. Two large iron gates stood open; as far as Somers knew, they’d never been closed. Once they passed through the gate, Carlson pointed left and waddled in that direction. She had one hand pressed to the small of her back.
“It’s usually not my back,” she said, catching Somers’s focus on her posture. “I guess because I’m tiny and because he’s so big,” her free hand moved over her belly, “everybody assumes it’s my back.”
“What is it?”
“On patrol?”
“Sure.”
“Honestly?”
“I was mar
ried. I remember my wife being pregnant.”
“The gas.”
Somers laughed, and Carlson’s cheeks colored, but she laughed too.
“And having to pee every five minutes,” Carlson added. “This little guy likes to stand right on my bladder.”
Nodding, Somers said, “By the end, Cora wouldn’t go anywhere farther than a fifteen-minute drive. She wanted to know she could get to a toilet if she had to.”
“Smart,” Carlson said. She turned into the closest building, which made up part of the outer perimeter of North Quad. The door led into a stairwell. “My boyfriend works days and needs somebody to let out his dog, so every day I’m driving half an hour out past St. Elizabeth so Brian the German Shepherd can hump my leg.”
“Half an hour?” Somers said. “Every day?”
Carlson shrugged and pointed up. “Stairs are faster. Top floor. You can’t miss the apartment. I’m going to take the elevator.”
“And this guy knows you work nights?” Somers said.
“Yeah, he’s an asshole. But he’s my asshole.”
Somers took the stairs, and Carlson was right: he couldn’t have missed the apartment. The door was open, and light flooded the dark hallway. Only a handful of other doors lined the hallway, and Somers checked them first: two were storage, and the third was a custodial supply closet. Then he went to the apartment, which he now realized took up most of the top floor.
“Nope,” Norman said. “Not without booties.”
“Good to see you too,” Somers said from the doorway.
Inside the apartment, two officers were collecting evidence from the crime scene. Norman and Gross were both veterans of the force, but they’d never left patrol. Instead, they’d become the department’s informal forensic team. Hazard had never trusted them to do their job right—part of it, Somers could admit, was that Norman and Gross looked like schmucks, pot-bellied and balding and with uniforms that somehow managed to be loose and tight in all the wrong places—but as far as Somers knew, they’d always done a decent job.
“My sciatica is acting up again,” Norman said. “And instead of a bath with epsom salts, where am I?”
“Here,” Somers said.
“Here,” Gross said. “We’re here, even though I’m taping Kimmel to be here.”