Variable Onset

by Layla Reyne

“Appears so.”

  “Were Zia and Anthony just passing through? Their licenses listed home addresses in the DC area.”

  “Maybe passing through, or they could have had some connection to Apex U. I’m waiting on the full hospital records. Didn’t have time to dig much further yet. In any event, I found this connection, called Beverley, and that’s when he told me about the letter that had just arrived for Kirk.”

  “A letter sent from the same county as the hospital where two victims passed through.” Lincoln looked up from the graphs, a begrudging smile on his lips. “Not bad, Agent Warren.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  Pink streaked across Lincoln’s cheeks, and Carter was glad for the table that hid his body’s reaction. Compliments also brought about that attractive blush, maybe even a deeper one than ruffling Lincoln’s feathers. Noted. Carter went for another, seeing as his interested dick was so helpfully hidden. “But I won’t spot everything you can. If you can do that much, I can take care of the rest.”

  Lincoln shifted back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other toward Carter—did he even realize what he was doing?—and glanced around the room meaningfully. “Our cover.”

  “I wasn’t lying before,” Carter said. “I was planning to talk to you about it first, except I got here, picked up the keys from the Realtor, because I figured you’d be late due to the weather, started to unpack, and not ten minutes later, Susanne and the welcoming committee arrived.”

  “And you decided to throw a spontaneous housewarming party?”

  “Not that hard.”

  Lincoln tipped back his head, resting it atop the chair back. “Spoken like a true frat boy.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Lincoln righted his head so fast Carter wouldn’t be surprised if the professor were dizzy. As it were, Carter liked that look of surprise. He wasn’t sure of the ranking yet—blush, surprise, anger—but all of them looked good on Lincoln Monroe. He aimed to see more of them while also collaring a killer or two.

  “I’m a good field agent,” he said. “I saw an opportunity and I jumped on it. With a few texts, Susanne had most of the town’s major players here. I’ve got a lay of the land, a general idea of who’s who, and if Dr. Fear, or the copycat, is here in Apex, they know we are too now.”

  “You really think this is the best strategy? If the copycat holds to Dr. Fear’s schedule, we’ve only got thirty-four hours left to rescue Ruby and Chase. We can’t sacrifice them for the sake of playing house. Is this the best—and fastest—way to get the info we need?” His voice was earnest; he wasn’t asking sarcastically. He was asking Carter’s opinion as a more experienced field agent.

  “I do,” Carter answered. “But we both have to be able to sell this cover. I’ve got no problem doing that. Do you?”

  “Fuck, you’re cocky.”

  Carter grinned. “About what I’m good at, yeah.”

  “Fine.” He sighed dramatically, prickly and put-upon, but Carter guessed it was mostly an act. Lincoln was also a good agent. Maybe not as experienced in the field as him but experienced enough to realize this was a decent plan. “We’ll do this your way, for now.”

  He started to stand, and Carter grasped his forearm, halting his ascent. “Wait, please, we need to discuss something else first, related to the cover.” He withdrew his hand, giving Lincoln distance for what he was about to ask, sensing he might need that too. “Where’s the line, as far as our cover? I overstepped earlier tonight, in the foyer, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t want to do that again. I won’t do more than you say is okay.”

  Lincoln lowered himself back into the chair. “Thank you for that,” he said softly, genuinely, before the needles reappeared. “Just don’t lay one on me, and we’ll be fine.”

  Carter needled him right back. “Only if you ask me to.”

  Lincoln ignored the invitation and kept talking. “And don’t call me Linc. Lincoln or L are fine, just not Linc.”

  Must be a story there; Carter would have to get it later. He sensed he’d pushed Lincoln far enough tonight. “No ‘Linc,’ got it.”

  Lincoln shot him a side-eye glare, as if judging the likelihood of his compliance.

  “I swear!”

  The suspect glare melted on a laugh that was sadly cut short by Lincoln’s ringing phone. He drew it out of his pocket, and Carter recognized the number as originating from Quantico.

  “Agent Monroe,” Lincoln answered.

  “Monroe, this is Director Beverley.”

  Speaker, Carter mouthed, and Lincoln clicked it on, setting the phone on the table between them.

  “You made it to Apex?” Beverley continued.

  “Barely, but yes,” Lincoln answered. “Any developments there?”

  “Nothing new.”

  Lincoln propped his elbows on the table and scrubbed his hands over his face, clearly tired and upset by the lack of momentum there. Giving him time to gather himself, Carter spoke of the progress they’d made here. “We’ve established cover,” he said. “We’ll head into town tomorrow. Check in at the university and police station to firmly establish cover and assess our resources. We’ll keep you posted.”

  “Regular reports expected.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He moved to end the call, but paused, finger over the red button, when Lincoln asked, “How’s Ollie?”

  Ollie? Oliver?

  “Senator Kirk remains on alert,” Beverley answered. “He asked me to thank you again for doing this.”

  “Of course,” Lincoln snapped, seemingly offended at the gratitude. This was obviously more than just business for him.

  Sensing his partner’s nose-diving mood, Carter wrapped up the call, promising a check-in after their morning meetings. He pushed the silent device to Lincoln, who pocketed it and stood.

  “Maybe I should head over to the library. Get started on those archives.”

  Carter caught his wrist and stopped him from turning away. Lincoln flinched, his pulse hammering under Carter’s thumb. “Easy,” Carter coaxed. He glided his thumb over the inside of Lincoln’s wrist, aiming to soothe the professor and himself. He’d shaken Lincoln’s hand before, eight years ago on the first and last days of class, and touched him more than a few times tonight. Stood by his side, his hand on Lincoln’s lower back. Grasped his forearm just a moment ago. But electricity hadn’t zipped down his spine any of those times like it did now.

  Another swipe of his thumb, over the pressure point he’d been after, and Lincoln’s shoulders relaxed, as did his chin, lowering to his chest. “Sorry, gotta get used to it still.”

  “We both do.” Carter gave the pressure point another massage and more of the tension faded. Lincoln sank back into the chair. Another five minutes, and he’d melt into a puddle on the floor. Carter was after a little more information first. “One, we don’t have after-hours access to the library yet. And two, you’re exhausted and upset. You’re tight with Kirk?”

  Carter didn’t resist when Lincoln withdrew his hand. “He was my mentor.”

  “Figured as much, since he was the last one to hunt Dr. Fear.”

  “I interviewed him when I was working on my thesis, then was his assistant the last time Dr. Fear was active. But it’s not just the work connection.” He ran a hand through his hair, then, elbow on the table, rested his head in it. “My parents are back in California, and we’re not close. My ex-wife’s family is in Puerto Rico. Ollie became our family in DC, took us into his. Ruby is like a niece to me, and she’s terrified of water. We used to go to the beach with them, a week every summer, and the screened-in back porch was as close as she would get to the ocean. The thought of someone drowning her...” He turned his face into his hand. “Every hour she’s gone...”

  “Is another hour she and Chase likely won’t come home.” Carter knew the statistics too. He laid his h
and on Lincoln’s back. No flinch this time, a good sign. “Go get some sleep and be ready to put your game face on in the morning. We’ve got breakfast with Susanne and company at Flour Power.”

  Lincoln rotated his face, a single eye and cocked brow visible. Oh, if there was an I’m-judging-you emoji, that face was it. “Flour Power?”

  “According to Susanne, the town hippie opened a café.”

  “Would’ve never guessed,” Lincoln said, standing.

  Carter followed, remaining close, but still some distance between them. Not much, though. Lincoln needed to get used to Carter in his space, and Carter selfishly wanted to steal one more moment of the other man’s heat, in case Lincoln woke up tomorrow and decided this was all a terrible idea. “I moved your stuff into the master down here. I’m in one of the bedrooms upstairs.”

  The last bit of tension in Lincoln’s body floated away on a quiet “Thank you.”

  Carter gave his wrist a light, parting squeeze, then turned for the stairs. “Holler, if you need anything,” he said, voice raised.

  “Which of the accents is real?”

  Hand on the banister, Carter grinned over his shoulder. And wiped the Georgia accent away in favor of New Jersey. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Chapter Four

  As Lincoln expected, the Wrangler was gone in the morning. He’d phoned Susanne and sure enough, it had been towed. She apologized profusely. “I’m so sorry,” she’d said. “Coffee on me this morning, and I’ll have the tow company return it to your driveway by end of day.” And in case he’d missed the emphasis on driveway, she’d tacked on that it was a strange car, parked at the curb in front of her house against HOA rules. She didn’t have any option but to have it towed.

  Carter had shoved a coffee mug at him, shutting up his reply about choices and the dozen other cars parked at the curb last night. “Not enough time to pick up,” Carter said, as he’d rushed them out the door. Did Carter actually know the meaning of the words?

  Lincoln had been groggy enough, and the coffee had been heavenly enough, to distract him. He wished he had another cup of it now to distract him from the gauntlet that lay ahead. If the Polkses’ house had been the place to be last night, Flour Power was the place to be this morning. The café was packed.

  But it did look neat and well-kept in there. Which was more than Lincoln could say about Carter’s Forester out here. It just looked kept. A thermos in one of the cup holders. How long had it been there? What was growing inside it? A stack of fleece blankets in the back seat. When was the last time they’d been washed? File boxes in the trunk. Had Lincoln read the date right on them? Eight years’ worth? And how many lottery tickets did Carter have clipped in the driver’s-side visor?

  The car was maddeningly consistent with the state of the kitchen this morning. It had killed Lincoln not to empty the coffeepot and wash out their mugs before leaving, but after the long day and night yesterday, he’d overslept, and they were running late. Even later after the Wrangler debacle.

  “Problem?” asked the smirking man in the driver’s seat. He’d ditched last night’s smart casual in favor of jeans, a blue long-sleeve Henley, and a leather jacket. The combination was likewise maddening. Made Lincoln want to... No, he wasn’t going there. This was a cover, nothing more. Nothing to the sizzle he’d felt when Carter had touched him last night. Nothing to the warmth that blanketed him whenever Carter invaded his space. Nothing to the surprising kindness that belied the smug grin. It wouldn’t last. They were complete opposites, and Lincoln wouldn’t bring someone else into his family’s life that could hurt them.

  Lincoln cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “It’s very lived in.”

  “I spend more time in this car, going from assignment to assignment, than I do at my apartment. And besides, you’re still here, avoiding going in there.”

  Lincoln stared out the windshield at the crowded café across the street from the university lot where they’d parked. Occupied booths in varying shades of pastel ran the length of the plate glass windows. The center tables were mostly claimed, and diners sat shoulder to shoulder at the counter. He counted heads. More people than were at the house last night. “We’re on the clock,” he said. “Ruby and Chase have twenty-seven hours left. I need to get to the library and start going through those archives. I don’t understand why I need to be here.”

  “Why don’t you want to go in?”

  “I’m not the best in these situations,” he said, “if you couldn’t tell that from the party.”

  “You were confident, at first.”

  “When I was still pissed at you, then reality intruded.”

  He’d been awkward at the party, shifting foot to foot in his wet sneakers, letting Carter do most of the talking. Stage fright compounded by an overwhelming sense of what the fuck was going on. He had a better grip on the latter this morning, but the former would never go away. Not unless he completely knew his role, inside and out, like when he was teaching or working on a case. Then he could push down the anxiety with the confidence of his expertise. But a café full of strangers...

  “I need your expert eyes in there. Like the party last night, it’s another gathering, another sample of the Apex population. You may notice something forensically or genetically relevant.”

  “Or I may make an awkward fool of myself.”

  “You’re supposed to be the nerdy librarian.” Carter flicked one end of the argyle scarf Lincoln had snagged on the way out the door. “Awkward works for you.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “Come on, I’ll be your designated extrovert.”

  Lincoln couldn’t stop his laugh. “No shit.”

  Carter flashed him a grin, then climbed out of the car. Lincoln followed, the two of them walking side by side across the parking lot. Just shy of the entrance, Carter halted Lincoln with a hand on his shoulder. “One more thing.”

  “Now what?” he snapped, more harshly than intended. “Sorry.” He pointed at himself. “Requires more coffee.”

  “Is that all?”

  Lincoln glared, Carter smiled, crisis averted.

  “We were in our home last night,” Carter said, still grinning. “Displays of affection seemed appropriate. But how do you want to play them in public? Even real couples have to have this conversation.”

  There was that damn kindness again, and it caught Lincoln off guard, same as it had last night. Carter was definitely flirting—Lincoln would be a fool not to see that—but he was also respecting the boundaries Lincoln had set. Like a good partner.

  “L, you with me?”

  And he respected that rule of Lincoln’s too.

  “Sorry, you just surprised me,” he admitted.

  “In a good way, I hope.”

  “Yeah.” Heat climbed his neck to his cheeks. Because of the cold; that’s all it was.

  Carter wasn’t buying that any more than Lincoln did, but Carter thankfully let it go. “So, where do you want to draw the line for PDA? Hand-holding, touching, making out...” He grinned wider, and Lincoln took back every good thought he’d had about him.

  “Cocky,” he muttered.

  Which earned him another smirk, except Lincoln could tell when it shifted from genuine to practiced. “We’ve been spotted,” Carter said, gaze gliding to the side. “So you’re on the clock.”

  Lincoln peeked the same direction. Susanne, her wife, Jennifer, and another woman were in the pale-yellow booth, all of them watching him and Carter with rapt attention. He held his hand out to Carter before he could reconsider. “I think you better take this before I run away screaming. As for the other two, TBD, and no, I’m not an exhibitionist.”

  Carter’s big warm hand closed around his. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

  Fucking maddening.

  * * *

  “So, how’d you two meet?�
��

  Lincoln jolted at the question, voiced by a Jerry Garcia lookalike who’d stepped to the end of their booth. It was an abrupt interruption in the conversation he and Carter had been having with Susanne, Jennifer, and their friend Lydia Osler, a psychologist at the county hospital and adjunct professor at Apex U. Carter had been skillfully extracting information out of them—about the university, Apex, and the who’s who of townsfolk who weren’t at the party. He’d deftly directed the conversation so that Susanne, Jennifer, and Lydia did most of the talking. Saving Lincoln from his fumbling awkwardness. Until flour-covered Jerry crashed the party.

  “Barry,” Susanne hissed.

  Because that wasn’t confusing or anything.

  “What?” the older man said. “Y’all been giving them two—” he waggled a finger at Lincoln and Carter “—all kinds of information, and they’ve given you jack-shit.”

  The women tittered, and Carter chuckled. “You’ve been listening,” he said to Barry.

  “Was my job for more than forty years. Hard habit to break.”

  “Shrink?” Lincoln guessed.

  “Cop,” Carter countered.

  Barry slid a heaping basket of steaming biscuits in front of Carter. “Winner.”

  Lydia reached across the table and snagged one off the top. “Barry was the police chief until a few years back.”

  “And opened a café?” Carter said.

  “Wife did, decades ago. Now that I’m retired and got time, if I want to spend that time with her, I gotta be here. And I make better biscuits than she does.”

  Jennifer leaned in and lowered her voice. “This place is always popular, but it’s real popular on Saturdays.” She jutted a thumb at Barry.

  Lincoln returned her conspiratorial whisper. “How’s that work? Apex goes without biscuits the rest of the week?”

  “Trudy makes everything else better than me.” Barry patted his big belly. “Fifty years of good eatin’ and good lovin’.”

  “We’ll look forward to meeting her,” Carter said, grin widening.

  “You’re a slick one.” Barry narrowed his eyes at Carter, even as one corner of his mouth curved up. “And you didn’t answer my question.”