Buried Passion: M/M Mpreg Alpha Male Romance (Never Too Late Book 1)

by Aiden Bates

  "Kids do that sometimes. You have to look at the evidence."

  "I have looked at the evidence." Ryan smirked. "Maureen O'Neal had a file with the Department of Children and Families. I mean it's old, don't get me wrong, but here we are." He turned his laptop around and showed the screen to Nick.

  Nick gaped. "How did you even get your hands on that?" He turned his chair to face the omega, finally shocked out of the semi-haze of lust that Ryan's compelling scent had caused. "That's supposed to be confidential!"

  Ryan raised one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "Okay, first of all, while we don't have a positive ID, the balance of probability is that the skeleton does belong to Maureen O'Neal. It's perfectly acceptable to share records with people investigating the death of a client." He turned the laptop back around. "Second, even in a hot case they'd share the information just to help ID the body. It's at the agency's discretion in cases like that. I happen to have an excellent relationship with that agency." He shrugged. "They're willing to share information because we cooperate."

  Nick stared. "That's… that's just not right. We have to come around the whole case from the sides. There's no way of knowing who killed her if we don't know for sure that it is her." He buried his face in his hands for a moment.

  "We should get the ID back any time now. You know what we did get back?" Ryan leaned back in his seat. "Analysis of the matter left with the remains. We have clothing matching items known to have been owned by Maureen O'Neal—specifically, a uniform used by her Catholic high school. We have a set of rosary beads. We have a baseball bat—ash, none of this maple stuff they use these days—and we have a corroded piece of black pipe. Oh, and flowers. Whoever killed her buried her with flowers."

  Nick chewed on the inside of his cheek and stared at his new partner for a long moment. "Okay. That's… That's kind of a lot." He closed his eyes. Ryan shouldn't have any of that, not yet. They hadn't even gone through the old case file yet. They had a process for a reason. "I don't suppose you've got a printout of those reports?" He forced himself to calm down. "We need it, for the binder. The crime scene binder." He thumped a random binder. "I'm sorry, Crime Scene B."

  "Crime Scene B Binder." Ryan nodded. "Right."

  "What we do first, before we go looking at any reports and forming preconceived notions, we go through each and every word of the old case file. Everyone whose name gets mentioned gets a binder. Every victim. Every witness. Every suspect. If someone spoke to them, they get a binder. There's going to be a lot of photocopying, got it?"

  Ryan's eyes narrowed at him. It was the look of someone who was counting to ten, deep in his head. Then he grinned. "Sure, man. Whatever you say."

  "Hey!" Nick slapped his hand down onto the table. "We have the procedures we have in place for a reason, smartass! We do things the way we do them, every time, so that when things hit the fan we can say that we followed the established procedure and did things right! It's not for some punk to come in here and sneer at it! We do things right, the first time, and then we move on. You're not here to teach us the error of our ways; you're here to look good while the real Cold Case detectives do the real work. Got it?"

  Ryan didn't seem the least bit intimidated by his outburst. If he was hurt, he didn't show it. He just leaned back in his seat and smirked. "Wow. Bet you've been saving that one up for a while. Let me guess. Came up with it ever since that exposé about the lack of diversity in this department?" He stood up, slow and sexy, and grabbed his laptop.

  "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Nick grabbed Ryan's arm.

  "Personnel." Nick wasn't entirely sure what Ryan did, but suddenly Nick wasn't holding Ryan's arm anymore. Instead, he was leaning against the table, trying to rub some life into his injured thumb. "Pretty sure the term hostile work environment is going to come into play. I'll probably use a few other choice terms."

  "Getting all hot and bothered that I'm calling them like I see them?" Nick could hear his heart beating in his ears. He didn't know what pissed him off more, the idea that this guy thought he could just walk in and crap all over the process or that he could walk right out again. "You don't have a choice about being here."

  "There's always a choice. And I will choose to hand in my badge and gun before I allow you to take out your resentment on me. I am not less than. I've closed more cases than anyone in your department, if you want to play it that way. I am not here to look good while the real detectives do the work, you sanctimonious pile of skin. I did not, at any point, put up any resistance to your system. You lost your crap and stared shouting. I don't need to put up with that. I am every inch your equal, and you can go directly to hell." With that, Ryan walked out the door.

  Devlin walked in seconds later. His orange face was a mask of disappointment. "So." He made a show of looking around the room. "Shouting, followed by the star detective of the Abused Persons unit walking out of our unit and from the looks of things heading not back to where he came from but down to Personnel. I can see that we're off to an awesome start."

  Nick took a deep breath. "He didn't even wait, sir. He didn't wait to learn the procedure. He'd already gone and done research, pulled reports that he shouldn't have access to, I mean it was a nightmare." He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "I might have blown up a little."

  "It sounded like more than a little." Devlin sat down on the table. "I don't think I've ever seen you explode like that before. Not even at child killers."

  Nick looked up at him. "It was just so presumptuous of him! He thinks he knows how to do this. Everyone thinks they know how to do this. The brass thinks they know our job better than we do."

  "The brass is the brass, and they have their priorities. Their priorities aren't always our priorities." Devlin licked his lips. "The Cold Case Squad is a highly visible unit. And, given everything that's happening in this country right now, the Townsend case is a highly visible case. They wanted to make sure that the people on the face of the case both reflected the diversity of the Commonwealth and were the best detectives that the state police have to offer."

  Nick snorted. "No, they wanted a pretty little omega to sit around and buff his nails or something while the rest of us did the work."

  Devlin's face shifted and tightened, growing frosty. "I had no idea that you had a problem with omegas, Nick. Detective Tran really is one of the best that the state police has. He knows what he's doing. He'd done the research because he has the connections and he wanted to get it done."

  "He's undermining our process!"

  "No. He's doing things differently. I don't think you gave him a chance to undermine the process. I think you just started screaming." Devlin twisted his lips downward and glared at the door. "The two of you had better work this out. If the press gets a hold of the fact that the cops working this very visible, racially charged case can't even be in the same room together, they'll have a field day." He leaned in. "And it will be entirely your fault."

  Devlin left the room, and Nick stared at the pile of binders. Binders that still had to be filled out. If he got started on them now, alone, he could probably finish them within the week. And he wouldn't have to deal with Ryan's suspicious information, either.

  Of course, nothing in the case file had said anything about any of the O'Neals having an abuse record. Nothing in the case file had mentioned the bar where Townsend had been found being only a few doors down from the O'Neals' plumbing shop, either. That would hopefully have come out later in the investigation, but now that he had the knowledge he would be aware enough to look for it.

  And Devlin had been right about one thing. He absolutely had flown off the handle at Ryan. Ryan hadn't done things the way that Nick wanted, and Nick had just unloaded at him. It had been inappropriate, and insulting, and downright wrong. Whatever else happened, Nick needed to go and apologize.

  He waited, though. He waited until he'd filled at least one binder. The repetition soothed him, as did the routine. This was the way things were supposed
to work. This was the proper procedure. If he did the right things, the right way, his butt would be covered, every time.

  Once he had a full binder set up, he got up and trudged down to Abused Persons. The office wasn't that far away, but the march seemed further as Nick's shoes squeaked on the linoleum. He wasn't used to apologizing.

  He showed his ID to the woman behind the counter and looked around. Abused Persons was a bigger department than Cold Case, with a few uniformed troopers as well as a good twenty detectives working phones, filing reports, and talking to witnesses. Ryan himself was sitting at his desk, working on his laptop. His perfect eyebrows were drawn together in concentration and his little pink tongue stuck out, just a little bit.

  Nick swallowed his pride and approached Ryan's desk. He didn't see much there. He saw papers. He saw the nameplate. He saw a coffee cup, and that was all. At least Nick had family pictures on his desk, for crying out loud.

  "What do you want?" Ryan didn't raise his voice, but his glare told Nick that he was still pissed.

  Nick stepped back and raised his hands. "I just came to talk, man."

  "Talk. Right. Talk or shout?" Ryan pushed back from his desk and angled his slender body so that he was looking up at Nick.

  Nick wanted to squirm. Most people were trying hard not to look, but it wasn't like they could avoid the confrontation. "Talk, for preference." He took the visitor chair next to Ryan's desk. "The shouting was actually pretty out of character for me."

  "Mm." Ryan kept his eyes on Nick and fidgeted with a pen.

  Damn it. This was harder than he'd thought it would be. He took a deep breath and let it out. "You're right. I was taking out a lot of my frustrations on you. I still think that we should be doing things the right way, according to the process. But it was wrong for me to start shouting at you. I mean, you'd just agreed to work on it that way." He splayed his hand out on the nearest pile of paper. "A lot of us are uncomfortable with an outsider coming in. We're a pretty tight-knit group."

  "I've noticed."

  "That's not on you, though. And while the kind of work that you do is very different from what we do—like, worlds away—it's still valuable. I don't think we were paired up by accident, either." He thought back to how quickly Devlin had been there. "I think we should give it another try."

  "I don't want to." Ryan shook his head. "I like the work that I do here." He heaved a mighty sigh. "But I also don't want to have to resign."

  "Not exactly the most ringing endorsement, but it's a start." Nick offered a little grin and held out a hand.

  Ryan shook it. Nick couldn't help but be shocked with the warmth coming off of the omega's body. They'd resolved the negativity for now, but he still didn't know if he'd be able to work with the handsome omega.

  Chapter Two

  Ryan looked at the sea of binders that he and Nick had put together. He wasn't impressed by this method, but it was the squad's procedure for solving cases and he could see at least a few advantages to it. They wouldn't be cold cases if they were easy to solve, and using the binders made it more likely that every possible suspect would be interviewed and discussed.

  He reached out and grabbed another, empty binder. Nick frowned at him. "What are you doing?"

  Ryan stiffened at the peremptory tone. Then he forced himself to loosen up. He wasn't going to be a junior partner in this, damn it. "Why do we have the binders, Nick?"

  "To make sure we've covered all our bases with the suspects and witnesses." Nick didn't hesitate, just spat out the answer. "So what?"

  "So why not do the same thing for crime scenes and pieces of evidence, too? That way we make sure we've run down each and every lead that we can." He picked up a photo from the dump site where the girl's body had been found. "Like this piece of black pipe. We don't know what the significance is of that black pipe. We don't know if that's the murder weapon for the girl, or for Townsend, or for both. But it was found with her corpse, so we have to look into it."

  Nick bit the inside of his cheek. "I guess that makes sense." He looked away for a moment. "Sorry. I didn't mean to jump down your throat. I'm not always great with change."

  "It's fine." It wasn't fine. It was irritating as hell, actually, but Ryan wasn't going to say anything about it. That little nugget of resentment might have been the only thing that was keeping him professional right now, instead of acting on his instinct to climb into Nick's lap and stick his tongue down his throat. "Have you heard anything back from the ME's office about the official ID?"

  "Got an email just a couple of minutes ago. They tracked down her younger brother. Actually both of her brothers are still living in Southie." Nick massaged the back of his own neck. "They're both plumbers. They took over their old man's shop when he passed. Anyway, Steve O'Neal went down to the coroner's office and ID'ed some of the personal effects with the vic's remains." He shook his head. "I'm not sorry I missed out on being there for that."

  Ryan pressed his lips together. "I am. I've learned a lot from seeing the reactions of family." He massaged his temples. There was nothing he could do about the omission now. "Which particular items did he think were hers?"

  "There was a pendant she used to wear. It was some kind of etched thing with a peacock on it. She was still wearing it when workers found her." Nick straightened up. "I'll have someone down in evidence get pictures of all of the evidence and everything. They didn't release anything back to the family, you know, just in case."

  "Awesome." Ryan stood up. "They got pictures of everything in situ too, so that's helpful too. What do you say that we go and check out the scene?"

  Nick tilted his head to the side. "That's not something we usually do at this point." He put his hands on the table. "I guess we might as well, though. It would give us a better feel for the place. You know, before we get any preconceived notions."

  Ryan did his best not to react, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of his chair instead. He just wanted to get going.

  Nick drove the pair into Boston. There wasn't any question about that; he just led the way out to his black Ford Focus. Ryan considered offering to meet him there, but decided against it after a second's thought. Trying to find parking for two cars in South Boston wouldn't outweigh the hazards of having to breathe in Nick's anise scent. Ryan would rather choose his battles carefully.

  Nick definitely seemed to relax a little once they were on the road. His shoulders lost that pinched look, and his face lost some of its tightness. "So," he said as they pulled out onto Concord Street, "where do you come from?"

  Ryan got that a lot. "Lowell, originally." He looked out the window. "I'm in Marlborough now though. Loving that suburban life. How about you?" He didn't want to talk about Lowell. He never wanted to talk about Lowell. No one ever wanted to talk about Lowell; they just didn't realize that they didn't want to talk about Lowell until Ryan did talk about Lowell, when everyone regretted their life choices.

  "Me? I live in Ashland. Have ever since they put me on the squad." He grinned. "It's a nice enough place, you know? Quiet. That's exactly what a guy needs when he's done with a long day at this kind of job, you know? It's to go home and not be reminded of the job."

  Ryan chuckled a little bit as Nick pulled onto the Pike. "Tell me about it." He smirked. "I'm pretty sure that everyone else in my complex feels the same way, though. I've got three other cops, two CPS workers and one ER nurse, all in the same complex."

  "Wow." Nick laughed a little, and Ryan tried not to look. God, but Nick looked good when he smiled. "People've got to be coming and going at all hours."

  "Yeah. That took me a little while to get used to, all right. But then again, I know I'm in the safest place in Massachusetts, so I learned to relax pretty quickly." Ryan fiddled with his seat belt. "One of the cops works for Marlborough's K-9 unit. You should meet his partner. Cutest little fuzzball you've ever seen, and he loves donuts."

  "For real?" Nick made a face. "Shouldn't feed a dog donuts, man. His vest isn't going to fit."r />
  Ryan held up his hands. "I don't know. I'd say he gets plenty of exercise, but I’m not a vet."

  "My dad's a Boston cop. Works on the bomb squad." Nick changed lanes to get around a slow-moving construction vehicle.

  "Wow. So it's a father and son kind of thing." Ryan had no idea what his father had done for a living. His mom had never bothered to tell him. Maybe she hadn't known herself. "Cool."

  Nick's smile faded a little bit. "Actually it's not just my dad. My dad, my two brothers, my aunt Nadine, and both of my grandfathers. All cops."

  "I guess they wrapped you up in an electric blue blankie at the hospital the day you were born, huh?" Ryan shifted in his seat. "They all in Boston?"

  "Nah. Dad and Nadine are. My brothers are in Salem and Fall River." Nick cleared his throat. "It's actually a little weird. I mean, both my dad and my grandfathers were Boston cops when the busing thing happened."