Stiff: A Stepbrother Romance (Includes bonus novel Cocked!)

by Hamel, B. B.

  “I have to admit, it’s a tempting theory.”

  “You know about my involvement with the original case.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you know how close to all this I am. I think whoever is doing this is coming after me.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know.” I paused and paged through the photographs. “There’s one more thing.”

  “You’ve been busy,” he muttered.

  “This one wasn’t me, actually.” I stopped when I found what I was looking for and pulled the picture out. One glance confirmed my suspicions. “How much of the original case file did you see?”

  “Some. Not much. What the FBI sent had a lot of redactions.”

  “That’s because I still have the original.” I held up a hand when I saw the look on his face. “Sorry, Sloan. I didn’t know who to trust.”

  “Jesus, Easton. You said you were going to share that with us. I figured you didn’t have it.”

  “I’m sharing it now. I didn’t know who to trust with this. But look.” I pointed at the picture. “See this? Her left hand. The pinky finger is cut all the way to the bottom.” I fished in my pocket and pulled out a photocopied picture. “This is from one of the original killings. Left hand, pinky finger cut only to the second knuckle.”

  Sloan studied the pictures. “So what does this prove?”

  “We never released the detail about the pinky. It was meant to prove whoever we caught was the real killer.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. “So whoever is doing this killing is very intimate with the case, but not an insider.”

  “Right. I think it rules out someone that worked with Seed originally, or Seed himself.”

  Sloan shook his head, handing the pictures back to me. “This is a lot to take in, Easton. And you holding back information from us is a big deal.”

  “I’m aware. But I think I can narrow down the number of suspects to just a few.”

  “And are these people you’ll let me investigate?”

  I nodded. “No more secrets, Sheriff. I want to catch this mother fucker.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “So do I.”

  We stood there in silence for another minute, surveying the scene together. Anger rushed through me again, anger at the killer, and a profound sadness for all the lives lost.

  Back during the original Seed case, I hadn’t meant to kill him. That was self-defense. But if I got another chance, I’d go ahead and do it all again. I’d pull that trigger without a second thought.

  I handed Sloan his file back, turned, and walked back to my car.

  “Send me those names,” he called after me.

  I just waved, climbing into my car.

  My mind was still on Laney as I drove home, despite my conversation with Sloan.

  I knew I should be working the case harder, but I also knew that I couldn’t do it alone. Laney had made me realize that. I had seen something in her from the start, saw that she was smart as hell and braver than I could have guessed. But it wasn’t until she’d noticed a detail that I had completely overlooked that I realized just how close to the case I was, and just how much I needed her help.

  Part of me wished she were just the normal college girl that she seemed. I wished she was boring, regular, nothing special. That way I wouldn’t be spiraling into something with her, spiraling into the deep-seeded want for her body.

  As I drove, it became clearer and clearer to me that I needed to come clean to her.

  For as long as I could remember since the case, I had been holding in a secret. It was something that I swore I’d never tell anyone, something I swore I’d take to my grave. But I knew that it was an important detail, and something that Laney should probably know. She may even make a connection that I was overlooking.

  Still, I wasn’t going to tell Sloan. I’d have to make her promise to keep it to herself; otherwise, everything I’d gone through would be for nothing. Whether I could trust her or not wasn’t totally clear, but I knew I had to take the chance.

  If I was going to catch the bastard, I had to do everything I could.

  Now, I had Sloan working with me. He knew just about as much as I did, and he would likely have more resources. Once he had the full case file, maybe he’d even be able to crack the fucking thing.

  Ultimately, I didn’t care who caught the guy, so long as he was caught and the killings stopped.

  I hated asking for help. I hated needing help. But I knew I needed Laney and the police department. I wasn’t in the FBI anymore. I didn’t have a partner or the resources that I had once been used to.

  I turned into the driveway to our house. The lights were mostly off, and our parents still weren’t home. I knew Laney was upstairs somewhere, and she had better have the security system set.

  I climbed out of my car and walked up toward the front door.

  I almost overlooked it. I almost walked right past it. But luckily, as I glanced down to pick out the door key from my keychain, I noticed the small brown envelope on the ground right next to the doormat.

  It didn’t have any writing or postage. I bent over and gingerly picked it up.

  It felt light, but there was something clearly inside it.

  Curious, I tore open the top and reached inside.

  It was square and plastic-feeling. I pulled it out.

  My fucking heart almost stopped.

  I dropped it instantly, my eyes wide, shock ringing through my core.

  On the ground, staring up at me, was my dead partner’s face immortalized in his FBI badge.

  Martin’s FBI badge.

  My old partner’s badge sat alone on my front door step, staring back at me from the past.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Laney

  I heard the door open downstairs and the alarm go off. Fear shot through me briefly until the system was disabled a second later.

  “Dad?” I called out. “Easton?”

  I walked down the stairs and saw him. He looked haggard, and the look in his eyes sent shivers down my spine.

  “Easton, what’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “I . . . fuck,” he mumbled, trailing off. He held out a brown envelope.

  I took it and looked inside. Worry flooded my mind. I’d never seen Easton speechless before, much less not trying to hide it. Inside the envelope, I found a plastic badge and pulled it out.

  “Martin Rodriguez? Is this your partner?”

  He nodded slowly. “That’s his badge.”

  “How could his badge end up here?”

  “I don’t know, Laney. I found it outside on the steps.”

  It hit me immediately. “The killer?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. The killer.”

  Chills ran down my spine. “He was here.”

  “Right outside.”

  “Easton.” My eyes went wide. “What does this mean?”

  The fear in his expression was slowly being replaced by anger and exhaustion. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Come on.” He led me away from the door and into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed himself a beer, cracking it open. I shook my head when he offered me one. “It’s a long story,” he said, sitting down across from me.

  “I read about what happened. In the files.”

  “The files are wrong.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Aren’t they based on what you said happened?”

  “Laney,” he said slowly, “I lied about what happened that night.”

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  He sighed. “Most of what I said happened, but one key detail is different. Just . . . listen.”

  I sat back, afraid and mystified, as he began to talk. I could see it all, every detail, almost like a movie in my head.

  Martin was older, in his fifties, and was on his way out, which was part of why they matched him up with Easton to begin with. Easton figured they
wanted to try to teach him something, maybe give him some wisdom from the old guard.

  The only thing Easton had learned so far was that Martin hated the rain.

  “It’s always like this when we’re on a stakeout,” he grumbled.

  “Nah,” Easton said. “It’s just that you only ever notice when it is.”

  Martin gave him a look. “I know the psychology behind it, kid.”

  Easton just shrugged and leaned back in his seat. He’d been on edge, heavily on edge, ever since they’d pulled up outside the totally boring suburban house. They’d been sitting there for a few hours,

  “Where the hell are they?” Martin said after a long stretch of silence.

  “They’re coming,” Easton replied.

  “We called over an hour ago. There’s no reason they’re not here yet.”

  “We did say that it wasn’t important,” Easton said.

  “So? We’re the fucking FBI. When we call, you come running.”

  “Could be something else happening. It’s a small town, after all.”

  Martin just cursed and crossed his arms.

  Easton knew what that look meant, and he had a bad feeling. The years had not tempered Martin’s impatience or his hatred of murderers. In fact, as far as Easton could tell, Martin was one of the most intense and passionate agents in his section.

  Still, it was his case. Easton had tracked this scumbag, had gotten so obsessed that he began to think like that guy. He had found the new body, had found the extra evidence. It was his operation.

  But that never mattered to Martin.

  “We have to wait,” Easton said. “We need backup before we talk with this guy.”

  “Come on, kid, haven’t I taught you anything?” Martin said. “This is just some old, fat fucking guy. We’re not even here to arrest him.”

  “Still,” Easton said, “he’s dangerous.”

  “Maybe. We’re not sure he’s the killer.”

  “He is. DNA doesn’t lie.”

  “Okay,” Martin said, “maybe he is. How do you think he’ll react when a cop car pulls up outside his house?”

  Easton sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, Mart. Forget it.”

  “Fuck it,” Martin said, opening the door. “I’m going.”

  “Martin, fuck you. Wait!”

  But Martin had already climbed out of the car.

  Easton had no other choice. He followed quickly, his nerves flaring. They were about to come face to face with a killer, and Martin barely seemed to care.

  He caught up with Martin, and they ascended the front steps together. Martin opened the screen door and knocked a few times on the thick, green wooden door.

  They waited, Easton leaning back on his heels. He subtly checked his gun, heart pounding.

  The door opened a crack. “Yes?”

  That voice. Those eyes. Easton’s heart was hammering like crazy. It was him. It had to be him. It was the killer Easton had been tracking for so damn long, had put so much energy into capturing.

  “Lester Seed?” Martin asked.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Mr. Seed, my name is Special Agent Rodriguez, and this here is—”

  The door slammed shut and Easton heard running inside the house.

  “Shit,” Martin said. “Probable cause?”

  Easton didn’t have a chance to reply, because Martin was already shoving open the door. Seed hadn’t locked it in his rush.

  The rain started coming down heavier.

  They moved into the house.

  The first thing that struck Easton was how normal it looked. The man that lived there, Lester Seed, was a long-time serial killer. He was one of the most successful and sickest killers out there, and yet his home looked like any other middle class, white collar worker’s.

  Clean living room. Clean kitchen. Pictures on the walls. There was a sound toward the back of the house.

  “Seed, we just want to talk,” Martin called out, moving forward.

  Easton put his hand on his weapon, unstrapping the catch. He was ready to draw.

  “Hold on,” he said, but Martin wasn’t listening. He strode forward, toward the noise.

  “Mr. Seed, we just want to chat.” Martin’s hand was on his weapon also, but he hadn’t made a move to un-holster it.

  Easton caught sight of Seed. His face was maniacal, a huge grin. He bolted toward the back, and Martin followed.

  “Stop!” Easton yelled, but he was talking to Martin, not Seed.

  Martin didn’t listen. He ran after Seed through the house, turning blind corners. Easton followed, chasing fast, his heart hammering.

  It happened in an instant. They turned a corner without checking first, and Seed moved way quicker than Easton would have guessed. The knife flashed out, catching Martin, cutting deep. Blood welled up, and Martin made a sound that Easton would never forget.

  And then the gun was in his hand. Seed’s knife flashed again, cutting Martin again, and then he turned toward Easton.

  Easton fired. Four shots, deafening in the tiny space. He couldn’t have missed if he had tried.

  The red bloomed thick across Seed’s chest as he toppled to the ground.

  Easton stood over Seed, but he wasn’t moving. His eyes stared, seeing nothing.

  “Martin,” Easton said.

  He pulled his phone out and made the 9-1-1 call. Backup arrived within minutes.

  Martin was gone before he reached the hospital.

  I watched him for a few minutes after he finished the story, letting his words sink deep into my skin. He finished off the beer, stood up, and got another one.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Now you know everything.”

  “Easton,” I said softly.

  “Do you understand what it means?”

  I nodded. “You took the blame.”

  He didn’t say anything, just opened the beer and sat back down.

  “But why?” I pressed. “Your whole career was ruined because of it. Wasn’t that your dream job?”

  He nodded. “It was like a dream, yeah. And when Seed’s knife sank into Martin’s skin, I woke the fuck up real fast.”

  “You didn’t need to take the blame.”

  “Martin was a good man,” Easton said. “He had a family. He was respected. But he was dead. At least I could maybe try to come back, try to fix my name. Martin never could. He would forever be known as the agent that got himself killed by breaking protocol and rushing after a known killer.”

  I was totally shocked. I couldn’t believe what Easton was willing to sacrifice for that man. Martin had almost gotten them both killed, and yet Easton had destroyed his whole career and his reputation for him.

  “But why the badge?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said, frustrated and angry. “I really don’t.”

  Easton hadn’t rushed in. He hadn’t gotten Martin killed. In fact, he had tried to save his life but had failed. All this time he had lived with that fact while the world saw him as an impulsive and reckless failure that had gotten a man killed.

  I couldn’t even begin to imagine the sheer weight of that lie. I understood why he had done it, but it was just so big.

  I reached out and took his hand. “How have you been dealing with it?”

  He smirked. “You saw my office. Not well.”

  I shook my head, amazed. “You need to tell someone.”

  “No,” he said forcefully. “And you can’t either.”

  “But why? You can clear your name.”

  “No,” he repeated, moving his hand. “If you tell anyone, then everything I’ve gone through will have been for nothing.”

  I gaped at him. “Easton, come on.”

  “Listen to me. We will use this information together, but it goes no further than this table.”

  “Okay,” I said softly.

  “Swear.”

  “I swear. I won’t tell anyone.”

  He relaxed slightly. “I don’t know how useful that in
formation is anyway.”

  “It has to be important,” I said. “Martin’s badge wouldn’t have been left here for no reason. Everything that happened with you, Martin, and Seed is important.”

  Easton stared at me. “So what do you think?”

  I stood up and walked around the table, taking his face in my hands. “I don’t know. But you’re fucking crazy.”

  He grinned. “Yeah. I know.”

  I kissed him then, deep and hard. He pulled me down into his lap, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me back.

  It turned frenzied, hungry. I felt his hands roam my body, and after a second he stood, carrying me up toward his room.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Easton

  I felt unburdened.

  Like a fucking weight had been lifted off my chest.

  That secret, that lie, had been weighing me down ever since that day over a year ago. I hadn’t told a single soul about the truth, but telling Laney was the right thing to do. Just finally telling the true story out loud made me feel incredibly light.

  And it helped that it was Laney who heard it. I kissed her rough and hard as I pressed her down onto my bed, practically tearing off her clothes.

  I wanted her more than I ever had before. I wanted to fuck her deep, slowly, and rough, wanted to make her moan my name again and again. I pulled off her shirt and unhooked her bra, kissing her neck and pressing her breasts together.

  “Fuck, Laney,” I whispered in her ear. “You make me fucking crazy.”

  “Same to you,” she said back, laughing.

  “I know that already.” I slipped my hand down between her legs, pressing my fingers against her pussy. “I can feel it every time.”

  I unbuttoned her pants and pressed my hand down beneath her panties, needing to feel her clit, to touch her soaked skin. Her pussy was wet as always, soaked and ready for me, and that only drove me wilder. I began to rub her clit gently, and she writhed and moaned under my touch.

  “Careful,” I said, “can’t be too loud. Never know when the parents might come home."

  “Fuck it,” she said.

  I laughed. “Laney, since when did you get a dirty mouth?”

  She blushed. “You’re a bad influence.”

  “I disagree. I’m a wonderful influence. You’re just a very, very bad girl.” I slipped a finger deep inside her and she gasped. “A very bad girl. You love having your stepbrother’s finger deep inside your soaked cunt, don’t you?”