Stranger on the Shore

by Josh Lanyon

  “He’s not alive, Pierce,” Griff said. How was it that Pierce didn’t instantly realize that?

  “He might be.”

  “No.” Griff caught Pierce’s arm, stopping him, drawing him back a step. “No, he isn’t. Don’t touch him.”

  Pierce looked at him in disbelief, his eyes black in his white face. Griff realized that although Pierce was older and more experienced in almost every conceivable way, this was not one of the conceivable ways. Griff was the expert here. Griff had all too much experience with the dead, starting with coming home from college one afternoon to find his mother had overdosed on sleeping tablets.

  Griff shook his head. “No. We don’t want to contaminate the crime scene more than we’ve already done.”

  Pierce’s Adam’s apple jumped. Without another word, he got his phone out and dialed the Muttontown Police Department. He began to speak in a thick voice, and it was clear to Griff that Pierce had not called 911. Maybe his own perspective had changed over the last week, because that seemed like good thinking on Pierce’s part.

  A woman screamed. The sound seemed to ricochet off the marble fireplace and tall windows.

  Muriel stood in the doorway. She pointed at Alvin’s body, and as she continued to scream, her plump hand bounced like a child pretending to shoot with her finger. The red-rimmed O of her mouth seemed to swallow the rest of her face. Dreadful sounds poured out.

  Pierce hastily finished speaking into his phone. “Muriel.” He went to her, widely skirting the scarlet spill of Alvin’s blood, and tried to walk her out of the room.

  She wouldn’t be budged. She gripped Pierce’s arm with her free hand and continued to scream. Griff was surprised the windows didn’t shatter.

  Pierce threw him a harried look. “We’re going to have the entire party down here,” he said.

  That snapped Griff back to life. He nodded, giving the corpse a wide berth, squeezing past Pierce and Muriel, and sprinting down the long marble hall to the drawing room.

  Laughter and talk greeted him before he reached the door, the volume of voices explaining why no one seemed to be responding to Muriel’s shrieks. No music. Why had he expected music?

  The room was packed. Jarrett’s idea of a small party for family and close friends being a little different from Griff’s.

  Griff scanned the crowded room, searching for a familiar face. He spotted Marcus in the alcove bar—and couldn’t blame him for that—and Diana and Chloe, heads together by the fireplace with another older woman who looked strikingly like Diana.

  No, no, no, and...no. Jarrett was the only person really capable of dealing with a disaster of this magnitude, but Griff didn’t want to be the one to break this terrible news to him.

  Mike. That’s who he needed. Say what you liked about Michaela’s wild past, she seemed pretty unflappable, and unflappable was what he needed.

  “Hey, where’s Pierce?” Diana suddenly appeared at his shoulder, Chloe in tow. “He said he was going to meet you.”

  “He’s, uh, in the library—” Where the hell was Mike? He said to Chloe, “Where’s your mother?”

  Chloe said, “Who?”

  “Michaela.”

  “She’s being funny,” Diana informed him. “What we want to know is where is the guest of honor? I think he has stage fright. We’re taking bets on whether he’ll show.”

  “I...”

  “It’s like the Emperor’s New Clothes.” Chloe nearly spilled her drink as another guest jostled her arm. She glared at the woman. “I feel like I’m the only person in this house who can see how butt naked this guy is.”

  “Excuse me.” Griff was relieved to spot Michaela and Ring deep in conversation with a woman he vaguely recognized as a celebrity chef. He left Diana and Chloe, edging his way through the crowd to Michaela’s side.

  “Can I see you for a second?”

  Michaela looked surprised, but excused herself to her companions and followed Griff out into the hall.

  “There’s been an accident. Can you—”

  “What do you mean?” Michaela interrupted. “What accident? Who’s had an accident?”

  “Could you just make sure Jarrett—”

  Michaela’s head shot up. She froze, listening intently. “That’s Muriel. That’s my sister. Where’s Muriel? What’s happened to Muriel?” She was away and running, her heels tapping down the marble hall.

  A meaty fist closed around Griff’s bicep. “What is it? What’s going on?” Ring confronted Griff. “What’s wrong with Mike?”

  “There’s been an accident. Wait. Someone has to talk to Jarrett—” But again he was talking to empty air as Ring shot after his wife, calling her name.

  Griff went back into the drawing room and was met by Diana and Chloe, who now looked frightened.

  “What the hell’s happening?” Chloe asked. “Something’s going on.”

  Diana said, “Where’s Pierce?”

  “Pierce is fine,” Griff said. “It’s not—” This time he was faster. He grabbed Diana’s arm and Chloe’s hand before they too darted away. “No. Listen to me. I need your help, Chloe. I’ve got some bad news. Can you get your uncle out here?”

  “What news?” Her eyes widened. “Has something happened to Brian?”

  He couldn’t help noticing how hopeful she sounded. “Yes. Can you get Marcus? The police are on their way. They’re going to be here any minute and I want your uncle to talk to Jarrett before they get here.”

  Chloe looked around the room. “There he is.” She moved away.

  “Brian’s dead, isn’t he?” Diana asked. She looked pale but calm.

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. It looks like it might be homicide,” Griff said.

  “Murder? Oh no!”

  Griff finally spotted Jarrett laughing and talking with two older couples. The sounds of alarm and anguish from down the hall were mounting as Michaela reached the library. He watched Chloe reach Marcus and speak to him, saw Marcus’s smile turn bewildered and then wary.

  “Hurry,” he whispered.

  Jarrett spied Griff hovering indecisively in the doorway. He came toward him, smiling. The happiness on the old man’s face seemed to shrink Griff’s heart in his chest.

  “Griffin, my boy, you decided to join us. Excellent!”

  Griff tried to think of something he could say, something that would prepare Jarrett.

  Jarrett’s expression changed almost at once. “Is something wrong?”

  Oh God. No. No, he did not want this task. Did not want this awful responsibility. It should be Michaela or Marcus. At the very least it should be Pierce. It should be someone who knew Jarrett, was close to Jarrett.

  He licked his lips and said, “I think Marcus is going to—”

  The wail of approaching sirens drowned him out, drowned out everyone, and the guests began to look at each other in surprise and then unease. It sounded as though the police had parked on the front lawn. Maybe they had.

  “What is it?” Jarrett demanded. “What’s happened?”

  To Griff’s relief, Marcus appeared at Jarrett’s side. “Father,” he intervened. He sounded out of breath. His face was ghastly.

  Jarrett looked from Marcus to Griff then, ignoring Marcus, grabbed Griff’s arm with startling strength. “What’s happened? Tell me.”

  “It’s bad news,” Griff said desperately. He covered Jarrett’s bony hand with his own, gripping him tight. “I’m sorry. It’s the worst news. Brian’s dead.”

  Across the room Mrs. Truscott dropped a large silver tray of canapés. Her face was bloodless, her eyes black and hollow as she stared at them.

  Jarrett gave a wounded sound. He reached for, but missed, the arm of a wingback chair and pitched forward.
<
br />   Chloe squealed in alarm.

  “Father!” shouted Marcus, dropping to his knees beside Jarrett’s prone figure.

  Griff stared at the ring of stricken faces. “Call 911!” he yelled.

  * * *

  The ambulance had come and gone.

  As had the coroner’s wagon.

  The police were presumably still prowling the stately halls of Winden House. After being thoroughly questioned, Pierce and Griff, along with the other guests, had finally been allowed to leave.

  Pierce had been on the phone since they’d left the estate. Ordinarily Griff would have been too. He had an exclusive on one of the biggest crime stories in the country and he was just lying here watching Pierce, cell in hand and clad only in pale blue silk pajama bottoms, stalk up and down the football field of his bedroom. But Griff had been through a police investigation before. It was different being on the inside. Even when everyone agreed you had nothing to do with it, told you not to blame yourself.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Pierce said crisply. He disconnected and set his phone on the bedside table. “Jarrett suffered a mild heart attack,” he told Griff. “They think he’s got a good chance of pulling through.”

  Griff nodded. He wasn’t convinced of that. Jarrett had been living for Brian’s return, and now that dream had been taken from him.

  Pierce climbed into bed beside Griff. “I guess this is proof you were right,” he said wearily. “Whoever got Brian out of the way the first time wasn’t about to sit still for his triumphant return from the grave.”

  “I don’t know, Pierce. I’m still not convinced that Brian’s kidnapping is linked to Alvin’s murder.” In fact, Griff was almost sure the two crimes weren’t connected. Slowly, blindly, he had been feeling his way to this revelation from the moment he had arrived at Winden House. But how the hell could he begin to explain to Pierce? Pierce was going to think he was crazy. Or that he was another conman like Leland Alvin. He might even think Griff had a motive for murder.

  Because this time it was murder. Of that, there was no doubt. On that score everyone was agreed. They would have to wait for the Medical Examiner’s official report, but preliminary findings indicated that between five and seven o’clock that evening, a person or persons unknown had repeatedly and fatally struck the man believed to be Brian Arlington over the head with a fireplace poker.

  Pierce frowned. “I don’t know how you can stick to that theory in the face of everything that happened tonight.”

  Griff sidestepped. “Because they were all so happy and relieved at Brian’s return. With the exception of Chloe, and Chloe couldn’t have had anything to do with Brian’s disappearance. She was a baby.”

  “Are you saying you think Chloe killed Alvin?”

  “What I’m saying is, Chloe was the only one who didn’t believe Alvin was Brian. The others did believe it, and they were happy. Heck, they were joyful. I don’t believe anybody was faking that joy.”

  “So you do think Chloe killed him.”

  “She doesn’t have a motive. She didn’t believe he was Brian.”

  Pierce gave a disbelieving laugh. “That’s no alibi. Jarrett was changing his will in Alvin’s favor. So fake or not, Alvin was going to inherit everything. Which I think may have considerably reduced the universal joy at Brian’s return.” Pierce took his watch off and set it on the nightstand. “Maybe this is going to sound brutal, but Jarrett brought some of this on himself by changing the terms of the will so many times. For the last decade Muriel, Mike and Marcus all believed they were splitting the estate three ways. Not to mention all the other behests and bequests in that will. Then suddenly it’s all going back to Brian. I told Jarrett I thought he was making a mistake.”

  “That’s the problem with that kind of money.”

  Pierce looked at him. “I call bullshit,” he said. “We both know there are people out there who will cut your throat for lunch money. There is no specific dollar amount that turns people into killers.”

  “You don’t think everyone has a price?”

  “Do you have a price? What’s your price?”

  “My price isn’t money.”

  Pierce studied him for a moment. He smiled faintly. “I believe you.” He said lightly, “Do you want to know what my price is?”

  “Yes.”

  Pierce’s eyes darkened. He reached for Griff and Griff was happy to respond. He wrapped his arms around Pierce’s broad back and opened his mouth to Pierce’s tongue. Pierce kissed him deeply, sweetly, and Griff’s heart seemed to melt in his chest. Already this felt so familiar, so natural, so right.

  He could taste the words as Pierce whispered, “Would you want to...? Would you let me?”

  Griff swallowed so hard his throat hurt as though he had gulped down river rock, and the sound that came out was an inarticulate moan. Yes. Of course yes.

  Pierce covered his mouth, pushing Griff’s pliant weight into the mattress. Griff arched up, Pierce slammed back and for a minute they were awkwardly out of sync, Griff zigging, Pierce zagging, the knock and poke of knees and hip bones and ribs where there should have been hot flesh and hard muscle.

  Pierce made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, pulling back, and Griff moaned again, only this time in frustration.

  “I’m right here,” Pierce said breathlessly. Which sounded promising but was not exactly accurate since he was moving away, groping for the bedstand drawer, rifling through its contents.

  “Pierce.”

  “Coming...”

  “Well, you’re the only one who is.” Griff’s hand moved to his cock, stroking comfortingly.

  Pierce laughed and flung himself down. “Don’t start without me.” He tore open the condom packet and Griff watched, fascinated, as Pierce pulled the flesh-colored hood over his thick, rigid cock. It gave him a fluttery feeling in his belly knowing in seconds Pierce was going to be inside him, was going to fuck him.

  Pierce’s lashes lifted. He met Griff’s eyes and he smiled with such unguarded affection that Griff’s heart ached. Pierce unscrewed the cap from the tube he held, and Griff got a whiff of something than reminded him of vacations, a faint woodsy scent with a hint of orange and sandalwood.

  “That’s nice,” he said huskily.

  Pierce nodded. “Lift your knees.”

  Griff obeyed, bringing his knees up, stretching out his arms, waiting, eyes closed. He felt the coolness of the lubricant first and then the first delicate brush of Pierce’s fingertip pushing into his anus. His heart hammered against his ribs. Just this, the feel of Pierce’s finger entering his body, was almost unbearably exciting. His own cock was painfully hard, bobbing against his belly. Pierce touched him with bone-melting expertise, knowing the exact place that made Griff catch his breath and bear down.

  Pierce said, “Do you like this?”

  Griff nodded frantically.

  Pierce said, his voice soft, the words startlingly frank, “I like watching your face when I do this to you. I like the way your throat moves and I like those little quivers your eyelashes make when I do this.” He pressed the spongy nub of Griff’s prostate and Griff gave another of those ragged gasps.

  “Pierce...”

  “And that. I like that too. The way you say my name. And I like watching my finger moving inside and out of you. Your skin is so pale. Except for that little pink circle. There. I like the weight of your balls resting against my hand.”

  Levi had done a lot of talking during sex, but Griff realized now that Levi had never really said anything. Maybe that was why he had never been able to come up with the answers Levi wanted. He had never completely understood the question. Now Griff’s entire body felt flushed and alive with a mix of physical response and pleasurable confusion as Pierce spoke to him, touched him with silky-slick fingers. It wa
s almost dizzying to have this much attention focused on him. Appreciative attention, that was the difference. Who knew appreciation could be an aphrodisiac?

  “You’re going to make me come,” he warned, opening his eyes.

  “You want to come like this?” Pierce asked. “Or when I’m fucking you?”

  Griff almost lost it, but managed somehow to hang on, to plead thickly, “Fuck me, Pierce. Please fuck me.” More, right there, than he had ever managed with Levi.

  The room smelled sharp with sex and spicy orange. Pierce’s face was grave and beautiful as he smiled down at Griff.

  They shifted position on the mattress, Pierce lifting and parting Griff’s legs so that he was reclining with his exposed and vulnerable ass in Pierce’s naked lap. It was embarrassing and erotic and exciting all at the same time. He shivered as he felt the blunt head of Pierce’s cock rub over his asshole, nudge resistant muscle. Griff bit his lip and pushed down on the familiar scrape and burn—and at the same instant, Pierce groaned and shoved forward, sheathing himself.

  There was a moment of overwhelming fullness, of having to accept, coalesce, or be rent in half. Griff forced open his eyes. Pierce stared back at him. There was no closing himself off from it. They were joined in the here and now. They were together in this moment. And this moment felt like forever.

  Griff’s mouth curved, and Pierce smiled faintly in reply, no longer talking. He began to move, hips rocking in strong, deliberately timed thrusts, and every stroke seemed to brush across Griff’s prostate, sending hot little jolts of electricity shooting from the base of his spine to the back of his skull.

  No hiding like this. No concealing what he was feeling, everything showed on his face. But everything showed on Pierce’s face too.

  Griff wriggled, locked his legs around Pierce’s lean waist, and Pierce lost his rhythm for an instant, and then found it, thrusting harder, deeper, pounding to an urgent finish in short strokes. The slap of Griff’s buttocks against Pierce’s muscular thighs, the pinch and press of his balls against the moist heat of Pierce’s groin, Pierce’s soft grunts were doing it for Griff. He threw his head back and yelled, hands knotting in the bedclothes, coming in jets of creamy white, spattering Pierce’s chest and shoulders.