Accidental Roots The Series Volume 1: an mm romantic suspense box set

by Elle Keaton

  Weir glowered at them and grabbed his huge mug of coffee, clutching it comically to his chest.

  They left Weir at the café with his laptop and coffee, to do whatever it was he was up to. Ed insisted they all, including Seth, come to his place for dinner. Micah was secretly relieved; he didn’t think Adam was up to socializing with Seth on his own.

  Even if Micah hadn’t learned about Seth first from Adam, it was unmistakable that the two were related. Ed was trying to draw the younger man out, asking questions about where he was from and what he did without getting too personal. Even with Ed’s conversation skills, they hadn’t learned much from the monosyllabic answers.

  Yes, he lived in Phoenix. He had gone to U of A. Most recently employed at a small garden center, where he contracted out landscaping labor and some design. Finally, Adam asked the question he clearly wanted the answer to most. “Why now?”

  Seth didn’t balk. “I only recently found out about my father. Our father.” He stopped and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “My mother was . . . difficult. We did not have a relationship to speak of.” He began tracing a pattern on the tabletop. They were having beers while Ed warmed up his grill, the four of them sitting around the pine table set up inside an enclosure on Ed’s huge deck. It was pitch-dark outside; Micah couldn’t see any farther than the light thrown by several lanterns placed along the railing. The back forty, as Ed called it, was invisible.

  “I was raised by my aunt. When Marnie died a few years ago, I was cleaning out her house and found a box of her things. My mother’s, I mean. It took me a while to put the pieces together. My birth mother was a liar and an addict. It was hard for me to accept that she might have left something valuable behind with her sister. Probably she forgot she’d had it. That would be the only reason she didn’t sell it for drug money or throw it away.”

  “Sell what?”

  Seth glanced up at Micah’s interruption. Ed was nodding like he had heard it before, and Adam was watching Seth intently.

  “A small, original Gerald Klay. Early. From the 1960s, as far as I could tell from looking into it.” He was quiet for a moment before continuing. “It wasn’t until I ran across a picture of Klay that I began to have suspicions. I was on some website about the history of the Skagit Valley school, Northwest mystics. There’s a shot of him when he was maybe in his twenties. It was like looking into a mirror.”

  “Yeah,” Adam agreed. “He had some seriously strong genes. You look even more like him than I do.”

  Ed interjected from where he was turning burger patties on the grill. “So I get an interesting phone call a bit after Gerald passed, asking for Edward Schultz. Now, the only person ever asking for Edward Schultz is my long-gone, downtrodden mother.” He pulled the lid of the grill down and came over to stand next to Seth. “Truth, though, I forgot I suggested that he come and meet. I would have told you, Adam,” he finished sheepishly. “I guess in all the excitement … ”

  The burgers were mouthwatering. Ed worked hard to keep things light, mostly by regaling Seth and Micah with embarrassing stories of Adam’s childhood. Adam tried to stop him, but the man was a freight train. Adam had told him that Ed had couch surfed a lot, so Micah shouldn’t have been surprised Ed had been witness to Adam growing up. And that he’d share it in a way his recluse of a father never would have.

  Adam tried to draw the line at Ed finishing the story of when Adam ran away from home at age seven, but the cat was out of the bag. Micah and Seth both were laughing so hard hearing about the note he had left that Micah nearly choked on what was left of his burger.

  “Mike Petersen was out in his cruiser and found him about four miles away. We were all surprised he had gotten that far. The kid would not get in the car, so Petersen just drove real slow with Adam walking alongside until he got too hot and agreed to come home. Any other kid woulda been over the moon about riding in a cop car, but not Adam. Never figured he’d turn out to be a cop.”

  “He bribed me with a Popsicle and showed me all the bells and whistles in the cruiser. I think that’s when I decided to go into law enforcement.”

  Micah had been staring into the black of the yard while Adam spoke. At first he thought he was imagining things, but when he blinked a couple times what he saw was still there: a vague lighter shadow that was human-shaped.

  He tried not to stiffen and give himself away, but they were sitting ducks up on that deck. The lanterns weren’t bright, but it didn’t matter.

  Adam followed Micah’s gaze and roared, “Get down!” just as all hell broke loose.

  Fifty-One

  FIFTY

  Much later, when Micah was trying to tell the responders what had happened, he couldn’t get the words out. The scene kept playing in his head. The gunshots had been so incredibly loud, and there had been so many. A barrage. Intent to kill. Ed had leaned over to finish his story for Seth. He’d taken a terrible hit to his shoulder.

  Adam had half ducked and then crushed Micah to the decking, covering him with his body. Mohammad did still have men watching Micah and Adam, though somehow they’d missed the attackers’ approach. They had come around the corner of the house with their guns blazing, literally. It was about then that Micah realized Adam wasn’t moving and that the warmth he felt was Adam’s blood slowly pumping out of his body.

  Aside from being a landscaper, Seth had apparently trained at the school of “Never fucking panic.” The guy was quiet as fuck, but he was efficient. When silence fell and Micah started to shatter, futilely pushing against Adam’s weight so he could try and stop the bleeding, Seth calmly rolled Adam off him and began applying pressure and issuing instructions. He’d stripped off his denim jacket and his T-hirt, then torn the soft cotton into strips and pressed them into the cavity in Adam’s chest.

  Adam was so pale. Micah could hear the scream of sirens in the distance. He was sick of hearing sirens.

  The two guys who’d dropped the ball were scanning the backyard. One had a hand on the neck of a dark, very still form. The other one was talking rapidly into his cell phone. Micah could see his lips moving but couldn’t hear his words. All he could do was watch while Seth pressed the remains of his T-shirt against the red blossom growing on Adam’s chest. He realized Seth was yelling at him, trying to get his attention.

  “Check Ed!”

  Ed had taken a hit to the shoulder, but he was conscious and trying to get up. Micah gently pushed him back down, holding his hand. Ed lifted his other hand and brushed it over Micah’s cheek.

  “I can’t lose him, Ed; I only just found him.” Micah’s knees hurt from kneeling on the wooden deck, but he didn’t care. He was splattered with the blood of the one person who had been able to wake him. He was crying, and another wounded man was trying to comfort him.

  It seemed like hours before the EMTs arrived. They gently moved Seth and Micah out of the way and began to do their job. The quiet get-to-know-each-other dinner had turned into a shoot-out. He and Seth sat side by side, huddled under a blanket someone had thrown over them like so much furniture.

  Sara and Weir arrived with a spray of gravel, Weir screeching to a halt next to the EMTs just as they were loading Adam into the ambulance. A second one had its doors open, waiting for Ed. Sara rushed to him, her face pale and anxious, and climbed in after the gurney had been loaded on. The ambulance carrying Adam roared off toward St. Joe’s, lights flashing but quiet. What did that mean? Micah’s head was both calm and swirling. Hot and cold. He was shaking, and so was Seth. They needed each other to keep upright.

  “Weir—Carroll,” Micah rasped. The man turned and saw the two of them standing there in the shadows. His surfer-dude demeanor was gone. He was all business.

  They ended up in Ed’s living room, away from the lights and the local news truck that had set up outside. Weir kept apologizing for not having been there. For fucking up again. All Micah wanted was to be at the hospital with Adam. “Nice work, Seth; the EMT said you kept Adam alive until they got here,”
Weir muttered.

  Seth pulled clothes out of a carry-on bag he’d brought in earlier when Ed insisted he stay the night rather than check into a motel. “At least change your clothes,” he told Micah, holding out a shirt. They were about the same size. “It’s going to be a long night; you might as well not be covered in blood.”

  The hospital was horrible. Seth had stayed at Ed’s. They had been interviewing him when Weir dragged Micah off to his car. Mohammad was on his way. No one could reach Adam’s mother, and Mohammad was listed as his emergency contact, anyway.

  They were stuck in the grim surgery waiting room for hours. Weir stayed with Micah the entire time. They’d both had multiple cups of hospital coffee that tasted like battery acid.

  Sara came and found them eventually. Ed would be fine; the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his shoulder and exited cleanly without hitting anything, and he was in a room recovering. It looked worse than it was—most likely he would be going home in the morning or the next day. If he hadn’t bent down when he did … Sara shuddered.

  Nothing, not even the death of his parents and sister, had prepared Micah for the wait. His family had been dead by the time he knew about the accident. There had been no tension, no waiting. Sara sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. He squeezed it so hard it had to hurt, but she didn’t take it back. They sat like that until the surgeon came out to tell them the news.

  Micah had read that you could tell when the doctor came out to the waiting room. This woman was tiny and grim. “Mr. Azaya?”

  Mohammad stood.

  Micah struggled to stand, too, but his legs couldn’t be trusted not to wobble. Sara propped him up while they all wanted to hear what the diminutive doctor had to say.

  “This is Adam’s partner, Micah Ryan, and personal friend Sara Schultz,” Azaya informed her.

  “I’m his partner also.” Weir flashed his badge.

  “Okay.” The surgeon, Dr. Gupta, had a pretty lilting accent. She motioned to Mohammad to step away with her, while the rest of them waited. Micah hated it. Hated the hospital. Hated Matveev for trying to take another person he loved away from him.

  Finally, Mohammad returned to their little group.

  “Adam is lucky to be alive. The bullet entered his right side, puncturing his lung, before exiting. Nicked a vein, unfortunately, which was why there was so much blood. It could have been much worse without whoever did the initial wound pack. He would have bled out.” Mohammad was visible shaken.

  Micah shut his eyes, feeling the weight of Sara’s slender arm around his waist, anchoring him.

  “They were able to repair the damage. He should make a full recovery, although there will be pain and physical therapy involved. He is in ICU for the rest of tonight. When he wakes up, they are going to run a few more tests.”

  “Can I see him?” Micah whispered.

  “He’s still asleep, but you may have a moment. I arranged it with Dr. Gupta.”

  Micah didn’t want a moment. He wanted years. He wanted forever.

  Seeing Adam pale and motionless against the white hospital bedding slayed him. The nurse came in a few times to check his vitals while Micah was there, all the machines and tubes beeping, humming, keeping Adam alive. Adam was a force of nature; it hurt Micah to see him reduced.

  “They’re not going to let you stay,” Mohammad told him quietly. “Tomorrow, or rather later today, when he has a room, I’ll make sure you get back here. In the meantime, there are people who want to ask you questions about what happened.”

  Reluctantly, Micah left. If he stayed, Adam would stay alive; if he left … He could not think that way.

  Weir drove the short distance from St. Joe’s to Micah’s house. Mohammad had quietly faded into the background, leaving Micah in Weir’s clutches. The streets of Skagit were quiet in the way that means it is very late or very early. Weir parked on the street and let Micah lead the way to his front door. Frankenstein was sleeping curled up on the couch but roused enough to complain that he hadn’t been fed the night before.

  “You want to try to sleep, or should I see if you have coffee?”

  “I can’t sleep,” Micah replied. “I need to shower.” He looked down at his borrowed clothing. “Coffee is in the freezer; machine is on the counter.”

  The shower was short. Micah didn’t look at the blood washing down the drain as he cleaned himself. He didn’t think about losing Adam. Who he loved.

  All that blood.

  It was still dark outside when Micah came back into the kitchen. Weir had managed to get the coffee machine going and was sitting at the kitchen table doing something on his laptop.

  He looked up at Micah. “You look … well, cleaner. He’s going to pull through, you know that, right? The doc was just trying to be conservative.” He paused and then sighed. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. Adam has been a dickish asshole to me ever since I joined M’s team. He has a reputation as a perfectionist hard-ass. He also has one of the best closure records among active agents. He is like a dog with a bone. It used to make me furious, until I realized those qualities were what made him successful. He doesn’t care about other people’s opinions. He cares about facts. He cares about the victims he is looking out for.”

  He stopped for a moment, running his hand through his wild hair. “M had to make him come up here and deal with his dad’s stuff. The guy probably has a year of unused vacation and personal time. He is that dedicated. And I am reasonably sure he’s in love with you. I’ve hung out with him a few times socially; he’s not the easiest guy to get to know. Everyone knew Adam was gay, even before the repeal of DADT. He could care less. But he’s never had a boyfriend or partner or anyone, at least that I knew. I think you’re good for him. He will be okay.” Weir laughed. “He is going to be a total asshole while he recovers from this; I am not envious.”

  Micah didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily, Weir’s phone rang, reminding Micah his had lost power hours ago. He went to go plug it in. A few seconds later, Weir came into the study, pulling on his jacket as he walked. “Adam’s been transferred to a room. I’ll drive you.”

  Micah could not comprehend how important Adam had become in the short time Micah had known him. He couldn’t, no matter how stupid it sounded, imagine his life without him. Adam had stomped into Micah’s life and planted himself front and center. Micah hadn’t known he was not living until Adam. He would have been satisfied just moving along wrapped in a cloud as he had been for years.

  He hurried from Weir’s car to the sliding doors of the hospital’s main entrance. He was ready to live again.

  Fifty-Two

  FIFTY-ONE

  Weir was not wrong. Adam was an abysmal patient.

  Micah felt sorry for the staff and nurses there to assist him, because the man was an asshole. Micah knew he tried not to be. But he was frustrated by his limitations and irritated when the staff didn’t jump high enough or fast enough. Or when his body didn’t listen. After one incident when Micah was almost positive the nurse left to go and create a voodoo pincushion with a bit of Adam’s hair, he called him on it.

  They were alone in the room. Micah was fairly certain all the rounds had been done and they had at least half an hour of alone time before the physical therapist came in to work with Adam on moving his arm and shoulder. Micah quietly shut the door behind the nurse and turned to look at Adam. God, he was beautiful. Even in a hospital bed, with several days of stubble and dressed in a faded blue hospital gown.

  He stalked toward the bed, enjoying how Adam’s eyes widened slightly at his approach.

  “Stop acting like a total asshole.” He pushed the bed railing down with a crash while also flipping Adam’s covers back.

  “Hey!” Adam exclaimed.

  “Hush.”

  Adam quieted when he saw that Micah was unbuttoning his jeans.

  “I think you need a different kind of hands on you.”

  Adam’s lips parted, his pupils dilating as Micah sho
ved his hand into his boxers and began to rub his own cock. He figured if he was horny, Adam had to be horny, too.

  Adam groaned and reached down with his good hand to rub himself.

  “Oh no, you don’t get to do that. You might hurt yourself. Put your hand behind your head.”

  “Shit, Micah,” Adam breathed, but he did as he was told.

  Micah shoved his jeans all the way down. While he was aware of the sounds in the hallway, he didn’t care. He needed this, and Adam needed this. He was half hard from Adam’s scent; he smelled it under the hospital soap.

  “Come closer. Please.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He toed off his shoes and stepped the rest of the way out of his jeans, feeling Adam’s eyes on him. After making certain the door was closed, he crawled carefully into the bed on Adam’s good side. Instead of continuing his sexual onslaught, Micah pressed his needy body into Adam’s. As close as possible, tucking his head next to Adam’s shoulder. Horny though they both were, he wasn’t going to endanger Adam’s recovery. Micah needed to prove to the both of them that they were alive and okay. He needed skin.

  Kind of hilarious how after being alone for years and not caring, just a few nights with Adam warming his bed and making Micah feel safe and wanted left him missing Adam’s presence ferociously. He found himself waking up in the dark hours of the night disoriented without Adam’s warm body next to him.

  Someone had told him once about a condition called “skin hunger.” Micah hadn’t known he was starving. Starving for Adam’s touch, starving for something he had believed he no longer had the capacity for. Feeling the comforting rise and fall of Adam’s chest, his prickly chest hairs, the soft skin of his belly, Micah breathed him in, trying to get his fill until Adam could come home.

  Micah tugged Adam’s chin down and pressed his lips to Adam’s, falling into them, offering everything. They kissed languidly, tenderly, sliding their tongues together, exploring. Micah lost track of time while his body took what it needed.