by Elle Keaton
There was a quiet knock on the door, and before Adam or Micah could answer it, the door opened slightly to reveal Weir, who quickly covered his eyes with a hand.
“Jesus fucking Christ, not again! For God’s sake, get your clothes on. M’s here!” he scream-whispered before pulling the door shut.
Mohammad’s visit was quick, an update on the case as well as checking in person to see how Adam was recovering and that he was behaving. He was gone before Micah could recover his composure enough to say hello. The room fell silent again. Micah was wondering if he had time to crawl back into the bed with Adam when there was another tap at the door. Adam groaned; had he been doing the same calculations as Micah?
Joey James poked his head through the door, looking apologetic. “You have another visitor. She asked specially to see you.”
“Who is it?” Adam demanded in his grimmest this-had-better-be-good voice.
“Uh,” Joey looked over his shoulder, “it’s, her name is Karol Abrahams.”
Mrs. Abrahams looked terrible. Micah wondered if she had any friends, anyone to support her while she grieved the loss of her husband and child. Watching her slowly cross the room to sit in the other chair, Micah noted her movements were stiff and contained, like a little old lady’s. Not a woman who had yet to turn forty. Huddled into her beige winter coat, she clasped and unclasped her hands, clearly trying to get her words out. Micah wanted to go to her, to hug her, except she looked like she might shatter at a touch.
“You’re probably wondering why I came,” Karol said, her voice so quiet Micah could hardly hear her. “I’ve made a lot of poor choices in my life. After everything, I only have myself to blame.” She stopped, lowering her head, but not before Micah saw tears rolling down her face.
“Mr. Abrahams was a police officer, many years ago. I was pregnant, a young runaway with nowhere to go, no home, no medical care, no resources. He offered to help me. I saw his offer as a way out. I would be able to give my child a better life than the one I was born into.
“At first things were nice, but as Jessica grew, he became … unreasonable. He said she was damaged goods because of how she came into this world. I tried to leave when I found out what kind of man he was, after he forced Jessica out the last time, but he said he would make sure I never saw her again if I left.” Karol broke down, sobbing, but put a hand up when Micah stood to go to her. “Well, he did, didn’t he? Made sure I never saw her again. She’s gone; I wasn’t able to protect her.”
“Mrs. Abrahams,” Adam started.
“Don’t call me that. Karol, please.”
“Karol. I’m, we’re sorry for what you have been through—”
Karol interrupted whatever Adam had been about to say. “I saw what happened on the news, about that police officer.” She looked down at her hands again. “I think that’s what Mr. Abrahams used to do. Before I came along.”
Oh, my God, was all Micah could think.
Neither Adam nor Weir was surprised by Karol Abrahams’s suggestion that her recently deceased husband had been involved in a child-prostitution ring. Although why Abrahams chose to marry the young mother had been taken to the grave with him.
“She was only fourteen or fifteen when she gave birth,” Adam said. “We may never know what truly happened, because both Jessica and Mr. Abrahams are dead, but it seems whatever Parks got himself involved in has been going on for a long time. When the department brought in a new lieutenant with no local connections, that must have scared a lot of the old-school shitheads who had been participating or looking the other way.”
Weir nodded. Adam had texted him as soon as Karol had left. Adam had tried to get her to stay, but she insisted on leaving, though she promised she would stay in Skagit for the time being. Micah hoped that maybe she left the hospital room a little lighter than she had entered it.
ADAM’S HOSPITAL stay was excruciatingly long. Between Mohammad and Micah, they managed to keep the hospital staff from killing Adam in his sleep. Micah knew that Adam was just as hard on himself as he was on others. Harder, even. His temper stemmed from believing that everything was his fault. He was beating himself up about lowering his guard and almost getting them all killed. The brief interlude Weir had interrupted was all they managed during the entire stay. It was an understatement to say they were impatient for Adam to be discharged.
Micah was bringing him home. To his home. If he had anything to say, Adam would never leave it. Micah still wasn’t sure, though. Would Adam listen? Would he believe in Micah?
He got Adam into the house without too much trouble. Weir had offered to tag along to make sure everything was okay, but Micah and Adam both nixed that, threatening him with explicit sexual acts. Micah could see that the short ride from the hospital to the house tired Adam more than he would admit. Micah led him straight to his bedroom; he had changed the sheets and vacuumed earlier.
“Why are you so quiet?” Adam asked. “Is something wrong?”
Micah sighed, feeling like a drama queen but unable to hold it in. “I just assumed you would come home to my house. I didn’t even ask. And now I guess I feel like I should’ve asked. What if you’d rather be at Ed’s or something?”
Adam looked confused. Almost like he couldn’t understand the language Micah was speaking. Was he not speaking clear English?
“Why would I want to be somewhere else? What am I missing?” He grabbed for Micah’s hand as he moved away from the bed and pulled him closer, grimacing. Micah went without resisting, because he did not want Adam hurt. He needed Adam.
Adam tried to pull him down to sit on the bed, but Micah refused, sticking his hands into his back pockets so he would quit fidgeting. It was now or never—or now and forever. He stared out the window while he tried to explain. If he tried to say these words while looking Adam in the eyes, he might not be brave enough to push them out.
“Look, I feel like maybe I’ve made some assumptions. Assumptions about us. And stupidly my feelings are involved. Because—” He paused, and then he had to look straight at Adam so he could judge his reaction and know for certain. “Because I love you, Adam. And I want you to stay. With me. Stay, as in if you ever fucking get hurt like that again, I don’t want to have to wait while the doctors talk to Mohammad first.” His stupid eyes were watering.
Adam stared at him for a long heartbeat before his face lit with a magnificent smile. He held his hand out again, and this time Micah took it. “I thought you knew. Weir called me on it before the shooting. I’m yours, Micah. I’ve never been anyone’s before. I hate that I’m trapped here, injured like this, when I want to make love to you and show you how much I love you. I am much better at showing than telling. Please, baby.”
A little tug, and Micah was curled up next to Adam in the bed. “Really?” He hated that he sounded whiny
“Yeah, really. I think it started the minute I saw you spill your coffee at Sara’s place.”
Micah snorted, cheeks heating, and Adam grinned.
“For certain after you rescued me from my car, in front of your house. I’d tried to leave you. I had my bags packed. But I ended up at your house instead. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. I love you, Micah.”
They stayed that way a long time, just drifting, watching the shadows on the bedroom wall grow longer. Eventually Adam’s stomach let out a loud grumble. Micah laughed.
“Hey, I need fuel to heal,” Adam said with a smile.
“Yeah, and I know we won’t get the whole day alone. I’m sure Weir and Seth will show up at some point.”
Micah had gotten to know Seth while Adam was in the hospital. He was still staying with Ed. It didn’t seem like he had anywhere to land. He hadn’t talked a whole lot about himself. He said he was trying to make himself useful so Sara could keep the café open while Ed healed. It sounded like Ed was almost as bad a patient as Adam, although he’d been sent home after just a few days.
“Kiss me first,” Adam asked.
Micah couldn’t say no.
He leaned over Adam, fastening their mouths together. It was hot, fast, and dirty. Adam’s good arm was around Micah’s shoulder, gripping the back of his neck; Adam’s wicked hot tongue slid in to lick the roof of his mouth. They both moaned. A soft bite to his lip, and Adam pulled back.
“Any more and I’m not going to stop.”
“Poor Weir,” Micah laughed.
“Don’t let him fool you. He is gay as the day is long. He’s a big boy; he can handle it.”
“Weir, gay? My gaydar is seriously defective.”
“He’s quiet. I’ve seen him watching. He’s less guarded around me, I guess because I’ve always been out. Enough about him; I’m still hungry.”
Fifty-Three
FIFTY-TWO
He knew he was being a bastard, but he was so incredibly bored.
The past few days all he had been allowed to do was lie in bed and brood. And no sex beyond the occasional blow job, because Micah wasn’t going against doctor’s orders. Fuck. Adam hated lying in bed and thinking. He’d already snapped at Micah for hovering, for bringing him coffee, for helping him to the bathroom when he needed to go. That was just in the past hour.
The sound of his cell phone ringing made his mood improve. He figured it would be Mohammad calling to check up on him. Mohammad generally didn’t care if Adam acted like a bastard.
“Remember Ringling?” Mohammad asked without preamble.
Remember? How could he forget? He’d been on Rochelle’s case for months. He hated it when a case turned cold. Rochelle’s bothered him particularly. The entire team had combed over the files and the physical evidence. There had been nothing, nada, zilch. Yet Adam felt in his gut they were missing something. Something important. Someone always knew something they weren’t mentioning.
Much of the trouble with that investigation had stemmed from poor handling by the local police. They’d managed to alienate all parties, from Rochelle’s family to possible suspects, before the girl had been missing twenty-four hours. When Adam’s team had been called in, the evidence the locals had collected was no better than what a bunch of motivated first-graders could come up with. Maybe worse.
“What?” he demanded.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Jesus Christ, when do I ever like it when an eight-year-old girl is kidnapped and murdered?” Ah, it felt good to yell. Micah peeked into the bedroom, eyebrows raised in a question. Adam indicated everything was fine, mouthing “Mohammad,” and Micah disappeared back to the kitchen or wherever he was hiding from Adam’s lovely mood.
“Remember how Rochelle’s mom worked late?”
Yeah, they’d checked that out; she worked late nights as a janitor. That had been confirmed. “And?”
“The neighbor Rochelle often stayed with.”
“Nancie Troutman.”
“Yes. She came forward with some new information. It appears she has a cousin of some kind, Martin Brown, who has property in—”
“You are fucking kidding me. Montana?”
“I’m letting you get away with this behavior because I am aware you are bored. Would you like me to finish my sentence?” Mohammad asked.
Oh, man, Adam had missed this. He sighed happily. “Yeah, go on.”
“Montana. Deer Lodge, approximately a hundred miles northwest of where Rochelle’s body was found. From what Ms. Troutman has indicated, Brown is not someone she is close to, but he occasionally visits when he is ‘on a road trip.’ She became suspicious when she saw on the news that the girl’s body had been found in Montana. Brown has always been a bit strange.”
“Probably pulled the wings off flies as a kid.
“He’s being brought in for questioning.”
Just like that, Rochelle had found justice. Or at least taken a big step closer to it. The relief Adam felt at the news was incredible. He honestly didn’t care how a case was solved; he just wanted the survivors to be able to put their loved ones to rest. Unfortunately, this time that resolution came at the expense of Nancie Troutman, who would have to live with the guilt of bringing the killer into Rochelle’s life. At least she had done the right thing by coming forward. Sometimes life sucked like that.
After clicking off the call he lay back against the pillows, hands tucked behind his head. Micah must have heard the conversation end, because he dared to venture back into the bedroom. Seeing Adam’s smile, he came and sat on the edge of the bed. Adam tugged him closer.
“Good news?”
“Yeah, the best kind. A case I was on before my dad died. Feels good.”
“The little girl? That’s amazing. I’m so glad.”
“You wanna know what else I’m glad for?” Adam asked, his voice husky.
“Hmmm, what?” Micah leaned into his good side.
“You.”
Fifty-Four
FIFTY-THREE
Adam seemed to be feeling decent. He’d started physical therapy and was now cleared for light activity, but no jogging or heavy lifting. The doctor was still slightly concerned about nerve damage. Yes to non-strenuous sex, whatever the hell that was. Micah had done a mental fist pump at that.
Micah called Seth after the appointment, asking him to meet them at a coffee place on the other side of town. Not nearly as good as the Booking Room, but maybe they would be able to talk. Seth sounded wary but agreed. Micah could understand, Adam wasn’t the warmest person. He wanted this for Adam, though, to have something like family. Micah wasn’t jealous of Seth; he would be horrified if a lost relative came out of the woodwork—his own family had been amazing. But Adam had never had that. And seemingly, Seth didn’t either. They could use one another.
Adam let himself be dragged to the coffee meet-up. God, he and Seth were so similar it was funny. Even though they hadn’t grown up in the same household, they were both hardheaded. Micah realized Adam wasn’t perfect, that he appeared cold and unemotionally unavailable. Micah also knew those characteristics hid the exact opposite: Adam felt deeply, sometimes having a hard time expressing it. He was possessive and demanding; what he demanded of himself was even more brutal.
Adam and Seth awkwardly circled each other, making what passed for conversation. Each looking for a weakness. Micah didn’t know whether to scream in frustration or laugh. When he finally laughed, they looked at him like he was losing his marbles.
“Look, you guys. I thought this would be a way for you to get to know each other. Instead, the two of you are acting like feral cats shut in a cage, about to rip each other’s throats out. I’m going outside, and when I come back I expect you”—he pointed at each of them in turn—“to know some personal facts about each other. What are your favorite movies? Something like that. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. No blood.”
Micah spent the time strolling along Steel Street, kind of window-shopping. It was drizzling again, and not too many people were out on a Wednesday afternoon. He didn’t shop all that much and rarely came to this side of town. As he passed one of those real-estate outlets that had dozens of pictures of area houses for sale plastered to its front window, he stopped in his tracks and stared. Someone following too closely behind stumbled into him. Micah was so caught up, he didn’t even apologize for stopping. He heard a muttered curse as the guy moved past him.
He’d forgotten. Or never knew. Micah had thought, with all that had happened, that his eyes were wide open.
Matveev was Russian. Lots of Russians had immigrated to the Skagit area since the 1990s. They were almost surpassing the Dutch, who had been the largest immigrant population in the area for well over a hundred years. Just like the Dutch, the Russian newcomers lived in their own insular neighborhood. Several years ago, when the Oso tragedy struck, a large percentage of victims had been of Eastern European descent. They had all purchased cheap land and built houses together, directly in the path of a wobbly mountainside.
Adam and Seth looked at him with identical bewildered expressions when he rushed back into the coffee shop, nearly knocking over a chair a
s he sat down. He was damp with rain but didn’t bother taking his coat off.
“Are you trying to reenact how we met?” Adam asked. Micah felt his neck burning. Seth, the fucker, laughed.
An hour later, after Adam had tried (and failed) to send Seth home, he called Weir, and they all met back at Micah’s house. Adam explained Micah’s theory about the abandoned new-home construction between Skagit and Mt. Baker. Construction that had been halted because it fell within the no-go zone set up by the federal government after half the mountain slid down. The houses had been nearly finished and weren’t touched by the landslide but were deemed too close for safety.
Weir booted his laptop while Adam made more phone calls. Seth paced for a while, looking even more like Adam than usual, before finally stomping into the kitchen. When Micah heard pans banging together, he poked his head in to see what Seth was up to.
“I like to bake when I’m feeling stressed out,” Seth muttered. “I promise to clean up.”
Micah wondered more about Seth’s background. Between Adam getting shot and the other people who seemed to hover around all the time, they hadn’t had a chance to get to know each other well. As far as Micah knew, Adam’s mother hadn’t known about Seth. He would have been born after she returned to California.
Later that afternoon, they were all standing around in the chilly late-December air outside an abandoned housing project. Weir and a few SkPD officers had agreed to look at the site after listening to Adam and Micah. Micah’s logic was sound and it looked like Matveev had ties to the company that had been building the houses. Adam, Seth, and Micah were ordered to stay away from any possible action.
“I’m not willing to die to appease your curiosity, Klay. M would kill me, and I’m sure he’s had special training,” Weir had said. “We will keep you as updated as we can. Do. Not. Move.” He’d left, slamming the flimsy door behind him.
Ten minutes later Adam had stood, declaring that he couldn’t wait in the office, so now the three of them and some pimply assistant agent who had been left to babysit were standing around in the growing rain with their hands in their pockets, waiting.