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

by Elle Keaton

  Boyfriend.

  They talked or texted almost every day. Which was surreal. Weir wasn’t used to being a part of someone’s orbit. He’d never been amused by something random and thought, “So-and-so would like that.” He’d never had someone to talk about his day with or have phone sex with. Because they did that, too.

  Late spring in Skagit was… well, it was better than December and it had Sterling. He’d driven up, which Adam had warned against, but Weir didn’t see a way around it. Not if he was going to bring most of his stuff. Most.

  He wasn’t hedging his bets, but bringing his surfboard seemed a little too hopeful. Weir was hoping to rent an apartment close to Sterling. Or something. They’d talked about it. They had talked quite a bit over the past four weeks. Weir was the one nervous about moving in. They’d lived in the same house for a few weeks, sure, but Weir didn’t want to curse anything. Sterling Bailey, confirmed bachelor of Skagit, had chuckled.

  “I flew all the way down there, that didn’t convince you?”

  Sterling found a place for him within walking distance of the Loft (and by default his own apartment). The place wasn’t available for a couple more weeks, but Weir hadn’t wanted to be in LA any longer. He maybe had a surprise for Sterling, but didn’t want to tell him until he was sure.

  Sterling’s apartment was tiny and perfect in that it had a bed in it. A nice large bed that the two of them made use of immediately and vigorously. After years of anonymous sex, Weir couldn’t imagine falling into bed with anyone else. No one else smelled like Sterling.

  The bed was separated from the main room by a rice-paper screen. The wall next to the bed had several bookshelves. Unlike the staged bookshelves at the former Bailey mansion, these were lined two deep with well-read paperbacks and a few hardbacks. Sterling’s taste was eclectic, ranging from mass-market thrillers and horror to memoir and a variety of local history tomes. For a guy who claimed to be “not so smart,” he sure had a lot of books proving otherwise.

  “That was incredible,” Sterling said, his chest rumbling under Weir’s cheek.

  “Yeah, wow.”

  Weir was tired from the drive. Without traffic it was twenty hours. Key words: without and traffic. As far as he could tell, every county, city, and town between Hermosa and Skagit had begun their construction season. Weir had spent as much time waiting for the guy (or gal) in the bright orange vest to turn their stop sign around as he had on the open road. The stretch between Portland and Skagit had been especially brutal. Instead of arriving at a reasonable hour, he rolled in after midnight on a Friday.

  Seeing Sterling’s familiar form behind the bar was exquisitely painful. His heart had actually clenched at the sight. All Weir had wanted was to jump his frame and get naked. Instead he’d calmly sat at the bar and planned how he and Sterling were going to spend their first available hours in bed. Naked.

  “What’s going on inside that complicated head of yours?” Sterling asked, nudging him.

  “Sex, lots of sex. If I hadn’t already come like a fire hose I would want to again. Sadly, I think I’m done for the night.”

  Sterling chuckled, a sound Weir had grown fond of.

  The next morning, or early afternoon, both of them having slept far past the break of day, Sterling took Weir on a walking tour of his neighborhood. Aside from the Loft, there was a coin-op laundry that hailed from the early ’70s—maybe the machines did, too—a couple insurance offices, the Beaver (which Weir had not yet been to), and a Goodwill-type used-clothing place.

  Most businesses on the back side of the block were more industrial, a bearing manufacturer (the imagination runs wild), two collision repairs (which explained the insurance on the other side), and a cabinetmaker, all interspersed with empty storefronts and anonymous offices. Farther along there were two (!) actual vinyl record stores, a fish market (claiming the freshest fish in Skagit)… and, be still his heart, something called the “Health Hut.”

  Weir stopped in his tracks. “Dude, you did not tell me this was here.”

  “I forgot because I don’t generally eat seaweed and whale cock,” Sterling muttered, but he was smiling.

  “Check it out, they have smoothies!”

  Inside smelled like every health-food store Weir had ever been in. It was impossible to tease apart the various scents, a mix of vitamins, health “tonics,” and every possible variety of bulk yeast. “A-fucking-mazing. Let’s get a smoothie.”

  “You get a smoothie, I’ll stick to coffee,” Sterling grumbled.

  Back outside, Weir clutching his green apple–spinach–wheat grass smoothie like someone was going to try and steal it from him, they sat in a couple of chairs set out for customers to enjoy the spring sunshine. A sunny Saturday afternoon gave them a lot of people to watch while they drank their beverages. A few of them knew Sterling from the bar and waved at him, looking long and hard at Weir.

  “Am I going to be an object of curiosity?”

  “Probably. Do you care?”

  “Nope.” He grinned before taking a healthy suck on his straw, making his cheeks cave and Sterling laugh.

  Thirty-Two

  Evan was up to something. Big surprise, the guy was a natural-born practical joker. He’d departed that morning, Monday, saying he would be back in a few hours. He’d been wearing one of his federal-agent suits that made him look hot and in charge. Sterling was left to wonder how much trouble Evan could manage to get himself in, and could he bail him out?

  His phone pinged.

  When are you inviting me over?

  Never, Raven.

  Fine come for dinner 2nite

  Weir’s cooking?

  …………

  lol

  Evan returned from his secret errand a few hours later. Sterling was dying to ask what he’d been up to, but Evan avoided his questions with skill. Mostly the skill involved his mouth and Sterling’s cock.

  He’d never been a napper, but he had a sudden appreciation for “afternoon delight.” A drowsy, content Evan was tucked up under his arm. If he weren’t painfully aware that Raven would be there in less than two hours, he would have suggested they stay in bed and order dinner in. But he did not need his sister catching the two of them like that. He wasn’t a prude, and he knew Evan wasn’t against a little PDA, but no, Raven did not need to find them in bed.

  Evan murmured something nonsensical as Sterling ran his fingers up and down his back. Lying in bed with another man, a man he loved, was something Sterling never expected in this life. A wave of emotion threatened. He rolled over, taking Evan along with him. Sterling pressed him into the mattress for a few long seconds, his nose pushed into the sensitive crook of Evan’s neck. Sterling was pretty sure he was the only one who knew this particular spot. It was his alone.

  “Something you wanna tell me?” Evan chuckled.

  “We gotta get up. Raven’s coming for dinner,” Sterling whined.

  They made a quick stop at the Health Hut for fresh vegetables, and salad ingredients for fuck’s sake, then went to the Fish Market for something he could cook in the oven—his lover had better appreciate the smell of fish lingering in a five-hundred-square-foot apartment.

  The Fish Market—which literally was its name—was one of those old-school places not seen much anymore. Cold cases lined two walls and were stocked with a variety of colorful fish and shellfish. There were large buckets, almost like fifty-gallon drums, full of ice with several kinds of oysters, clams, and mussels crammed in the top. They also sold fresh poultry. The wall across from the frozen counter was full of jars of sauce, so many sauces. Hot, BBQ, local and international. The display was colorful and awe-inspiring.

  Sterling picked out a salmon fillet and an older guy wearing a plastic apron and a bad attitude wrapped it carefully in paper and answered his pathetic questions about how best to cook it. Evan was no help, as he was held in thrall by the jars of hot sauce. There was a tense moment when Sterling thought the guy might refuse to sell him the salmon, like only ex
perienced chefs were allowed to touch such precious fish. Luckily he left the shop with his head held high, the fish safe in a plastic carry bag along with a lemon, fresh dill, a head of garlic, and a pound of butter.

  Dinner was fun, except for the part where Raven and Evan reenacted their not-so-funny April Fool’s joke. Sterling would have been mad at being the butt of their joke, except he loved having them laughing in his apartment. It was its own kind of sunshine.

  Of course he didn’t tell them that; he called them fuckers and stomped over to the kitchenette to sulk and clean up. Who knew broiling some fish in the oven would make this much of a mess? He’d been trying to chop the dill, but the feathery bits of the herb had kind of exploded everywhere, and the butter accidentally left on the top of the stove melted, leaving a greasy pool to mop up.

  He felt more than heard Evan come up behind him. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, and soft lips kissed the back of his neck.

  “We’re sorry.” But he could feel the lie in the smile pressed against him.

  Sterling smiled, too. “You aren’t. But I forgive you anyway.”

  Suddenly Evan pulled away. He grabbed the fish wrapper, with its “TFM” imprint all over it, from the back of the sink where Sterling had tossed it in his cooking frenzy. “Where’d you get this?” he demanded, his voice serious.

  Raven came over to see what he was asking about. Three people in this tiny corner of his apartment was two too many.

  “Uh, the Fish Market? That’s from the salmon. You were there when I bought it?”

  Evan’s expression was pure amazement.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong! This is amazing.” He pulled out his phone, took a picture of the paper, then stuffed the paper into the plastic bag Sterling had brought the fish home in and took off. The front door slammed, and he was pounding down the stairs before Sterling or Raven could react.

  “What just happened?” Raven asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  They came to their senses at the same time. Quickly ensuring everything was turned off, Sterling grabbed his coat, and Evan’s, because the idiot had run off in a T-shirt and nylon track pants.

  The Fish Market was their destination, of that Sterling had no doubt.

  The older guy wasn’t behind the counter any longer. In his place was a much younger male, similar enough that Sterling figured he was either a son or a grandson of the man who had sold him their dinner and given out a recipe. He was shaking his head, looking confused at whatever questions Evan was peppering him with. Also trying to close up for the night, if the half-empty cases of seafood were any kind of clue.

  Sterling interrupted. “Hey, here’s your coat.” He handed it to Evan, who took it automatically, putting it on. It was early June, but that meant afternoon and evening temperatures in the ’50s. Sterling didn’t think Evan had acclimated quite yet.

  “You’ll have to ask my dad, but he’s busy right now. I only work here after school and on weekends.” The teen had wide blue eyes, messy brown hair, and that bone-deep hungry look that only a teenage boy going through a growth spurt has. Too skinny, too tall, this boy’s body was still catching up with itself.

  Evan looked frustrated, but nodded. “Okay, thanks.”

  “Come on, let’s walk Raven to her car.” The girl in question started to object. “It’s a school night, and you promised.”

  “Fine.”

  Sterling wanted to roll his eyes but instead, like the mature person he tried to be, he ushered both Evan and Raven out of the shop and toward her car. They watched her drive off, taillights disappearing in the distance.

  “What was that all about?” Sterling asked, once she was safely out of sight.

  “I gotta call Sammy.”

  Sammy Ferreira was not in Skagit anymore, but Sterling knew from eavesdropping that he was the last agent assigned to the murder of a local Fish and Wildlife detective.

  Together they rushed back to Sterling’s apartment, where Evan changed from running gear to his other outfit of cargo pants, a T-shirt, and Vans. Sterling wasn’t sure what the rush was about. The detective had been dead since February. Evan was trying to talk on the phone while he changed clothes. Sterling wasn’t helping by actively ogling, but hey, a guy had to take what he could get.

  “Yeah, I need to look at those notebooks again… I know, but I’m telling you I saw something and I think it matches… Yeah… Let me do this one thing… It’s not official, come on!” He ran an impatient hand through his hair. “Fine… Okay, I’ll grab the key from Poole. Sammy? Thanks.” He clicked off the call. “Okay. I gotta go check on something over at the Fish and Wildlife office. Shit, where are my keys?” He patted himself down before shaking his head. “I’ll just walk.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Thirty-Three

  The evening was cool, but pleasant enough. It wasn’t raining. Not that Weir paid any attention to it while he power-walked from Sterling’s apartment to the Fish and Wildlife office on the other side of downtown. Sterling didn’t try to ask questions or make small talk, which was a blessing. He matched Weir’s pace as they made their way through the semi-industrial neighborhood. Weir had too many thoughts swirling around in his head to answer someone else’s questions.

  The office was located on one of Skagit’s impossibly wide streets. City developers must have hoped the city would grow as large as Seattle. As a result, the street could accommodate four lanes of traffic and still have diagonal parking on each side. Tom Poole was meeting him at the office to let him in. But Weir already knew he was right. He might not have an eidetic memory, like Raven, but he had stared long enough at those doodles to know he was on to something.

  Something that might just crack this stubborn case wide open.

  “Let’s cross here. The office is on the other side,” Weir said. He was growing to love the late sunsets in this part of the world. It was still light out, and the sun wouldn’t truly set until after 8:30. Skagit itself was starting to grow on him, not only the sexy bartender who’d become his boyfriend.

  A big SUV rolled slowly past them heading the other direction, turn indicator flashing. Weir recognized Tom Poole’s bald head. Focused on Tom and reaching the office as soon as possible, he didn’t register the squeal of tires coming from his left. Weir stepped out into the street, intent only on his destination.

  Time slowed down in a way he supposed only happened to people who were about to die. The car was a mere silhouette, its daytime running lights creating a halo he couldn’t see past in the quickly falling dusk. He had the impression of two bright lights speeding toward him while he stood there frozen, literally like a deer in the headlights. Funny how he had never really understood that phrase before.

  Someone—Sterling, of course—grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him backward far enough that, instead of being flattened by several thousand pounds of car, he only felt the intense heat of the engine, tasting hot motor oil as the air around the moving vehicle caressed the front of his legs and torso before continuing its forward motion.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, what the fucking fuck was that?”

  With a screech of tires, Poole reversed his own vehicle and raced off in the same direction as whoever wanted Weir dead.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Sterling repeated, quieter this time. Weir was still stuck in his head, seeing the car coming toward him. He had almost died, again.

  Snapping himself out of his daze, after looking both ways he ran across the wide street. Sterling followed, sputtering curses. Some of them quite creative; Weir was impressed with his breadth of knowledge when it came to swearing.

  While they stood in front of the Fish and Wildlife office, Weir put a couple of calls through, first to Adam and then to Sammy. Sterling leaned back against the plate-glass window, his chest heaving as he tried to collect himself. His face was pale, even for him, and he was shaking. The wailing sounds of sirens approached; hopefully that was Poole
’s backup.

  Weir pulled Sterling into the small entryway. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.” He cupped Sterling’s cheeks with his cold hands. “I’m right here.” Because he needed it as much as Sterling, Weir leaned in and kissed him. It was meant to be a gentle reminder that they were both alive and on this earth together, breathing the same air. Sterling grabbed him, fingers digging into his hips, returning the kiss fiercely. He wanted to respond, to lose himself in this moment of victory where he was alive and uninjured, but he had an asshole to catch.

  Even so, he might have been distracted from the chase, except the sound of screeching tires followed by the unmistakable grind and squeal of metal on metal brought him to his senses.

  Weir snapped to attention, training making him automatically alert. “What the hell? Stay here, I’m going to see if that’s our guy.”

  “Hell fucking no, someone has got to watch your back.” Sterling was in no mood for an argument and, frankly, Weir didn’t want to leave him there. Together, they jogged toward the flashing lights and sirens.

  The scene was chaotic. Poole’s enormous Land Rover was smashed into a line of angle-parked cars two streets over, a second, smaller car trapped in between. The two cars’ driver’s-side doors hung open. Weir winced at the property damage, recalling an incident from his very first case, Adam’s reaction, and the lecture the entire team had heard from Mohammad. Jason Bourne-style car chases were very much frowned upon. Weir recalled the phrase “budget nightmare” being thrown around. Luckily it hadn’t been him behind the wheel.

  A small group of people huddled at the far end of the block were being held back by a uniformed officer, proving that even in a city as small as Skagit, people would always come out for police activity. Two SkPD squad cars squealed into position, blocking off each end of the street as Weir and Sterling arrived. Weir flashed his badge and kept moving.