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

by Elle Keaton

  There was no sign of Poole or the unknown driver. Weir had some ideas about the identity of the driver, but only time would tell. He was uneasy. Sterling had stopped swearing and was walking quietly next to him. Weir glanced over at him, his expression grim.

  One of the onlookers shouted, “They ran inside that building,” pointing to a nondescript two-story brick building that looked to have been built in the 1970s. It was ugly; not even gentrification was going to save it. Regardless of the For Lease/Sale/Will Build to Suit signs plastered all over it, the building remained stubbornly empty.

  “I need you to stay here.”

  “I’m not staying here if you go in there. You need to wait for backup.”

  “Sterling,” he began, frustrated that Sterling wasn’t listening. Instead, he was looking over Weir’s shoulder.

  Sterling smiled, and it wasn’t at him. Weir looked. Adam and an agent Weir hadn’t met were standing directly behind him.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “Yeah, ‘Oh, hi,’” Adam growled. “No, you’re not going anywhere. If I let you even close to whatever is going on in there, Mohammad will string me up by my balls. I happen to like my balls.”

  The agent standing slightly behind Adam swallowed nervously. He was tall and slender, with a shock of red hair kept under control by a buzz cut. His handsome face was covered in freckles that looked like a splash of stars across his nose and cheeks. It was hard not to stare. Which was when Weir realized he was staring. Luckily, Sterling was staring, too. The man was striking.

  Adam smirked. “Weir, Sterling, this is Agent Nate Richardson. He’s joining us from some hellhole back east. Welcome him to the team, Weir. Nate, this is Weir’s boyfriend Sterling Bailey. Not really sure what he sees in Weir, but I’m glad somebody is taking him in hand.”

  “Adam,” Weir growled back.

  “Right. You two, stay right fucking here. Richardson and I will find out what’s going on.” As Adam and Richardson moved closer to the uniformed officers and where Weir suspected Poole and the perp were, a thunderous cracking sound came from above. The window didn’t shatter—presumably it was safety glass—but everyone below had a clear view of a man’s back and shoulders where his body was smashed against the window. The abused glass bulged outward, and there was a tinkle of shards hitting the sidewalk as the window creaked under the strain of Tom Poole’s massive frame.

  “Fuck, that’s Poole,” Weir exclaimed.

  Richardson did what Weir wanted to, bolting through the building’s open door, pounding up the stairs before Adam could stop him.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Adam pointed a finger at them, “You two. Do. Not. Move.” He ran after Richardson. His speed and athleticism always shocked Weir until the next time he witnessed them and was reminded the guy made up for his stature with rampant competitiveness.

  A few minutes later Adam called down, “Weir, get an ambulance, then get up here. Bailey, you’re going to have to stay where you are.”

  Weir patted his boyfriend on the shoulder before moving to do Adam’s bidding.

  Thirty-Four

  “The perp thought Krystad was on to him. Well, Krystad was on to him but hadn’t put the whole thing together. So Marcus Franks, owner-operator of the Fish Market, took things into his own hands. We found the rifle in his trunk.” Adam paused for a second. “Why are criminals so stupid? Why on earth would you keep that kind of evidence in your car?”

  Weir didn’t have an answer to that. The guy claimed he didn’t want his son getting a hold of it. Like, it was okay that he had killed someone with it, but he was all about gun safety otherwise? He’d only been in questioning for a few hours.

  Franks had concocted a get-rich-quick scheme harvesting geoducks and selling them to foreign buyers. Not really a one-man operation, which was why he had brought his son in to man the shop when he was doing business.

  “Poole will be all right. What the fuck was he thinking, going into that building with no backup?”

  “I’m pretty sure he was thinking the guy had tried to run me over in the middle of the town in front of where his former partner had been killed. He made some assumptions about who the guy was, and he was right. Poole’s not used to perps who don’t just fall in a quivering heap when he chases them—you’ve seen him, he’s huge,” Weir replied.

  “Yeah, well, Franks clocked him with a two-by-four and nearly shoved him out a window. Maybe he’ll be a bit more careful from now on,” Adam groused. He really did not like it when people got hurt on his watch. As much as he tried to be Mr. Tough Guy all the time, Weir knew he cared deeply for his team and, by proxy, Tom Poole, who had nearly gotten himself killed.

  Richardson had gotten up the stairs just in time to stop Franks from pushing a concussed Poole all the way out the window. The two-story fall might not have killed him, but it would have hurt. As it stood, Poole was in St. Joe’s overnight for observation.

  Meanwhile, Franks was in custody for the murder of Peter Krystad and the attempted murder of a federal agent, namely him, Carroll Evan Weir. Franks tried to deny he’d hit him with his car back in March, but aside from Poole and Sterling witnessing a second attempt just a few hours ago, his son had admitted under questioning that in March, his dad’s car had mysteriously been out of commission for a few days, and when it returned it had a new right side panel.

  Franks wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I still don’t get why he ran me over, or how he even knew who I was,” Weir groused. Especially since he had only figured out the connection between the Fish Market and Peter Krystad in the last twenty-four hours. The entire case circled back to those doodles in Krystad’s notebooks, one of which was a circle of fish with the letters “TFM” smack in the middle. “He must have thought I was closer than I really was.”

  It was late. Weir was ready to get home. Wherever Sterling was, Weir wanted to be there. Adam noticed his shift in concentration and chuckled. “Go home. There will be plenty left to talk about tomorrow. Be back here by ten. Bring coffees.”

  Here was a little office in a nondescript business park off of I-5. Mohammad had authorized the expense after listening to Adam bitch for months about secure space.

  Sterling was waiting for him at home. Fuck, he had ridden with Adam and Richardson, his own car safely parked behind Sterling’s apartment and the Loft.

  “I’ll give you a ride.” Adam said with another irritating smirk.

  Thankfully, Adam didn’t make any snarky comments on the drive to Sterling’s apartment. Weir wasn’t sure he could handle anything right now. Moving his stuff up to Skagit had been a very analytical decision. He thought. It was logical, right? His boyfriend lived here and soon would own a business here. Sterling would hate to live in LA. Weir could call Skagit home but still travel with the team, right? If he decided to stay with the team.

  Except.

  Except Sterling made him want more than that. Sterling, who had opened himself to Weir. Who had made the trip to LA for him. Weir knew Sterling’s past now. The month he was in LA after Sterling’s visit, just hearing Sterling’s voice on the phone gave him shivers. He’d never known what people were talking about when they claimed their “entire body lit up,” until the first time he saw Sterling’s number flash across his cell-phone screen.

  Not only did his body light up, he found himself smiling at odd times. Smiling at all was a new thing, really. Weir knew how to fake it, he had for years, but truly smiling? That shit felt different.

  Sterling had saved his life today. If he hadn’t been there, there was no doubt in Weir’s mind he would be a smear on the pavement. Sterling, permanent bachelor of Skagit city and county, had asked Weir to move in instead of renting a separate apartment. He didn’t know why he was dragging his feet. What was the difference between moving to a city—fuck, moving to another state—to be with someone, and sharing a home?

  “You’re pretty quiet over there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, you and Sterling?”
/>
  “Don’t.”

  Adam pulled into the parking lot of an am/pm. Fluorescent light fell from the front windows; neon pulsed, advertising cheap beer and a special on nacho cheese. Weir shuddered.

  Adam twisted to look at him. “I’m not. I think it’s a good thing. Sterling’s not my type of guy, but then, neither are you. I think you two fit well together. Does he make you happy?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, not believing he was getting the dad/big-brother convo from Adam Klay.

  “I like what I see since you’ve been back. Yeah, I know it’s only been a couple of days, but he’s good for you. I can tell he really cares.”

  Weir sighed. “It kind of doesn’t feel real.”

  “You wouldn’t know real if it hit you in the head. Fuck, Weir, you’ve been out at sea for so long struggling to stay afloat, you wouldn’t recognize a life preserver if it landed right in front of you.”

  “Okaaay, what do you mean? I don’t speak weird Adam Klay references.”

  “I mean since you were a kid you’ve been on your own. You’re very smart and a little lucky, so you’ve managed. Shit, if I’d been through what you have I’d be curled up in a fetal position. Don’t know how he did it, but Sterling managed to get past the shit you’ve piled up to keep anyone else from hurting you.”

  “Pretty sure it was the meds,” Weir grumbled. He was not comfortable having his personal stuff aired out all over the place.

  “Nah, nice try though. Quit trying to second-guess yourself. Take your own advice—what was it, ‘Did you just figure out you love him? Tell him when you see him,’ or some shit like that? Hah, anyway, it’s okay to be happy.”

  “How’s that working for you?”

  “Fuck off, it’s working fine. I just don’t want you shutting Sterling out because you’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” he muttered. No, he was fucking terrified.

  Adam raised his eyebrows in disbelief but didn’t say anything further, instead restarting the car and heading back out onto the street.

  Weir eyed the steps leading up to Sterling’s apartment. The light was on upstairs; Sterling was a night owl by nature. Walking up the stairs was somehow a momentous decision. Weir took them two at a time, not wanting to second-guess himself any further. He just needed to get in the door.

  Sterling was curled on his tiny couch, reading. How had Weir never seen the reading glasses before? Weir moved closer and tugged the book out of his hand.

  “True crime? Really?” He tossed the book onto the closest flat surface. It hit the floor with a smack.

  “The hell, you better not have lost my place.” But Weir could tell Sterling wasn’t really angry.

  He crawled onto Sterling’s lap, pinning him with his weight, removing the sexy glasses and setting them aside. God, he smelled good. He wasn’t in the mood for gentle. He wanted to possess Sterling. If he was doing this, he wanted it all; everything. Smashing his lips against Sterling’s, he opened his mouth, licking until Sterling opened for him. Weir pushed his tongue inside, mapping Sterling’s mouth—the sensitive roof, along his teeth and across his gums, tasting him.

  Sterling allowed him to plunder for a few moments, most likely out of pure surprise, before his arms came around Weir, holding him painfully tight. They dueled for dominance, neither wanting to give in. Finally acceding to the need for oxygen, Weir broke the kiss.

  “Clothes off. Now.” Thank fuck, Sterling was wearing his not-going-out sleep pants instead of his far-too-tight “How many tips can I get?” black jeans. Weir had seen Sterling’s closet; there were at least ten pairs of the fucking things.

  The thirty seconds it took the two of them to get completely naked was a hundred years too long. Weir needed to feel Sterling’s strong body against his own. He needed the reassurance of sex, of meaningless sounds.

  “Lie down. On your back.”

  Sterling did as commanded, his pale skin and beautiful body glowing against the black sheets and comforter. He stroked his hard length, eyes locked on Weir’s face. “You want to tell me something?”

  “Yeah, I think I do.” Weir dropped onto the bed and crawled over to Sterling, laying his body over his lover’s. Sterling’s arms came around him again, tethering him. Their hard cocks ground together, and for a few moments Weir reveled in just that, the two of them rutting against each other. Sterling moved his hands to Weir’s face, lifting it so he could look into his eyes. Weir leaned on one elbow, slipping the other hand between them so they could fuck into his fist, keeping his eyes open so Sterling could see. He felt so vulnerable, exposed. There was no one else he could imagine allowing this for. Sterling had snuck inside him, stolen his heart when Weir wasn’t paying attention.

  “Don’t stop,” Sterling panted. Like Weir was ever letting go.

  Weir grunted a response, letting the sensation building up in his groin expand. Sterling dropped his hands, instead grabbing Weir’s ass, digging his fingers into it, forcing him harder against Sterling’s hips and pulsing erection. He was coming in that instant, come flowing over his fingers. Sterling spread his legs apart even farther, rutting, grinding, coming arched into Weir. Weir held on to keep himself from floating away.

  “Fuck,” Sterling whispered some time later, still slightly out of breath.

  “Dude.” It was the best he could do.

  Sitting up a little, Sterling grabbed tissues off his nightstand. Weir rolled so they could clean up.

  “So, you going to tell me?” His eyes were half closed; he was still breathing a little heavily from their activity.

  He tucked himself back against Sterling and pulled the covers up because, June or not, it was fucking cold. Weir knew he was stalling, but what he wanted to say felt like a boulder in his throat. Caving to his irrational need to hide his face, he pressed even closer to Sterling before speaking.

  “I almost died today.” The arms around him tightened, but Sterling didn’t interrupt. “If you hadn’t been there—” Weir shook his head at himself. “If you hadn’t been there I would be paste.”

  He wasn’t doing this right. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, except Sterling was stroking a hand across his ass and it was very distracting. Using the sensation to focus himself, he forged ahead. “I don’t think I want to move up here.” The hand stopped. Weir replayed what he’d said. “No, I mean, agghh, fuck, Sterling, I don’t want my own apartment. If I’m moving all the way up here we should be together. In the same house.”

  After a pause, the stroking started up again. “You think?”

  “Yeah, because… you keep me in one place. I left Skagit because I was being selfish and stupid, and then you came and found me when I thought I had fucked everything up. Seeing you on the beach that day, ridiculous in those black clothes, already sunburned… well, until that moment I didn’t know I’d been walking around in the dark. Feeling my way through days and nights. So I wanna live in the same house and really be with you.”

  Sterling flipped them over so he was mashing Weir into the mattress. His hot mouth was on Weir’s, a demanding, passionate kiss. Weir wrapped his legs around Sterling’s hips, wanting Sterling’s weight to keep holding him down. When he had run away to LA, he hadn’t realized how his mind quieted around Sterling. Once he was alone in his apartment again, his mind had turned back on with its relentless cycle of activity. Sterling ground into him harder and smiled against his mouth before kissing him again.

  “Quit being a smug bastard.” But he wasn’t really complaining.

  Epilogue

  It felt weird.

  Sterling hadn’t realized, when he convinced Evan to move to Skagit and get a place together, he would be inheriting a whole family. To be honest, he didn’t think Evan had, either. Yet here they were in Ed Schultz’s backyard at his annual summer barbeque. Sterling had heard stories about Ed; there was no doubt that this would be a serious party.

  Being here with his boyfriend—who also happened to have landed an adjunct professor position in
the Statistics Department at the local university—at a semi-family event, Sterling was left wondering what the hell had happened to his bachelor life, but not missing it.

  Carroll Evan Weir had happened. How crazy was that? And now Sterling had a bigger family than he could have ever imagined. Raven was even invited, along with her posse of GSA friends. Hopefully the one kid wouldn’t do a repeat performance and break an ankle. Also, oddly enough, there was a guy Sterling thought he recognized as Roberts, one of the EMTs who’d responded when Raven and Pony had found Evan after the hit-and-run.

  He shivered, thinking for a moment what they both would have missed if Raven hadn’t stopped that day. They’d found out Marcus Franks had been somewhat of a regular at the Booking Room. He must have heard some discussion of the case there, or just made the connection between Krystad and Evan, and decided to get rid of Evan as well.

  Evan squeezed his hand. Neither of them was usually expressive in public, but they both needed reassurance today. Everyone and their dog was there, the dog in question being Joey James’s mutt, Xena. The Russian foster kid was there, too. Konstantin, Sterling reminded himself. Xena was obviously the kid’s tool, as they went from adult to adult procuring snacks for both dog and child. Joey’s mother had dropped Kon off but claimed she had her own neighborhood event to go to.

  Standing outside in the backyard were Buck and his friend Miguel. Sterling tugged on Evan’s hand and pulled him outside, through the throng crowded onto the deck and down the steps to where all four of them could hide from the rest of the guests. Thank fuck there was a bucket full of ice and beers at the bottom of the steps.

  “Hey, guys.”

  “Hey,” Miguel replied. Buck looked nervous and a little flushed. Sterling wondered if he was sick or something. And how had he gotten away from his boyfriend, who seemed to have him on radar?

  “There’s a lot of people here,” Sterling said uselessly.