by Gregory Ashe
WAYWARD
HAZARD AND SOMERSET: A UNION OF SWORDS
BOOK 4
GREGORY ASHE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2020 Gregory Ashe
All Rights Reserved
REPRISE
DEALS WITH THE DEVIL
EIGHT MONTHS AGO
The Aston Martin was almost silent. It was a whisper, less than a whisper, the sound of silk sliding over skin, a goddamn sexy sound as it stroked along Wahredua’s streets. The car even smelled sexy, damn it: leather, and a hint of something else, something high-priced, maybe sandalwood.
“I want a favor,” Glennworth Somerset said.
“A favor?” Hazard said. “What is this, some sort of Godfather bullshit?”
“Well?”
“Fine. Let’s hear your favor.”
“I have your word?”
“Tell me the goddamn favor, already.”
FOUR MONTHS AGO
Somers chafed his arms; he blew out a breath, which plumed white in the faint light from the street. “I asked my parents for a loan.”
“Absolutely not,” Hazard said.
“They’re my parents, Ree. I can ask them for money if I want to ask them.”
“What did they say?”
Somers stared off at one corner of the room.
“What did they make you do?”
“Just drop it, Ree. Please. It’s no big deal. They were happy to do it.”
CHAPTER ONE
MARCH 24
SUNDAY
7:14 PM
THE TWO BOYS WRESTLED in the middle of the living room.
“I’m going to be a police officer when I grow up.”
“No, I going to be a police off—police off—I going to be police.”
“No, me!”
“Not with that kind of grappling,” Emery Hazard said before taking another sip of beer. “He could head butt you.”
The comment elicited a mixture of laughs and groans from the rest of the people in the room. Tonight, Emery Hazard and his fiancé, John-Henry Somerset, were at a dinner party. Their neighbors, Noah and Rebeca, had invited them over—along with several other people, some of whom Hazard would have preferred not to see.
“For God’s sake,” Noah said, tall and goofy, but shooting a severe look at Hazard as he moved into the fray, “now one of them’s going to try it.”
He got there just in time to stop the little one, who had to be about four, from smashing his forehead into his older brother’s face. With what looked like it took a surprising amount of effort, Noah separated the boys.
“Come on,” Noah said. “You can both be police officers. Or you can be something else, too.”
The boys stared at him sullenly.
“What about being a writer?” Noah said with a smile. “Like your dad. That’s a cool job. Tell them, Emery.”
“Actually, with the increasingly prominent role played by amateurs, and the low barrier to entry, professional journalism is basically dead. The only viable careers in writing are piecemeal freelance or something ridiculous like writing a novel.”
A sharp, warning noise came from the kitchen, and Hazard glanced over to see Somers dragging his hand across his throat: shut up.
“Freelance writing is a great career,” Noah said, still talking to the boys but now giving Hazard the stink eye. “You know, I’d be really proud if one of you boys decided to take after me and—”
The little one, obviously bored and disgruntled, soothed himself by biting down on Noah’s arm.
“Oww,” Noah shook himself free. “No way, mister. Not allowed. You need a time out.” The little one screamed as Noah picked him up and carried him out of the room.
“If he bites you just for suggesting he be a writer,” Nico said, his voice quiet and silky from the spot he had chosen in the corner of the room, “I wonder what he’d do if I said he should go to grad school.”
Hazard wasn’t sure why Noah and Rebeca continued to invite his ex-boyfriend. He kept thinking they’d finally get the hint and stop.
“That just shows how smart he is,” Hazard said.
A laugh worked its way through the room, and after a minute, the group’s attention fragmented into smaller conversations. In the kitchen, Somers toasted Hazard with a glass of water and then turned back to Rebeca, both of them laughing the next moment about something Somers said.
It was a strange group that Noah and Rebeca had cobbled together: Hazard and Somers, in spite of Hazard’s dislike of people in general; Dulac, Somers’s partner on the police force, and Darnell, his boyfriend; the pastor of their local church, Wesley, and his new girlfriend—Hazard couldn’t remember her name; Mitchell, Hazard’s first client as a private detective and the survivor of a brutal attack; and Nico, Hazard’s ex. Nico was a late addition, and he still clung to the fringes of the group, as though not sure of his place in it.
Darnell, a big bear of a man, kissed Dulac on the cheek and started moving around the room, shaking hands, excusing himself.
“Got an international call,” Darnell said as he pumped Hazard’s hand. “One of the many pleasures of working remotely.”
“Good luck,” Hazard said.
After Darnell excused himself, Hazard noticed Dulac moving to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of wine. A very full glass of wine. His movement changed something; something in the group’s dynamic shifted, and all of the sudden, the small knots of conversation burst. There had to be some kind of formula for it. Some way of predicting it. Hazard was sure some econ professor somewhere was toiling over it. Maybe you could base it on something in the animal world. Starling flocks. Hazard had been reading about starlings lately—they were a major nuisance, and they could form enormous flocks. Up to a hundred thousand birds in some places. What caused them to form? What caused them to split? What signal—pheromone or body language or combination of cues—was Hazard oblivious to, that made everyone else move like they were in a game of musical chairs?
In the kitchen, Dulac had finished one very full glass of wine, and now he was pouring another. He turned around, spotted Hazard, and wove a path through the room.
“You looked hilarious watching those kids wrestle,” Dulac said, settling onto the sofa next to him. The detective was young, probably ten years younger than Hazard and Somers, and he was dangerously boyish with all those freckles. “Your face, man. Oh my God, your face.”
“You already drank another half glass?”
“Bro, Darnell is, like, cutting back. Because of his health. And I’m a good boyfriend.”
“So you go swimming in Chardonnay as soon as he leaves?”
“Dude.” Dulac took a gulp, and then another, setting the glass down on the coffee table too hard. The glass clinked loudly. Wine slopped against the side. “So, like, you’re a dad, right?”
Hazard grunted and stared straight ahead.
“But, like, not a daddy?” Laughing, Dulac slugged Hazard in the shoulder. “Come on, man. I’m just messing with you.”
“Do that again, and I’ll break your nose. Again.”
“Dude, you’re hilarious. Seriously—”
“I am being serious.”
“Seriously, though, do you like being a dad? Like, I get it, you’re, like, tough. You’re probably the discipline one, right?”
Across the room, Nico released a single, shocked scoff of laughter. Hazard accidentally met his gaze, and a blush swept through Hazard’s face as he jerked his eyes away.
“But do you like
it?”
“Gray,” Hazard said, “it’s a nice party, ok? Can you just fuck off?”
“I just want to know what’s going on inside this big, beautiful brain.” Dulac tried to tap on Hazard’s temple, but Hazard jerked his head away. “You’re hooking up with my boy, you know? You and John-Henry, that’s fucking awesome.” He groped blindly for the wineglass and took another long drink. “Come on, man. Let me get to know the real Emery Hazard. Just say it. Just say you’re a fucking—”
“Language,” Rebeca called from the kitchen, and sure enough, a moment later, one of the boys barreled through the room, an RC car zipping after him, and then another boy, laughing, stumbled along with the remote control.
“Just say you’re a freaking awesome dad,” Dulac said, holding up his thumb. “You’re a way better detective than me.” His stuck out his index finger. “You’re a freaking muscle-god hunk.” Another finger.
“Go away,” Hazard said.
“No, no, I’m just saying.” Dulac waved his hand, displaying the items he’d already marked on his fingers. “You’re freaky smart, right? Everybody knows that.” Another finger went up. Leaning in, Dulac let out a breath that might have been a laugh, wine souring the air. “Dude, and you’re a freaking fucking machine.” The last finger went up just for an instant before Dulac made a fist and drove it into his palm. “Giving it to my boy.” He slammed his fist home again. “Yeah, just giving it to him. Come on, Emery, tell me. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you guys work, right?”
Latching on to Dulac’s sweater, Hazard dragged him up from the sofa. “You want to talk about John and me? Great.” He lowered his voice. “You’ve been working yourself up for this for a while now, haven’t you? You’ve been sniffing around him for six months. So let’s talk.” Hazard set down his beer and closed his empty hand; a few knuckles popped, which was really fucking satisfying. “Let’s go talk outside. And Gray, we’re only going to have this conversation once.”
As Hazard took a step toward the door, towing Dulac behind him, Wesley moved into his path. The pastor was small and slight, with a quiff of ginger hair, narrow shoulders, and wide hips. He put his hands on those hips right now and said, “Hi, Emery.”
“Move.”
“You know,” Wesley said, “I think I should give Gray a ride home.”
“He’s going to need a ride,” Hazard said. “In about five minutes. I don’t think you’ll be driving him home, though.”
“Hey man,” Dulac was saying, but the words were slurred as the wine hit him harder. He shoved at Hazard, and then he tried to pry off Hazard’s grip, but all he succeeded in doing was fumbling. “Hey, get off me, bro.”
“I’m going to give him a ride home, Emery. Right now, I think.”
“I need to have a little talk with him.”
Wesley stepped closer, his voice low, his eyes cutting across the room to the kitchen where Somers was helping Rebeca with the dishes. “Everybody’s having a good night, Emery.”
At the sink, Somers rolled up his sleeves, exposing the dark ink over corded muscle.
Another moment passed, and then Hazard dragged Dulac forward, turned the movement into a shove, and sent him stumbling toward the front door.
“Just let him go,” Hazard said, his face hot again. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
“You didn’t ruin it. Susie and I wanted to go for a drive anyway.” The smile that crept across Wesley’s face looked like a surprise even for Wesley—it was so full of life, so huge, so happy. “I know I should stay, have dessert, build all those social bridges that pastors are supposed to build. But I feel like a teenager. Half of me is stupid happy, and the other half—just stupid, I guess.”
Hazard glanced at Wesley’s girlfriend, a tall, plain-faced woman with a crown of braids. Susie—Susan Morrison, Hazard remembered the name now—was in HR at the Tegula plant, a third-rate ceramic tile manufacturer that was the only other major employer in the area besides the local college.
“First girlfriend?”
Wesley shrugged, but the smile got bigger somehow. “I mean, I dated women before I transitioned, but this feels new somehow. Better.”
“It is new. You’re dating her as you now.” He met Wesley’s eyes; Noah and Rebeca had been trying so damn hard to make Hazard and Wesley become friends, and Hazard felt he owed them at least this much. “I’m really happy for you.”
“Yeah,” Wesley said through that huge grin, his eyes going back to Susie. “Thanks.”
In spite of himself, Hazard felt a smile breaking free. “Ok, I’ll make sure Dulac gets home safely. Hand to God, I won’t lay a finger on him. You two go find an empty parking lot and do some necking.”
“Nobody’s called it necking since the nineties,” Susan said as she joined them. She had a smile that softened the words. “Are we going?”
“No,” Hazard said.
“Yes,” Wesley said, taking Susan’s arm. “We’ll get him home. And then we’ll take our romantic drive through the Missouri countryside.”
“And do some necking,” Hazard said.
Susan rolled her eyes, but when they were walking toward the door, ushering Dulac ahead of them, Wesley glanced back with a huge smirk.
A soft laugh caught Hazard’s attention; Nico had a hand over his mouth, his dark eyes huge as he watched Hazard. Hazard and Nico had dated for several months. It had gotten serious, and then it had ended when Nico and Hazard both realized that Hazard had feelings for Somers. For a theology grad student, Nico was pretty goddamn easy on the eyes: long and lanky, with coppery skin and thick, wavy black hair. When his hand came down, he wore a zipped-up smile.
“Maybe you should go home too,” Hazard said, stomping back to the sofa, dropping down, and collecting his beer.
Nico peeled himself out of the corner and came over to join him.
“Why can’t anyone just do what I tell them?” Hazard said.
“You should be used to it with me,” Nico said. “Remember how you used to go on and on about leaving socks on the floor?”
“Christ, I’m still trying to break John of that habit.”
Nico grinned, and then, against his best efforts, Hazard smiled. And then Nico started laughing, and Hazard’s grin got bigger.
When Nico had composed himself, he said, “I’m sorry about Gray. He was being an asshole.”
Hazard grunted and took another drink of beer. The question of why he and Somers worked was a tricky one, a combination of factors that even Hazard didn’t understand. It was like trying to determine a shape in the darkness, feeling the lines and contours. He’d follow something in his mind—their history, for example, the mixture of terror and lust that Somers had inspired in him as a boy—and he could psychologize it and rationalize it and think he understood. And then he’d think of something else—Somers’s insistence on watching those godawful action movies—and the whole thing would turn to smoke, and he couldn’t even figure out where to start.
“You guys are great together,” Nico said, his voice low, his eyes locked on his Chucks. “I see that now, although I didn’t—didn’t want to admit it for a long time.” With what looked like an effort, he lifted his head. “You two are supposed to be together, Emery.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Gray’s just trying to get under your skin.”
“Ok.”
Rearing back, Nico studied him for a minute. Then he laughed. “What do you think he’s doing?”
“I think he’s being Gray. He’s just kind of genetically programmed to be a fratty asshole. He had too much to drink. End of story.”
Nico’s expression was zipped up again.
“What?” Hazard said.
“Oh no. I’m not getting involved.”
“You’re about waist fucking deep already.”
“No way.”
“You know something.” Hazard corrected himself. “You think you know something. Out with it.”
“Umm. Ok. How to say this? You know I have personal experience with this, right?”
“With what?”
“With watching the guy you—the guy you’re involved with go to work with somebody else, spend all day with somebody else.”
Hazard blinked. “What happened between us—”
“I’m not trying to start a fight, Emery. I’m not. Honestly. I just wanted to point out the similarities. Gray is . . .”
“Jesus Christ, Nico. He’s what?”
“He’s interested in John-Henry.”
Hazard’s first reaction was to reject the statement out of hand. It wasn’t that he didn’t think it was possible—he was well aware of how attractive and charming his fiancé was—but his mind threw up a smokescreen of alternatives: Dulac was a fuckboy, Dulac was dating Darnell, Dulac was just a supermarket-grade asshole. But then he remembered the night, a few months ago, when he and Somers had been fighting and Dulac had come over for pizza. And he remembered Dulac talking about how he would treat Somers differently, remembered Dulac’s painfully obvious attempts to get Somers to massage his back. At the time, Hazard had been so focused on Somers that he hadn’t really registered the second dynamic at work. Now, though, he was thinking back, tracing everything he’d seen before: the banner on Dulac’s desk at work, proclaiming Dulac and Somerset the new power couple; Dulac’s determination to worm his way into their lives outside of work; the panicked texts, demanding Somers’s help with relationship problems.
“Ok, see?” Nico said, dusting his hands. “You already knew.”
When Nico started to rise, Hazard clutched his arm.
Nico flopped back onto the sofa. “What?”
“He’s got a crush on John?”
“Well, yeah. Maybe more than a crush. He’s definitely jealous.”
“He’s jealous?”
“I’m starting to remember why we broke up.” Nico had a crooked smile. “This stuff just flies under your radar, huh?”
“He’s jealous? Of me?”