by Josh Lanyon
Rick turned to me. “Hey, they sprang you.”
“Disappointed?”
He ignored that. “This is Carla.”
“We met last night. Nice to put a name to the apartment number.” I would have held my hand out to shake Carla’s, but instinct told me she’d leave me hanging.
“I should go now.” She turned to go back inside her place.
I glanced down at the dogs. “Stephani not back yet?”
“She called.” Carla untangled their leashes. “She’ll be back soon. They want to make sure Pepper’s okay.”
“Good. I hope she is. Nice meeting you.” She closed the door between us.
Rick and I stared after her. He said, “I was going to leave this for you.”
He stuck a Post-it on my borrowed T-shirt that read: Stop by after you get back? 3C.
Did he know they wouldn’t charge me? Or had he written the note just in case?
“I need to get a shower and change first.”
“Take your time.” He stopped at his door. “I’ll be here.”
When I entered my place, the mess shocked me. Greasy splotches covered the walls and kitchen counters. My stuff had been flung all over. I got it. The cops wanted a nice, neat solution to their case, and so far I was looking good for the role of “mystery killer.”
But did they have to trash my place?
With a sigh, I put my problems aside in favor of a steaming-hot shower and a change of clothes.
I should have let the curiosity in a certain pair of shrewd brown eyes go. I should have avoided Rick altogether. That didn’t stop me from putting on my softest man-trap jeans and a gray V-neck sweater that showed my stockpot-hoisting shoulders and meat-cleaving arms to advantage.
Rick might be straight as an arrow, and his concern of the protect-and-serve variety, but I doubted it. I didn’t get looks like that from straight guys.
Plus, no matter what he said, I thought he remembered me. There hadn’t been much light the night he tried to pay me back what his cohorts owed the restaurant, but I’d seen him clearly enough to remember the moment all these years later.
I was young then, and he was even younger. I’d wanted him, thought about pulling him into the shadows and kissing the smug smirk off his face. It appeared nothing had changed with time.
I was new in the building, and I needed friends.
Whatever drove his invitation was fine by me.
***
I knocked on Rick’s door at around four. He opened almost immediately.
“Hey.”
A huge, alarming snout poked between his knee and the doorjamb. Belgian Malinois, the other German shepherd.
Belgians were loyal, intelligent dogs. I’d read they were less likely to have hip problems than GSDs, but equally useful in combat and law-enforcement situations.
“Hey you.” I admit I kind of froze with terror when Rick’s dog growled. I didn’t know if it was trained for personal security, and I didn’t want to enter without its permission. “What’s its name?”
“His name is Chancho.” Rick opened the door the rest of the way and invited me in.
I stayed where I was. “Is he friendly?”
“He’ll get used to you. No sudden moves.”
“No problem at all.” I took slow steps into his apartment and kept my hands at my sides, letting Chancho sniff me all over. He appeared to find me satisfactory because he lost interest after what seemed like a very long few seconds.
Rick kicked a Kong toy Chancho’s way. The dog plopped on the kitchen floor to gnaw at it. I smelled peanut butter.
“How’d they treat you?”
“Fine.” I hoped my gaze wasn’t as thunderstruck as Chancho’s, but honestly. It was hard to look at Rick without noticing the heroic proportions of his body. He had grown up. Filled out. I had too, though you couldn’t tell from looking at me now. After that bout in the hospital, my clothes pretty much hung on me.
“Fine? That doesn’t sound like—”
“They treated me carefully.” Momentarily softened by the concern in his eyes, I sighed. “I’ve been in worse places.”
In fact, the building was much nicer than the one where I’d waited, several times, with my mother’s friends to bail her out of jail.
He chuckled. “You aren’t from around here?”
“Not originally.”
“Why’d you move here?”
“Here to this building specifically? Or to LA?”
“Both.”
Another round of quick-fire questions caused me to rub my hands together nervously. “I went to cooking school in Pasadena and never left the area. I moved to this apartment because they accept large dogs.”
“You don’t own a dog.” His eyes sparkled. Oh, he liked being in control of things, didn’t he?
“I’m getting one.”
He invited me to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “I’m about to fix lunch. Beer?”
“Sure.” He went to the refrigerator and pulled a couple of bottles out. “But if you think alcohol will make me confess, you’re wrong.”
“Shut up. You didn’t eat?”
I shook my head. “I came straight back from the station.”
He gave a funny tilt of his head. “I’m going to have performance anxiety.”
“’Bout what?”
“Cooking for you.” He waved a grill pan at me before putting it on the burner.
“Are you that bad?”
“No, I’m good.” He sneaked a look at me. “I just don’t know how good you are.”
“I’m fucking awesome, but I’m not a jerk. Anyway, no one is worse than my mother, and I still love her.”
“She’s a bad cook?”
“She’s the worst.” I pictured Mom in the kitchen, frilly apron on, trying her best. God alone knew why I hadn’t died of malnutrition or food poisoning. “My mom was built for display only.”
He said, “If I didn’t cook, my aunts and cousins would marry me off so fast, my head would spin.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “So it’s self-defense.”
“Rick, you’re so skinny,” he mimicked. “Rick, you need someone to feed you. Rick, when you gonna settle down and let a good man take care of you.”
And there it was. He’d spilled the beans, and now I knew for sure that the spark I’d sensed between us all those years ago wasn’t my imagination.
But although he’d evaded the question, I still thought he was some kind of cop. And I was a murder suspect. He was pumping me for information. He was also trying to charm me. I had seriously conflicted feelings about him. My brain said “red alert” while my body went into overdrive.
I cleared my throat while he turned chicken strips with tongs. Had he brined or marinated them? If not, they were going to be hella dry.
“Tell me about Dead Jeff?”
He sent a glance over his shoulder. “What do you want to know?”
“Who killed him? Because it wasn’t me, no matter what you guys think.”
“I don’t think anything.”
“I find that hard to believe, considering you and the rest of the cops last night—”
He turned. “I’m not a cop, Lonnie.”
“What are you? Because you’ve grilled me like those chicken breasts.”
He shrugged. “I used to be a cop, but I’m not anymore.”
“I could tell that Chandler guy knew you.” I relaxed fractionally. “He didn’t like you very much. You still ping every one of my law-enforcement tripwires.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t stereotype. And why do you have tripwires?”
“What do you do?”
He hesitated before answering. “Private security.”
“Like…driving around neighborhoods in a marked car at night? That kind of private security?”
“Hell no.” He frowned. “I’m the kind you’re not supposed to know is there until I’m needed.”
“I— Oh.”
Before I could ask more abou
t that, he said, “If you want to know about Jeff? I’m surprised no one popped him sooner.”
“Why?”
“You overheard me and Carla talking about him.” Guilt flooded me while he took the meat off the heat and tented it with foil. “Why do you think?”
“Sorry for eavesdropping.”
“Are you?”
“I guess…not really.”
He took his time heating small tortillas over the open flame. “I’m not saying anything the rest of the tenants won’t tell you. He lived here for free because his parents own the building. He acted like the place was his.”
“Popular guy, then?”
He shook his head. “Crashed everyone’s parties whether he was invited or not. Several of the women complained.”
“Complained about what, exactly?”
“He hit on them.” His eyes narrowed. “Sometimes he didn’t want to take no for an answer. Sometimes he didn’t worry too much if someone was clearheaded enough to consent.”
“Are you saying he actually raped someone? In this apartment building?” Was that what Carla was talking about? That was certainly what I imagined when I overheard them, but wouldn’t the police have done more than talk to him if that were the case?
“Sexual assault doesn’t necessarily have to be rape the way you think of it. But yeah. I thought so. Carla wouldn’t let me get involved, but she agreed to call the local PD. I don’t know how many women he tried his shit out on, but I know he was bad news. And because of family money and bogus alibis, there were never any consequences.”
“Bad news,” I repeated.
“We all wanted to get rid of him.”
“And someone did.” I flattened my hands on his counter. “But it wasn’t me. You should remind the detectives about Carla and the other women Jeff was messing with.”
“Just throw them under the bus?”
“Well, yeah. Maybe I’d like some company down here.” I figured now was a good time to ask again. “Admit it, Rick. You’re the dine-and-dash kid.”
“Okay, yeah,” he said unhappily. “Just so you know, I’m sorry I didn’t admit it when you first asked.”
“You lied to me.”
“We’d just met.” He pushed his empty bottle away. “I didn’t want to admit I’d been a part of something so…douchey. And I did go back a week later with the rest of what I owed, plus a tip, but you were gone. The server I talked to told me he’d get it to you. Did he?”
“Hell no.” I wasn’t surprised. “Who was it? Tonio? Black hair, tiny mustache like John Waters?”
“That’s the fucker.” He flushed. “Sorry.”
“Tonio probably pocketed it.”
“Lemme give you the money now.” He started to take out his wallet, but I stopped his hands. “No. C’mon. I don’t want this on my conscience anymore.”
“I’ll take a beer and we’ll call it done.” He went to the fridge and got us both another. “Tell me about the little bastards you were with that night. Were you in some kind of gang?”
“Hardly.” He smiled ruefully. “That was my older brother and his merry band of asshole friends. They used to call me Mr. Clean.”
“Oh yeah?” I leaned in, drawn by his obvious chagrin. “Because…?”
“My brother was ultra cool and he loved to push boundaries. I was younger, and more like my mom, so I constantly lectured him about right and wrong. I drove him batshit crazy.”
“You were his self-appointed conscience? I can see where he’d hate that.”
“Yeah, anyway, my family lost its collective shit when I went into the police academy. Mom didn’t want me in danger, Dad thought I’d forget where I came from. That night at the restaurant was Nico’s idea of a hilarious prank.”
“He wanted a partner in crime, and you were Mr. Clean.”
“He isn’t a bad guy. Just liked to play tough. You kind of needed to where I grew up. He was scared for me, I think.”
“Because you’re a decent guy and he didn’t want you to stand out and be different.”
“Truth is, back then…” He worried his luscious bottom lip.
“What?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to be Batman, I guess. I thought I was going to protect people and right all the wrongs in the world.” Color and passion imbued his words, turning him from a complex adult to the untarnished boy he must have been back then.
“That’s…adorable.”
“I was a kid. Now I know better. People suck.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” I scratched at the label on my beer. “You did make something of an impression on me. I guess I felt cheated when you lied about it.”
“I’m truly sorry I lied.” He used a single finger to trace the veins on the back of my hand. “I knew who you were. After, I felt bad for not admitting it, but I think I was in shock. Never in a million years did I expect to run into you again.”
I believed that. “Okay, your secret life of crime is safe with me.”
“Hope so.” He covered my hand with his. “We had a moment that night. Remember?”
“I remember. You tried to charm me with your bad-boy ways.”
“Tried? Try succeeded. I thought you were so hot. You weren’t much older than me, but you had this…attitude, like you were light years ahead. Still do.”
“Yeah?” I thought for sure he wanted to kiss me then. I wished he’d kiss me now.
He quirked a smile. “Doesn’t it seem like we always meet each other in the worst possible way?”
“Yes.” He was so close, his breath warmed my lips. When he finally pressed his lips to mine, they were lush—and much softer than I imagined.
He tilted his head and teased my lips apart. I let him in, and he did not disappoint. Not one little bit. He was every bit as sexy, as tender, as wonderful as I was afraid he’d be. Then he pulled back.
“And I didn’t throw you under the bus.” Rick’s cheeks darkened. “You got there by playing grabby hands with a murder weapon.”
I gasped. “Maybe I did. But I had the excuse of shock. It’s not every day you find a dead guy.”
“All right.” He glanced away. “It is weird when you find a dead guy.”
“Right. So let’s figure out who else wanted him dead? You said yourself—”
“The police will figure it out.” Rick had a lot more faith in them than I did. “They don’t need us involving ourselves in this.”
“But—”
“No buts, Lonnie. The smartest thing you can do is lie low and let the police do their job.”
“All right.” I still resented the implication that I had involved myself somehow.
Also, I wasn’t so sure the police were doing their job, especially if Rick was shielding his neighbors.
But the aroma coming off Rick’s street tacos made my mouth water. At least I think it was only the food. It could have been Rick, who looked delicious too.
I had no choice but to follow up—on the food. I’m a curious guy at the best of times. How well Rick could cook was just one of many things here to be curious about.
Chapter Four
Rick could definitely cook. The marinated breast meat was juicy and full of flavor, and he topped it with pickled onions, avocado, and Cotija cheese. His phone buzzed while we were eating. While he took the call on the balcony, I stared at Chancho nervously and he stared back.
Rick came in and went back to his food without a word. Chancho put his muzzle on his knee, lifting one eyebrow and then the other with each bite Rick took.
“Was that about the murder? Did I pass the interrogation?”
“No and no. They’re not gonna confide in me. That was about work.”
“What do you do when you’re on the job?”
He glanced away. “I mostly stand around, trying to look like a wall.”
I grinned. “So, typecasting?”
He gave me an eye roll. “Sure.”
His dog thought he was a pushover. “Every time you lift your ta
co, he thinks that’s the bite you’ll give him.”
“I don’t feed him human food.”
“I will.” Human food? That was the same stuff they made dog food out of as far as I could tell. Good dog food. “I’ll do meal prep for mine when I get him.”
Rick lifted his napkin to his lips. “All the time?”
“It’s no trouble. I can cook chicken in the pressure cooker and then add brown rice and vegetables. My dog won’t be eating the dyes, preservatives, and antibiotics in regular dog food.”
Rick smothered a smile. “What kind of dog do you have in mind?”
“I’m getting an Afghan hound.”
An eyebrow rose. “The really hairy noodle dogs?”
“Yup.” I got out my phone to show him a picture. “Afghans are aloof, highly intelligent, independent, and strong willed. Here. I’m waiting for this dog’s litter. If I want, I get first pick of the puppies.”
“You want an aloof dog?”
“I work long hours.” I defended my choice. “I need a dog that can take me or leave me, not some dog boyfriend, hanging on my every move.”
After a prolonged silence, I glanced down at Chancho. He gazed up at Rick with visible adoration while drooling all over his jeans.
I coughed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“Dogs are individuals.” Rick stroked Chancho’s velvety ears. “You can’t bank on dog stereotypes.”
“It’s just that I’m not looking for more than I can handle right now. I’ve spent the last several years working sixty-hour weeks, but then I got so sick. I don’t have time for pets or relationships, but I’m trying to make a little space in my work life for the trappings of an actual life. Doctor’s orders, really. I don’t even know where to start.”
Some idea seemed to flicker to life in his eyes but died there. “I hope you get what you’re looking for.”
That sounded like a curse.
No. I’d read about dogs, and I knew what I wanted. A purebred male. Classy and stylish. Not a dog you saw every day. One who would attract the pretty gay boys whenever I took him to the dog park. While Afghans might be grooming nightmares, you certainly didn’t see them everywhere. They were aristocrats. Plus, they had great personalities for a guy like me. I hoped so, anyway.