by Darien Cox
And Myles was fairly certain they’d brought whatever they’d pulled up out of the lake to the marina, though they’d done a good job of masking the big boat’s exit, clogging the basin with other boats, a helicopter circling overhead. There was a large storage facility on the marina property. He was betting they’d brought the thing there.
Part of him thought he should just let it go. It was over now, and it was made obvious he wasn’t going to get any more information. The village was peaceful again, quiet, and that was the way he liked it. As soon as Ogden and the others had cleared out, things went back to normal, people walking the streets, hanging out on the beach, enjoying the early summer weather as the skies cleared over the mountains.
Myles was exhausted after driving back up from New Hampshire earlier. So when he left the station and went back to his lakeside cottage, he’d been tempted to just pop a beer and settle in for a night in front of the television.
But there was still one pebble stuck in his shoe, and it refused to be dislodged no matter how hard he shook it. While his mind protested the idea that Christian Boucher might be more than he seemed, what he’d seen today didn’t add up. Christian could have been telling the truth when he said he didn’t know the people down on the beach. It was possible they’d recruited him for the purpose of using his marina, sworn him to secrecy, and that’s why Christian seemed so nervous when Myles spoke to him. But his instincts told him there was more to it. Christian seemed too familiar with that Ogden guy, and Myles sensed history there. He’d seen Ogden touching Christian’s face and placing a hand on his shoulder while they spoke.
And so, after showering and putting on jeans and a tee shirt, he got in the car, and headed to Christian’s house near the back end of the lake. He’d debated wearing his uniform, as he wanted Christian to take him seriously when he showed up. Ultimately though, he determined that perhaps a casual, non-threatening approach might be a better angle.
It had grown dark by the time he arrived at Christian’s small white house, and he was pleased to see lights in the windows. It dawned on him as he parked that Christian might not be alone in there. He knew Christian was gay, as rumors were as prevalent as bonfires in Singing Bear Village. But he’d not seen nor heard any indication that he had a significant other. Not that it was any of his concern. But it was surprising, as Christian was attractive.
Okay, more than attractive, with those huge brown eyes, that olive skin, and a sexy mouth. Myles wasn’t blind. But the snark that came out of that sexy mouth combined with Christian’s consistently disruptive behavior negated any sexual interest Myles might have felt brewing when he’d first seen the man two years ago. He made a conscious effort not to notice Christian’s physical appeal.
When he knocked on the front door, the aggressive sounds of a dog barking made Myles step back. After a minute passed with no response, he knocked again, and the barking increased in ferocity, the sound of big paws thumping against the door.
“Cuervo, easy, girl,” came Christian’s voice from inside.
The door opened, and Christian’s eyes widened when he saw Myles. He held the collar of a huge black lab. And Christian was shirtless, in black sweatpants with bare feet. Myles had to make an effort not to let his eyes trail over Christian’s bare torso. He’d previously noticed the tattoos on Christian’s forearms, but had no idea they also traveled over his shoulders, chest, ribs, and lower, disappearing beneath the ridge of his sweatpants.
He’d also had no idea that Christian was so damned ripped. Because he was fairly lean, Christian’s physique kind of disappeared under the baggy clothes he usually wore. But his olive skin sheathed lean, hard muscle, and Myles couldn’t help but be impressed—and surprisingly, a little breathless.
“Sheriff Murphy. What are you doing here?”
“I’d like to come in and speak with you if I may, Mr. Boucher.”
“Okay. I guess. Come in.”
Myles glanced at the dog, still trying to pounce on him, straining against the collar where Christian held it. “Think you can calm your dog down first?”
Crouching, Christian wrapped his arms around the lab. “It’s okay, Cuervo. Good girl. You’re a good girl!” He rubbed her head, and her tail wagged. Eventually he let her go, and she trotted off into the house. Rising, Christian held the door open. “Come in, Sheriff.”
“Thank you.” Myles stepped into a small foyer that connected to a living room. He’d been in this house before, the night he’d brought Christian’s drunken ass home from jail.
“Sorry about Cuervo. She’s big but she’s actually only two years old, still kind of rambunctious.”
“Yes,” Myles said. “She was much, much smaller the last time I saw her.”
Christian paused. “You saw Cuervo when she was little? When?”
Myles stepped into the living room, glancing around. “The night I dragged you from a jail cell because I was afraid I’d murder you. You passed out in my car and I had to carry your drunk ass into the house and drop you on your bed. The puppy was running around.”
Christian winced. “Oh. Yeah. That night. Do you want something to drink?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. Well, what do you want?”
Christian stood with hands on his hips, and Myles wanted to tell him to put a shirt on, because he found himself distracted. The tattoo on his left arm started with tentacle-like roots down by his wrist, twisted all the way up his arm, culminating in an elaborate tree across his pectoral muscle. A hawk nestled in the tree over his nipple. A bouquet of red roses graced the right side of his lower belly, thorny stems disappearing into his pants. His other arm and the rest of his torso had various designs, and Myles tried not to stare, but spotted a strange eye with a double iris, along with the word ‘James’ scrawling up the side of his rib cage.
“You can get dressed before we talk,” Myles said. “Clearly I caught you at a bad time.”
“I was just about to work out. It’s fine. Just talk.”
Damn it boy, put on a shirt! “Fine. Who were those people on the beach today? And what did they really pull out of the lake? Because I suspect it wasn’t really orbital debris.”
“Ah, Christ, Murphy. Still with this?”
Christian turned away, which didn’t help Myles’ discomfort, because his back was as lean and muscled as his front, and tastefully etched in body art. There was a scene of tumbled angels that Myles recognized, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Is that Gustave Dore?”
Turning around, Christian’s brows rose. “On my back? Yeah.”
“Paradise Lost. The Rebel Angels.”
He nodded. “I told you all I know today. I just met those people. They only wanted to ask me some questions. And I don’t know any more about what they pulled out of the lake than you do. Is that it?”
“No, that’s not it.”
Christian groaned and rubbed his yes. “Okay.” He waved an arm toward his living room. “Sit down. Make yourself at home.” He let out an exasperated sigh as he walked over and sat on his sofa.
Myles took a chair across from him. “Tell me something, Christian. How did you come to purchase the Village Marina?”
Christian’s brows pinched. “Why? What do you care?”
“I’m curious. You’ve got a pretty sketchy background.”
Christian’s body tensed. “Sketchy how?”
“There isn’t much of it there. No job history. No higher degrees. Where’d you get the money to buy the marina? Or the experience for that matter.”
Shoulders sagging, Christian appeared relieved. “Oh. I worked under the table at the marina in Annapolis when I was younger. You gonna arrest me for that? Good luck finding a paper trail.”
“You didn’t answer the other part of my question. Where did you get the money to make the purchase?”
“Screw you, Murphy. What are you, the FBI now? You’re the local sheriff, you’ve got no authority to go digging into my personal affairs. Go get
a cat out of a tree or something, and leave me alone.”
Myles smiled. “Maybe I don’t have that kind of authority. But I do have a nose for bullshit. I know when something doesn’t feel right. And you don’t feel right. You or those goons from the beach.”
Christian’s gaze trailed over Myles’ body. “No uniform tonight, huh Sheriff?”
Myles shifted in the chair, Christian’s words, and the tone in which he delivered them making him squirm a bit. His brown-eyed gaze locked on Myles, challenging, and a bit heated. “Being out of uniform doesn’t make me any less the sheriff. I’d like if you’d answer my questions. Truthfully this time.”
“I do enjoy seeing you out of uniform,” Christian said. “Still remember the first time I saw you in JT’s pub. You looked good that night too.”
Caught off guard, Myles’ face heated. He forced a scowl. “What are you talking about?”
“Before I knew who you were. When you first started the job. You laughed a lot. In fact, I see you laughing all the time, in the village. Except when you see me. With me you’re all serious and contemptuous.”
Christian was either trying to develop a rapport so Myles would back off, or trying to distract him by getting personal. “Did they take the debris to your marina?”
“Nope.”
“Where did they take it?”
“I have no idea. I’m just the village boat guy. Why would they tell me anything? You heard Ogden. That thing that crashed into the lake was NASA property. They’re not gonna store that shit with someone like me. I’m nobody.”
“You sound defensive. Like you’re trying too hard to convince me.”
Shaking his head, Christian said, “Damn, you’re paranoid. Or maybe you’re just bored. Can’t be much of a challenge being the village sheriff. Maybe you’re trying to make something out of nothing so you can feel like a big time detective. Make you feel important for once.”
Myles’ jaw tightened. “You’re a fucking prick, Boucher.”
Christian jumped to his feet, grinning. “You wanna hit me?”
“What?”
“Come on.” Christian bounced side to side, holding his fists up. “Come downstairs and spar with me. You look like you’re in good shape. Bet you’re a pretty decent fighter.”
“I’m not going to fight you, Christian.”
“Damn.” Christian stopped bouncing and stood with hands on his hips. The black sweatpants had slid down some and showed the curve of his hipbone. “No one will fight with me lately.”
“Maybe you should find a hobby other than fighting.”
“Are we done?”
“No.”
“Then if you want to ask me more questions, you’ll have to come downstairs and do so while I work out. I’ve got a ton of pent up energy and I need to work it off.”
“I’m not going to—”
Christian walked out of the room.
Myles stood and followed. “You’re being disrespectful!” he shouted.
Loud music began blasting from below, and Myles made his way down a flight of stairs. He found Christian beating the hell out of a heavy bag, punches snapping in a speedy blur, stomach tight and rippling.
“Don’t know what you want from me, Sheriff,” Christian huffed, continuing his assault on the bag. “Told you everything I know.”
Myles was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of Christian, shirtless and glowing, wailing on the bag as his body shifted around it. “Can you please stop that? I’d like it if you’d take this seriously. Look at me while I’m speaking to you.”
Turning, Christian bounced over to Myles, fists up. “Come on. Spar with me.”
“Stop.”
Christian jabbed his fists all around Myles’ body, not making contact, but coming so close he felt the air shift. Myles took a step back. “You put your hands on me, I’m arresting you.”
“I won’t touch you.” Christian’s leg swung a roundhouse kick, barely missing Myles’ chin. “I have complete control of my body.”
I’d like to have complete control of your body. Myles bit down on his tongue to regain his focus. Christian continued to throw air punches and kicks at Myles.
“I’d like to take a look around your marina tomorrow.”
Christian’s movement’s ceased, his fists lowering. He smiled. “Get a warrant.” He walked to a bench and grabbed a bottled water, taking a sip.
“Maybe I will.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that.”
The song on the radio ended and the DJ came on. “Welcome to Village Radio. Elliot, about to sign off. Quite a day here on the lake, lots of excitement. I can confirm now that it was orbital debris from a satellite that crashed into the lake, but it’s cleaned up, so I’ll see all of you on the beach this weekend for Warden’s Boathouse Pub annual pig roast. Bring your appetites, and your beer mugs! Leaving you with ‘Flash’ by Queen.”
Christian turned back to Myles, shrugging. “Told you. Satellite debris.”
Myles had met Elliot Nicholson, who ran Village Radio. He seemed nice enough, if not a bit odd. He also knew he was close friends with Christian. Christian had called Myles paranoid a moment ago. He was starting to wonder if he was right. Because for a moment his mind considered the option that Elliot and Christian were both involved in some cover-up regarding what happened at the lake. But it was more likely they’d all been fed the same official story, and were just repeating what they’d been told.
“All right, Christian. I’ll leave you alone. For now. Try to stay out of trouble.” Myles started toward the stairs.
“Hang on a minute, Sheriff Murphy. Can I ask you something?”
Myles turned to face him. “What is it?”
Christian slowly approached, bare skin glistening. “Why don’t you like me?”
“I have no personal feelings about you either way.”
“Sure you do.” Christian took a step toward him, closing the gap. “You can’t stand me. Is it because I got drunk and sang at you that night?”
“That was a single incident,” Myles said, trying not to stare at Christian’s lips. “But it wasn’t the first time you’ve made my job difficult. So all right. Maybe you’re not my favorite person in the village.”
“I bet I can change that.” Christian moved even closer, and Myles took a step back.
“Stay out of trouble, and we’ll see.”
“I’ll place a bet...” Christian walked a circle around Myles, stopping to face him. “That one of these days, I’ll be able to make you laugh.”
Myles blinked. “At you or with you?”
Christian chuckled. His smile was cute, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You going to be at the pig roast this weekend?”
“I’ll be working.”
“Come down to the beach. I’ll buy you a beer.”
“As I said. I’ll be working.”
Leaning in, his lips moved close to Myles’ ear. “Then I’ll buy you a snow cone.” Christian inhaled audibly, as though taking in Myles’ scent. “You’re so hot. That ought to cool you down a bit.”
Myles could smell Christian’s skin, a hint of sweat, and his cock stirred. Jolting himself out of the haze, he jerked away, throwing his shoulders back. “Boucher! What the hell are you up to?”
“Nothing. Just offering to buy you a snow cone.”
“You’re being disrespectful.”
Christian glanced down Myles’ groin, and he was sure his jeans were tented, his erection swelling against his will. “Sorry.” Christian walked backwards, then grabbed a tee shirt off a chair and pulled it on. “Sorry, Sheriff. No disrespect intended.”
“I’ll show myself out.”
When he went back upstairs, Christian followed, walking him to the door. “Sheriff Murphy,” he said when Myles stepped outside.
Myles looked back at Christian, who leaned against the doorframe. “What?”
“The offer stands.”
“What offer is that?”
Smiling, Christi
an went back inside and closed the door.
Myles walked briskly to his car. Did Christian Boucher just come onto me? Giving his head a shake, he got in his vehicle and headed out on the road. He still had a boner, and couldn’t believe Christian had put it there. Sure, the man was nice to look at, but Myles despised him. Didn’t he? He’d almost literally driven Myles crazy that night at the station while he was locked up.
And he’d almost driven Myles crazy tonight. But for different reasons.
When he reached the boardwalk, he pulled over at the ice cream stand. Christian had given him a hankering for a snow cone, so he bought one, then sat on the wall. He wondered if it would be more useful if he stuck the snow cone down his pants. And wondered exactly what it was Christian was offering him when he left. He still got the sense there was something off about Christian, something hidden beneath the surface. Perhaps he’d take a detour down to the pig roast this weekend after all. See if he could figure out what it was.
You just want to see if he’ll hit on you again. You want him to.
His cock stirred again at the thought, and he let out a soft growl, frustrated with himself. He’d gotten laid last night, he shouldn’t be this desperate. Lowering the snow cone, he held it over his groin. “Settle down,” he whispered to his cock. “Or I’ll bury you in ice.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Myles looked up at Tim, then quickly tossed the snow cone down onto the sand. “Tim, what’s up?”
His blond friend sat beside him, pointing to the sand. “You littered. That’s against the law, you realize.”
Myles chuckled. “You find anything else out about what happened on the lake?”
“Not much. Parks department got the same story you did. Satellite debris.”
“You believe it?”
“I don’t know. Doing some of our own water testing just to be safe. But...you were asking about Christian Boucher earlier, wondering if he knew those goons?”