He wasn’t dumb. He’d seen enough cop shows to know not having an alibi around the time the murders took place was seriously not good. The detective couldn’t really think he was a suspect, though, could he? He had no motive and wasn’t connected in any way to either of the victims. For the past few hours he’d been tightly holding on to Jake’s reassurance it was just a formality. Unfortunately, as time crept by, he could feel the comfort of those words slipping further and further away. Worrying wasn’t going to change his situation, however. He just had to trust that whatever was going on out there, Alan and Jake had his back. They wouldn’t let him end up doing life for two murders he hadn’t committed. The idea of going to jail left him feeling faintly nauseous, so he shut down that line of thinking and instead started planning all the normal things he wanted to do with Jake once this was all sorted—going on a date and not almost getting killed might be a nice change.
The door opened and the sheriff stepped through, expression grim, but Danny didn’t stop to think about it as Jake quickly entered after him. Not caring they had an audience—that the camera up in the corner of the room was probably recording or there might be ten cops on the other side of the mirrored glass for all he knew—he shoved out of the chair and hurried around the table to land against Jake’s chest. Jake caught him up close, arms folding tightly around him.
“I’m sorry, Danny. I’m so sorry,” Jake murmured where he had his mouth pressed against the side of his head.
“It’s okay, Jake. It’s not your fault.” He pulled back slightly so he could stare into Jake’s golden-hazel eyes, his expression pinched and pale, and not looking 100 percent convinced about this shitty situation not being his fault. A cold lump formed in his stomach. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Everything is fine.” Jake’s reply was too quick and too brittle. “I just wanted to let you know I’m taking care of this. I’m going to take care of you, Danny.”
The cold lump turned into a full block of ice. He glanced at Alan, who had stayed standing by the doorway with his arms crossed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Jake took an uneven breath, hands tightening where they held him. “Stevens isn’t willing to release you yet. It looks like he’s going to use the full twenty-four hours he’s allowed to hold you without bringing charges. With no other clear suspect, and the fact you don’t have an alibi for either murder—”
“This is ridiculous!” He shoved out of Jake’s hold and paced away, raking both hands through his hair as dread zapped through his body like a thousand volts. “I didn’t do it. You both know I didn’t do it. I couldn’t ever kill someone! They’re not really going to lay this on me, are they?”
“Calm down, son.” The sheriff held out a placating hand, but didn’t shift from his stance near the door. “Like Perez said, we’re taking care of it. The best thing you can do is sit tight and cooperate.”
“Cooperate?” he repeated, distantly aware he was swiftly heading into full-blown panic mode. But shit, apart from meeting Jake, his entire life had been put through a blender in the past few weeks. Two car accidents. Multiple hospital visits. Getting involuntarily outed to his father and the unsurprising, ugly fallout that’d followed. Dead bodies around every corner. And now some detective was seriously considering charging him with murder? Hell, it was amazing he hadn’t folded into a blubbering mess of insanity in a corner somewhere already. “Cooperating is what got me here. I should have told Stevens to go fuck himself and skipped town.”
The sheriff’s expression tightened. “You don’t mean that, Danny.”
“Don’t I?” he shot back, but already the burst of anger and dread was beginning to fade.
“No, you don’t,” Alan insisted. “Just sit tight, Perez and I will get this sorted.”
The sheriff side-stepped and landed a hand on the doorknob. “You’ve got two minutes, but I’ll be right outside the door.”
“Thanks, Sheriff,” Jake murmured.
Hayes sent him a nod and then slipped from the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind himself. Jake huffed a weary sigh, running a hand through his already-mussed dark hair, as if he’d been doing it a lot in the last few hours.
“We’re going to get you out of here. Then you and I need to talk.”
Something in Jake’s tone made his stomach drop into his feet, his mind immediately going to the worst-case scenario of Jake breaking up with him. He could have laughed at himself over that—or cried; at this point, he wasn’t sure which. But for one, Jake breaking up with him shouldn’t have been a more terrifying prospect than being charged with two murders he hadn’t committed. And two, they barely had a relationship to begin with, still hardly knew each other, so what was he really losing?
Everything, his heart told him, though he ruthlessly ignored the insistent voice and forced a calming breath on himself.
“Whatever it is, Jake, I’ll understand.” The words almost came out sounding calm, but there was a small hitch he couldn’t quite hide, leaving him wincing. He pushed on, hoping Jake hadn’t noticed. “I mean, it did kind of come out of nowhere and things got really intense and then all that shit with my dad happened, not to mention the— Anyway, I can’t really blame you if you don’t want to—”
“Danny!” Jake crossed the several steps separating them in a few determined strides and yanked him into his arms. “You don’t get rid of me that easily.”
Before he could say anything in reply, Jake caught his mouth in a hard, almost desperate kiss. Emotion sparked sharply between them, like Jake was really scared he was going to lose him, which only spurred Danny into pouring his own fear and apprehension into the frenetic clash of their lips and tongues. By the time they broke apart, neither of them was breathing steadily any longer, and Danny’s heart was pounding a frantic rhythm.
“God, there’s so much I want to tell you,” Jake murmured, almost against his lips, their forehead pressing together. “But not now, and definitely not here.”
“Later.” The single whispered word landed somewhere between a vow and a promise.
Jake shuddered in his arms and Danny tightened his hold, wondering what the hell was going on that would leave his normally confident boyfriend pale and all but shaking. But he had to trust in Jake and Sheriff Hayes. Jake clearly wanted to tell him, but not knowing who might be on the other side of the mirror and the camera recording in the corner didn’t leave them any privacy whatsoever. As if to emphasize the point, a sharp rap sounded on the door, presumably Alan signaling their two minutes were up.
“I have to go,” Jake mumbled reluctantly. He leaned back and cupped a hand to the side of his face. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
He tightened his hold on Jake’s waist. “I’m starting to think I should be more worried about you.”
Jake sent him a smile, but it was hollow at best. He leaned in, and this time the kiss was tender and soft—a light touch of lips and a sharing of breath that radiated all the way through his heart right down to his soul.
“Don’t worry about me, either,” Jake told him firmly when he pulled back again. “Before you know it, I’ll be back to take you home.”
Jake pressed a kiss to his cheek and then hurried away, though Danny didn’t notice until the door clicked shut behind Jake in the silent, empty room. His brain had gotten snagged on the whole home thing. Because when Jake had said it, his first instinct was a need and knowledge settling deep into his bones that home was wherever Jake was.
DANNY DIDN’T have any way to tell the time because he didn’t generally wear a watch and they’d taken his phone off him before bringing him into the interview room. But he was fairly certain another few hours dragged by before the door finally opened again.
This time it was Stevens, accompanied by the sheriff, whose expression landed somewhere between frustrated and triumphant. Stevens let the door stand wide and dropped onto the desk a plastic bag holding his personal belongings—keys, wallet, phone, even some old train tickets
from Houston that’d been crammed right down in the bottom of his jacket pockets. They’d been thorough when they’d taken it all out earlier.
“You’re free to go. For now.” Stevens put a damn lot of emphasis on the last two words, as if sending him a warning. “Don’t leave town for any reason. We might have more questions for you in the coming days.”
He sent the detective a stiff nod as he swiped up his stuff and settled his gaze on Alan.
“Jake?”
Hayes crossed his arms, expression shuttering a little. “He’s got some work he needs to finish up. But he told me to let you know the spare key is under the mat by the back door and to make yourself comfortable until he gets home.”
He was disappointed Jake wasn’t taking him home like he’d promised, but at least he was getting out of here. He kept his expression locked down, however, since he could practically feel Stevens’s gaze boring into him. Had the detective really settled so fixedly on him being the guilty party here?
Ignoring the man, he thanked the sheriff and hurried out of the room. He glanced around what little of the station he got to see as Alan led him out to the front reception desk, but didn’t see any hint of Jake anywhere.
“Try to stay out of trouble for at least a few hours, Danny-boy,” Alan told him fondly with a wink.
“I can only hope,” he muttered as he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped outside into the last of the evening sunshine. His phone had several missed calls from his mom. He sent her a text message saying he’d call her later, not really wanting to talk with her right now. If he did, she’d probably ask him what he’d been doing all afternoon, and he never had been very good at lying to her. Until Stevens got a clue and found the actual murderer, he didn’t want his mom to know what was going on. It’d only worry her and she already had enough on her plate between fighting the cancer the past few months and now leaving his dad.
His stomach rumbled, belatedly protesting the fact he’d last eaten hours ago. What he really needed was a beer and burger. He’d even suffer the substandard offerings at Monroe’s since it was the only place in town he could get both.
He walked the few blocks from the sheriff’s department into the center of town and crossed the town square as the sun started dropping beneath the horizon, but it didn’t feel like it’d cool down anytime soon. The wash of the air conditioner as he stepped through the doors was a welcome relief; even the swell of chatter and familiar stale-bar smell managed to drain some of the tension from his shoulders. He just needed to get lost in the familiarity of sitting in a bar enjoying an ice-cold beer and a greasy meal until Jake finished whatever work he was doing and they could go home together.
Just as he reached the bar, however, a familiar figure came into view, turning on the stool to face him at the same time. His heart skipped as his father’s gaze narrowed on him in rage. Danny spun, trying to get back through the crowd before his dad could catch up with him.
“Daniel Johnathan Jones!” his father bellowed, causing most of the bar to fall quiet.
Despite knowing it was a bad idea, he stopped and slowly turned back to face his father.
The man staggered closer, clearly drunk, eyes bloodshot. He got the feeling his dad hadn’t gone fishing like his mom had thought. More like drinking. Fucking typical.
“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.” The words were slurred, but there was no mistaking the hatred behind them, and any last hope he’d been carrying that his dad might finally accept him cracked and shattered to the ground. “You ruined my life. You ruined three generations of the Jones family name in this town. How am I supposed to show my face at church on Sunday when my son is a filthy—”
“That’s enough, Grant,” old man Murphy said in a steely voice from behind the bar. There were a few murmurs of agreement. Even so, several other people Danny recognized from church seemed to be drifting closer to his father. His pulse raced and he backed up a couple of steps, feeling like the walls were closing in on him, the stares of his father’s church acquaintances cold and threatening.
“Enough?” his father barked a drunken laugh. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Ungrateful little bastard. I wish you were dead! I wish I could bury you and get my life back—”
Danny spun on his heel and shoved through the few people standing behind him, slamming through the doors and running blindly across the road. He only made it as far as a tree on the edge of the town square, leaning over as he gagged violently, fear and heartbreak and fury and anxiety crushing down on him in all directions. It was a few long miserable moments before he could breathe again, stomach aching from the wrenching spasms. Not that he’d actually brought anything up since he hadn’t eaten in hours. The nausea didn’t abate however, and as he wiped the tears streaming down his face on his forearm, he tugged his cell phone out of his pocket with a shaking hand and dialed Jake. It went straight to his message service, and Danny leaned heavily against the tree, feeling utterly defeated for a few seconds.
The door to the bar opened across the street, spilling out noise and light. He retreated deeper into the dusk shadows beneath the tree, worried his dad had come after him. But it was just a couple of rowdy guys loudly discussing the merits of this season’s high school football team.
Danny breathed a small sigh of relief and lowered his head to wipe the bottom of his T-shirt over his damp face. With a determined sniff, he stuffed down the ragged emotions to be dealt with later and started making his way toward Jake’s house. He didn’t think about the direction he was going until he was standing in front of the garage staring up at the faded Jones & Sons sign.
He thought he’d gotten a handle on his emotions, but as he stood there, his father’s words washed over him again, and it was suddenly like he was feeling every moment of apprehension, fear, disappointment, guilt and confusion his father had inspired within him over the years all at once. The pure rage that came on the heels of it was like nothing he’d ever experienced, and all he could think was no. No fucking way. His father did not get to yell those things at him. No, his father did not get to ruin another second of his life. No, his father did not get away with this, no thought or consequence for what he’d said and done.
Shoving his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his keys and jammed them into the lock, practically kicking open the door. After flicking on the lights, he went through to the workshop and got his hands on the first decent-size tool he saw. Taking the wrench in a grip so tight his knuckles ached, he went over to the ’72 Ford Mustang his dad had been restoring since Danny was a kid, but hadn’t touched in about five years. It was gathering dust half under a tarp in a shadowed corner of the garage. He jerked off the cover, mind blank, the rage the only thing that made sense. He swung the wrench, shattering one of the back windows. The sound of breaking glass actually made him feel better, even as it broke loose something inside him. An avalanche erupted, tearing down everything in its path—his mom’s cancer, the hospital bills, spending his life tiptoeing around his father and terrified of earning the man’s temper, the abuse hurled at both him and his mother from as young as he could remember, the few times his dad had got drunk enough to hit him, and then the dead bodies and the futile apprehension of spending the entire day at the sheriff’s office scared he was going to end up in jail for something he hadn’t even done. He was blind with it all, hardly aware of what he was even doing any longer.
He smashed his way around the car until every light, mirror, and window was gone. And when that wasn’t enough, he strode into the office, knocking the old computer his dad hardly used and refused to upgrade off the desk. Papers went flying as he swept everything off the cluttered surface. He turned to the shelf in the back with his father’s football trophies sitting proudly on display and took them all out, ending by smashing down the wooden ledge they’d been sitting on. It wasn’t until he’d already hurled the wrench through the glass separating the office from the garage itself that he realized his mistake.
Panting, he sank slowly to the floor among the destruction and glanced at his arm, which was bleeding freely from a really nasty-looking cut. Shit, that was probably going to need stiches. Fuck. He shut his eyes at the irony of getting hurt yet again, and this time it was self-inflicted.
He let his arm fall to the side, not bothering to cover the bleeding. He’d tie something around it in a minute when he got his breath back and his heart wasn’t pounding and he didn’t feel dizzy from completely raging out like a psycho.
The crunch of footsteps over broken debris pulled his attention up. His pulse skipped, and he pushed to his feet.
“What do you want?” he demanded in a hoarse voice, no idea what the hell this was about.
It was the last thing he got to say.
Chapter Twenty-Three
IT WAS close to midnight when the sheriff finally told Jake they should call it a day. After telling the man everything—what’d happened to his brother, Luis, Hobbs’s other victims and his violent tendencies, as well as his own reasons for coming to Everness—Hayes had suggested they do a profile on Leroy Hobbs to see if they could find anything tying the man to the murder victims or Danny before taking their findings to Stevens, who was likely to be skeptical to say the least.
Hayes had listened without judgment and then assured him that he was a damn fine cop, and no matter the reasons that’d landed him in Everness, the sheriff was glad to have him on the books. He’d also said as revenge plans went, Jake had probably come up with the least reckless way of seeing Hobbs in jail, even if it was kind of crazy and might have never paid off.
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