Couldn't Cheat Death

by A. P. Eisen

  The whirring sound of the printer caught his ear, and he touched Paul’s back. “I’ll get the papers for you.”

  “Thanks,” he responded without taking his eyes off the screen.

  Inside his office, Cliff collected the paper the printer had spit out, and deciding that Paul would want to take notes, rummaged around until he found a blank legal-sized pad and a pen. With all that tucked into his grip, he returned to the kitchen and handed them over to Paul.

  “Here you go. And I got you a pad and pen.”

  “Thanks.” Paul scanned the papers. “Here. And here. Okay.” He took the pen and underlined several dates. “Look at this.” He wrapped his arm around Cliff’s waist and pointed with the other hand. “Even though Amy said she had an aide, she also said that Jerry would watch Mason numerous times when she was working. Everyone thought it was strange, but Amy insisted people didn’t know the real Jerry.”

  “Right. I remember that. I also thought it was odd, but…” Cliff shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t think she’s telling the truth.” He pointed to the places he’d underlined. “Look. He entered everything in his calendar—his shifts at the bar, his personal training sessions, even the weekly hookups with the Ulriches, separately and together.”

  “What?” Cliff studied the entries Paul showed him. He was right. There was never any mention of Jerry taking Mason to the park or even watching him. “But maybe he didn’t need to…” Even to his ears, that excuse sounded weak.

  “Not only did Jerry not enter anything about watching Amy’s son, he didn’t have the time, according to his calendar. For example, I’m sure if you check with the hotel, you’ll discover that the Ulriches had a room booked every Monday, and I’ll bet their check-in time was always after five thirty. But Amy told us that Jerry was with Mason. The same goes for the personal training sessions he has marked down and the various dates he’d make during the day, all marked on his calendar.”

  “That’s crazy. Amy? She can’t be a killer.”

  “Anyone could be a killer if driven hard enough. Never forget that. Sometimes you’re pushed to your limit and you’re tested. If you or someone you loved was threatened, you might be surprised.”

  He heard Paul say the words, but he still found it hard to believe. “I-I don’t know. Is this enough to arrest her?”

  “No. But there’s something else.”

  “What?” Cliff’s head spun, and he wasn’t sure he could handle another revelation.

  “Tonight on television, Amy’s son was asked what his favorite thing about the park was. Do you remember his answer?”

  Growing numb, Cliff gazed down at Paul. “Oh, my God. He said the sandbox.”

  “Yeah.” Paul’s grim smile sent a chill through Cliff. “And that he loved it when his mommy played in it with him. His exact words. I’ll bet if we took a sample of the sandbox sand, it would match the sand collected from the murder site and the place where my car was vandalized.”

  Horrified, Cliff swayed, but Paul’s strong arm held him upright. “I’m okay. I just…I can’t believe it, you know?”

  Paul absently stroked his waist. “I know. I’m gonna call Rob.” He picked up his phone but didn’t let go of Cliff. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt.” He put the phone on speaker, and the good-natured voice of Paul’s partner burst into Cliff’s home.

  “What’s up? Kind of late to be calling.” His voice sharpened. “You find out something?”

  In the background, Cliff heard a woman’s voice rising as if asking a question and Rob answering.

  “I might’ve.”

  Paul repeated what he’d laid out to Cliff earlier, and hearing it again, so matter-of-fact and succinctly, Cliff could believe it to be true.

  Rob’s low whistle cut through the air. “Son of a bitch.”

  “I want to get a sample of the playground sand, send it to the lab, and tell them to move their fucking asses on their testing.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And maybe tomorrow we need to pay Ms. Parsons a surprise visit at home.”

  “Sounds good. Good catch, Bulldog.”

  “Don’t thank me. It was Cliff…”

  His voice petered off, and Cliff stiffened. Paul’s arm dropped from his waist, and they gazed at each other. First to break eye contact, Cliff walked away to pour himself a cup of coffee.

  “Cliff?”

  “Uh, yeah. We were watching the news and saw it.”

  “Jesus Christ, Bulldog, don’t you ever take a night off? What’d you do? Go back to the hotel to question more people?” Rob snickered, but Paul remained silent. “Go to bed already. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around eight thirty.”

  “See you then.”

  The call ended, and Paul closed the laptop. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Yes, you did. Don’t apologize,” Cliff said in a tight voice. His body still ached with pleasure from Paul earlier, but already he felt an invisible wall growing brick by brick between them. “I said I could deal with the risk of being hidden by you, and even though it sucks, I do understand.”

  Talk about an understatement.

  Paul fisted his hands on top of the island, and a shiver passed through Cliff as he recalled the dichotomy between their gentleness as they held his face when he and Paul kissed, and the fierceness of their grip as he held Cliff down on the bed and desperately pushed inside him again and again.

  “Look,” Paul said. “Two things. One you already know. We’re at a critical time in the investigation, and I can’t pull my focus away from it. But there’s something else.”

  The gentleness of Paul’s voice gave Cliff pause. “What?”

  “I wouldn’t want Rob to find out about you as someone I kept hidden on the side.”

  “Oh.” Paul saying those words changed the conversation Cliff had anticipated. “That’s nice to hear.”

  “I know it’s asking a lot, and I’d understand if you told me to fuck off and forget it.”

  It was asking a lot. And Cliff remembered having this exact conversation with Lincoln. What made Paul different? Perhaps it was all the years Cliff had lusted after him, and now that he was here in all his gorgeous flesh, Cliff wasn’t willing to let him go. Or maybe Cliff found in Paul what he hadn’t in Lincoln. Respect, honesty, and a willingness to try.

  “It is a lot, but I appreciate your telling me. So for now I’m agreeing to take a back seat to the investigation.” Relief filled Paul’s eyes. “However, that will eventually have to change. At some point, I deserve to be acknowledged.”

  “You sure as hell do.” His gaze darkened as it traveled over Cliff’s body, and a tug of lust curled around Cliff’s spine. “Right now I can think of one thing I’d like to investigate.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Mmm…” Paul cupped his ass. “We need to get back in bed for that to happen, though. Have I mentioned I’m very thorough? I leave no opening untouched.”

  Breathless from both Paul’s words and the blaze of desire in his eyes, Cliff took his hand. “What’re you waiting for, Detective?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Excitement and satisfaction proved a heady breakfast cocktail for Paul the next morning. It had been an amazing night. Not only had they potentially discovered who murdered Jerry, but for the first time, Paul had spent the night in bed with a lover.

  “You good?” Cliff started the car. It was eight a.m., and the birds had begun their cheery morning greetings at five thirty. He knew the exact time because that was when he’d woken up to Cliff’s mouth on his cock, and Paul decided early morning blowjobs might be the best thing ever. Even better than that first cup of coffee.

  “I could say never better, and I wouldn’t be lying. And you are excellent.” His gaze lingered on Cliff, who was dressed for work in a sleek dark suit, white-and-gray striped shirt, and bright-blue tie. “Very excellent.”

  Red crept over Cliff’s face. “You’re no slouch either.” His grin faded. “So what’s the pla
n for today? You going to arrest Amy?” He stopped at a red light.

  “Someone watches too much crime television. No. We need a hell of a lot more evidence than supposition to make an arrest.” An idea came to him. “Would you mind if we swung by the park before you dropped me off? I want to get a sample of the sandbox sand before all the little monsters get in there.”

  “Okay. I have some plastic bags in the glove compartment I threw in after I went to the supermarket last time. Oh, and a few plastic spoons from when I stopped to get frozen yogurt.”

  “Perfect.”

  It took less than ten minutes to get downtown, and they entered the parking lot of the area closest to the playground where Amy took her son. Other than a mother, who sat reading on a bench with her child asleep in a stroller, the playground was empty. Cliff shut the engine off and rummaged in the glove compartment for one of the plastic bags and a spoon.

  “Here you go. I’ll wait for you here. I doubt you need my help.”

  “Always prepared. I’ll remember that.” With a quick grin, Paul unbuckled his seat belt, and carrying his duffel bag, exited the car, his steps quickening as he drew closer to the sandbox. Moving aside all the nasty shit he might be touching—and he meant that literally—Paul crouched, scooped up some sand, and poured it into the plastic bag. When he had enough of a sample, he closed it and put it inside his duffel bag. Rising to his feet, he saw a car pull into the parking lot and stop a few spaces away from Cliff’s. He recognized it as Rob’s sedan and raised his hand in greeting.

  Rob stuck his head out the window. “Dammit, Bulldog. I knew you’d be here, but I thought maybe I’d beat you to it.” He shut off the engine.

  Against his will, Paul forced himself not to look over to where Cliff sat in the car, waiting for him, but he needn’t have worried. Cliff started his car and drove out of the parking lot and down the street. While he appreciated Cliff understanding his need for discretion, the unfamiliar emotion of regret gripped him. They hadn’t even had a chance to say good-bye, or for Paul to tell him thanks. Nor did he know when they’d see each other again.

  “Yeah. Might as well get an early start.”

  With a cup of coffee in each hand, Rob approached and held one out to him. “I know you so well. That’s why I figured you probably didn’t even bother to have coffee before you came here.”

  Sipping the hot brew, Paul didn’t answer. Satisfaction warmed his blood. It had nothing to do with the investigation and everything to do with the previous night and the incredible sex he and Cliff enjoyed that morning in the shower. Paul could still feel the wet, slippery slide of Cliff’s skin under his hands as he held him against the tiled wall and drove relentlessly into that tight, perfect ass. The heated sandalwood scent of Cliff’s shower gel, not the hot coffee, filled his nose.

  He cleared his throat and his memory, knowing his focus had to be on the investigation. “You’re right. Thanks for this.” He held up the coffee. “Come to my apartment while I change, and then we can go down to the station to send this out. We should also call the news station and get a copy of that interview Amy gave them.”

  “Good idea. Let’s go.”

  Rob flipped his parking pass over on his dashboard after parking in the no-standing zone in front of Paul’s building. They walked inside, and Paul felt that familiar energy begin to build, the one that always hit him when he was close to solving a case.

  “You think she’s the one, don’t you?” Rob asked. He too sensed it. It was why they worked so well together.

  “Yeah. I think so. It all ties together. I’m just trying to fit in the last piece of the puzzle. The why of it. Why would she make up the story about him taking care of her son? Where’s the benefit to her?”

  Cui bono?

  The elevator opened on his floor, and Rob trailed behind him as they walked down the hallway to his apartment.

  “Well, that’s the kicker, isn’t it?”

  He unlocked the door, and they walked inside. With a critical eye, Paul looked at his sterile surroundings, comparing them with the warmth and homeyness of Cliff’s place and finding them lacking in almost every way.

  “It is. Sit down, and I’ll be right out. You can make some more coffee if you want.”

  He left Rob and swiftly changed into a suit. He clipped on his badge and ID and secured his gun into his holster. The apartment smelled like coffee when he returned to the living room, and he cracked a smile. “I used to think you were in a perennially good mood, but now I’m convinced it’s a constant buzz. I swear your blood must be fifty percent caffeine.”

  Rob chuckled. “Fifty percent caffeine and fifty percent Annabel. We’re gonna be celebrating eight years next month, and let’s just say we’ve been enjoying a second honeymoon now that the kids are sleeping through the night.”

  “Congratulations. Eight years. That’s an accomplishment.”

  “It’s pretty simple. I make sure she knows she’s special and comes first. She and the kids.”

  “As it should be.”

  “Spoken like the confirmed bachelor who runs at the sight of a single woman.”

  Not for the reason you think, my friend.

  Paul finished his coffee and rinsed their mugs in the sink. “Ready to go?”

  “Yup.”

  On his way out the door, he grabbed the duffel bag with the sand sample and all the papers he’d printed out at Cliff’s house. While Rob drove to the station, Paul went over the papers and his findings in more detail with Rob, filling him in on everything.

  “Son of a bitch.” Rob braked for the light, and his gaze found Paul’s. “So the entire story of Jerry taking her kid to the park was bullshit.”

  “Looks like it. But to what purpose? Why did she want to make it sound as if Jerry was a saint, when all things pointed toward him being a sinner?”

  Traffic began to move again, and Rob shifted his attention to the road. “Well, we know he wasn’t screwing her.”

  “The only one in town besides us,” Paul said darkly. The squat brick building that housed the precinct came into view, and Rob drove into the parking lot to his assigned space.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Neither of them made a move to leave the car. “So what’s really going on?”

  A thrill shot through Paul. For a moment he wondered if Rob had discovered he’d spent the night with Cliff. What would Rob say? Would he shrug it off in his usual good-natured way? He’d always talked about his family being full of “good ol’ boys” who spent their weekends watching college football and loading up on beer and tailgate food. Would he care about working so closely with a gay partner?

  The worst thing was that Paul wasn’t sure of the answer, not because of anything Rob had ever said or done, but because of his own turmoil. In his dreams he often saw himself standing on the edge of a cliff, hesitating between jumping off and crashing down to be done with it all, or taking the chance to try and leap across to the other side.

  It was scary as shit, and he’d wake up covered in sweat, his heart pounding. He’d barely changed from the boy he’d been at twenty to the man he was at almost forty. Fear, like a disease, ate away at the healthy parts of him, and if he didn’t do something soon to end it, he’d be gone, a dry husk, a shell of a man, with nothing left to show for himself. Work could only give him so much, he now saw. His soul needed to quench itself in life.

  But not yet. “That’s what we’re going to do today. Figure it out.” He unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. “Let’s get this done. We need to call the ice-cream man. Her alibi was that she bought her son an ice pop at the park.”

  After getting settled at their desks, Rob placed a call to Hector Fortunato, the ice-cream-truck operator. They’d looked him up when Amy had used him as an alibi in her interview. After they waited on hold for several minutes, the man finally got on the line.

  “Hello? This is Hector.”

  “Hello, Mr. Fortunato.” Rob gave their names and the purpose of their call. “D
o you remember the day you had a flat tire and didn’t get to the park until later in the day—around five-ish? Ms. Parsons bought her son, Mason, an ice pop? I know it’s been a while. You do know Mason, her son?”

  “Oh, of course. A sweet boy. That mother is lucky she has such a nice woman watching him.”

  Paul leaned forward, his heartbeat quickening. “Was the aide or the mother there the day you had the flat tire?”

  “Both. The mother, Amy, told me she had a hard time getting Mason out of the sandbox that day and thought I’d never come. She bought him his ice pop, and that’s when Helena, the aide, came. Amy left Mason with her. Said she had to go do something.”

  Rob clenched his hand into a fist and thrust it in the air in victory.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Fortunato.”

  “No problem. Always willing to help out the cops.”

  Three hours, six cups of coffee, and two incredibly disgusting doughnuts later, Paul tossed down his pen.

  “Okay, let’s stop at this point and see where we are. Otherwise, we’ll be writing this shit down all day without seeing where we’re headed, and I don’t know about you, but that’s pissing me off.”

  Rob let out a huge yawn and stretched. “Yeah. I’m going blind staring at these calendar entries.”

  Nodding with sympathy, Paul kicked back in his rolling chair so that he faced Rob. “Okay. Progress. Fortunato the ice-cream man. We now know Amy lied to us. Next, we sent the sand sample from the playground this morning to the lab. They said they’d have the first two for us today, and with the lieutenant breathing down their necks and threatening to get his best friend the mayor involved, they’re working double time with all hands on deck to get that last sample matched as well.”

  “Good. That’s key in my book.”

  Paul agreed. “Mine as well.” He consulted his pad. “Here’s what we know Amy said versus what Jerry actually did. At no point in the past three months of his calendar entries did Jerry ever indicate he had an appointment to watch Amy’s son.”