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  “Knock it off, Chaz,” Meredith said calmly. “If the detectives thought Jazz was in danger then they’d do something about it, right?” She pinned us with a “don’t mess with me” look that had us both nodding in agreement. “See there,” she said softly to Josh. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to stay over tonight because you need a friend, but no one is in danger.” She looked back at us. “Give him your cards, gentlemen.” We rushed to do Meredith Richmond’s bidding and then said we’d show ourselves out.

  Once we were out of earshot, Adrian leaned toward me a bit and said, “He’s cute, huh?”

  “Stop, Adrian.” The last thing I needed was his attempt at matchmaking.

  “Come on, man. You and Kyle split up over a year ago. It’s time you got back on the horse or allowed yourself to be mounted – whatever you’re into.” He waggled his brows at me and made me smile.

  I truly lucked out when I was partnered with Adrian. Police departments haven’t always been LGBTQ friendly places, and a lot of cops stayed in the closet. The world was changing, and there was more acceptance to be found, even if there was still a lot of room for improvement.

  “He’s not really my type,” I said with a casual shrug.

  “Why ever not?” Adrian sounded genuinely confused by my answer.

  “He’s just a bit too…”

  “Feminine?” A soft voice with a bite of anger finished my sentence. Adrian and I stopped and turned to find that Josh had followed us. Some detectives we were that we didn’t even know. A defiant look replaced the wounded one I’d seen in his eyes moments prior. The way he held his head high told me that he had survived many an asshole in his life and I was sorry he would include me in that category. “You’re one of those ‘masc only’ guys, aren’t you?” His use of fingers to quote the words in the air would have been cute had I not been mortified. “Don’t worry, Detective Wyatt. I’m not into tall, dark, and dickish men, so you’re safe from my affections.” I just stood staring at him, unable to say a word.

  “Was there something that you thought of?” Adrian asked, steering us back toward a more appropriate conversation and saving me from more embarrassment.

  The sadness returned and flooded his expressive eyes. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t move something inside of me, something that made me want to reach out and pull him into my arms where I could tuck him under my chin and keep him safe. The protectiveness I felt toward him was a development I hadn’t expected.

  “Did she suffer?” Josh finally asked.

  “She died quickly,” Adrian replied softly. I noticed he didn’t say anything about it being painless, but he didn’t lie to Josh.

  “Thank you.” He nodded quickly and returned to the comforting fold of his friends.

  Much later that night when I was alone in bed, I couldn’t help but wonder how Josh was doing. Was he able to fall asleep? It upset me that he overheard what I’d said to Adrian. It irritated me even more that I had left him with a bad impression of me. What bothered me the most was that I was wide awake in the middle of the night thinking about sad, hazel eyes and wishing I could take his pain away.

  Before Bianca’s murder, I might’ve seen Josh Roman around Blissville once a month, which was saying something because the community only had a little over six thousand residents. Since I embarrassed myself in front of him, I’d seen him at least once a week. Each time, I’d hoped to redeem myself and each time I failed miserably.

  I ran into him once outside the Sac-n-Save. I was going in, and he was coming out with three or four canvas shopping bags in each hand. I thought I was a gentleman when I offered to help carry some of his burden to his teal green convertible Mini Cooper.

  Instead of accepting my help, the feisty shit batted his eyelashes at me like a simpering southern belle and said with an exaggerated southern accent, “Why, Detective Douche, I do declare that is the sweetest offer I’ve had in days. I’m sorry you think my wrists are so limp that I can’t carry a few groceries to my car. I appreciate you offering your big manly assistance, but I got this. Bye bye, Detective.”

  I couldn’t help but notice he added an extra sway to his hips when he walked away and if I wasn’t so pissed at the way he insulted me, I might’ve admired his taut, bubble butt. Instead, my face burned with anger over my rejected offer. Regardless of what he said, those bags looked like they were overflowing with groceries as if he planned to buy just a few things and ended up buying half of the store.

  The next time I ran into him, it was at the coffee shop. I stood behind him in line and tried hard not to notice the way his fresh scent tickled my nose. His hair was still damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower. When it was his turn, he ordered a plain black coffee with two sugars. Once he paid for his drink, he moved off to the side to wait. Josh turned and found me watching him and a scowl formed on his face as he looked at me.

  “What’s the matter? My coffee too butch for someone like me?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the guy behind the counter walked up with his steaming hot coffee. Josh turned away from me, grabbed his coffee cup, and left the shop without another word. I fought the urge to follow him, to find out who in life hurt him so bad that he carried such a huge chip on his shoulder. Instead, I stepped up to the cashier and placed my order for a French vanilla latte. I couldn’t help but wonder what Josh would think of my preference for flavored coffee.

  These incidents went from a weekly occurrence to bi-weekly, and I became more and more frustrated each time. Why? Simple, I could never find the words to refute his generalized statements; something about him twisted my tongue in a knot and prohibited me from arguing or at least apologizing for what I had almost said about him in his home. As if that wasn’t enough, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I found myself constantly creating interesting ways to shut his smart mouth—most often it involved his lips wrapped around my dick.

  The weeks that followed Bianca’s death, Adrian and I went through boxes and boxes of evidence taken from her house. We learned from interviewing her coworkers and friends that Bianca ran a business from her home where she read tarot cards and palms. She gave advice about love and even sold potions to help the lovelorn. None of the documents we found in her home indicated the names of her clients or what she discussed with them. We found initials instead of clients’ names, codes we couldn’t decipher for the services she performed for them, and the amount she charged them per visit.

  She was doing well for herself financially, and it appeared that she had a lot of repeat clients. I felt certain that her line of work was the reason behind her murder. She had zero known enemies, there was no indication that she’d been robbed, and we found nothing suspicious looking in her finances. My gut told me that someone didn’t like what she had to say or one of her potions didn’t go well, and she died because of it.

  “I don’t know, Gabe,” Adrian said when I told him my theory. “I’m not sure I believe in all that spiritual stuff.” His dark scowl matched the late afternoon sky. We’d been at it all day and were no closer to an answer as to what happened to Bianca. She deserved justice, and it looked like it might not happen if we didn’t catch a break soon.

  Bianca’s aunt arrived to escort her body home to New Orleans once Dr. Chan completed the autopsy. Questioning a bereaved family is a tight line to walk; you needed to find out if they knew anything that could produce a suspect while showing as much compassion as possible. Unfortunately, the family had nothing to give us. Bianca wasn’t seeing anyone that they knew of and she never spoke of a client who was angry with her.

  “If they’re all clairvoyant or have spiritual powers then why can’t they tell us who killed Bianca?” Adrian asked, his voice filled with the same frustration that I felt at not being any closer to catching her killer. “Somebody has to know something, and they’re too afraid or too embarrassed to say anything. They don’t want people knowing they’re consulting a psychic, gypsy, fortune teller, or whatever she went by.” There w
as no derision or scorn in his voice, just a desire to solve her murder. A little over a month had passed since her death, and the case was getting colder than ice with no leads in sight.

  I wasn’t sure how to answer Adrian’s question about Bianca or her family’s abilities. I wasn’t sure what all was involved in reading tarot cards, palms, tea leaves, or whatever tools she might have used. I wasn’t even sure I believed it worked, but a lot of people did, judging by the earnings in Bianca’s ledgers.

  We sent the only physical evidence we collected off her body to the labs for analysis, including hair and fibers that we believe belonged to her assailant. However, we didn’t find her attacker’s fingerprints or blood at the crime scene. He was either incredibly lucky or had killed before and knew what he was doing. My opinion was that all killers made mistakes, even seasoned ones. We just needed to find it.

  We had decided to call it a day because Adrian had an anniversary dinner planned with his wife, Sally Ann. I just needed to get laid. I had a level of sexual frustration that no amount of jerking off could ease. Josh Roman had me turned inside out and I almost hated him for it. Gone was my peaceful existence and in its place was a constant state of arousal and irritation. Fuck, I wanted to kiss the hissing and spitting right out of him but damned if I’d make a move on someone who I obviously repulsed. I had no choice but to drive to a bigger city and find someone to work out my frustrations with; someone who didn’t look at me with disgust in his eyes.

  Just as we were about to leave, a wide-eyed young woman entered the police department. Apprehension and fear rolled off her in waves. Adrian was too busy texting his wife to notice her at first. I heard her tell the desk sergeant that she might have information regarding the Bianca Dragomir case and that caught Adrian’s attention.

  “Listen, why don’t you go on home to Sally Ann and let me take care of this. I promise to fill you in tomorrow morning. There’s no need to be late for your reservations and upset your wife.” Canceled plans and super late nights were one of the reasons that Kyle and I didn’t work out. I jumped at the chance to move to a smaller town so that I wouldn’t have many late nights to save our three-year relationship. I didn’t realize it then, but it was already too late. We’d grown too far apart to repair our relationship.

  “Are you sure?” Adrian asked. “We’re partners, man.” I could tell he struggled between doing his job and making his wife happy.

  “I’m positive, Adrian. Go home and take your gorgeous wife out to dinner.” I loved Sally Ann like a sister. She had been nothing but kind to me the minute I moved to town. Adrian didn’t bat an eye when I told him I was gay. Living a lie wasn’t something I was willing to do, and I needed to know I had a good partner. I ended up with a partner who felt more like a brother to me.

  “Call me bright and early,” he said, pointing his finger at me. He walked over to the front desk and talked to the nervous lady. He placed a calming hand on her shoulder and pointed in my direction. The smile he gave her was kind and assuring.

  I watched as the lady smiled tentatively back at him before she headed toward my desk. It was a small police department, so she didn’t have far to travel. We didn’t have a fancy setup like in some cop shows, but it functioned well enough to suit me.

  “I’m Detective Wyatt,” I said, extending my hand to her. I hoped the smile I gave her was as assuring as Adrian’s. I was relieved when she visibly relaxed. “How can I help you?”

  “My name is Tara Evans. I don’t live locally, I don’t read the papers, and I don’t watch the news because it’s depressing…” Her voice broke, and I gave her a minute to gather herself, knowing if I were patient she’d finish telling me what she’d come to say. “I didn’t know about Bianca’s death until I showed up at her house this morning for my monthly appointment.” She choked a bit on her words and wiped tears from her cornflower blue eyes. I handed her my box of tissues so she could wipe her face.

  “The sweet guy who runs the salon saw me on her porch and came over to break the news.” Sweet guy? Had she met Josh? A fresh wave of tears flooded down her face, and once again I sat and waited them out. “Bianca was such a kind person, Detective. She helped me out so much, and I can’t understand who would want to hurt her.”

  “Do you know something that could help us solve her murder?” I asked, trying to steer her to the reason she came to the police department.

  “I saw her a few days before her murder, Detective. I noticed something odd; someone odd, I should say. Bianca never scheduled clients close together to assure absolute discretion. There was never anyone coming or going near our appointment times, no waiting room or reception area, and she kept her doors locked during our sessions to ensure privacy and to make sure we weren’t interrupted.”

  “But that wasn’t what happened on your last visit?” I asked.

  “There was a man leaving her house, a very angry man. He practically ran me over as I was walking up the steps to her front door. He didn’t apologize or anything.” Tara looked shocked that assholes existed in her world. “Anyway, Bianca was standing on her porch watching him as he walked away. She had this odd expression on her face,” Tara squinted as she concentrated, “it was a mix of shock and horror, Detective. Whatever he said to her shook her something fierce. She was off during our session, and she politely rejected any attempt on my part to talk about what bothered her. I left with an uneasy feeling, and it turned out that I should’ve been.”

  My heart sped up with the information that Tara gave me. “Did you see his face or what he was driving?”

  “I did get a good look at his face, but he must’ve parked around the corner from her house. That cute neighbor Josh might’ve seen what he was driving though. Josh had been jogging from that direction, and the two of them met at the corner and nearly collided. The guy practically shoved Josh out of his way. Josh turned and yelled something after him, so if he got into a car, he might’ve seen it.”

  “Thank you so much for coming in, Tara. I don’t know if who you saw killed Bianca, but I’ll do everything I can to track him down and question him. I have one favor to ask you.” She nodded exuberantly, all traces of fear from earlier were gone. I realized that her dread from earlier wasn’t so much about talking to the police; it was fear of being judged. “Do you mind working with our sketch artist to see if you can come up with a likeness I can use?” As small as we were, we had one hell of an artist on the force.

  “Anything to help,” she replied, as I signaled for Officer Jayna Murkowski to come over. “You’ll talk to Josh, won’t you?” Tara asked me.

  “I’ll head over to his salon as soon as we’re finished.”

  I hoped my smile covered up the internal grimace I had going on. All roads led to Josh it seemed, which also meant I had to gear up for another round of verbal sparring. Okay, he sparred, and I took it on the chin because I felt guilty. He was going to need to retract his claws because neither of our feelings was what counted right then. I had a murderer to catch, and he might be my key witness.

  I stood just outside the door of his salon trying to work up my courage. I always felt out of place at salons and boutiques. Groups of women made me nervous; being gay didn’t change that for me. I was never anyone’s GBF, I didn’t have any sisters, and my mom knew more about sports and cars than she did about shopping and hairstyles. Duty called so I sucked up my awkwardness, squared my shoulders, and walked into that salon like I had a right to be there.

  All noises came to a screeching halt—hairdryers were turned off, talking ceased, and all eyes were on me. I felt like a giant fish out of the water, and I wondered if my mouth was gaping open like one too. There were four occupied chairs in the salon, but I only recognized two of the stylists—Josh and Meredith.

  “Howdy, Detective,” Josh’s friend, Chaz, said from behind the reception desk. He looked me up and down appraisingly; I had a feeling I was a shared topic between the three friends. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t think they sang my praises w
hen I wasn’t around. “Jazz, it’s for you,” he said loudly as if he had to yell to be heard. Maybe I was the only one who noticed the still silence.

  I looked at Josh, and he met my gaze with an exaggerated eye roll. The guy hated my guts. I fought the urge to turn around and walk out, not because I was a coward, but because I was afraid I’d lose my cool and say something equally as shitty to him in return.

  From within the salon, I heard Josh’s crazy bird sing out, “I like big cocks and I cannot lie.” The bird broke the silence, and soon the ladies’ laughter filled the salon.

  “My word, Jazz, wherever did you get that crazy bird?” One of them asked after she wiped her tears from her eyes.

  “Brook’s Pet’s,” he replied. “Someone passed away, and their family wasn’t sure what to do with the foul-mouthed bird, so they took him to Brook. I walked in to get Jazzy and Diva some treats, and there he was bopping his head and spewing filthy language at me. I just had to have him.” I guessed that Diva with her sparkly crystal-encrusted collar was the cat and Jazzy was his ferret. Josh returned his attention begrudgingly back to me and said, “Why don’t you head on into the sitting area and keep Savage company until I get Mrs. Hendrickson under the dryer.”

  I recognized dismissal when I heard it. However, I needed Josh’s help and didn’t have a choice but to indulge him. I took my chances with the bird, but luckily all he did was whistle at me and call me a hot stud. I still felt a little violated by the time Josh walked into the room. I could tell by the arrogant lift to his brow that he deliberately kept me waiting longer than necessary. Again, not like I could call him on it. Yet.

  “What can I do for you, Detective Dick Breath?”

  It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. “Drop the bullshit, Jizz.” Maybe making fun of his nickname was tacky and immature, but I’d had enough of his mouth. I marched forward until our bodies almost touched. I used my height to my advantage and forced him to tilt his head back to look at me. I saw wariness in his eyes, and it reduced my boiling rage down to a simmer. I took a step back for both of our sakes. He was scared and being near him made me horny. Damn him! I so badly wanted to suggest what he could do with his mouth instead of sniping at me all the damn time.